I should mention that Isabella sent to her brother, some six weeks from her departure, a short note, announcing her marriage with Heathcliff
“I shall never be there but once more,” said the invalid; “and then youll leave me, and I shall remain for ever. Next spring youll long again to have me under this roof, and youll look back and think you were happy to-day.”
Linton lavished on her the kindest caresses, and tried to cheer her by the fondest words; but, vaguely regarding the flowers, she let the tears collect on her lashes and stream down her cheeks unheeding. We knew she was really better, and, therefore, decided that long confinement to a single place produced much of this despondency, and it might be partially removed by a change of scene. The master told me to light a fire in the many-weeks deserted parlour, and to set an easy-chair in the sunshine by the window; and then he brought her down, and she sat a long while enjoying the genial heat, and, as we expected, revived by the objects round her: which, though familiar, were free from the dreary associations investing her hated sick chamber. By evening she seemed greatly exhausted; yet no arguments could persuade her to return to that apartment, and I had to arrange the parlour sofa for her bed, till another room could be prepared. To obviate the fatigue of mounting and descending the stairs, we fitted up this, where you lie at present-on the same floor with the parlour; and she was soon strong enough to move from one to the other, leaning on Edgars arm. And there was double cause to desire it, for on her existence depended that of another: we cherished the hope that in a little while Mr. Lintons heart would be gladdened, and his lands secured from a strangers gripe, by the birth of an heir.
It appeared dry and cold; but at the bottom was dotted in with pencil an obscure apology, and an entreaty for kind remembrance and reconciliation, if her proceeding had offended him: asserting that she could not help it then, and being done, she had now no power to repeal it. Linton did not reply to this, I believe; and, in a fortnight more, I got a long letter, which I considered odd, coming from the pen of a bride just out of the honeymoon. Ill read it: for I keep it yet. Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living.
DEAR ELLEN, it begins,-I came last night to Wuthering Heights, and heard, for the first time, that Catherine has been, and is yet, very ill. I must not write to her, I suppose, and my brother is either too angry or too distressed to answer what I sent him. Still, I must write to somebody, and the only choice left me is you.
I cannot recognise any sentiment which those around share with me
Inform Edgar that Id give the world to see his face again-that my heart returned to Thrushcross Grange in twenty-four hours after I left it, and is there at this moment, full of warm feelings for him, and Catherine! I cant follow it though-(these words are underlined)-they need not expect me, and they may draw what conclusions they please; taking care, however, to lay nothing at the door of my weak will or deficient affection.
The remainder of the letter is for yourself alone. I want to ask you two questions: the first is,-How did you contrive to preserve the common sympathies of human nature when you resided here?