CHAPTER XVI
About twelve o'clock that night was born the Catherine you saw atWuthering Heights: a puny, seven-months' child; and two hours after themother died, having never recovered sufficient consciousness to missHeathcliff, or know Edgar. The latter's distraction at his bereavementis a subject too painful to be dwelt on; its after-effects showed howdeep the sorrow sunk. A great addition, in my eyes, was his being leftwithout an heir. I bemoaned that, as I gazed on the feeble orphan; and Imentally abused old Linton for (what was only natural partiality) thesecuring his estate to his own daughter, instead of his son's. Anunwelcomed infant it was, poor thing! It might have wailed out of life,and nobody cared a morsel, during those first hours of existence. Weredeemed the neglect afterwards; but its beginning was as friendless asits end is likely to be.
Next morning--bright and cheerful out of doors--stole softened in throughthe blinds of the silent room, and suffused the couch and its occupantwith a mellow, tender glow. Edgar Linton had his head laid on thepillow, and his eyes shut. His young and fair features were almost asdeathlike as those of the form beside him, and almost as fixed: but _his_was the hush of exhausted anguish, and _hers_ of perfect peace. Her browsmooth, her lids closed, her lips wearing the expression of a smile; noangel in heaven could be more beautiful than she appeared. And I partookof the infinite calm in which she lay: my mind was never in a holierframe than while I gazed on that untroubled image of Divine rest. Iinstinctively echoed the words she had uttered a few hours before:'Incomparably beyond and above us all! Whether still on earth or now inheaven, her spirit is at home with God!'
I don't know if it be a peculiarity in me, but I am seldom otherwise thanhappy while watching in the chamber of death, should no frenzied ordespairing mourner share the duty with me. I see a repose that neitherearth nor hell can break, and I feel an assurance of the endless andshadowless hereafter--the Eternity they have entered--where life isboundless in its duration, and love in its sympathy, and joy in itsfulness. I noticed on that occasion how much selfishness there is evenin a love like Mr. Linton's, when he so regretted Catherine's blessedrelease! To be sure, one might have doubted, after the wayward andimpatient existence she had led, whether she merited a haven of peace atlast. One might doubt in seasons of cold reflection; but not then, inthe presence of her corpse. It asserted its own tranquillity, whichseemed a pledge of equal quiet to its former inhabitant.
Do you believe such people are happy in the other world, sir? I'd give agreat deal to know.
I declined answering Mrs. Dean's question, which struck me as somethingheterodox. She proceeded:
Retracing the course of Catherine Linton, I fear we have no right tothink she is; but we'll leave her with her Maker.
The master looked asleep, and I ventured soon after sunrise to quit theroom and steal out to the pure refreshing air. The servants thought megone to shake off the drowsiness of my protracted watch; in reality, mychief motive was seeing Mr. Heathcliff. If he had remained among thelarches all night, he would have heard nothing of the stir at the Grange;unless, perhaps, he might catch the gallop of the messenger going toGimmerton. If he had come nearer, he would probably be aware, from thelights flitting to and fro, and the opening and shutting of the outerdoors, that all was not right within. I wished, yet feared, to find him.I felt the terrible news must be told, and I longed to get it over; buthow to do it I did not know. He was there--at least, a few yards furtherin the park; leant against an old ash-tree, his hat off, and his hairsoaked with the dew that had gathered on the budded branches, and fellpattering round him. He had been standing a long time in that position,for I saw a pair of ousels passing and repassing scarcely three feet fromhim, busy in building their nest, and regarding his proximity no morethan that of a piece of timber. They flew off at my approach, and heraised his eyes and spoke:--'She's dead!' he said; 'I've not waited foryou to learn that. Put your handkerchief away--don't snivel before me.Damn you all! she wants none of your tears!'
I was weeping as much for him as her: we do sometimes pity creatures thathave none of the feeling either for themselves or others. When I firstlooked into his face, I perceived that he had got intelligence of thecatastrophe; and a foolish notion struck me that his heart was quelledand he prayed, because his lips moved and his gaze was bent on theground.
'Yes, she's dead!' I answered, checking my sobs and drying my cheeks.'Gone to heaven, I hope; where we may, every one, join her, if we takedue warning and leave our evil ways to follow good!'
'Did _she_ take due warning, then?' asked Heathcliff, attempting a sneer.'Did she die like a saint? Come, give me a true history of the event.How did--?'
He endeavoured to pronounce the name, but could not manage it; andcompressing his mouth he held a silent combat with his inward agony,defying, meanwhile, my sympathy with an unflinching, ferocious stare.'How did she die?' he resumed, at last--fain, notwithstanding hishardihood, to have a support behind him; for, after the struggle, hetrembled, in spite of himself, to his very finger-ends.
'Poor wretch!' I thought; 'you have a heart and nerves the same as yourbrother men! Why should you be anxious to conceal them? Your pridecannot blind God! You tempt him to wring them, till he forces a cry ofhumiliation.'
'Quietly as a lamb!' I answered, aloud. 'She drew a sigh, and stretchedherself, like a child reviving, and sinking again to sleep; and fiveminutes after I felt one little pulse at her heart, and nothing more!'
'And--did she ever mention me?' he asked, hesitating, as if he dreadedthe answer to his question would introduce details that he could not bearto hear.
'Her senses never returned: she recognised nobody from the time you lefther,' I said. 'She lies with a sweet smile on her face; and her latestideas wandered back to pleasant early days. Her life closed in a gentledream--may she wake as kindly in the other world!'
'May she wake in torment!' he cried, with frightful vehemence, stampinghis foot, and groaning in a sudden paroxysm of ungovernable passion.'Why, she's a liar to the end! Where is she? Not _there_--not inheaven--not perished--where? Oh! you said you cared nothing for mysufferings! And I pray one prayer--I repeat it till my tonguestiffens--Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living;you said I killed you--haunt me, then! The murdered _do_ haunt theirmurderers, I believe. I know that ghosts _have_ wandered on earth. Bewith me always--take any form--drive me mad! only _do_ not leave me inthis abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I_cannot_ live without my life! I _cannot_ live without my soul!'
He dashed his head against the knotted trunk; and, lifting up his eyes,howled, not like a man, but like a savage beast being goaded to deathwith knives and spears. I observed several splashes of blood about thebark of the tree, and his hand and forehead were both stained; probablythe scene I witnessed was a repetition of others acted during the night.It hardly moved my compassion--it appalled me: still, I felt reluctant toquit him so. But the moment he recollected himself enough to notice mewatching, he thundered a command for me to go, and I obeyed. He wasbeyond my skill to quiet or console!
Mrs. Linton's funeral was appointed to take place on the Friday followingher decease; and till then her coffin remained uncovered, and strewn withflowers and scented leaves, in the great drawing-room. Linton spent hisdays and nights there, a sleepless guardian; and--a circumstanceconcealed from all but me--Heathcliff spent his nights, at least,outside, equally a stranger to repose. I held no communication with him:still, I was conscious of his design to enter, if he could; and on theTuesday, a little after dark, when my master, from sheer fatigue, hadbeen compelled to retire a couple of hours, I went and opened one of thewindows; moved by his perseverance to give him a chance of bestowing onthe faded image of his idol one final adieu. He did not omit to availhimself of the opportunity, cautiously and briefly; too cautiously tobetray his presence by the slightest noise. Indeed, I shouldn't havediscovered that he had been there, except for the disarrangement of thedrapery about the corpse's face, and for observing on the floor a curl oflight hair, fastened with a silver thread; which, on examination, Iascertained to have been taken from a locket hung round Catherine's neck.Heathcliff had opened the trinket and cast out its contents, replacingthem by a black lock of his own. I twisted the two, and enclosed themtogether.
Mr. Earnshaw was, of course, invited to attend the remains of his sisterto the grave; he sent no excuse, but he never came; so that, besides herhusband, the mourners were wholly composed of tenants and servants.Isabella was not asked.
The place of Catherine's interment, to the surprise of the villagers, wasneither in the chapel under the carved monument of the Lintons, nor yetby the tombs of her own relations, outside. It was dug on a green slopein a corner of the kirk-yard, where the wall is so low that heath andbilberry-plants have climbed over it from the moor; and peat-mould almostburies it. Her husband lies in the same spot now; and they have each asimple headstone above, and a plain grey block at their feet, to mark thegraves.