Summer drew to an end, and early autumn: it was past Michaelmas, but the harvest was late that year, and a few of our fields were still uncleared. Mr Linton and his daughter would frequently walk out among the reapers; at the carrying of the last sheaves, they stayed till dusk, and the evening happening to be chill and damp, my master caught a bad cold, that settling obstinately on his lungs, confined him indoors throughout the whole of the winter, nearly without intermission.
Poor Cathy, frightened from her little romance, had been considerably sadder and duller since its abandonment; and her father insisted on her reading less, and taking more exercise. She had his companionship no longer; I esteemed it a duty to supply its lack, as much as possible, with mine: an inefficient substitute; for I could only spare two or three hours, from my numerous diurnal occupations, to follow her footsteps, and then my society was obviously less desirable than his.
On an afternoon in October, or the beginning of November--a fresh watery afternoon, when the turf and paths were rustling with moist, withered leaves, and the cold, blue sky was half hidden by clouds--dark grey streamers, rapidly mounting from the west, and boding abundant rain--I requested my young lady to forego her ramble, because I was certain of showers. She refused; and I unwillingly donned a cloak, and took my umbrella to accompany her on a stroll to the bottom of the park; a formal walk which she generally affected if low-spirited--and that she invariably was when Mr Edgar had been worse than ordinary, a thing never known from his confession, but guessed both by her and me, from his increased silence and the melancholy of his countenance. She went sadly on: there was no running or bounding now, though the chill wind might well have tempted her to a race. And often, from the side of my eye, I could detect her raising a hand, and brushing something off her cheek. I gazed round for a means of diverting her thoughts. On one side of the road rose a high, rough bank, where hazels and stunted oaks, with their roots half exposed, held uncertain tenure: the soil was too loose for the latter; and strong winds had blown some nearly horizontal. In summer, Miss Catherine delighted to climb along these trunks, and sit in the branches, swinging twenty feet above the ground; and I, pleased with her agility and her light, childish heart, still considered it proper to scold every time I caught her at such an elevation, but so that she knew there was no necessity for descending. From dinner to tea she would lie in her breeze-rocked cradle, doing nothing except singing old songs--my nursery lore--to herself, or watching the birds, joint tenants, feed and entice their young ones to fly: or nestling with closed lids, half thinking, half dreaming, happier than words can express.
`Look, miss!' I exclaimed, pointing to a nook under the roots of one twisted tree. `Winter is not here yet. There's a little flower up yonder, the last bud from the multitude of bluebells that clouded those turf steps in July with a lilac mist. Will you clamber up, and pluck it to show to papa?'
Cathy stared a long time at the lonely blossom trembling in its earthy shelter, and replied, at length:
`No, I'll not touch it: but it looks melancholy, does it not, Ellen?'
`Yes,' I observed, `about as starved and sackless as you: your cheeks are bloodless; let us take hold of hands and run. You're so low, I dare say I shall keep up with you.
`No,' she repeated, and continued sauntering on, pausing, at intervals, to muse over a bit of moss, or a tuft of blanched grass, or a fungus spreading its bright orange among the heaps of brown foliage; and, ever and anon, her hand was lifted to her averted face.
`Catherine, why are you crying, love?' I asked, approaching and putting my arm over her shoulder. `You mustn't cry because papa has a cold; be thankful it is nothing worse.
She now put no further restraint on her tears; her breath was stifled by sobs.
`Oh, it will be something worse,' she said. `And what shall I do when papa and you leave me, and I am by myself? I can't forget your words, Ellen; they are always in my ear. How life will be changed, how dreary the world will be, when papa and you are dead.'
`None can tell, whether you won't die before us,' I replied. `It's wrong to anticipate evil. We'll hope there are years and years to come before any of us go: master is young, and I am strong, and hardly forty-five. My mother lived till eighty, a canty dame to the last. And suppose Mr Linton were spared till he saw sixty, that would be more years than you have counted, miss. And would it not be foolish to mourn a calamity above twenty years beforehand?'
`But Aunt Isabella was younger than papa,' she remarked, gazing up with timid hope to seek further consolation.
`Aunt Isabella had not you and me to nurse her,' I replied. `She wasn't as happy as master: she hadn't as much to live for. All you need do, is to wait well on your father, and cheer him by letting him see you cheerful; and avoid giving him anxiety on any subject: mind that, Cathy! I'll not disguise but you might kill him, if you were wild and reckless, and cherished a foolish, fanciful affection for the son of a person who would be glad to have him in his grave; and allowed him to discover that you fretted over the separation he had judged it expedient to make.'
`I fret about nothing on earth except papa's illness,' answered my companion. `I care for nothing in comparison with papa. And I'll never--never--oh, never, while I have my senses, do an act or say a word to vex him. I love him better than myself, Ellen; and I know it by this: I pray every night that I may live after him; because I would rather be miserable than that he should be: that proves I love him better than myself.'
`Good words,' I replied. `But deeds must prove it also; and after he is well, remember you don't forget resolutions formed in the hour of fear.'
As we talked, we neared a door that opened on the road; and my young lady, lightening into sunshine again, climbed up and seated herself on the top of the wall, reaching over to gather some hips that bloomed scarlet on the summit branches of the wild rose trees, shadowing the highway side: the lower fruit had disappeared, but only birds could touch the upper, except from Cathy's present station. In stretching to pull them, her hat fell off; and as the door was locked, she proposed scrambling down to recover it. I bid her be cautious lest she got a fall, and she nimbly disappeared. But the return was no such easy matter: the stones were smooth and neatly cemented, and the rose-bushes and blackberry stragglers could yield no assistance in re-ascending. I, like a fool, didn't recollect that, till I heard her laughing and exclaiming:
`Ellen, you'll have to fetch the key, or else I must run round to the porter's lodge. I can't scale the ramparts on this side!'
`Stay where you are,' I answered, `I have my bundle of keys in my pocket: perhaps I may manage to open it; if not I'll go.'
Catherine amused herself with dancing to and fro before the door, while I tried all the large keys in succession. I had applied the last, and found that none would do; so, repeating my desire that she would remain there, I was about to hurry home as fast as I could, when an approaching sound arrested me. It was the trot of a horse; Cathy's dance stopped, and in a minute the horse stopped also.
`Who is that?' I whispered.
`Ellen, I wish you could open the door,' whispered back my companion anxiously.
`Ho, Miss Linton!' cried a deep voice (the rider's), `I'm glad to meet you. Don't be in haste to enter, for I have an explanation to ask and obtain.'
`I shan't speak to you, Mr Heathcliff,' answered Catherine. `Papa says you are a wicked man, and you hate both him and me; and Ellen says the same.'
`That is nothing to the purpose,' said Heathcliff. (He it was.) `I don't hate my son, I suppose; and it is concerning him that I demand your attention. Yes; you have cause to blush. Two or three months since, were you not in the habit of writing to Linton? making love in play, eh? You deserved, both of you, flogging for that! You especially, the elder; and less sensitive, as it turns out. I've got your letters, and if you give me any pertness I'll send them to your father. I presume you grew weary of the amusement and dropped it, didn't you? Well, you dropped Linton with it into a slough of despond. He was in earnest: in love, really. As true as I live, he's dying for you; breaking his heart at your fickleness: not figuratively, but actually. Though Hareton has made him a standing jest for six weeks, and I have used more serious measures, and attempted to frighten him out of his idiotcy, he gets worse daily; and he'll be under the sod before summer, unless you restore him!'
`How can you lie so glaringly to the poor child?' I called from the inside. `Pray ride on! How can you deliberately get up such paltry falsehoods? Miss Cathy, I'll knock the lock off with a stone: you won't believe that vile nonsense. You can feel in yourself, it is impossible that a person should die for love of a stranger.'
`I was not aware there were eavesdroppers,' muttered the detected villain. `Worthy Mrs Dean, I like you, but I don't like your double-dealing,' he added aloud. `How could you lie so glaringly, as to affirm I hated the ``poor child''? and invent bugbear stories to terrify her from my doorstones? Catherine Linton (the very name warms me), my bonnie lass, I shall be from home all this week; go and see if I have not spoken truth: do, there's a darling! Just imagine your father in my place, and Linton in yours; then think how you would value your careless lover if he refused to stir a step to comfort you, when your father himself entreated him; and don't, from pure stupidity, fall into the same error. I swear, on my salvation, he's going to his grave, and none but you can save him!'
The lock gave way and I issued out.
`I swear Linton is dying,' repeated Heathcliff, looking hard at me. `And grief and disappointment are hastening his death. Nelly, if you won't let her go, you can walk over yourself. But I shall not return till this time next week; and I think your master himself would scarcely object to her visiting her cousin!'
`Come in,' said I, taking Cathy by the arm and half-forcing her to re-enter; for she lingered, viewing with troubled eyes the features of the speaker, too stern to express his inward deceit.
He pushed his horse close, and, bending down, observed:
`Miss Catherine, I'll owe to you that I have little patience with Linton; and Hareton and Joseph have less. I'll own that he's with a harsh set. He pines for kindness, as well as love; and a kind word from you would be his best medicine. Don't mind Mrs Dean's cruel cautions; but be generous, and contrive to see him. He dreams of you day and night, and cannot be persuaded that you don't hate him, since you neither write nor call.'
I closed the door, and rolled a stone to assist the loosened lock in holding it; and spreading my umbrella, I drew my charge underneath: for the rain began to drive through the moaning branches of the trees, and warned us to avoid delay. Our hurry prevented any comment on the encounter with Heathcliff, as we stretched towards home; but I divined instinctively that Catherine's heart was clouded now in double darkness. Her features were so sad, they did not seem hers: she evidently regarded what she had heard as every syllable true.
The master had retired to rest before we came in. Cathy stole to his room to inquire how he was; he had fallen asleep. She returned, and asked me to sit with her in the library. We took our tea together; and afterwards she lay down on the rug, and told me not to talk, for she was weary. I got a book, and pretended to read. As soon as she supposed me absorbed in my occupation, she recommenced her silent weeping: it appeared, at present, her favourite diversion. I suffered her to enjoy it a while; then I expostulated: deriding and ridiculing all Mr Heathcliff's assertions about his son, as if I were certain she would coincide. Alas! I hadn't skill to counteract the effect his account had produced: it was just what he intended.
`You may be right, Ellen,' she answered; `but I shall never feel at ease till I know. And I must tell Linton it is not my fault that I don't write, and convince him that I shall not change.'
What use were anger and protestations against her silly credulity? We parted that night--hostile; but next day beheld me on the road to Wuthering Heights, by the side of my wilful young mistress's pony. I couldn't bear to witness her sorrow: to see her pale dejected countenance, and heavy eyes; and I yielded, in the faint hope that Linton himself might prove, by his reception of us, how little of the tale was founded on fact.
夏天结束了，已是早秋天气，已经过了秋节，但是那年收成晚，我们的田有些还没有清除完毕。林惇先生和他的女儿常常走到收割者中间去，在搬运最后几捆时，他们都逗留到黄昏，正碰上夜晚的寒冷和潮湿，我的主人患了重感冒。这感冒顽强地滞留在他的肺部，使他整个一冬都待在家里，几乎没有出过一次门。
可怜的凯蒂，她那段小小的风流韵事使她受了惊，事过后，就变得相当闷闷不乐了，她的父亲坚持要她少读点书，多运动些。她再也没法找他作伴了；我以为我有责任尽量弥补这个缺陷，然而我这个代替者也无济于事。因为我只能从我无数的日常工作中挤出两三个小时来跟着她，于是我这陪伴显然没有他那样可人意了。
十月的一个下午，或者是十一月初吧——一个清新欲雨的下午，落在草皮与小径上的潮湿的枯叶簌簌地发出响声，寒冷的蓝天有一半被云遮住了——深灰色的流云从西边迅速地升起，预报着大雨即将来临——我请求我的小姐取消她的散步，因为我看准要下大雨。她不肯，我无可奈何只好穿上一件外套，并且拿了我的伞，陪她溜达到园林深处去：这是碰上她情绪低落时爱走的一条路——当埃德加先生比平时病得厉害些时她一定这样，他自己从来没承认过他的病势加重，可凯蒂和我却可以从他脸上比以前更沉默、忧郁的神色上猜出来。她郁郁不快地往前走着，现在也不跑不跳了，虽然这冷风满可以引诱她跑跑，而且时不时地我可以从眼角里瞅见她把一只手抬起来，从她脸上揩掉什么。我向四下里呆望着，想办法岔开她的思想。路的一旁是一条不平坦的高坡，榛树和短小的橡树半露着根，不稳地竖在那里；这土质对于橡树来说是太松了，而强烈的风把有些树都吹得几乎要和地面平行了。在夏天，凯瑟琳小姐喜欢爬上这些树干，坐在离地两丈高的树枝上摇摆；我每一次看见她爬得那么高时，虽然很喜欢看她的活泼，也喜欢她那颗轻松的童心，然而我还是觉得该骂骂她，可是听着我这样骂，她也知道并没有下来的必要。从午饭后到吃茶时，她就躺在她那被微风摇动着的摇篮里，什么事也不作，只唱些古老的歌——我唱的催眠曲——给她自己听；或是看和她一同栖在枝头上的那些鸟喂哺它们的小雏，引它们飞起来；或是闭着眼睛舒舒服服地靠着，一半在思索，一半在作梦，快乐得无法形容。
“瞧，小姐！”我叫道，指着一棵扭曲的树根下面的一个凹洞。“冬天还没有来这里哩。那边有一朵小花，七月里跟紫丁香一起布满在那些草皮台阶的蓝钟花就剩这一朵啦。你要不要爬上去，把它摘下来给爸爸看？”
凯蒂向着这朵在土洞中颤抖着的孤寂的花呆望了很久，最后回答——“不，我不要碰它：它看着很忧郁呢，是不是，艾伦？”
“是的，”我说，“就跟你一样的又瘦又干。你的脸上都没血色了。让我们拉着手跑吧。你这样无精打采，我敢说我要赶得上你了。”
“不，”她又说，继续向前闲荡着，间或停下来，望着一点青苔，或一丛变白的草，或是在棕黄色的成堆的叶子中间散布着鲜艳的橘黄色的菌沉思着，时不时地，她的手总是抬起到她那扭转过去的脸上去。
“凯瑟琳，你干吗哭呀，宝贝儿？”我问，走上前，搂着她的肩膀。“你千万不要因为爸爸受了凉就哭起来；放心吧，那不是什么重病。”
她现在不再抑制她的眼泪，抽泣起来了。
“啊，要变成重病的，”她说。“等到爸爸和你都离开了我，剩我自己一个人的时候，那我怎么办呢？我不能忘记你的话，艾伦；这些话总在我的耳朵里响着。等到爸爸和你都死了，生活将要有怎样的改变，世界将变得多么凄凉啊。”
“没有人能说你会不会死在我们前头，”我回答。“预测不祥是不对的。我们要希望在我们任何人死去之前还有好多好多年要过：主人还年轻，我也还强壮，还不到四十五岁。我母亲活到八十，直到最后还是个活泼的女人。假定林惇先生能活到六十，小姐，那比你活过的年纪还多得多呢。把一个灾难提前二十年来哀悼不是很愚蠢的吗？”
“可是伊莎贝拉姑姑比爸爸还年轻哩，”她说，抬头凝视着，胆怯地盼望能得到更进一步的安慰。
“伊莎贝拉姑姑没有你和我来照应她，”我回答。“她没有主人那样幸福，她也不像他那样生活得有意义。你所需要做的是好好侍候你父亲，让他看见你高兴，尽量避免让他着急，记住，凯蒂！如果你轻狂胡来，竟然对一个但愿他早进坟墓的人的儿子怀着愚蠢的空想的感情，如果他断定你们应该分开，却发现你还在为这事烦恼的话，那我可不骗你，你是会气死他的。”
“在世上除了爸爸的病，什么事也不会使我烦恼，”我的同伴回答。“和爸爸比起来，别的什么事我都不关心。而且我永远不——永远不——啊，在我还有知觉时，我永远不会作一件事或说一个字使他烦恼。我爱他胜过爱我自己，艾伦；这是我从下面这件事知道的：每天晚上我祈求上帝让我比他晚死：因为我宁可自己不幸，也不愿意他不幸。这就证明我爱他胜过爱我自己。”
“说得好，”我回答，“可是也必须用行为来证明。等他病好之后，记住，不要忘了你在担忧受怕时所下的决心。”
在我们谈话时我们走近了一个通向大路的门；我的小姐因为又走到阳光里而轻松起来，爬上墙，坐在墙头上，想摘点那隐蔽在大道边的野蔷薇树顶上所结的一些猩红的果实。长在树下面一点的果子已经不见了，可是除了从凯蒂现在的位置以外，只有鸟儿才能摸得到那高处的果子。她伸手去扯这些果子时，帽子掉了。由于门是锁住的，她就打算爬下去拾。我叫她小心点，不然她就要跌下去，她很灵敏地无影无踪。然而回来可不是这么容易的事。石头光滑，平整地涂了水泥，而那些蔷薇丛和黑莓的蔓枝也经不起攀登。我像个*似的，直等到我听她笑着叫着才明白过来——“艾伦！你得拿钥匙去啦，不然我非得绕道跑到守门人住的地方不可。我从这边爬不上围墙哩！”
“你就在那儿待着，”我回答，“我口袋里带着我那串钥匙。
也许我可以想法打开；要不然我就去拿。”
我把所有的大钥匙一个一个地试着的时候，凯瑟琳就在门外跳来跳去的自己玩。我试了最后一个，发现一个也不行，因此，我就又嘱咐她待在那儿。我正想尽快赶回家，这时候有一个走近了的声音把我留住了。那是马蹄的疾走声，凯蒂的蹦蹦跳跳也停了下来。
“那是谁？”我低声说。
“艾伦，希望你能开这个门，”我的同伴焦急地小声回话。
“喂，林惇小姐！”一个深沉的嗓门（骑马人的声音）说，“我很高兴遇见你。别忙进去，因为我要求你解释一下。”
“我不要跟你说话，希刺克厉夫先生，”凯瑟琳回答。“爸爸说你是一个恶毒的人，你恨他也恨我；艾伦也是这么说的。”
“那跟这毫无关系，”希刺克厉夫（正是他）说，“我以为我并不恨我的儿子，我请求你注意的是关于他的事。是的，你有理由脸红。两三个月以前，你不是还有给林惇写信的习惯吗？玩弄爱情，呃？你们两个都该挨顿鞭子抽！特别是你，年纪大些，结果还是你比他无情。我收着你的信，如果你对我有任何无礼的行为，我就把这些信寄给你父亲。我猜你是闹着玩的，玩腻了就丢开啦，是不是？好呀，你把林惇和这样的消遣一起丢入了‘绝望的深渊’啦。而他却是诚心诚意的爱上了，真的。就跟我现在活着一样的真实，他为了你都快死啦，因为你的三心二意而心碎啦：我这不是在打比方，是实际上如此。尽管哈里顿已讥笑了他六个星期了，我又采用了更严重的措施，企图把他的痴情吓走，但他还是一天比一天糟；到不了夏天，他就要入土啦，除非你能挽救他！”
“你怎么能对这可怜的孩子这么明目张胆地撒谎？”我从里面喊着。“请你骑马走吧！你怎么能故意编造出这么卑鄙的谎话？凯蒂小姐，我要用石头把这锁敲下来啦：你可别听那下流的瞎话。你自己也会想到一个人为爱上一个陌生人而死去是不可能的。”
“我还不知道有偷听的人哩，”这被发觉了的流氓咕噜着。
“尊贵的丁太太，我喜欢你，可是我不喜欢你的两面三刀，”他又大声说。“你怎么能这样明目张胆地说谎，肯定我恨这个‘可怜的孩子’？而且造出离奇的故事吓唬她不敢上我的门？凯瑟琳·林惇（就是这名字都使我感到温暖），我的好姑娘，今后这一个礼拜我都不在家；去瞧瞧我是不是说实话吧：去吧，那才是乖宝贝儿！只要想象你父亲处在我的地位，林惇处在你的地位；那么想想当你的父亲他亲自来请求你的爱人来的时候，而你的爱人竟不肯走一步来安慰你，那你将如何看待你这薄情的爱人呢。可不要出于纯粹的愚蠢，陷入那样的错误中去吧。我以救世主起誓，他要进坟墓了，除了你，没有别人能救他！”
锁打开了，我冲出去。
“我发誓林惇快死了，”希刺克厉夫重复着，无情地望着我。“悲哀和失望催他早死。耐莉，如果你不让她去，你自己可以走去看看。而我要到下个礼拜这个时候才回来；我想你主人他自己也不见得会反对林惇小姐去看她的表弟吧。”
“进来吧，”我说，拉着凯蒂的胳臂，一半强拉她进来；因为她还逗留着，以烦恼的目光望着这说话人的脸，那脸色太严肃，没法显示出他内在的阴险。
他把他的马拉近前来，弯下腰，又说——
“凯瑟琳小姐，我要向你承认我对林惇简直没有什么耐心啦，哈里顿和约瑟夫的忍耐心比我还少。我承认他是和一群粗暴的人在一起。他渴望着和善，还有爱情；从你嘴里说出一句和气的话就会是他最好的良药。别管丁太太那些残酷的警告，宽宏大量些，想法去看看他吧。他日日夜夜地梦着你，而且没法相信你并不恨他，因为你既不写信，又不去看他。”
我关上了门，推过一个石头来把门顶住，因为锁已被敲开。我撑开我的伞，把我保护的人拉在伞底下，雨开始穿过那悲叹着的树枝间降了下来，警告我们不能再耽搁了。在我们往家跑时，急急匆匆地，也顾不上谈论刚才遇见希刺克厉夫的事。可是我本能地看透了凯瑟琳的心如今已布满了双重的暗云。她的脸是这么悲哀，都不像她的脸了；她显然以为她所听到的话，字字句句是千真万确的。
在我们进来之前，主人已经休息去了。凯蒂悄悄地到他房里去看看他，他已经睡着了。她回来，要我陪她在书房里坐着。我们一块吃茶；这以后她躺在地毯上，叫我不要说话，因为她累了，我拿了一本书，假装在看。等到她以为我是专心看书时，她就开始了她那无声的抽泣。当时，那仿佛是她最喜爱的解闷法。我让她自我享受了一阵，然后就去规劝她了：对于希刺克厉夫所说的关于他儿子的一切我尽情地嘲笑了一番，好像我肯定她也会赞同的。唉！我却没有本事把他的话所产生的效果取消；而那正是他的打算。
“你也许对，艾伦，”她回答，“可是在我知道真相以前我就永远不会安心的。我必须告诉林惇，我不写信不是我的错，我要让他知道我是不会变心的。”
对于她那样痴心的轻信，愤怒和*又有什么用呢？那天晚上我们不欢而散；可第二天我又在执拗的年轻女主人的小马旁边朝着呼啸山庄的路走着。我不忍看着她难受，不忍看着她那苍白的哭泣的脸和忧郁的眼睛：我屈服了，怀着微弱的希望，只求林惇能够以他对我们的接待来证明希刺克厉夫的故事是杜撰的。
