Project Gutenberg #768
Wuthering Heights
Emily Brontë
1847Emily Bronte's moorland Gothic classic, prepared chapter by chapter from Project Gutenberg plaintext.
Project Gutenberg #768 Public domain in the United States Cover source Local typographic cover created for MojiMori from public-domain source metadata
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AI Summary
Chapter 15 — CHAPTER XV Central question How do Catherine and Heathcliff talk when they are reunited? Main argument Nelly condenses the earlier history so the emotional triangle can be read as a complete pattern:...
me!” She went on to herself. “I thought he
wished it. Heathcliff, dear! you should not be sullen now. Do come to
me, Heathcliff.”
In her eagerness she rose and supported herself on the arm of the
chair. At that earnest appeal he turned to her, looking absolutely
desperate. His eyes, wide and wet, at last flashed fiercely on her; his
breast heaved convulsively. An instant they held asunder, and then how
they met I hardly saw, but Catherine made a spring, and he caught her,
and they were locked in an embrace from which I thought my mistress
would never be released alive: in fact, to my eyes, she seemed directly
insensible. He flung himself into the nearest seat, and on my
approaching hurriedly to ascertain if she had fainted, he gnashed at
me, and foamed like a mad dog, and gathered her to him with greedy
jealousy. I did not feel as if I were in the company of a creature of
my own species: it appeared that he would not understand, though I
spoke to him; so I stood off, and held my tongue, in great perplexity.
A movement of Catherine’s relieved me a little presently: she put up
her hand to clasp his neck, and bring her cheek to his as he held her;
while he, in return, covering her with frantic caresses, said wildly—
“You teach me now how cruel you’ve been—cruel and false. _Why_ did you
despise me? _Why_ did you betray your own heart, Cathy? I have not one
word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. Yes, you
may kiss me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears: they’ll blight
you—they’ll damn you. You loved me—then what _right_ had you to leave
me? What right—answer me—for the poor fancy you felt for Linton?
Because misery and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or
Satan could inflict would have parted us, _you_, of your own will, did
it. I have not broken your heart—_you_ have broken it; and in breaking
it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am strong. Do
I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you—oh, God! would
_you_ like to live with your soul in the grave?”
“Let me alone. Let me alone,” sobbed Catherine. “If I’ve done wrong,
I’m dying for it. It is enough! You left me too: but I won’t upbraid
you! I forgive you. Forgive me!”
“It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those
wasted hands,” he answered. “Kiss me again; and don’t let me see your
eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love _my_ murderer—but
_yours_! How can I?”
They were silent—their faces hid against each other, and washed by each
other’s tears. At least, I suppose the weeping was on both sides; as it
seemed Heathcliff _could_ weep on a great occasion like this.
I grew very uncomfortable, meanwhile; for the afternoon wore fast away,
the man whom I had sent off returned from his errand, and I could
distinguish, by the shine of the western sun up the valley, a concourse
thickening outside Gimmerton chapel porch.
“Service is over,” I announced. “My master will be here in half an
hour.”
Heathcliff groaned a curse, and strained Catherine closer: she never
moved.
Ere long I perceived a group of the servants passing up the road
towards the kitchen wing. Mr. Linton was not far behind; he opened the
gate himself and sauntered slowly up, probably enjoying the lovely
afternoon that breathed as soft as summer.
“Now he is here,” I exclaimed. “For heaven’s sake, hurry down! You’ll
not meet any one on the front stairs. Do be quick; and stay among the
trees till he is fairly in.”
“I must go, Cathy,” said Heathcliff, seeking to extricate himself from
his companion’s arms. “But if I live, I’ll see you again before you are
asleep. I won’t stray five yards from your window.”
“You must not go!” she answered, holding him as firmly as her strength
allowed. “You _shall_ not, I tell you.”
“For one hour,” he pleaded earnestly.
“Not for one minute,” she replied.
“I _must_—Linton will be up immediately,” persisted the alarmed
intruder.
He would have risen, and unfixed her fingers by the act—she clung fast,
gasping: there was mad resolution in her face.
“No!” she shrieked. “Oh, don’t, don’t go. It is the last time! Edgar
will not hurt us. Heathcliff, I shall die! I shall die!”
“Damn the fool! There he is,” cried Heathcliff, sinking back into his
seat. “Hush, my darling! Hush, hush, Catherine! I’ll stay. If he shot
me so, I’d expire with a blessing on my lips.”
And there they were fast again. I heard my master mounting the
stairs—the cold sweat ran from my forehead: I was horrified.
“Are you going to listen to her ravings?” I said, passionately. “She
does not know what she says. Will you ruin her, because she has not wit
to help herself? Get up! You could be free instantly. That is the most
diabolical deed that ever you did. We are all done for—master,
mistress, and servant.”
I wrung my hands, and cried out; and Mr. Linton hastened his step at
the noise. In the midst of my agitation, I was sincerely glad to
observe that Catherine’s arms had fallen relaxed, and her head hung
down.
“She’s fainted, or dead,” I thought: “so much the better. Far better
that she should be dead, than lingering a burden and a misery-maker to
all about her.”
Edgar sprang to his unbidden guest, blanched with astonishment and
rage. What he meant to do I cannot tell; however, the other stopped all
demonstrations, at once, by placing the lifeless-looking form in his
arms.
“Look there!” he said. “Unless you be a fiend, help her first—then you
shall speak to me!”
He walked into the parlour, and sat down. Mr. Linton summoned me, and
with great difficulty, and after resorting to many means, we managed to
restore her to sensation; but she was all bewildered; she sighed, and
moaned, and knew nobody. Edgar, in his anxiety for her, forgot her
hated friend. I did not. I went, at the earliest opportunity, and
besought him to depart; affirming that Catherine was better, and he
should hear from me in the morning how she passed the night.
“I shall not refuse to go out of doors,” he answered; “but I shall stay
in the garden: and, Nelly, mind you keep your word to-morrow. I shall
be under those larch-trees. Mind! or I pay another visit, whether
Linton be in or not.”
He sent a rapid glance through the half-open door of the chamber, and,
ascertaining that what I stated was apparently true, delivered the
house of his luckless presence.