(no subject)
Heathcliff must know that I quite intend to scold him when I see him next, for he would not otherwise have kept himself so scarce from me these three days past. It is time he embraced the fact that one must behave the way one is required to, not the way one wishes, in order to accomplish what needs to be done for the larger purpose and the greater good-That greater good being entirely his own, for I should not expect or even think it possible for him to behave in any way whatsoever that pertained to good that had to do with any other than himself. By aiding him thus in his successes, I will also be doing my own heart well for I shall finally know that all I have attempted has been worth the suffering required to attain it. Our lives are so precariously balanced right now and a misjudgment on either of our parts, a move wrongly played could quite topple his chances of rising to placements I do think quite possible for him to achieve if not enjoy. Very little of it has anything to do with joy.
How can any of us find joy now and in this place where we must live in fear or else distract ourselves with foolish fancy? Every day, with trembling steps, I both fly to and force myself into the parlor to see if there is a letter waiting for me on the table where Miss Murray’s appeared. Ever since Isabella’s arrival and revelation of Linton’s condition, I can do nothing but think day and night that at any moment I shall receive a notice no different from that which set Miss Murray free… Only for myself, such a catastrophe would bring quite the opposite of freedom. Should a letter actually arrive, how will I ever have the strength to open it with the fear that it might possibly contain such a devastating message? -
Oh, but how easy it is to forget that there is still a chance that even if he were to be so weak, so selfish, so cruel as to waste entirely away-Yes, there is still a chance that I may not lose it all-Half a chance. Were but there was a way to know it sooner!
Yes, it is in distraction that I must set my mind at ease. Merely being in Isabella’s presence makes such an effort almost entirely impossible! I am all the more grateful these days for those here whose caring for me has enabled me to find reason not to drive myself entirely mad. The-No, there are some matters which I shall not allow myself to dwell upon.
I have not spoken with Miss Murray in several days and I do hope that she does not suspect my envy of her carefree happiness or think at all that I mean to avoid her. It seems no matter with whom I am conversing, public admiration of her person is impossible to be avoided-though I do not mean to write that I should wish to avoid it, I am merely impressed by the fact. I am all the more convinced that I chose well in confiding in her of all people, for I shall be in all the more need of her confidence as time passes.
She and the Count-for it seems where one goes now, ever so does the other… Whom else here other than they and Heathcliff ( for whom my heart has broken once in our lives and must therefore now be immune) is there to be trusted? Isabella adores me as I do her, but I could not trust in her weak nature further than to provide me with sweetened cups of tea. Now that the doctor has returned and put an end to the illness that had consumed his existence as long as I have known him, and certainly much longer than that, I wonder if he will soon find himself living his life entirely differently. He insists that he could not do else but help others, but when one has lived under a shadow for so long and then finally overcomes it, one is certainly entitled to enjoy the kind of life previously denied to him. I should like to trust in him and his constancy implicitly, for I feel I know him well, but how could I ever think less of him should he grow to change? Since his return, he already strikes me as-No, how could I judge him? And who am I to say it could ever be something less than to his credit?
Who else is there here? I feel I have made friends of so many I never would have known if I had not been brought here, and yet all these people remain so mysterious to me. My opinion of Liza continues to be uncertain. All she presents makes me feel as if I ought to trust in her, and yet I find I cannot bring myself yet to let go my suspicion. Isabella seems to have faultless faith in the character of the Frenchwoman, but I know she must be deluded in such a conviction. I have not seen Katrina in quite some time, but her coldness and quickness to judge have made the girl entirely useless to me anyway. I should like to believe a man such as the detective to be the epitome of fine characters, but it is impossible when he indulges so openly in such vices and is additionally so unsympathetic to Mr. Gray… Dear Mr. Gray! I cannot even begin to understand Heathcliff’s dark assessment of that man whose solitude he of all must surely understand. I would of course leave it to Heathcliff to be unable to see good in its very home, but for him to try to turn my views against a man who does nothing but flatter me with gentle kindness and pleasantly honest company when he can bring himself to be around those that dislike him to grant it, is only further reinforcement of the selfishness of my would-be-brother’s nature.
What shall I do with you, my friend? Where can we find the sunlight that will manage to shine into your self-imposed night? If you fight every effort I make on your behalf, how will you ever expect me to be at peace with myself when all I want is for both of us to live as best we can and as far from the torture of our past as possible? I always meant to do well for you-always! And do not you dare accuse me, because for me to sacrifice for you is not denial on my part, but the purest sort of devotion! Where will we end? That is the question you must keep in mind, for the answer to it is entirely in our hands to decide; and then once you have agreed to my decision, think quite deeply upon the next: How will we get there?
How can any of us find joy now and in this place where we must live in fear or else distract ourselves with foolish fancy? Every day, with trembling steps, I both fly to and force myself into the parlor to see if there is a letter waiting for me on the table where Miss Murray’s appeared. Ever since Isabella’s arrival and revelation of Linton’s condition, I can do nothing but think day and night that at any moment I shall receive a notice no different from that which set Miss Murray free… Only for myself, such a catastrophe would bring quite the opposite of freedom. Should a letter actually arrive, how will I ever have the strength to open it with the fear that it might possibly contain such a devastating message? -
Oh, but how easy it is to forget that there is still a chance that even if he were to be so weak, so selfish, so cruel as to waste entirely away-Yes, there is still a chance that I may not lose it all-Half a chance. Were but there was a way to know it sooner!
Yes, it is in distraction that I must set my mind at ease. Merely being in Isabella’s presence makes such an effort almost entirely impossible! I am all the more grateful these days for those here whose caring for me has enabled me to find reason not to drive myself entirely mad. The-No, there are some matters which I shall not allow myself to dwell upon.
I have not spoken with Miss Murray in several days and I do hope that she does not suspect my envy of her carefree happiness or think at all that I mean to avoid her. It seems no matter with whom I am conversing, public admiration of her person is impossible to be avoided-though I do not mean to write that I should wish to avoid it, I am merely impressed by the fact. I am all the more convinced that I chose well in confiding in her of all people, for I shall be in all the more need of her confidence as time passes.
She and the Count-for it seems where one goes now, ever so does the other… Whom else here other than they and Heathcliff ( for whom my heart has broken once in our lives and must therefore now be immune) is there to be trusted? Isabella adores me as I do her, but I could not trust in her weak nature further than to provide me with sweetened cups of tea. Now that the doctor has returned and put an end to the illness that had consumed his existence as long as I have known him, and certainly much longer than that, I wonder if he will soon find himself living his life entirely differently. He insists that he could not do else but help others, but when one has lived under a shadow for so long and then finally overcomes it, one is certainly entitled to enjoy the kind of life previously denied to him. I should like to trust in him and his constancy implicitly, for I feel I know him well, but how could I ever think less of him should he grow to change? Since his return, he already strikes me as-No, how could I judge him? And who am I to say it could ever be something less than to his credit?
Who else is there here? I feel I have made friends of so many I never would have known if I had not been brought here, and yet all these people remain so mysterious to me. My opinion of Liza continues to be uncertain. All she presents makes me feel as if I ought to trust in her, and yet I find I cannot bring myself yet to let go my suspicion. Isabella seems to have faultless faith in the character of the Frenchwoman, but I know she must be deluded in such a conviction. I have not seen Katrina in quite some time, but her coldness and quickness to judge have made the girl entirely useless to me anyway. I should like to believe a man such as the detective to be the epitome of fine characters, but it is impossible when he indulges so openly in such vices and is additionally so unsympathetic to Mr. Gray… Dear Mr. Gray! I cannot even begin to understand Heathcliff’s dark assessment of that man whose solitude he of all must surely understand. I would of course leave it to Heathcliff to be unable to see good in its very home, but for him to try to turn my views against a man who does nothing but flatter me with gentle kindness and pleasantly honest company when he can bring himself to be around those that dislike him to grant it, is only further reinforcement of the selfishness of my would-be-brother’s nature.
What shall I do with you, my friend? Where can we find the sunlight that will manage to shine into your self-imposed night? If you fight every effort I make on your behalf, how will you ever expect me to be at peace with myself when all I want is for both of us to live as best we can and as far from the torture of our past as possible? I always meant to do well for you-always! And do not you dare accuse me, because for me to sacrifice for you is not denial on my part, but the purest sort of devotion! Where will we end? That is the question you must keep in mind, for the answer to it is entirely in our hands to decide; and then once you have agreed to my decision, think quite deeply upon the next: How will we get there?