Summary Chp. 31



Now understanding more about the situation at Wuthering Heights, Lockwood does not think the people there are as queer.

He has a note to Cathy from Mrs. Dean and drops it near her secretly so Hareton can’t see. Without any consideration of his effort, though, Cathy bluntly asks loudly that it is. Quickly Hareton snatches it, saying that Heathcliff should see everything first before it goes to Cathy. But apparently his conscience speaks up. He eventually lets Cathy have the letter. She reads it but does not give any respond. When asked, she tells Lockwood she can’t write back because she has no paper. Heathcliff has destroyed all her books she can’t even rip a page. Then she begins to make fun of Hareton because she’s seen her books with him while he can’t even read.

Hareton gets mad at this. And it’s probably the last straw because he adds he’s not going to try to learn anymore.

When Heathcliff returns, Lockwood tells him what he came there for in the first place. Heathcliff thinks he’s only trying to put off paying the rent, which makes Lockwood mad.

Summary Chp. 32



The year is now 1802. Lockwood has almost forgotten all about Wuthering Heights, but someone mentions Gimmerton and all of a sudden he feels like visiting Thrushcross Grange again.

He finds someone else in place of Mrs. Dean as a servant. Surprised to hear she is now at Wuthering Heights, he goes there. He also intends to settle his debt with Heathcliff.

Apparently Hareton can now read, and he and Cathy are getting along very well. Mrs. Dean surprises him even more by saying that Heathcliff has died three months earlier. And she picks up the story from where she left off.

Nelly was called because Zillah left Wuthering Heights. Knowing Cathy is without any entertainment, she sneaked in some books for her. In the meantime, Cathy had begun to show some regret for making fun of Hareton and stop him from learning to read. He was too stubborn to forgive her until she kissed him on the cheek.

Cathy asked Ellen to give Hareton a book. He wasn’t especially overjoyed, but he didn’t strike it either. Soon Cathy was teaching Hareton how to read, to Joseph’s surprise.

Summary Chp. 33



Cathy persuaded Hareton to pull off some bushes and replace them with flowers. Joseph got mad because the bushes were his and told on them to Heathcliff.

Ellen warned Cathy not to show her friendship with Hareton too much in front of Heathcliff, but she could care less about being afraid of Heathcliff. Hareton was till timid in front of Heathcliff, though, but at least he wouldn’t hurt Cathy for him anymore.

Hareton asked Cathy not to bad-mouth Heathcliff anymore because despite everything he was a father figure to him. She wouldn’t like it either if Hareton bad-mouthed Edgar right in front of her. Cathy agreed.

The more Heathcliff looked, the more he saw Catherine in both Hareton and Cathy, and as if he felt he was going to die soon, he began to act weird.

Summary Chp. 34



Heathcliff’s behavior started to become strange. He was more solitary and began to eat only once a day. One night he was gone and returned in the morning looking highly spirited. He wouldn’t tell exactly what happened. Hareton tried to ask him if he was all right, but was told to go and be with Cathy, because how could he stand not being with her?

Soon Heathcliff died. The doctor Kenneth didn’t now what kind of disease he had that made him die. Nelly half thought it was because he missed meal for four whole days, but decided it was the result of the disease, not the cause. Later Heathcliff was buried as he wished the other day after Edgar’s death.

The village people thought his ghost are walking with Cathy’s in the moor. Nelly herself never actually saw them, but even so she doesn’t dare to be in the dark by herself.

At the end of the story Cathy and Hareton, the two lovers who are going to get married, return. Because in truth he really would like to marry Cathy herself, Lockwood can’t stand the sight and feels he has to go now. He finds the graves of Edgar, Cathy, and Heathcliff, and believes the three are really at peace.

Remembrance

Cold in the earth–and the deep snow piled above thee,
Far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave!
Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,
Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave?

Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover
Over the mountains, on that northern shore,
Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover
Thy noble heart for ever, ever more?

Cold in the earth–and fifteen wild Decembers,
From those brown hills, have melted into spring:
Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers
After such years of change and suffering!


Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee,
While the world's tide is bearing me along;
Other desires and other hopes beset me,
Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!

No later light has lightened up my heaven,
No second morn has ever shone for me;
All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given,
All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.

But, when the days of golden dreams had perished,
And even Despair was powerless to destroy;
Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,
Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.

Then did I check the tears of useless passion–
Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;
Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten
Down to that tomb already more than mine.

And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,
Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;
Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,
How could I seek the empty world again?

To imagination

When weary with the long day's care,
  And earthly change from pain to pain,
And lost and ready to despair,
  Thy kind voice calls me back again:
Oh, my true friend ! I am not lone,
While thou canst speak with such a tone !

So hopeless is the world without;
  The world within I doubly prize;
Thy world, where guile, and hate, and doubt,
  And cold suspicion never rise;
Where thou, and I, and Liberty,
Have undisputed sovereignty.

What matters it, that, all around,
  Danger, and guilt, and darkness lie,
If but within our bosom's bound
  We hold a bright, untroubled sky,
Warm with ten thousand mingled rays
Of suns that know no winter days ?

Reason, indeed, may oft complain
  For Nature's sad reality,
And tell the suffering heart, how vain
  Its cherished dreams must always be;
And Truth may rudely trample down
The flowers of Fancy, newly-blown:


But, thou art ever there, to bring
  The hovering vision back, and breathe
New glories o'er the blighted spring,
  And call a lovelier Life from Death,
And whisper, with a voice divine,
Of real worlds, as bright as thine.

I trust not to thy phantom bliss,
  Yet, still, in evening's quiet hour,
With never-failing thankfulness,
  I welcome thee, Benignant Power;
Sure solacer of human cares,
And sweeter hope, when hope despairs !

How clear she shines

How clear she shines ! How quietly
  I lie beneath her guardian light;
While heaven and earth are whispering me,
  " To morrow, wake, but, dream to-night."
Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love !
  These throbbing temples softly kiss;
And bend my lonely couch above
  And bring me rest, and bring me bliss.

The world is going; dark world, adieu !
  Grim world, conceal thee till the day;
The heart, thou canst not all subdue,
  Must still resist, if thou delay !

Thy love I will not, will not share;
  Thy hatred only wakes a smile;
Thy griefs may wound–thy wrongs may tear,
  But, oh, thy lies shall ne'er beguile !
While gazing on the stars that glow
  Above me, in that stormless sea,
I long to hope that all the woe
  Creation knows, is held in thee !

And, this shall be my dream to-night;
  I'll think the heaven of glorious spheres


Is rolling on its course of light
  In endless bliss, through endless years;
I'll think, there's not one world above,
  Far as these straining eyes can see,
Where Wisdom ever laughed at Love,
  Or Virtue crouched to Infamy;

Where, writhing 'neath the strokes of Fate,
  The mangled wretch was forced to smile;
To match his patience 'gainst her hate,
  His heart rebellious all the while.
Where Pleasure still will lead to wrong,
  And helpless Reason warn in vain;
And Truth is weak, and Treachery strong;
  And Joy the surest path to Pain;
And Peace, the lethargy of Grief;
  And Hope, a phantom of the soul;
And Life, a labour, void and brief;
  And Death, the despot of the whole !