Грозовой перевал / Wuthering Heights

Old Mrs. Linton came to visit Cathy many times, and as soon as she was strong enough to travel, the kind lady insisted that Cathy should be moved to Thrushcross Grange. To tell the truth, I was relieved to be rid[41] of Cathy for a while – she was a difficult patient and I had young Hareton to care for as well. But poor Mrs. Linton had reason to regret her kindness, because both she and her husband caught the fever from Cathy and died within a few days of each other.

After several months at the Grange, our young lady returned to the Heights, prouder and more passionate than ever. One day, when she provoked me beyond endurance[42], I dared to blame her for Heathcliff’s disappearance. And after that, she refused to speak to me for months, apart from giving me orders and commands.

The months that followed Miss Cathy’s illness were hard for us all. The doctor told us that she should be given her own way whenever possible, in case one of her terrible rages led to a deadly fit[43]. And Cathy certainly made the most of his warning. She soon became so willful that she refused to be contradicted on anything. But while the rest of us filmed in silence, Edgar Linton was quite unable to see any faults in her. He was madly in love with Cathy, and on the day of their wedding at Gimmerton Church, he sincerely believed he was the happiest man on earth.

A surprising visitor

At this point in my housekeeper’s story she glanced up at the clock, and was amazed to see that it was half past one. She wouldn’t hear of staying a second longer, and I suddenly realized just how tired I was. I dragged my aching body off to bed, and spent a troubled night, dreaming of Wuthering Heights.

In the morning, I woke up with a throbbing head and a sore throat[44], which developed into a nasty case of flu. For the next few days I was forced to stay in bed. It was weeks before I was strong enough to do more than doze by the fireside, but at last I began to feel better. I was still too weak to walk outside, so I asked Nelly if she would come and sit with me, and continue her story where she had left off…

After Miss Cathy and Mr. Edgar were married, I went to live at Thrushcross Grange to help look after Cathy. I was very sad to leave Wuthering Heights. My little Hareton was not yet five years old and I had just begun to teach him to read. It nearly broke my heart to leave the boy in that cheerless house, with only his drunken father and old Joseph to care for him.

Once she was settled in at the Grange, Cathy behaved a great deal better than I had expected. She seemed almost too fond of Mr. Edgar, and she even showed plenty of affection for his sister, Isabella. They certainly made a great fuss of her, bending over backwards to agree to all her wishes[45]. I noticed that Edgar had a great fear of upsetting his wife, and none of the servants were allowed to answer her back or complain about her many orders.

I soon learned to respect my new master, with his kind and gentle ways. I even tried to be less touchy with Cathy in order to please him. For six months, we all lived peacefully together. There were times when Cathy was silent and gloomy, but Edgar was always understanding, believing that her spells of depression[46] were caused by her long illness. When Cathy became cheerful again, Edgar was happy too, and it seemed to me then that they had a chance of deep and growing happiness. Perhaps such fragile happiness could never have lasted, but the way it came to an end was worse than anyone could have imagined.

One warm September evening, I was coming in from the garden with a basket of apples. The light was fading[47], and there were deep shadows on the grass. I had stopped by the kitchen door to look up at the moon, when I heard a voice behind me.

«Nelly, is that you?»

It was a man’s voice – but not one I knew – although there was something familiar in the way he pronounced my name.

Something stirred outside the door, and, moving nearer, I saw a tall man in dark clothes with a dark face and hair. He leaned against the side of the porch, his fingers on the door latch, as if he were about to open it.

«Who can it be who knows my name?» I wondered, as I came closer.

«I’ve been waiting here for an hour,» the voice continued, «and all the time the house has been as still as death. But don’t you know who I am, Nelly? Take a look – I’m not a stranger.»

I saw a face half-covered with whiskers and a pair of deep-set, glittering eyes… Of course, I remembered those eyes.

«What!» I cried in amazement, «Have you come back? Is it really you?»