Another week has passed, and I am a few days closer to health and spring. I have now heard the rest of my neighbour’s history from the housekeeper, Mrs. Dean. I will continue the story in her own words, though I have condensed it slightly. She is an excellent narrator, and her style is perfectly suited to the drama of the tale.
On the evening of my visit to the Heights, I knew Heathcliff was lurking nearby. I avoided going outside because I still had his letter in my pocket and didn't want to be pressured further. I decided to wait until Mr. Linton was away before giving it to Catherine, as I couldn’t predict how she would react. Consequently, the letter did not reach her for three days. On the fourth day, a Sunday, I finally brought it to her room while the rest of the family was at church. I sent the only other servant left in the house on an errand to the village, ensuring we would not be disturbed.
Mrs. Linton sat by the open window, dressed in white. Her appearance had changed drastically during her illness, yet she possessed a new, unearthly beauty. The wild flash in her eyes had been replaced by a dreamy, melancholy softness. She no longer seemed to look at the objects around her; instead, her gaze always appeared to reach far beyond this world. Although she had regained some weight, her pale, haunting expression suggested she was someone doomed to fade away.
A book lay open on the sill, its leaves fluttering in the breeze. Edgar often placed books there, hoping to interest her in her old hobbies, but she rarely noticed them. In her better moods, she endured his efforts with a weary sigh and a sad smile; at other times, she would angrily push him away. As I approached, the bells of the Gimmerton chapel were ringing in the distance, and the sound of the stream in the valley was the only other noise. Catherine seemed lost in thought, perhaps thinking of Wuthering Heights.
"There’s a letter for you, Mrs. Linton," I said gently, placing it in her hand. "You must read it immediately."
She didn't even look at it until I mentioned it was from Heathcliff. She started, a troubled gleam of recognition appearing in her eyes. She stared at the signature but didn't seem to understand the contents. When I told her he was in the garden and waiting for an answer, she leaned forward, listening breathlessly. A moment later, we heard a step in the hall. Heathcliff, unable to wait any longer, had entered the house.
He burst into the room and, in two strides, had her in his arms. For several minutes, he held her in silence, covering her with kisses. It was clear from his expression that he felt the same terrible conviction I did: Catherine was fated to die.
"Oh, Cathy! My life! How can I bear it?" he cried, his voice filled with despair. He stared at her with such intensity that his eyes seemed to burn with anguish.
Catherine leaned back, her mood suddenly shifting to bitterness. "You and Edgar have broken my heart, Heathcliff! And now you both come to cry over me as if you were the victims. I won't pity you. You have killed me—and you look so strong! How many years do you plan to live after I am gone?"
Heathcliff dropped to his knees, but she seized his hair, holding him there. "I wish I could hold you until we were both dead," she continued. "Will you forget me? Will you be happy when I am in the earth? Will you say in twenty years, 'I loved her once, but I have loved many others since'?"
"Don't torture me!" Heathcliff cried, wrenching himself free. He looked at her with a mix of love and terror. Catherine looked wild and vindictive, her lips bloodless and her eyes sparkling. Heathcliff, in his agitation, had gripped her arm so tightly that his fingers left blue marks on her pale skin.
"Are you possessed by a devil?" he asked savagely. "To speak like that when you are dying? You know you lie when you say I killed you. You know I could no sooner forget you than my own existence. Is it not enough that you will be at peace while I suffer the torments of hell?"
"I shall not be at peace," Catherine moaned, her heart beginning to throb violently from the excitement. When the fit passed, she spoke more kindly. "I only wish for us never to be parted. If my words distress you, remember that I will feel that same distress when I am under the ground. Forgive me. Come here and kneel down again."
Heathcliff turned away, his face pale with emotion. He stood by the fireplace with his back to us. Catherine watched him suspiciously. "You see, Nelly," she said, "he won't even look at me. That is not my Heathcliff. I shall find mine in the next world; he is in my soul. I am tired of being enclosed in this shattered prison of a body. I weary to escape into that glorious world and be truly in it, not just seeing it through tears."
At her earnest appeal, Heathcliff turned. His eyes flashed fiercely and his chest heaved. He suddenly rushed to her, catching her in an embrace so violent I thought she would not survive it. He sat down, holding her with a greedy, desperate jealousy, acting more like a wild animal than a man.
"You teach me now how cruel you've been," he whispered wildly. "Why did you betray your own heart, Cathy? You loved me—what right had you to leave me for a man like Linton? Neither misery nor death could have parted us, yet you did it of your own will. You have broken your own heart, and in doing so, you have broken mine. Do you think I want to live when my soul is in the grave?"
"Let me alone," Catherine sobbed. "If I’ve done wrong, I’m dying for it. I forgive you. Forgive me!"
"It is hard to forgive when I look at your wasted hands," he answered. "I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer—but yours? How can I forgive him?"
They fell silent, their faces hidden against each other, wet with tears. As the afternoon wore on, I noticed the people leaving the chapel in the valley. "Service is over," I warned. "My master will be here in half an hour."
Heathcliff cursed but only held her closer. Soon, I saw the servants approaching, and Mr. Linton was not far behind.
"He is here!" I exclaimed. "For heaven's sake, hurry down! You can leave through the front stairs and hide in the trees."
"I must go, Cathy," Heathcliff said, trying to pull away. "But I will see you again tonight. I won't stay five yards from your window."
"You shall not go!" she shrieked, clinging to him with a mad resolution. "It is the last time! Edgar will not hurt us. Heathcliff, I shall die!"
"Damn him! I’ll stay," Heathcliff cried, sinking back into the seat. "If he shoots me, I’ll die happy."
I heard my master mounting the stairs, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I pleaded with Heathcliff to leave, but he ignored me. Fortunately, Catherine’s arms suddenly relaxed, and her head fell back. She had fainted.
Edgar entered the room, turning pale with rage at the sight of his uninvited guest. Before he could speak, Heathcliff placed the lifeless Catherine in his arms.
"Look at her!" Heathcliff said. "Unless you are a monster, help her first—then you can speak to me."
He walked into the parlour and sat down. With great difficulty, we managed to restore Catherine to consciousness, though she remained confused and didn't recognize anyone. Edgar was so anxious about his wife that he forgot about Heathcliff. I took the opportunity to beg Heathcliff to leave, promising to send him news in the morning.
"I will go outside," he answered, "but I shall stay in the garden. I’ll be under those trees, Nelly. If you don't keep your word, I will return, whether Linton is here or not."
He glanced one last time into the room and then finally departed, leaving the house to its misery.