A charming introduction to a hermit’s life! Four weeks of torture, tossing, and sickness. These bleak winds, the bitter northern skies, and the impassable roads are enough to drive anyone mad. To make matters worse, the local doctor, Kenneth, has just informed me that I cannot expect to be outdoors until spring.
Mr. Heathcliff has just finished visiting me. About a week ago, he sent me a brace of grouse—the last of the season. The scoundrel! He is not entirely innocent in the matter of my illness, and I had half a mind to tell him so. However, how could I offend a man who was kind enough to sit at my bedside for a full hour, talking of something other than medicine and illness?
I feel a little better now. I am still too weak to read, but I crave something interesting. I shall call for Mrs. Dean to finish her story. I remember where she left off: the hero had run away and disappeared for three years, and the heroine had married. When she arrived, she began by reminding me it was nearly time for my medicine.
“Away with it!” I replied. “The doctor says I can stop the powders. Now, sit down and continue the history of Mr. Heathcliff. Did he finish his education in Europe and return a gentleman? Did he go to America, or perhaps make a fortune as an outlaw on the English highways?”
“He may have done a little of all those things, Mr. Lockwood,” she replied, “but I cannot say for certain. I told you before that I didn’t know how he gained his money or how he managed to educate himself. But, with your permission, I’ll proceed in my own way.”
I moved to Thrushcross Grange with Miss Catherine, and to my surprise, she behaved much better than I had expected. She seemed almost overly fond of Mr. Linton, and she even showed great affection for his sister, Isabella. They were both very attentive to her. It was not a case of the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn. One stood firm, and the others yielded. After all, who can be ill-tempered when they meet neither opposition nor indifference?
I noticed that Mr. Edgar had a deep-rooted fear of upsetting her. If he ever heard me answer her sharply, he would frown with a displeasure he never showed on his own account. To avoid grieving a kind master, I learned to be less sensitive. For six months, the gunpowder remained as harmless as sand because there was no fire to explode it. Catherine had occasional moments of gloom, which her husband attributed to her previous illness. When her spirits eventually lifted, he was overjoyed. I believe they were truly happy.
But it ended. On a mellow evening in September, I was returning from the garden with a heavy basket of apples. As it grew dark, I set my burden down by the kitchen door to rest. I was looking at the moon when I heard a deep voice behind me say, “Nelly, is that you?”
It was a foreign tone, yet there was something familiar in the way he said my name. I turned around fearfully. In the porch stood a tall man dressed in dark clothes, with a dark face and hair. I didn’t recognize him at first.
“I have waited here an hour,” he said. “You don’t know me? Look, I’m not a stranger!”
A ray of moonlight fell on his face. His cheeks were sallow and his eyes were deep-set and singular. I remembered those eyes.
“What!” I cried in amazement. “You’ve come back? Is it really you?”
“Yes, Heathcliff,” he replied, looking up at the windows. “Is she here? Go and tell your mistress that someone from Gimmerton wishes to see her.”
“How will she take it?” I wondered aloud. “The surprise will overwhelm her! And you are so altered! Have you been a soldier?”
“Go and deliver my message,” he interrupted impatiently. “I’m in agony until you do!”
I went to the parlour where Mr. and Mrs. Linton were sitting. The scene was wonderfully peaceful, and I hesitated to disturb them. Finally, I muttered, “A person from Gimmerton wishes to see you, ma’am.”
Catherine left the room, and Mr. Edgar carelessly asked who it was. When I told him it was Heathcliff, the boy who used to live at Wuthering Heights, he was shocked. “The ploughboy?” he cried.
Before I could answer, Catherine flew back into the room, breathless and wild with excitement. “Oh, Edgar, Edgar!” she panted, throwing her arms around his neck. “Heathcliff’s come back!”
“Well, don’t strangle me!” her husband replied crossly. “There is no need to be so frantic.”
“I know you didn’t like him,” she said, trying to calm herself. “But for my sake, you must be friends now. Shall I tell him to come up?”
Edgar looked annoyed and suggested the kitchen would be a more suitable place for him. Catherine laughed at his snobbery and told me to bring him in.
When Heathcliff entered, I was amazed by his transformation. He had grown into a tall, athletic, and well-formed man. His manner was dignified and intelligent, though a certain "half-civilized ferocity" still lurked in his eyes. My master was at a loss for words.
“Sit down, sir,” Edgar said at last. “Mrs. Linton wishes to give you a cordial reception, and I am happy to please her.”
“I shall stay an hour or two,” Heathcliff replied, sitting opposite Catherine. She stared at him as if she feared he might vanish. Edgar, meanwhile, grew pale with annoyance, especially when Catherine seized Heathcliff’s hands again.
“I shall think this is a dream tomorrow!” she cried. “But you were cruel to stay away for three years without a word!”
“I thought of you more than you thought of me,” Heathcliff murmured. “I heard of your marriage, Cathy, and I originally came back to settle my score with Hindley and then end my own life. But your welcome has changed my mind. I have struggled through a bitter life since I last heard your voice, and I struggled only for you.”
After a tense and hurried meal, Heathcliff departed. I asked him if he was staying in Gimmerton.
“No, at Wuthering Heights,” he answered. “Mr. Earnshaw invited me.”
I was deeply troubled by this news. Why would he stay with Hindley, a man who had treated him so badly? I had a terrible feeling that his return would bring nothing but trouble.
Later that night, Catherine came into my room, too excited to sleep. She complained that Edgar was being sulky and "childish" because he was jealous of Heathcliff.
“What is the use of praising Heathcliff to him?” I asked. “They always hated each other. You should leave Mr. Linton alone about it, unless you want a quarrel.”
“He is just weak,” Catherine insisted. “He and Isabella are like spoiled children. I have such faith in Edgar’s love that I believe I could kill him and he wouldn’t retaliate.”
I warned her that even weak people can be obstinate, but she wouldn’t listen. She was convinced that everyone should be as happy as she was.
For a few days, a deceptive peace returned to the house. Heathcliff began to visit Thrushcross Grange frequently. However, a new problem soon arose: Isabella Linton, Edgar's sister, developed a sudden and irresistible attraction to him. Edgar was appalled. He knew that despite Heathcliff’s improved appearance, his cruel nature had not changed.
One day, after Isabella had been acting particularly moody, Catherine began to tease her. Isabella finally snapped, admitting her feelings. “I love him more than you ever loved Edgar!” she cried.
“I wouldn’t be you for a kingdom, then!” Catherine declared. “Nelly, help me convince her of her madness. Heathcliff is an unreclaimed creature—a fierce, pitiless, wolfish man. He’d crush you like a sparrow’s egg if you became a burden to him. He doesn’t love you, Isabella; he would only marry you for your money.”
Isabella was furious, accusing Catherine of being a "poisonous friend" who wanted Heathcliff all to herself.
Later, I spoke to Isabella myself. I told her what I had heard from Joseph, the old servant at the Heights. He said that Heathcliff and Hindley spent their nights drinking and gambling. Heathcliff was winning all of Hindley’s money and encouraged his self-destruction. "He is a bird of bad omen," I warned her, but she refused to listen.
The next day, while Edgar was away, Heathcliff visited. Catherine, in a mischievous and rather cruel mood, decided to embarrass Isabella.
“Heathcliff,” she said gaily, “I’m proud to show you someone who dotes on you more than I do. My sister-in-law is breaking her heart over your beauty!”
Isabella tried to escape, but Catherine held her fast, mocking her feelings. Heathcliff watched Isabella with an expression of pure disgust, as if he were looking at a strange, repulsive insect.
“I’d wrench her fingers off if she ever threatened me,” Heathcliff said brutally after Isabella finally managed to flee the room.
“I only wanted to punish her for her vanity,” Catherine said, laughing. “I like her too much to let you devour her.”
“And I like her too little to try,” Heathcliff replied, “unless it was to make her suffer. Her face detestably resembles Edgar’s.” Then he asked, “She is her brother’s heir, is she not?”
Catherine told him to change the subject, but I noticed Heathcliff smiling to himself later that evening. I determined to watch him closely. My loyalty was with Mr. Linton, who was kind and honourable. Heathcliff’s presence felt like a nightmare, an evil beast waiting for the right moment to destroy our peace.