by Emily Brontë
CHAPTER V
In the course of time Mr. Earnshaw began to fail. He had been active andhealthy, yet his strength left him suddenly; and when he was confined tothe chimney-corner he grew grievously irritable. A nothing vexed him;and suspected slights of his authority nearly threw him into fits. Thiswas especially to be remarked if any one attempted to impose upon, ordomineer over, his favourite: he was painfully jealous lest a wordshould be spoken amiss to him; seeming to have got into his head thenotion that, because he liked Heathcliff, all hated, and longed to dohim an ill-turn. It was a disadvantage to the lad; for the kinder amongus did not wish to fret the master, so we humoured his partiality; andthat humouring was rich nourishment to the child's pride and blacktempers. Still it became in a manner necessary; twice, or thrice,Hindley's manifestation of scorn, while his father was near, roused theold man to a fury: he seized his stick to strike him, and shook withrage that he could not do it.
At last, our curate (we had a curate then who made the living answer byteaching the little Lintons and Earnshaws, and farming his bit of landhimself) advised that the young man should be sent to college; and Mr.Earnshaw agreed, though with a heavy spirit, for he said--'Hindley wasnought, and would never thrive as where he wandered.'
I hoped heartily we should have peace now. It hurt me to think themaster should be made uncomfortable by his own good deed. I fancied thediscontent of age and disease arose from his family disagreements; as hewould have it that it did: really, you know, sir, it was in his sinkingframe. We might have got on tolerably, notwithstanding, but for twopeople--Miss Cathy, and Joseph, the servant: you saw him, I daresay, upyonder. He was, and is yet most likely, the wearisomest self-righteousPharisee that ever ransacked a Bible to rake the promises to himself andfling the curses to his neighbours. By his knack of sermonising andpious discoursing, he contrived to make a great impression on Mr.Earnshaw; and the more feeble the master became, the more influence hegained. He was relentless in worrying him about his soul's concerns, andabout ruling his children rigidly. He encouraged him to regard Hindleyas a reprobate; and, night after night, he regularly grumbled out a longstring of tales against Heathcliff and Catherine: always minding toflatter Earnshaw's weakness by heaping the heaviest blame on the latter.
Certainly she had ways with her such as I never saw a child take upbefore; and she put all of us past our patience fifty times and oftenerin a day: from the hour she came down-stairs till the hour she went tobed, we had not a minute's security that she wouldn't be in mischief. Herspirits were always at high-water mark, her tongue always going--singing,laughing, and plaguing everybody who would not do the same. A wild,wicked slip she was--but she had the bonniest eye, the sweetest smile,and lightest foot in the parish: and, after all, I believe she meant noharm; for when once she made you cry in good earnest, it seldom happenedthat she would not keep you company, and oblige you to be quiet that youmight comfort her. She was much too fond of Heathcliff. The greatestpunishment we could invent for her was to keep her separate from him: yetshe got chided more than any of us on his account. In play, she likedexceedingly to act the little mistress; using her hands freely, andcommanding her companions: she did so to me, but I would not bearslapping and ordering; and so I let her know.
Now, Mr. Earnshaw did not understand jokes from his children: he hadalways been strict and grave with them; and Catherine, on her part, hadno idea why her father should be crosser and less patient in his ailingcondition than he was in his prime. His peevish reproofs wakened in hera naughty delight to provoke him: she was never so happy as when we wereall scolding her at once, and she defying us with her bold, saucy look,and her ready words; turning Joseph's religious curses into ridicule,baiting me, and doing just what her father hated most--showing how herpretended insolence, which he thought real, had more power overHeathcliff than his kindness: how the boy would do _her_ bidding inanything, and _his_ only when it suited his own inclination. Afterbehaving as badly as possible all day, she sometimes came fondling tomake it up at night. 'Nay, Cathy,' the old man would say, 'I cannot lovethee, thou'rt worse than thy brother. Go, say thy prayers, child, andask God's pardon. I doubt thy mother and I must rue that we ever rearedthee!' That made her cry, at first; and then being repulsed continuallyhardened her, and she laughed if I told her to say she was sorry for herfaults, and beg to be forgiven.
But the hour came, at last, that ended Mr. Earnshaw's troubles on earth.He died quietly in his chair one October evening, seated by thefire-side. A high wind blustered round the house, and roared in thechimney: it sounded wild and stormy, yet it was not cold, and we were alltogether--I, a little removed from the hearth, busy at my knitting, andJoseph reading his Bible near the table (for the servants generally satin the house then, after their work was done). Miss Cathy had been sick,and that made her still; she leant against her father's knee, andHeathcliff was lying on the floor with his head in her lap. I rememberthe master, before he fell into a doze, stroking her bonny hair--itpleased him rarely to see her gentle--and saying, 'Why canst thou notalways be a good lass, Cathy?' And she turned her face up to his, andlaughed, and answered, 'Why cannot you always be a good man, father?' Butas soon as she saw him vexed again, she kissed his hand, and said shewould sing him to sleep. She began singing very low, till his fingersdropped from hers, and his head sank on his breast. Then I told her tohush, and not stir, for fear she should wake him. We all kept as mute asmice a full half-hour, and should have done so longer, only Joseph,having finished his chapter, got up and said that he must rouse themaster for prayers and bed. He stepped forward, and called him by name,and touched his shoulder; but he would not move: so he took the candleand looked at him. I thought there was something wrong as he set downthe light; and seizing the children each by an arm, whispered them to'frame up-stairs, and make little din--they might pray alone thatevening--he had summut to do.'
'I shall bid father good-night first,' said Catherine, putting her armsround his neck, before we could hinder her. The poor thing discoveredher loss directly--she screamed out--'Oh, he's dead, Heathcliff! he'sdead!' And they both set up a heart-breaking cry.
I joined my wail to theirs, loud and bitter; but Joseph asked what wecould be thinking of to roar in that way over a saint in heaven. He toldme to put on my cloak and run to Gimmerton for the doctor and the parson.I could not guess the use that either would be of, then. However, Iwent, through wind and rain, and brought one, the doctor, back with me;the other said he would come in the morning. Leaving Joseph to explainmatters, I ran to the children's room: their door was ajar, I saw theyhad never lain down, though it was past midnight; but they were calmer,and did not need me to console them. The little souls were comfortingeach other with better thoughts than I could have hit on: no parson inthe world ever pictured heaven so beautifully as they did, in theirinnocent talk; and, while I sobbed and listened, I could not help wishingwe were all there safe together.
