Wuthering Heights, Part 25 of 25

Well, you must be enjoying this book since you've made it this far, and that makes me so happy. You deserve to sleep well every night, so be sure to check out the Sleepy Bookshelf Premium Feed, where you'll find exclusive bonus episodes. That way, you'll never run out of stories to put you to sleep. Aisha owns a bistro. She loves it, but the admin, not so much. Luckily, her Monzo Business Bank account takes some of the strain, like expensing, with real-time visibility and spend limits all managed in one app, so she's free to cook up a storm without having to make a meal of the admin. Make the switch and join over 800,000 other UK businesses already banking with us. Search Monzo Business today. Team plan starts from £25 a month. UK soul traders are limited company directors only. Tease and seize apply. Hello, it's Elizabeth, and I'm excited to share with you the newest show from Slumber Studios. It's called Sleepy History, and it's exactly what it sounds like. Intriguing stories, people, mysteries and events from history, delivered in a supremely calming atmosphere. Feel the legend of El Dorado. See what life was like for the Roman gladiators. Uncover the myths and mysteries of Stonehenge. You'll find interesting but relaxing episodes like these on Sleepy History, and the same great production quality you've come to know and love from the Sleepy Bookshelf. So check it out, and perhaps you'll have another way to get a good night's rest. Just search Sleepy History in your preferred podcast player. Good evening, and welcome to the Sleepy Bookshelf, where we put down our worries from the day and pick up a good book. I'm your host, Elizabeth. It's lovely to have you here with me this evening. Tonight, we are reading the final pages of Wuthering Heights. But before that, let's take some time to unwind and relax. Take a big stretch, and feel the tension release from your muscles. Today is over, and all that matters is that you get the rest you deserve for tomorrow. So let's take some nice, deep breaths to help you settle in. Inhale, and imagine all your worries and concerns are being sucked into a little cloud. And then exhale, and blow that cloud away. We'll do that once more, just for good measure. Inhale. And exhale. Great. You can repeat this as many times as you need to feel fully relaxed. Kathy and Heriton's friendship was such that one morning before breakfast, she followed him into the gardens, and within a short time, a space had been dug out between the gooseberry bushes for a flower garden, destroying three of Joseph's beloved black current bushes. When they were all seated, Joseph came in, trembling and despairing over the loss of his shrubs. Heriton began to take the blame until Kathy cut in, and Heathcliff became incensed with her insolence. He grabbed her by the hair, threatening to kill her, until he looked into her eyes and released her, telling Nelly to take her away and keep an eye on her that she didn't cross him again. Kathy generally stayed out of Heathcliff's way, aside from mealtimes, but continued her friendship with Heriton and their lessons together. Heathcliff came upon them one afternoon in a particularly heartwarming scene, both enthusiastically leaning over a book like children with the glow of firelight on their faces. He ordered them out of the room and confessed to Nelly that he felt a strange change approaching. All his plans of revenge had come to fruition and he only had to act the final step on the two remaining representatives of his enemies, and yet he could not bring himself to do it. To be with his Kathy was so strong that he admitted he had to remind himself to breathe most days, and what was around the corner he could not tell, but he felt its shadow. Tonight, Ellen continues the tale of Heathcliff's demise, so just lie back and relax as I turn to the last pages of Wuthering Heights. Chapter 34 The End For some days after that evening, Mr Heathcliff shunned meeting us at meals, yet he would not consent to formally exclude Heriton and Kathy. He had an aversion to yielding so completely to his feelings, choosing rather to absent himself, and eating once in 24 hours seemed sufficient sustenance for him. One night after the family were in bed, I heard him go downstairs and out at the front door. I did not hear him re-enter, and in the morning I found he was still awake. We were in April then, the weather was sweet and warm, the grass as green as showers and sun could make it, and the two dwarf apple trees near the southern wall in full bloom. After breakfast, Catherine insisted on my bringing a chair and sitting with my work under the fir trees at the end of the house, and she beguiled Heriton, who had perfectly recovered from his accident to dig, and arranged a little garden, which was shifted to that corner by the influence of Joseph's complaints. I was comfortably reveling in the spring fragrance around, and the beautiful, soft blue overhead. When my young lady, who would run down near the gate to procure some primrose roots for a border, returned only half a laden, and informed us that Mr Heathcliff was coming in. And he spoke to me, she added, with the perplexed countenance. What did he say? asked Heriton. He told me to be gone as fast as I could, she answered. But he looked so different from his usual look that I stopped a moment to stare at him. How? he inquired. Why, almost bright and cheerful? No, almost nothing. Very much excited and wild and clad, she replied. Nightwalking amuses him then, I remarked, affecting a careless manner. In reality, as surprised as she was and anxious to ascertain the truth of her statement, for to see the master looking glad would not be an everyday spectacle. I framed an excuse to go in. Heathcliff stood at the open door. He was pale, and he trembled. Yet certainly he had a strange, joyful glitter in his eyes that altered the aspect of his whole face. Will you have some breakfast? I said. Must be hungry, rambling about all night. I wanted to discover where he had been, but I did not like to ask directly. No, I'm not hungry. He answered, averting his head and speaking rather contentuously, as if he guessed I was trying to divine the occasion of his good humour. I felt perplexed. I did not know whether it was not a proper opportunity to offer a bit of admonition. I don't think it right to wander out to doors, I observed, instead of being in bed. It is not wise at any rate this moist season. A dare say you'll catch a bad cold or a fever. You have something the matter with you now. Nothing but what I can bear. He replied, and with the greatest pleasure, provided you'll leave me alone, get in and don't annoy me. I obeyed, and in passing I noticed his breathing as fast as a cat. Yes, I reflected on myself. Shall I have a fit of illness? Cannot conceive what he has been doing. That noon he sat down to dinner with us, and received a heaped up plate from my hands as if he intended to make amends for previous fasting. I've neither cold nor fevernly, he remarked, in allusion to my morning speech, and I'm ready to do justice to the food you give me. He took his knife and fork, and was going to commence eating, when the inclination appeared to become suddenly extinct. He laid them on the table, looking eagerly towards the window. Then rose and went out. We saw him walking to and fro in the garden while we concluded our meal, and Earnshaw said he'd go and ask why he would not dine. He thought we had grieved him in some way. Well, is he coming? cried Catherine when her cousin returned. No, he answered. But he's not angry. He seemed really pleased indeed. Only I made him impatient by speaking to him twice, and he bid me off to you. He wondered how I could want the company of anybody else. I set his plate to keep warm on the fender, and after an hour or two he re-entered, when the room was clear in no degree calmer. The same unnatural. It was unnatural, appearance of joy under his black brows. The same bloodless hue, and his teeth visible now and then in a kind of smile. His frame shivering, not as one shivers with chill or weakness, but as a tight, stretched cord vibrates. A strong, thrilling rather than trembling. I will ask what is the matter, I thought. Or who should? The nights glimmed. Have you heard any good news, Mr. Eathcliff? You look uncommonly animated. Where should good news come from to me? He said, I'm animated with hunger and seemingly I must not eat. Your dinner is here. I returned. Why won't you get it? I didn't want it now. He muttered hastily. I wait till supper, and Nelly, once and for all, lets me beg you to warn Harreton and the other away from me. I wish to be troubled by nobody. I wish to have this place to myself. Is there some new reason for this banishment? I inquired. Tell me why you were so queer, Mr. Eathcliff. Where were you last night? I'm not putting the question through idle curiosity, but... You were putting the question through very idle curiosity. He interrupted with a laugh. Yet, I'll answer it. Last night, I was on the threshold of hell. Today, I am within sight of my heaven. I have my eyes on it. Hardly three feet to seven feet. Hardly three feet to seven feet. You'd better go. You'll neither see nor hear anything to frighten you if you refrain from prying. Having swept the hearth and wiped the table, I departed more perplexed than ever. He did not quit the house again that afternoon, and no one intruded on his solitude till eight o'clock. I deemed it proper though unsummoned to carry a candle and his supper to him. He was leaning against the ledge of an open lattice, but not looking out. His face was turned to the interior gloom. Fire had smoldered to ashes. The room was filled with the damp, mild air of the cloudy evening. And so still that not only the murmur of the beck downgimitim was distinguishable, but its ripples and gurgling over the pebbles, or through the large stones which it could not cover. I uttered an ejaculation of discontent at seeing the dismal grace. And commenced shutting the casements one after the other. Till I came to his. Must I close this? I asked in order to rangle him, for he would not stir. The light flashed on his features as I spoke. Oh, Mr. Lockwood, cannot express what a terrible start I got by the momentary view. Those deep black eyes, that smile and ghastly paleness. It appeared to me not, Mr. Eathcliff, but a gobbling there. And in my terror, I let the candle bend towards the wall. And it left me in darkness. Yes. Close it. He replied in his familiar voice. There, at his pure awkwardness, why did you hold the candle horizontally? Be quick and bring another. I hurried out in a foolish state of dread and said to Joseph, the master wishes she should take him alive to rekindle the fire, for I dared not go in myself just then. Joseph rattled some fire into the shovel and went. But he brought it back immediately, with the supper tray in his other hand, explaining that Mr. Eathcliff was going to bed, and wanted nothing to eat till morning. We heard him mount the stairs directly. He did not proceed to his ordinary chamber, but turned into that with the panelled bed. Its window, as I mentioned before, is wide enough for anybody to get through. And it struck me that he plotted another midnight excursion, of which he had rather we had no suspicion. Is he a ghoul or a vampire? I amused. I had read of such hideous, incarnate demons. And then I set myself to reflect how I had tended him in infancy, and watched him grow to youth, and followed him almost through his whole course, and what absurd nonsense it was to yield to that sense of horror. But where did he come from? The dark little thing. Harbored by a good man to his bed, muttered superstitions I dozed into unconsciousness. And I began half dreaming to weary myself with imagining some fit parentage for him, and repeating my waking meditations. Attract his existence over again with grim variations. At last, picturing his death, and funeral. Of which all I can remember is being exceedingly vexed, at having the task of dictating an inscription for his monument, and consulting this extant about it. And as he had no surname and we could not tell his age, we were obliged to content ourselves with the single word, Eastcliff. That came true. We were. If you went to the Kirk Yard, you'll read on his headstone only that, and the date of his death. Dawn restored me to common sense. I rose and went into the garden as soon as I could to see, to ascertain if there were any footmarks under his window. They were none. He has stayed at home, I thought, and they'll be all right today. I prepared breakfast for the household as was my usual custom, but told Aritan and Catherine to get theirs ere the master came down for a lay late. They preferred taking it out to doors under the trees, and I set a little table to accommodate them. On my re-entrance, I found Mr. Eastcliff below. Ian Joseph was conversing about some farming business. He gave clear, minute directions concerning the matter discussed, but he spoke rapidly and turned his head continually aside, and at the same excited expression, even more exaggerated. When Joseph quit the room, he took his seat in the place he generally chose, and I put a basin of coffee before him. He drew it nearer, and then rested his arms on the table, and looked at the opposite wall as I supposed, surveying one particular portion up and down, with glittering, restless eyes, and with such eager interest that he stopped breathing during half a minute together. Just come now, I exclaimed, pushing some bread against his hand, to eat and drink that while it's hot. It has been wet in near an hour. He didn't notice me, and yet he smiled. I'd rather have seen him gnash his teeth than smile, so. Mr. Eathcliff, master, I cried, don't for God's sake stare as if you saw an unearthly vision. Don't for God's sake shout so loud, he replied, turn round and tell me, are we by ourselves? Of course, I'm not. We are ourselves. Of course, was my answer. Of course we are. Still, I involuntarily obeyed him as if I was not quite sure, with a sweep of his hand he cleared a vacant space in front, among the breakfast things, and lent forward to gaze more at his ease. Now I perceived he was not looking at the wall, for when I regarded him alone, seemed exactly that he gazed at something within two yards distance. And whatever it was, it communicated apparently, both pleasure and pain in exquisite extremes, at least the anguished, yet raptured expression of his countenance suggested that idea. The fancied object was not fixed either, his eyes pursued it with unwearied diligence, and even in speaking to me were never weaned away. A vainly reminded him of his protracted abstinence from food, if he stirred to touch anything in compliance with my entreaties, if he stretched his hand out to get a piece of bread, his fingers clenched it before they reached it, and it remained on the table, forgetful of their aim. I sat, a model of patience, trying to attract his absorbed attention from its engrossing speculation, till he grew irritable and got up, asking why I would not allow him to have his own time in taking his meals, and saying that on the next occasion I needn't wait, I might set the things down and go. Having uttered these words, he left the house, slowly sauntered down the garden path, and disappeared through the gate. The hours crept anxiously by, another evening came, I did not retire to rest till late, and when I did I could not sleep. He returned after midnight, and instead of going to bed, shut himself into the room beneath. I listened and tossed about, and finally dressed and descended. It was too irksome to lie there, harassing my brain with a hundred idle misgivings. I distinguished Mr. Eathcliff's step, restlessly measuring the floor, and he frequently broke the silence by a deep inspiration, resembling a groan. He muttered detached words also. The only one I could catch was the name of Catherine, coupled with some wild term of endearment, or suffering. And spoken as one would speak to a person present, low and earnest, and wrong from the depth of his soul. I had not courage to walk straight into the apartment, but had desired to divert him from his reverie, and therefore fell foul of the kitchen fire, stirred it, and began to scrape the cinders. It drew him forth sooner than I expected. He opened the door immediately and said, Nothi, come here. Is it morning? Come in with your light. It is striking for, I answered. You want a candle to take upstairs? You might have lit one at this fire. No, I don't wish to go upstairs. He said, come in and kindle me a fire, and do anything there is to do about the room. I must blow the coal's red first before I can carry any. I replied, getting a chair in the bellows. He roamed to and fro, meantime in a state approaching distraction. His heavy sighs, succeeding each other so thick, as to leave no space for common breathing between. One day breaks. I'll send for Greener, he said. I wish to make some legal inquiries of him while I can bestow his thought on those matters, and while I can act calmly. I have not written my will yet, and how to leave my property I cannot determine. I wish I could annihilate it from the face of the earth. I would not talk so, Mr. Eathcliffe. I interposed. Let you will be awhile. You'll be spared to repent of your many injustices yet, and never expected that your nerves would be disordered. They are, at present, marvelously so, however, and almost entirely through your own fault. The way you've passed these three days might knock up a titan. Do take some food and some repose. You need only to look at yourself in the glass to see how you require both. Your cheeks are all low, and your eyes are bloodshot like a person starving with hunger and going blind with loss of sleep. It is not my fault that I cannot eat or rest, he replied. I assure you it is through no settled designs. I'll do both, as soon as I possibly can. But you might as well bid a man struggling in the water rest within his arms' length of the shore. I must reach it first, and then I'll rest. Well, never mind, Mr. Green, as to repenting of my injustices, I've done no injustice, and I repent of nothing. I am too happy. And yet I am not happy enough. My soul's bliss kills my body but does not satisfy itself. Happy, Master, I cried. Strange happiness. If you would hear me without being angry, I might offer some advice that would make you happier. What is that? He asked. Give it. You are aware, Mr. Eithliff, I said, that from the time you were 13 years old, you have lived a selfish, un-Christian life, and probably hardly had a Bible in your hands during all that period. You must have forgotten the contents of the book, and you may not have had space to search it now. Could it be hurtful to send for someone, some minister of any denomination, it does not matter which, to explain it, and show you how very far you have aired from its precepts, and how unfit you will be for its heaven unless a change takes place before you die? I am rather obliged than angry, Nelly. He said, Have you reminded me of the manner in which I desire to be buried? It is to be carried to the churchyard in the evening. You and Harreton may, if you please, accompany me and mind, particularly, to notice that the sexton who bays my directions concerning the two coffins, no minister need come nor need anything be said over me. I tell you, I have nearly attained my heaven and that of others is altogether unvalued and uncovered by me. And supposing you persevered in your obstinate fast and died by that means, and they refused to bury you in the precincts of the Kirk, I said, shocked at his godless indifference. How would you like it? They won't do that. He replied, If they did, you must have me removed secretly. And if you neglected, you shall prove practically that the dead are not annihilated. As soon as he heard the other members of the family stirring, he retired to his den and I breathed, freer. But in the afternoon, while Joseph and Harreton were at their work, he came into the kitchen again and with a wild look, bid me come and sit in the house. He wanted somebody with him. I declined, telling him plainly that his strange talk and manner frightened me and I had neither the nerve nor the will to be his companion alone. I believe you think me a fiend, he said with his dismal laugh. Something too horrible to live under a decent roof. Then, turning to Catherine, who was there and who drew behind me to his approach, he added half sneeringly, will you come, shock? I'll not hurt you. No. Do you have made myself worse than the devil? Well, there is one who won't shrink from my company. My God, she's relentless. Damn it, it's unalterably too much for flesh and blood to bear. Even mine. He solicited the society of no one more. At Dorske went into his chamber. Through the whole night and far into the morning, we heard him groaning and murmuring to himself. Araton was anxious to enter but had bid him fetch Mr. Kenneth and he should go in and see him. When he came, I requested admittance and tried to open the door. I found it locked and Heathcliff bid us be damned. He was better and would be left alone. So the doctor went away. The following evening was very wet indeed. It poured down till day dawn and as I took my morning walk around the house, I observed the door opening and closing. And as I took my morning walk around the house, I observed the master's window swinging open and the rain driving straight in. He cannot be in bed, I thought. Those showers would drench him through. He must either be up or out. But I'll make no more ado. I'll go boldly and look. I've succeeded in obtaining entrance with another key. I ran to enclose the panels for the chamber was vacant. Quickly pushing them aside, I peeped in. Mr. Heathcliff was there, layered on his back. His eyes met mine so keen and fierce I started. And then he seemed to smile. I could not think him dead, but his face and throat were washed with rain. The bedclothes dripped and he was perfectly still. The lattice flapping to him fro had grazed one hand that rested on the sill. No blood trickled me. No blood trickled from the broken skin. And when I put my fingers to it, I could doubt no more. He was dead and stark. I hasped the window. I combed his black long care from his forehead. I tried to close his eyes to extinguish if possible that frightful, lifelike gaze of exultation before anyone else beheld it. They would not shut. They seemed to snare at my attempts. And his parted lips and sharp white teeth sneered too. Taken with another fit of cowardice, I cried out for Joseph. Joseph shuffled up and made a noise, but resolutely refused to meddle with him. The devil's hurried off with his soul. He cried. And he may have his carcass into the bargain for what I care. What a wicked and he looks, gaining it death. And the old sinner grinned in mockery. I thought he intended to cut a cape around the bed, but suddenly composing himself. He fell on his knees and raised his hands. And returned thanks that the lawful master and the ancient stock were restored to their rights. I felt stunned by the awful act of the devil. I felt stunned by the awful event. But my memory unavoidably recurred to former times with a sort of oppressive sadness. But poor Araton, the most wronged, was the only one who really suffered much. He sat by the corpse all night, weeping in bitter earnest. He pressed his hand and kissed the sarcastic, savage face that everyone else shrank from contemplating, and bemoaned in with that strong grief which springs naturally from a generous heart, though it be tough as tempered steel. Mr. Kenneth was perplexed to pronounce of what disordered the master died. I concealed the fact of his having swallowed nothing for four days, fearing it might lead to trouble, and then I am persuaded he did not abstain on purpose. It was the consequence of his strange illness, not the cause. We buried him to the scandal of the whole neighborhood as he wished. Earned sure an eye, the sexton, the six men to carry the coffin, comprehended the whole attendance. The six men departed when they had let it down into the grave. We stayed to see it covered. Araton with a streaming face dug green sods and laid them over the brown mole himself. At present it is as smooth and verdant as its companion mounds, and I hope its tenon sleeps as soundly. But the country folks, if you ask them, would swear on the bible that he walks. There are those who speak to have him met him near the church, and on the mole, and even within this house. Idle tales, you'll say and so say I. Yet that old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on him, looking out of his chamber window on every rainy night since his death. And not thing happened to me about a month ago. I was going to the Grange one evening, a dark evening, threatening thunder, and just at the turn of the heights, I encountered a little boy with a sheep and two lambs before him. He was crying terribly, and I suppose the lambs were skittish and would not be guided. What is the matter, little man? I asked. There's Eathcliff and a woman yonder under the nab. He blubbered. Oh, they're done at Passham. I saw nothing, but neither the sheep nor he would go on. So I bid him take the road lower down. He probably raised the phantoms from thinking as he traversed the moors alone on the nonsense he had heard his parents and companions repeat. Yet still, I don't like being out in the dark now, and I don't like being left by myself in this grim house. Cannot help it. I shall be glad when they leave it and shift to the Grange. They are going to the Grange, then, I said. Yes, answered Mrs. Dean. As soon as they are married, and that will be our new year's day. And who will live here then? Why, Joseph will take care of the house and perhaps a lad to keep him company. They will live in the kitchen, and the rest will be shut up. For the use of such ghosts as choose to inhabit it, I observed. No, Mr. Lockwood. Said Nellie, shaking her head. I believe the dead are at peace, but it is not right to speak of them with levity. At that moment, the Garden Gate swung to. The Ramblers were returning. They are afraid of nothing. I grumbled, watching their approach through the window. Together they would brave Satan and all its legions. I thought they were going to be the best. As they stepped onto the doorstones, and halted to take a last look at the moon, or more correctly at each other by her light. I felt irresistibly impelled to escape them again. And pressing a remembrance into the hand of Mrs. Dean, and disregarding her expostulations at my rudeness. I thought they were going to be the best. I thought they were going to be the best. I thought they were going to be the best. And disregarding her expostulations at my rudeness. I vanished through the kitchen as they opened the house door. And so should have confirmed Joseph in his opinion of his fellow servants gay in discresions. Had he not fortunately recognized me for a respectable character. By this sweet ring of a sovereign at his feet. My walk home was lengthened by a diversion in the direction of the Kirk. When beneath its walls, a perceived decay had made progress even in seven months. Many a window showed black gaps, deprived of glass. And slates jutted off here and there, beyond the right line of the roof. To be gradually worked off in coming autumn storms. I sought, and soon discovered, the three headstones on the slope next to the moor. The middle one, gray and half buried in the heath. Edgar Linton's only harmonized by the turf and moss creeping up its foot. Heathcliffs still bear. I lingered round them under that benign sky. Watched the moths fluttering among the heath and hair bells. Listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass. And wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.