Behind Wuthering Heights 2

I thought very hard about Catherin Linton, the younger one, and started to walk. Within seven paces I was no longer walking away from the Grange but I was once again inside it, walking down one of its many halls. There was a frightful noise coming form one of the rooms.
“But I don’t want him to come!” It sounded all the world like a Catherin.
“You know he must, Cathy, you know it is for The Narrative.”
“But he is a horrible child. And he is younger than me. And, I don’t want to share father with him. Aunt Isabella shouldn’t have died and left him to us.”
“Well, in The Narrative she can’t help dieing. But you are supposed to like you cousin.”
“Well, I don’t! I much more like Hareton, he is gentle and he listens to me. There is nothing that Hareton won’t do for me.”
“Cathy! You know that you aren’t supposed to know that until nearly the end of the book.”
“I know what I am supposed to do and I know what I do anyway. In the story I love Linton and hate Hareton. I do that in the story, but can’t the story change?”
“Cathy!”
“But we could change it. I think it would be much better if I liked Hareton from the first moment I met him. That’s how it is always happening to the girls in books.”
“I am going to have to stop your reading of those books if you suggest changing The Narrative again.”
“Oh, Nelly, you wouldn’t!”
“I would.”
A maid walked past, nodded to me as a sort of welcome, and entered to room.
“Heathcliff to see you Miss.”
I turned, indeed there was Heathcliff coming up the stairs.
“Hello.” He said to me. “I see you have mastered the art of BookWalking.”
“More or less, Mr. Heathcliff.”
“I shall have to take you around sometime.”
“Would you really?”
“Of course, I just said I would, didn’t I? It’s rare that we get a visitor. It seems that most who read our tale care more for the story than for the characters or the work Miss Bronte put into Wuthering Heights. It is usually students who find their way into our story.” At that moment a little girl came running out of the room I had been eavesdropping on, and Heathcliff caught her up. “How’s my little niece?”
“Alright, but better for your coming.”
“Only alright?”
“I don’t want my cousin to come.” She pouted.
“Now, now, we can have none of that. What is it that I have in my pocket?” Catherin squealed with delight and wriggling down made for his pocket. He put his hand in, to stop her, and pulled out a peppermint stick. She jumped for it, and he lifted it higher.
“Oh, I will be good and nice to Linton if you give it you me.” He held it just within her reach. She hugged him and ran off to Mrs. Dean, licking it contentedly.
“Now,” said Heathcliff, “I must go, and you should as well, or stay in the house out of sight. My son and Edgar should be here soon and The Narrative will start up again. If you’ll come to Wuthering Heights during The Three Year Absence I could show you around.
A letter, edged with black, announced the day of my master's return, Isabella was dead; and he wrote to bid me get mourning for his daughter, and arrange a room, and other accommodations, for his youthful nephew. Catherine ran wild with joy at the idea of welcoming her father back; and indulged most sanguine anticipations of the innumerable excellencies of her 'real' cousin. The evening of their expected arrival came. Since early morning she had been busy ordering her own small affairs; and now attired in her new black frock - poor thing! her aunt's death impressed her with no definite sorrow - she obliged me, by constant worrying, to walk with her down through the grounds to meet them.— Chapter 19