On the following Monday, as Hareton was still unable to return to his usual work, he remained around the house. I quickly realized it would be impossible to keep Catherine by my side as I usually did. She was downstairs before me, joining her cousin in the garden where he was performing some light tasks. By the time I went to call them for breakfast, she had already persuaded him to clear a large area of currant and gooseberry bushes. They were busy planning to bring over new plants from the Grange.
I was horrified by the devastation they had managed in just half an hour. These bushes were the pride of Joseph’s heart, and Catherine had decided to plant a flower bed right in the middle of them.
"Joseph will report this to the master the moment he sees it!" I exclaimed. "How can you take such liberties with the garden? We shall have a terrible explosion because of this. Hareton, I’m surprised you were foolish enough to do this at her request!"
"I forgot they belonged to Joseph," Hareton admitted, looking puzzled. "But I’ll tell him it was my doing."
At breakfast, we always ate with Mr. Heathcliff. As I was responsible for serving the tea, I was essential at the table. Catherine usually sat next to me, but today she moved closer to Hareton. I saw immediately that she intended to be just as indiscreet in her friendship as she had been in her earlier hatred.
"Be careful not to pay him too much attention," I whispered to her. "It will certainly annoy Mr. Heathcliff."
"I won't," she replied. Yet a minute later, she was leaning over to place primroses in Hareton’s porridge. Hareton didn’t dare speak or look at her, but she continued to tease him until he let out a smothered laugh.
Heathcliff started, his eyes scanning our faces. Catherine met his gaze with her usual mix of nervousness and defiance—a look he utterly detested.
"It is lucky for you that you are out of my reach," he remarked. "What demon possesses you to stare at me with those infernal eyes? Look down, and do not remind me of your existence again. I thought I had taught you not to laugh."
"It was me," Hareton muttered, though he kept his eyes on his plate. Heathcliff looked at him for a moment before silently returning to his meal and his private thoughts.
However, the peace was soon broken when Joseph appeared at the door. His face was twisted with fury; he had clearly discovered the damage to his garden. He launched into a bitter complaint, threatening to leave after sixty years of service because Catherine had "stolen his garden" and "bewitched" Hareton.
"Is the fool drunk?" Heathcliff asked. "Hareton, is he complaining about you?"
"I pulled up a few bushes," Hareton replied, "but I’m going to replant them."
"We wanted to plant flowers there," Catherine interrupted boldly. "I am the only one to blame, for I asked him to do it."
"And who gave you permission to touch anything here?" Heathcliff demanded, his surprise turning to anger. "And why," he added, turning to Hareton, "did you obey her?"
Hareton remained silent, but Catherine continued, "You shouldn't grudge me a few yards of earth when you have stolen all my land—and my money, too!"
"Silence!" he shouted. "Finish your meal and leave!"
"And you’ve taken Hareton’s land and money as well," she persisted recklessly. "We are friends now, and I shall tell him everything you’ve done!"
Heathcliff grew pale. He rose from his seat, eyeing her with an expression of pure hatred. "If you strike me, Hareton will strike you back," she said.
"If Hareton does not throw you out of this room, I’ll send him to hell," Heathcliff thundered. He grabbed her by the hair, and for a moment, I feared he would tear her to pieces. Hareton tried to release her, begging his master not to hurt her. Heathcliff’s eyes flashed with rage, but suddenly, his fingers relaxed. He let go of her hair and gazed intensely into her face.
He drew a hand over his eyes, struggling to collect himself. When he spoke again, his voice was unnervingly calm. "You must learn to avoid provoking me, or I shall truly murder you one day. Go with Mrs. Dean, and stay out of my sight. As for Hareton, if I see him listening to you, I’ll turn him into a beggar. Your affection will make him an outcast. Now, leave me! All of you, leave me!"
During Heathcliff’s absence that afternoon, the two friends remained in the house. I heard Hareton sternly stop Catherine when she began to criticize Heathcliff’s past conduct. He insisted that he would not hear a word against the man. He explained that he would stand by Heathcliff regardless of his flaws. Catherine was annoyed at first, but she soon understood that Hareton felt a deep, habitual loyalty that reason could not break. Consequently, she showed a kind heart by avoiding any further complaints about her father-in-law.
As the weeks passed, I felt a deep sense of comfort watching them together. Hareton’s honest and intelligent nature rapidly shook off the clouds of ignorance in which he had been raised. Catherine’s praise acted as a powerful encouragement. His mind brightened, and his features seemed to grow more noble. One evening at dusk, Heathcliff returned and found the three of us together by the fire. The light revealed the two young people's faces, animated with the eager interest of children learning something new.
They lifted their eyes together to look at him. I noticed then, more than ever, that their eyes were identical—they were the eyes of the first Catherine Earnshaw. This resemblance seemed to disarm Heathcliff. He walked to the hearth in evident agitation, took the book Hareton was reading, and then returned it without a word, gesturing for them to leave. He asked me to stay.
"It is a poor conclusion, is it not?" he remarked, brooding over the scene. "An absurd end to my violent efforts. I spent years preparing to demolish these two houses, and now that everything is in my power, I find I no longer have the will to lift a single slate off a roof. I could seek revenge on them now, and no one could stop me. But I don’t care for it anymore. I cannot even take the trouble to raise my hand."
He sighed, looking into the fire. "Nelly, a strange change is approaching. I take so little interest in daily life that I hardly remember to eat. Those two are the only objects that still seem real to me, and seeing them causes me agony. I wish Catherine were invisible; her presence triggers maddening memories. And Hareton... five minutes ago, he seemed like a personification of my own youth. His startling likeness to her connects him fearfully to my past."
He turned to me, his voice trembling slightly. "I cannot look at this floor without seeing her features in the stones. Every cloud, every tree—the entire world is a dreadful collection of reminders that she existed and that I have lost her! Hareton’s face is the ghost of my immortal love, my pride, and my anguish."
"What do you mean by a 'change,' Mr. Heathcliff?" I asked, alarmed by his tone. He seemed physically healthy, but his mind was clearly consumed by this single obsession.
"I won't know until it arrives," he said. "I’m only half-conscious of it now."
"Are you ill? Are you afraid of death?" I pursued.
"Afraid? No!" he replied. "I have no fear, no hope, and no presentiment of death. With my constitution, I should live for many more years. And yet, I cannot continue like this. I have to remind myself to breathe—almost to remind my heart to beat! I have a single wish, and my whole being is yearning to attain it. It has devoured my existence. I am swallowed up by the anticipation of reaching it. O God! It is a long fight; I wish it were over!"
He began to pace the room, muttering to himself. I wondered how it would all end. Although he had rarely revealed this state of mind before, I realized it was his habitual mood. To the rest of the world, he appeared the same as always—only perhaps a bit more silent and fonder of solitude.