ABOUT twelve o'clock that night was born the Catherine you saw atWuthering Heights: a puny, seven-months' child; and two hoursafter the mother died, having never recovered sufficientconsciousness to miss Heathcliff, or know Edgar. The latter'sdistraction at his bereavement is a subject too painful to be dwelton; its after-effects showed how deep the sorrow sunk. A greataddition, in my eyes, was his being left without an heir. Ibemoaned that, as I gazed on the feeble orphan; and I mentallyabused old Linton for (what was only natural partiality) thesecuring his estate to his own daughter, instead of his son's. Anunwelcomed infant it was, poor thing! It might have wailed out oflife, and nobody cared a morsel, during those first hours ofexistence. We redeemed the neglect afterwards; but its beginningwas as friendless as its end is likely to be.

Next morning - bright and cheerful out of doors - stole softened inthrough the blinds of the silent room, and suffused the couch andits occupant with a mellow, tender glow. Edgar Linton had his headlaid on the pillow, and his eyes shut. His young and fair featureswere almost as deathlike as those of the form beside him, andalmost as fixed: but HIS was the hush of exhausted anguish, andHERS of perfect peace. Her brow smooth, her lids closed, her lipswearing the expression of a smile; no angel in heaven could be morebeautiful than she appeared. And I partook of the infinite calm inwhich she lay: my mind was never in a holier frame than while Igazed on that untroubled image of Divine rest. I instinctivelyechoed the words she had uttered a few hours before: 'Incomparablybeyond and above us all! Whether still on earth or now in heaven,her spirit is at home with God!'

I don't know if it be a peculiarity in me, but I am seldomotherwise than happy while watching in the chamber of death, shouldno frenzied or despairing mourner share the duty with me. I see arepose that neither earth nor hell can break, and I feel anassurance of the endless and shadowless hereafter - the Eternitythey have entered - where life is boundless in its duration, andlove in its sympathy, and joy in its fulness. I noticed on thatoccasion how much selfishness there is even in a love like Mr.Linton's, when he so regretted Catherine's blessed release! To besure, one might have doubted, after the wayward and impatientexistence she had led, whether she merited a haven of peace atlast. One might doubt in seasons of cold reflection; but not then,in the presence of her corpse. It asserted its own tranquillity,which seemed a pledge of equal quiet to its former inhabitant.

Do you believe such people are happy in the other world, sir? I'dgive a great deal to know.

I declined answering Mrs. Dean's question, which struck me assomething heterodox. She proceeded:

Retracing the course of Catherine Linton, I fear we have no rightto think she is; but we'll leave her with her Maker.

The master looked asleep, and I ventured soon after sunrise to quitthe room and steal out to the pure refreshing air. The servantsthought me gone to shake off the drowsiness of my protracted watch;in reality, my chief motive was seeing Mr. Heathcliff. If he hadremained among the larches all night, he would have heard nothingof the stir at the Grange; unless, perhaps, he might catch thegallop of the messenger going to Gimmerton. If he had come nearer,he would probably be aware, from the lights flitting to and fro,and the opening and shutting of the outer doors, that all was notright within. I wished, yet feared, to find him. I felt theterrible news must be told, and I longed to get it over; but how todo it I did not know. He was there - at least, a few yards furtherin the park; leant against an old ash-tree, his hat off, and hishair soaked with the dew that had gathered on the budded branches,and fell pattering round him. He had been standing a long time inthat position, for I saw a pair of ousels passing and repassingscarcely three feet from him, busy in building their nest, andregarding his proximity no more than that of a piece of timber.They flew off at my approach, and he raised his eyes and spoke:-'She's dead!' he said; 'I've not waited for you to learn that. Putyour handkerchief away - don't snivel before me. Damn you all! shewants none of your tears!'

I was weeping as much for him as her: we do sometimes pitycreatures that have none of the feeling either for themselves orothers. When I first looked into his face, I perceived that he hadgot intelligence of the catastrophe; and a foolish notion struck methat his heart was quelled and he prayed, because his lips movedand his gaze was bent on the ground.

'Yes, she's dead!' I answered, checking my sobs and drying mycheeks. 'Gone to heaven, I hope; where we may, every one, joinher, if we take due warning and leave our evil ways to followgood!'

'Did SHE take due warning, then?' asked Heathcliff, attempting asneer. 'Did she die like a saint? Come, give me a true history ofthe event. How did - ?'

He endeavoured to pronounce the name, but could not manage it; andcompressing his mouth he held a silent combat with his inwardagony, defying, meanwhile, my sympathy with an unflinching,ferocious stare. 'How did she die?' he resumed, at last - fain,notwithstanding his hardihood, to have a support behind him; for,after the struggle, he trembled, in spite of himself, to his veryfinger-ends.

'Poor wretch!' I thought; 'you have a heart and nerves the same asyour brother men! Why should you be anxious to conceal them? Yourpride cannot blind God! You tempt him to wring them, till heforces a cry of humiliation.'

'Quietly as a lamb!' I answered, aloud. 'She drew a sigh, andstretched herself, like a child reviving, and sinking again tosleep; and five minutes after I felt one little pulse at her heart,and nothing more!'

'And - did she ever mention me?' he asked, hesitating, as if hedreaded the answer to his question would introduce details that hecould not bear to hear.

'Her senses never returned: she recognised nobody from the timeyou left her,' I said. 'She lies with a sweet smile on her face;and her latest ideas wandered back to pleasant early days. Herlife closed in a gentle dream - may she wake as kindly in the otherworld!'

'May she wake in torment!' he cried, with frightful vehemence,stamping his foot, and groaning in a sudden paroxysm ofungovernable passion. 'Why, she's a liar to the end! Where isshe? Not THERE - not in heaven - not perished - where? Oh! yousaid you cared nothing for my sufferings! And I pray one prayer -I repeat it till my tongue stiffens - Catherine Earnshaw, may younot rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you - haunt me,then! The murdered DO haunt their murderers, I believe. I knowthat ghosts HAVE wandered on earth. Be with me always - take anyform - drive me mad! only DO not leave me in this abyss, where Icannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I CANNOT livewithout my life! I CANNOT live without my soul!'

He dashed his head against the knotted trunk; and, lifting up hiseyes, howled, not like a man, but like a savage beast being goadedto death with knives and spears. I observed several splashes ofblood about the bark of the tree, and his hand and forehead wereboth stained; probably the scene I witnessed was a repetition ofothers acted during the night. It hardly moved my compassion - itappalled me: still, I felt reluctant to quit him so. But themoment he recollected himself enough to notice me watching, hethundered a command for me to go, and I obeyed. He was beyond myskill to quiet or console!

Mrs. Linton's funeral was appointed to take place on the Fridayfollowing her decease; and till then her coffin remained uncovered,and strewn with flowers and scented leaves, in the great drawing-room. Linton spent his days and nights there, a sleeplessguardian; and - a circumstance concealed from all but me -Heathcliff spent his nights, at least, outside, equally a strangerto repose. I held no communication with him: still, I wasconscious of his design to enter, if he could; and on the Tuesday,a little after dark, when my master, from sheer fatigue, had beencompelled to retire a couple of hours, I went and opened one of thewindows; moved by his perseverance to give him a chance ofbestowing on the faded image of his idol one final adieu. He didnot omit to avail himself of the opportunity, cautiously andbriefly; too cautiously to betray his presence by the slightestnoise. Indeed, I shouldn't have discovered that he had been there,except for the disarrangement of the drapery about the corpse'sface, and for observing on the floor a curl of light hair, fastenedwith a silver thread; which, on examination, I ascertained to havebeen taken from a locket hung round Catherine's neck. Heathcliffhad opened the trinket and cast out its contents, replacing them bya black lock of his own. I twisted the two, and enclosed themtogether.

Mr. Earnshaw was, of course, invited to attend the remains of hissister to the grave; he sent no excuse, but he never came; so that,besides her husband, the mourners were wholly composed of tenantsand servants. Isabella was not asked.

The place of Catherine's interment, to the surprise of thevillagers, was neither in the chapel under the carved monument ofthe Lintons, nor yet by the tombs of her own relations, outside.It was dug on a green slope in a corner of the kirk-yard, where thewall is so low that heath and bilberry-plants have climbed over itfrom the moor; and peat-mould almost buries it. Her husband liesin the same spot now; and they have each a simple headstone above,and a plain grey block at their feet, to mark the graves.