Wuthering Heights

Chapter 27

Miss Cathy knew nothing about evil, all she knew was her own small faults, such as disobedience, injustice, temper tantrums, etc., caused by irascible temper and thoughtlessness, etc., and she knew it on the same day. Therefore, I was really surprised to hear that people can have such a black heart, thinking about revenge year after year but keeping a calm face, and when they plan to carry out poisonous schemes without any hesitation or remorse, they are really surprised.This new knowledge of human nature impressed her deeply and terrified her.So far, this is something she has never heard of or thought about.Mr. Edgar therefore felt that it was unnecessary to dwell on the subject, and he simply added this sentence:

"From now on you will understand, my dear, why I wish you to keep away from his home and family. Now, go about your usual business and play, and forget about them!"

Catherine kissed her father, and sat down quietly to read her lessons, the usual two hours.Then she walked with him outside, and the day passed as usual.But at night, when she went to her room and I went to help her undress, I found her kneeling by the bed, crying.

"Oh, come on, silly boy!" I cried. "If you were really sad, you would feel what a disgrace it was to waste your tears on such a small inconsistency. True sorrow, the shadow of which you have never been near, Miss Catherine. Let the master and I die Now, you are all alone in this world, how will you feel at that time? Compare today's events with that pain, and you will be grateful for having such friends, and you will no longer be greedy."

"I'm not crying for myself, Ellen," she answered, "I'm crying for him. He's expecting me to go again tomorrow, but he's going to be disappointed. He'll be waiting for me and I won't be able to." !"

"Nonsense!" I said. "Do you think he thinks of you the same way? Hasn't Hareton come to keep him company? There is no one in a hundred who sees his relatives twice because of loss, and cries after seeing his relatives for two afternoons." Linton will guess what's going on, and won't bother you any more."

"But can I write a short message and tell him why I can't go?" she asked, standing up. "Just send these books, which I promised to lend him. His books are not as good as mine, and I tell him how interesting mine are, and he wants to read them. May I, Ellen?"

"No, really, no, really!" I replied decisively. "That way he'll write to you again, and write on and on. No, Miss Catherine, the correspondence must be cut off entirely. It's what Papa wants, and I'll see it come to fruition."

"But what can a little note do—" she said again, with a begging look.

"Quiet!" I interrupted her. "Let's not talk about your little note, go to bed."

She gave me such a naughty look that I didn't even want to kiss her goodbye at first.I covered her with a quilt and closed the door, feeling really annoyed.But I regretted halfway, I turned back gently, wow!The young lady was standing by the table with a small piece of white paper spread out in front of her and a pencil in her hand. When she saw me entering the room again, she secretly hid it.

"There's no letter for you, Catherine," I said. "It's no use if you write it. I'll have to put out the candle for you now."

I slapped my hand as I slipped the candle hat over the flame, and heard an angry "Bad thing!" How perverse and violent.

The letter was written, and it was delivered to the destination by a villager who came to fetch milk, but I was kept in the dark, and I only found out later.As the weeks passed, Kathy regained her composure, though she began to develop a strange tendency to hide in corners by herself, and often when she was reading, she would startle suddenly if I approached suddenly, Then I leaned over the book, obviously trying to cover what I was reading, but I could see that there were loose paper edges protruding from the middle of the pages.

She also had a trick of coming downstairs early in the morning and wandering around the kitchen as if waiting for something to arrive.She had a small drawer in a cabinet in the study, which she would rummage through for hours, and when she went away, she always took the key out with great care.

One day, when she was looking through the drawer.I saw the toys and odds and ends that had been packed lately turned into folded pages.

Curiosity and suspicion arose in me, and I resolved to take a peek at her mysterious treasure.So at night, once she and my master were safely upstairs, I searched for my house keys, and found one without difficulty which opened the lock.The drawer was opened, and I dumped its contents on my apron, and carried it to my own bedroom, where I calmed down to examine it.

Although I had been suspicious for a long time, I was really surprised to find such a large number of letters in it, almost one a day, from Linton Heathcliff, and must be replying to her past ones. letter.The first few letters were stiff and short, but gradually they developed into eloquent love letters, and the letters seemed silly, which is natural at the age of the writer, but here and there are also ambiguous. Occasionally some strokes, I think, are indebted to a more experienced source.

Some of the letters shocked me, they were just a weird mixture of passion and blandness, beginning with strong emotion and ending with clichés, exactly the style of a schoolboy writing to the ethereal lover of his fantasies .

Whether they please Cathy, I don't know, but they look like worthless rubbish to me.

I flipped through each envelope until I had read enough, then wrapped it up in a handkerchief, set it aside, and relocked the empty drawer.

My young lady came downstairs early into the kitchen, as was her usual habit.I watched her walk to the door when a little boy happened to arrive.When the milkmaid filled his jug with milk, she stuffed something into his coat pocket and pulled out something.

I went around the garden and intercepted the messenger.He defended his secret so valiantly that the milk was spilled among us, but I finally got the letter and warned him that there would be serious consequences if he didn't go back quickly.Under the great wall, I read Miss Cathy's passionate and excellent book.She writes more simply and fluently than her cousin.Very nice, very silly.

I shook my head and walked into the room full of worries.It was a wet day, and she could not walk in the garden to amuse herself, so, after her morning lessons were done, she sought comfort in a drawer.Her father was sitting at the table reading, and I was looking for some work to untangle the tangled tassels on the curtains, watching her every move.

She just cried out "Oh!" The despair in the pain and trembling, even though the bird flew back full of childish chirping and joy, is now swept away, it is not so sad, In this way, her cheerful expression suddenly changed.Mr. Linton looked up.

"What's the matter, dear? You hurt yourself?" he said.

His tone and expression convinced her that he was not the excavator of that batch of treasures.

"No, Daddy—" she gasped. "Alan! Alan! Go upstairs, I'm sick!"

I obey her call.walked out with her;
"Oh, Ellen! You've got me," as soon as it was just the two of us in the room.She knelt on the ground and spoke. "Oh, give me the letter, I'll never write it again! Don't tell Papa, you didn't tell Papa, Ellen, tell me you didn't! I'm so shameless, but I won't do it again!"

I very seriously told her to stand up Song.

"So," I exclaimed, "Miss Catherine, it looks like you've come far enough that you should be ashamed of it! You've got such a lot of good stuff to read in your spare time, huh. Print them out." Come out! What do you think the master will think if I spread them out in front of him? I haven't shown him yet, but don't you think I'm going to keep these ridiculous secrets for you, shame! It must be you To be the first to write this stupid stuff, I guarantee he won't think of it."

"I didn't! I didn't!" sobbed Cathy, heartbroken. "I never thought of loving him until"

"Love!" I roared, uttering the word in a snort. "Love! But somebody's heard of it! I might as well talk a little bit about love to the miller who comes to buy our corn once a year. What a love, indeed, two times together, you'll never lose your life." I haven't seen Linton four hours! It's a child's trick. I'll take it to the study, and we'll see what your father has to say about such love."

She pounces on her precious letters, but I hold them above my head.Then she poured out a torrent of frantic pleas, begging me to burn them, anything but not to show them.I really wanted to scold her and laugh at the same time, because in my opinion, this is completely a girl's vanity, so I finally softened my heart and asked:

"If I agree to burn them, you may promise me honestly that you will not send or receive letters, or borrow and return books, because I saw you send him books, and you will not exchange a lock of hair, a ring, and Toys or something?"

"We don't send toys!" Catherine cried, her pride overshadowing her shame.

"Then don't give me anything, my daughter!" I said. "Unless you agree, I'm leaving now."

"I promise, Ellen!" she yelled, grabbing my clothes. "Oh, throw them in the fire, woman, throw them!"

But when I poked a spot with the pokers, the sacrifice was too painful for her to bear.She earnestly begged me to leave her a letter or two.

"One or two, Alan, keep as a memory of Linton.

I unwrapped the handkerchief, grabbed a corner and started dumping them out, the flames rolling up and down the chimney.

"I'll leave one, you cruel wretch!" she screamed, throwing her hand into the fire and snatching out some half-burnt papers, not caring about the burning pain in her fingers.

"Okay, I'm going to save some for your dad!" I replied, shaking the rest of the letter back into the package, and headed for the door again.

She threw the black paper in her hand into the fire and motioned for me to finish the sacrifice.When the letter was burnt, I stirred up the ashes, took a shovel full of coals and covered it.She went back to her room silently, deeply hurt.I went downstairs to tell the master that the lady was almost recovered from her sudden illness, but I thought it best to let her lie down for a while.

She would not eat lunch, but reappeared at tea time, pale, with red eyes, and strangely docile in appearance.

The next morning I answered the letter of that day with a little note, which said: "Master Heathcliff, please don't write to Miss Linton again, because she won't accept it." .The little boy came with nothing in his pocket.

At the end of summer, in early autumn, Michaelmas Festival (Michaelmas), on September 9, is the memorial day of the Archangel Michaelmas, one of the four major settlement days in the UK.It has passed, but the harvest was late that year, and there are still a few pieces of our fields that have not been cleaned up.

Mr. Linton and his daughter used to go out among the reapers, and they stayed till evening when they were carrying the last sheaves. It so happened that the night was cold and wet, and my master had a bad cold, and the germs Tenaciously entrenched in his lungs, he was locked at home all winter, almost never going out.

Poor Cathy, frightened by her little romance, has been extraordinarily downcast and morose since it was tied up.Her father insisted that she read less and be more active.Dad can no longer come for company, and I feel it is my duty to fill the void to the best of my ability.But I was not successful as a replacement, because I was busy with countless housework every day, and could only squeeze out two or three hours, so my companion was far less popular than others.

In October or early November, a fresh and rainy afternoon, the wet dead leaves rustled on the grass and paths, the cold blue sky was half covered by dark clouds, and the gray streamer quickly rose from the west, The arrival of heavy rain is predicted.I beg my young lady not to go for a walk again, because I see a heavy rain coming.She refused.I reluctantly put on a coat, took my umbrella, and prepared to walk with her to the end of the garden.This was her habitual path in times of depression, and she was always morose whenever Mr. Edgar's discomfort increased, and though Edgar never confessed his illness, neither she nor I His growing silence, and the sad look on his countenance.They can all be guessed.

She walked forward sadly.Now she no longer runs or jumps, although the cold wind can make her sprint.Out of the corner of my eye, I often see her raising a hand to wipe something off her face.

I looked around, trying to find a way to distract her.On one side of the road was a high and rugged slope, on which the hazel and gnarled oaks half bared their roots and looked precarious.The soil is too loose for the oak tree, and under the strong wind, it grows almost horizontally.Miss Catherine was glad to climb these trees in the summer, and sit on a branch, dangling twenty feet from the ground, to see me.Looking at her delicate and light and her childish joy, but still feel that she has climbed so high, she should scold her from time to time.But she is also very clear that there is no need to come down.From lunch to drinking tea, she always lies in this cradle swinging in the breeze, doing nothing but humming old songs by herself. Those are the nursery rhymes I taught her. The birds that live on the same branch, watch how they feed the birds, induce the birds to spread their wings and fly, and then close their eyes and curl up, half thinking, half dreaming, the joy is unspeakable.

"Look, miss!" I cried, pointing to a small hole under the base of a crooked tree. "Winter hasn't come here yet. There used to be a little flower over there, and in July these grassy slopes were densely covered with bluebells, a hazy lavender, and now that's the only one left. Would you like Climb up and take it off and give it to Daddy?"

Cathy stared at this trembling little flower hiding alone in the cave for a long time, and finally replied:

"No, I don't want to touch it. But it looks sad, doesn't it, Ellen?"

"Yes," I said, "it's almost as poor and lifeless as you. You have no blood on your face. Let's run together hand in hand. You are so listless, I dare say I can keep up with you."

"No," she said again, walking on, pausing now and then to look dreamily at a patch of moss, or a tuft of pale dead grass, or a patch of orange-yellow sprawl among the brown leaves. Blossom mushroom.Now and then she raised her hand to the turned face.

"Catherine, why are you crying, darling?" I asked, coming up and putting my arms around her shoulders. "Don't cry because Dad has a cold, thank God, it's not a serious illness."

Now she couldn't hold back her tears anymore, she was so choked up that she couldn't even breathe.

"Oh, it's just going to get worse," she said. "What would I do if Papa and you left me and I was all alone? I can't forget your words, Ellen, they always ring in my ears. If Papa and you are dead, life How much will change, how bleak the world will be."

"But who's to say you won't die before us," I replied. "It's not right to dwell on the dead. We hope that many years and many years will pass before any one of us leaves. The master is young and I am strong. I am not yet 45. My mother lived to be 80." , was a nimble old lady until she died. Even if Mr. Linton could only live to be sixty, miss, he would have more years left than you have lived. Mourning disaster twenty years in advance, it is Isn't it too stupid?"

"But Aunt Isabella is younger than Pa," she said, looking up at me, timidly hoping for more comfort.

"Aunt Isabella doesn't have you and me to look after her," I answered. "She is not as happy as her master. Her life is not as dependent as his. All you have to do is serve your father well, let him see you happy, and he will be happy himself. What Don't make him anxious about anything, remember, Cathy! I don't mean to tell lies, but you'd be mad at him if you were so foolish as to love the son of a man who wished he'd gone to his grave, Let him find out that he cut off your communication rationally, but you are restless because of it."

"Nothing in the world disturbs me but my father's illness," replied my companion. "Compared to Papa. I don't give a shit about anything. I'll never, never, oh. Never, as long as I'm sane, never do a thing that bothers him, say something called His troubled words. I love him more than I love myself, Ellen. I know it because I pray every night that I outlive him. Because I'd rather be in pain than Putting him through the pain—that's proof that I love him more than I love myself."

"Well said," I replied. "But it has to be proved by action. When he recovers, remember not to forget the resolution you made in your panic."

As we walked, we approached a garden gate that opened onto the road.My young lady went out into the sun, relaxed again, climbed up the fence, and sat on top of it, trying to pluck some of the scarlet fruit on the top of the briar tree, which shaded the edge of the road, and the vines on the low branches. The fruit is no longer visible, but the fruit on the high place, except for what Cathy is doing now, only birds can pick it.

(End of this chapter)