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1The twelve years, continued Mrs. Dean, following that dismal period were the happiest of my life: my greatest troubles
2in their passage rose from our little lady's trifling illnesses, which she had to experience in common with all
3children, rich and poor. For the rest, after the first six months, she grew like a larch, and could walk and talk too,
4in her own way, before the heath blossomed a second time over Mrs. Linton's dust. She was the most winning thing that
5ever brought sunshine into a desolate house: a real beauty in face, with the Earnshaws' handsome dark eyes, but the
6Lintons' fair skin and small features, and yellow curling hair. Her spirit was high, though not rough, and qualified by
7a heart sensitive and lively to excess in its affections. That capacity for intense attachments reminded me of her
8mother: still she did not resemble her: for she could be soft and mild as a dove, and she had a gentle voice and pensive
9expression: her anger was never furious; her love never fierce: it was deep and tender. However, it must be
10acknowledged, she had faults to foil her gifts. A propensity to be saucy was one; and a perverse will, that indulged
11children invariably acquire, whether they be good tempered or cross. If a servant chanced to vex her, it was always--"I
12shall tell papa!" And if he reproved her, even by a look, you would have thought it a heart-breaking business: I don't
13believe he ever did speak a harsh word to her. He took her education entirely on himself, and made it an amusement.
14Fortunately, curiosity and a quick intellect made her an apt scholar: she learned rapidly and eagerly, and did honour to
15his teaching. Till she reached the age of thirteen she had not once been beyond the range of the park by herself. Mr.
16Linton would take her with him a mile or so outside, on rare occasions; but he trusted her to no one else. Gimmerton was
17an unsubstantial name in her ears; the chapel, the only building she had approached or entered, except her own home.
18Wuthering Heights and Mr. Heathcliff did not exist for her: she was a perfect recluse; and, apparently, perfectly
19contented. Sometimes, indeed, while surveying the country from her nursery window, she would observe-- "Ellen, how long
20will it be before I can walk to the top of those hills? I wonder what lies on the other side--is it the sea?" "No, Miss
21Cathy," I would answer; "it is hills again, just like these." "And what are those golden rocks like when you stand under
22them?" she once asked. The abrupt descent of Penistone Crags particularly attracted her notice; especially when the
23setting sun shone on it and the topmost heights, and the whole extent of landscape besides lay in shadow. I explained
24that they were bare masses of stone, with hardly enough earth in their clefts to nourish a stunted tree. "And why are
25they bright so long after it is evening here?" she pursued. "Because they are a great deal higher up than we are,"
26replied I; "you could not climb them, they are too high and steep. In winter the frost is always there before it comes
27to us; and deep into summer I have found snow under that black hollow on the north-east side!" "Oh, you have been on
28them!" she cried gleefully. "Then I can go, too, when I am a woman. Has papa been, Ellen?" "Papa would tell you, Miss,"
29I answered, hastily, "that they are not worth the trouble of visiting. The moors, where you ramble with him, are much
30nicer; and Thrushcross Park is the finest place in the world." "But I know the park, and I don't know those," she
31murmured to herself. "And I should delight to look round me from the brow of that tallest point: my little pony Minny
32shall take me some time." One of the maids mentioning the Fairy Cave, quite turned her head with a desire to fulfil this
33project: she teased Mr. Linton about it; and he promised she should have the journey when she got older. But Miss
34Catherine measured her age by months, and, "Now, am I old enough to go to Penistone Crags?" was the constant question in
35her mouth. The road thither wound close by Wuthering Heights. Edgar had not the heart to pass it; so she received as
36constantly the answer, "Not yet, love: not yet." I said Mrs. Heathcliff lived above a dozen years after quitting her
37husband. Her family were of a delicate constitution: she and Edgar both lacked the ruddy health that you will generally
38meet in these parts. What her last illness was, I am not certain: I conjecture, they died of the same thing, a kind of
39fever, slow at its commencement, but incurable, and rapidly consuming life towards the close. She wrote to inform her
40brother of the probable conclusion of a four-months' indisposition under which she had suffered, and entreated him to
41come to her, if possible; for she had much to settle, and she wished to bid him adieu, and deliver Linton safely into
42his hands. Her hope was that Linton might be left with him, as he had been with her: his father, she would fain convince
43herself, had no desire to assume the burden of his maintenance or education. My master hesitated not a moment in
44complying with her request: reluctant as he was to leave home at ordinary calls, he flew to answer this; commending
45Catherine to my peculiar vigilance, in his absence, with reiterated orders that she must not wander out of the park,
46even under my escort: he did not calculate on her going unaccompanied. He was away three weeks. The first day or two my
47charge sat in a corner of the library, too sad for either reading or playing: in that quiet state she caused me little
48trouble; but it was succeeded by an interval of impatient, fretful weariness; and being too busy, and too old then, to
49run up and down amusing her, I hit on a method by which she might entertain herself. I used to send her on her travels
50round the grounds--now on foot, and now on a pony; indulging her with a patient audience of all her real and imaginary
51adventures when she returned. The summer shone in full prime; and she took such a taste for this solitary rambling that
52she often contrived to remain out from breakfast till tea; and then the evenings were spent in recounting her fanciful
53tales. I did not fear her breaking bounds; because the gates were generally locked, and I thought she would scarcely
54venture forth alone, if they had stood wide open. Unluckily, my confidence proved misplaced. Catherine came to me, one
55morning, at eight o'clock, and said she was that day an Arabian merchant, going to cross the Desert with his caravan;
56and I must give her plenty of provision for herself and beasts: a horse, and three camels, personated by a large hound
57and a couple of pointers. I got together good store of dainties, and slung them in a basket on one side of the saddle;
58and she sprang up as gay as a fairy, sheltered by her wide-brimmed hat and gauze veil from the July sun, and trotted off
59with a merry laugh, mocking my cautious counsel to avoid galloping, and come back early. The naughty thing never made
60her appearance at tea. One traveller, the hound, being an old dog and fond of its ease, returned; but neither Cathy, nor
61the pony, nor the two pointers were visible in any direction: I despatched emissaries down this path, and that path, and
62at last went wandering in search of her myself. There was a labourer working at a fence round a plantation, on the
63borders of the grounds. I inquired of him if he had seen our young lady. "I saw her at morn," he replied: "she would
64have me to cut her a hazel switch, and then she leapt her Galloway over the hedge yonder, where it is lowest, and
65galloped out of sight."
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