Wuthering Heights From the story by Emily Bronte

I was sure that Catherine was heading for Peniston Crags. I covered the miles as fast as I could and, after about an hour of heavy climbing, I reached the path that led to Wuthering Heights. The Crags were still a mile and a half beyond the house, and I began to be afraid that it would be completely dark before I reached them.

«What if she tried to climb the rocks,» I thought to myself, «and slipped and broke her leg?» I was becoming desperate when I noticed, to my great relief, one of Miss Catherine’s dogs running out of the farmhouse to meet me.

I raced up to the house and hammered on the door, which was opened by Zillah, the housemaid at the Heights.

«Ah,» she said,» I see you’ve come for your little mistress! Don’t be frightened. She’s here, safe and sound^[74].»

«And is Heathcliff at home?» I panted, breathless with fear.

«No, no,» she replied. «He won’t be back for an hour or more. Come in and rest for a while.»

I entered the room and saw my precious Catherine, sitting on a rocking chair that used to be her mother’s. She seemed perfectly at home, and was laughing and talking to Hareton, who was now a strong, handsome lad of eighteen. He was staring at her, open-mouthed with astonishment, as she chattered away to him cheerfully.

«Well, miss!» I said, as sternly as I could. «This is your last ride until your papa comes back. I won’t trust you outside the house again, you naughty, naughty girl!»

«But, Nelly!» she cried, ignoring my bad temper. «I’ve had such a great adventure. Have you ever been here in your life before?»

«Put on your hat and come home at once,» I said firmly. «I’m very cross with you, Miss Catherine. What do you think your father will say when he hears you’ve been sneaking off like this!»

«But what have I done?» she sobbed. «Papa won’t be angry with me. He’s never cross, like you!»

«Come on,» I repeated. «Let’s get away now.»

But Catherine had dodged away from me and was skipping around the room, hiding behind the furniture. Hareton was laughing, and Catherine was growing more and more impertinent.

«Well, Miss Catherine,» I cried out in anger, «if you only knew whose house this was you’d be glad enough to leave.»

«It’s your father’s, isn’t it?» she said, turning to Hareton.

«No,» he replied, looking down sulkily.

«Whose then – your master’s?»

He swore and turned away.

«Nelly, who is this boy?» she said, turning to me. «He talked about ‘our house’ so I thought he must be the owner’s son. But if he’s a servant he should call me ‘miss’, shouldn’t he?»

This made Hareton turn as black as a thundercloud.

«Now, go and get my horse,» Catherine said, ordering Hareton around as if he were a stable boy. «What’s the matter with you? Get my horse, I say.»

«You saucy witch, I won’t be your servant!» Hareton growled.

Catherine stared at him in astonishment. «How dare you speak to me like that? Why don’t you do as I tell you!»

«Now, miss,» interrupted Zillah, «you really should treat him better than that. Mr. Hareton is your cousin, and it’s not his job to serve you.»

«He can’t be my cousin!» Catherine cried, with a scornful laugh. «Papa has just gone to London to fetch my cousin and he’s a gentleman’s son, not a farm boy like him!»

I was very angry with Catherine and Zillah. Now Heathcliff would be bound to hear that Linton was coming to live at the Grange, and Catherine would be sure to ask her father about Hareton. On our walk back to the Grange, I explained to Catherine that if her father discovered she had been up at the Heights, he might be so angry with me that he would send me away. The dear girl couldn’t bear to think of that, so she promised to keep quiet about her adventures on the moors.

A few days later, we heard from Mr. Edgar that he was coming home and bringing Linton with him. Catherine was wild with joy at the idea of welcoming her father back, and meeting her ‘real’ cousin. She couldn’t wait to have someone of her own age to play with.

But, when the carriage arrived, Linton stayed huddled in the corner^[75] and took no notice of his excited cousin. He was a pale, delicate-looking boy – very much like his uncle at the same age, but with a sickly, peevish expression that Edgar had never had. Even though it was summer, he was wrapped in a warm, fur-lined cloak, and he shrank away from Catherine, whining that he just wanted to go to bed.

Edgar carried Linton into the house and sat him on a chair, where he immediately started to cry again.

«I can’t sit on that chair,» he sobbed. «It’s much too hard.»

«Lie on the sofa, then, and Nelly will bring you some tea,» his uncle answered patiently.