He took a seat opposite Catherine, who kept her gaze fixed on him as if she feared he would vanish were she to remove it. He did not raise his to her often: a quick glance now and then sufficed; but it flashed back, each time more confidently, the undisguised delight he drank from hers. They were too much absorbed in their mutual joy to suffer embarrassment. Not so Mr Edgar: he grew pale with pure annoyance: a feeling that reached its climax when his lady rose, and stepping across the rug, seized Heathcliff’s hands again, and laughed like one beside herself.
`I shall think it a dream tomorrow!’ she cried. `I shall not be able to believe that I have seen, and touched, and spoken to you once more. And yet, cruel Heathcliff! you don’t deserve this welcome. To be absent and silent for three years, and never to think of me!’
`A little more than you have thought of me,’ he murmured. `I heard of your marriage, Cathy, not long since; and, while waiting in the yard below, I meditated this plan:–just to have one glimpse of your face, a stare of surprise, perhaps, and pretended pleasure; afterwards settle my score with Hindley; and then prevent the law by doing execution on myself. Your welcome has put these ideas out of my mind; but beware of meeting me with another aspect next time! Nay, you’ll not drive me off again. You were really sorry for me, were you? Well, there was cause. I’ve fought through a bitter life since I last heard your voice; and you must forgive me, for I struggled only for you!’
`Catherine, unless we are to have cold tea, please to come to the table,’ interrupted Linton, striving to preserve his ordinary tone, and a due measure of politeness. `Mr Heathcliff will have a long walk, wherever he may lodge tonight; and I’m thirsty.’
She took her post before the urn; and Miss Isabella came, summoned by the bell; then, having handed their chairs forward, I left the room. The meal hardly endured ten minutes. Catherine’s cup was never filled: she could neither eat nor drink. Edgar had made a slop in his saucer, and scarcely swallowed a mouthful. Their guest did not protract his stay that evening above an hour longer.
Heathclliff and Cathy behave here as if they are the only two people left on earth! They address each other in a voracious register which excludes everyone except themselves. There is nothing ambiguous about their overwhelming need to gaze upon each other. Bronte’s brillaince here is to capture the utter fascination of the other, of the beloved. They only wish to earth or anchor into one another. After the time of ‘lost’ moorings in terms of Heathcliff’s three year abscence, re-orientation is essential. This is quite ironic of course, as the scene reveals how literally unearthed their passion for each other is. Who needs to drink tea when one is feasting on reciprocated passion? !
Edgar’s fatuous attempts to maintain his hold on his wife and decorum render him an irritating yet even dangerously controlling fool. Significantly the readers’ synpathy is not with the ‘wronged’ husband. For Edgar’s role seems antipathetic to vitality, and to real feeling. It is also rather comical of course to watch such a scene safely , as indeed Nelly Dean does, and it is her laconic observation which re-animates these exchanges after all.
Bronte explores here the seeming incompatibility of decorum with passion; of politeness with authenticity. This polarisation is uncomfortable and is not entirely resloved by the Hareton/young cathy relationship at the end of the novel. ( more later)