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I have paid a visit to the Heights, but I have not seen her since she left: Joseph held the door in his hand when I called to ask after her, and wouldn’t let me pass.  He said Mrs. Linton was ‘thrang,’ and the master was not in.  Zillah has told me something of the way they go on, otherwise I should hardly know who was dead and who living.  She thinks Catherine haughty, and does not like her, I can guess by her talk.  My young lady asked some aid of her when she first came; but Mr. Heathcliff told her to follow her own business, and let his daughter-in-law look after herself; and Zillah willingly acquiesced, being a narrow-minded, selfish woman.  Catherine evinced a child’s annoyance at this neglect; repaid it with contempt, and thus enlisted my informant among her enemies, as securely as if she had done her some great wrong.  I had a long talk with Zillah about six weeks ago, a little before you came, one day when we foregathered on the moor; and this is what she told me.

‘The first thing Mrs. Linton did,’ she said, ‘on her arrival at the Heights, was to run up-stairs, without even wishing good-evening to me and Joseph; she shut herself into Linton’s room, and remained till morning.  Then, while the master and Earnshaw were at breakfast, she entered the house, and asked all in a quiver if the doctor might be sent for? her cousin was very ill.

‘“We know that!” answered Heathcliff; “but his life is not worth a farthing, and I won’t spend a farthing on him.”

‘“But I cannot tell how to do,” she said; “and if nobody will help me, he’ll die!”

‘“Walk out of the room,” cried the master, “and let me never hear a word more about him!  None here care what becomes of him; if you do, act the nurse; if you do not, lock him up and leave him.”

‘Then she began to bother me, and I said I’d had enough plague with the tiresome thing; we each had our tasks, and hers was to wait on Linton: Mr. Heathcliff bid me leave that labour to her.

‘How they managed together, I can’t tell.  I fancy he fretted a great deal, and moaned hisseln night and day; and she had precious little rest: one could guess by her white face and heavy eyes.  She sometimes came into the kitchen all wildered like, and looked as if she would fain beg assistance; but I was not going to disobey the master: I never dare disobey him, Mrs. Dean; and, though I thought it wrong that Kenneth should not be sent for, it was no concern of mine either to advise or complain, and I always refused to meddle.  Once or twice, after we had gone to bed, I’ve happened to open my door again and seen her sitting crying on the stairs’-top; and then I’ve shut myself in quick, for fear of being moved to interfere.  I did pity her then, I’m sure: still I didn’t wish to lose my place, you know.

‘At last, one night she came boldly into my chamber, and frightened me out of my wits, by saying, “Tell Mr. Heathcliff that his son is dying—I’m sure he is, this time.  Get up, instantly, and tell him.”

‘Having uttered this speech, she vanished again.  I lay a quarter of an hour listening and trembling.  Nothing stirred—the house was quiet.

‘She’s mistaken, I said to myself.  He’s got over it.  I needn’t disturb them; and I began to doze.  But my sleep was marred a second time by a sharp ringing of the bell—the only bell we have, put up on purpose for Linton; and the master called to me to see what was the matter, and inform them that he wouldn’t have that noise repeated.

‘I delivered Catherine’s message.  He cursed to himself, and in a few minutes came out with a lighted candle, and proceeded to their room.  I followed.  Mrs. Heathcliff was seated by the bedside, with her hands folded on her knees.  Her father-in-law went up, held the light to Linton’s face, looked at him, and touched him; afterwards he turned to her.

‘“Now—Catherine,” he said, “how do you feel?”

‘She was dumb.

‘“How do you feel, Catherine?” he repeated.

‘“He’s safe, and I’m free,” she answered: “I should feel well—but,” she continued, with a bitterness she couldn’t conceal, “you have left me so long to struggle against death alone, that I feel and see only death!  I feel like death!”

‘And she looked like it, too!  I gave her a little wine.  Hareton and Joseph, who had been wakened by the ringing and the sound of feet, and heard our talk from outside, now entered.  Joseph was fain, I believe, of the lad’s removal; Hareton seemed a thought bothered: though he was more taken up with staring at Catherine than thinking of Linton.  But the master bid him get off to bed again: we didn’t want his help.  He afterwards made Joseph remove the body to his chamber, and told me to return to mine, and Mrs. Heathcliff remained by herself.

‘In the morning, he sent me to tell her she must come down to breakfast: she had undressed, and appeared going to sleep, and said she was ill; at which I hardly wondered.  I informed Mr. Heathcliff, and he replied,—“Well, let her be till after the funeral; and go up now and then to get her what is needful; and, as soon as she seems better, tell me.”’

Cathy stayed upstairs a fortnight, according to Zillah; who visited her twice a day, and would have been rather more friendly, but her attempts at increasing kindness were proudly and promptly repelled.

Heathcliff went up once, to show her Linton’s will.  He had bequeathed the whole of his, and what had been her, moveable property, to his father: the poor creature was threatened, or coaxed, into that act during her week’s absence, when his uncle died.  The lands, being a minor, he could not meddle with.  However, Mr. Heathcliff has claimed and kept them in his wife’s right and his also: I suppose legally; at any rate, Catherine, destitute of cash and friends, cannot disturb his possession.

‘Nobody,’ said Zillah, ‘ever approached her door, except that once, but I; and nobody asked anything about her.  The first occasion of her coming down into the house was on a Sunday afternoon.  She had cried out, when I carried up her dinner, that she couldn’t bear any longer being in the cold; and I told her the master was going to Thrushcross Grange, and Earnshaw and I needn’t hinder her from descending; so, as soon as she heard Heathcliff’s horse trot off, she made her appearance, donned in black, and her yellow curls combed back behind her ears as plain as a Quaker: she couldn’t comb them out.

‘Joseph and I generally go to chapel on Sundays:’ the kirk, you know, has no minister now, explained Mrs. Dean; and they call the Methodists’ or Baptists’ place (I can’t say which it is) at Gimmerton, a chapel.  ‘Joseph had gone,’ she continued, ‘but I thought proper to bide at home.  Young folks are always the better for an elder’s over-looking; and Hareton, with all his bashfulness, isn’t a model of nice behaviour.  I let him know that his cousin would very likely sit with us, and she had been always used to see the Sabbath respected; so he had as good leave his guns and bits of indoor work alone, while she stayed.  He coloured up at the news, and cast his eyes over his hands and clothes.  The train-oil and gunpowder were shoved out of sight in a minute.  I saw he meant to give her his company; and I guessed, by his way, he wanted to be presentable; so, laughing, as I durst not laugh when the master is by, I offered to help him, if he would, and joked at his confusion.  He grew sullen, and began to swear.