Hindley entered the house, shouting oaths that were dreadful to hear. He caught me just as I was hiding his son, Hareton, in a kitchen cupboard. The poor child lived in a state of constant terror, never knowing if he would encounter his father’s wild, drunken affection or his madman’s rage. In one moment, Hindley might squeeze him to death; in the next, he might threaten to dash him against the wall.
“There, I’ve found you out at last!” Hindley cried, pulling me back by the neck like a dog. “You’ve all sworn to keep that child away from me! But I’ll make you regret it, Nelly. I want to kill someone tonight—I shall have no rest until I do!”
He held a sharp carving knife to my teeth, but I was not easily intimidated by his threats. I spat and told him the blade tasted of red herrings. This seemed to distract him, and he turned his attention back to Hareton.
“Come here, you unnatural creature!” he shouted at the boy. “Why don’t you run to welcome your father? I think I’ll crop your ears like a dog’s to make you look fiercer!”
He grabbed the screaming child and carried him upstairs. As he reached the landing, he leaned over the banister to hear who was approaching the front door. It was Heathcliff. I signaled to the boy to stay back, but in that moment of distraction, Hindley’s grasp loosened. Hareton gave a sudden spring and fell from the heights.
We felt a flash of horror, but the child was miraculously safe. Heathcliff had arrived underneath at the critical moment and caught him. However, when Heathcliff looked up and saw Mr. Earnshaw, his expression was one of intense regret. It was clear that he was pained to have accidentally saved the life of the child whose father he so deeply hated. Had it been dark, I suspect he might have finished what the fall started, but as we were watching, he set the boy down. I rushed to pick up my precious charge, while Hindley descended the stairs, looking sobered and embarrassed.
“It’s your fault, Ellen,” Hindley muttered. “You should have taken him from me.”
“My fault!” I cried indignantly. “You are worse than a heathen, treating your own flesh and blood this way! The child hates you—everyone here hates you!”
Hindley laughed with bitter hardness and poured himself a large glass of brandy. Despite my pleas for him to have mercy on his own soul, he toasted to his own damnation and ordered us out.
I went into the kitchen to rock Hareton to sleep. Heathcliff, I assumed, had gone out to the barn, but it turned out he had merely sat down silently on a bench behind the settle, hidden from view. As I was humming a song to the child, Catherine put her head in. She looked disturbed and anxious.
“Are you alone, Nelly?” she whispered.
I told her I was. She approached the hearth and sighed deeply. After a long silence, she confessed, “Nelly, I am very unhappy. Today, Edgar Linton has asked me to marry him, and I have given him an answer.”
I asked her what she had said.
“I accepted him, Nelly. Tell me, was I wrong?”
I told her that since she had already given her word, there was little point in discussing it. However, I began to question her. “Do you love Mr. Edgar?”
“Of course I do,” she answered.
“Why?” I persisted.
“Because he is handsome, and pleasant to be with. Because he is young and cheerful, and because he loves me. And also, because he will be rich, and I shall be the greatest woman in the neighborhood.”
“Those are poor reasons,” I remarked. “You love him for his appearance and his money. But what about your heart? In your soul, do you feel you are right?”
Catherine struck her breast. “In my soul and in my heart, I am convinced I am wrong! I had a dream once that I was in heaven, but it did not feel like home. I broke my heart weeping to come back to earth, and the angels were so angry they flung me out onto the heath at Wuthering Heights, where I woke up sobbing for joy. I have no more business marrying Edgar Linton than I have being in heaven. If Hindley had not brought Heathcliff so low, I would never have thought of it. It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him.”
At that moment, I heard a slight movement. Heathcliff had been listening, but having heard that it would "degrade" her to marry him, he had quietly slipped out. He did not stay to hear the rest of her speech.
“I love him,” Catherine continued, unaware he had gone, “not because he is handsome, but because he is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton’s is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.”
I tried to warn her that Heathcliff might have overheard, but she was too caught up in her own emotions. She insisted that her marriage to Edgar would not separate her from Heathcliff. On the contrary, she believed that by becoming Edgar's wife, she could use his money to help Heathcliff rise in the world and escape Hindley’s power.
“You are a wicked, unprincipled girl,” I told her, losing my patience with her folly.
Later that evening, the weather turned. A violent storm broke over the Heights. Thunder roared and a massive branch was torn from a tree, crashing into the chimney. Catherine, realizing Heathcliff had vanished, spent the night outdoors in the pouring rain, calling his name in desperation. She returned at midnight, drenched to the skin and shivering with a cold that turned into a dangerous fever.
Heathcliff was gone. He had left without a word, and no one knew where he had fled.
Catherine’s illness was long and severe. During her recovery, the elder Mrs. Linton visited often and eventually insisted on taking Catherine to Thrushcross Grange to fully convalesce. However, this kindness proved fatal for the Lintons; both the old gentleman and his wife caught the fever and died within days of each other.
When Catherine returned to Wuthering Heights, she was haughtier and more difficult than ever. She blamed me for Heathcliff’s disappearance, and for months we barely spoke. Hindley, meanwhile, became even more indulgent toward her. He was not motivated by love, but by a desire to see her marry into the Linton family and bring honor to the Earnshaw name. Edgar Linton remained completely infatuated with her, and three years after his father’s death, they were married.
Much against my will, I was forced to leave Wuthering Heights to accompany Catherine to the Grange. It was a heartbreaking parting from little Hareton, who was then nearly five years old. Hindley was glad to see me go; he wanted no women in the house to interfere with his ruinous lifestyle. I kissed the boy goodbye, fearing that he would soon forget the only person who had ever truly cared for him.
Mrs. Dean looked at the clock and was shocked to see it was half-past one in the morning. She insisted on going to bed, leaving me alone to meditate on her story. Despite my exhaustion, I found myself captivated by the strange, intense lives of the people who inhabited these lonely moors. Here, people lived more in earnest, their passions as eternal and unchanging as the rocks beneath the heather.