WHAT vain weathercocks we are! I, who had determined to holdmyself independent of all social intercourse, and thanked my starsthat, at length, I had lighted on a spot where it was next toimpracticable - I, weak wretch, after maintaining till dusk astruggle with low spirits and solitude, was finally compelled tostrike my colours; and under pretence of gaining informationconcerning the necessities of my establishment, I desired Mrs.Dean, when she brought in supper, to sit down while I ate it;hoping sincerely she would prove a regular gossip, and either rouseme to animation or lull me to sleep by her talk.

'You have lived here a considerable time,' I commenced; 'did younot say sixteen years?'

'Eighteen, sir: I came when the mistress was married, to wait onher; after she died, the master retained me for his housekeeper.'

'Indeed.'

There ensued a pause. She was not a gossip, I feared; unless abouther own affairs, and those could hardly interest me. However,having studied for an interval, with a fist on either knee, and acloud of meditation over her ruddy countenance, she ejaculated -'Ah, times are greatly changed since then!'

'Yes,' I remarked, 'you've seen a good many alterations, Isuppose?'

'I have: and troubles too,' she said.

'Oh, I'll turn the talk on my landlord's family!' I thought tomyself. 'A good subject to start! And that pretty girl-widow, Ishould like to know her history: whether she be a native of thecountry, or, as is more probable, an exotic that the surlyINDIGENAE will not recognise for kin.' With this intention I askedMrs. Dean why Heathcliff let Thrushcross Grange, and preferredliving in a situation and residence so much inferior. 'Is he notrich enough to keep the estate in good order?' I inquired.

'Rich, sir!' she returned. 'He has nobody knows what money, andevery year it increases. Yes, yes, he's rich enough to live in afiner house than this: but he's very near - close-handed; and, ifhe had meant to flit to Thrushcross Grange, as soon as he heard ofa good tenant he could not have borne to miss the chance of gettinga few hundreds more. It is strange people should be so greedy,when they are alone in the world!'

'He had a son, it seems?'

'Yes, he had one - he is dead.'

'And that young lady, Mrs. Heathcliff, is his widow?'

'Yes.'

'Where did she come from originally?'

'Why, sir, she is my late master's daughter: Catherine Linton washer maiden name. I nursed her, poor thing! I did wish Mr.Heathcliff would remove here, and then we might have been togetheragain.'

'What! Catherine Linton?' I exclaimed, astonished. But a minute'sreflection convinced me it was not my ghostly Catherine. Then,' Icontinued, 'my predecessor's name was Linton?'

'It was.'

'And who is that Earnshaw: Hareton Earnshaw, who lives with Mr.Heathcliff? Are they relations?'

'No; he is the late Mrs. Linton's nephew.'

'The young lady's cousin, then?'

'Yes; and her husband was her cousin also: one on the mother's,the other on the father's side: Heathcliff married Mr. Linton'ssister.'

'I see the house at Wuthering Heights has "Earnshaw" carved overthe front door. Are they an old family?'

'Very old, sir; and Hareton is the last of them, as our Miss Cathyis of us - I mean, of the Lintons. Have you been to WutheringHeights? I beg pardon for asking; but I should like to hear howshe is!'

'Mrs. Heathcliff? she looked very well, and very handsome; yet, Ithink, not very happy.'

'Oh dear, I don't wonder! And how did you like the master?'

'A rough fellow, rather, Mrs. Dean. Is not that his character?

'Rough as a saw-edge, and hard as whinstone! The less you meddlewith him the better.'

'He must have had some ups and downs in life to make him such achurl. Do you know anything of his history?'

'It's a cuckoo's, sir - I know all about it: except where he wasborn, and who were his parents, and how he got his money at first.And Hareton has been cast out like an unfledged dunnock! Theunfortunate lad is the only one in all this parish that does notguess how he has been cheated.'

'Well, Mrs. Dean, it will be a charitable deed to tell me somethingof my neighbours: I feel I shall not rest if I go to bed; so begood enough to sit and chat an hour.'

'Oh, certainly, sir! I'll just fetch a little sewing, and thenI'll sit as long as you please. But you've caught cold: I saw youshivering, and you must have some gruel to drive it out.'

The worthy woman bustled off, and I crouched nearer the fire; myhead felt hot, and the rest of me chill: moreover, I was excited,almost to a pitch of foolishness, through my nerves and brain.This caused me to feel, not uncomfortable, but rather fearful (as Iam still) of serious effects from the incidents of to-day andyesterday. She returned presently, bringing a smoking basin and abasket of work; and, having placed the former on the hob, drew inher seat, evidently pleased to find me so companionable.

Before I came to live here, she commenced - waiting no fartherinvitation to her story - I was almost always at Wuthering Heights;because my mother had nursed Mr. Hindley Earnshaw, that wasHareton's father, and I got used to playing with the children: Iran errands too, and helped to make hay, and hung about the farmready for anything that anybody would set me to. One fine summermorning - it was the beginning of harvest, I remember - Mr.Earnshaw, the old master, came down-stairs, dressed for a journey;and, after he had told Joseph what was to be done during the day,he turned to Hindley, and Cathy, and me - for I sat eating myporridge with them - and he said, speaking to his son, 'Now, mybonny man, I'm going to Liverpool to-day, what shall I bring you?You may choose what you like: only let it be little, for I shallwalk there and back: sixty miles each way, that is a long spell!'Hindley named a fiddle, and then he asked Miss Cathy; she washardly six years old, but she could ride any horse in the stable,and she chose a whip. He did not forget me; for he had a kindheart, though he was rather severe sometimes. He promised to bringme a pocketful of apples and pears, and then he kissed hischildren, said good-bye, and set off.

It seemed a long while to us all - the three days of his absence -and often did little Cathy ask when he would be home. Mrs.Earnshaw expected him by supper-time on the third evening, and sheput the meal off hour after hour; there were no signs of hiscoming, however, and at last the children got tired of running downto the gate to look. Then it grew dark; she would have had them tobed, but they begged sadly to be allowed to stay up; and, justabout eleven o'clock, the door-latch was raised quietly, and instepped the master. He threw himself into a chair, laughing andgroaning, and bid them all stand off, for he was nearly killed - hewould not have such another walk for the three kingdoms.

'And at the end of it to be flighted to death!' he said, openinghis great-coat, which he held bundled up in his arms. 'See here,wife! I was never so beaten with anything in my life: but youmust e'en take it as a gift of God; though it's as dark almost asif it came from the devil.'

We crowded round, and over Miss Cathy's head I had a peep at adirty, ragged, black-haired child; big enough both to walk andtalk: indeed, its face looked older than Catherine's; yet when itwas set on its feet, it only stared round, and repeated over andover again some gibberish that nobody could understand. I wasfrightened, and Mrs. Earnshaw was ready to fling it out of doors:she did fly up, asking how he could fashion to bring that gipsybrat into the house, when they had their own bairns to feed andfend for? What he meant to do with it, and whether he were mad?The master tried to explain the matter; but he was really half deadwith fatigue, and all that I could make out, amongst her scolding,was a tale of his seeing it starving, and houseless, and as good asdumb, in the streets of Liverpool, where he picked it up andinquired for its owner. Not a soul knew to whom it belonged, hesaid; and his money and time being both limited, he thought itbetter to take it home with him at once, than run into vainexpenses there: because he was determined he would not leave it ashe found it. Well, the conclusion was, that my mistress grumbledherself calm; and Mr. Earnshaw told me to wash it, and give itclean things, and let it sleep with the children.

Hindley and Cathy contented themselves with looking and listeningtill peace was restored: then, both began searching their father'spockets for the presents he had promised them. The former was aboy of fourteen, but when he drew out what had been a fiddle,crushed to morsels in the great-coat, he blubbered aloud; andCathy, when she learned the master had lost her whip in attendingon the stranger, showed her humour by grinning and spitting at thestupid little thing; earning for her pains a sound blow from herfather, to teach her cleaner manners. They entirely refused tohave it in bed with them, or even in their room; and I had no moresense, so I put it on the landing of the stairs, hoping it might hegone on the morrow. By chance, or else attracted by hearing hisvoice, it crept to Mr. Earnshaw's door, and there he found it onquitting his chamber. Inquiries were made as to how it got there;I was obliged to confess, and in recompense for my cowardice andinhumanity was sent out of the house.

This was Heathcliff's first introduction to the family. On comingback a few days afterwards (for I did not consider my banishmentperpetual), I found they had christened him 'Heathcliff': it wasthe name of a son who died in childhood, and it has served him eversince, both for Christian and surname. Miss Cathy and he were nowvery thick; but Hindley hated him: and to say the truth I did thesame; and we plagued and went on with him shamefully: for I wasn'treasonable enough to feel my injustice, and the mistress never putin a word on his behalf when she saw him wronged.

He seemed a sullen, patient child; hardened, perhaps, to ill-treatment: he would stand Hindley's blows without winking orshedding a tear, and my pinches moved him only to draw in a breathand open his eyes, as if he had hurt himself by accident, andnobody was to blame. This endurance made old Earnshaw furious,when he discovered his son persecuting the poor fatherless child,as he called him. He took to Heathcliff strangely, believing allhe said (for that matter, he said precious little, and generallythe truth), and petting him up far above Cathy, who was toomischievous and wayward for a favourite.

So, from the very beginning, he bred bad feeling in the house; andat Mrs. Earnshaw's death, which happened in less than two yearsafter, the young master had learned to regard his father as anoppressor rather than a friend, and Heathcliff as a usurper of hisparent's affections and his privileges; and he grew bitter withbrooding over these injuries. I sympathised a while; but when thechildren fell ill of the measles, and I had to tend them, and takeon me the cares of a woman at once, I changed my idea. Heathcliffwas dangerously sick; and while he lay at the worst he would haveme constantly by his pillow: I suppose he felt I did a good dealfor him, and he hadn't wit to guess that I was compelled to do it.However, I will say this, he was the quietest child that ever nursewatched over. The difference between him and the others forced meto be less partial. Cathy and her brother harassed me terribly:he was as uncomplaining as a lamb; though hardness, not gentleness,made him give little trouble.

He got through, and the doctor affirmed it was in a great measureowing to me, and praised me for my care. I was vain of hiscommendations, and softened towards the being by whose means Iearned them, and thus Hindley lost his last ally: still I couldn'tdote on Heathcliff, and I wondered often what my master saw toadmire so much in the sullen boy; who never, to my recollection,repaid his indulgence by any sign of gratitude. He was notinsolent to his benefactor, he was simply insensible; thoughknowing perfectly the hold he had on his heart, and conscious hehad only to speak and all the house would be obliged to bend to hiswishes. As an instance, I remember Mr. Earnshaw once bought acouple of colts at the parish fair, and gave the lads each one.Heathcliff took the handsomest, but it soon fell lame, and when hediscovered it, he said to Hindley -

'You must exchange horses with me: I don't like mine; and if youwon't I shall tell your father of the three thrashings you've givenme this week, and show him my arm, which is black to the shoulder.'Hindley put out his tongue, and cuffed him over the ears. 'You'dbetter do it at once,' he persisted, escaping to the porch (theywere in the stable): 'you will have to: and if I speak of theseblows, you'll get them again with interest.' 'Off, dog!' criedHindley, threatening him with an iron weight used for weighingpotatoes and hay. 'Throw it,' he replied, standing still, 'andthen I'll tell how you boasted that you would turn me out of doorsas soon as he died, and see whether he will not turn you outdirectly.' Hindley threw it, hitting him on the breast, and downhe fell, but staggered up immediately, breathless and white; and,had not I prevented it, he would have gone just so to the master,and got full revenge by letting his condition plead for him,intimating who had caused it. 'Take my colt, Gipsy, then!' saidyoung Earnshaw. 'And I pray that he may break your neck: takehim, and he damned, you beggarly interloper! and wheedle my fatherout of all he has: only afterwards show him what you are, imp ofSatan. - And take that, I hope he'll kick out your brains!'

Heathcliff had gone to loose the beast, and shift it to his ownstall; he was passing behind it, when Hindley finished his speechby knocking him under its feet, and without stopping to examinewhether his hopes were fulfilled, ran away as fast as he could. Iwas surprised to witness how coolly the child gathered himself up,and went on with his intention; exchanging saddles and all, andthen sitting down on a bundle of hay to overcome the qualm whichthe violent blow occasioned, before he entered the house. Ipersuaded him easily to let me lay the blame of his bruises on thehorse: he minded little what tale was told since he had what hewanted. He complained so seldom, indeed, of such stirs as these,that I really thought him not vindictive: I was deceivedcompletely, as you will hear.