Hello.
Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,
Your go-to romantic podcast that guarantees you a calm and entertaining transition into a great night's sleep.
Come with me as we immerse ourselves in a romantic journey to a time long since forgotten.
Emily Bronte was born in Yorkshire in 1818 and along with her brother and sisters Anne and Charlotte wrote from childhood onwards.
Wuthering Heights is the story she is best remembered for.
But before we begin let's take a moment to focus on where we are now.
Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out with a long sigh.
Now close your eyes and feel yourself sink deeper into the support beneath you.
It is time to relax and fully let go.
There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.
Happy listening.
Chapter 22 Summer drew to an end in early autumn.
It was past Michaelmas but the harvest was late that year and a few of our fields were still uncleared,
Continued Nellie.
Mr Linton and his daughter would frequently walk out among the reapers at the carrying of the last sheaves they stayed till dusk and the evening happening to be chill and damp my master caught a bad cold that settled obstinately on his lungs and confined him indoors throughout the whole of the winter,
Nearly without intermission.
Poor Kathy frightened from her little romance had been considerably sadder and duller since his abandonment and her father insisted on her reading less and taking more exercise.
She had his companionship no longer.
I esteemed it a duty to supply its lack as much as possible with mine,
An inefficient substitute for I could only spare two or three hours.
On an afternoon in October or the beginning of November,
A fresh watery afternoon when the turfs and paths were rustling with moist withered leaves and the cold blue sky was half hidden by clouds.
Dark grey streamers rapidly mounted from the west and bowed in abundant rain.
I requested my young lady to forgo her ramble because I was certain of showers.
She refused and I unwillingly donned a cloak and took an umbrella to accompany her on a stroll to the bottom of the park.
She walked sadly on.
There was no running or bounding now,
Though the chill wind might have tempted her to race and often from the side of my eye I could detect her raising her hand and brushing something off her cheek.
I gazed round for a means of diverting her thoughts,
Rose a rough high bank where hazels and stunted oaks with their roots half exposed held uncertain tenure.
The soil was too loose for the latter and strong winds had blown some nearly horizontal.
In summer Miss Catherine delighted to climb along these trunks and sit in the branches swinging 20 feet above the ground and I,
Pleased with her agility and her light childish heart,
Still considered it proper to scold every time I called her at such an elevation so she knew there was no necessity for descending.
From dinner to tea she would lie in her breeze-rocked cradle doing nothing more except singing old songs.
Look Miss,
I exclaimed that day,
Pointing to a nook under the roots of one twisted tree.
Winter's not here yet,
There's a little flower up yonder,
The last bud from the multitude of bluebells that clouded those turf steps in July with a lilac mist.
We clamber up and pluck it to show Papa.
Cathy stared a long time at the lonely blossom trembling in its earthy shelter and replied at length,
No I'll not touch it,
It looks melancholy does it not Ellen?
Yes,
I observed,
About as starved and sackless as you,
Your cheeks are bloodless,
Let's take hold of your hands and then run,
You're so low I dare say I shall keep up with you.
No,
She repeated and continued sauntering on,
Pausing at intervals to muse over a bit of moss or a tuft of blanched grass or a fungus spreading its bright orange among the heaps of brown foliage and every now and then her hand was lifted to her averted face.
Catherine,
Why are you crying love?
I asked,
Approaching and putting my arm over her shoulder.
You mustn't cry because Papa's are cold,
Be thankful it's nothing worse.
She now put no further restraint on her tears and her breath was stifled by sobs.
Now it will be something worse,
She said,
And what shall I do when Papa and you leave me and I'm by myself?
I can't forget your words Ellen,
They're always in my ear,
How life will be changed,
How dreary the world will be when Papa and you are dead.
None can tell whether you won't die before us,
I replied,
It's wrong to anticipate evil,
We'll hope there's years and years to come before any of us go.
Master is young and I'm strong and hardly 45,
My mother lived till 80,
A canty dame to the last,
And suppose Mr Linton was spared till he saw 60,
That would be more years than you've counted miss,
And would it not be foolish to mourn a calamity above 20 years beforehand?
But Aunt Isabella was younger than Papa,
She remarked,
Gazing up with timid hope to seek further consolation.
Aunt Isabella had not joined me to nurse her,
I replied,
She wasn't as happy as Master,
She hadn't had as much to live for.
All you need to do is wait well on your father and cheer him by letting him see you cheerful,
And avoid giving him anxiety on any subject.
I'll not disguise but that you might kill him if you were wild and reckless,
And cherished a foolish fanciful affection for the son of a person who would be glad to have him in his grave.
I fret about nothing on earth except Papa's illness,
Answered my companion,
I care for nothing in comparison with Papa,
And I'll never never while I have my senses do or act or say a word to vex him.
I love him better than myself Ellen,
And I know it by this,
I pray every night I may live after him because I would rather be miserable than that he should be.
That proves I love him better than myself doesn't it?
Good words,
I replied,
But these must prove it also,
And after he's well remember you don't forget resolutions formed in the hour of fear.
As we talked we neared a door that opened on the road and my young lady,
Lightening into sunshine again,
Climbed up and seated herself on the top of the wall.
She reached over to gather some hips that bloomed scarlet on the summit branches of the wild rose trees shadowing the highway side,
But only birds could touch the upper fruit except for Kathy's present station.
In stretching to pull them off her hat fell off and as the door was locked she proposed scrambling down to recover it.
I bid her be cautious lest she got a fall but she nimbly disappeared.
The return was no such easy matter,
The stones were smooth and neatly cemented and the rose bushes and blackberry stragglers could yield no assistance in reascending.
I like a fool didn't recollect that till I heard her laughing and exclaiming,
Ellen you'll have to fetch the key or else I must run around to the porter's lodge,
I can't scale the ramparts on this side.
Stay where you are I answered,
I've got my bundle of keys in my pocket perhaps I may manage to open it if not I'll go.
Katherine amused herself with dancing to and fro before the door while I tried all the large keys in succession.
I'd applied the last and found that none would do so repeating my desire she would remain there I was about to hurry home as fast as I could when an approaching sound arrested me,
It was the trot of a horse.
Kathy's dance stopped also.
Who is that?
I whispered.
Ellen I wish you could open the door whispered back my companion anxiously.
Oh Miss Linton quite a deep voice,
I'm glad to meet you don't be in haste to enter for I've an explanation to ask and obtain.
I shan't speak to you Mr Heathcliff answered Katherine,
Papa says you're a wicked man and you hate both him and me and Ellen says the same.
That is nothing to the purpose said Heathcliff,
I don't hate my son I suppose and it's concerning him I demand your attention.
Yes you have cause to blush two or three months since were you not in the habit of writing to Linton making love in play eh?
You deserve both of you flogging for that you especially the elder and less sensitive as it turns out.
I've got your letters and if you give me any pertinence I'll send them to your father.
I presume you grew weary of the amusement and dropped it did you?
Well you dropped Linton with it into a slough of despond he was in earnest in love really as true as I live he's dying for you breaking his heart at your fickleness.
Actually though Hairton has made him a stand-in just for six weeks and I've used more serious measures and attempted to frighten him out of his idiocy it gets worse he'll be under the sod before summer unless you restore him.
How can you lie so glaringly to the poor child I called from the inside pray ride on how can you deliberately get up such paltry falsehoods Miss Cathy I'll knock the lock off with a stone you won't believe that vile nonsense you can feel in yourself it's impossible a person should die for love of a stranger I was not aware there were eavesdroppers muttered Heathcliff.
Worthy Mrs Dean I like you but don't like your double dealing I swear on my salvation little Linton's going to his grave and none but you Cathy can save him the lock gave way and I issued out I swear Linton's dying repeated Heathcliff looking hard at me and grief and disappointment are hastening his death Nellie if you won't let her go you can walk over there yourself but I shall not return till this time next week and I think your master himself would scarcely object to her visiting her cousin come in Cathy said I taking Cathy by the arm in half forcing her to re-enter for she lingered viewing with troubled eyes the features of the speaker too stern to express his inward deceit then he pushed his horse close and bending down observed Miss Catherine I'll own to you I have little patience with Linton and Harington and Joseph have less I own that he's with a harsh set he pines for kindness as well as love and a kind word from you would be his best medicine don't mind Mrs Dean's cruel cautions but be generous and contrive to see him he dreams of you day and night and cannot be persuaded you don't hate him since you neither write nor call then I closed the door and rolled a stone to assist the lucent lock in holding it and I spread my umbrella and drew my charge underneath for the rain began to dry through the moaning branches of the trees and waters to avoid delay our hurry prevented any comment on the encounter with Haithcliff as we stretched towards home but I defined instinctively that Catherine's heart was clouded now in complete darkness I must tell him Ellen I must let Linton know it's not my fault I don't write said Cathy and convince him I shall not change and what were anger and protestations against her silly credulity we parted that night hostile but the next day beheld me on the road to Wuthering Heights by the side of my willful young mistress's pony I could bear no longer to witness her sorrow to see her pale dejected countenance and heavy eyes and so I yielded in the faint hope that Linton himself might prove by his reception of us just how little of the tale was founded on fact
