'I don't think they wish you to know anything about it,' I
answered.
'But I'll have it,' he said, 'when I want it. They may reckon on
that!'
Fortunately its mother died before the time arrived; some thirteen
years after the decease of Catherine, when Linton was twelve, or a
little more.
On the day succeeding Isabella's unexpected visit I had no
opportunity of speaking to my master: he shunned conversation, and
was fit for discussing nothing. When I could get him to listen, I
saw it pleased him that his sister had left her husband; whom he
abhorred with an intensity which the mildness of his nature would
scarcely seem to allow. So deep and sensitive was his aversion,
that he refrained from going anywhere where he was likely to see or
hear of Heathcliff. Grief, and that together, transformed him into
a complete hermit: he threw up his office of magistrate, ceased
even to attend church, avoided the village on all occasions, and
spent a life of entire seclusion within the limits of his park and
grounds; only varied by solitary rambles on the moors, and visits
to the grave of his wife, mostly at evening, or early morning
before other wanderers were abroad. But he was too good to be
thoroughly unhappy long. HE didn't pray for Catherine's soul to
haunt him. Time brought resignation, and a melancholy sweeter than
common joy. He recalled her memory with ardent, tender love, and
hopeful aspiring to the better world; where he doubted not she was
gone.
|