As he stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of him, Heathcliff dipped his quill into the pot of ink at his hand. At first, he hesitated to put the tip to the paper, wondering what he had to say to her. He quickly shook aside his inhibitions and began to write.
"Dearest Cathy,
"I am not sure I know where to begin. I suppose the proper thing to do would be to congratulate you on your marriage to Edgar Linton, as I am sure you have bound yourself in 'holy' matrimony to the whey-faced idiot by now; I cannot, however, bring myself to congratulate you on a marriage that is so unbelievably below you. I am almost positive you are aware that you and the man you have shackled yourself to for the rest of your natural born days are no more made for each other than a bird and a fish and no more alike than lightening and water, not at all like you and me, Cathy. We have always been like one; we are two sparks from the same fire. What's more, Cathy, I love you, and have always loved you. I'm sure Linton loves in his way, but it is nothing but a grain of sand when compared to the beach that is my love.
"When I think of all this I wonder, why could you not have waited? Oh, but that is a silly question to ask; you believe that it would have degraded you to marry me. Perhaps a year ago you were right. I had nothing to offer you then. But yet again I ask, why could you not have waited? Just a year later, and I have become a man you could be proud to call your husband.
"After leaving Wuthering Heights, I found a job working for a kind-hearted merchant in London. I worked like a slave for almost a year under his service. I suppose he took a liking to me, for, upon his death a month ago, having no family, he left his business and part of his fortune to me. In that short time, I have grown a small shop into a booming business. Rowling Traders (that my company; I had not the heart to change the name) now deals with merchants all over the world, from India to the West Indies, in spices and cloth. I had no idea until I began running the business the exorbitant prices people are willing to pay for such goods! One woman had me order a bolt of Indian silk, and was willing to pay well over one hundred pounds! You would laugh so at the pathetic blighters, Cathy. We could share a good laugh.
"But I digress. I'm sure my business is of no special interest to you, and my reason in writing was not to make you feel sad or guilty. I spoke of you to a friend and how we parted ways, and he suggested that you might have worried about me. The idea grieved me. I simply wanted to write and tell you that I am alive and well. I wanted to tell you all the things I have held in almost as long as I have known you, as it is doubtful that I will ever see you again.
As always, yours,
Heathcliff"
Heathcliff read what he had just written as the ink dried. The more he read, the more acute his feelings of hurt and unjustness became, like tiny bees stinging his very soul. By the end of the letter, it was more than he could stand. In a rage, he crumpled the letter and threw it into the fire. "Let her worry," he growled to himself. "To the devil with her and hers!" As he said this, a wisp of an idea flew into his brain and began to take shape into a horrible monster known as revenge
"Dearest Cathy,
"I am not sure I know where to begin. I suppose the proper thing to do would be to congratulate you on your marriage to Edgar Linton, as I am sure you have bound yourself in 'holy' matrimony to the whey-faced idiot by now; I cannot, however, bring myself to congratulate you on a marriage that is so unbelievably below you. I am almost positive you are aware that you and the man you have shackled yourself to for the rest of your natural born days are no more made for each other than a bird and a fish and no more alike than lightening and water, not at all like you and me, Cathy. We have always been like one; we are two sparks from the same fire. What's more, Cathy, I love you, and have always loved you. I'm sure Linton loves in his way, but it is nothing but a grain of sand when compared to the beach that is my love.
"When I think of all this I wonder, why could you not have waited? Oh, but that is a silly question to ask; you believe that it would have degraded you to marry me. Perhaps a year ago you were right. I had nothing to offer you then. But yet again I ask, why could you not have waited? Just a year later, and I have become a man you could be proud to call your husband.
"After leaving Wuthering Heights, I found a job working for a kind-hearted merchant in London. I worked like a slave for almost a year under his service. I suppose he took a liking to me, for, upon his death a month ago, having no family, he left his business and part of his fortune to me. In that short time, I have grown a small shop into a booming business. Rowling Traders (that my company; I had not the heart to change the name) now deals with merchants all over the world, from India to the West Indies, in spices and cloth. I had no idea until I began running the business the exorbitant prices people are willing to pay for such goods! One woman had me order a bolt of Indian silk, and was willing to pay well over one hundred pounds! You would laugh so at the pathetic blighters, Cathy. We could share a good laugh.
"But I digress. I'm sure my business is of no special interest to you, and my reason in writing was not to make you feel sad or guilty. I spoke of you to a friend and how we parted ways, and he suggested that you might have worried about me. The idea grieved me. I simply wanted to write and tell you that I am alive and well. I wanted to tell you all the things I have held in almost as long as I have known you, as it is doubtful that I will ever see you again.
As always, yours,
Heathcliff"
Heathcliff read what he had just written as the ink dried. The more he read, the more acute his feelings of hurt and unjustness became, like tiny bees stinging his very soul. By the end of the letter, it was more than he could stand. In a rage, he crumpled the letter and threw it into the fire. "Let her worry," he growled to himself. "To the devil with her and hers!" As he said this, a wisp of an idea flew into his brain and began to take shape into a horrible monster known as revenge