CHAPTER XII

and—it’salapwing’s.Bonnybirdwheelingoverourheadsinthemiddleofthemoor.Itwantedtogettoitsnest,forthecloudshadtouchedtheswells,anditfeltraincoming.Thisfeatherwaspickedupfromtheheath,thebirdwasnotshot:wesawitsnestinthewinter,fulloflittleskeletons.Heathcliffsetatrapoverit,andtheoldonesdarednotcome.Imadehimpromisehe’dnevershootalapwingafterthat,andhedidn’t.Yes,herearemore!Didheshootmylapwings,Nelly?Aretheyred,anyofthem?Letmelook.” “Giveoverwiththatbaby-work!”Iinterrupted,draggingthepillowaway,andturningtheholestowardsthemattress,forshewasremovingitscontentsbyhandfuls.“Liedownandshutyoureyes:you’rewandering.There’samess!Thedownisflyingaboutlikesnow.” Iwenthereandtherecollectingit. “Iseeinyou,Nelly,”shecontinueddreamily,“anagedwoman:youhavegreyhairandbentshoulders.ThisbedisthefairycaveunderPenistoneCrags,andyouaregatheringelf-boltstohurtourheiferspretending,whileIamnear,thattheyareonlylocksofwool.That’swhatyou’llcometofiftyyearshence:Iknowyouarenotsonow.I’mnotwandering:you’remistaken,orelseIshouldbelieveyoureallywerethatwitheredhag,andIshouldthinkIwasunderPenistoneCragsandI’mconsciousit’snight,andtherearetwocandlesonthetablemakingtheblackpressshinelikejet.” “Theblackpress?whereisthat?”Iasked.“Youaretalkinginyoursleep!” “It’sagainstthewall,asitalwaysis,”shereplied.“Itdoesappearodd—Iseeafaceinit!” “There’snopressintheroom,andneverwas,”saidI,resumingmyseat,andloopingupthecurtainthatImightwatchher. “Don’tyouseethatface?”sheinquired,gazingearnestlyatthemirror. AndsaywhatIcould,IwasincapableofmakinghercomprehendittobeherownsoIroseandcovereditwithashawl. “It’sbehindtherestill!”shepursued,anxiously.“Anditstirred.Whoisit?Ihopeitwillnotcomeoutwhenyouaregone!Oh!Nelly,theroomishaunted!I’mafraidofbeingalone!” Itookherhandinmine,andbidherbecomposedforasuccessionofshuddersconvulsedherframe,andshewouldkeepstraininghergazetowardstheglass. “There’snobodyhere!”Iinsisted.“Itwasyourself,Mrs.Linton:youknewitawhilesince.” “Myself!”shegasped,“andtheclockisstrikingtwelve!It’strue,then!that’sdreadful!” Herfingersclutchedtheclothes,andgatheredthemoverhereyes.IattemptedtostealtothedoorwithanintentionofcallingherhusbandbutIwassummonedbackbyapiercingshriek—theshawlhaddroppedfromtheframe. “Why,whatisthematter?”criedI.“Whoiscowardnow?Wakeup!Thatistheglass—themirror,Mrs.Lintonandyouseeyourselfinit,andthereamItoobyyourside.” Tremblingandbewildered,sheheldmefast,butthehorrorgraduallypassedfromhercountenanceitspalenessgaveplacetoaglowofshame. “Oh,dear!IthoughtIwasathome,”shesighed.“IthoughtIwaslyinginmychamberatWutheringHeights.BecauseI’mweak,mybraingotconfused,andIscreamedunconsciously.Don’tsayanythingbutstaywithme.Idreadsleeping:mydreamsappalme.” “Asoundsleepwoulddoyougood,ma’am,”Ianswered:“andIhopethissufferingwillpreventyourtryingstarvingagain.” “Oh,ifIwerebutinmyownbedintheoldhouse!”shewentonbitterly,wringingherhands.“Andthatwindsoundinginthefirsbythelattice.Doletmefeelit—itcomesstraightdownthemoor—doletmehaveonebreath!” TopacifyherIheldthecasementajarafewseconds.AcoldblastrushedthroughIclosedit,andreturnedtomypost.Shelaystillnow,herfacebathedintears.Exhaustionofbodyhadentirelysubduedherspirit:ourfieryCatherinewasnobetterthanawailingchild. “HowlongisitsinceIshutmyselfinhere?”sheasked,suddenlyreviving. “ItwasMondayevening,”Ireplied,“andthisisThursdaynight,orratherFridaymorning,atpresent.” “What!ofthesameweek?”sheexclaimed.“Onlythatbrieftime?” “Longenoughtoliveonnothingbutcoldwaterandill-temper,”observedI. “Well,itseemsawearynumberofhours,”shemuttereddoubtfully:“itmustbemore.Irememberbeingintheparlouraftertheyhadquarrelled,andEdgarbeingcruellyprovoking,andmerunningintothisroomdesperate.AssoonaseverIhadbarredthedoor,utterblacknessoverwhelmedme,andIfellonthefloor.Icouldn’texplaintoEdgarhowcertainIfeltofhavingafit,orgoingragingmad,ifhepersistedinteasingme!Ihadnocommandoftongue,orbrain,andhedidnotguessmyagony,perhaps:itbarelyleftmesensetotrytoescapefromhimandhisvoice.BeforeIrecoveredsufficientlytoseeandhear,itbegantobedawn,and,Nelly,I’lltellyouwhatIthought,andwhathaskeptrecurringandrecurringtillIfearedformyreason.IthoughtasIlaythere,withmyheadagainstthattableleg,andmyeyesdimlydiscerningthegreysquareofthewindow,thatIwasenclosedintheoak-panelledbedathomeandmyheartachedwithsomegreatgriefwhich,justwaking,Icouldnotrecollect.Ipondered,andworriedmyselftodiscoverwhatitcouldbe,and,moststrangely,thewholelastsevenyearsofmylifegrewablank!Ididnotrecallthattheyhadbee