occasions, and spent a life of entire seclusion within the limits of his
park and grounds; only varied by solitary rambles on the moors, and
visits to the grave of his wife, mostly at evening, or early morning
before other wanderers were abroad. But he was too good to be thoroughly
unhappy long. _He_ didn't pray for Catherine's soul to haunt him. Time
brought resignation, and a melancholy sweeter than common joy. He
recalled her memory with ardent, tender love, and hopeful aspiring to the
better world; where he doubted not she was gone.

And he had earthly consolation and affections also. For a few days, I
said, he seemed regardless of the puny successor to the departed: that
coldness melted as fast as snow in April, and ere the tiny thing could
stammer a word or totter a step it wielded a despot's sceptre in his
heart. It was named Catherine; but he never called it the name in full,
as he had never called the first Catherine short: probably because
Heathcliff had a habit of doing so. The little one was always Cathy: it
formed to him a distinction from the mother, and yet a connection with
her; and his attachment sprang from its relation to her, far more than
from its being his own.

I used to draw a comparison between him and Hindley Earnshaw, and perplex
myself to explain satisfactorily why their conduct was so opposite in
similar circumstances. They had both been fond husbands, and were both
attached to their children; and I could not see how they shouldn't both
have taken the same road, for good or evil. But, I thought in my mind,
Hindley, with apparently the stronger head, has shown himself sadly the
worse and the weaker man. When his ship struck, the captain abandoned
his post; and the crew, instead of trying to save her, rushed into riot
and confusion, leaving no hope for their luckless vessel. Linton, on the
contrary, displayed the true courage of a loyal and faithful soul: he
trusted God; and God comforted him. One hoped, and the other despaired:
they chose their own lots, and were righteously doomed to endure them.
But you'll not want to hear my moralising, Mr. Lockwood; you'll judge, as
well as I can, all these things: at least, you'll think you will, and
that's the same. The end of Earnshaw was what might have been expected;
it followed fast on his sister's: there were scarcely six months between
them. We, at the Grange, never got a very succinct account of his state
preceding it; all that I