He was a little wild: how many young men are; and don't girls like a rake better than a milksop? He hadn't sown his wild oats as yet, but he would soon: and quit the army now that peace was proclaimed; the Corsican monster locked up at Elba; promotion by consequence over; and no chance left for the display of his undoubted military talents and valour: and his allowance, with Amelia's settlement, would enable them to take a snug place in the country somewhere, in a good sporting neighbourhood; and he would hunt a little, and farm a little; and they would be very happy. As for remaining in the army as a married man, that was impossible. Fancy Mrs. George Osborne in lodgings in a county town; or, worse still, in the East or West Indies, with a society of officers, and patronized by Mrs. Major O'Dowd! Amelia died with laughing at Osborne's stories about Mrs. Major O'Dowd. He loved her much too fondly to subject her to that horrid woman and her vulgarities, and the rough treatment of a soldier's wife. He didn't care for himself--not he; but his dear little girl should take the place in society to which, as his wife, she was entitled: and to these proposals you may be sure she acceded, as she would to any other from the same author.

He was a little wild: but don't girls like a rake better than a milksop? He would soon have sown his wild oats, and would quit the army now that peace was proclaimed, and Napoleon locked up at Elba, The chance of promotion and valour was over: and his allowance, with Amelia's settlement, would enable them to take a snug house in the country, in a good sporting neighbourhood; and he would hunt a little, and farm a little; and they would be very happy.
As for remaining in the army as a married man, that was impossible. Fancy Mrs. George Osborne in the East or West Indies, with a society of officers, and patronized by Mrs. Major O'Dowd! Amelia died with laughing at Osborne's stories about Mrs. Major O'Dowd. He loved her much too fondly to subject her to that horrid vulgar woman and the rough treatment of a soldier's wife. His dear little girl should take her rightful place in society. You may be sure she agreed to all these proposals, as she would to any that he made.


Holding this kind of conversation, and building numberless castles in the air (which Amelia adorned with all sorts of flower-gardens, rustic walks, country churches, Sunday schools, and the like; while George had his mind's eye directed to the stables, the kennel, and the cellar), this young pair passed away a couple of hours very pleasantly; and as the Lieutenant had only that single day in town, and a great deal of most important business to transact, it was proposed that Miss Emmy should dine with her future sisters-in-law. This invitation was accepted joyfully. He conducted her to his sisters; where he left her talking and prattling in a way that astonished those ladies, who thought that George might make something of her; and he then went off to transact his business.

Thus building castles in the air (which Amelia adorned with flower-gardens, rustic walks, Sunday schools, and the like; while George imagined the stables, the kennels, and the cellar), this young pair passed away a couple of hours very pleasantly. When he took her to his sisters while he attended to business, he left her talking and prattling in a way that astonished those ladies, who thought that George might after all make something of her.
He then went off to transact his business.


In a word, he went out and ate ices at a pastry-cook's shop in Charing Cross; tried a new coat in Pall Mall; dropped in at the Old Slaughters', and called for Captain Cannon; played eleven games at billiards with the Captain, of which he won eight, and returned to Russell Square half an hour late for dinner, but in very good humour.

He ate ices at a pastry-cook's shop in Charing Cross; tried a new coat in Pall Mall; dropped in at the Old Slaughters' and played eleven games at billiards with Captain Cannon, of which he won eight, and returned to Russell Square half an hour late for dinner, but in very good humour.


It was not so with old Mr. Osborne. When that gentleman came from the City, and was welcomed in the drawing-room by his daughters and the elegant Miss Wirt, they saw at once by his face--which was puffy, solemn, and yellow at the best of times--and by the scowl and twitching of his black eyebrows, that the heart within his large white waistcoat was disturbed and uneasy. When Amelia stepped forward to salute him, which she always did with great trembling and timidity, he gave a surly grunt of recognition, and dropped the little hand out of his great hirsute paw without any attempt to hold it there. He looked round gloomily at his eldest daughter; who, comprehending the meaning of his look, which asked unmistakably, "Why the devil is she here?" said at once:

Not so old Mr. Osborne. When that gentleman came from the City, and was welcomed in the drawing-room by his daughters and Miss Wirt, they saw at once by his solemn face and by his scowl and twitching black eyebrows that he was disturbed and uneasy. When Amelia stepped timidly forward to salute him, he gave a surly grunt of recognition, and looked round gloomily at his eldest daughter; with a glance that meant, "Why the devil is she here?"


"George is in town, Papa; and has gone to the Horse Guards, and will be back to dinner."

"George is in town, Papa," said Miss Osborne; "and will be back to dinner."


"O he is, is he? I won't have the dinner kept waiting for him, Jane"; with which this worthy man lapsed into his particular chair, and then the utter silence in his genteel, well-furnished drawing-room was only interrupted by the alarmed ticking of the great French clock.

"I won't have the dinner kept waiting for him." This worthy man lapsed into his chair, in a silence only interrupted by the alarmed ticking of the great French clock.


When that chronometer, which was surmounted by a cheerful brass group of the sacrifice of Iphigenia, tolled five in a heavy cathedral tone, Mr. Osborne pulled the bell at his right hand--violently, and the butler rushed up.

When it tolled five in a heavy cathedral tone, Mr. Osborne pulled the bell at his right hand violently, and the butler rushed up.


"Mr. George isn't come in, sir," interposed the man.


"Damn Mr. George, sir. Am I master of the house? DINNER!" Mr. Osborne scowled. Amelia trembled. A telegraphic communication of eyes passed between the other three ladies. The obedient bell in the lower regions began ringing the announcement of the meal. The tolling over, the head of the family thrust his hands into the great tail-pockets of his great blue coat with brass buttons, and without waiting for a further announcement strode downstairs alone, scowling over his shoulder at the four females.

"Damn Mr. George, sir. Am I master of the house? DINNER!"
Amelia trembled. Glances passed between the other three ladies. The bell in the lower regions began ringing in announcement of the meal. Without waiting, the head of the family strode downstairs, scowling over his shoulder at the four females.


"What's the matter now, my dear?" asked one of the other, as they rose and tripped gingerly behind the sire. "I suppose the funds are falling," whispered Miss Wirt; and so, trembling and in silence, this hushed female company followed their dark leader. They took their places in silence. He growled out a blessing, which sounded as gruffly as a curse. The great silver dish-covers were removed. Amelia trembled in her place, for she was next to the awful Osborne, and alone on her side of the table--the gap being occasioned by the absence of George.

"What's the matter?" asked one of the other, as they rose and tripped gingerly behind him.
"I suppose the funds are falling," whispered Miss Wirt; and so, this hushed and trembling female company followed their dark leader and took their places at the table in silence. He growled out a blessing, which sounded as gruff as a curse. The great silver dish-covers were removed.


"Soup?" says Mr. Osborne, clutching the ladle, fixing his eyes on her, in a sepulchral tone; and having helped her and the rest, did not speak for a while.

"Soup?" said Mr. Osborne; and having helped Amelia and the rest, did not speak for a while.


"Take Miss Sedley's plate away," at last he said. "She can't eat the soup--no more can I. It's beastly. Take away the soup, Hicks, and to-morrow turn the cook out of the house, Jane."

"Take Miss Sedley's plate away," he said at last. "She can't eat the soup - no more can I. It's beastly. Take it away, Hicks, and tomorrow turn the cook out of the house, Jane."


Having concluded his observations upon the soup, Mr. Osborne made a few curt remarks respecting the fish, also of a savage and satirical tendency, and cursed Billingsgate with an emphasis quite worthy of the place. Then he lapsed into silence, and swallowed sundry glasses of wine, looking more and more terrible, till a brisk knock at the door told of George's arrival when everybody began to rally.

Mr. Osborne made a few savage remarks about the fish, and then lapsed into silence, swallowing glasses of wine, and looking more and more terrible, till a brisk knock at the door told of George's arrival; when everybody began to rally.


"He could not come before. General Daguilet had kept him waiting at the Horse Guards. Never mind soup or fish. Give him anything--he didn't care what. Capital mutton--capital everything." His good humour contrasted with his father's severity; and he rattled on unceasingly during dinner, to the delight of all--of one especially, who need not be mentioned.

General Daguilet had kept him waiting at the Horse Guards. Never mind soup or fish. Give him anything - he didn't care what. Capital mutton. His good humour contrasted with his father's severity; and he rattled on during dinner, to the delight of all, and of one especially.


As soon as the young ladies had discussed the orange and the glass of wine which formed the ordinary conclusion of the dismal banquets at Mr. Osborne's house, the signal to make sail for the drawing-room was given, and they all arose and departed. Amelia hoped George would soon join them there. She began playing some of his favourite waltzes (then newly imported) at the great carved-legged, leather-cased grand piano in the drawing-room overhead. This little artifice did not bring him. He was deaf to the waltzes; they grew fainter and fainter; the discomfited performer left the huge instrument presently; and though her three friends performed some of the loudest and most brilliant new pieces of their repertoire, she did not hear a single note, but sate thinking, and boding evil. Old Osborne's scowl, terrific always, had never before looked so deadly to her. His eyes followed her out of the room, as if she had been guilty of something. When they brought her coffee, she started as though it were a cup of poison which Mr. Hicks, the butler, wished to propose to her. What mystery was there lurking? Oh, those women! They nurse and cuddle their presentiments, and make darlings of their ugliest thoughts, as they do of their deformed children.

Eventually the ladies arose and departed to the drawing-room. Amelia hoped George would soon join them there. She began playing some of his favourite waltzes at the grand piano; but this did not bring him. The waltzes grew fainter and fainter; the performer left the piano; and though her three friends performed some of the loudest and most brilliant new pieces of their repertoire, she did not hear, but sat thinking, and boding evil. Old Osborne's scowl had never before looked so deadly to her. His eyes had followed her out of the room, as if she was guilty of something. Oh, those women! They nurse their forebodings, and make darlings of their ugliest thoughts.


The gloom on the paternal countenance had also impressed George Osborne with anxiety. With such eyebrows, and a look so decidedly bilious, how was he to extract that money from the governor, of which George was consumedly in want? He began praising his father's wine. That was generally a successful means of cajoling the old gentleman.

His father's gloom had also made George Osborne anxious. How was he to extract that money he needed from the governor? He began praising his father's wine. That was generally a successful means of cajoling the old gentleman.


"We never got such Madeira in the West Indies, sir, as yours. Colonel Heavytop took off three bottles of that you sent me down, under his belt the other day."

"We never got such Madeira in the West Indies, sir, as yours. Colonel Heavytop took off three bottles of that you sent me down, the other day."


"Did he?" said the old gentleman. "It stands me in eight shillings a bottle."


"Will you take six guineas a dozen for it, sir?" said George, with a laugh. "There's one of the greatest men in the kingdom wants some."


"Does he?" growled the senior. "Wish he may get it."


"When General Daguilet was at Chatham, sir, Heavytop gave him a breakfast, and asked me for some of the wine. The General liked it just as well--wanted a pipe for the Commander-in-Chief. He's his Royal Highness's right-hand man."


"It is devilish fine wine," said the Eyebrows, and they looked more good-humoured; and George was going to take advantage of this complacency, and bring the supply question on the mahogany, when the father, relapsing into solemnity, though rather cordial in manner, bade him ring the bell for claret. "And we'll see if that's as good as the Madeira, George, to which his Royal Highness is welcome, I'm sure. And as we are drinking it, I'll talk to you about a matter of importance."

"It is devilish fine wine," and he looked more good-humoured. "Ring the bell for the claret, George, and we'll see if that's as good as the Madeira. And while we are drinking it, I'll talk to you about a matter of importance."


Amelia heard the claret bell ringing as she sat nervously upstairs. She thought, somehow, it was a mysterious and presentimental bell. Of the presentiments which some people are always having, some surely must come right.

Amelia heard the bell ringing as she sat nervously upstairs. She thought, somehow, it was a mysterious and presentimental bell.


"What I want to know, George," the old gentleman said, after slowly smacking his first bumper--"what I want to know is, how you and--ah--that little thing upstairs, are carrying on?"

"What I want to know, George," the old gentleman said, "is, how you and - ah - that little thing upstairs, are carrying on?"


"I think, sir, it is not hard to see," George said, with a self-satisfied grin. "Pretty clear, sir.--What capital wine!"

"I think, sir, it is not hard to see," George said with a self-satisfied grin. "Pretty clear, sir. What capital wine!"


"Why, hang it, sir, don't push me too hard. I'm a modest man. I--ah--I don't set up to be a lady-killer; but I do own that she's as devilish fond of me as she can be. Anybody can see that with half an eye."

"Why, hang it, sir, I'm a modest man, but I do own that she's devilish fond of me."


"Why, sir, didn't you order me to marry her, and ain't I a good boy? Haven't our Papas settled it ever so long?"

"Why, sir, didn't you order me to marry her, and ain't I a good boy?"


"A pretty boy, indeed. Haven't I heard of your doings, sir, with Lord Tarquin, Captain Crawley of the Guards, the Honourable Mr. Deuceace and that set. Have a care sir, have a care."

"A pretty boy, indeed. I've heard of your doings, sir, with Lord Tarquin, Captain Crawley of the Guards, and that set. Have a care sir, have a care."


The old gentleman pronounced these aristocratic names with the greatest gusto. Whenever he met a great man he grovelled before him, and my-lorded him as only a free-born Briton can do. He came home and looked out his history in the Peerage: he introduced his name into his daily conversation; he bragged about his Lordship to his daughters. He fell down prostrate and basked in him as a Neapolitan beggar does in the sun. George was alarmed when he heard the names. He feared his father might have been informed of certain transactions at play. But the old moralist eased him by saying serenely:

George was alarmed when he heard these names, fearing his father might have been informed of certain transactions at play. But the old man went on serenely:


"Well, well, young men will be young men. And the comfort to me is, George, that living in the best society in England, as I hope you do; as I think you do; as my means will allow you to do--"

"Well, well, young men will be young men. And the comfort to me is, George, that living in the best society in England, as my means allow you to do-"


"Thank you, sir," says George, making his point at once. "One can't live with these great folks for nothing; and my purse, sir, look at it"; and he held up a little token which had been netted by Amelia, and contained the very last of Dobbin's pound notes.

"Thank you, sir," said George, making his point at once. "One can't live with these great folks for nothing; and my purse, sir, look at it." He held up a little purse which had been netted by Amelia, and contained the very last of Dobbin's pound notes.


"You shan't want, sir. The British merchant's son shan't want, sir. My guineas are as good as theirs, George, my boy; and I don't grudge 'em. Call on Mr. Chopper as you go through the City to-morrow; he'll have something for you. I don't grudge money when I know you're in good society, because I know that good society can never go wrong. There's no pride in me. I was a humbly born man--but you have had advantages. Make a good use of 'em. Mix with the young nobility. There's many of 'em who can't spend a dollar to your guinea, my boy. And as for the pink bonnets (here from under the heavy eyebrows there came a knowing and not very pleasing leer)--why boys will be boys. Only there's one thing I order you to avoid, which, if you do not, I'll cut you off with a shilling, by Jove; and that's gambling."

"You shan't want, sir. Call on Mr. Chopper as you go through the City tomorrow; he'll have something for you. I don't grudge money when I know you're in good society, because I know that good society can never go wrong. I was a humbly born man - but you have had advantages. Make good use of 'em. Mix with the young nobility. And as for the pink bonnets" (here there was a knowing and not very pleasant leer) "why, boys will be boys. Only there's one thing I order you to avoid, or I'll cut you off with a shilling, by Jove; and that's gambling."


"But to return to the other business about Amelia: why shouldn't you marry higher than a stockbroker's daughter, George--that's what I want to know?"

"But to return to the other business about Amelia: why shouldn't you marry higher than a stockbroker's daughter, George?"


"It's a family business, sir," says George, cracking filberts. "You and Mr. Sedley made the match a hundred years ago."

"It's a family business, sir. You and Mr. Sedley made the match a hundred years ago."


"I don't deny it; but people's positions alter, sir. I don't deny that Sedley made my fortune, or rather put me in the way of acquiring, by my own talents and genius, that proud position, which, I may say, I occupy in the tallow trade and the City of London. I've shown my gratitude to Sedley; and he's tried it of late, sir, as my cheque-book can show. George! I tell you in confidence I don't like the looks of Mr. Sedley's affairs. My chief clerk, Mr. Chopper, does not like the looks of 'em, and he's an old file, and knows 'Change as well as any man in London. Hulker & Bullock are looking shy at him. He's been dabbling on his own account I fear. They say the Jeune Amelie was his, which was taken by the Yankee privateer Molasses. And that's flat--unless I see Amelia's ten thousand down you don't marry her. I'll have no lame duck's daughter in my family. Pass the wine, sir--or ring for coffee."

"I don't deny it; but people's positions alter, sir. I don't deny that Sedley made my fortune, or rather put me in the way of acquiring, by my own talents, my high position in the tallow trade and the City of London. But George! I tell you in confidence I don't like the looks of Mr. Sedley's affairs. My chief clerk, Mr. Chopper, does not like the looks of 'em, and he knows the Exchange as well as any man in London. Unless I see Amelia's ten thousand down you don't marry her. I'll have no lame duck's daughter in my family. Pass the wine, sir - or ring for coffee."


With which Mr. Osborne spread out the evening paper, and George knew from this signal that the colloquy was ended, and that his papa was about to take a nap.

Mr. Osborne spread out the evening paper, and George knew that the conversation was ended.


He hurried upstairs to Amelia in the highest spirits. What was it that made him more attentive to her on that night than he had been for a long time--more eager to amuse her, more tender, more brilliant in talk? Was it that his generous heart warmed to her at the prospect of misfortune; or that the idea of losing the dear little prize made him value it more?

He hurried upstairs to Amelia in the highest spirits. What was it that made him more attentive and tender than he had been for a long time? Was it that his generous heart warmed to her at the prospect of misfortune; or that the idea of losing the dear little prize made him value it more?


She lived upon the recollections of that happy evening for many days afterwards, remembering his words; his looks; the song he sang; his attitude, as he leant over her or looked at her from a distance. As it seemed to her, no night ever passed so quickly at Mr. Osborne's house before; and for once this young person was almost provoked to be angry by the premature arrival of Mr. Sambo with her shawl.

She lived upon the recollections of that happy evening for many days afterwards, remembering his words and looks. It seemed to her no night ever passed so quickly at Mr. Osborne's house before.


George came and took a tender leave of her the next morning; and then hurried off to the City, where he visited Mr. Chopper, his father's head man, and received from that gentleman a document which he exchanged at Hulker & Bullock's for a whole pocketful of money. As George entered the house, old John Sedley was passing out of the banker's parlour, looking very dismal. But his godson was much too elated to mark the worthy stockbroker's depression, or the dreary eyes which the kind old gentleman cast upon him. Young Bullock did not come grinning out of the parlour with him as had been his wont in former years.

George took a tender leave of her the next morning; and then hurried off to the City, where he visited Mr. Chopper, his father's head clerk, and received a document which he exchanged at the bank for a pocketful of money. As George entered the bank, old John Sedley was leaving, looking very dismal. But his godson was much too elated to notice the worthy stockbroker's depression.


And as the swinging doors of Hulker, Bullock & Co. closed upon Mr. Sedley, Mr. Quill, the cashier (whose benevolent occupation it is to hand out crisp bank-notes from a drawer and dispense sovereigns out of a copper shovel), winked at Mr. Driver, the clerk at the desk on his right. Mr. Driver winked again.

As the swinging doors of Hulker, Bullock & Co. closed upon Mr. Sedley, Mr. Quill the cashier winked at Mr. Driver, the clerk at the next desk. Mr. Driver winked back.


"Not at no price," Mr. Q. said. "Mr. George Osborne, sir, how will you take it?" George crammed eagerly a quantity of notes into his pockets, and paid Dobbin fifty pounds that very evening at mess.

"Not at no price," Mr. Q. said. "Mr. George Osborne, sir, how will you take it?" George eagerly crammed notes into his pockets, and later paid Dobbin fifty pounds at mess.


That very evening Amelia wrote him the tenderest of long letters. Her heart was overflowing with tenderness, but it still foreboded evil. What was the cause of Mr. Osborne's dark looks? she asked. Had any difference arisen between him and her papa? Her poor papa returned so melancholy from the City, that all were alarmed about him at home--in fine, there were four pages of loves and fears and hopes and forebodings.

That evening Amelia wrote him the tenderest of long letters. Her heart was overflowing, but it still foreboded evil. What was the cause of Mr. Osborne's dark looks? she asked. Had any difference arisen between him and her papa? Her poor papa returned so melancholy from the City, that all were alarmed about him at home. In all, there were four pages of loves and fears and hopes and forebodings.


"Poor little Emmy--dear little Emmy. How fond she is of me," George said, as he perused the missive--"and Gad, what a headache that mixed punch has given me!" Poor little Emmy, indeed.

"Poor dear little Emmy. How fond she is of me," George said, as he read the letter; "and Gad, what a headache that punch has given me!" Poor little Emmy, indeed.


To obviate the danger of this threat being fulfilled, Mr. Linton commissioned me to take the boy home early, on Catherine's pony; and, said he-"As we shall now have no influence over his destiny, good or bad, you must say nothing of where he is gone to my daughter: she cannot associate with him hereafter, and it is better for her to remain in ignorance of his proximity; lest she should be restless, and anxious to visit the Heights. Merely tell her his father sent for him suddenly, and he has been obliged to leave us."

To stop the danger of this threat being fulfilled, Mr. Linton told me to take the boy to Wuthering Heights early, on Catherine's pony. 'Do not tell my daughter where he is gone,' he said; 'it is better for her to remain in ignorance, lest she should be anxious to visit the Heights. Tell her Linton's father sent for him suddenly, and he has been obliged to leave us.'


Linton was very reluctant to be roused from his bed at five o'clock, and astonished to be informed that he must prepare for further travelling; but I softened off the matter by stating that he was going to spend some time with his father, Mr. Heathcliff, who wished to see him so much, he did not like to defer the pleasure till he should recover from his late journey.

Linton was very reluctant to be roused from his bed at five o'clock, and astonished to be informed that he must prepare for further travelling. I told him he was going to spend some time with his father, Mr. Heathcliff, who wished to see him.


"My father!" he cried, in strange perplexity. "Mamma never told me I had a father. Where does he live? I'd rather stay with uncle."

'My father!' he cried, in strange perplexity. 'Mamma never told me I had a father. Where does he live? I'd rather stay with uncle.'


"He lives a little distance from the Grange," I replied; "just beyond those hills: not so far, but you may walk over here when you get hearty. And you should be glad to go home, and to see him. You must try to love him, as you did your mother, and then he will love you."

'He lives just beyond those hills,' I replied; 'but you may walk over here when you get hearty. You should be glad to go home, and to see him. You must try to love him, and then he will love you.'


"But why have I not heard of him before?" asked Linton. "Why didn't mamma and he live together, as other people do?"

'But why have I not heard of him before?' asked Linton. 'Why didn't mamma and he live together, as other people do?'


"He had business to keep him in the north," I answered, "and your mother's health required her to reside in the south."

'He had business to keep him in the north,' I answered, 'and your mother's health required her to reside in the south.'


"And why didn't mamma speak to me about him?" persevered the child. "She often talked of uncle, and I learnt to love him long ago. How am I to love papa? I don't know him."

'And why didn't mamma speak to me about him?' persevered the child. 'She often talked of uncle. How am I to love papa? I don't know him.'


"Oh, all children love their parents," I said. "Your mother, perhaps, thought you would want to be with him if she mentioned him often to you. Let us make haste. An early ride on such a beautiful morning is much preferable to an hour's more sleep."

'Oh, all children love their parents,' I said. 'Your mother, perhaps, thought you would want to be with him if she mentioned him often to you. Let us hurry. It's a beautiful morning for a ride.'


"Is _she_ to go with us," he demanded, "the little girl I saw yesterday?"

'Is the little girl to go with us?' he demanded.


"No, I shall be your companion there," I said.


Linton sank back on his pillow and fell into a brown study.


"I won't go without uncle," he cried at length: "I can't tell where you mean to take me."


I attempted to persuade him of the naughtiness of showing reluctance to meet his father; still he obstinately resisted any progress towards dressing, and I had to call for my master's assistance in coaxing him out of bed. The poor thing was finally got off, with several delusive assurances that his absence should be short: that Mr. Edgar and Cathy would visit him, and other promises, equally ill-founded, which I invented and reiterated at intervals throughout the way. The pure heather-scented air, the bright sunshine, and the gentle canter of Minny, relieved his despondency after a while. He began to put questions concerning his new home, and its inhabitants, with greater interest and liveliness.

, and obstinately resisted any progress towards dressing, until I had to call for my master's help. He was assured that his absence should be short, and that Mr. Edgar and Cathy would visit him; and I invented other promises, equally ill-founded, on the way.
The heather-scented air and the bright sunshine made him less despondent after a while, and he began to ask about his new home.


"Is Wuthering Heights as pleasant a place as Thrushcross Grange?" he inquired, turning to take a last glance into the valley, whence a light mist mounted and formed a fleecy cloud on the skirts of the blue.

'Is Wuthering Heights as pleasant as Thrushcross Grange?'


"It is not so buried in trees," I replied, "and it is not quite so large, but you can see the country beautifully all round; and the air is healthier for you-fresher and drier. You will, perhaps, think the building old and dark at first; though it is a respectable house: the next best in the neighbourhood. And you will have such nice rambles on the moors. Hareton Earnshaw-that is, Miss Cathy's other cousin, and so yours in a manner-will show you all the sweetest spots; and you can bring a book in fine weather, and make a green hollow your study; and, now and then, your uncle may join you in a walk: he does, frequently, walk out on the hills."

'It is not so buried in trees,' I replied, 'nor so large, but you can see the country beautifully all round; and the air is healthier - fresher and drier. You may think the building old and dark at first; but it is a respectable house. And you will have such nice rambles on the moors. Hareton Earnshaw - Miss Cathy's other cousin - will show you all the sweetest spots; and you can bring a book in fine weather; and your uncle may sometimes join you in a walk.'


"And what is my father like?" he asked. "Is he as young and handsome as uncle?"

'What is my father like?' he asked. 'Is he as young and handsome as uncle?'


"He's as young," said I; "but he has black hair and eyes, and looks sterner; and he is taller and bigger altogether. He'll not seem to you so gentle and kind at first, perhaps, because it is not his way: still, mind you, be frank and cordial with him; and naturally he'll be fonder of you than any uncle, for you are his own."

'He's as young,' said I; 'but he has black hair and eyes, and looks sterner; and he is taller and bigger altogether. He'll not seem to you so gentle and kind at first, perhaps. But be frank and cordial with him, and he'll be fonder of you than any uncle, for you are his own.'


"Black hair and eyes!" mused Linton. "I can't fancy him. Then I am not like him, am I?"

'Black hair and eyes!' mused Linton. 'I can't imagine him. Then I am not like him, am I?'


"Not much," I answered: not a morsel, I thought, surveying with regret the white complexion and slim frame of my companion, and his large languid eyes-his mother's eyes, save that, unless a morbid touchiness kindled them a moment, they had not a vestige of her sparkling spirit.

'Not much,' I answered, surveying with regret his white complexion and large languid eyes - his mother's eyes, but without a trace of her sparkling spirit.


"How strange that he should never come to see mamma and me!" he murmured. "Has he ever seen me? If he has, I must have been a baby. I remember not a single thing about him!"

'How strange that he should never come to see mamma and me!' he murmured.


"Why, Master Linton," said I, "three hundred miles is a great distance; and ten years seem very different in length to a grown-up person compared with what they do to you. It is probable Mr. Heathcliff proposed going from summer to summer, but never found a convenient opportunity; and now it is too late. Don't trouble him with questions on the subject: it will disturb him, for no good."

'Why, Master Linton,' said I, 'three hundred miles is a great distance. Mr. Heathcliff probably meant to come, but never found an opportunity. Don't question him on the subject: it will disturb him for no good.'


The boy was fully occupied with his own cogitations for the remainder of the ride, till we halted before the farmhouse garden-gate. I watched to catch his impressions in his countenance. He surveyed the carved front and low-browed lattices, the straggling gooseberry-bushes and crooked firs, with solemn intentness, and then shook his head: his private feelings entirely disapproved of the exterior of his new abode. But he had sense to postpone complaining: there might be compensation within. Before he dismounted, I went and opened the door. It was half-past six; the family had just finished breakfast: the servant was clearing and wiping down the table. Joseph stood by his master's chair telling some tale concerning a lame horse; and Hareton was preparing for the hayfield.

When we halted at the garden-gate, I watched him as he surveyed the carved lattices, the straggling gooseberry-bushes and crooked firs, with solemn intentness, and then shook his head, as if he disapproved of his new home.
But he had the sense not to complain. I opened the door. The family had just finished breakfast: the servant was clearing the table. Joseph stood by his master's chair; and Hareton was preparing for the hayfield.


"Hallo, Nelly!" said Mr. Heathcliff, when he saw me. "I feared I should have to come down and fetch my property myself. You've brought it, have you? Let us see what we can make of it."

'Hallo, Nelly!' said Mr. Heathcliff, when he saw me. 'I feared I should have to come down and fetch my property myself. You've brought it, have you? Let us see it.'


He got up and strode to the door: Hareton and Joseph followed in gaping curiosity. Poor Linton ran a frightened eye over the faces of the three.

He got up and strode to the door: Hareton and Joseph followed. Poor Linton ran a frightened eye over their faces.


"Sure-ly," said Joseph after a grave inspection, "he's swopped wi' ye, Maister, an' yon's his lass!"

'Surely,' said Joseph after a grave inspection, 'he's swopped wi' ye, Master, an' yon's his lass!'


Heathcliff, having stared his son into an ague of confusion, uttered a scornful laugh.


"God! what a beauty! what a lovely, charming thing!" he exclaimed. "Hav'n't they reared it on snails and sour milk, Nelly? Oh, damn my soul! but that's worse than I expected-and the devil knows I was not sanguine!"

'God! what a beauty! what a lovely, charming thing!' he exclaimed. 'Haven't they reared it on snails and sour milk, Nelly? Oh, damn my soul! but that's worse than I expected - and the devil knows I was not sanguine!'


I bid the trembling and bewildered child get down, and enter. He did not thoroughly comprehend the meaning of his father's speech, or whether it were intended for him: indeed, he was not yet certain that the grim, sneering stranger was his father. But he clung to me with growing trepidation; and on Mr. Heathcliff's taking a seat and bidding him "come hither" he hid his face on my shoulder and wept.

I told the trembling and bewildered child to enter. He did not understand his father's speech: indeed, he was not yet certain that the grim, sneering stranger was his father. But he clung to me, and on Mr. Heathcliff's bidding him 'come here' he hid his face on my shoulder and wept.


"Tut, tut!" said Heathcliff, stretching out a hand and dragging him roughly between his knees, and then holding up his head by the chin. "None of that nonsense! We're not going to hurt thee, Linton-isn't that thy name? Thou art thy mother's child, entirely! Where is my share in thee, puling chicken?"

'Tut, tut!' said Heathcliff, dragging him roughly between his knees, and then holding up his head by the chin. 'None of that nonsense! We're not going to hurt thee, Linton - isn't that thy name? Thou art thy mother's child, entirely! Where is my share in thee, puling chicken?'


He took off the boy's cap and pushed back his thick flaxen curls, felt his slender arms and his small fingers; during which examination Linton ceased crying, and lifted his great blue eyes to inspect the inspector.

He took off the boy's cap and pushed back his thick flaxen curls, and felt his slender arms. Meanwhile Linton ceased crying, and lifted his great blue eyes to inspect the inspector.


"Do you know me?" asked Heathcliff, having satisfied himself that the limbs were all equally frail and feeble.

'Do you know me?' asked Heathcliff, having satisfied himself that the limbs were all equally frail and feeble.


"No," said Linton, with a gaze of vacant fear.

'No,' said Linton, with a gaze of vacant fear.


"No! What a shame of your mother, never to waken your filial regard for me! You are my son, then, I'll tell you; and your mother was a wicked slut to leave you in ignorance of the sort of father you possessed. Now, don't wince, and colour up! Though it is something to see you have not white blood. Be a good lad; and I'll do for you. Nelly, if you be tired you may sit down; if not, get home again. I guess you'll report what you hear and see to the cipher at the Grange; and this thing won't be settled while you linger about it."

'No! What a shame of your mother! She was a wicked slut to leave you in ignorance of the sort of father you possessed. Now, don't wince, and colour up! Though it is something to see you have not white blood. Be a good lad; and I'll do for you. Nelly, if you be tired you may sit down; if not, get home again.'


"Well," replied I, "I hope you'll be kind to the boy, Mr. Heathcliff, or you'll not keep him long; and he's all you have akin in the wide world, that you will ever know-remember."

'Well,' replied I, 'I hope you'll be kind to the boy, Mr. Heathcliff, for he's all the family you have in the wide world, that you will ever know.'


"I'll be very kind to him, you needn't fear," he said, laughing. "Only nobody else must be kind to him: I'm jealous of monopolising his affection. And, to begin my kindness, Joseph, bring the lad some breakfast. Hareton, you infernal calf, begone to your work. Yes, Nell," he added, when they had departed, "my son is prospective owner of your place, and I should not wish him to die till I was certain of being his successor. Besides, he's _mine_, and I want the triumph of seeing _my_ descendant fairly lord of their estates; my child hiring their children to till their fathers' lands for wages. That is the sole consideration which can make me endure the whelp: I despise him for himself, and hate him for the memories he revives! But that consideration is sufficient: he's as safe with me, and shall be tended as carefully as your master tends his own. I have a room upstairs, furnished for him in handsome style; I've engaged a tutor, also, to come three times a week, from twenty miles' distance, to teach him what he pleases to learn. I've ordered Hareton to obey him: and in fact I've arranged everything with a view to preserve the superior and the gentleman in him, above his associates. I do regret, however, that he so little deserves the trouble: if I wished any blessing in the world, it was to find him a worthy object of pride; and I'm bitterly disappointed with the whey-faced, whining wretch!"

'I'll be very kind to him, you needn't fear,' he said, laughing. 'Only nobody else must be kind to him. And, to begin my kindness, Joseph, bring the lad some breakfast. Hareton, you infernal calf, begone to your work.
'Yes, Nell,' he added, 'my son is prospective owner of your place, and I want the triumph of seeing my descendant the lord of their estates; my child hiring their children to till their fathers' lands. That is the only reason I can endure the whelp. But that is enough: he's safe with me. I have a room furnished for him handsomely; I've engaged a tutor, also, to come three times a week. I've ordered Hareton to obey my son: and in fact I've arranged everything to set him above his associates. I do regret, however, that he so little deserves the trouble: I hoped to find him a worthy object of pride; and I'm bitterly disappointed with the whey-faced, whining wretch!'


While he was speaking, Joseph returned bearing a basin of milk-porridge, and placed it before Linton: who stirred round the homely mess with a look of aversion, and affirmed he could not eat it. I saw the old man-servant shared largely in his master's scorn of the child; though he was compelled to retain the sentiment in his heart, because Heathcliff plainly meant his underlings to hold him in honour.

While he was speaking, Joseph returned bearing a basin of milk-porridge, and placed it before Linton: who stirred it with a look of aversion.


"Cannot ate it?" repeated he, peering in Linton's face, and subduing his voice to a whisper, for fear of being overheard. "But Maister Hareton nivir ate naught else, when he wer a little 'un; and what wer gooid enough for him's gooid enough for ye, I's rayther think!"


"I _sha'n't_ eat it!" answered Linton, snappishly. "Take it away."

'I shan't eat it!' he said snappishly. 'Take it away.'


Joseph snatched up the food indignantly, and brought it to us.

Joseph snatched up the food indignantly.


"Is there aught ails th' victuals?" he asked, thrusting the tray under Heathcliff's nose.


"Wah!" answered Joseph, "yon dainty chap says he cannut ate 'em. But I guess it's raight! His mother wer just soa-we wer a'most too mucky to sow t' corn for makking her breead."

'Yon dainty chap says he cannot eat it! His mother were just the same.'


"Don't mention his mother to me," said the master, angrily. "Get him something that he can eat, that's all. What is his usual food, Nelly?"

'Don't mention his mother to me,' said Heathcliff angrily. 'Get him something that he can eat. What is his usual food, Nelly?'


I suggested boiled milk or tea; and the housekeeper received instructions to prepare some. Come, I reflected, his father's selfishness may contribute to his comfort. He perceives his delicate constitution, and the necessity of treating him tolerably. I'll console Mr. Edgar by acquainting him with the turn Heathcliff's humour has taken. Having no excuse for lingering longer, I slipped out, while Linton was engaged in timidly rebuffing the advances of a friendly sheep-dog. But he was too much on the alert to be cheated: as I closed the door, I heard a cry, and a frantic repetition of the words-

I suggested boiled milk or tea, reflecting that at least Heathcliff saw the need to treat him well.
I slipped out while Linton was engaged in timidly rebuffing the advances of a friendly sheep-dog. But as I closed the door, I heard a frantic cry-


"Don't leave me! I'll not stay here! I'll not stay here!"


Then the latch was raised and fell: they did not suffer him to come forth. I mounted Minny, and urged her to a trot; and so my brief guardianship ended.


Summer drew to an end, and early autumn: it was past Michaelmas, but the harvest was late that year, and a few of our fields were still uncleared. Mr. Linton and his daughter would frequently walk out among the reapers; at the carrying of the last sheaves they stayed till dusk, and the evening happening to be chill and damp, my master caught a bad cold, that settled obstinately on his lungs, and confined him indoors throughout the whole of the winter, nearly without intermission.

Summer drew to an end, and autumn came. Harvest was late that year. Mr. Linton and his daughter would frequently walk out among the reapers; once they stayed till dusk, and the evening being chill and damp, my master caught a bad cold that kept him indoors all winter.


Poor Cathy, frightened from her little romance, had been considerably sadder and duller since its abandonment; and her father insisted on her reading less, and taking more exercise. She had his companionship no longer; I esteemed it a duty to supply its lack, as much as possible, with mine: an inefficient substitute; for I could only spare two or three hours, from my numerous diurnal occupations, to follow her footsteps, and then my society was obviously less desirable than his.

Poor Cathy had been considerably sadder and duller since abandoning her little romance; and her father insisted on her reading less, and taking more exercise. I kept her company as much as possible, although I could only spare two or three hours a day, and my society was less desirable to her than her father's.


On an afternoon in October, or the beginning of November-a fresh watery afternoon, when the turf and paths were rustling with moist, withered leaves, and the cold blue sky was half hidden by clouds-dark grey streamers, rapidly mounting from the west, and boding abundant rain-I requested my young lady to forego her ramble, because I was certain of showers. She refused; and I unwillingly donned a cloak, and took my umbrella to accompany her on a stroll to the bottom of the park: a formal walk which she generally affected if low-spirited-and that she invariably was when Mr. Edgar had been worse than ordinary, a thing never known from his confession, but guessed both by her and me from his increased silence and the melancholy of his countenance. She went sadly on: there was no running or bounding now, though the chill wind might well have tempted her to race. And often, from the side of my eye, I could detect her raising a hand, and brushing something off her cheek. I gazed round for a means of diverting her thoughts. On one side of the road rose a high, rough bank, where hazels and stunted oaks, with their roots half exposed, held uncertain tenure: the soil was too loose for the latter; and strong winds had blown some nearly horizontal. In summer Miss Catherine delighted to climb along these trunks, and sit in the branches, swinging twenty feet above the ground; and I, pleased with her agility and her light, childish heart, still considered it proper to scold every time I caught her at such an elevation, but so that she knew there was no necessity for descending. From dinner to tea she would lie in her breeze-rocked cradle, doing nothing except singing old songs-my nursery lore-to herself, or watching the birds, joint tenants, feed and entice their young ones to fly: or nestling with closed lids, half thinking, half dreaming, happier than words can express.

On a fresh afternoon in October, when paths were rustling with withered leaves, and the cold blue sky was half hidden by rain-clouds, my young lady still insisted on her ramble; so I unwillingly donned a cloak, and took my umbrella to accompany her on a stroll to the bottom of the park. It was a walk which she took if low-spirited - as she always was when Mr. Edgar was ill; she guessed his state from his silence and melancholy.
She went sadly on: there was no running or bounding now. And often I detected her raising a hand, and brushing something off her cheek. I gazed round for a means of diverting her thoughts.
On one side of the road rose a high bank, where hazels and stunted oaks clung uncertainly; strong winds had blown some nearly horizontal. In summer Miss Catherine delighted to climb these and sit in the branches, swinging twenty feet above the ground. I, pleased with her agility, still scolded every time I caught her there, but so mildly that she knew there was no need to descend. From dinner to tea she would lie in her breeze-rocked cradle, singing old songs, or watching the birds: or half thinking, half dreaming, happier than words can express.


"Look, Miss!" I exclaimed, pointing to a nook under the roots of one twisted tree. "Winter is not here yet. There's a little flower up yonder, the last bud from the multitude of bluebells that clouded those turf steps in July with a lilac mist. Will you clamber up, and pluck it to show to papa?" Cathy stared a long time at the lonely blossom trembling in its earthy shelter, and replied, at length-"No, I'll not touch it: but it looks melancholy, does it not, Ellen?"

'Look, Miss!' I exclaimed, pointing to the roots of one twisted tree. 'Winter is not here yet. There's a little flower there, the last bluebell of the year. Will you pluck it, to show to papa?'
Cathy stared at the lonely blossom, and replied, 'No, I'll not touch it: but it looks sad, does it not, Ellen?'


"Yes," I observed, "about as starved and suckless as you: your cheeks are bloodless; let us take hold of hands and run. You're so low, I daresay I shall keep up with you."

'Yes,' I observed, 'like you: your cheeks are bloodless; let us hold hands and run. I daresay I shall keep up with you.'


"No," she repeated, and continued sauntering on, pausing at intervals to muse over a bit of moss, or a tuft of blanched grass, or a fungus spreading its bright orange among the heaps of brown foliage; and, ever and anon, her hand was lifted to her averted face.

'No,' she repeated, and continued walking on, pausing at intervals. Frequently her hand was lifted to her averted face.


"Catherine, why are you crying, love?" I asked, approaching and putting my arm over her shoulder. "You mustn't cry because papa has a cold; be thankful it is nothing worse."

'Catherine, why are you crying, love?' I asked, putting my arm round her. 'You mustn't cry because papa has a cold; be thankful it is nothing worse.'


She now put no further restraint on her tears; her breath was stifled by sobs.


"Oh, it will be something worse," she said. "And what shall I do when papa and you leave me, and I am by myself? I can't forget your words, Ellen; they are always in my ear. How life will be changed, how dreary the world will be, when papa and you are dead."

'Oh, it will be something worse,' she said. 'And what shall I do when papa and you leave me? How dreary the world will be, when papa and you are dead.'


"None can tell whether you won't die before us," I replied. "It's wrong to anticipate evil. We'll hope there are years and years to come before any of us go: master is young, and I am strong, and hardly forty-five. My mother lived till eighty, a canty dame to the last. And suppose Mr. Linton were spared till he saw sixty, that would be more years than you have counted, Miss. And would it not be foolish to mourn a calamity above twenty years beforehand?"

'Why,' said I, 'we'll hope there are years to come before that: master is young, and I am strong, and hardly forty-five. My mother lived till eighty. And suppose Mr. Linton were spared till he saw sixty! Would it not be foolish to mourn him twenty years beforehand?'


"But Aunt Isabella was younger than papa," she remarked, gazing up with timid hope to seek further consolation.

'But Aunt Isabella was younger than papa,' she remarked, with timid hope.


"Aunt Isabella had not you and me to nurse her," I replied. "She wasn't as happy as Master: she hadn't as much to live for. All you need do, is to wait well on your father, and cheer him by letting him see you cheerful; and avoid giving him anxiety on any subject: mind that, Cathy! I'll not disguise but you might kill him if you were wild and reckless, and cherished a foolish, fanciful affection for the son of a person who would be glad to have him in his grave; and allowed him to discover that you fretted over the separation he has judged it expedient to make."

'Aunt Isabella had not you and me to nurse her,' I replied. 'She hadn't as much to live for as your father. You can cheer him by being cheerful; and avoid giving him anxiety: mind that, Cathy! You might kill him if you were wild and reckless, and cherished a fanciful affection for the son of a person who would be glad to have him in his grave; and if you let him discover that you fretted over the separation he thought it best to make.'


"I fret about nothing on earth except papa's illness," answered my companion. "I care for nothing in comparison with papa. And I'll never-never-oh, never, while I have my senses, do an act or say a word to vex him. I love him better than myself, Ellen; and I know it by this: I pray every night that I may live after him; because I would rather be miserable than that he should be: that proves I love him better than myself."

'I fret about nothing except papa's illness,' she answered. 'I care for nothing in comparison with papa. And I'll never, never, do an act or say a word to vex him. I love him better than myself, Ellen.'


"Good words," I replied. "But deeds must prove it also; and after he is well, remember you don't forget resolutions formed in the hour of fear."

'Good words,' I replied. 'But deeds must prove it also; and after he is well, don't forget it.'


As we talked, we neared a door that opened on the road; and my young lady, lightening into sunshine again, climbed up and seated herself on the top of the wall, reaching over to gather some hips that bloomed scarlet on the summit branches of the wild-rose trees shadowing the highway side: the lower fruit had disappeared, but only birds could touch the upper, except from Cathy's present station. In stretching to pull them, her hat fell off; and as the door was locked, she proposed scrambling down to recover it. I bid her be cautious lest she got a fall, and she nimbly disappeared. But the return was no such easy matter: the stones were smooth and neatly cemented, and the rose-bushes and black-berry stragglers could yield no assistance in re-ascending. I, like a fool, didn't recollect that, till I heard her laughing and exclaiming-"Ellen! you'll have to fetch the key, or else I must run round to the porter's lodge. I can't scale the ramparts on this side!"

As we talked, we neared a door that opened on the road. Cathy climbed up and sat on top of the wall, reaching over to gather some rose-hips that bloomed scarlet on the wild-rose trees shadowing the highway. In stretching to pick them, her hat fell off; and as the door was locked, she proposed scrambling down to recover it. I bid her be careful, and she nimbly disappeared.
But the return was no such easy matter: the stones were smooth. I heard her laughing and exclaiming, 'Ellen! you'll have to fetch the key. I can't scale the ramparts on this side!'


"Stay where you are," I answered; "I have my bundle of keys in my pocket: perhaps I may manage to open it; if not, I'll go."

'I have my bundle of keys in my pocket,' I answered: 'perhaps I may manage to open it; if not, I'll go.'


Catherine amused herself with dancing to and fro before the door, while I tried all the large keys in succession. I had applied the last, and found that none would do; so, repeating my desire that she would remain there, I was about to hurry home as fast as I could, when an approaching sound arrested me. It was the trot of a horse; Cathy's dance stopped also.

Catherine danced to and fro before the door, while I tried all the large keys in turn. I found that none would do; so, telling her to stay there, I was about to hurry home as fast as I could, when an approaching sound arrested me. It was the trot of a horse; Cathy's dance stopped also.


"Ellen, I wish you could open the door," whispered back my companion, anxiously.

'Ellen, I wish you could open the door,' she whispered back anxiously.


"Ho, Miss Linton!" cried a deep voice (the rider's), "I'm glad to meet you. Don't be in haste to enter, for I have an explanation to ask and obtain."

'Ho, Miss Linton!' cried a deep voice. 'I'm glad to meet you. Don't hurry in, for I have something to ask.'


"I sha'n't speak to you, Mr. Heathcliff," answered Catherine. "Papa says you are a wicked man, and you hate both him and me; and Ellen says the same."

'I shan't speak to you, Mr. Heathcliff,' answered Catherine. 'Papa says you are a wicked man, and you hate both him and me.'


"That is nothing to the purpose," said Heathcliff. (He it was.) "I don't hate my son, I suppose; and it is concerning him that I demand your attention. Yes; you have cause to blush. Two or three months since, were you not in the habit of writing to Linton? making love in play, eh? You deserved, both of you, flogging for that! You especially, the elder; and less sensitive, as it turns out. I've got your letters, and if you give me any pertness I'll send them to your father. I presume you grew weary of the amusement and dropped it, didn't you? Well, you dropped Linton with it into a Slough of Despond. He was in earnest: in love, really. As true as I live, he's dying for you; breaking his heart at your fickleness: not figuratively, but actually. Though Hareton has made him a standing jest for six weeks, and I have used more serious measures, and attempted to frighten him out of his idiocy, he gets worse daily; and he'll be under the sod before summer, unless you restore him!"

'That is nothing to the purpose,' said Heathcliff. 'I don't hate my son, I suppose; and it is about him that I want to speak. Yes; you have cause to blush. Two or three months ago, were you not in the habit of writing to Linton? making love in play, eh? You both deserved flogging for that! You especially, the elder; and less sensitive, as it turns out. I've got your letters, and if you give me any pertness I'll send them to your father. I presume you grew weary of the amusement and dropped it? Well, you dropped Linton with it into a Slough of Despond. He was really in love. As true as I live, he's dying for you; actually breaking his heart at your fickleness. He gets worse daily; and he'll be dead before summer, unless you restore him!'


"How can you lie so glaringly to the poor child?" I called from the inside. "Pray ride on! How can you deliberately get up such paltry falsehoods? Miss Cathy, I'll knock the lock off with a stone: you won't believe that vile nonsense. You can feel in yourself it is impossible that a person should die for love of a stranger."

'How can you lie so to the poor child?' I called from the inside. 'Pray ride on! Cathy, don't you believe that vile nonsense.'


"I was not aware there were eavesdroppers," muttered the detected villain. "Worthy Mrs. Dean, I like you, but I don't like your double-dealing," he added aloud. "How could _you_ lie so glaringly as to affirm I hated the 'poor child'? and invent bugbear stories to terrify her from my door-stones? Catherine Linton (the very name warms me), my bonny lass, I shall be from home all this week; go and see if I have not spoken truth: do, there's a darling! Just imagine your father in my place, and Linton in yours; then think how you would value your careless lover if he refused to stir a step to comfort you, when your father himself entreated him; and don't, from pure stupidity, fall into the same error. I swear, on my salvation, he's going to his grave, and none but you can save him!"

'I was not aware there were eavesdroppers,' muttered the villain. 'Worthy Mrs. Dean, I like you, but I don't like your double-dealing,' he added aloud. 'Catherine Linton (the very name warms me), my bonny lass, I shall be away from home all this week; go and see if have not spoken truth: do, there's a darling! I swear, Linton's going to his grave, and none but you can save him!'


"I swear Linton is dying," repeated Heathcliff, looking hard at me. "And grief and disappointment are hastening his death. Nelly, if you won't let her go, you can walk over yourself. But I shall not return till this time next week; and I think your master himself would scarcely object to her visiting her cousin."

'I swear Linton is dying,' repeated Heathcliff, looking hard at me. 'And grief and disappointment are hastening his death. Nelly, if you won't let her go, you can walk over yourself. I shall not return till this time next week; and I think your master would scarcely object to her visiting her cousin.'


"Come in," said I, taking Cathy by the arm and half forcing her to re-enter; for she lingered, viewing with troubled eyes the features of the speaker, too stern to express his inward deceit.

'Come in,' said I, taking Cathy by the arm. She lingered, viewing Heathcliff with troubled eyes.


He pushed his horse close, and, bending down, observed-"Miss Catherine, I'll own to you that I have little patience with Linton; and Hareton and Joseph have less. I'll own that he's with a harsh set. He pines for kindness, as well as love; and a kind word from you would be his best medicine. Don't mind Mrs. Dean's cruel cautions; but be generous, and contrive to see him. He dreams of you day and night, and cannot be persuaded that you don't hate him, since you neither write nor call."

He pushed his horse close, and, bending down, said, 'Miss Catherine, I'll admit that I have little patience with Linton; and Hareton and Joseph have less. He's with a harsh set. He pines for kindness, as well as love; and a kind word from you would be his best medicine. Be generous, and go to see him. He dreams of you day and night, and thinks you hate him, since you neither write nor call.'


I closed the door, and rolled a stone to assist the loosened lock in holding it; and spreading my umbrella, I drew my charge underneath: for the rain began to drive through the moaning branches of the trees, and warned us to avoid delay. Our hurry prevented any comment on the encounter with Heathcliff, as we stretched towards home; but I divined instinctively that Catherine's heart was clouded now in double darkness. Her features were so sad, they did not seem hers: she evidently regarded what she had heard as every syllable true.

I closed the door and rolled a stone against it. Then I drew Cathy underneath my umbrella: for the rain began to drive through the moaning branches. As we hurried home, we did not talk about the encounter with Heathcliff; but I guessed that Catherine's heart was clouded now in double darkness. Her features were sad: she evidently regarded his words as true.


The master had retired to rest before we came in. Cathy stole to his room to inquire how he was; he had fallen asleep. She returned, and asked me to sit with her in the library. We took our tea together; and afterwards she lay down on the rug, and told me not to talk, for she was weary. I got a book, and pretended to read. As soon as she supposed me absorbed in my occupation, she recommenced her silent weeping: it appeared, at present, her favourite diversion. I suffered her to enjoy it a while; then I expostulated: deriding and ridiculing all Mr. Heathcliff's assertions about his son, as if I were certain she would coincide. Alas! I hadn't skill to counteract the effect his account had produced: it was just what he intended.

The master was asleep in bed when we came in. Cathy and I took our tea together; and afterwards she lay on the rug, and told me not to talk, for she was weary. I got a book, and pretended to read. After a while I saw she was again weeping silently: so I began ridiculing Mr. Heathcliff's assertions about his son.


"You may be right, Ellen," she answered; "but I shall never feel at ease till I know. And I must tell Linton it is not my fault that I don't write, and convince him that I shall not change."

'You may be right, Ellen,' she answered; 'but I shall never feel at ease till I know. And I must tell Linton it is not my fault that I don't write.'


What use were anger and protestations against her silly credulity? We parted that night-hostile; but next day beheld me on the road to Wuthering Heights, by the side of my wilful young mistress's pony. I couldn't bear to witness her sorrow: to see her pale, dejected countenance, and heavy eyes: and I yielded, in the faint hope that Linton himself might prove, by his reception of us, how little of the tale was founded on fact.

What use were my protests against her silly credulity? Next day I went to Wuthering Heights beside my wilful young mistress's pony. I couldn't bear to see her sorrow: and I yielded, in the faint hope that Linton himself might prove how little of the tale was true.


For two months the fugitives remained absent; in those two months, Mrs. Linton encountered and conquered the worst shock of what was denominated a brain fever. No mother could have nursed an only child more devotedly than Edgar tended her. Day and night he was watching, and patiently enduring all the annoyances that irritable nerves and a shaken reason could inflict; and, though Kenneth remarked that what he saved from the grave would only recompense his care by forming the source of constant future anxiety-in fact, that his health and strength were being sacrificed to preserve a mere ruin of humanity-he knew no limits in gratitude and joy when Catherine's life was declared out of danger; and hour after hour he would sit beside her, tracing the gradual return to bodily health, and flattering his too sanguine hopes with the illusion that her mind would settle back to its right balance also, and she would soon be entirely her former self.

For two months the fugitives remained absent. In those two months, Mrs. Linton overcame the worst of a brain fever. No mother could have nursed an only child more devotedly than Edgar tended her. Day and night he watched her, patiently enduring her irritable nerves and shaken reason; and, though Dr. Kenneth remarked that she had been saved from the grave only to cause constant future anxiety, Edgar was full of gratitude and joy when Catherine's life was declared out of danger. Hour after hour he would sit beside her, under the illusion that as she returned to bodily health, her mind would settle back to its right balance also.


The first time she left her chamber was at the commencement of the following March. Mr. Linton had put on her pillow, in the morning, a handful of golden crocuses; her eye, long stranger to any gleam of pleasure, caught them in waking, and shone delighted as she gathered them eagerly together.

The first time she left her chamber was at the start of March. Mr. Linton had put on her pillow a handful of golden crocuses; her eye caught them in waking, and shone delighted as she gathered them eagerly together.


"These are the earliest flowers at the Heights," she exclaimed. "They remind me of soft thaw winds, and warm sunshine, and nearly melted snow. Edgar, is there not a south wind, and is not the snow almost gone?"

'These are the earliest flowers at the Heights,' she exclaimed. 'They remind me of soft winds, and warm sunshine, and nearly melted snow. Edgar, is there not a south wind, and is not the snow almost gone?'


"The snow is quite gone down here, darling," replied her husband; "and I only see two white spots on the whole range of moors: the sky is blue, and the larks are singing, and the becks and brooks are all brim full. Catherine, last spring at this time, I was longing to have you under this roof; now, I wish you were a mile or two up those hills: the air blows so sweetly, I feel that it would cure you."

'The snow is quite gone, darling,' replied her husband; 'the sky is blue, and the larks are singing, and the becks and brooks are all brim full. I wish you were up those hills: the air blows so sweetly, I feel that it would cure you.'


"I shall never be there but once more," said the invalid; "and then you'll leave me, and I shall remain for ever. Next spring you'll long again to have me under this roof, and you'll look back and think you were happy to-day."

'I shall be there only once more,' she said; 'and then I shall remain for ever. Next spring you'll look back and think you were happy today.'


Linton lavished on her the kindest caresses, and tried to cheer her by the fondest words; but, vaguely regarding the flowers, she let the tears collect on her lashes and stream down her cheeks unheeding. We knew she was really better, and, therefore, decided that long confinement to a single place produced much of this despondency, and it might be partially removed by a change of scene. The master told me to light a fire in the many-weeks' deserted parlour, and to set an easy-chair in the sunshine by the window; and then he brought her down, and she sat a long while enjoying the genial heat, and, as we expected, revived by the objects round her: which, though familiar, were free from the dreary associations investing her hated sick chamber. By evening she seemed greatly exhausted; yet no arguments could persuade her to return to that apartment, and I had to arrange the parlour sofa for her bed, till another room could be prepared. To obviate the fatigue of mounting and descending the stairs, we fitted up this, where you lie at present-on the same floor with the parlour; and she was soon strong enough to move from one to the other, leaning on Edgar's arm. Ah, I thought myself, she might recover, so waited on as she was. And there was double cause to desire it, for on her existence depended that of another: we cherished the hope that in a little while Mr. Linton's heart would be gladdened, and his lands secured from a stranger's grip, by the birth of an heir.

Linton tried to cheer her; but she let the tears stream down her cheeks. We knew she was really better, and, therefore, decided that this sadness might be removed by a change of scene. The master told me to light a fire in the parlour, and to set an easy-chair in the sunshine by the window. Then he brought her down, and she sat enjoying the heat, and revived by the familiar objects round her.
By evening she seemed exhausted; yet she would not return to her bedroom, and I had to arrange the parlour sofa for her bed. We fitted up this room for her, where you lie at present, and she was soon strong enough to move from here to the parlour, leaning on Edgar's arm.
I thought she might recover; and there was double cause to desire it, for on her existence depended that of another. We hoped that in a little while Mr. Linton's heart would be gladdened, and his lands secured, by the birth of an heir.


I should mention that Isabella sent to her brother, some six weeks from her departure, a short note, announcing her marriage with Heathcliff. It appeared dry and cold; but at the bottom was dotted in with pencil an obscure apology, and an entreaty for kind remembrance and reconciliation, if her proceeding had offended him: asserting that she could not help it then, and being done, she had now no power to repeal it. Linton did not reply to this, I believe; and, in a fortnight more, I got a long letter, which I considered odd, coming from the pen of a bride just out of the honeymoon. I'll read it: for I keep it yet. Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living.

I should mention that Isabella, six weeks after her departure, sent her brother a short note, announcing her marriage with Heathcliff. It appeared dry and cold; but at the bottom was scribbled an obscure apology, asserting that she could not help it.
Linton did not reply to this. In a fortnight more, I got a long letter, which was odd coming from the pen of a new bride. I'll read it: for I keep it still.


DEAR ELLEN, it begins,-I came last night to Wuthering Heights, and heard, for the first time, that Catherine has been, and is yet, very ill. I must not write to her, I suppose, and my brother is either too angry or too distressed to answer what I sent him. Still, I must write to somebody, and the only choice left me is you.

Dear Ellen, it begins, - I came last night to Wuthering Heights, and heard, for the first time, that Catherine has been very ill. I must not write to her, I suppose, and my brother is either too angry or too distressed to answer my letter. Still, I must write to somebody, and the only choice left me is you.


Inform Edgar that I'd give the world to see his face again-that my heart returned to Thrushcross Grange in twenty-four hours after I left it, and is there at this moment, full of warm feelings for him, and Catherine! _I can't follow it though_-(these words are underlined)-they need not expect me, and they may draw what conclusions they please; taking care, however, to lay nothing at the door of my weak will or deficient affection.

Tell Edgar that I'd give the world to see his face again - that my heart returned to Thrushcross Grange twenty-four hours after I left it, and is full of warm feelings for him, and Catherine! But they need not expect me, although not through any lack of affection for them.


The remainder of the letter is for yourself alone. I want to ask you two questions: the first is,-How did you contrive to preserve the common sympathies of human nature when you resided here? I cannot recognise any sentiment which those around share with me.

I want to ask you two questions: the first is, How did you manage to preserve the common sympathies of human nature when you lived here? I cannot recognise any feeling which those around me share with me.


The second question I have great interest in; it is this-Is Mr. Heathcliff a man? If so, is he mad? And if not, is he a devil? I sha'n't tell my reasons for making this inquiry; but I beseech you to explain, if you can, what I have married: that is, when you call to see me; and you must call, Ellen, very soon. Don't write, but come, and bring me something from Edgar.

The second question is this - Is Mr. Heathcliff a man? If so, is he mad? And if not, is he a devil? Please explain, if you can, what I have married. You must call to see me, Ellen, very soon. Don't write, but come, and bring me something from Edgar.


Now, you shall hear how I have been received in my new home, as I am led to imagine the Heights will be. It is to amuse myself that I dwell on such subjects as the lack of external comforts: they never occupy my thoughts, except at the moment when I miss them. I should laugh and dance for joy, if I found their absence was the total of my miseries, and the rest was an unnatural dream!

Now, you shall hear how I have been received in my new home. Despite its lack of comforts, I should dance for joy, if their absence was the total of my miseries!


The sun set behind the Grange as we turned on to the moors; by that, I judged it to be six o'clock; and my companion halted half an hour, to inspect the park, and the gardens, and, probably, the place itself, as well as he could; so it was dark when we dismounted in the paved yard of the farm-house, and your old fellow-servant, Joseph, issued out to receive us by the light of a dip candle. He did it with a courtesy that redounded to his credit. His first act was to elevate his torch to a level with my face, squint malignantly, project his under-lip, and turn away. Then he took the two horses, and led them into the stables; reappearing for the purpose of locking the outer gate, as if we lived in an ancient castle.

It was dark when we arrived at the farm-house, and your old fellow-servant, Joseph, came out to receive us by the light of a candle. He raised his torch to my face, squinted malignantly, and turned away to lead the horses into the stables.


Heathcliff stayed to speak to him, and I entered the kitchen-a dingy, untidy hole; I daresay you would not know it, it is so changed since it was in your charge. By the fire stood a ruffianly child, strong in limb and dirty in garb, with a look of Catherine in his eyes and about his mouth.

Heathcliff stayed to speak to him, and I entered the kitchen - a dingy, untidy hole; it is changed since it was in your charge. By the fire stood a strong, ruffianly child, in dirty clothes, with a look of Catherine about his eyes and mouth.


"This is Edgar's legal nephew," I reflected-"mine in a manner; I must shake hands, and-yes-I must kiss him. It is right to establish a good understanding at the beginning."

'This is Edgar's nephew,' I reflected. 'I must shake hands, and kiss him.'


I approached, and, attempting to take his chubby fist, said-"How do you do, my dear?"

I approached, and, attempting to take his chubby fist, said, 'How do you do, my dear?


He replied in a jargon I did not comprehend.


"Shall you and I be friends, Hareton?" was my next essay at conversation.


An oath, and a threat to set Throttler on me if I did not "frame off" rewarded my perseverance.

An oath, and a threat to set Throttler on me if I did not 'frame off' rewarded me.


"Hey, Throttler, lad!" whispered the little wretch, rousing a half-bred bull-dog from its lair in a corner. "Now, wilt thou be ganging?" he asked authoritatively.

'Hey, Throttler, lad!' whispered the little wretch, rousing a bull-dog from its lair in a corner. 'Now, wilt thou be ganging?' he demanded.


Love for my life urged a compliance; I stepped over the threshold to wait till the others should enter. Mr. Heathcliff was nowhere visible; and Joseph, whom I followed to the stables, and requested to accompany me in, after staring and muttering to himself, screwed up his nose and replied-"Mim! mim! mim! Did iver Christian body hear aught like it? Mincing un' munching! How can I tell whet ye say?"

In fear of my life, I stepped outside to wait for the others. Mr. Heathcliff was nowhere visible; and Joseph, whom I asked to accompany me in, screwed up his nose and replied - 'Mim! mim! mim! Did ever Christian body hear aught like it? Mincing un' munching! How can I tell what ye say?'


"I say, I wish you to come with me into the house!" I cried, thinking him deaf, yet highly disgusted at his rudeness.

'I say, I wish you to come with me into the house!' I cried, highly disgusted at his rudeness.


"None o' me! I getten summut else to do," he answered, and continued his work; moving his lantern jaws meanwhile, and surveying my dress and countenance (the former a great deal too fine, but the latter, I'm sure, as sad as he could desire) with sovereign contempt.

'Not me! I got summut else to do,' he answered with contempt, and continued his work.


I walked round the yard, and through a wicket, to another door, at which I took the liberty of knocking, in hopes some more civil servant might show himself. After a short suspense, it was opened by a tall, gaunt man, without neckerchief, and otherwise extremely slovenly; his features were lost in masses of shaggy hair that hung on his shoulders; and _his_ eyes, too, were like a ghostly Catherine's with all their beauty annihilated.

I walked round the yard to another door, at which I knocked. It was opened by a tall, gaunt, unkempt man; masses of shaggy hair hung on his shoulders; and his eyes, too, were like a ghostly Catherine's with all their beauty annihilated.


"What's your business here?" he demanded, grimly. "Who are you?"

'What's your business here?' he asked grimly. 'Who are you?'


"My name was Isabella Linton," I replied. "You've seen me before, sir. I'm lately married to Mr. Heathcliff, and he has brought me here-I suppose, by your permission."

'My name was Isabella Linton,' I replied. 'I'm married to Mr. Heathcliff, and he has brought me here.'


"Is he come back, then?" asked the hermit, glaring like a hungry wolf.

'Is he come back, then?' he asked, glaring like a hungry wolf.


"Yes-we came just now," I said; "but he left me by the kitchen door; and when I would have gone in, your little boy played sentinel over the place, and frightened me off by the help of a bull-dog."

'Yes - just now,' I said; 'but he left me here, and I am frightened of the bull-dog in your kitchen.'


"It's well the hellish villain has kept his word!" growled my future host, searching the darkness beyond me in expectation of discovering Heathcliff; and then he indulged in a soliloquy of execrations, and threats of what he would have done had the "fiend" deceived him.

'It's well the hellish villain has kept his word!' growled my host.


I repented having tried this second entrance, and was almost inclined to slip away before he finished cursing, but ere I could execute that intention, he ordered me in, and shut and re-fastened the door. There was a great fire, and that was all the light in the huge apartment, whose floor had grown a uniform grey; and the once brilliant pewter-dishes, which used to attract my gaze when I was a girl, partook of a similar obscurity, created by tarnish and dust. I inquired whether I might call the maid, and be conducted to a bedroom! Mr. Earnshaw vouchsafed no answer. He walked up and down, with his hands in his pockets, apparently quite forgetting my presence; and his abstraction was evidently so deep, and his whole aspect so misanthropical, that I shrank from disturbing him again.

I wanted to slip away, but he ordered me in, and shut the door.
There was a great fire, and that was the only light in the huge apartment. Its floor had become grey; as had the once brilliant pewter-dishes, now dark with tarnish and dust. I asked if I might call a maid; but Mr. Hindley Earnshaw walked up and down, with his hands in his pockets, quite forgetting my presence.


You'll not be surprised, Ellen, at my feeling particularly cheerless, seated in worse than solitude on that inhospitable hearth, and remembering that four miles distant lay my delightful home, containing the only people I loved on earth; and there might as well be the Atlantic to part us, instead of those four miles: I could not overpass them! I questioned with myself-where must I turn for comfort? and-mind you don't tell Edgar, or Catherine-above every sorrow beside, this rose pre-eminent: despair at finding nobody who could or would be my ally against Heathcliff! I had sought shelter at Wuthering Heights, almost gladly, because I was secured by that arrangement from living alone with him; but he knew the people we were coming amongst, and he did not fear their intermeddling.

You'll not be surprised, Ellen, at my feeling very cheerless, remembering that four miles distant lay my delightful home, containing the only people I loved on earth; and there might as well be the Atlantic between us, instead of those four miles! The cause of my worst despair was finding nobody who would be my ally against Heathcliff! I had sought shelter at Wuthering Heights almost gladly, because it was better than living alone with him; but the people here will not interfere.


I sat and thought a doleful time: the clock struck eight, and nine, and still my companion paced to and fro, his head bent on his breast, and perfectly silent, unless a groan or a bitter ejaculation forced itself out at intervals. I listened to detect a woman's voice in the house, and filled the interim with wild regrets and dismal anticipations, which, at last, spoke audibly in irrepressible sighing and weeping. I was not aware how openly I grieved, till Earnshaw halted opposite, in his measured walk, and gave me a stare of newly-awakened surprise. Taking advantage of his recovered attention, I exclaimed-"I'm tired with my journey, and I want to go to bed! Where is the maid-servant? Direct me to her, as she won't come to me!"

Meanwhile the clock struck nine, and still my companion paced to and fro, groaning now and then. I could not help weeping, till Earnshaw halted, and gave me a stare of newly-awakened surprise.
I exclaimed - 'I'm tired with my journey, and I want to go to bed! Where is the maid-servant?'


"We have none," he answered; "you must wait on yourself!"

'We have none,' he answered; 'you must wait on yourself!'


"Where must I sleep, then?" I sobbed; I was beyond regarding self-respect, weighed down by fatigue and wretchedness.


"Joseph will show you Heathcliff's chamber," said he; "open that door-he's in there."

'Joseph will show you Heathcliff's chamber,' said he.


I was going to obey, but he suddenly arrested me, and added in the strangest tone-"Be so good as to turn your lock, and draw your bolt-don't omit it!"

Then he added in the strangest tone - 'Be so good as to lock your door and bolt it!'


"Well!" I said. "But why, Mr. Earnshaw?" I did not relish the notion of deliberately fastening myself in with Heathcliff.


"Look here!" he replied, pulling from his waistcoat a curiously-constructed pistol, having a double-edged spring knife attached to the barrel. "That's a great tempter to a desperate man, is it not? I cannot resist going up with this every night, and trying his door. If once I find it open he's done for; I do it invariably, even though the minute before I have been recalling a hundred reasons that should make me refrain: it is some devil that urges me to thwart my own schemes by killing him. You fight against that devil for love as long as you may; when the time comes, not all the angels in heaven shall save him!"

'Look here!' he replied, pulling out a pistol with a knife attached to the barrel. 'That's a great tempter to a desperate man, is it not? I cannot resist going up with this every night, and trying his door. If once I find it open he's done for. When the time comes, not all the angels in heaven shall save him!'


I surveyed the weapon inquisitively. A hideous notion struck me: how powerful I should be possessing such an instrument! I took it from his hand, and touched the blade. He looked astonished at the expression my face assumed during a brief second: it was not horror, it was covetousness. He snatched the pistol back, jealously; shut the knife, and returned it to its concealment.

I surveyed the weapon inquisitively, thinking how powerful I should be with such an instrument! I took it from his hand and touched the blade. He looked astonished at the covetous expression on my face. Snatching it back, he returned it to its hiding-place.


"I don't care if you tell him," said he. "Put him on his guard, and watch for him. You know the terms we are on, I see: his danger does not shock you."

'I don't care if you tell him,' said he.


"What has Heathcliff done to you?" I asked. "In what has he wronged you, to warrant this appalling hatred? Wouldn't it be wiser to bid him quit the house?"

'What has Heathcliff done to you?' I asked. 'How has he wronged you? Why don't you tell him to leave?'


"No!" thundered Earnshaw; "should he offer to leave me, he's a dead man: persuade him to attempt it, and you are a murderess! Am I to lose _all_, without a chance of retrieval? Is Hareton to be a beggar? Oh, damnation! I _will_ have it back; and I'll have _his_ gold too; and then his blood; and hell shall have his soul! It will be ten times blacker with that guest than ever it was before!"

'No!' thundered Earnshaw; 'if he tries to leave me, he's a dead man! Am I to lose all, without a chance of retrieval? Is Hareton to be a beggar? Oh, damnation! I'll have his gold, and then his blood; and hell shall have his soul!'


You've acquainted me, Ellen, with your old master's habits. He is clearly on the verge of madness: he was so last night at least. I shuddered to be near him, and thought on the servant's ill-bred moroseness as comparatively agreeable. He now recommenced his moody walk, and I raised the latch, and escaped into the kitchen. Joseph was bending over the fire, peering into a large pan that swung above it; and a wooden bowl of oatmeal stood on the settle close by. The contents of the pan began to boil, and he turned to plunge his hand into the bowl; I conjectured that this preparation was probably for our supper, and, being hungry, I resolved it should be eatable; so, crying out sharply, "_I'll_ make the porridge!" I removed the vessel out of his reach, and proceeded to take off my hat and riding-habit. "Mr. Earnshaw," I continued, "directs me to wait on myself: I will. I'm not going to act the lady among you, for fear I should starve."

Your old master is clearly on the verge of madness, Ellen. Shuddering, I escaped into the kitchen. Joseph was bending over the fire, peering into a large pan; a bowl of oatmeal stood close by. I guessed that the pan held our supper, and, being hungry, I resolved it should be eatable; so, crying out, 'I'll make the porridge!' I removed it out of his reach. 'Mr. Earnshaw,' I continued, 'tells me to wait on myself: so I will, rather than starve.'


"Gooid Lord!" he muttered, sitting down, and stroking his ribbed stockings from the knee to the ankle. "If there's to be fresh ortherings-just when I getten used to two maisters, if I mun hev' a _mistress_ set o'er my heead, it's like time to be flitting. I niver _did_ think to see t' day that I mud lave th' owld place-but I doubt it's nigh at hand!"

'Good Lord!' he muttered, sitting down. 'If I must have a mistress set o'er my head, it's time to be flitting!'


This lamentation drew no notice from me: I went briskly to work, sighing to remember a period when it would have been all merry fun; but compelled speedily to drive off the remembrance. It racked me to recall past happiness and the greater peril there was of conjuring up its apparition, the quicker the thible ran round, and the faster the handfuls of meal fell into the water. Joseph beheld my style of cookery with growing indignation.

I took no notice, but went briskly to work. Joseph watched me with growing indignation.


"Thear!" he ejaculated. "Hareton, thou willn't sup thy porridge to-neeght; they'll be naught but lumps as big as my neive. Thear, agean! I'd fling in bowl un' all, if I wer ye! There, pale t' guilp off, un' then ye'll hae done wi't. Bang, bang. It's a mercy t' bothom isn't deaved out!"

'There!' he cried. 'Hareton, thou won't sup thy porridge tonight; they'll be naught but lumps.'


It _was_ rather a rough mess, I own, when poured into the basins; four had been provided, and a gallon pitcher of new milk was brought from the dairy, which Hareton seized and commenced drinking and spilling from the expansive lip. I expostulated, and desired that he should have his in a mug; affirming that I could not taste the liquid treated so dirtily. The old cynic chose to be vastly offended at this nicety; assuring me, repeatedly, that "the barn was every bit as good" as I, "and every bit as wollsome," and wondering how I could fashion to be so conceited. Meanwhile, the infant ruffian continued sucking; and glowered up at me defyingly, as he slavered into the jug.

It was rather a rough mess, I own, when poured into the bowls. Hareton seized the jug of milk and drank from it. When I told him he should put it in a mug, he kept drinking and glowered at me defyingly.


"I shall have my supper in another room," I said. "Have you no place you call a parlour?"

'I shall have my supper in another room,' I said. 'Have you no parlour?'


"_Parlour_!" he echoed, sneeringly, "_parlour_! Nay, we've noa _parlours_. If yah dunnut loike wer company, there's maister's; un' if yah dunnut loike maister, there's us."

'Parlour!' Joseph sneered. 'Nay, we've no parlours. If yah don't like our company, there's master's; an' if yah don't like master, there's us.'


"Then I shall go upstairs," I answered; "show me a chamber."

'Then I shall go upstairs,' I answered; 'show me a room.'


I put my basin on a tray, and went myself to fetch some more milk. With great grumblings, the fellow rose, and preceded me in my ascent: we mounted to the garrets; he opened a door, now and then, to look into the apartments we passed.

I picked up my bowl. With great grumblings, the fellow rose, and we mounted to the garrets.


"Here's a rahm," he said, at last, flinging back a cranky board on hinges. "It's weel eneugh to ate a few porridge in. There's a pack o' corn i' t' corner, thear, meeterly clane; if ye're feared o' muckying yer grand silk cloes, spread yer hankerchir o' t' top on't."

'Here's a room,' he said, flinging back a cranky door. 'It's good enough to eat porridge in.'


The "rahm" was a kind of lumber-hole smelling strong of malt and grain; various sacks of which articles were piled around, leaving a wide, bare space in the middle.

The room was a lumber-hole smelling of malt and grain, which were piled around in sacks.


"Why, man," I exclaimed, facing him angrily, "this is not a place to sleep in. I wish to see my bed-room."

'Why, man,' I exclaimed angrily, 'this is not a place to sleep in. I wish to see my bedroom.'


"_Bed-rume_!" he repeated, in a tone of mockery. "Yah's see all t' _bed-rumes_ thear is-yon's mine."

'Bed-room!' he repeated, in a tone of mockery. 'Yah see all t' bedrooms there is - yon's mine.'


He pointed into the second garret, only differing from the first in being more naked about the walls, and having a large, low, curtainless bed, with an indigo-coloured quilt, at one end.


"What do I want with yours?" I retorted. "I suppose Mr. Heathcliff does not lodge at the top of the house, does he?"

'What do I want with yours? Mr. Heathcliff does not sleep up here, does he?'


"Oh! it's Maister _Hathecliff's_ ye're wanting?" cried he, as if making a new discovery. "Couldn't ye ha' said soa, at onst? un' then, I mud ha' telled ye, baht all this wark, that that's just one ye cannut see-he allas keeps it locked, un' nob'dy iver mells on't but hisseln."

'Oh! it's Master Hathecliff's ye're wanting?' cried he, as if making a new discovery. 'Couldn't ye have said so? He allas keeps his locked, an' nobody ever goes in but hisself.'


"You've a nice house, Joseph," I could not refrain from observing, "and pleasant inmates; and I think the concentrated essence of all the madness in the world took up its abode in my brain the day I linked my fate with theirs! However, that is not to the present purpose-there are other rooms. For heaven's sake be quick, and let me settle somewhere!"

'Well, there are other rooms. For heaven's sake, let me settle somewhere!'


He made no reply to this adjuration; only plodding doggedly down the wooden steps, and halting, before an apartment which, from that halt and the superior quality of its furniture, I conjectured to be the best one. There was a carpet-a good one, but the pattern was obliterated by dust; a fireplace hung with cut-paper, dropping to pieces; a handsome oak-bedstead with ample crimson curtains of rather expensive material and modern make; but they had evidently experienced rough usage: the vallances hung in festoons, wrenched from their rings, and the iron rod supporting them was bent in an arc on one side, causing the drapery to trail upon the floor. The chairs were also damaged, many of them severely; and deep indentations deformed the panels of the walls. I was endeavouring to gather resolution for entering and taking possession, when my fool of a guide announced,-"This here is t' maister's." My supper by this time was cold, my appetite gone, and my patience exhausted. I insisted on being provided instantly with a place of refuge, and means of repose.

He made no reply. Plodding down the wooden steps, he halted at an apartment which, from the superior quality of its furniture, I assumed to be the best one. There was a carpet, its pattern hidden by dust; a fireplace hung with cut-paper, dropping to pieces; and a handsome oak bedstead with crimson curtains, which had been wrenched roughly from their rings, so that they trailed upon the floor. The chairs were also damaged, as were the panels of the walls.
'This here is t' master's,' announced my guide. My supper by this time was cold, and my patience exhausted. I insisted on being provided instantly with a room and a bed.


"Whear the divil?" began the religious elder. "The Lord bless us! The Lord forgie us! Whear the _hell_ wold ye gang? ye marred, wearisome nowt! Ye've seen all but Hareton's bit of a cham'er. There's not another hoile to lig down in i' th' hahse!"

'Where the devil?' he began. 'The Lord bless us! Ye've seen all but Hareton's bit of a chamber. There's not another hole to lie down in i' th' house!'


I was so vexed, I flung my tray and its contents on the ground; and then seated myself at the stairs'-head, hid my face in my hands, and cried.

I was so vexed, I flung my porridge on the ground; and then sat on the stairs and cried.


"Ech! ech!" exclaimed Joseph. "Weel done, Miss Cathy! weel done, Miss Cathy! Howsiver, t' maister sall just tum'le o'er them brooken pots; un' then we's hear summut; we's hear how it's to be. Gooid-for-naught madling! ye desarve pining fro' this to Chrustmas, flinging t' precious gifts o'God under fooit i' yer flaysome rages! But I'm mista'en if ye shew yer sperrit lang. Will Hathecliff bide sich bonny ways, think ye? I nobbut wish he may catch ye i' that plisky. I nobbut wish he may."

'Ech! ech!' exclaimed Joseph. 'T' master'll tumble over them broken pots; an' then we'll hear summut! Will Hathecliff bide such bonny ways, think ye?'