Summer was already fading when Edgar finally yielded to their constant requests. Catherine and I set out on our first ride to meet her cousin. It was a muggy, breathless day; the sky was a hazy grey, and although there was no sun, it didn’t look like rain. Our meeting point had been fixed at the guide-stone near the cross-roads. However, when we arrived, a young messenger told us that Master Linton was just on this side of the Heights and would be grateful if we could go a little further to meet him.
"Then Master Linton has already forgotten his uncle’s first rule," I remarked. "He told us to stay on the Grange land, and here we are, leaving it already."
"We’ll just turn back when we reach him," Catherine replied. "The rest of our ride will be towards home."
But when we found him, less than a quarter of a mile from his own door, we saw he had no horse. We were forced to dismount and leave ours to graze on the heath. Linton was lying in the grass, and he didn't even stand up until we were only a few yards away. He walked so feebly and looked so deathly pale that I couldn’t help but exclaim, "Master Heathcliff, you aren't fit for a walk this morning. You look terribly ill!"
Catherine looked at him with a mixture of grief and shock. The joyful greeting on her lips turned into an expression of alarm. Instead of celebrating their long-awaited meeting, she anxiously asked if he felt worse than usual.
"No—better—better!" he panted, his hands trembling. He held onto her hand as if he needed it for support. His large blue eyes wandered timidly over her, their hollow circles giving him a look of haggard wildness.
"But you have been worse," Catherine insisted. "You are thinner, and—"
"I’m just tired," he interrupted hurriedly. "It is too hot for walking; let’s rest here. In the mornings, I often feel sick—my father says I’m growing too fast."
Dissatisfied with his answer, Catherine sat down, and he lay beside her. She tried to be cheerful, reminding him of a conversation they once had about their different ideas of paradise. "This is almost like yours," she said, looking at the soft, mellow clouds. "It’s even nicer than sunshine. Next week, if you’re able, we’ll try mine at the Grange Park."
Linton didn’t seem to remember what she was talking about. He clearly found it difficult to sustain any kind of conversation. His lack of interest was so obvious that Catherine could not hide her disappointment. A strange change had come over him. The childish moodiness she was used to had been replaced by a listless apathy. He no longer acted like a child who wanted to be comforted; instead, he seemed like a bitter invalid who found other people’s cheerfulness insulting.
Catherine soon realized that he found our company a burden rather than a pleasure. When she eventually suggested leaving, however, Linton was suddenly roused from his lethargy. He looked fearfully towards Wuthering Heights, begging her to stay for at least another half-hour.
"But you would be more comfortable at home," Catherine said. "I can’t seem to entertain you today with my stories and songs. You’ve grown much more serious than I have these past six months."
"Stay just to rest yourself," he pleaded. "And Catherine, please don't tell anyone I’m very unwell. It’s just the heat that makes me feel dull. Tell my uncle I’m in tolerable health, won't you?"
"I’ll tell him that you say so, Linton. I couldn’t honestly say it myself," she observed, puzzled by his insistence on such an obvious lie.
"And come back next Thursday," he continued, avoiding her gaze. "Give him my thanks for letting you come. And—if you meet my father, don’t let him think I’ve been silent and stupid. Don't look sad, or he’ll be angry."
"I don’t care about his anger," Catherine exclaimed.
"But I do," her cousin whispered, shuddering. "Don't provoke him against me. He is very hard."
"Is he cruel to you, Master Heathcliff?" I asked. "Has he lost his patience with you?"
Linton looked at me but didn't answer. For the next ten minutes, he sat in silence, his head falling sleepily toward his chest. He said nothing, only letting out occasional moans of exhaustion. Catherine began to look for berries nearby, sharing them with me but leaving Linton alone, as she saw that any further attention only annoyed him.
"Is the half-hour up yet, Ellen?" she whispered at last. "He’s asleep, and my father will be expecting us."
"We shouldn't leave him while he’s sleeping," I replied. "Be patient. You were so desperate to see him this morning!"
"Why did he want to see me?" Catherine sighed. "I liked him better when he was in a bad mood than I do now. It’s as if this meeting is a chore he’s been forced to do because he's afraid of his father. I’m glad he says he’s better, but I’m sorry he is so much less affectionate."
"You really think he is better?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "He always used to exaggerate his pain. He isn't well, but he’s likely better than he was."
"I disagree, Miss Catherine," I remarked. "I believe he is far worse."
At that moment, Linton woke up in a state of terror, asking if someone had called his name.
"No," said Catherine. "You must have been dreaming. I don't know how you can sleep out here."
"I thought I heard my father," he gasped, glancing nervously at the dark hill above us. "Are you sure nobody spoke?"
"Quite sure," she replied. "We were only debating your health. Are you truly stronger than you were in the winter, Linton? Because your feelings for me certainly aren't."
Tears filled Linton’s eyes. "Yes, yes, I am!" he cried. Still shaken by the imaginary voice, he looked around frantically to see if his father was watching.
Catherine stood up. "We must go now. I won’t hide the fact that I’ve been disappointed by this meeting, though I’ll only mention it to you."
"Hush!" Linton whispered, clinging to her arm. "For God’s sake, be quiet! He’s coming."
Terrified by the prospect of meeting Heathcliff, Catherine quickly broke free and mounted her horse. "I’ll be here next Thursday!" she called out. "Goodbye. Quick, Ellen!"
We left him there, so absorbed in his fear of his father’s approach that he hardly noticed us leaving. On the ride home, Catherine’s annoyance softened into pity and regret. She was filled with uneasy doubts about Linton’s situation, feelings which I shared. When we returned, Edgar asked for an account of our day. Catherine delivered Linton’s thanks but kept the rest of the details vague. I also said very little, for I truly didn’t know which parts of the truth were safe to reveal.