| 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，俄韶先生的尘世烦恼结束的时辰终于到了。那是十月的一个晚上，他坐在炉边椅子上安静地离开了人世。一股强风绕着屋子咆哮着，在烟囱里怒吼着，听起来狂野粗暴，但是那天却不怎么冷。我们都在一起——我离火炉稍远，忙着织毛线，周思福在桌子旁边在读《圣经》（因为那时候仆人们做完了事之后通常坐在正屋）。阚思小姐病了，这使她安静下来。她斜靠在父亲的膝前，黑思克里夫躺在地板上，头枕在她的腿上。我记得老爷在打盹之前，还抚摸着她那漂亮的头发——看她这么温顺，他难得的高兴，而且说着： “你为啥就不能永远做个好姑娘呢，阚思？”她扬起脸来对着他的脸，大笑道：“你为啥不能永远作一个好男人呢，爸爸？”但是一见到他又要烦了，阚思就去亲他的手，还说要唱首歌令他入睡。她开始低声唱着，直到父亲的手指从她的手里滑落出来，头垂在胸前。这时我告诉她不要唱了，也别动弹，以免她把他吵醒。我们整整有半个钟头都像耗子似的没有响动。本来还可以呆得久些，只是周思福刚读完了一个章节，站起来说他得把老爷叫醒，让他作祷告然后去上床睡。他走上前去，呼唤老爷，碰碰他的肩膀，可是他没有动，于是，他拿起蜡烛去看他。他放下蜡烛的时候，我感到事情不妙。我一手抓着一个孩子的胳臂，小声跟他们说快上楼去，别出声——今晚他们可以自己祷告——他还有事。“我要先跟爸爸说声晚安，”阚思睿说。我们没来得及拦住她，她伸出胳臂，搂住了他的脖子。这可怜的小家伙一下子意识到了她失去了爸爸，就尖声叫道：“啊，他死啦，黑思克里夫！他死啦！”他们两人就放声大哭，哭得痛彻心扉。
我也加入到他们的行列中一起痛哭，哭得声音很大，而且很伤心。可是周思福问我们想过没有，对一位已经升天的圣人，这样吼叫有什么意义。他叫我穿上外衣，赶紧跑到吉默屯去请大夫和牧师。当时我猜不出请这两个人来有什么用。可是我还是冒着风雨去了，只带回来个大夫，另一位说他第二天早上过来。周思福留在那里向大夫说明这件事情的原原本本，我便跑到孩子们的房间里去。门虚掩着，虽然半夜已过，他们根本就没躺下。但是他们比之前更加冷静，不需要我来安慰他们。这两个小人儿正在相互安慰着，他们头脑中的想法我根本无法想象得到——他们竟然能用天真的言语把天堂描绘得那样美丽，连世界上任何一位牧师都无法做得到；我一边抽泣，一边听着，不由得祝愿我们大家都能一起平平安安到达天堂。
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