Chapter 4

A disturbed night

01 On the way upstairs, Zillah advised me to make no noise, as the master had some curious idea about the room she was taking me to, and would never willingly allow anyone to sleep there.

02 I fastened my door and looked around. The whole furniture was made up of a chair, a long heavy box for clothes, and a large wooden case, with squares cut in the top, like carriage windows. I looked inside this piece of furniture, and found it was a strange ancient kind of bed, forming a little room of its own, close to a window, the broad edge of which conveniently served as a table. I slid back the doors, got in with my light, and pulled them together again.

03 The shelf, on which I placed my candle, had a few old books piled up in one corner, and was covered with writing scratched on the paint. This writing was nothing but a name repeated many times—'Catherine Earnshaw', sometimes changed to 'Catherine Heathcliff', and then again to 'Catherine Linton'.

04 I leant my head against the window and continued to read over the names till my eyes closed. I had not rested five minutes, however, before I discovered that my candle had fallen on one of the books, which was giving off a smell of burning. I sat up and examined it. It had the name 'Catherine Earnshaw' on the first page, and a date about a quarter of a century old. I shut it, and took up another book, and another, till I had examined all.

05 The books had been well used, though not always for the usual purpose. Every bit of blank space was filled with childish writing, parts of which took the form of a record of daily happenings. At the top of an extra page I was highly amused to find an excellent drawing of Joseph. I felt an immediate interest in the unknown Catherine, and I began at once to spell out the faded words:

06 A terrible Sunday. I wish my father were alive again. Hindley is hateful. His treatment of Heathcliff is shameful.

07 All day it has been pouring with rain. We could not go to church. While Hindley and his wife sat downstairs by a comfortable fire, we were commanded to take our prayer books and go up to the top of the house to listen to Joseph praying and preaching. We stayed there three hours, yet my brother thought we came down too soon.

08 'Remember that you have a master here,' he said. 'I'll kill the first that puts me out of temper. Oh, boy? Was that you? Frances, pull his hair as you go by.'

09 Frances did so, and then went and sat with her husband. They were like two babies talking nonsense. We hid ourselves in a corner but were soon driven out by Joseph, who said we were wicked to start playing on a Sunday. I found a pot of ink and wrote in this book for twenty minutes, but my companion is impatient and suggests that we should wrap ourselves up and have a run on the moors. We cannot be damper or colder in the rain than we are here.

10 I suppose that they did this, as the next sentence took up another subject:

11 How little did I think Hindley would ever make me cry so! My head aches, till I cannot keep it on the pillow! Poor Heathcliff! Hindley calls him a gypsy, and won't let him sit with us, or eat with us, any more. My brother says that Heathcliff and I must not play together, and threatens to turn him out of the house if we disobey his orders. He has been blaming our father for treating Heathcliff too kindly, and swears he will reduce him to his right place ... 

12 My head began to nod over the faded page. My eye wandered on, but I soon sank back in bed and fell asleep.

13 Oh for the effects of bad tea and bad temper! What else could have caused me to pass so terrible a night?

14 One horrible dream followed another ... Joseph was guiding me home. He led me instead to the church I had passed on my way to the Heights. The preacher's talk was divided into four hundred and ninety parts. I became weary and restless: my head began to nod. In a voice of thunder he called upon all his listeners to punish me for my wickedness. All the worshippers rushed at me with uplifted sticks, and I, having no weapon, began struggling with my nearest attacker, Joseph. The church was full of the sound of blows ... 

15 The blows sounded so loud that I awoke.

16 What had caused the noise? Merely a branch of a tree that touched my window.

17 I turned in my bed, and slept again. This time, I remembered where I was lying, and I heard the sound of the wind and the tapping branch. It annoyed me so much that I determined to silence it. I arose and tried to unfasten the window, but in vain.

18 'I must stop it, in spite of that!' I murmured, breaking the glass with my hand, and stretching it out to seize the annoying branch.

19 Instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little ice-cold hand!

20 An immense horror came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand held on, and a sad voice cried:

21 'Let me in! Let me in!'

22 'Who are you?' I asked, struggling meanwhile to free myself.

23 'Catherine Linton,' it replied, shiveringly. (Why did I think of 'Linton'? I had read 'Earnshaw' twenty times, compared with 'Linton'.) 'I've come home. I'd lost my way on the moor.'

24 As it spoke, I saw, faintly, a child's face looking through the window.

25 'Let me in!' came the cry once more, while the hand continued to hold on to mine, almost maddening me with fright.

26 'How can I?' I said at last. 'Let me go, if you want me to let you in!'

27 The fingers loosened. I drew mine hurriedly through the hole, piled the books up against it, and closed my ears against the voice.

28 I seemed to keep them closed for above a quarter of an hour, yet, the instant I listened again, the sad cry was repeated.

29 Fear made me cruel.

30 'Go away!' I shouted. 'I'll never let you in, not if you beg for twenty years.'

31 'It is twenty years,' said the voice, 'twenty years! I've been wandering for twenty years!'

32 A scratching began outside, and the pile of books moved as if pushed forward. I tried to jump up, but could not move, so I shouted aloud in fright.