Chapter III
WHILE leading the way upstairs, she recommended that I should hide the candle, and not make a noise; for her mas- ter had an odd notion about the chamber she would put me in, and never let anybody lodge there willingly. I asked the reason. She did not know, she answered: she had only lived there a year or two; and they had so many queer goings on, she could not begin to be curious.
Too stupefied to be curious myself, I fastened my door and glanced round for the bed. The whole furniture con- sisted of a chair, a clothes-press, and a large oak case, with squares cut out near the top resembling coach windows. Having approached this structure, I looked inside, and per- ceived it to be a singular sort of oldfashioned couch, very conveniently designed to obviate the necessity for every member of the family having a room to himself. In fact, it formed a little closet, and the ledge of a window, which it enclosed, served as a table. I slid back the panelled sides, got in with my light, pulled them together again, and felt secure against the vigilance of Heathcliff, and every one else.
The ledge, where I placed my candle, had a few mil- dewed books piled up in one corner; and it was covered with writing scratched on the paint. This writing, however, was nothing but a name repeated in all kinds of characters, large and small CATHERINE EARNSHAW, here and there varied to CATHERINE HEATHCLIFF, and then again to CATHERINE LINTON.
In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the window, and continued spelling over Catherine Earnshaw Heathc- liff Linton, till my eyes closed; but they had not rested five minutes when a glare of white letters started from the dark, as vivid as spectres the air swarmed with Catherines; and rousing myself to dispel the obtrusive name, I discovered my candle-wick reclining on one of the antique volumes, and perfuming the place with an odour of roasted calf-skin. I snuffed it off, and, very ill at ease under the influence of cold and lingering nausea, sat up and spread open the in- jured tome on my knee. It was a Testament, in lean type, and smelling dreadfully musty: a fly-leaf bore the inscription ‘Catherine Earnshaw, her book,’ and a date some quarter of a century back. I shut it, and took up another and an- other, till I had examined all. Catherine’s library was select, and its state of dilapidation proved it to have been well used, though not altogether for a legitimate purpose: scarcely one chapter had escaped, a pen-and-ink commentary at least the appearance of one covering every morsel of blank that the printer had left. Some were detached sentences; other parts took the form of a regular diary, scrawled in an unformed, childish hand. At the top of an extra page (quite a treasure, probably, when first lighted on) I was greatly amused to be- hold an excellent caricature of my friend Joseph, rudely, yet powerfully sketched. An immediate interest kindled within me for the unknown Catherine, and I began forthwith to decipher her faded hieroglyphics.
‘An awful Sunday,’ commenced the paragraph beneath. ‘I wish my father were back again. Hindley is a detestable substitute his conduct to Heathcliff is atrocious H. and I are going to rebel we took our initiatory step this evening.
‘All day had been flooding with rain; we could not go to church, so Joseph must needs get up a congregation in the garret; and, while Hindley and his wife basked downstairs before a comfortable fire doing anything but reading their Bibles, I’ll answer for it Heathcliff, myself, and the unhappy ploughboy were commanded to take our prayer-books, and mount: we were ranged in a row, on a sack of corn, groan- ing and shivering, and hoping that Joseph would shiver too, so that he might give us a short homily for his own sake. A vain idea! The service lasted precisely three hours; and yet my brother had the face to exclaim, when he saw us de- scending, ‘What, done already?’ On Sunday evenings we used to be permitted to play, if we did not make much noise; now a mere titter is sufficient to send us into corners.
‘’You forget you have a master here,’ says the tyrant. ‘I’ll demolish the first who puts me out of temper! I insist on perfect sobriety and silence. Oh, boy! was that you? Fran- ces darling, pull his hair as you go by: I heard him snap his fingers.’ Frances pulled his hair heartily, and then went and seated herself on her husband’s knee, and there they were, like two babies, kissing and talking nonsense by the hour foolish palaver that we should be ashamed of. We made ourselves as snug as our means allowed in the arch of the dresser. I had just fastened our pinafores together, and hung them up for a curtain, when in comes Joseph, on an errand from the stables. He tears down my handiwork, boxes my ears, and croaks:
‘’T’ maister nobbut just buried, and Sabbath not o’ered, und t’ sound o’ t’ gospel still i’ yer lugs, and ye darr be lai- king! Shame on ye! sit ye down, ill childer! there’s good books eneugh if ye’ll read ‘em: sit ye down, and think o’ yer sowls!’
‘Saying this, he compelled us so to square our positions that we might receive from the far-off fire a dull ray to show us the text of the lumber he thrust upon us. I could not bear the employment. I took my dingy volume by the scroop, and hurled it into the dogkennel, vowing I hated a good book. Heathcliff kicked his to the same place. Then there was a hubbub!
‘’Maister Hindley!’ shouted our chaplain. ‘ Maister, coom hither! Miss Cathy’s riven th’ back off ‘Th’ Helmet o’ Salva- tion,’ un’ Heathcliff’s pawsed his fit into t’ first part o’ ‘T’ Brooad Way to Destruction!’ It’s fair flaysome that ye let ‘em go on this gait. Ech! th’ owd man wad ha’ laced ‘em properly but he’s goan!’
‘Hindley hurried up from his paradise on the hearth, and seizing one of us by the collar, and the other by the arm, hurled both into the back-kitchen; where, Joseph asseverat- ed, ‘owd Nick would fetch us as sure as we were living: and, so comforted, we each sought a separate nook to await his advent. I reached this book, and a pot of ink from a shelf, and pushed the house-door ajar to give me light, and I have got the time on with writing for twenty minutes; but my companion is impatient, and proposes that we should ap-propriate the dairywoman’s cloak, and have a scamper on the moors, under its shelter. A pleasant suggestion and then, if the surly old man come in, he may believe his prophecy verified we cannot be damper, or colder, in the rain than we are here.’
*****
I suppose Catherine fulfilled her project, for the next sentence took up another subject: she waxed lachrymose.
‘How little did I dream that Hindley would ever make me cry so!’ she wrote. ‘My head aches, till I cannot keep it on the pillow; and still I can’t give over. Poor Heathcliff! Hindley calls him a vagabond, and won’t let him sit with us, nor eat with us any more; and, he says, he and I must not play together, and threatens to turn him out of the house if we break his orders. He has been blaming our father (how dared he?) for treating H. too liberally; and swears he will reduce him to his right place ‘
*****
I began to nod drowsily over the dim page: my eye wan- dered from manuscript to print. I saw a red ornamented title ‘Seventy Times Seven, and the First of the Seventy-First.’ A Pious Discourse delivered by the Reverend Jabez Brander- ham, in the Chapel of Gimmerden Sough.’ And while I was, half-consciously, worrying my brain to guess what Jabez Branderham would make of his subject, I sank back in bed, and fell asleep. Alas, for the effects of bad tea and bad tem- per! What else could it be that made me pass such a terrible night? I don’t remember another that I can at all compare with it since I was capable of suffering.
I began to dream, almost before I ceased to be sensible of my locality. I thought it was morning; and I had set out on my way home, with Joseph for a guide. The snow lay yards deep in our road; and, as we floundered on, my companion wearied me with constant reproaches that I had not brought a pilgrim’s staff: telling me that I could never get into the house without one, and boastfully flourishing a heavy- headed cudgel, which I understood to be so denominated. For a moment I considered it absurd that I should need such a weapon to gain admittance into my own residence. Then a new idea flashed across me. I was not going there: we were journeying to hear the famous Jabez Branderham preach, from the text ‘Seventy Times Seven;’ and either Joseph, the preacher, or I had committed the ‘First of the Seventy-First,’ and were to be publicly exposed and excommunicated.
We came to the chapel. I have passed it really in my walks, twice or thrice; it lies in a hollow, between two hills: an el- evated hollow, near a swamp, whose peaty moisture is said to answer all the purposes of embalming on the few corpses deposited there. The roof has been kept whole hitherto; but as the clergyman’s stipend is only twenty pounds per an- num, and a house with two rooms, threatening speedily to determine into one, no clergyman will undertake the du- ties of pastor: especially as it is currently reported that his flock would rather let him starve than increase the living by one penny from their own pockets. However, in my dream, Jabez had a full and attentive congregation; and he preached good God! what a sermon; divided into FOUR HUNDRED AND NINETY parts, each fully equal to an ordinary ad-dress from the pulpit, and each discussing a separate sin! Where he searched for them, I cannot tell. He had his private manner of interpreting the phrase, and it seemed necessary the brother should sin different sins on every occasion. They were of the most curious character: odd transgressions that I never imagined previously.
Oh, how weary I grow. How I writhed, and yawned, and nodded, and revived! How I pinched and pricked myself, and rubbed my eyes, and stood up, and sat down again, and nudged Joseph to inform me if he would EVER have done. I was condemned to hear all out: finally, he reached the ‘FIRST OF THE SEVENTY-FIRST.’ At that crisis, a sud- den inspiration descended on me; I was moved to rise and denounce Jabez Branderham as the sinner of the sin that no Christian need pardon.
‘Sir,’ I exclaimed, ‘sitting here within these four walls, at one stretch, I have endured and forgiven the four hundred and ninety heads of your discourse. Seventy times seven times have I plucked up my hat and been about to depart Seventy times seven times have you preposterously forced me to resume my seat. The four hundred and ninety-first is too much. Fellow-martyrs, have at him! Drag him down, and crush him to atoms, that the place which knows him may know him no more!’
‘THOU ART THE MAN!’ cried Jabez, after a solemn pause, leaning over his cushion. ‘Seventy times seven times didst thou gapingly contort thy visage seventy times seven did I take counsel with my soul Lo, this is human weakness: this also may be absolved! The First of the Seventy-First is come. Brethren, execute upon him the judgment written. Such honour have all His saints!’
With that concluding word, the whole assembly, exalt- ing their pilgrim’s staves, rushed round me in a body; and I, having no weapon to raise in self-defence, commenced grappling with Joseph, my nearest and most ferocious as- sailant, for his. In the confluence of the multitude, several clubs crossed; blows, aimed at me, fell on other sconces. Presently the whole chapel resounded with rappings and counter rappings: every man’s hand was against his neigh- bour; and Branderham, unwilling to remain idle, poured forth his zeal in a shower of loud taps on the boards of the pulpit, which responded so smartly that, at last, to my un- speakable relief, they woke me. And what was it that had suggested the tremendous tumult? What had played Jabez’s part in the row? Merely the branch of a fir-tree that touched my lattice as the blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones against the panes! I listened doubtingly an instant; detected the disturber, then turned and dozed, and dreamt again: if possible, still more disagreeably than before.
This time, I remembered I was lying in the oak closet, and I heard distinctly the gusty wind, and the driving of the snow; I heard, also, the fir bough repeat its teasing sound, and ascribed it to the right cause: but it annoyed me so much, that I resolved to silence it, if possible; and, I thought, I rose and endeavoured to unhasp the casement. The hook was soldered into the staple: a circumstance observed by me when awake, but forgotten. ‘I must stop it, neverthe- less!’ I muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass,
and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch; instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a lit- tle, ice-cold hand! The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, ‘Let me in let me in!’ ‘Who are you?’ I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself. ‘Catherine Linton,’ it replied, shivering- ly (why did I think of LINTON? I had read EARNSHAW twenty times for Linton) ‘I’m come home: I’d lost my way on the moor!’ As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child’s face looking through the window. Terror made me cruel; and, finding it useless to attempt shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes: still it wailed, ‘Let me in!’ and maintained its tenacious gripe, al- most maddening me with fear. ‘How can I!’ I said at length. ‘Let ME go, if you want me to let you in!’ The fingers re- laxed, I snatched mine through the hole, hurriedly piled the books up in a pyramid against it, and stopped my ears to exclude the lamentable prayer. I seemed to keep them closed above a quarter of an hour; yet, the instant I listened again, there was the doleful cry moaning on! ‘Begone!’ I shouted. ‘I’ll never let you in, not if you beg for twenty years.’ ‘It is twenty years,’ mourned the voice: ‘twenty years. I’ve been a waif for twenty years!’ Thereat began a feeble scratching outside, and the pile of books moved as if thrust forward. I tried to jump up; but could not stir a limb; and so yelled aloud, in a frenzy of fright. To my confusion, I discovered the yell was not ideal: hasty footsteps approached my cham-ber door; somebody pushed it open, with a vigorous hand, and a light glimmered through the squares at the top of the bed. I sat shuddering yet, and wiping the perspiration from my forehead: the intruder appeared to hesitate, and mut- tered to himself. At last, he said, in a half-whisper, plainly not expecting an answer, ‘Is any one here?’ I considered it best to confess my presence; for I knew Heathcliff’s accents, and feared he might search further, if I kept quiet. With this intention, I turned and opened the panels. I shall not soon forget the effect my action produced.
Heathcliff stood near the entrance, in his shirt and trou- sers; with a candle dripping over his fingers, and his face as white as the wall behind him. The first creak of the oak startled him like an electric shock: the light leaped from his hold to a distance of some feet, and his agitation was so ex- treme, that he could hardly pick it up.
‘It is only your guest, sir,’ I called out, desirous to spare him the humiliation of exposing his cowardice further. ‘I had the misfortune to scream in my sleep, owing to a fright- ful nightmare. I’m sorry I disturbed you.’
‘Oh, God confound you, Mr. Lockwood! I wish you were at the ‘ commenced my host, setting the candle on a chair, because he found it impossible to hold it steady. ‘And who showed you up into this room?’ he continued, crushing his nails into his palms, and grinding his teeth to subdue the maxillary convulsions. ‘Who was it? I’ve a good mind to turn them out of the house this moment?’
‘It was your servant Zillah,’ I replied, flinging myself on to the floor, and rapidly resuming my garments. ‘I should not care if you did, Mr. Heathcliff; she richly deserves it. I suppose that she wanted to get another proof that the place was haunted, at my expense. Well, it is swarming with ghosts and goblins! You have reason in shutting it up, I as- sure you. No one will thank you for a doze in such a den!’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Heathcliff, ‘and what are you doing? Lie down and finish out the night, since you ARE here; but, for heaven’s sake! don’t repeat that horrid noise: nothing could excuse it, unless you were having your throat cut!’
‘If the little fiend had got in at the window, she prob- ably would have strangled me!’ I returned. ‘I’m not going to endure the persecutions of your hospitable ancestors again. Was not the Reverend Jabez Branderham akin to you on the mother’s side? And that minx, Catherine Linton, or Earnshaw, or however she was called she must have been a changeling wicked little soul! She told me she had been walking the earth these twenty years: a just punishment for her mortal transgressions, I’ve no doubt!’
Scarcely were these words uttered when I recollected the association of Heathcliff’s with Catherine’s name in the book, which had completely slipped from my memory, till thus awakened. I blushed at my inconsideration: but, with- out showing further consciousness of the offence, I hastened to add ‘The truth is, sir, I passed the first part of the night in ‘ Here I stopped afresh I was about to say ‘perusing those old volumes,’ then it would have revealed my knowledge of their written, as well as their printed, contents; so, correct- ing myself, I went on ‘in spelling over the name scratched on that window-ledge. A monotonous occupation, calculat- ed to set me asleep, like counting, or ‘
‘What CAN you mean by talking in this way to ME!’ thundered Heathcliff with savage vehemence. ‘How how DARE you, under my roof? God! he’s mad to speak so!’ And he struck his forehead with rage.
I did not know whether to resent this language or pursue my explanation; but he seemed so powerfully affected that I took pity and proceeded with my dreams; affirming I had never heard the appellation of ‘Catherine Linton’ before, but reading it often over produced an impression which personified itself when I had no longer my imagination un- der control. Heathcliff gradually fell back into the shelter of the bed, as I spoke; finally sitting down almost concealed behind it. I guessed, however, by his irregular and inter- cepted breathing, that he struggled to vanquish an excess of violent emotion. Not liking to show him that I had heard the conflict, I continued my toilette rather noisily, looked at my watch, and soliloquised on the length of the night: ‘Not three o’clock yet! I could have taken oath it had been six. Time stagnates here: we must surely have retired to rest at eight!’
‘Always at nine in winter, and rise at four,’ said my host, suppressing a groan: and, as I fancied, by the motion of his arm’s shadow, dashing a tear from his eyes. ‘Mr. Lockwood,’ he added, ‘you may go into my room: you’ll only be in the way, coming downstairs so early: and your childish outcry has sent sleep to the devil for me.’
‘And for me, too,’ I replied. ‘I’ll walk in the yard till day-light, and then I’ll be off; and you need not dread a repetition of my intrusion. I’m now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town. A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself.’
‘Delightful company!’ muttered Heathcliff. ‘Take the candle, and go where you please. I shall join you directly. Keep out of the yard, though, the dogs are unchained; and the house Juno mounts sentinel there, and nay, you can only ramble about the steps and passages. But, away with you! I’ll come in two minutes!’
I obeyed, so far as to quit the chamber; when, ignorant where the narrow lobbies led, I stood still, and was wit- ness, involuntarily, to a piece of superstition on the part of my landlord which belied, oddly, his apparent sense. He got on to the bed, and wrenched open the lattice, bursting, as he pulled at it, into an uncontrollable passion of tears. ‘Come in! come in!’ he sobbed. ‘Cathy, do come. Oh, do ONCE more! Oh! my heart’s darling! hear me THIS time, Catherine, at last!’ The spectre showed a spectre’s ordinary caprice: it gave no sign of being; but the snow and wind whirled wildly through, even reaching my station, and blowing out the light.
There was such anguish in the gush of grief that accom- panied this raving, that my compassion made me overlook its folly, and I drew off, half angry to have listened at all, and vexed at having related my ridiculous nightmare, since it produced that agony; though WHY was beyond my com- prehension. I descended cautiously to the lower regions, and landed in the back-kitchen, where a gleam of fire, raked com-pactly together, enabled me to rekindle my candle. Nothing was stirring except a brindled, grey cat, which crept from the ashes, and saluted me with a querulous mew.
Two benches, shaped in sections of a circle, nearly en- closed the hearth; on one of these I stretched myself, and Grimalkin mounted the other. We were both of us nodding ere any one invaded our retreat, and then it was Joseph, shuffling down a wooden ladder that vanished in the roof, through a trap: the ascent to his garret, I suppose. He cast a sinister look at the little flame which I had enticed to play between the ribs, swept the cat from its elevation, and be- stowing himself in the vacancy, commenced the operation of stuffing a three-inch pipe with tobacco. My presence in his sanctum was evidently esteemed a piece of impudence too shameful for remark: he silently applied the tube to his lips, folded his arms, and puffed away. I let him enjoy the luxury unannoyed; and after sucking out his last wreath, and heaving a profound sigh, he got up, and departed as solemnly as he came.
Amoreelasticfootstepenterednext; andnow Iopenedmy mouth for a ‘good-morning,’ but closed it again, the saluta- tion unachieved; for Hareton Earnshaw was performing his orison SOTTO VOCE, in a series of curses directed against every object he touched, while he rummaged a corner for a spade or shovel to dig through the drifts. He glanced over the back of the bench, dilating his nostrils, and thought as little of exchanging civilities with me as with my compan- ion the cat. I guessed, by his preparations, that egress was allowed, and, leaving my hard couch, made a movement to follow him. He noticed this, and thrust at an inner door with the end of his spade, intimating by an inarticulate sound that there was the place where I must go, if I changed my locality.
It opened into the house, where the females were al- ready astir; Zillah urging flakes of flame up the chimney with a colossal bellows; and Mrs. Heathcliff, kneeling on the hearth, reading a book by the aid of the blaze. She held her hand interposed between the furnace-heat and her eyes, and seemed absorbed in her occupation; desisting from it only to chide the servant for covering her with sparks, or to push away a dog, now and then, that snoozled its nose overforwardly into her face. I was surprised to see Heath- cliff there also. He stood by the fire, his back towards me, just finishing a stormy scene with poor Zillah; who ever and anon interrupted her labour to pluck up the corner of her apron, and heave an indignant groan.
‘And you, you worthless ‘ he broke out as I entered, turn- ing to his daughter-in-law, and employing an epithet as harmless as duck, or sheep, but generally represented by a dash . ‘There you are, at your idle tricks again! The rest of them do earn their bread you live on my charity! Put your trash away, and find something to do. You shall pay me for the plague of having you eternally in my sight do you hear, damnable jade?’
‘I’ll put my trash away, because you can make me if I refuse,’ answered the young lady, closing her book, and throwing it on a chair. ‘But I’ll not do anything, though you should swear your tongue out, except what I please!’
Heathcliff lifted his hand, and the speaker sprang to a safer distance, obviously acquainted with its weight. Hav- ing no desire to be entertained by a cat-and-dog combat, I stepped forward briskly, as if eager to partake the warmth of the hearth, and innocent of any knowledge of the interrupt- ed dispute. Each had enough decorum to suspend further hostilities: Heathcliff placed his fists, out of temptation, in his pockets; Mrs. Heathcliff curled her lip, and walked to a seat far off, where she kept her word by playing the part of a statue during the remainder of my stay. That was not long. I declined joining their breakfast, and, at the first gleam of dawn, took an opportunity of escaping into the free air, now clear, and still, and cold as impalpable ice.
My landlord halloed for me to stop ere I reached the bot- tom of the garden, and offered to accompany me across the moor. It was well he did, for the whole hill-back was one billowy, white ocean; the swells and falls not indicating cor- responding rises and depressions in the ground: many pits, at least, were filled to a level; and entire ranges of mounds, the refuse of the quarries, blotted from the chart which my yesterday’s walk left pictured in my mind. I had remarked on one side of the road, at intervals of six or seven yards, a line of upright stones, continued through the whole length of the barren: these were erected and daubed with lime on purpose to serve as guides in the dark, and also when a fall, like the present, confounded the deep swamps on ei- ther hand with the firmer path: but, excepting a dirty dot pointing up here and there, all traces of their existence had vanished: and my companion found it necessary to warn me frequently to steer to the right or left, when I imagined I was following, correctly, the windings of the road.
We exchanged little conversation, and he halted at the entrance of Thrushcross Park, saying, I could make no error there. Our adieux were limited to a hasty bow, and then I pushed forward, trusting to my own resources; for the porter’s lodge is untenanted as yet. The distance from the gate to the grange is two miles; I believe I managed to make it four, what with losing myself among the trees, and sinking up to the neck in snow: a predicament which only those who have experienced it can appreciate. At any rate, whatever were my wanderings, the clock chimed twelve as I entered the house; and that gave exactly an hour for every mile of the usual way from Wuthering Heights.
My human fixture and her satellites rushed to welcome me; exclaiming, tumultuously, they had completely given me up: everybody conjectured that I perished last night; and they were wondering how they must set about the search for my remains. I bid them be quiet, now that they saw me returned, and, benumbed to my very heart, I dragged up- stairs; whence, after putting on dry clothes, and pacing to and fro thirty or forty minutes, to restore the animal heat, I adjourned to my study, feeble as a kitten: almost too much so to enjoy the cheerful fire and smoking coffee which the servant had prepared for my refreshment.
齊拉領我上樓時，囑咐我把蠟燭遮起來，不要出聲，因為主人對她領我去安歇的那 個房間，存有奇怪的念頭，從不樂意讓任何人住在裡面。
我問是什麼緣故。
她回答說不知道。她在這裡才住了一兩年，這家人怪事就是多，她也就不去留意 了。
我自己昏昏沉沉，也無法探問，便閂上門，向四下望望，看看床在哪裡。全部傢俱 只有一把椅子，一個衣櫃，還有一個大橡木箱，靠近箱頂開了幾個方洞，像是馬車 的窗子。
我走到這隻箱子跟前，往裡面瞧了瞧，發現原來是一張奇特的老式臥榻，設計得非 常實用，省得家裡每個人都要佔一間屋子。實際上，這裡構成一個小房間，裡面有 個窗臺，可以當桌子用。
我拉開嵌板門，拿著蠟燭走進去，再把嵌板門拉上，覺得安全了，希思克利夫和其 他人監視不到我了。
我把蠟燭放在窗臺上，只見有幾本發了黴的書堆在一個角上。窗臺的漆面上有些亂
寫亂畫的字跡。不過，這些字跡只是用大大小小各種字體，翻來覆去寫下的一個名 字——凱瑟琳·厄恩肖，有些地方改成凱瑟琳·希思克利夫，然後又變成凱瑟琳·林 頓。
我無精打采地把頭靠在窗子上，不停地念著凱瑟琳·厄恩肖——希思克利夫——林 頓，直至合上眼睛。但是，眼睛還沒閉上五分鐘，黑暗中忽地閃出一片白晃晃的字 母，像鬼怪一樣活靈活現——空中雲集了一大片“凱瑟琳”。我驚醒過來想驅走這 攪人的名字，發現燭芯倒在一部舊書上，使那地方發出一股烤牛皮的氣味。
我剪了剪燈芯，在受寒和噁心不止的夾攻下，我感到很不舒服，便坐起來，打開那 本烤壞的書，放在膝上。這是一本細體字的《聖經》，散發出一股濃烈的黴味。扉 頁上題著“凱瑟琳·厄恩肖藏書”，還注有日期，大約在二十五年以前。
我合上這本書，又拿起一本，再拿起一本，直至全部查看了一遍。凱瑟琳的藏書是 經過挑選的，那磨損的狀況表明，都得到了充分的利用，雖然用得並不完全得當。 幾乎沒有一章，逃過了鋼筆寫的批註——至少，看上去像是批註——書頁上留下的 每一片空白，全給塗滿了。
有些是孤立的句子，有些採取正規日記的形式，出自孩子那未成體的手筆，寫得潦 潦草草。書中有一張額外的空頁，當初剛一見到它時，恐怕還把它當作寶貝呢。就 在這空頁的上端，我看見了我的朋友約瑟夫的一幅絕妙的漫畫像，畫得雖然粗糙， 但卻粗獷有力，覺得十分開心。
我對這位素昧平生的凱瑟琳，頓時發生了興趣，當即開始辨認她那模糊不清、難以 識別的筆跡。
“可怕的禮拜天！”下面一段這樣寫道。“但願父親又回到人世。欣德利是個可惡
的繼承人——他對希思克利夫太殘暴了——希和我要反抗——我們今晚採取初步行 動。”
“整天都在下大雨。大家不能去教堂，約瑟夫必須在閣樓裡聚眾做禮拜。這時候， 欣德利和他老婆卻坐在樓下暖烘烘的火爐前烤火——我敢擔保，他們說什麼也不會 去唸《聖經》。而希思克利夫，我，還有那可憐的小莊稼漢卻好，受命拿著祈禱書 爬上樓。我們列成一排，坐在一袋穀子上，一面哼哼唧唧，一面哆哆嗦嗦，實指望 約瑟夫也跟著哆嗦，這樣一來，他為了體恤自己，也會少布點道了。真是痴心妄 想！禮拜整整持續了三個鐘頭，可我哥哥看見他們下樓的時候，居然還有臉驚叫：
“‘怎麼，已經完啦？’”
“過去，我們禮拜天晚上還可以玩玩，只要不吵吵鬧鬧。現在，只要哧哧一笑，就 得罰站牆角！
“‘你們忘記你們還有個主人呢，’那暴君說道。‘誰第一個惹怒了我，我就要他 的命！我要你們一個個規規矩矩，安安靜靜。啊，小子！是你吧？弗朗西斯，親愛 的，你走過來時給我揪揪他的頭髮，我聽見他用手指打響榧呢。’”
“弗朗西斯狠狠地揪了揪他的頭髮，然後走過去坐在她丈夫的大腿上。他們就像兩 個小孩似的，一直不停地又是親嘴，又是胡扯——全是些愚蠢的廢話，我們聽了都 感到害臊。
“我們擠在餐具櫃的圓拱裡，儘量搞得舒適些。我剛把我們的圍裙系在一起，掛起 來當帷簾，誰知約瑟夫有事從馬廄裡走來。他一把扯下我掛的東西，打我耳光，扯 著啞嗓子嚷道：
“‘東家才下葬，安息日還沒過完，福音的聲音還在你們耳邊迴響，你們竟敢玩起
來了！沒羞沒臊！給俺坐下，賴孩子！只要想看書，有的是善書。坐下來，想想你 們的魂靈吧！’”
“說罷，他就硬逼著我們端端正正地坐好，好讓我們藉著遠處爐火的微弱光亮，讀 他塞給我們的那本破書。
“我可受不了這差使。我抓起那本贓書的書背，猛地扔進了狗窩，發誓說我討厭善 書。
“希思克利夫一腳把他那本書踢到同一地方。 “這一下可捅了亂子啦！
“‘欣德利少爺！’我們的牧師嚷道。‘少爺，快來呀！凱茜把《救世盔》的背皮 撕下來啦，希思克利夫拿腳踢開了《走向毀滅的寬闊大道》的頭一卷！你讓他們這 樣胡鬧，太可怕了。唉，換了老主人，非狠狠抽他們一頓不可——可惜他不在 啦！’”
“欣德利連忙從火爐邊的天堂趕來，抓住我們倆，一個抓住衣領，一個抓住胳膊， 雙雙投進了後廚房。約瑟夫斷言，魔鬼一定會來抓我們。受到這番安慰之後，我們 便各自找了個角落，恭候魔鬼降臨。
“我從書架上拿到這本書和一瓶墨水，把房門推開一點，透進幾絲亮光，寫寫字消 磨了二十分鐘。可是我的同伴不耐煩了，建議我們倆拿上擠牛奶女工的外套，披著 到荒野去溜一溜。一個好主意——就是那個兇惡的老頭子跑進來，他也會以為他的 預言應驗了——我們哪怕跑到雨地裡，也不會比待在這裡更溼更冷。”
我想凱瑟琳完成了她的計劃，因為下一句話說起了另一件事：她哭起來了。
“我做夢也沒想到，欣德利會讓我哭得這麼傷心！”她寫道。“我頭痛，痛得都不 能睡在枕頭上，可我還是禁不住要哭。可憐的希思克利夫！欣德利罵他流氓，不許 他再跟我們一起坐，一起吃飯。他還說，不許他和我一起玩，並且威脅說，我們要 是違抗他的命令，他就把他從家裡趕出去。
“他總是責怪父親（他怎麼敢呀？）待希太寬厚了，併發誓說，要把他貶到他應有 的地位上——”
我對著字跡模糊的書頁打起盹來，目光從手跡溜到鉛印字上。我看見一個紅色花飾 標題：《七十個七次，與第七十一個七次的第一次——傑貝斯·布蘭德哈姆牧師在吉 默頓沼澤區小教堂的虔誠佈道》。當我迷迷糊糊地苦苦猜測傑貝斯·布蘭德哈姆如何 闡發他這個題目時，我卻倒在床上睡著了。
唉，都是壞茶和壞脾氣帶來的苦頭啊！不然我怎麼會度過如此可怕的一夜呢？我自 從學會吃苦以來，記不得還有哪一夜能與這一夜相比。
幾乎沒等我忘記自己置身何地，我就做起夢來了。我覺得是早晨，動身往家裡走， 約瑟夫給我帶路。路上的雪有幾碼深，我們踉踉蹌蹌地往前走去，我的同伴喋喋不 休地抱怨我沒帶一根朝聖用的柺杖，說什麼不帶柺杖就進不了家，還神氣活現地揮 舞著一根大頭棒，我領會，這就是他所謂的柺杖了。
起初，我感到很可笑，我怎麼會需要這樣一個器械，才能進得去自己的家。接著， 我腦子裡閃過一個新念頭。我不是回家，我們是去聽大名鼎鼎的傑貝斯·布蘭德哈姆 宣講《七十個七次》的經文。不管是約瑟夫牧師還是我，只要觸犯了“第七十一個 七條的第一條罪”，就要當眾揭發，逐出教門。
我們來到小教堂——我散步時，還真打那裡走過兩三回。小教堂位於兩山之間的一
個山谷裡——一個填高了的山谷裡——附近有一片沼澤，據說，那裡的溼氣中含有 泥炭的成分，對於存放在那裡的幾具屍體，足以產生防腐作用。房頂至今保存完 好，但是，鑑於牧師的俸祿每年只有二十鎊，加之一座兩間屋的房子眼看要變成一 間了，沒有哪個教士願意來這裡擔任牧師的職位，特別是最近傳說，他的教民寧可 餓死他，也不願從自己的腰包裡多掏一個便士，來增加他的俸祿。然而，我夢見傑 貝斯會眾滿堂，一個個聚精會神。他佈道了——天呀！多麼了不得的一篇佈道啊： 共分四百九十節——每一節完全相當於一篇普通的佈道——而且每一節討論一種罪 過！他是從哪裡搜索到這麼多罪過的，我也說不上來。他對那四百九十條有著獨到 的見解，彷彿教友每次都要犯不同的罪過。
那都是些荒誕不經的罪過——我以前連想都不曾想到過的奇怪的罪過。
唉，我太厭倦了。我一個勁地扭動，打呵欠，打瞌睡，再醒過來！我一個勁地掐自 己，扎自己，揉眼睛，站起來，又坐下，用胳膊肘碰碰約瑟夫，要是牧師終於講完 了，讓他告訴我一聲。
我無可奈何地只得聽完——最後，他終於講到“第七十一個七次的第一次”。在這 緊要關頭，我突然來了靈感，不由得霍地站起來，當眾譴責傑貝斯·布蘭德哈姆是個 罪人，犯下了基督教徒不用饒恕的罪過。
“先生，”我叫道，“我一直坐在這座教堂裡，忍受並且寬容你在講道中列數了四 百九十條罪過。我有七十個七次拿起帽子，想要離去，你又有七十個七次荒唐地逼 迫我又坐下來。這第四百九十一次可就太過分了。難友們，別放過他呀！把他拖下 來，咂個稀巴爛，讓這個熟悉他的地方，再也見不到他這個人！”
“你就是罪徒！”肅靜片刻之後，傑貝斯從講壇的墊子上探出身子，大聲叫
道。“你有七十個七次打呵欠做怪臉——我有七十個七次與自己的心靈商量—— 瞧，這是人類的弱點，也是可以寬恕的！第七十一個七條的第一條來啦。教友們， 對他執行聖書上寫的判決吧！所有的聖徒都有這種榮耀！”
話音剛落，全體會眾舉著朝聖的柺杖，一窩蜂地向我衝來。我沒有武器拿來自衛， 便與離我最近、對我攻擊得最兇的約瑟夫，扭打起來，奪他的手杖。人群蜂擁中， 有些棍杖交錯在一起，本來對著我擊來，卻落在別人的頭顱上。霎時間，整個教堂 劈劈啪啪響成一片，你打我，我打你，每個人都向身邊的人大打出手。布蘭德哈姆 也不甘袖手旁觀，勁頭一來，雨點似的拼命敲打佈道壇，只聽見敲得震天響，最後 終於把我驚醒了，使我感到說不出的輕鬆。
究竟是什麼讓我覺得發生了這場大混戰？在這場騷亂中，又是誰扮演了傑貝斯的角 色？原來，只是狂風呼嘯而過時，有棵樅樹的樹枝擦到了格子窗，它的乾果在窗玻 璃上碰得砰砰作響。
我滿腹狐疑地聽了一陣，找到了搗亂的根源，便翻了個身睡著了，又做起夢來。如 果可能的話，這一次比前一次還不好受。
這一次，我記得我躺在那個橡木箱似的小房間裡，清晰地聽見風在怒號，雪在紛 飛。我還聽見樅樹枝反覆發出戲弄人的聲響，而且也知道是什麼原因。不過，這聲 音太煩人了，如果可能的話，我非要讓它靜下來不可。我想我爬起來了，試著想去 打開窗子。不料窗鉤給焊在鉤環裡，這個情況我醒著的時候就發現了，可是又忘 了。
“不管怎麼樣，我非要讓它靜下來不可！”我咕噥了一聲，用指節骨敲碎了玻璃，伸出手臂去抓那搗亂的樹枝。怎料我的手指沒抓住樹枝，卻握住了一隻冰冷的小手的手指頭！
我突然感到夢魘的極度恐怖。我想把手臂抽回來，可是那隻手卻緊抓不放，只聽一 個極其悽慘的聲音嗚嗚咽咽地說：“放我進去吧——放我進去吧！” “你是誰？”我問，一邊極力想把手臂掙脫出來。
“凱瑟琳·林頓，”那聲音顫抖地答道。（我怎麼會想到林頓呢？我有二十次把林頓 念成了厄恩肖）。“我回家來了，我在荒野上迷了路。”
就在那聲音訴說的當兒，我隱約看見一張孩子的臉在向窗裡張望。恐怖使我狠了 心；眼看甩不掉這小東西，我就把她的手腕拉到碎玻璃口上，蹭來蹭去，直蹭得鮮 血淋漓，浸透了被褥。可那聲音還在哀泣：“放我進去吧！”並且緊緊抓住我，簡 直把我嚇瘋了。
“我怎麼能呢？”我終於說道。“你要是想讓我放你進來，就先放開我！”
那手指果然鬆開了，我猛地把手從窗洞外抽回來，趕忙壘起一大摞書抵住窗子，捂 起耳朵不聽那悲慽的哀求。
我似乎捂了一刻多鐘，可是等我放開手再聽時，那淒厲的聲音還在哀叫。 “滾開！”我叫喊道，“我決不會放你進來，你就是央求二十年，也沒有用！” “已經二十年啦，”那聲音悽楚地說道。“二十年啦，我流浪了二十年啦！”
隨即，外面響起了輕微的抓扒聲，那堆書動了動，彷彿有人在往裡推。
我想跳起來，可是四肢動彈不得，於是便驚恐萬狀地大喊大叫。
使我惶恐不安的是，我發現這叫喊並非虛幻。急促的腳步聲朝我的房門口走來：有 人猛一下推開門，幾絲亮光透進了臥榻上方的方洞。我還坐在那裡哆嗦，抹著掛在 額頭上的冷汗。闖進來的人好像有點猶豫不決，喃喃自語。
最後，他用近乎耳語的聲音問了一句，顯然並不指望有人回答： “這兒有人嗎？”
我想最好招認我在裡面，因為我聽出了希思克利夫的口音，如果我不做聲，恐怕他 還要搜查。
我主意一定，便轉身打開了擋板。我這個舉動產生的後果，我是不會輕易忘記的。
希思克利夫站在門口，身上穿著襯衣褲子，手裡拿著一支蠟燭，燭油滴到指頭上， 那張臉就像身後的牆壁一樣白。橡木板嘎吱一響，讓他像觸電似的嚇了一跳，手裡 的蠟燭甩出好幾英尺遠，他張皇失措，顫顫巍巍，幾乎無法把蠟燭拾起來了。
“只不過是你的客人，先生，”我大聲叫道，想讓他少丟點臉，不要再露出膽怯的 樣子。“真倒黴，我做了一個噩夢，在夢裡驚叫起來。對不起，驚擾了你。”
“啊，上帝懲罰你，洛克伍德先生！但願你下——”我的主人開口說道，把蠟燭放 在一張椅子上，因為他發現拿不穩。
“誰把你領進這間屋子的？”他接著問道，一面將指甲掐進掌心，牙齒咬得嘎嘎 響，想抑制住上顎骨的顫抖。“是誰？我恨不能馬上把他攆出去！”
“是你的僕人齊拉，”我答道，一面跳下地來，急急忙忙披上衣服。“你攆她我不
管，希思克利夫先生，她這是活該。我看她是想利用我再次證明這地方鬧鬼—— 啊，這裡還真鬧鬼呢——妖魔鬼怪氾濫！我跟你說吧，你完全有理由把它關閉起 來。誰也不會因為睡在這樣一個陋室裡，而對你表示感謝！”
“你這是什麼意思？”希思克利夫問道，“你在幹什麼？既然你在這兒了，那就躺 下過完這一夜。不過，看在上帝的分上！別再發出那可怕的聲音啦——這沒法讓人 原諒，除非有人要割斷你的喉嚨！”
“要是那小妖精從窗口鑽進來，很可能會掐死我！”我回答說。“我可不想忍受你 那些好客的祖先再來折磨我啦。傑貝斯·布蘭德哈姆牧師是不是你母親方面的親戚？ 還有那個小妖精，凱瑟琳·林頓，或者凱瑟琳·厄恩肖，或者不管她叫什麼吧——她一 定是個給偷換了的孩子——可惡的小妖精！她告訴我說，她已經流浪了二十年啦。 我毫不懷疑，這是對她罪孽深重的應有懲罰！”
剛說完這幾句話，我就想起那本書上希思克利夫和凱瑟琳兩個名字的聯繫，我把這 事全給忘了，這才醒悟過來。我為自己的疏忽感到臉紅，不過，我沒有進一步顯示 我察覺了自己的過失，而是急忙添了一句：
“其實，先生，我前半夜是在——”我說到這裡又頓住了，我是想說“看那些舊 書”。那樣一來就會露餡，表明我不但知道印刷的內容，而且知道手寫的內容。於 是，我當即改口說：
“在唸叨刻在窗臺上的名字。這是個單調的差事，旨在催眠，就像數數一樣，或是
——”
“你對我這樣說話，究竟是什麼意思？”希思克利夫窮兇極惡地吼道。“你怎麼
——怎麼膽敢在我家——天呀！他這樣說話是發瘋啦！”他氣得狠敲自己的額頭。
聽他說出這話，我不知道是表示憤恨好，還是繼續解釋好。不過，他似乎大為動 情，我便起了惻隱之心，繼續敘說我做的夢。我向他申明，我以前從沒聽說過“凱 瑟琳·林頓”這個名字，後來看得多了，也就印進了腦子裡，當我迷迷糊糊地睡著 了，它就以人的形象出現在我的幻覺中。
我敘說的時候，希思克利夫慢慢退到床後面，最後索性坐下來，幾乎全給床遮住 了。但是，從他那急促不勻、時斷時續的呼吸中，我猜想他在極力剋制極度強烈的 情感。
我不想讓他看出我察覺了他內心的衝突，便繼續穿著梳洗，發出很大聲響，隨即又 看看錶，自言自語抱怨夜太長：
“還不到三點啊！我本想賭咒說有六點了。時間在這兒停滯不前啦。我們昨晚一定 是八點鐘就睡了！”
“冬天總是九點睡，總是四點起床，”主人抑制住了一聲呻吟，說道。從他胳膊動 作的影子來看，我猜想他從眼裡抹去了一滴眼淚。
“洛克伍德先生，”他接著又說，“你可以到我屋裡去。你這麼早就下樓，只會打 擾別人。你那孩子似的喊叫，早把我的睡意趕跑了。”
“我也睡不著了，”我回答說。“我到院子裡走走，等到天亮就回去。你不必擔心 我會再來打擾。我現在已經根治了交友尋樂的毛病，不管在鄉下還是在城裡。一個 理智的人，能跟自己作伴就足夠了。”
“愉快的作伴！”希思克利夫咕噥了一聲。“拿著蠟燭，愛去哪兒就去哪兒吧。我
馬上去找你。不過，別到院子裡，狗沒拴住。也別去堂屋——朱諾守在那兒，還有
——不，你只能在樓梯和走廊那裡溜達溜達——你去吧！我過兩分鐘就來。”
我依了他，走出了那間小屋。到了狹窄的走廊裡，我也不知道通向何處，便又站住 了，無意中目睹了房東的一樁迷信活動，這很奇怪，他原來並不像他表面看上去那 樣有見識。
他爬到床上，擰開窗子，用手一拉，一股熱淚奪眶而出。
“進來吧！進來吧！”他哽咽道。“凱茜，快來吧。噢，來吧，再來一次！噢！我 的心肝寶貝，就聽我這一回吧！凱瑟琳，最後一次！”
這幽靈顯示出幽靈素有的飄忽無常，就是不肯露面。但是暴風雨卻狂嘯著捲進來， 甚至撲到我站的地方，撲滅了蠟燭。
他那席瘋話激發出的悲哀中夾雜著極度的痛苦，我出於憐憫之心，也就沒覺得他的 舉動荒唐可笑。我走開了，既為自己偷聽了他的話而感到生氣，又為自己敘說了那 荒唐的噩夢而感到懊悔，因為正是我的夢導致了他那場悲痛，儘管我不明白箇中緣 由。
我小心翼翼地走下樓，來到後廚房，只見一堆火撥弄在一起，便點燃了蠟燭。
這裡沒有一點動靜，只有一隻帶有深色斑紋的灰貓，從灰堆裡爬出來，乖戾地喵了 一聲，算是向我致意。
爐前擺著兩條圓弧形的長凳，幾乎把爐子圍起來了。我在一條長凳上躺下來，老花 貓跳上了另一條。我們倆都打起盹來，不料有人闖進了我們的棲息所。來者是約瑟 夫，他從天花板的活門裡放下一架木梯，我想這就是他上閣樓的通道吧。
他朝我在爐柵裡撥弄起的火苗狠狠瞪了一眼，忽地一下把貓推下板凳，自己坐在那空出的位置上，動手把那三英寸的菸斗裝上煙。我出現在他的聖地，顯然被視為無 禮的冒昧行為，根本不屑一顧。他一聲不吭地把菸斗塞進嘴裡，叉起胳臂，噴起煙 來。
我讓他自得其樂，不去打擾。他吐完最後一個菸圈，深深吸了口氣，便站起身來， 像來時一樣，板著臉走開了。
接著，有人邁著輕快的腳步進來了，我張嘴想說一聲“早安”，可是沒有問候成， 嘴又閉上了。原來，哈雷頓·厄恩肖想在屋角找一把鏟子或鐵鍬去剷雪，嘴裡輕聲祈 禱著，每碰著一件東西都要發出一串咒罵。他向板凳後面瞥了一眼，把鼻孔張得大 大的，覺得對我就像對我的貓夥伴一樣，用不著客套。
從他的準備情況看，我可以走了。於是，我離開了我的硬板凳，準備跟他走。他看 出我想走，便用鏟子尖戳戳一扇內門，嘴裡含糊不清地咕噥了一聲，算是告訴我： 我要是想挪動位置，只能往那裡走。
那扇門通向堂屋，女人們已經忙活開了。齊拉拉著一隻大風箱，把火苗吹上了煙 囪。希思克利夫夫人跪在壁爐邊，藉助火光看一本書。
她把手遮在眼睛前面，擋住火爐的熱氣，彷彿在專心致志地看書，只有罵僕人濺了 她一身火星，或是不時推開一隻愣把鼻子往她臉上湊的狗時，她才會分分心。
我驚奇地發現，希思克利夫也在那裡。他站在爐火邊，背對著我，剛對齊拉發過一 頓脾氣，那可憐的女人不時地停下活計，撩起圍裙角，發出一聲氣憤的呻吟。
“還有你，你這個沒用的——”我進去時，他正轉過身衝著他的兒媳發作，使用的
無外乎鴨子、羊之類的無傷大雅的字眼，不過往往又用破折號來代替。
“你又耍無聊的把戲啦！別人都在掙飯吃，你卻靠我的施捨過日子！丟開你那件破 爛，找點活幹。你總是在我面前煩我，我一定會跟你清算這筆賬的——聽見了沒 有，該死的賤貨？”
“我會丟開我的破爛的，因為我就是不肯丟，你也會強迫我丟開的，”少婦答道， 一面合上書，丟在一張椅子上。“不過，你就是罵爛了舌頭，我也是除了我願意幹 的事以外，別的什麼都不幹！”
希思克利夫舉起手，說話人顯然知道它的分量，連忙跳開到一個比較安全的距離。
我無心觀賞一場貓狗爭鬥的場面，便快步走上前去，好像一心想到爐邊去烤火，並 沒意識到打擾了他們的爭吵。他們兩人都還顧全體面，沒有再爭吵下去。希思克利 夫把拳頭插進口袋裡，省得忍不住又要動手。希思克利夫夫人撅著嘴，走到遠處的 一張椅子那裡，並且遵守諾言，在我逗留的餘下時間裡，就像一座雕像似的，始終 一動不動。
我也沒有逗留多久。我謝絕了跟他們共進午餐，等天一放亮，就趁機逃到了戶外。 外面的空氣既清新，又沉靜，還像無形的冰一樣冰冷。
我還沒走到花園盡頭，房東就喊住了我，說是要把我送過荒野。幸虧他來送我，整 個山脊像一片波濤滾滾的白色海洋，外表的高低起伏並不相應地表示地面的凸凹不 平——至少，有許多坑凹給填平了；還有那一道道的山岡，一座座石礦的殘跡，也 從我昨天走過時腦子裡留下的圖像中，給統統抹掉了。
我還曾注意到，在路的一邊，每隔六七碼，就豎著一塊石碑，一直延續到荒野的盡頭。石碑都豎立著，塗上了石灰，以便天黑時用作路標，同時也是為了防止遇上眼
下這樣的大雪，將路旁的沼澤和堅實的路徑搞得混淆不清。但是，除了這裡那裡露 出幾個黑點之外，這些石碑全都不見了蹤影。我自以為準確無誤地順著彎彎曲曲的 路徑行走，我的同伴卻不得不一次次地告誡我向左或向右拐。
我們很少交談，他在畫眉莊園入口處站住了，說我到達這裡就不會再迷路了。我們 只是匆匆地鞠了個躬，算是告別，接著我就憑著自己的能耐，繼續往前走去，因為 門房那裡還無人租住。
從大門到田莊，距離是二英里，我想我卻走了四英里：時而在樹林裡迷了路，時而 又陷進雪坑裡被雪埋到脖頸，這種苦頭，只有親身經歷過的人才能體會到。總算還 好，不管我怎麼亂跑，我踏進家門時，時鐘正敲十二點。這樣一來，若照從呼嘯山 莊到這裡的通常路線計算，恰好是每英里走一小時。
我附帶租下的女管家及其下手們跑來歡迎我，七嘴八舌地嚷嚷說，她們對我已經完 全不抱希望了；大夥都猜想我昨晚一定沒命了，正琢磨著應該如何去尋找我的屍 體。
我叫他們別吵了，他們不是看見我回來了嘛。我渾身都凍僵了，步履艱難地上了 樓，換上乾衣服以後，踱來踱去走了三四十分鐘，恢復點熱氣。我又來到書房，像 只小貓一樣虛弱，就連僕人為我生起來的暖烘烘的火爐，給我端來提神的熱氣騰騰 的咖啡，我也差一點無法享受。
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