Wuthering Heights / Грозовой перевал. Уровень 3. Эмили Бронте

I replied, rapidly resuming my garments. 'I don't care if you do it, Mr. Heathcliff; she richly deserves it. I suppose that she wanted to get another proof that the place was haunted. Well, it is – swarming with ghosts and goblins! You have reason to shut it up, I assure you. No one will thank you for a sleep in such a den!'

      'What do you mean?' asked Heathcliff, 'and what are you doing? Lie down and finish out

      the night, since you are here; but, for heaven's sake! don't repeat that horrid noise!'

      'If the little fiend gets in at the window, she probably will strangle me!' I returned. 'Catherine Linton, or Earnshaw, or however she was called – she is a wicked little soul! She tells me she has been walking the earth these twenty years: a just punishment for her mortal sins!'

      Then I realized Catherine did actually mention Heathcliff in her diaries and blushed at my inconsideration.

      'What do you mean by that?' thundered Heathcliff, 'How – how dare you, under my roof?' Heathcliff reacted very emotionally.

      'Sir, I mean it,' I said.

      'We go to bed at nine in winter, and rise at four,' said my host, suppressing a groan: and dashing a tear from his eyes. 'Mr. Lockwood,' he added, 'you may go into my room. Your childish outcry has sent sleep to the devil for me.'

      'And for me, too,' I replied. 'I'll walk in the yard till daylight, and then I'll be off. I'm now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society. A sensible man must find sufficient company in himself.'

      'Delightful company!' muttered Heathcliff. 'Take the candle, and go where you please. I shall join you directly. Keep out of the yard, though, the dogs are unchained; and the house – Juno mounts sentinel there, and – nay, you can only ramble about the steps and passages. But go away! I'll come in two minutes!'

      I obeyed, so far as to quit the chamber; when, ignorant where the narrow lobbies led, I stood still, and was witness, involuntarily, to a piece of superstition on the part of my landlord which belied, oddly, his apparent sense. He got on to the bed, and wrenched open the lattice, bursting, as he pulled at it, into an uncontrollable passion of tears.

      'Come in! come in!' he sobbed. 'Cathy, come! Oh, do – once more! Oh! my heart's darling! hear me this time, Catherine, at last!'

      The spectre showed a spectre's ordinary caprice: it gave no sign of existense; but the snow and wind whirled wildly through, even reaching my station, and blowing out the light.

      There was such anguish in the gush of grief that accompanied this raving, that my compassion

      made me overlook its folly. I drew off, angry to listen at all, and vexed. Why did I relate my ridiculous nightmare? It produced that agony that was beyond my comprehension. I descended cautiously to the lower regions, and landed in the back-kitchen, where a gleam of fire, enabled me to rekindle my candle. Nothing was stirring except a brindled, grey cat, which crept from the ashes, and saluted me with a querulous mew.

      In the morning, I had no desire to enjoy a combat between Heathcliff and his daughter-in law, so I declined joining their breakfast, and, at the first gleam of dawn, escaped into the free air, now clear, and still, and cold.

      Chapter IV

      That evening, at Thrushcross Grange, I desired Mrs. Dean, when she brought in supper, to sit down while I ate it.

      'You have lived here a considerable time,' I said; 'did you say sixteen years?'

      'Eighteen, sir: I came when the mistress was married, to wait on her[6]; after she died, the master retained me for his housekeeper. Ah, times are greatly changed since then!'

      'Yes,' I remarked, 'you've seen a good many changes, I suppose?'

      'I have: and troubles too,' she said.

      Then I asked Mrs. Dean why Heathcliff had left Thrushcross Grange, and preferred to live in a situation and residence so much inferior.

      'Is he not rich enough to keep the estate in good order?' I inquired.

      'Rich, sir!' she returned. 'He has a lot of money, and every year it increases. Yes, yes, he's rich enough to live in a finer house than this: but he's very mean. And if he hears of a good tenant he won't miss the chance of getting a few hundreds more. It is strange that people can be so greedy, when they are alone in the world!'

      'He had a son, it seems?'

      'Yes, he had one – he is dead.'

      'And that young lady, Mrs. Heathcliff, is his widow?'

      'Yes.'

      'Where did she come from originally?'

      'Why, sir, she is my late master's daughter: Catherine Linton was her maiden name. I nursed her, poor thing[7]!'

      'What! Catherine Linton?' I exclaimed, astonished.

      But a minute's reflection convinced me it was not my ghostly Catherine.

      'Then,' I continued, 'my predecessor's name was Linton?'

      'It was.'

      'And who is that Earnshaw: Hareton Earnshaw, who lives with Mr. Heathcliff? Are they relations?'

      'No; he is the late Mrs. Linton's nephew.'

      'The young lady's cousin, then?'

      'Yes; and her husband was her cousin also: one on the mother's, the other on the father's side: Heathcliff married Mr. Linton's sister.'

      'I see the house at Wuthering Heights has “Earnshaw” carved over the front door. Are they an old family?'

      'Very old, sir; and Hareton is the last of them, as our Miss Cathy is of us – I mean, of the Lintons. Have you been to Wuthering Heights? I beg pardon for asking; but I want to hear how she is.'

      'Mrs. Heathcliff? She looked very well, and very handsome; yet, I think, not very happy.'

      'Oh dear, I don't wonder! And how did you like the master?'

      'A rough fellow, rather, Mrs. Dean. Is not that his character?'

      'Indeed! The less you meddle with him the better. I know all about it: except where he was born, and who were his parents, and how he got his money at first. And Hareton was cast out like a dog! The unfortunate lad is the only one in all this parish that does not guess how he was cheated.'

      'Well, Mrs. Dean, it will be a charitable deed to tell me something of my neighbours: I feel I shall not rest if I go to bed; so be good enough to sit and talk.'

      And so she told me the whole story.

      Before I came to live here, she said, I was almost always at Wuthering Heights; because my mother had nursed Mr. Hindley Earnshaw, that was Hareton's father. I used to play with the children, I helped a little, too. One fine summer morning – it was the beginning of harvest, I remember – Mr. Earnshaw, the old master, went to Liverpool for a short time. But it seemed a long time to us all – the three days of his absence. Mrs. Earnshaw expected him by supper-time on the third evening, but only about eleven o'clock, the door opened, and the master stepped in. He threw himself into a chair, laughing and groaning, as he was exhausted.

      'But see here, wife!' he said, opening his great-coat, which he held bundled up in his arms. 'You must take it as a gift of God; though it's as dark almost as if it came from the devil.'

      We crowded round, and there was a dirty, ragged, black-haired child; big enough both to walk and talk. Indeed, its face looked older than Catherine's; yet when it was set on its feet, it only stared round, and repeated over and over again some gibberish that nobody could understand. I was frightened, and Mrs. Earnshaw was ready to fling it out of doors. She was angry, asking how he could bring that gipsy into the house, when they had their own children to feed. The master, apparently, saw the child, starving and houseless, in the streets of Liverpool, where he picked it up and inquired for its owner. Nobody knew to whom it belonged. Well, the conclusion was, that my mistress got calm; and Mr. Earnshaw told me to wash it, and give it clean things, and let it sleep with the children. He promised some presents for them, but they all got lost

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to wait on her – ухаживать за ней

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poor thing – бедняжка