| But the hour came, at last, that ended Mr. Earnshaw’s troubles on earth. He died quietly in his chair one October evening, seated by the fire-side. A high wind blustered round the house, and roared in the chimney: it sounded wild and stormy, yet it was not cold, and we were all together—I, a little removed from the hearth, busy at my knitting, and Joseph reading his Bible near the table (for the servants generally sat in the house then, after their work was done). Miss Cathy had been sick, and that made her still; she leant against her father’s knee, and Heathcliff was lying on the floor with his head in her lap. I remember the master, before he fell into a doze, stroking her bonny hair—it pleased him rarely to see her gentle—and saying, “Why canst thou not always be a good lass, Cathy?” And she turned her face up to his, and laughed, and answered, “Why cannot you always be a good man, father?” But as soon as she saw him vexed again, she kissed his hand, and said she would sing him to sleep. She began singing very low, till his fingers dropped from hers, and his head sank on his breast. Then I told her to hush, and not stir, for fear she should wake him. We all kept as mute as mice a full half-hour, and should have done so longer, only Joseph, having finished his chapter, got up and said that he must rouse the master for prayers and bed. He stepped forward, and called him by name, and touched his shoulder; but he would not move: so he took the candle and looked at him. I thought there was something wrong as he set down the light; and seizing the children each by an arm, whispered them to “frame upstairs, and make little din—they might pray alone that evening—he had summut to do.”
“I shall bid father good-night first,” said Catherine, putting her arms round his neck, before we could hinder her. The poor thing discovered her loss directly—she screamed out—“Oh, he’s dead, Heathcliff! he’s dead!” And they both set up a heart-breaking cry. I joined my wail to theirs, loud and bitter; but Joseph asked what we could be thinking of to roar in that way over a saint in heaven. He told me to put on my cloak and run to Gimmerton for the doctor and the parson. I could not guess the use that either would be of, then. However, I went, through wind and rain, and brought one, the doctor, back with me; the other said he would come in the morning. Leaving Joseph to explain matters, I ran to the children’s room: their door was ajar, I saw they had never lain down, though it was past midnight; but they were calmer, and did not need me to console them. The little souls were comforting each other with better thoughts than I could have hit on: no parson in the world ever pictured heaven so beautifully as they did, in their innocent talk; and, while I sobbed and listened, I could not help wishing we were all there safe together. | 但是，俄韶先生的塵世煩惱結束的時辰終於到了。那是十月的一個晚上，他坐在爐邊椅子上安靜地離開了人世。一股強風繞著屋子咆哮著，在煙囪裏怒吼著，聽起來狂野粗暴，但是那天卻不怎麽冷。我們都在一起——我離火爐稍遠，忙著織毛線，周思福在桌子旁邊在讀《聖經》（因為那時候仆人們做完了事之後通常坐在正屋）。闞思小姐病了，這使她安靜下來。她斜靠在父親的膝前，黑思克裏夫躺在地板上，頭枕在她的腿上。我記得老爺在打盹之前，還撫摸著她那漂亮的頭發——看她這麽溫順，他難得的高興，而且說著： “你為啥就不能永遠做個好姑娘呢，闞思？”她揚起臉來對著他的臉，大笑道：“你為啥不能永遠作一個好男人呢，爸爸？”但是一見到他又要煩了，闞思就去親他的手，還說要唱首歌令他入睡。她開始低聲唱著，直到父親的手指從她的手裏滑落出來，頭垂在胸前。這時我告訴她不要唱了，也別動彈，以免她把他吵醒。我們整整有半個鍾頭都像耗子似的沒有響動。本來還可以呆得久些，隻是周思福剛讀完了一個章節，站起來說他得把老爺叫醒，讓他作禱告然後去上床睡。他走上前去，呼喚老爺，碰碰他的肩膀，可是他沒有動，於是，他拿起蠟燭去看他。他放下蠟燭的時候，我感到事情不妙。我一手抓著一個孩子的胳臂，小聲跟他們說快上樓去，別出聲——今晚他們可以自己禱告——他還有事。“我要先跟爸爸說聲晚安，”闞思睿說。我們沒來得及攔住她，她伸出胳臂，摟住了他的脖子。這可憐的小家夥一下子意識到了她失去了爸爸，就尖聲叫道：“啊，他死啦，黑思克裏夫！他死啦！”他們兩人就放聲大哭，哭得痛徹心扉。
我也加入到他們的行列中一起痛哭，哭得聲音很大，而且很傷心。可是周思福問我們想過沒有，對一位已經升天的聖人，這樣吼叫有什麽意義。他叫我穿上外衣，趕緊跑到吉默屯去請大夫和牧師。當時我猜不出請這兩個人來有什麽用。可是我還是冒著風雨去了，隻帶回來個大夫，另一位說他第二天早上過來。周思福留在那裏向大夫說明這件事情的原原本本，我便跑到孩子們的房間裏去。門虛掩著，雖然半夜已過，他們根本就沒躺下。但是他們比之前更加冷靜，不需要我來安慰他們。這兩個小人兒正在相互安慰著，他們頭腦中的想法我根本無法想象得到——他們竟然能用天真的言語把天堂描繪得那樣美麗，連世界上任何一位牧師都無法做得到；我一邊抽泣，一邊聽著，不由得祝願我們大家都能一起平平安安到達天堂。
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