As soon as I had read this letter, I went to my master. I informed him that his sister had arrived at the Heights and had written to express her sorrow for Catherine’s illness. I told him she was desperate to see him and hoped for some token of forgiveness.
“Forgiveness!” Linton replied coldly. “I have nothing to forgive her, Ellen. You may visit Wuthering Heights this afternoon if you wish. Tell her I am not angry, but I am sorry to have lost her, especially as I doubt she will ever be happy. However, I will not go to see her. We are eternally divided. If she truly wishes to please me, she should persuade that villain to leave the country.”
“Won’t you write her even a short note, sir?” I pleaded.
“No,” he answered. “It is unnecessary. I will have no more communication with Heathcliff’s family than he has with mine.”
Mr. Edgar’s coldness depressed me deeply. All the way to the Heights, I struggled to think of how I could soften his refusal or put more heart into his message. Isabella must have been watching for me; I saw her face at the window as I approached, but she drew back quickly, as if afraid of being seen.
When I entered, I was struck by how dismal the house had become. It was a scene of total neglect. If I had been in Isabella's place, I would have at least swept the hearth or dusted the tables, but she seemed to have surrendered to the gloom of her surroundings. Her face was pale and listless, her hair was messy, and her dress looked as though she hadn't changed it since the day before.
Hindley was absent, but Mr. Heathcliff was there, sitting at a table. He rose when I entered and greeted me quite civilly, offering me a chair. He was the only thing in the room that looked decent; in fact, he looked more like a gentleman than ever, while his wife looked like a common servant. Isabella rushed forward, her eyes searching for a letter. I shook my head.
“If you have something for Isabella, give it to her, Nelly,” Heathcliff said, sensing her disappointment. “We have no secrets here.”
“I have nothing,” I replied, deciding to be blunt. “My master told me to say that you should not expect a letter or a visit. He sends his love and his pardon for the grief you’ve caused, but he believes that, from now on, there should be no contact between the two houses.”
Isabella’s lip quivered, and she retreated to her seat by the window. Heathcliff, meanwhile, began to question me about Catherine. I told him as much as I thought appropriate about her illness, but he cross-examined me until he knew the whole truth. I blamed Catherine for her own suffering and expressed my hope that Heathcliff would leave the family alone.
“Mrs. Linton is recovering,” I told him, “but she will never be the same. If you truly care for her, you will stay away. Catherine Linton is not the girl you once knew; her appearance and her character have changed completely.”
“That is possible,” Heathcliff remarked, forcedly calm. “It is possible that your master only has 'duty' and 'humanity' to rely on. But do you imagine I shall leave Catherine to his cold sense of duty? Do you think his feelings for her can compare to mine? Before you leave, you must promise to arrange an interview for me. Whether you help me or not, I will see her.”
“You must not!” I cried. “Another encounter between you and Mr. Linton would kill her.”
“With your help, we can avoid that,” he continued. He then spoke with a sudden, terrifying intensity. “If he loved her with all his soul for eighty years, he couldn't love her as much as I do in a single day. And Catherine’s heart is as deep as mine. He is no more to her than her dog or her horse. He cannot be loved as I am, because he lacks the soul for it.”
“Catherine and Edgar love each other deeply!” Isabella interrupted. “I won’t listen to you insult my brother.”
Heathcliff turned on her with a scornful laugh. “Your brother is very fond of you too, isn't he? He seems quite happy to leave you to your fate.” He then turned back to me. “Look at her, Nelly. She is already tired of trying to please me. She realized her mistake the morning after our wedding, when she began crying to go home.”
I reminded him that Isabella was used to being treated with kindness and care. “Whatever you think of Edgar, you cannot doubt Isabella’s capacity for affection. She gave up everything to be with you in this wilderness.”
“She married me under a delusion,” he answered brutally. “She saw me as a hero of romance. It was a struggle to convince her that I did not love her, but I think she finally understands. This morning, she even told me she hates me! Can I trust that, Isabella? Or will you come wheedling back to me in half a day?”
He laughed at her misery. “I never deceived her. The first thing I did after we left the Grange was hang her little dog. She is an abject, mean-minded creature, Nelly. She even disgraces the name of Linton. I have stayed within the limits of the law, but her presence is a nuisance that barely makes the pleasure of tormenting her worthwhile.”
“You are a monster!” Isabella cried, her eyes flashing with hatred. “Ellen, don't believe a word he says. He only married me to get power over Edgar. I hope he forgets his caution and kills me! My only wish is to die, or to see him dead.”
Heathcliff pushed her out of the room, muttering about his lack of pity. He then turned his full attention back to me. He insisted that I help him see Catherine. He threatened to haunt the Grange every night and fight his way past the servants with pistols if necessary.
“I don’t want to cause trouble,” he said. “I only want to see her once. You could let me in secretly when Edgar is away. You would be preventing a violent scene.”
I protested, but Heathcliff was relentless. He mocked Edgar’s "shallow cares" and insisted that Catherine was suffering in her "frightful isolation." In the end, he wore me down. I reluctantly agreed to carry a letter to my mistress and to inform him the next time Edgar was away from home.
I knew it was wrong, but it seemed like the only way to prevent a greater disaster. My journey back to the Grange was filled with guilt and misgivings.
Lockwood here. As Mrs. Dean went down to meet the doctor, I reflected on her story. "Dree" and dreary indeed! I must be careful. Catherine Heathcliff’s eyes are far too brilliant, and I would be a fool to lose my heart to her if she turns out to be anything like her mother.