suppose you had never opened
a Bible in your life. If God afflict your enemies, surely that ought to
suffice you. It is both mean and presumptuous to add your torture to
his!'

'In general I'll allow that it would be, Ellen,' she continued; 'but what
misery laid on Heathcliff could content me, unless I have a hand in it?
I'd rather he suffered less, if I might cause his sufferings and he might
_know_ that I was the cause. Oh, I owe him so much. On only one
condition can I hope to forgive him. It is, if I may take an eye for an
eye, a tooth for a tooth; for every wrench of agony return a wrench:
reduce him to my level. As he was the first to injure, make him the
first to implore pardon; and then--why then, Ellen, I might show you some
generosity. But it is utterly impossible I can ever be revenged, and
therefore I cannot forgive him. Hindley wanted some water, and I handed
him a glass, and asked him how he was.

'"Not as ill as I wish," he replied. "But leaving out my arm, every inch
of me is as sore as if I had been fighting with a legion of imps!"

'"Yes, no wonder," was my next remark. "Catherine used to boast that she
stood between you and bodily harm: she meant that certain persons would
not hurt you for fear of offending her. It's well people don't _really_
rise from their grave, or, last night, she might have witnessed a
repulsive scene! Are not you bruised, and cut over your chest and
shoulders?"

'"I can't say," he answered, "but what do you mean? Did he dare to
strike me when I was down?"

'"He trampled on and kicked you, and dashed you on the ground," I
whispered. "And his mouth watered to tear you with his teeth; because
he's only half man: not so much, and the rest fiend."

'Mr. Earnshaw looked up, like me, to the countenance of our mutual foe;
who, absorbed in his anguish, seemed insensible to anything around him:
the longer he stood, the plainer his reflections revealed their blackness
through his features.

'"Oh, if God would but give me strength to strangle him in my last agony,
I'd go to hell with joy," groaned the impatient man, writhing to rise,
and sinking back in despair, convinced of his inadequacy for the
struggle.

'"Nay, it's enough that he has murdered one of you," I observed aloud.
"At the Grange, every one knows your sister would have been living now
had it not been for Mr. Heathcliff. After all, it is preferable to be
hated than loved by him. When I recollect how ha