CHAPTER III

unselwithmysoul—Lo,thisishumanweakness:thisalsomaybeabsolved!TheFirstoftheSeventy-Firstiscome.Brethren,executeuponhimthejudgmentwritten.SuchhonourhaveallHissaints!” Withthatconcludingword,thewholeassembly,exaltingtheirpilgrim’sstaves,rushedroundmeinabodyandI,havingnoweapontoraiseinself-defence,commencedgrapplingwithJoseph,mynearestandmostferociousassailant,forhis.Intheconfluenceofthemultitude,severalclubscrossedblows,aimedatme,fellonothersconces.Presentlythewholechapelresoundedwithrappingsandcounterrappings:everyman’shandwasagainsthisneighbourandBranderham,unwillingtoremainidle,pouredforthhiszealinashowerofloudtapsontheboardsofthepulpit,whichrespondedsosmartlythat,atlast,tomyunspeakablerelief,theywokeme.Andwhatwasitthathadsuggestedthetremendoustumult?WhathadplayedJabez’spartintherow?Merelythebranchofafir-treethattouchedmylatticeastheblastwailedby,andrattleditsdryconesagainstthepanes!Ilisteneddoubtinglyaninstantdetectedthedisturber,thenturnedanddozed,anddreamtagain:ifpossible,stillmoredisagreeablythanbefore. Thistime,IrememberedIwaslyingintheoakcloset,andIhearddistinctlythegustywind,andthedrivingofthesnowIheard,also,thefirboughrepeatitsteasingsound,andascribedittotherightcause:butitannoyedmesomuch,thatIresolvedtosilenceit,ifpossibleand,Ithought,Iroseandendeavouredtounhaspthecasement.Thehookwassolderedintothestaple:acircumstanceobservedbymewhenawake,butforgotten.“Imuststopit,nevertheless!”Imuttered,knockingmyknucklesthroughtheglass,andstretchinganarmouttoseizetheimportunatebranchinsteadofwhich,myfingersclosedonthefingersofalittle,ice-coldhand! Theintensehorrorofnightmarecameoverme:Itriedtodrawbackmyarm,butthehandclungtoit,andamostmelancholyvoicesobbed, “Letmein—letmein!” “Whoareyou?”Iasked,struggling,meanwhile,todisengagemyself. “CatherineLinton,”itreplied,shiveringly(whydidIthinkofLinton?IhadreadEarnshawtwentytimesforLinton)—“I’mcomehome:I’dlostmywayonthemoor!” Asitspoke,Idiscerned,obscurely,achild’sfacelookingthroughthewindow.Terrormademecrueland,findingituselesstoattemptshakingthecreatureoff,Ipulleditswristontothebrokenpane,andrubbedittoandfrotillthebloodrandownandsoakedthebedclothes:stillitwailed,“Letmein!”andmaintaineditstenaciousgripe,almostmaddeningmewithfear. “HowcanI!”Isaidatlength.“Letmego,ifyouwantmetoletyouin!” Thefingersrelaxed,Isnatchedminethroughthehole,hurriedlypiledthebooksupinapyramidagainstit,andstoppedmyearstoexcludethelamentableprayer. Iseemedtokeepthemclosedaboveaquarterofanhouryet,theinstantIlistenedagain,therewasthedolefulcrymoaningon! “Begone!”Ishouted.“I’llneverletyouin,notifyoubegfortwentyyears.” “Itistwentyyears,”mournedthevoice:“twentyyears.I’vebeenawaiffortwentyyears!” Thereatbeganafeeblescratchingoutside,andthepileofbooksmovedasifthrustforward. Itriedtojumpupbutcouldnotstiralimbandsoyelledaloud,inafrenzyoffright. Tomyconfusion,Idiscoveredtheyellwasnotideal:hastyfootstepsapproachedmychamberdoorsomebodypusheditopen,withavigoroushand,andalightglimmeredthroughthesquaresatthetopofthebed.Isatshuddering,yet,andwipingtheperspirationfrommyforehead:theintruderappearedtohesitate,andmutteredtohimself. Atlast,hesaid,inahalf-whisper,plainlynotexpectingananswer, “Isanyonehere?” IconsidereditbesttoconfessmypresenceforIknewHeathcliff’saccents,andfearedhemightsearchfurther,ifIkeptquiet. Withthisintention,Iturnedandopenedthepanels.Ishallnotsoonforgettheeffectmyactionproduced. Heathcliffstoodneartheentrance,inhisshirtandtrouserswithacandledrippingoverhisfingers,andhisfaceaswhiteasthewallbehindhim.Thefirstcreakoftheoakstartledhimlikeanelectricshock:thelightleapedfromhisholdtoadistanceofsomefeet,andhisagitationwassoextreme,thathecouldhardlypickitup. “Itisonlyyourguest,sir,”Icalledout,desiroustosparehimthehumiliationofexposinghiscowardicefurther.“Ihadthemisfortunetoscreaminmysleep,owingtoafrightfulnightmare.I’msorryIdisturbedyou.” “Oh,Godconfoundyou,Mr.Lockwood!Iwishyouwereatthe—”commencedmyhost,settingthecandleonachair,becausehefounditimpossibletoholditsteady.“Andwhoshowedyouupintothisroom?”hecontinued,crushinghisnailsintohispalms,andgrindinghisteethtosubduethemaxillaryconvulsions.“Whowasit?I’veagoodmindtoturnthemoutofthehousethismoment!” “ItwasyourservantZillah,”Ireplied,flingingmyselfontothefloor,andrapidlyresumingmygarments.“Ishouldnotcareifyoudid,Mr.Heathcliffsherichlydeservesit.Isupposethatshewantedtogetanotherproofthattheplacewashaunted,atmyexpense.Well,itis—swarmingwithghostsandgoblins!Youhavereasoninshuttingitup,Iassureyou.Noonewillthankyouforad