CHAPTER XXXIII

likenesstoCatherineconnectedhimfearfullywithher.That,however,whichyoumaysupposethemostpotenttoarrestmyimagination,isactuallytheleast:forwhatisnotconnectedwithhertome?andwhatdoesnotrecallher?Icannotlookdowntothisfloor,butherfeaturesareshapedintheflags!Ineverycloud,ineverytree—fillingtheairatnight,andcaughtbyglimpsesineveryobjectbyday—Iamsurroundedwithherimage!Themostordinaryfacesofmenandwomen—myownfeatures—mockmewitharesemblance.Theentireworldisadreadfulcollectionofmemorandathatshedidexist,andthatIhavelosther!Well,Hareton’saspectwastheghostofmyimmortalloveofmywildendeavourstoholdmyrightmydegradation,mypride,myhappiness,andmyanguish— “Butitisfrenzytorepeatthesethoughtstoyou:onlyitwillletyouknowwhy,withareluctancetobealwaysalone,hissocietyisnobenefitratheranaggravationoftheconstanttormentIsuffer:anditpartlycontributestorendermeregardlesshowheandhiscousingoontogether.Icangivethemnoattentionanymore.” “Butwhatdoyoumeanbyachange,Mr.Heathcliff?”Isaid,alarmedathismanner:thoughhewasneitherindangeroflosinghissenses,nordying,accordingtomyjudgment:hewasquitestrongandhealthyand,astohisreason,fromchildhoodhehadadelightindwellingondarkthings,andentertainingoddfancies.Hemighthavehadamonomaniaonthesubjectofhisdepartedidolbutoneveryotherpointhiswitswereassoundasmine. “Ishallnotknowthattillitcomes,”hesaid“I’monlyhalfconsciousofitnow.” “Youhavenofeelingofillness,haveyou?”Iasked. “No,Nelly,Ihavenot,”heanswered. “Thenyouarenotafraidofdeath?”Ipursued. “Afraid?No!”hereplied.“Ihaveneitherafear,norapresentiment,norahopeofdeath.WhyshouldI?Withmyhardconstitutionandtemperatemodeofliving,andunperilousoccupations,Ioughtto,andprobablyshall,remainabovegroundtillthereisscarcelyablackhaironmyhead.AndyetIcannotcontinueinthiscondition!Ihavetoremindmyselftobreathe—almosttoremindmyhearttobeat!Anditislikebendingbackastiffspring:itisbycompulsionthatIdotheslightestactnotpromptedbyonethoughtandbycompulsionthatInoticeanythingaliveordead,whichisnotassociatedwithoneuniversalidea.Ihaveasinglewish,andmywholebeingandfacultiesareyearningtoattainit.Theyhaveyearnedtowardsitsolong,andsounwaveringly,thatI’mconvinceditwillbereached—andsoon—becauseithasdevouredmyexistence:Iamswallowedupintheanticipationofitsfulfilment.MyconfessionshavenotrelievedmebuttheymayaccountforsomeotherwiseunaccountablephasesofhumourwhichIshow.OGod!ItisalongfightIwishitwereover!” Hebegantopacetheroom,mutteringterriblethingstohimself,tillIwasinclinedtobelieve,ashesaidJosephdid,thatconsciencehadturnedhishearttoanearthlyhell.Iwonderedgreatlyhowitwouldend.Thoughheseldombeforehadrevealedthisstateofmind,evenbylooks,itwashishabitualmood,Ihadnodoubt:heassertedithimselfbutnotasoul,fromhisgeneralbearing,wouldhaveconjecturedthefact.Youdidnotwhenyousawhim,Mr.Lockwood:andattheperiodofwhichIspeak,hewasjustthesameasthenonlyfonderofcontinuedsolitude,andperhapsstillmorelaconicincompany.