Wuthering Heights

she answered: »I wanted to be with –«
    »Well!« said Catherine, perceiving her hesitate to complete the sentence.
    »With him; and I won't always be sent off!« she continued, kindling up. »You are a dog in the manger, Cathy, and desire no one to be loved but yourself!«
    »You are an impertinent little monkey!« exclaimed Mrs. Linton, in surprise. »But I'll not believe this idiocy! It is impossible that you can covet the admiration of Heathcliff – that you consider him an agreeable person! I hope I have misunderstood you, Isabella?«
    »No, you have not,« said the infatuated girl. »I love him more than ever you loved Edgar; and he might love me, if you would let him!«
    »I wouldn't be you for a kingdom, then!« Catherine declared, emphatically – and she seemed to speak sincerely. »Nelly, help me to convince her of her madness. Tell her what Heathcliff is – an unreclaimed creature, without refinement – without cultivation; an arid wilderness of furze and whinstone. I'd as soon put that little canary into the park on a winter's day as recommend you to bestow your heart on him! It is deplorable ignorance of his character, child, and nothing else, which makes that dream enter your head. Pray don't imagine that he conceals depths of benevolence and affection beneath a stern exterior! He's not a rough diamond – a pearl-containing oyster of a rustic; he's a fierce, pitiless, wolfish man. I never say to him let this or that enemy alone, because it would be ungenerous or cruel to harm them – I say let them alone, because
I
should hate them to be wronged: and he'd crush you, like a sparrow's egg, Isabella, if he found you a troublesome charge. I know he couldn't love a Linton; and yet, he'd be quite capable of marrying your fortune, and expectations. Avarice is growing with him a besetting sin. There's my picture; and I'm his friend – so much so, that had he thought seriously to catch you, I should, perhaps, have held my tongue, and let you fall into his trap.«
    Miss Linton regarded her sister-in-law with indignation.
    »For shame! for shame!« she repeated, angrily, »You are worse than twenty foes, you poisonous friend!«
    »Ah! you won't believe me, then?« said Catherine. »You think I speak from wicked selfishness?«
    »I'm certain you do,« retorted Isabella; »and I shudder at you!«
    »Good!« cried the other. »Try for yourself, if that be your spirit; I have done, and yield the argument to your saucy insolence.«
    »And I must suffer for her egotism!« she sobbed, as Mrs. Linton left the room. »All, all is against me; she has blighted my single consolation. But she uttered falsehoods, didn't she? Mr. Heathcliff is not a fiend; he has an honourable soul, and a true one, or how could he remember her?«
    »Banish him from your thoughts, miss,« I said. »He's a bird of bad omen; no mate for you. Mrs. Linton spoke strongly, and yet, I can't contradict her. She is better acquainted with his heart than I, or any one besides; and she never would represent him as worse than he is. Honest people don't hide their deeds. How has he been living? how has he got rich? why is he staying at Wuthering Heights, the house of a man whom he abhors? They say Mr. Earnshaw is worse and worse since he came. They sit up all night together continually: and Hindley has been borrowing money on his land; and does nothing but play and drink, I heard only a week ago; it was Joseph who told me – I met him at Gimmerton.
    ›Nelly!‹ he said, ›we's hae a Crahnr's 'quest enah, at ahr folks. One on 'ems a'most getten his finger cut off wi' haudin t' other froo' sticking hisseln loike a cawlf. That's maister, yah knaw, 'ut's soa up uh going tuh t'grand 'sizes. He's noan feard uh t' Bench uh judges, norther Paul, nur Peter, nur John, nor Mathew, nor noan on 'em, nut he! He fair like's he langs tuh set his brazened face agean 'em! And yon bonny lad Heathcliff, yah mind, he's a rare 'un! He can girn a laugh, as weel's onybody at a raight divil's jest. Does he niver say nowt of his fine living amang us, when he goas tuh t' Grange? This is t' way on't – up at sun-dahn; dice, brandy, cloised shutters, und can'le lught till next day, at nooin – then, t' fooil gangs banning un raving to his cham'er, makking dacent fowks dig thur fingers i' thur lugs fur varry shaume; un' th' knave, wah he carn cahnt his brass, un' ate, un' sleep, un' off tuh his neighbour's tuh gossip wi' t' wife. I' course, he tells Dame Catherine hah hor