[obi/Emily.Bronte/wuther.Z] WUTHERING HEIGHTS by Emily Bronte. CHAPTER I. l80l.---I have just returned from a visit to my land- lord---the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country. In all Eng- land I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situa- tion so completely removed from the stir of society---a perfect misanthropist's heaven; and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation be- tween us. A capital fellow! He little imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves, with a jealous resolution, still further in his waistcoat, as I announced my name. "Mr. Heathcliff?" I said. A nod was the answer. "Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I do myself the honour of calling as soon as possible after my ar- rival, to express the hope that I have not incon- venienced you by my perseverance in soliciting the oc- cupation of Thrushcross Grange. I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts------" "Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir," he interrupted, wincing. "I should not allow any one to inconvenience me, if I could hinder it. Walk in!" The "walk in" was uttered with closed teeth, and ex- pressed the sentiment, "Go to the deuce." Even the gate over which he leant manifested no sympathizing move- ment to the words; and I think that circumstance deter- mined me to accept the invitation. I felt interested in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself. When he saw my horse's breast fairly pushing the bar- rier, he did put out his hand to unchain it, and then sul- lenly preceded me up the causeway, calling, as we en- tered the court, "Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood's horse, and bring up some wine." "Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, I suppose," was the reflection suggested by this com- pound order. "No wonder the grass grows up between the flags, and cattle are the only hedge-cutters." Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man---very old, perhaps, though hale and sinewy. "The Lord help us!" he soliloquized in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while relieving me of my horse, looking, meantime, in my face so sourly that I charitably conjectured he must have need of divine aid to digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no reference to my unexpected advent. Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling, "wuthering" being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed. One may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house, and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. Happily the architect had fore- sight to build it strong. The narrow windows are deeply set in the wall, and the corners defended with large jut- ting stones. Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of grotesque carving lavished over the front, and especially about the principal door; above which, among a wilderness of crumbling griffins and shame- less little boys, I detected the date "1500," and the name "Hareton Earnshaw." I would have made a few com- ments, and requested a short history of the place from the surly owner; but his attitude at the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance or complete departure, and I had no desire to aggravate his impatience previous to inspecting the penetralium. One step brought us into the family sitting-room, without any introductory lobby or passage. They call it here "the house" pre-eminently. It includes kitchen and parlour generally. But, I believe, at Wuthering Heights the kitchen is forced to retreat altogether into another quarter---at least I distinguished a chatter of tongues and a clatter of culinary utensils deep within; and I ob- served no signs of roasting, boiling, or baking about the huge fireplace, nor any glitter of copper saucepans and tin cullenders on the walls. One end, indeed, reflected splendidly both light and heat from ranks of immense pewter dishes, interspersed with silver jugs and tank- ards, towering row after row, on a vast oak dresser, to the very roof. The latter had never been underdrawn; its entire anatomy lay bare to an inquiring eye, ex- cept where a frame of wood laden with oatcakes and clusters of legs of beef, mutton, and ham concealed it. Above the chimney were sundry villainous old guns and a couple of horse-pistols, and, by way of orna- ment, three gaudily painted canisters disposed along its ledge. The floor was of smooth, white stone; the chairs, high-backed, primitive structures painted green, one or two heavy black ones lurking in the shade. In an arch under the dresser reposed a huge liver-coloured bitch pointer surrounded by a swarm of squealing puppies, and other dogs haunted other recesses. The apartment and furniture would have been noth- ing extraordinary as belonging to a homely, northern farmer with a stubborn countenance and stalwart limbs set out to advantage in knee-breeches and gaiters. Such an individual seated in his armchair, his mug of ale frothing on the round table before him, is to be seen in any circuit of five or six miles among these hills, if you go at the right time after dinner. But Mr. Heathcliff forms a singular contrast to his abode and style of liv- ing. He is a dark-skinned gipsy in aspect. in dress and manners a gentleman---that is, as much a gentleman as many a country squire; rather slovenly, perhaps, yet not looking amiss with his negligence, because he has an erect and handsome figure, and rather morose. Possibly, some people might suspect him of a degree of underbred pride; I have a sympathetic chord within that tells me it is nothing of the sort. I know, by instinct, his reserve springs from an aversion to showy displays of feeling, to manifestations of mutual kindliness. He'll love and hate equally under cover, and esteem it a species of impertinence to be loved or hated again. No, I'm running on too fast. I bestow my own attributes over liberally on him. Mr. Heathcliff may have entirely dissimilar reasons for keeping his hand out of the way when he meets a would-be acquaintance to those which actuate me. Let me hope my constitution is almost pe- culiar. My dear mother used to say I should never have a comfortable home, and only last summer I proved myself perfectly unworthy of one. While enjoying a month of fine weather at the sea coast, I was thrown into the company of a most fasci- nating creature---a real goddess in my eyes, as long as she took no notice of me. I "never told my love" vocally; still, if looks have language, the merest idiot might have guessed I was over head and ears. She understood me at last, and looked a return---the sweetest of all imagina- ble looks. And what did I do? I confess it with shame--- shrank icily into myself, like a snail; at every glance re- tired colder and farther, till finally the poor innocent was led to doubt her own senses, and, overwhelmed with confusion at her supposed mistake, persuaded her mamma to decamp. By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness; how undeserved I alone can appreciate. I took a seat at the end of the hearthstone opposite that towards which my landlord advanced, and filled up an interval of silence by attempting to caress the canine mother, who had left her nursery, and was sneak- ing wolfishly to the back of my legs, her lip curled up, and her white teeth watering for a snatch. My caress provoked a long, guttural gnarl. "You'd better let the dog alone," growled Mr. Heath- cliff, in unison, checking fiercer demonstrations with a punch of his foot. "She's not accustomed to be spoiled ---not kept for a pet." Then, striding to a side door, he shouted again, "Joseph!" Joseph mumbled indistinctly in the depths of the cellar, but gave no intimation of ascending; so his master dived down to him, leaving me vis-a-vis the ruf- fianly bitch and a pair of grim shaggy sheep-dogs, who shared with her a jealous guardianship over all my movements. Not anxious to come in contact with their fangs, I sat still; but, imagining they would scarcely understand tacit insults, I unfortunately indulged in winking and making faces at the trio, and some turn of my physiognomy so irritated madam that she sud- denly broke into a fury and leapt on my knees. I flung her back, and hastened to interpose the table between us. This proceeding roused the whole hive. Half a dozen four-footed fiends, of various sizes and ages, is- sued from hidden dens to the common centre. I felt my heels and coat-laps peculiar subjects of assault; and par- rying off the larger combatants as effectually as I could with the poker, I was constrained to demand, aloud, assistance from some of the household in re-establish- ing peace. Mr. Heathcliff and his man climbed the cellar steps with vexatious phlegm. I don't think they moved one second faster than usual, though the hearth was an ab- solute tempest of worrying and yelping. Happily, an inhabitant of the kitchen made more dispatch. A lusty dame, with tucked-up gown, bare arms, and fire-flushed cheeks, rushed into the midst of us flourishing a fry- ing-pan, and used that weapon and her tongue to such purpose that the storm subsided magically, and she only remained, heaving like a sea after a high wind, when her master entered on the scene. "What the devil is the matter?" he asked, eyeing me in a manner that I could ill endure after this inhospita- ble treatment. "What the devil, indeed!" I muttered. "The herd of possessed swine could have had no worse spirits in them than those animals of yours, sir. You might as well leave a stranger with a brood of tigers!" "They won't meddle with persons who touch noth- ing," he remarked, putting the bottle before me, and restoring the displaced table. "The dogs do right to be vigilant. Take a glass of wine." "No, thank you." "Not bitten, are you?" "If I had been, I would have set my signet on the biter." Heathcliff's countenance relaxed into a grin. "Come, come," he said; "you are flurried, Mr. Lockwood. Here, take a little wine. Guests are so ex- ceedingly rare in this house that I and my dogs, I am willing to own, hardly know how to receive them. Your health, sir!" I bowed and returned the pledge, beginning to per- ceive that it would be foolish to sit sulking for the mis- behaviour of a pack of curs; besides, I felt loath to yield the fellow further amusement at my expense, since his humour took that turn. He---probably swayed by pru- dential consideration of the folly of offending a good tenant---relaxed a little in the laconic style of chipping off his pronouns and auxiliary verbs, and introduced what he supposed would be a subject of interest to me ---a discourse on the advantages and disadvantages of my present place of retirement. I found him very intel- ligent on the topics we touched; and before I went home I was encouraged so far as to volunteer another visit to- morrow. He evidently wished no repetition of my in- trusion. I shall go, notwithstanding. It is astonishing how sociable I feel myself, compared with him. CHAPTER II. Yesterday afternoon set in misty and cold. I had half a mind to spend it by my study fire, instead of wading through heath and mud to Wuthering Heights. On coming up from dinner, however (N.B. ---I dine between twelve and one o'clock. The house- keeper, a matronly lady, taken as a fixture along with the house, could not, or would not, comprehend my request that I might be served at five), on mounting the stairs with this lazy intention, and stepping into the room, I saw a servant girl on her knees surrounded by brushes and coal-scuttles, and raising an infernal dust as she extinguished the flames with heaps of cinders. This spectacle drove me back immediately. I took my hat, and after a four miles' walk, arrived at Heathcliff's garden gate just in time to escape the first feathery flakes of a snow-shower. On that bleak hill-top the earth was hard with a black frost, and the air made me shiver through every limb. Being unable to remove the chain, I jumped over, and running up the flagged causeway bordered with strag- gling gooseberry bushes, knocked vainly for admit- tance, till my knuckles tingled and the dogs howled. "Wretched inmates!" I ejaculated mentally, "you de- serve perpetual isolation from your species for your churlish inhospitality. At least, I would not keep my doors barred in the daytime. I don't care; I will get in!" So resolved, I grasped the latch and shook it ve- hemently. Vinegar-faced Joseph projected his head from a round window of the barn. "What are ye for?" he shouted. "T' maister's down i' t' fowld. Go round by th' end ot' laith, if ye went to spake to him." "Is there nobody inside to open the door?" I hallooed responsively. "There's nobbut t' missis, and shoo'll not oppen't an ye mak yer flaysome dins till neeght." "Why? Cannot you tell her who I am, eh, Joseph?" "Nor-ne me! I'll hae no hend wi't," muttered the head, vanishing. The snow began to drive thickly. I seized the handle to essay another trial, when a young man without coat, and shouldering a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind. He hailed me to follow him; and, after march- ing through a wash-house, and a paved area containing a coal-shed, pump, and pigeon-cot, we at length arrived in the huge, warm, cheerful apartment where I was for- merly received. It glowed delightfully in the radiance of an immense fire, compounded of coal, peat, and wood; and near the table, laid for a plentiful evening meal, I was pleased to observe the "missis," an individual whose existence I had never previously suspected. I bowed and waited, thinking she would bid me take a seat. She looked at me, leaning back in her chair, and remained motionless and mute. "Rough weather!" I remarked. "I'm afraid, Mrs. Heathcliff, the door must bear the consequence of your servants' leisure attendance. I had hard work to make them hear me." She never opened her mouth. I stared---she stared also. At any rate, she kept her eyes on me in a cool, re- gardless manner, exceedingly embarrassing and dis- agreeable. "Sit down," said the young man gruffly. "He'll be in soon." I obeyed, and hemmed, and called the villain Juno, who deigned, at this second interview, to move the ex- treme tip of her tail, in token of owning my acquaint- ance. "A beautiful animal!" I commenced again. "Do you intend parting with the little ones, madam?" "They are not mine," said the amiable hostess, more repellingly than Heathcliff himself could have replied. "Ah, your favourites are among these?" I continued, turning to an obscure cushion full of something like cats. "A strange choice of favourites!" she observed scornfully. Unluckily it was a heap of dead rabbits. I hemmed once more, and drew closer to the hearth, repeating my comment on the wildness of the evening. "You should not have come out," she said, rising and reaching from the chimney-piece two of the painted canisters. Her position before was sheltered from the light; now, I had a distinct view of her whole figure and countenance. She was slender, and apparently scarcely past girlhood; an admirable form, and the most exqui- site little face that I have ever had the pleasure of be- holding; small features, very fair; flaxen ringlets, or rather golden, hanging loose on her delicate neck; and eyes, had they been agreeable in expression, that would have been irresistible. Fortunately for my suscep- tible heart, the only sentiment they evinced hovered be- tween scorn and a kind of desperation, singularly un- natural to be detected there. The canisters were almost out of her reach. I made a motion to aid her. She turned upon me as a miser might turn if any one at- tempted to assist him in counting his gold. "I don't want your help," she snapped. "I can get them for myself." "I beg your pardon," I hastened to reply. "Were you asked to tea?" she demanded, tying an apron over her neat black frock, and standing with a spoonful of the leaf poised over the pot. "I shall be glad to have a cup," I answered. "Were you asked?" she repeated. "No," I said, half smiling. "You are the proper per- son to ask me." She flung the tea back, spoon and all, and resumed her chair in a pet. Her forehead corrugated, and her red under-lip pushed out, like a child's ready to cry. Meanwhile, the young man had slung on to his per- son a decidedly shabby upper garment, and, erecting himself before the blaze, looked down on me from the corner of his eyes, for all the world as if there were some mortal feud unavenged between us. I began to doubt whether he were a servant or not. His dress and speech were both rude, entirely devoid of the superiority ob- servable in Mr. and Mrs. Heathcliff. His thick brown curls were rough and uncultivated, his whiskers en- croached bearishly over his cheeks, and his hands were embrowned like those of a common labourer. Still his bearing was free, almost haughty, and he showed none of a domestic's assiduity in attending on the lady of the house. In the absence of clear proofs of his condition, I deemed it best to abstain from noticing his curious conduct; and, five minutes afterwards, the entrance of Heathcliff relieved me, in some measure, from my un- comfortable state. "You see, sir, I am come, according to promise," I exclaimed, assuming the cheerful; "and I fear I shall be weather-bound for half an hour, if you can afford me shelter during that space." "Half an hour?" he said, shaking the white flakes from his clothes. "I wonder you should select the thick of a snowstorm to ramble about in. Do you know that you run a risk of being lost in the marshes? People fa- miliar with these moors often miss their road on such evenings; and I can tell you there is no chance of a change at present." "Perhaps I can get a guide among your lads, and he might stay at the Grange till morning. Could you spare me one?" "No, I could not." "Oh, indeed! Well, then, I must trust to my own sa- gacity." "Umph!" "Are you going to mak th' tea?" demanded he of the shabby coat, shifting his ferocious gaze from me to the young lady. "Is he to have any?" she asked, appealing to Heath- cliff. "Get it ready, will you?" was the answer, uttered so savagely that I started. The tone in which the words were said revealed a genuine bad nature. I no longer felt inclined to call Heathcliff a capital fellow. When the preparations were finished, he invited me with---"Now, sir, bring forward your chair." And we all, including the rustic youth, drew round the table, an austere si- lence prevailing while we discussed our meal. I thought, if I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to make an effort to dispel it. They could not every day sit so grim and taciturn; and it was impossible, however ill-tempered they might be, that the universal scowl they wore was their everyday countenance. "It is strange," I began, in the interval of swallowing one cup of tea and receiving another---"it is strange how custom can mould our tastes and ideas. Many could not imagine the existence of happiness in a life of such complete exile from the world as you spend, Mr. Heathcliff; yet, I'll venture to say, that surrounded by your family, and with your amiable lady as the presiding genius over your home and heart--" "My amiable lady!" he interrupted, with an almost diabolical sneer on his face. "Where is she--my amiable lady?" "Mrs. Heathcliff, your wife, I mean." "Well, yes--Oh! you would intimate that her spirit has taken the post of ministering angel, and guards the fortunes of Wuthering Heights, even when her body is gone. Is that it?" Perceiving myself in a blunder, I attempted to correct it. I might have seen there was too great a disparity between the ages of the parties to make it likely that they were man and wife. One was about forty, a period of mental vigour at which men seldom cherish the delusion of being married for love, by girls: that dream is reserved for the solace of our decling years. The other did not look seventeen. Then it flashed upon me--"The clown at my elbow, who is drinking his tea out of a basin and eating his bread with unwashed hands, may be her husband. Heathcliff, junior, of course. Here is the consequence of being buried alive: she has thrown herself away upon that boor, from sheer ignorance that better individuals existed! A sad pity--I must beware how I cause her to regret her choice." The last reflection may seem conceited; it was not. My neighbour struck me as bordering on repulsive. I knew, through experience, that I was tolerably attractive. "Mrs. Heathcliff is my daughter-in-law," said Heathcliff, corroborating my surmise. He turned, as he spoke, a peculiar look in her direction, a look of hatred, unless he has a most perverse set of facial muscles that will not, like those of other people, interpret the language of his soul. "Ah, certainly--I see now; you are the favoured possessor of the beneficent fairy," I remarked, turning to my neighbour. This was worse than before: the youth grew crimson, and clenched his fist with every appearance of a meditated assault. But he seemed to recollect himself, presently, and smothered the storm in a brutal curse, muttered on my behalf, which however, I took care not to notice. "Unhappy in your conjectures, sir!" observed my host; "we neither of us have the privilege of owning your good fairy; her mate is dead. I said she was my daughter-in-law, therefore, she must have married my son." "And this young man is--" "Not my son, assuredly." Heathcliff smiled again, as if it were rather too bold a jest to attribute the paternity of that bear to him. "My name is Hareton Earnshaw," growled the other; "and I'd counsel you to respect it!" "I've shown no disrespect," was my reply, laughing internally at the dignity with which he announced him- self. He fixed his eye on me longer than I cared to return the stare, for fear I might be tempted either to box his ears or render my hilarity audible. I began to feel un- mistakably out of place in that pleasant family circle. The dismal spiritual atmosphere overcame, and more than neutralized, the glowing physical comforts round me; and I resolved to be cautious how I ventured under those rafters a third time. The business of eating being concluded, and no one uttering a word of sociable conversation, I approached a window to examine the weather. A sorrowful sight I saw---dark night coming down prematurely, and sky and hills mingled in one bitter whirl of wind and suf- focating snow. "I don't think it possible for me to get home now without a guide," I could not help exclaiming. "The roads will be buried already; and, if they were bare, I could scarcely distinguish a foot in advance." "Hareton, drive those dozen sheep into the barn porch. They'll be covered if left in the fold all night. And put a plank before them," said Heathcliff. "How must I do?" I continued, with rising irritation. There was no reply to my question; and on looking round I saw only Joseph bringing in a pail of porridge for the dogs, and Mrs. Heathcliff leaning over the fire, diverting herself with burning a bundle of matches which had fallen from the chimney-piece as she re- stored the tea-canister to its place. The former, when he had deposited his burden, took a critical survey of the room, and in cracked tones grated out,--- "Aw wonder how yah can faishion to stand thear i' idleness un war, when all on 'em's goan out! Bud yah're a nowt, and it's no use talking; yah'll niver mend o' yer ill ways, but goa raight to t' divil, like yer mother afore ye!" I imagined for a moment that this piece of eloquence was addressed to me; and, sufficiently enraged, stepped towards the aged rascal with an intention of kicking him out of the door. Mrs. Heathcliff, however, checked me by her answer. "You scandalous old hypocrite!" she replied. "Are you not afraid of being carried away bodily, whenever you mention the devil's name? I warn you to refrain from provoking me, or I'll ask your abduction as a spe- cial favour. Stop! Look here, Joseph," she continued, taking a long, dark book from a shelf; "I'll show you how far I've progressed in the black art. I shall soon be competent to make a clear house of it. The red cow didn't die by chance, and your rheumatism can hardly be reckoned among providential visitations!" "Oh, wicked, wicked!" gasped the elder; "may the Lord deliver us from evil!" "No, reprobate; you are a castaway. Be off, or I'll hurt you seriously. I'll have you all modelled in wax and clay; and the first who passes the limits I fix shall---I'll not say what he shall be done to, but you'll see! Go! I'm looking at you." The little witch put a mock malignity into her beau- tiful eyes, and Joseph, trembling with sincere horror, hurried out, praying and ejaculating "wicked" as he went. I thought her conduct must be prompted by a species of dreary fun; and, now that we were alone, I en- deavoured to interest her in my distress. "Mrs. Heathcliff," I said earnestly, "you must ex- cuse me for troubling you. I presume, because, with that face, I'm sure you cannot help being good-hearted. Do point out some landmarks by which I may know my way home. I have no more idea how to get there than you would have how to get to London." "Take the road you came," she answered, ensconc- ing herself in a chair, with a candle, and the long book open before her. "It is brief advice, but as sound as I can give." "Then, if you hear of me being discovered dead in a bog or a pit full of snow, your conscience won't whis- per that it is partly your fault?" "How so? I cannot escort you. They wouldn't let me go to the end of the garden wall." "You! I should be sorry to ask you to cross the threshold for my convenience on such a night," I cried. "I want you to tell me my way, not to show it, or else to persuade Mr. Heathcliff to give me a guide." "Who? There is himself, Earnshaw, Zillah, Joseph, and I. Which would you have?" "Are there no boys at the farm?" "No; those are all." "Then, it follows that I am compelled to stay." "That you may settle with your host. I have nothing to do with it." "I hope it will be a lesson to you to make no more rash journeys on these hills," cried Heathcliff's stern voice from the kitchen entrance. "As to staying here, I don't keep accommodations for visitors. You must share a bed with Hareton or Joseph, if you do." "I can sleep on a chair in this room," I replied. "No, no! A stranger is a stranger, be he rich or poor. It will not suit me to permit any one the range of the place while I am off guard!" said the unmannerly wretch. With this insult, my patience was at an end. I uttered an expression of disgust, and pushed past him into the yard, running against Earnshaw in my haste. It was so dark that I could not see the means of exit; and, as I wandered round, I heard another specimen of their civil behaviour amongst each other. At first the young man appeared about to befriend me. "I'll go with him as far as the park," he said. "You'll go with him to hell!" exclaimed his master, or whatever relation he bore. "And who is to look after the horses, eh?" "A man's life is of more consequence than one eve- ning's neglect of the horses. Somebody must go," mur- mured Mrs. Heathcliff, more kindly than I expected. "Not at your command!" retorted Hareton. "If you set store on him, you'd better be quiet." "Then I hope his ghost will haunt you; and I hope Mr. Heathcliff will never get another tenant till the Grange is a ruin!" she answered sharply. "Hearken, hearken; shoo's cursing on 'em!" mut- tered Joseph, towards whom I had been steering. He sat within earshot, milking the cows by the light of a lantern, which I seized unceremoniously, and call- ing out that I would send it back on the morrow, rushed to the nearest postern. "Maister, maister, he's staling t' lanthern!" shouted the ancient, pursuing my retreat. "Hey, Gnasher! Hey, dog! Hey, Wolf, holld him, holld him!" On opening the little door, two hairy monsters flew at my throat, bearing me down and extinguishing the light; while a mingled guffaw from Heathcliff and Hareton put the copestone on my rage and humiliation. Fortu- nately, the beasts seemed more bent on stretching their paws and yawning, and flourishing their tails, than de- vouring me alive; but they would suffer no resurrection, and I was forced to lie till their malignant masters pleased to deliver me. Then, hatless and trembling with wrath, I ordered the miscreants to let me out---on their peril to keep me one minute longer---with several inco- herent threats of retaliation that, in their indefinite depth of virulency, smacked of King Lear. The vehemence of my agitation brought on a copious bleeding at the nose; and still Heathcliff laughed, and still I scolded. I don't know what would have concluded the scene had there not been one person at hand rather more rational than myself and more benevolent than my entertainer. This was Zillah, the stout housewife, who at length issued forth to inquire into the nature of the uproar. She thought that some of them had been laying violent hands on me; and, not daring to attack her mas- ter, she turned her vocal artillery against the younger scoundrel. "Well, Mr. Earnshaw," she cried, "I wonder what you'll have agait next! Are we going to murder folk on our very door-stones? I see this house will never do for me. Look at t' poor lad; he's fair choking!--Wisht, wisht! you munn't go on so. Come in, and I'll cure that. There now, hold ye still." With these words she suddenly splashed a pint of icy water down my neck, and pulled me into the kitchen. Mr. Heathcliff followed, his accidental merriment ex- piring quickly in his habitual moroseness. I was sick exceedingly, and dizzy and faint, and thus compelled perforce to accept lodgings under his roof. He told Zillah to give me a glass of brandy, and then passed on to the inner room; while she condoled with me on my sorry predicament, and having obeyed his orders, whereby I was somewhat revived, ushered me to bed. CHAPTER III. While leading the way upstairs, she recommended that I should hide the candle, and not make a noise, for her master had an odd notion about the cham- ber she would put me in, and never let anybody lodge there willingly. I asked the reason. She did not know, she answered. She had only lived there a year or two; and they had so many queer goings on, she could not begin to be curious. Too stupefied to be curious myself, I fastened my door and glanced round for the bed. The whole furni- ture consisted of a chair, a clothes-press, and a large oak case, with squares cut out near the top resembling coach windows. Having approached this structure, I looked inside, and perceived it to be a singular sort of old-fashioned couch, very conveniently designed to ob- viate the necessity for every member of the family hav- ing a room to himself. In fact, it formed a little closet; and the ledge of a window, which it enclosed, served as a table. I slid back the panelled sides, got in with my light, pulled them together again, and felt secure against the vigilance of Heathcliff and every one else. The ledge where I placed my candle had a few mil- dewed books piled up in one corner, and it was covered with writing scratched on the paint. This writing, how- ever, was nothing but a name repeated in all kinds of characters, large and small---Catherine Earnshaw, here and there varied to Catherine Heathcliff and then again to Catherine Linton. In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the win- dow, and continued spelling over Catherine Earnshaw ---Heathcliff---Linton, till my eyes closed. But they had not rested five minutes when a glare of white letters started from the dark as vivid as spectres---the air swarmed with Catherines; and rousing myself to dispel the obtrusive name, I discovered my candle-wick re- clining on one of the antique volumes, and perfum- ing the place with an odour of roasted calf-skin. I snuffed it off, and, very ill at ease under the influence of cold and lingering nausea, sat up and spread open the injured tome on my knee. It was a Testament, in lean type, and smelling dreadfully musty. A fly-leaf bore the inscription, "Catherine Earnshaw, her book," and a date some quarter of a century back. I shut it, and took up another, and another, till I had examined all. Catherine's library was select, and its state of dilapi- dation proved it to have been well used, though not al- together for a legitimate purpose. Scarcely one chapter had escaped a pen-and-ink commentary---at least, the appearance of one---covering every morsel of blank that the printer had left. Some were detached sentences; other parts took the form of a regular diary, scrawled in an unformed, childish hand. At the top of an extra page (quite a treasure, probably, when first lighted on) I was greatly amused to behold an excellent caricature of my friend Joseph, rudely yet powerfully sketched. An immediate interest kindled within me for the un- known Catherine, and I began forthwith to decipher her faded hieroglyphics. "An awful Sunday!" commenced the paragraph be- neath. "I wish my father were back again. Hindley is a detestable substitute---his conduct to Heathcliff is atrocious---H. and I are going to rebel---we took our initiatory step this evening. "All day had been flooding with rain. We could not go to church, so Joseph must needs get up a congrega- tion in the garret; and while Hindley and his wife basked downstairs before a comfortable fire---doing anything but reading their Bibles, I'll answer for it---Heathcliff, myself, and the unhappy plough-boy were commanded to take our prayer-books and mount. We were ranged in a row on a sack of corn, groaning and shivering, and hoping that Joseph would shiver too, so that he might give us a short homily for his own sake. A vain idea! The service lasted precisely three hours; and yet my brother had the face to exclaim, when he saw us de- scending, 'What! done already?' On Sunday evenings we used to be permitted to play, if we did not make much noise; now a mere titter is sufficient to send us into corners! " 'You forget you have a master here,' says the ty- rant. 'I'll demolish the first who puts me out of temper! I insist on perfect sobriety and silence. O boy! was that you?----Frances darling, pull his hair as you go by. I heard him snap his fingers.' Frances pulled his hair heartily, and then went and seated herself on her hus- band's knee; and there they were, like two babies, kiss- ing and talking nonsense by the hour---foolish palaver that we should be ashamed of. We made ourselves as snug as our means allowed in the arch of the dresser. I had just fastened our pinafores together, and hung them up for a curtain, when in comes Joseph on an er- rand from the stables. He tears down my handiwork, boxes my ears, and croaks,--- " 'T' maister nobbut just buried, and Sabbath no o'ered, und t' sound o' t' gospel still i' yer lugs, and ye darr be laiking! Shame on ye! Sit ye down, ill childer; there's good books eneugh if ye'll read 'em. Sit ye down, and think o' yer sowls!' "Saying this, he compelled us so to square our posi- tions that we might receive from the far-off flre a dull ray to show us the text of the lumber he thrust upon us. I could not bear the employment. I took my dingy vol- ume by the scroop, and hurled it into the dog-kennel, vowing I hated a good book. Heathcliff kicked his to the same place. Then there was a hubbub! " 'Maister Hindley!' shouted our chaplain. 'Maister, coom hither! Miss Cathy's riven th' back off "Th' Hel- met o' Salvation," un Heathcliff's pawsed his fit into t' first part o' "T' Brooad Way to Destruction!" It's fair flaysome that ye let 'em go on this gait. Ech! th' owd man wad ha' laced 'em properly; but he's goan!' "Hindley hurried up from his paradise on the hearth, and seizing one of us by the collar, and the other by the arm, hurled both into the back kitchen, where, Joseph asseverated, `owd Nick' would fetch us as sure as we were living; and, so comforted, we each sought a separate nook to await his advent. "I reached this book, and a pot of ink from a shelf, and pushed the house-door ajar to give me light, and I have got the time on with writing for twenty minutes; but my companion is impatient and proposes that we should appropriate the dairy woman's cloak, and have a scamper on the moors, under its shelter. A pleasant suggestion-- and then, if the surly old man come in, he may believe his prophesy verified--we cannot be damper, or colder, in the rain than we are here." I suppose Catherine fulfilled her project, for the next sentence took up another subject; she waxed lachrymose. "How little did I dream that Hindley would ever make me cry so!" she wrote. "My head aches, till I cannot keep it on the pillow; and still I can't give over. Poor Heathcliff! Hindley calls him a vagabond, and won't let him sit with us, nor eat with us any more; and he says, he and I must not play together, and threatens to turn him out of the house if we break his orders. "He has been blaming our father (how dared he?) for treating H. too liberally; and swears he will reduce him to his right place--" I began to nod drowsily over the dim page; my eye wandered from manuscript to print. I saw a red ornamented title--"Seventy Times Seven, and the First of the Seventy-First. A Pious Discourse delivered by the Reverend Jabes Branderham, in the Chapel of Gimmerden Sough." And while I was, half consciously, worrying my brain to guess what Jabes Branderham would make of his subject, I sank back in bed, and fell asleep. Alas, for the effects of bad tea and bad temper! what else could it be that made me pass such a terrible night? I don't remember another that I can at all compare with it since I was capable of suffering. I began to dream, almost before I ceased to be sensible of my locality. I thought it was morning, and I had set out on my way home, with Joseph for a guide. The snow lay yards deep in our road; and, as we floundered on, my companion wearied me with constant reproaches that I had not brought a pilgrim's staff, telling me I could never get into the house without one, and boastfully flourishing a heavy-headed cudgel, which I understood to be so denominated. For a moment I considered it absurd that I should need such a weapon to gain admittance into my own residence. Then a new idea flashed across me. I was not going there. We were journeying to hear the famous Jabes Branderham preach from the text, "Seventy Times Seven," and either Joseph the preacher or I had committed the "First of the Seventy-First," and were to be publicly exposed and excommunicated. We came to the chapel. I have passed it really in my walks twice or thrice. It lies in a hollow between two hills---an elevated hollow, near a swamp, whose peaty moisture is said to answer all the purposes of embalm- ing on the few corpses deposited there. The roof has been kept whole hitherto; but as the clergyman's sti- pend is only twenty pounds per annum, and a house with two rooms, threatening speedily to determine into one, no clergyman will undertake the duties of pastor, especially as it is currently reported that his flock would rather let him starve than increase the living by one penny from their own pockets. However, in my dream, Jabes had a full and attentive congregation, and he preached--good God! what a sermon, divided into four hundred and ninety parts, each fully equal to an ordinary address from the pulpit, and each discussing a separate sin! Where he searched for them, I cannot tell. He had his private manner of interpreting the phrase, and it seemed necessary the brother should sin different sins on every occasion. They were of the most curious character---odd transgressions that I never imagined previously. Oh, how weary I grew! How I writhed, and yawned, and nodded, and revived! How I pinched, and pricked myself, and rubbed my eyes, and stood up, and sat down again, and nudged Joseph to inform me if he would ever have done! I was condemned to hear all out. Fi- nally, he reached the "First of the Seventy-First." At that crisis, a sudden inspiration descended on me. I was moved to rise and denounce Jabes Branderham as the sinner of the sin that no Christian need pardon. "Sir," I exclaimed, "sitting here within these four walls, at one stretch, I have endured and forgiven the four hundred and ninety heads of your discourse. Sev- enty times seven times have I plucked up my hat and been about to depart; seventy times seven times have you preposterously forced me to resume my seat. The four hundred and ninety-first is too much.---Fellow- martyrs, have at him! Drag him down, and crush him to atoms, that the place which knows him may know him no more!" "Thou art the man!" cried Jabes, after a solemn pause, leaning over his cushion. "Seventy times seven times didst thou gapingly contort thy visage; seventy times seven did I take counsel with my soul. Lo, this is human weakness; this also may be absolved! The 'First of the Seventy-First' is come. Brethren, execute upon him the judgment written. Such honour have all His saints!" With that concluding word, the whole assembly, ex- alting their pilgrim's staves, rushed round me in a body; and I, having no weapon to raise in self-defence, com- menced grappling with Joseph, my nearest and most ferocious assailant, for his. In the confluence of the multitude several clubs crossed; blows aimed at me fell on other sconces. Presently the whole chapel resounded with rappings and counter-rappings. Every man's hand was against his neighbour; and Branderham, unwilling to remain idle, poured forth his zeal in a shower of loud taps on the boards of the pulpit, which responded so smartly that at last, to my unspeakable relief, they woke me. And what was it that had suggested the tremendous tumult? What had played Jabes's part in the row? Merely the branch of a fir-tree that touched my lattice, as the blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones against the panes! I listened doubtingly an instant, detected the disturber, then turned and dozed, and dreamt again--- if possible, still more disagreeably than before. This time I remembered I was lying in the oak closet, and I heard distinctly the gusty wind and the driving of the snow. I heard also the fir-bough repeat its teasing sound, and ascribed it to the right cause. But it an- noyed me so much that I resolved to silence it, if pos- sible; and I thought I rose and endeavoured to unhasp the casement. The hook was soldered into the staple---a circumstance observed by me when awake, but forgot- ten. "I must stop it, nevertheless!" I muttered, knock- ing my knuckles through the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch; instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, ice- cold hand! The intense horror of nightmare came over me. I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, "Let me in ---let me in!" "Who are you?" I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself. "Catherine Linton," it replied shiveringly. (Why did I think of Linton? I had read Earnshaw twenty times for Linton.) "I'm come home. I'd lost my way on the moor." As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child's face looking through the window. Terror made me cruel; and finding it use- less to attempt shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes. Still it wailed, "Let me in!" and maintained its tenacious gripe, almost maddening me with fear. "How can I?" I said at length. "Let me go, if you want me to let you in!" The fingers relaxed; I snatched mine through the hole, hurriedly piled the books up in a pyramid against it, and stopped my ears to exclude the lamentable prayer. I seemed to keep them closed above a quarter of an hour; yet the instant I listened again, there was the doleful cry moaning on! "Begone!" I shouted; "I'll never let you in---not if you beg for twenty years." "It is twenty years," mourned the voice---"twenty years. I've been a waif for twenty years!" Thereat began a fee- ble scratching outside, and the pile of books moved as if thrust forward. I tried to jump up, but could not stir a limb, and so yelled aloud in a frenzy of fright. To my confusion, I discovered the yell was not ideal. Hasty footsteps approached my chamber door; somebody pushed it open with a vigorous hand, and a light glim- mered through the squares at the top of the bed. I sat shuddering yet, and wiping the perspiration from my forehead. The intruder appeared to hesitate, and mut- tered to himself. At last he said in a half-whisper, plainly not expecting an answer, "Is any one here?" I consid- ered it best to confess my presence, for I knew Heath- cliff's accents, and feared he might search further if I kept quiet. With this intention I turned and opened the panels. I shall not soon forget the effect my action produced. Heathcliff stood near the entrance, in his shirt and trousers, with a candle dripping over his fingers, and his face as white as the wall behind him. The first creak of the oak startled him like an electric shock. The light leaped from his hold to a distance of some feet, and his agitation was so extreme that he could hardly pick it up. "It is only your guest, sir," I called out, desirous to spare him the humiliation of exposing his cowardice further. "I had the misfortune to scream in my sleep, owing to a frightful nightmare. I'm sorry I disturbed you." "Oh, God confound you, Mr. Lockwood! I wish you were at the---" commenced my host, setting the candle on a chair, because he found it impossible to hold it steady. "And who showed you up into this room?" he continued, crushing his nails into his palms and grinding his teeth to subdue the maxillary convulsions. "Who was it? I've a good mind to turn them out of the house this moment." "It was your servant Zillah," I replied, flinging my- self on to the floor, and rapidly resuming my garments. "I should not care if you did, Mr. Heathcliff; she richly deserves it. I suppose that she wanted to get another proof that the place was haunted, at my expense. Well, it is---swarming with ghosts and goblins! You have reason in shutting it up, I assure you. No one will thank you for a doze in such a den!" "What do you mean?" asked Heathcliff, "and what are you doing? Lie down and finish out the night, since you are here; but, for Heaven's sake, don't repeat that horrid noise. Nothing could excuse it, unless you were having your throat cut!" "If the little fiend had got in at the window, she prob- ably would have strangled me!" I returned. "I'm not going to endure the persecutions of your hospitable an- cestors again. Was not the Reverend Jabes Branderham akin to you on the mother's side? And that minx, Cath- erine Linton, or Earnshaw, or however she was called, she must have been a changeling----wicked little soul! She told me she had been walking the earth those twenty years---a just punishment for her mortal trans- gressions, I've no doubt." Scarcely were these words uttered, when I recol- lected the association of Heathcliff's with Catherine's name in the book, which had completely slipped from my memory, till thus awakened. I blushed at my incon- sideration; but without showing further consciousness of the offence, I hastened to add, "The truth is, sir, I passed the first part of the night in-----" Here I stopped afresh. I was about to say "perusing those old volumes" ---then it would have revealed my knowledge of their written as well as their printed contents; so, correcting myself, I went on, "In spelling over the name scratched on that window-ledge---a monotonous occupation, cal- culated to set me asleep, like counting, or---" "What can you mean by talking in this way to me?" thundered Heathcliff, with savage vehemence. "How ---how dare you, under my roof?---God, he's mad to speak so!" And he struck his forehead with rage. I did not know whether to resent this language or pursue my explanation; but he seemed so powerfully affected that I took pity and proceeded with my dreams, affirming I had never heard the appellation of "Cather- ine Linton" before, but reading it often over produced an impression which personified itself when I had no longer my imagination under control. Heathcliff grad- ually fell back into the shelter of the bed as I spoke, finally sitting down almost concealed behind it. I guessed, however, by his irregular and intercepted breathing, that he struggled to vanquish an excess of violent emotion. Not liking to show him that I had heard the conflict, I continued my toilet rather noisily, looked at my watch, and soliloquized on the length of the night. Not three o'clock yet! I could have taken oath it had been six. Time stagnates here. We must surely have retired to rest at eight! "Always at nine in winter, and rise at four," said my host, suppressing a groan, and, as I fancied, by the mo- tion of his arm's shadow, dashing a tear from his eyes. "Mr. Lockwood," he added, "you may go into my room. You'll only be in the way, coming downstairs so early; and your childish outcry has sent sleep to the devil for me." "And for me too," I replied. "I'll walk in the yard till daylight, and then I'll be off; and you need not dread a repetition of my intrusion. I'm now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town. A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in him- self." "Delightful company!" muttered Heathcliff. "Take the candle, and go where you please. I shall join you directly. Keep out of the yard, though---the dogs are unchained; and the house---Juno mounts sentinel there, and----nay, you can only ramble about the steps and passages. But away with you! I'll come in two min- utes!" I obeyed, so far as to quit the chamber; when, igno- rant where the narrow lobbies led, I stood still, and was witness, involuntarily, to a piece of superstition on the part of my landlord which belied oddly his apparent sense. He got on to the bed and wrenched open the lattice, bursting, as he pulled at it, into an uncontrol- lable passion of tears. "Come in! come in!" he sobbed. "Cathy, do come! Oh, do---once more! Oh, my heart's darling! hear me this time, Catherine, at last!" The spectre showed a spectre's ordinary caprice. It gave no sign of being; but the snow and wind whirled wildly through, even reaching my station, and blowing out the light. There was such anguish in the gush of grief that ac- companied this raving that my compassion made me overlook its folly, and I drew off, half angry to have lis- tened at all, and vexed at having related my ridiculous nightmare, since it produced that agony; though why was beyond my comprehension. I descended cautiously to the lower regions, and landed in the back kitchen, where a gleam of fire, raked compactly together, en- abled me to rekindle my candle. Nothing was stirring except a brindled, gray cat, which crept from the ashes, and saluted me with a querulous mew. Two benches, shaped in sections of a circle, nearly enclosed the hearth. On one of these I stretched myself, and Grimalkin mounted the other. We were both of us nodding ere any one invaded our retreat, and then it was Joseph, shuffling down a wooden ladder that vanished in the roof, through a trap---the ascent to his garret, I suppose. He cast a sinister look at the little flame which I had enticed to play between the ribs, swept the cat from its elevation, and bestowing himself in the vacancy, commenced the operation of stuffing a three-inch pipe with tobacco. My presence in his sanc- tum was evidently esteemed a piece of impudence too shameful for remark. He silently applied the tube to his lips, folded his arms, and puffed away. I let him en- joy the luxury unannoyed; and after sucking out his last wreath, and heaving a profound sigh, he got up, and de- parted as solemnly as he came. A more elastic footstep entered next; and now I opened my mouth for a "good-morning," but closed it again, the salutation unachieved, for Hareton Earn- shaw was performing his orisons, sotto voce, in a series of curses directed against every object he touched, while he rummaged a corner for a spade or shovel to dig through the drifts. He glanced over the back of the bench, dilating his nostrils, and thought as little of ex- changing civilities with me as with my companion the cat. I guessed by his preparations that egress was al- lowed, and leaving my hard couch, made a movement to follow him. He noticed this, and thrust at an inner door with the end of his spade, intimating by an inar- ticulate sound that there was the place where I must go if I changed my locality. It opened into the house, where the females were al- ready astir---Zillah urging flakes of flame up the chim- ney with a colossal bellows; and Mrs. Heathcliff, kneel- ing on the hearth, reading a book by the aid of the blaze. She held her hand interposed between the furnace-heat and her eyes, and seemed absorbed in her occupation, desisting from it only to chide the servant for covering her with sparks, or to push away a dog, now and then, that snoozled its nose over-forwardly into her face. I was surprised to see Heathcliff there also. He stood by the fire, his back towards me, just finishing a stormy scene to poor Zillah, who ever and anon interrupted her labour to pluck up the corner of her apron and heave an indignant groan. "And you, you worthless----" he broke out as I en- tered, turning to his daughter-in-law, and employing an epithet as harmless as duck or sheep, but generally rep- resented by a dash------. "There you are at your idle tricks again! The rest of them do earn their bread; you live on my charity! Put your trash away, and find something to do. You shall pay me for the plague of having you eternally in my sight. Do you hear, dam- nable jade?" "I'll put my trash away, because you can make me if I refuse," answered the young lady, closing her book and throwing it on a chair. "But I'll not do anything, though you should swear your tongue out, except what I please!" Heathcliff lifted his hand, and the speaker sprang to a safer distance, obviously acquainted with its weight. Having no desire to be entertained by a cat-and-dog combat, I stepped forward briskly, as if eager to par- take the warmth of the hearth, and innocent of any knowledge of the interrupted dispute. Each had enough decorum to suspend further hostilities. Heathcliff placed his fists, out of temptation, in his pockets; Mrs. Heath- cliff curled her lip, and walked to a seat far off, where she kept her word by playing the part of a statue during the remainder of my stay. That was not long. I declined joining their breakfast, and at the first gleam of dawn took an opportunity of escaping into the free air, now clear, and still, and cold as impalpable ice. My landlord hallooed for me to stop ere I reached the bottom of the garden, and offered to accompany me across the moor. It was well he did, for the whole hill- back was one billowy, white ocean, the swells and falls not indicating corresponding rises and depressions in the ground. Many pits, at least, were filled to a level, and entire ranges of mounds, the refuse of the quarries, blotted from the chart which my yesterday's walk left pictured in my mind. I had remarked on one side of the road, at intervals of six or seven yards, a line of upright stones, continued through the whole length of the barren. These were erected and daubed with lime on purpose to serve as guides in the dark, and also when a fall, like the present, confounded the deep swamps on either hand with the firmer path; but, exceptiog a dirty dot pointing up here and there, all traces of their exist- ence had vanished, and my companion found it neces- sary to warn me frequently to steer to the right or left, when I imagined I was following correctly the windings of the road. We exchanged little conversation, and he halted at the entrance of Thrushcross Park, saying I could make no error there. Our adieus were limited to a hasty bow, and then I pushed forward, trusting to my own resources, for the porter's lodge is untenanted as yet. The distance from the gate to the Grange is two miles; I believe I managed to make it four, what with losing myself among the trees, and sinking up to the neck in snow---a predicament which only those who have ex- perienced it can appreciate. At any rate, whatever were my wanderings, the clock chimed twelve as I entered the house, and that gave exactly an hour for every mile of the usual way from Wuthering Heights. My human fixture and her satellites rushed to wel- come me, exclaiming tumultuously they had completely given me up. Everybody conjectured that I perished last night, and they were wondering how they must set about the search for my remains. I bid them be quiet, now that they saw me returned, and, benumbed to my very heart, I dragged upstairs; whence, after putting on dry clothes, and pacing to and fro thirty or forty minutes, to restore the animal heat, I am adjourned to my study, feeble as a kitten---almost too much so to enjoy the cheerful fire and smoking coffee which the servant has prepared for my refreshment. CHAPTER IV. What vain weather-cocks we are! I, who had de- termined to hold myself independent of all social intercourse, and thanked my stars that at length I had lighted on a spot where it was next to impracticable--- I, weak wretch, after maintaining till dusk a struggle with low spirits and solitude, was finally compelled to strike my colours; and under pretence of gaining information concerning the necessities of my establishment, I de- sired Mrs. Dean, when she brought in supper, to sit down while I ate it, hoping sincerely she would prove a regular gossip, and either rouse me to animation or lull me to sleep by her talk. "You have lived here a considerable time," I com- menced---"did you not say sixteen years?" "Eighteen, sir. I came, when the mistress was mar- ried, to wait on her; after she died, the master retained me for his housekeeper." "Indeed." There ensued a pause. She was not a gossip, I feared ---unless about her own affairs, and those could hardly interest me. However, having studied for an interval, with a fist on either knee, and a cloud of meditation over her ruddy countenance, she ejaculated,--- "Ah, times are greatly changed since thenl" "Yes," I remarked; "you've seen a good many altera- tions, I suppose?" "I have; and troubles too," she said. "Oh, I'll turn the talk on my landlord's family!" I thought to myself. "A good subject to start! And that pretty girl-widow, I should like to know her history--- whether she be a native of the country, or, as is more probable, an exotic that the surly indigenae will not recognize for kin." With this intention I asked Mrs. Dean why Heathcliff let Thrushcross Grange, and pre- ferred living in a situation and residence so much in- ferior. "Is he not rich enough to keep the estate in good order?" I inquired. "Rich, sir!" she returned. "He has nobody knows what money, and every year it increases. Yes, yes; he's rich enough to live in a finer house than this. But he's very near---cose-handed; and if he had meant to flit to Thrushcross Grange, as soon as he heard of a good tenant he could not have borne to miss the chance of getting a few hundreds more. It is strange people should be so greedy when they are alone in the world!" "He had a son, it seems?" "Yes, he had one. He is dead." "And that young lady, Mrs. Heathcliff, is his widow?" "Yes." "Where did she come from originally?" "Why, sir, she is my late master's daughter. Catherine Linton was her maiden name. I nursed her, poor thing! I did wish Mr. Heathcliff would remove here, and then we might have been together again." "What! Catherine Linton?" I exclaimed, astonished. But a minute's reflection convinced me it was not my ghostly Catherine. "Then," I continued, "my predeces- sor's name was Linton?" "It was." "And who is that Earnshaw---Hareton Earnshaw--- who lives with Mr. Heathcliff? Are they relations?" "No; he is the late Mrs. Linton's nephew." "The young lady's cousin, then?" "Yes; and her husband was her cousin also---one on the mother's side, the other on the father's side. Heathcliff married Mr. Linton's sister." "I see the house at Wuthering Heights has 'Earn- shaw' carved over the front door. Are they an old fam- ily?" "Very old, sir; and Hareton is the last of them, as our Miss Cathy is of us---I mean of the Lintons. Have you been to Wuthering Heights? I beg pardon for asking; but I should like to hear how she is." "Mrs. Heathcliff? She looked very well, and very handsome; yet, I think, not very happy." "Oh dear, I don't wonder! And how did you like the master?" "A rough fellow, rather, Mrs. Dean. Is not that his character?" "Rough as a saw-edge, and hard as whinstone. The less you meddle with him the better." "He must have had some ups and downs in life to make him such a churl. Do you know anything of his history?" "It's a cuckoo's, sir. I know all about it---except where he was born, and who were his parents, and how he got his money at first. And Hareton has been cast out like an unfledged dunnock! The unfortunate lad is the only one in all this parish that does not guess how he has been cheated." "Well, Mrs. Dean, it will be a charitable deed to tell me something of my neighbours. I feel I shall not rest if I go to bed, so be good enough to sit and chat an hour." "Oh, certainly, sir! I'll just fetch a little sewing, and then I'll sit as long as you please. But you've caught cold---I saw you shivering; and you must have some gruel to drive it out." The worthy woman bustled off, and I crouched nearer the fire. My head felt hot, and the rest of me chill; moreover, I was excited, almost to a pitch of fool- ishness, through my nerves and brain. This caused me to feel, not uncomfortable, but rather fearful (as I am still) of serious effects from the incidents of to-day and yesterday. She returned presently, bringing a smoking basin and a basket of work; and having placed the former on the hob, drew in her seat, evidently pleased to find me so companionable. * * * * * Before I came to live here, she commenced--- waiting no further invitation to her story---I was almost always at Wuthering Heights, because my mother had nursed Mr. Hindley Earnshaw (that was Hareton's father), and I got used to playing with the children. I ran er- rands, too, and helped to make hay, and hung about the farm, ready for anything that anybody would set me to. One fine summer morning---it was the beginning of harvest, I remember--- Mr. Earnshaw, the old master, came downstairs, dressed for a journey; and after he had told Joseph what was to be done during the day, he turned to Hindley, and Cathy, and me---for I sat eating my porridge with them---and he said, speaking to his son, "Now, my bonny man, I'm going to Liver- pool to-day; what shall I bring you? You may choose what you like. Only let it be little, for I shall walk there and back. Sixty miles each way---that is a long spell!" Hindley named a fiddle, and then he asked Miss Cathy. She was hardly six years old, but she could ride any horse in the stable, and she chose a whip. He did not forget me, for he had a kind heart, though he was rather severe sometimes. He promised to bring me a pocketful of apples and pears; and then he kissed his children, said good-bye, and set off. It seemed a long while to us all---the three days of his absence---and often did little Cathy ask when he would be home. Mrs. Earnshaw expected him by supper-time on the third evening, and she put the meal off hour after hour. There were no signs of his coming, however, a