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 werestill uncleared. Mr. Linton and his daughter would frequently walkout among the reapers; at the carrying of the last sheaves theystayed till dusk, and the evening happening to be chill and damp,my master caught a bad cold, that settled obstinately on his lungs,and confined him indoors throughout the whole of the winter, nearlywithout intermission.

Poor Cathy, frightened from her little romance, had beenconsiderably sadder and duller since its abandonment; and herfather insisted on her reading less, and taking more exercise. Shehad his companionship no longer; I esteemed it a duty to supply itslack, as much as possible, with mine: an inefficient substitute;for I could only spare two or three hours, from my numerous diurnaloccupations, to follow her footsteps, and then my society wasobviously less desirable than his.

On an afternoon in October, or the beginning of November - a freshwatery 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 bodingabundant rain - I requested my young lady to forego her ramble,because I was certain of showers. She refused; and I unwillinglydonned a cloak, and took my umbrella to accompany her on a strollto the bottom of the park: a formal walk which she generallyaffected if low-spirited - and that she invariably was when Mr.Edgar had been worse than ordinary, a thing never known from hisconfession, but guessed both by her and me from his increasedsilence and the melancholy of his countenance. She went sadly on:there was no running or bounding now, though the chill wind mightwell have tempted her to race. And often, from the side of my eye,I could detect her raising a hand, and brushing something off hercheek. I gazed round for a means of diverting her thoughts. Onone side of the road rose a high, rough bank, where hazels andstunted oaks, with their roots half exposed, held uncertain tenure:the soil was too loose for the latter; and strong winds had blownsome nearly horizontal. In summer Miss Catherine delighted toclimb along these trunks, and sit in the branches, swinging twentyfeet above the ground; and I, pleased with her agility and herlight, childish heart, still considered it proper to scold everytime I caught her at such an elevation, but so that she knew therewas no necessity for descending. From dinner to tea she would liein her breeze-rocked cradle, doing nothing except singing old songs- my nursery lore - to herself, or watching the birds, jointtenants, feed and entice their young ones to fly: or nestling withclosed lids, half thinking, half dreaming, happier than words canexpress.

'Look, Miss!' I exclaimed, pointing to a nook under the roots ofone twisted tree. 'Winter is not here yet. There's a littleflower up yonder, the last bud from the multitude of bluebells thatclouded those turf steps in July with a lilac mist. Will youclamber up, and pluck it to show to papa?' Cathy stared a longtime at the lonely blossom trembling in its earthy shelter, andreplied, at length - 'No, I'll not touch it: but it looksmelancholy, does it not, Ellen?'

'Yes,' I observed, 'about as starved and suckless as you yourcheeks are bloodless; let us take hold of hands and run. You're solow, I daresay I shall keep up with you.'

'No,' she repeated, and continued sauntering on, pausing atintervals to muse over a bit of moss, or a tuft of blanched grass,or a fungus spreading its bright orange among the heaps of brownfoliage; and, ever and anon, her hand was lifted to her avertedface.

'Catherine, why are you crying, love?' I asked, approaching andputting my arm over her shoulder. 'You mustn't cry because papahas a cold; be thankful it is nothing worse.'

She now put no further restraint on her tears; her breath wasstifled by sobs.

'Oh, it will be something worse,' she said. 'And what shall I dowhen papa and you leave me, and I am by myself? I can't forgetyour words, Ellen; they are always in my ear. How life will bechanged, 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'swrong to anticipate evil. We'll hope there are years and years tocome before any of us go: master is young, and I am strong, andhardly forty-five. My mother lived till eighty, a canty dame tothe last. And suppose Mr. Linton I were spared till he saw sixty,that would be more years than you have counted, Miss. And would itnot be foolish to mourn a calamity above twenty years beforehand?'

'But Aunt Isabella was younger than papa,' she remarked, gazing upwith timid hope to seek further consolation.

'Aunt Isabella had not you and me to nurse her,' I replied. 'Shewasn't as happy as Master: she hadn't as much to live for. Allyou need do, is to wait well on your father, and cheer him byletting him see you cheerful; and avoid giving him anxiety on anysubject: mind that, Cathy! I'll not disguise but you might killhim if you were wild and reckless, and cherished a foolish,fanciful affection for the son of a person who would be glad tohave him in his grave; and allowed him to discover that you frettedover the separation he has judged it expedient to make.'

'I fret about nothing on earth except papa's illness,' answered mycompanion. 'I care for nothing in comparison with papa. And I'llnever - never - oh, never, while I have my senses, do an act or saya word to vex him. I love him better than myself, Ellen; and Iknow it by this: I pray every night that I may live after him;because I would rather be miserable than that he should be: thatproves I love him better than myself.'

'Good words,' I replied. 'But deeds must prove it also; and afterhe is well, remember you don't forget resolutions formed in thehour of fear.'

As we talked, we neared a door that opened on the road; and myyoung lady, lightening into sunshine again, climbed up and seatedherself on the top of the wall, reaching over to gather some hipsthat bloomed scarlet on the summit branches of the wild-rose treesshadowing the highway side: the lower fruit had disappeared, butonly birds could touch the upper, except from Cathy's presentstation. In stretching to pull them, her hat fell off; and as thedoor was locked, she proposed scrambling down to recover it. I bidher be cautious lest she got a fall, and she nimbly disappeared.But the return was no such easy matter: the stones were smooth andneatly cemented, and the rose-bushes and black-berry stragglerscould yield no assistance in re-ascending. I, like a fool, didn'trecollect that, till I heard her laughing and exclaiming - 'Ellen!you'll have to fetch the key, or else I must run round to theporter's lodge. I can't scale the ramparts on this side!'

'Stay where you are,' I answered; 'I have my bundle of keys in mypocket: 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 thelast, and found that none would do; so, repeating my desire thatshe would remain there, I was about to hurry home as fast as Icould, when an approaching sound arrested me. It was the trot of ahorse; Cathy's dance stopped also.

'Who is that?' I whispered.

'Ellen, I wish you could open the door,' whispered back mycompanion, anxiously.

'Ho, Miss Linton!' cried a deep voice (the rider's), 'I'm glad tomeet you. Don't be in haste to enter, for I have an explanation toask and obtain.'

'I sha'n't speak to you, Mr. Heathcliff,' answered Catherine.'Papa says you are a wicked man, and you hate both him and me; andEllen 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 Idemand your attention. Yes; you have cause to blush. Two or threemonths since, were you not in the habit of writing to Linton?making love in play, eh? You deserved, both of you, flogging forthat! You especially, the elder; and less sensitive, as it turnsout. I've got your letters, and if you give me any pertness I'llsend them to your father. I presume you grew weary of theamusement and dropped it, didn't you? Well, you dropped Lintonwith 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 heartat your fickleness: not figuratively, but actually. ThoughHareton has made him a standing jest for six weeks, and I have usedmore serious measures, and attempted to frighten him out of hisidiotcy, he gets worse daily; and he'll be under the sod beforesummer, unless you restore him!'

'How can you lie so glaringly to the poor child?' I called from theinside. 'Pray ride on! How can you deliberately get up suchpaltry falsehoods? Miss Cathy, I'll knock the lock off with astone: you won't believe that vile nonsense. You can feel inyourself it is impossible that a person should die for love of astranger.'

'I was not aware there were eavesdroppers,' muttered the detectedvillain. 'Worthy Mrs. Dean, I like you, but I don't like yourdouble-dealing,' he added aloud. 'How could YOU lie so glaringlyas to affirm I hated the "poor child"? and invent bugbear storiesto terrify her from my door-stones? Catherine Linton (the veryname warms me), my bonny lass, I shall be from home all this week;go and see if have not spoken truth: do, there's a darling! Justimagine your father in my place, and Linton in yours; then thinkhow you would value your careless lover if he refused to stir astep to comfort you, when your father himself entreated him; anddon't, from pure stupidity, fall into the same error. I swear, onmy salvation, he's going to his grave, and none but you can savehim!'

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, ifyou won't let her go, you can walk over yourself. But I shall notreturn till this time next week; and I think your master himselfwould scarcely object to her visiting her cousin.'

'Come in,' said I, taking Cathy by the arm and half forcing her tore-enter; for she lingered, viewing with troubled eyes the featuresof the speaker, too stern to express his inward deceit.

He pushed his horse close, and, bending down, observed - 'MissCatherine, I'll own to you that I have little patience with Linton;and Hareton and Joseph have less. I'll own that he's with a harshset. He pines for kindness, as well as love; and a kind word fromyou would be his best medicine. Don't mind Mrs. Dean's cruelcautions; but be generous, and contrive to see him. He dreams ofyou 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 lockin holding it; and spreading my umbrella, I drew my chargeunderneath: for the rain began to drive through the moaningbranches of the trees, and warned us to avoid delay. Our hurryprevented any comment on the encounter with Heathcliff, as westretched towards home; but I divined instinctively thatCatherine's heart was clouded now in double darkness. Her featureswere so sad, they did not seem hers: she evidently regarded whatshe had heard as every syllable true.

The master had retired to rest before we came in. Cathy stole tohis room to inquire how he was; he had fallen asleep. Shereturned, and asked me to sit with her in the library. We took ourtea together; and afterwards she lay down on the rug, and told menot to talk, for she was weary. I got a book, and pretended toread. As soon as she supposed me absorbed in my occupation, sherecommenced her silent weeping: it appeared, at present, herfavourite diversion. I suffered her to enjoy it a while; then Iexpostulated: deriding and ridiculing all Mr. Heathcliff'sassertions about his son, as if I were certain she would coincide.Alas! I hadn't skill to counteract the effect his account hadproduced: it was just what he intended.

'You may be right, Ellen,' she answered; 'but I shall never feel atease till I know. And I must tell Linton it is not my fault that Idon'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 roadto Wuthering Heights, by the side of my wilful young mistress'spony. I couldn't bear to witness her sorrow: to see her pale,dejected countenance, and heavy eyes: and I yielded, in the fainthope that Linton himself might prove, by his reception of us, howlittle of the tale was founded on fact.