Wuthering Heights

found Heathcliff, you ass?« interrupted Catherine. »Have you been looking for him, as I ordered?«
    »Aw sud more likker look for th' horse,« he replied. »It 'ud be tuh more sense. Bud, aw can look for norther horse, nur man uf a neeght loike this – as black as t' chimbley! und Hathecliff's noan t' chap tuh coom at
maw
whistle – happen he'll be less hard uh hearing wi'
ye!
«
    It
was
a very dark evening for summer: the clouds appeared inclined to thunder, and I said we had better all sit down; the approaching rain would be certain to bring him home without further trouble.
    However, Catherine would not be persuaded into tranquillity. She kept wandering to and fro, from the gate to the door, in a state of agitation, which permitted no repose: and, at length, took up a permanent situation on one side of the wall, near the road; where, heedless of my expostulations, and the growling thunder, and the great drops that began to plash around her, she remained calling, at intervals, and then listening, and then crying outright. She beat Hareton, or any child, at a good, passionate fit of crying.
    About midnight, while we still sat up, the storm came rattling over the Heights in full fury. There was a violent wind, as well as thunder, and either one or the other split a tree off at the corner of the building; a huge bough fell across the roof, and knocked down a portion of the east chimney-stack, sending a clatter of stones and soot into the kitchen fire.
    We thought a bolt had fallen in the middle of us, and Joseph swung onto his knees, beseeching the Lord to remember the patriarchs Noah and Lot; and, as in former times, spare the righteous, though he smote the ungodly. I felt some sentiment that it must be a judgment on us also. The Jonah, in my mind, was Mr. Earnshaw, and I shook the handle of his den that I might ascertain if he were yet living. He replied audibly enough, in a fashion which made my companion vociferate more clamorously than before that a wide distinction might be drawn between saints like himself, and sinners like his master. But, the uproar passed away in twenty minutes, leaving us all unharmed, excepting Cathy, who got thoroughly drenched for her obstinacy in refusing to take shelter, and standing bonnetless and shawlless to catch as much water as she could with her hair and clothes.
    She came in, and lay down on the settle, all soaked as she was, turning her face to the back, and putting her hands before it.
    »Well, Miss!« I exclaimed, touching her shoulder. »You are not bent on getting your death, are you? Do you know what o'clock it is? Half-past twelve. Come! come to bed; there's no use waiting longer on that foolish boy – he'll be gone to Gimmerton, and he'll stay there now. He guesses we shouldn't wake for him till this late hour; at least, he guesses that only Mr. Hindley would be up; and he'd rather avoid having the door opened by the master.«
    »Nay, nay, he's noan at Gimmerton!« said Joseph. »Aw's niver wonder, bud he's at t' bothom uf a bog-hoile. This visitation worn't for nowt, und aw wod hev ye tuh look aht, Miss, – yah muh be t' next. Thank Hivin for all! All warks togither for gooid tuh them as is chozzen, and piked aht froo' th' rubbidgel Yah knaw whet t' Scripture ses –«
    And he began quoting several texts; referring us to the chapters and verses, where we might find them.
    I having vainly begged the wilful girl to rise and remove her wet things, left him preaching, and her shivering, and betook myself to bed with little Hareton; who slept as fast as if every one had been sleeping round him.
    I heard Joseph read on a while afterwards; then, I distinguished his slow step on the ladder, and then I dropt asleep.
    Coming down somewhat later than usual, I saw, by the sunbeams piercing the chinks of the shutters, Miss Catherine still seated near the fire-place. The house-door was ajar, too; light entered from its unclosed windows, Hindley had come out, and stood on the kitchen hearth, haggard, and drowsy.
    »What ails you, Cathy?« he was saying when I entered; »You look as dismal as a drowned whelp – Why are you so damp and pale, child?«
    »I've been wet;« she answered reluctantly, »and I'm cold, that's all.«
    »Oh, she is naughty!« I cried, perceiving the master to be tolerably sober; »She got steeped in the shower of yesterday evening, and there she has sat, the night through, and I couldn't prevail on her to stir.«
    Mr. Earnshaw stared at us in surprise.