'And I must suffer for her egotism!' she sobbed, as Mrs. Linton
left the room. 'All, all is against me: she has blighted my
single consolation. But she uttered falsehoods, didn't she? Mr.
Heathcliff is not a fiend: he has an honourable soul, and a true
one, or how could he remember her?'
'Banish him from your thoughts, Miss,' I said. 'He's a bird of bad
omen: no mate for you. Mrs. Linton spoke strongly, and yet I
can't contradict her. She is better acquainted with his heart than
I, or any one besides; and she never would represent him as worse
than he is. Honest people don't hide their deeds. How has he been
living? how has he got rich? why is he staying at Wuthering
Heights, the house of a man whom he abhors? They say Mr. Earnshaw
is worse and worse since he came. They sit up all night together
continually, and Hindley has been borrowing money on his land, and
does nothing but play and drink: I heard only a week ago - it was
Joseph who told me - I met him at Gimmerton: "Nelly," he said,
"we's hae a crowner's 'quest enow, at ahr folks'. One on 'em 's
a'most getten his finger cut off wi' hauding t' other fro' stickin'
hisseln loike a cawlf. That's maister, yeah knaw, 'at 's soa up o'
going tuh t' grand 'sizes. He's noan feared o' t' bench o' judges,
norther Paul, nur Peter, nur John, nur Matthew, nor noan on 'em,
not he! He fair likes - he langs to set his brazened face agean
'em! And yon bonny lad Heathcliff, yah mind, he's a rare 'un. He
can girn a laugh as well 's onybody at a raight divil's jest. Does
he niver say nowt of his fine living amang us, when he goes to t'
Grange? This is t' way on 't:- up at sun-down: dice, brandy,
cloised shutters, und can'le-light till next day at noon: then,
t'fooil gangs banning und raving to his cham'er, makking dacent
fowks dig thur fingers i' thur lugs fur varry shame; un' the knave,
why he can caint his brass, un' ate, un' sleep, un' off to his
neighbour's to gossip wi' t' wife. I' course, he tells Dame
Catherine how her fathur's goold runs into his pocket, and her
fathur's son gallops down t' broad road, while he flees afore to
oppen t' pikes!" Now, Miss Linton, Joseph is an old rascal, but no
liar; and, if his account of Heathcliff's conduct be true, you
would never think of desiring such a husband, would you?'
|