Wuthering Heights From the story by Emily Bronte

«Shall I read it for you, madam? It’s from Mr. Heathcliff.»

She looked startled.

«He says he wishes to see you,» I said as gently as I could, «and he’s in the garden now, waiting for your answer.»

As I spoke, we heard footsteps in the hall. Cathy bent forward, listening breathlessly, and a minute later Heathcliff had found the door. In just two strides he was at Cathy’s side, and had grasped her in his arms.

For five whole minutes, Heathcliff held Cathy in silence, covering her with kisses, and I saw he could hardly bear to look at her face. He had seen immediately that she would never recover, and was sure to die very soon.

«Oh, Cathy! Oh, my life! How can I bear it?» he cried out in despair.

«What?» said Cathy, leaning back weakly. «Am I meant to pity you now? You and Edgar have both treated me so cruelly – you’ve broken my heart. Together you have killed me, but you will go on living. See how strong you are, Heathcliff! How many years do you plan to live after I am dead? Will you forget me and be happy when I am in my grave?»

«Oh, Cathy, please don’t torture me like this,» he cried, grinding his teeth. «How can you talk to me like this when I can see that you’re dying? Don’t you realize your words will be burned forever into my memory^[65], after you’ve left me and you are at peace?»

«I shall never be at peace,» moaned Cathy. «How can I be at peace if we are parted?»

Heathcliff could bear it no longer, and he walked away from Cathy, his chest heaving with emotion. So she turned to me instead.

«Oh, Nelly, I’m so tired of this prison. I’m longing to escape to a different, glorious world. And soon I shall be there. Then I’ll be beyond and above you all. But now I want to be with Heathcliff… Heathcliff, won’t you please come to me now?»

Cathy tried to stand up, and Heathcliff turned towards her, his eyes wild and wet. For a moment they stood apart, then Cathy made a wild leap at Heathcliff. He just managed to catch her and they fell into each other’s arms, locked tightly together as though they would never part.

«Why have you been so cruel to me, Cathy?» said Heathcliff wildly. «Why did you marry Edgar when it was me that you loved? If we had been together, nothing would have parted us, but you chose to do this. I haven’t broken your heart – it’s you who has broken it! And you’ve broken mine as well. Do you think I want to live after you’ve gone? What kind of living will it be when you are in your grave?»

«If I’ve done wrong, I’m dying for it now,» sobbed Cathy. «But you left me too, Heathcliff. And I’ll forgive you, if you forgive me now!»

«It’s hard to forgive you, and look in your sunken eyes. Kiss me again, Cathy, but don’t let me see your eyes!

Then they were silent and clung to each other, drenched in each other’s tears^[66].

Suddenly, I noticed through the window a group of people walking home from church.

«My master will be here very soon,» I warned them. But they never moved.

Soon I saw Edgar opening the garden gate.

«Now he’s here,» I cried. «For heaven’s sake, hurry! If you go now, you can still miss him.»

«I must go, Cathy,» said Heathcliff, «but I’ll stay close to your window.»

«No! You mustn’t go!» she shrieked. «It’s the last time! Edgar can’t hurt us, Heathcliff. I shall die if you go!

At that moment, Edgar opened the door. He rushed towards Heathcliff, shaking with rage. But before Edgar could reach him, Heathcliff had stepped forward.

«Look after Cathy first,» he said, putting her lifeless body into her husband’s arms, «and then you can speak to me!»

Cathy lay unconscious in Edgar’s arms, and while we tried desperately to revive her, Heathcliff crept silently out into the garden. Eventually, Cathy came around, but all she could do was sigh and moan and look around her wildly, not recognizing us at all. We put her straight to bed, and around midnight her baby was born, two months early. A couple of hours later, Cathy died, without ever recovering consciousness enough to see her daughter.

Edgar was so desperate with grief that he completely ignored his child, who we named Catherine after her mother. It seemed a terrible start for the puny little thing, and I worried that she had a difficult future ahead of her. The Lintons’ fortune was oddly arranged so that all Edgar’s wealth and property would go to Isabella after his death. If Edgar died, Isabella and Heathcliff would inherit everything, and little Catherine would be left with nothing.

Finally, morning came, and Edgar fell asleep, worn out with grief. I went out to look for Heathcliff and found him leaning on an old ash tree, his hair soaked in dew. When he saw me coming, he raised his eyes to me.

«She’s dead!» he said. «You needn’t tell me that. And put your handkerchief away, Nelly – she doesn’t want your tears!»

«Yes, she’s dead!» I answered, trying to stop my sobs.