CHAPTER III

Whileleadingthewayupstairs,sherecommendedthatIshouldhidethecandle,andnotmakeanoiseforhermasterhadanoddnotionaboutthechambershewouldputmein,andneverletanybodylodgetherewillingly.Iaskedthereason.Shedidnotknow,sheanswered:shehadonlylivedthereayearortwoandtheyhadsomanyqueergoingson,shecouldnotbegintobecurious. Toostupefiedtobecuriousmyself,Ifastenedmydoorandglancedroundforthebed.Thewholefurnitureconsistedofachair,aclothes-press,andalargeoakcase,withsquarescutoutnearthetopresemblingcoachwindows.Havingapproachedthisstructure,Ilookedinside,andperceivedittobeasingularsortofold-fashionedcouch,veryconvenientlydesignedtoobviatethenecessityforeverymemberofthefamilyhavingaroomtohimself.Infact,itformedalittlecloset,andtheledgeofawindow,whichitenclosed,servedasatable. Islidbackthepanelledsides,gotinwithmylight,pulledthemtogetheragain,andfeltsecureagainstthevigilanceofHeathcliff,andeveryoneelse. Theledge,whereIplacedmycandle,hadafewmildewedbookspiledupinonecorneranditwascoveredwithwritingscratchedonthepaint.Thiswriting,however,wasnothingbutanamerepeatedinallkindsofcharacters,largeandsmall—CatherineEarnshaw,hereandtherevariedtoCatherineHeathcliff,andthenagaintoCatherineLinton. InvapidlistlessnessIleantmyheadagainstthewindow,andcontinuedspellingoverCatherineEarnshaw—Heathcliff—Linton,tillmyeyesclosedbuttheyhadnotrestedfiveminuteswhenaglareofwhitelettersstartedfromthedark,asvividasspectres—theairswarmedwithCatherinesandrousingmyselftodispeltheobtrusivename,Idiscoveredmycandle-wickrecliningononeoftheantiquevolumes,andperfumingtheplacewithanodourofroastedcalf-skin. Isnuffeditoff,and,veryillateaseundertheinfluenceofcoldandlingeringnausea,satupandspreadopentheinjuredtomeonmyknee.ItwasaTestament,inleantype,andsmellingdreadfullymusty:afly-leafboretheinscription—“CatherineEarnshaw,herbook,”andadatesomequarterofacenturyback. Ishutit,andtookupanotherandanother,tillIhadexaminedall.Catherine’slibrarywasselect,anditsstateofdilapidationprovedittohavebeenwellused,thoughnotaltogetherforalegitimatepurpose:scarcelyonechapterhadescapedapen-and-inkcommentary—atleasttheappearanceofone—coveringeverymorselofblankthattheprinterhadleft.Someweredetachedsentencesotherpartstooktheformofaregulardiary,scrawledinanunformed,childishhand.Atthetopofanextrapage(quiteatreasure,probably,whenfirstlightedon)IwasgreatlyamusedtobeholdanexcellentcaricatureofmyfriendJoseph,—rudely,yetpowerfullysketched.AnimmediateinterestkindledwithinmefortheunknownCatherine,andIbeganforthwithtodecipherherfadedhieroglyphics. “AnawfulSunday,”commencedtheparagraphbeneath.“Iwishmyfatherwerebackagain.Hindleyisadetestablesubstitute—hisconducttoHeathcliffisatrocious—H.andIaregoingtorebel—wetookourinitiatorystepthisevening. “Alldayhadbeenfloodingwithrainwecouldnotgotochurch,soJosephmustneedsgetupacongregationinthegarretand,whileHindleyandhiswifebaskeddownstairsbeforeacomfortablefire—doinganythingbutreadingtheirBibles,I’llanswerforit—Heathcliff,myself,andtheunhappyploughboywerecommandedtotakeourprayer-books,andmount:wewererangedinarow,onasackofcorn,groaningandshivering,andhopingthatJosephwouldshivertoo,sothathemightgiveusashorthomilyforhisownsake.Avainidea!Theservicelastedpreciselythreehoursandyetmybrotherhadthefacetoexclaim,whenhesawusdescending,‘What,donealready?’OnSundayeveningsweusedtobepermittedtoplay,ifwedidnotmakemuchnoisenowameretitterissufficienttosendusintocorners. “‘Youforgetyouhaveamasterhere,’saysthetyrant.‘I’lldemolishthefirstwhoputsmeoutoftemper!Iinsistonperfectsobrietyandsilence.Oh,boy!wasthatyou?Francesdarling,pullhishairasyougoby:Iheardhimsnaphisfingers.’Francespulledhishairheartily,andthenwentandseatedherselfonherhusband’sknee,andtheretheywere,liketwobabies,kissingandtalkingnonsensebythehour—foolishpalaverthatweshouldbeashamedof.Wemadeourselvesassnugasourmeansallowedinthearchofthedresser.Ihadjustfastenedourpinaforestogether,andhungthemupforacurtain,whenincomesJoseph,onanerrandfromthestables.Hetearsdownmyhandiwork,boxesmyears,andcroaks: “‘T’maisternobbutjustburied,andSabbathnoto’ered,undt’soundo’t’gospelstilli’yerlugs,andyedarrbelaiking!Shameonye!sityedown,illchilder!there’sgoodbookseneughifye’llread’em:sityedown,andthinko’yersowls!’ “Sayingthis,hecompelledussotosquareourpositionsthatwemightreceivefromthefar-offfireadullraytoshowusthetextofthelumberhethrustuponus.Icouldnotbeartheemployment.Itookmydingyvolumebythescroop,andhurleditintothedog-kennel,vowingIhatedagoodbook.Heathcliffkickedhistothesameplace.Thentherewasahubbub! “‘MaisterHindley!’shoutedourchaplain