Джейн Эйр / Jane Eyre

Бронте Шарлотта

‘I care nothing for his anger,’ exclaimed Cathy, imagining she would be its object.

‘But I do,’ said her cousin, shuddering. ‘Don’t provoke him against me, Catherine, for he is very hard.’

‘Is he severe to you, Master Heathcliff?’ I inquired. ‘Has he grown weary of indulgence, and passed from passive to active hatred?’

Linton looked at me, but did not answer; and, after keeping her seat by his side another ten minutes, during which his head fell drowsily on his breast, and he uttered nothing except suppressed moans of exhaustion or pain, Cathy began to seek solace in looking for bilberries, and sharing the produce of her researches with me: she did not offer them to him, for she saw further notice would only weary and annoy.

‘Is it half-an-hour now, Ellen?’ she whispered in my ear, at last. ‘I can’t tell why we should stay. He’s asleep, and papa will be wanting us back.’

‘Well, we must not leave him asleep,’ I answered; ‘wait till he wakes, and be patient. You were mighty eager to set off, but your longing to see poor Linton has soon evaporated!’

‘Why did he wish to see me?’ returned Catherine. ‘In his crossest humours, formerly, I liked him better than I do in his present curious mood. It’s just as if it were a task he was compelled to perform – this interview – for fear his father should scold him. But I’m hardly going to come to give Mr. Heathcliff pleasure; whatever reason he may have for ordering Linton to undergo this penance. And, though I’m glad he’s better in health, I’m sorry he’s so much less pleasant, and so much less affectionate to me.’

‘You think he is better in health, then?’ I said.

‘Yes,’ she answered; ‘because he always made such a great deal of his sufferings, you know. He is not tolerably well, as he told me to tell papa; but he’s better, very likely.’

‘There you differ with me, Miss Cathy,’ I remarked; ‘I should conjecture him to be far worse.’

Linton here started from his slumber in bewildered terror, and asked if any one had called his name.

‘No,’ said Catherine; ‘unless in dreams. I cannot conceive how you manage to doze out of doors, in the morning.’

‘I thought I heard my father,’ he gasped, glancing up to the frowning nab above us. ‘You are sure nobody spoke?’

‘Quite sure,’ replied his cousin. ‘Only Ellen and I were disputing concerning your health. Are you truly stronger, Linton, than when we separated in winter? If you be, I’m certain one thing is not stronger – your regard for me: speak, – are you?’

The tears gushed from Linton’s eyes as he answered, ‘Yes, yes, I am!’ And, still under the spell of the imaginary voice, his gaze wandered up and down to detect its owner.

Cathy rose. ‘For to-day we must part,’ she said. ‘And I won’t conceal that I have been sadly disappointed with our meeting; though I’ll mention it to nobody but you: not that I stand in awe of Mr. Heathcliff.’

‘Hush,’ murmured Linton; ‘for God’s sake, hush! He’s coming.’ And he clung to Catherine’s arm, striving to detain her; but at that announcement she hastily disengaged herself, and whistled to Minny, who obeyed her like a dog.

‘I’ll be here next Thursday,’ she cried, springing to the saddle. ‘Good-bye. Quick, Ellen!’

And so we left him, scarcely conscious of our departure, so absorbed was he in anticipating his father’s approach.

Before we reached home, Catherine’s displeasure softened into a perplexed sensation of pity and regret, largely blended with vague, uneasy doubts about Linton’s actual circumstances, physical and social: in which I partook, though I counselled her not to say much; for a second journey would make us better judges. My master requested an account of our ongoings. His nephew’s offering of thanks was duly delivered, Miss Cathy gently touching on the rest: I also threw little light on his inquiries, for I hardly knew what to hide and what to reveal.

Chapter XXVII

Seven days glided away, every one marking its course by the henceforth rapid alteration of Edgar Linton’s state. The havoc that months had previously wrought was now emulated by the inroads of hours. Catherine we would fain have deluded yet; but her own quick spirit refused to delude her: it divined in secret, and brooded on the dreadful probability, gradually ripening into certainty. She had not the heart to mention her ride, when Thursday came round; I mentioned it for her, and obtained permission to order her out of doors: for the library, where her father stopped a short time daily – the brief period he could bear to sit up – and his chamber, had become her whole world. She grudged each moment that did not find her bending over his pillow, or seated by his side. Her countenance grew wan with watching and sorrow, and my master gladly dismissed her to what he flattered himself would be a happy change of scene and society; drawing comfort from the hope that she would not now be left entirely alone after his death.

He had a fixed idea, I guessed by several observations he let fall, that, as his nephew resembled him in person, he would resemble him in mind; for Linton’s letters bore few or no indications of his defective character. And I, through pardonable weakness, refrained from correcting the error; asking myself what good there would be in disturbing his last moments with information that he had neither power nor opportunity to turn to account.

We deferred our excursion till the afternoon; a golden afternoon of August: every breath from the hills so full of life, that it seemed whoever respired it, though dying, might revive. Catherine’s face was just like the landscape – shadows and sunshine flitting over it in rapid succession; but the shadows rested longer, and the sunshine was more transient; and her poor little heart reproached itself for even that passing forgetfulness of its cares.

We discerned Linton watching at the same spot he had selected before. My young mistress alighted, and told me that, as she was resolved to stay a very little while, I had better hold the pony and remain on horseback; but I dissented: I wouldn’t risk losing sight of the charge committed to me a minute; so we climbed the slope of heath together. Master Heathcliff received us with greater animation on this occasion: not the animation of high spirits though, nor yet of joy; it looked more like fear.

‘It is late!’ he said, speaking short and with difficulty. ‘Is not your father very ill? I thought you wouldn’t come.’

‘Why won’t you be candid?’ cried Catherine, swallowing her greeting. ‘Why cannot you say at once you don’t want me? It is strange, Linton, that for the second time you have brought me here on purpose, apparently to distress us both, and for no reason besides!’

Linton shivered, and glanced at her, half supplicating, half ashamed; but his cousin’s patience was not sufficient to endure this enigmatical behaviour.