Wuthering Heights
Wuthering Heights
By Emily Bronte
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Chapter I

. I have
just returned from a visit to my landlord the
solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is cer
-
tainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not believe

that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed

from the stir of society. A perfect misanthropist’s heaven:

and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair to divide

the desolation between us. A capital fellow! He little imag
-
ined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his

black eyes withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as

I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves, with

a jealous resolution, still further in his waistcoat, as I an
-
nounced my name.

‘Mr. Heathcliff?’ I said.

A nod was the answer.

‘Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I do myself the hon
-
our of calling as soon as possible after my arrival, to express

the hope that I have not inconvenienced you by my perse
-
verance in soliciting the occupation of Thrushcross Grange:

I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts ‘

Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir,’ he interrupted,

wincing. ‘I should not allow any one to inconvenience me, if

I could hinder it walk in!’

The ‘walk in’ was uttered with closed teeth, and ex
-
pressed the sentiment, ‘Go to the Deuce:’ even the gate over
Wuthering Heights
which he leant manifested no sympathising movement to

the words; and I think that circumstance determined me to

accept the invitation: I felt interested in a man who seemed

more exaggeratedly reserved than myself.

When he saw my horse’s breast fairly pushing the bar
-
rier, he did put out his hand to unchain it, and then sullenly

preceded me up the causeway, calling, as we entered the

court, ‘Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood’s horse; and bring up

some wine.’

‘Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, I

suppose,’ was the reflection suggested by this compound or
-
der. ‘No wonder the grass grows up between the flags, and

cattle are the only hedgecutters.’

Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man: very old, perhaps,

though hale and sinewy. ‘The Lord help us!’ he soliloquised

in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while relieving me

of my horse: looking, meantime, in my face so sourly that

I charitably conjectured he must have need of divine aid to

digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no reference

to my unexpected advent.

Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff’s dwell
-
ing. ‘Wuthering’ being a significant provincial adjective,

descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is

exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing ventilation they

must have up there at all times, indeed: one may guess the

power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the ex
-
cessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house;

and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one

way, as if craving alms of the sun. Happily, the architect had
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foresight to build it strong: the narrow windows are deeply

set in the wall, and the corners defended with large jutting

stones.

Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a

quantity of grotesque carving lavished over the front, and

especially about the principal door; above which, among a

wilderness of crumbling griffins and shameless little boys, I

detected the date ‘1500,’ and the name ‘Hareton Earnshaw.’

I would have made a few comments, and requested a short

history of the place from the surly owner; but his attitude

at the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance, or

complete departure, and I had no desire to aggravate his

impatience previous to inspecting the penetralium.

One stop brought us into the family sitting-room, with
-
out any introductory lobby or passage: they call it here ‘the

house’ preeminently. It includes kitchen and parlour, gen
-
erally; but I believe at Wuthering Heights the kitchen is

forced to retreat altogether into another quarter: at least I

distinguished a chatter of tongues, and a clatter of culinary

utensils, deep within; and I observed no signs of roasting,

boiling, or baking, about the huge fireplace; nor any glitter of

copper saucepans and tin cullenders on the walls. One end,

indeed, reflected splendidly both light and heat from ranks

of immense pewter dishes, interspersed with silver jugs and

tankards, towering row after row, on a vast oak dresser, to

the very roof. The latter had never been under-drawn: its

entire anatomy lay bare to an inquiring eye, except where

a frame of wood laden with oatcakes and clusters of legs

of beef, mutton, and ham, concealed it. Above the chimney
Wuthering Heights
were sundry villainous old guns, and a couple of horse-

pistols: and, by way of ornament, three gaudily-painted

canisters disposed along its ledge. The floor was of smooth,

white stone; the chairs, high-backed, primitive structures,

painted green: one or two heavy black ones lurking in the

shade. In an arch under the dresser reposed a huge, liver-

coloured bitch pointer, surrounded by a swarm of squealing

puppies; and other dogs haunted other recesses.

The apartment and furniture would have been nothing

extraordinary as belonging to a homely, northern farmer,

with a stubborn countenance, and stalwart limbs set out to

advantage in kneebreeches and gaiters. Such an individu
-
al seated in his arm-chair, his mug of ale frothing on the

round table before him, is to be seen in any circuit of five

or six miles among these hills, if you go at the right time

after dinner. But Mr. Heathcliff forms a singular contrast

to his abode and style of living. He is a darkskinned gip
-
sy in aspect, in dress and manners a gentleman: that is, as

much a gentleman as many a country squire: rather slov
-
enly, perhaps, yet not looking amiss with his negligence,

because he has an erect and handsome figure; and rather

morose. Possibly, some people might suspect him of a de
-
gree of under-bred pride; I have a sympathetic chord within

that tells me it is nothing of the sort: I know, by instinct,

his reserve springs from an aversion to showy displays of

feeling to manifestations of mutual kindliness. He’ll love

and hate equally under cover, and esteem it a species of im
-
pertinence to be loved or hated again. No, I’m running on

too fast: I bestow my own attributes over-liberally on him.
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Mr. Heathcliff may have entirely dissimilar reasons for

keeping his hand out of the way when he meets a would-be

acquaintance, to those which actuate me. Let me hope my

constitution is almost peculiar: my dear mother used to say

I should never have a comfortable home; and only last sum
-
mer I proved myself perfectly unworthy of one.

While enjoying a month of fine weather at the sea-coast,

I was thrown into the company of a most fascinating crea
-
ture: a real goddess in my eyes, as long as she took no notice

of me. I ‘never told my love’ vocally; still, if looks have lan
-
guage, the merest idiot might have guessed I was over head

and ears: she understood me at last, and looked a return the

sweetest of all imaginable looks. And what did I do? I confess

it with shame shrunk icily into myself, like a snail; at every

glance retired colder and farther; till finally the poor inno
-
cent was led to doubt her own senses, and, overwhelmed

with confusion at her supposed mistake, persuaded her

mamma to decamp. By this curious turn of disposition I

have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness; how

undeserved, I alone can appreciate.

I took a seat at the end of the hearthstone opposite that

towards which my landlord advanced, and filled up an in
-
terval of silence by attempting to caress the canine mother,

who had left her nursery, and was sneaking wolfishly to the

back of my legs, her lip curled up, and her white teeth water
-
ing for a snatch. My caress provoked a long, guttural gnarl.

‘You’d better let the dog alone,’ growled Mr. Heathcliff in

unison, checking fiercer demonstrations with a punch of his

foot. ‘She’s not accustomed to be spoiled not kept for a pet.’
Wuthering Heights
Then, striding to a side door, he shouted again, ‘Joseph!’

Joseph mumbled indistinctly in the depths of the cellar,

but gave no intimation of ascending; so his master dived

down to him, leaving me VIS-A-VIS the ruffianly bitch and

a pair of grim shaggy sheep-dogs, who shared with her a

jealous guardianship over all my movements. Not anxious

to come in contact with their fangs, I sat still; but, imagining

they would scarcely understand tacit insults, I unfortunately

indulged in winking and making faces at the trio, and some

turn of my physiognomy so irritated madam, that she sud
-
denly broke into a fury and leapt on my knees. I flung her

back, and hastened to interpose the table between us. This

proceeding aroused the whole hive: half-a-dozen four-foot
-
ed fiends, of various sizes and ages, issued from hidden dens

to the common centre. I felt my heels and coat-laps peculiar

subjects of assault; and parrying off the larger combatants

as effectually as I could with the poker, I was constrained to

demand, aloud, assistance from some of the household in

re-establishing peace.

Mr. Heathcliff and his man climbed the cellar steps with

vexatious phlegm: I don’t think they moved one second fast
-
er than usual, though the hearth was an absolute tempest of

worrying and yelping. Happily, an inhabitant of the kitchen

made more despatch: a lusty dame, with tucked-up gown,

bare arms, and fire-flushed cheeks, rushed into the midst of

us flourishing a frying-pan: and used that weapon, and her

tongue, to such purpose, that the storm subsided magically,

and she only remained, heaving like a sea after a high wind,

when her master entered on the scene.
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‘What the devil is the matter?’ he asked, eyeing me in a

manner that I could ill endure, after this inhospitable treat
-
ment.

‘What the devil, indeed!’ I muttered. ‘The herd of pos
-
sessed swine could have had no worse spirits in them than

those animals of yours, sir. You might as well leave a strang
-
er with a brood of tigers!’

They won’t meddle with persons who touch nothing,’

he remarked, putting the bottle before me, and restoring

the displaced table. ‘The dogs do right to be vigilant. Take a

glass of wine?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Not bitten, are you?’

‘If I had been, I would have set my signet on the biter.’

Heathcliff’s countenance relaxed into a grin.

‘Come, come,’ he said, ‘you are flurried, Mr. Lockwood.

Here, take a little wine. Guests are so exceedingly rare in

this house that I and my dogs, I am willing to own, hardly

know how to receive them. Your health, sir?’

I bowed and returned the pledge; beginning to perceive

that it would be foolish to sit sulking for the misbehaviour

of a pack of curs; besides, I felt loth to yield the fellow fur
-
ther amusement at my expense; since his humour took that

turn. He probably swayed by prudential consideration of the

folly of offending a good tenant relaxed a little in the laconic

style of chipping off his pronouns and auxiliary verbs, and

introduced what he supposed would be a subject of interest

to me, a discourse on the advantages and disadvantages of

my present place of retirement. I found him very intelligent
Wuthering Heights
on the topics we touched; and before I went home, I was en
-
couraged so far as to volunteer another visit to-morrow. He

evidently wished no repetition of my intrusion. I shall go,

notwithstanding. It is astonishing how sociable I feel myself

compared with him.
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Chapter II

YESTERDAY afternoon set
in misty and cold. I had
half a mind to spend it by my study fire, instead of wading

through heath and mud to Wuthering Heights. On com
-
ing up from dinner, however, (N.B. I dine between twelve

and one o’clock; the housekeeper, a matronly lady, taken

as a fixture along with the house, could not, or would not,

comprehend my request that I might be served at five) on

mounting the stairs with this lazy intention, and stepping

into the room, I saw a servant-girl on her knees surrounded

by brushes and coal-scuttles, and raising an infernal dust

as she extinguished the flames with heaps of cinders. This

spectacle drove me back immediately; I took my hat, and,

after a four-miles’ walk, arrived at Heathcliff’s garden-gate

just in time to escape the first feathery flakes of a snow-

shower.

On that bleak hill-top the earth was hard with a black

frost, and the air made me shiver through every limb. Being

unable to remove the chain, I jumped over, and, running up

the flagged causeway bordered with straggling gooseberry-

bushes, knocked vainly for admittance, till my knuckles

tingled and the dogs howled.

‘Wretched inmates!’ I ejaculated, mentally, ‘you deserve

perpetual isolation from your species for your churlish in
-
hospitality. At least, I would not keep my doors barred in
Wuthering Heights
the day-time. I don’t care I will get in!’ So resolved, I grasped

the latch and shook it vehemently. Vinegar-faced Joseph

projected his head from a round window of the barn.

‘What are ye for?’ he shouted. ‘T’ maister’s down i’ t’

fowld. Go round by th’ end o’ t’ laith, if ye went to spake

to him.’

‘Is there nobody inside to open the door?’ I hallooed, re
-
sponsively.

There’s nobbut t’ missis; and shoo’ll not oppen ‘t an ye

mak’ yer flaysome dins till neeght.’

‘Why? Cannot you tell her whom I am, eh, Joseph?’

‘Nor-ne me! I’ll hae no hend wi’t,’ muttered the head,

vanishing.

The snow began to drive thickly. I seized the handle to

essay another trial; when a young man without coat, and

shouldering a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind. He

hailed me to follow him, and, after marching through

a wash-house, and a paved area containing a coal-shed,

pump, and pigeon-cot, we at length arrived in the huge,

warm, cheerful apartment where I was formerly received.

It glowed delightfully in the radiance of an immense fire,

compounded of coal, peat, and wood; and near the table,

laid for a plentiful evening meal, I was pleased to observe

the ‘missis,’ an individual whose existence I had never pre
-
viously suspected. I bowed and waited, thinking she would

bid me take a seat. She looked at me, leaning back in her

chair, and remained motionless and mute.

‘Rough weather!’ I remarked. ‘I’m afraid, Mrs. Heathcliff,

the door must bear the consequence of your servants’ lei
-
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sure attendance: I had hard work to make them hear me.’

She never opened her mouth. I stared she stared also: at

any rate, she kept her eyes on me in a cool, regardless man
-
ner, exceedingly embarrassing and disagreeable.

‘Sit down,’ said the young man, gruffly. ‘He’ll be in

soon.’

I obeyed; and hemmed, and called the villain Juno, who

deigned, at this second interview, to move the extreme tip of

her tail, in token of owning my acquaintance.

‘A beautiful animal!’ I commenced again. ‘Do you intend

parting with the little ones, madam?’

They are not mine,’ said the amiable hostess, more re
-
pellingly than Heathcliff himself could have replied.

‘Ah, your favourites are among these?’ I continued, turn
-
ing to an obscure cushion full of something like cats.

‘A strange choice of favourites!’ she observed scornfully.

Unluckily, it was a heap of dead rabbits. I hemmed once

more, and drew closer to the hearth, repeating my comment

on the wildness of the evening.

‘You should not have come out,’ she said, rising and

reaching from the chimney-piece two of the painted can
-
isters.

Her position before was sheltered from the light; now,

I had a distinct view of her whole figure and countenance.

She was slender, and apparently scarcely past girlhood: an

admirable form, and the most exquisite little face that I have

ever had the pleasure of beholding; small features, very fair;

flaxen ringlets, or rather golden, hanging loose on her deli
-
cate neck; and eyes, had they been agreeable in expression,
Wuthering Heights
that would have been irresistible: fortunately for my sus
-
ceptible heart, the only sentiment they evinced hovered

between scorn and a kind of desperation, singularly unnat
-
ural to be detected there. The canisters were almost out of

her reach; I made a motion to aid her; she turned upon me

as a miser might turn if any one attempted to assist him in

counting his gold.

‘I don’t want your help,’ she snapped; ‘I can get them for

myself.’

‘I beg your pardon!’ I hastened to reply.

‘Were you asked to tea?’ she demanded, tying an apron

over her neat black frock, and standing with a spoonful of

the leaf poised over the pot.

‘I shall be glad to have a cup,’ I answered.

‘Were you asked?’ she repeated.

‘No,’ I said, half smiling. ‘You are the proper person to

ask me.’

She flung the tea back, spoon and all, and resumed her

chair in a pet; her forehead corrugated, and her red under-

lip pushed out, like a child’s ready to cry.

Meanwhile, the young man had slung on to his person a

decidedly shabby upper garment, and, erecting himself be
-
fore the blaze, looked down on me from the corner of his

eyes, for all the world as if there were some mortal feud un
-
avenged between us. I began to doubt whether he were a

servant or not: his dress and speech were both rude, entirely

devoid of the superiority observable in Mr. and Mrs. Heath
-
cliff; his thick brown curls were rough and uncultivated,

his whiskers encroached bearishly over his cheeks, and his
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hands were embrowned like those of a common labourer:

still his bearing was free, almost haughty, and he showed

none of a domestic’s assiduity in attending on the lady of

the house. In the absence of clear proofs of his condition, I

deemed it best to abstain from noticing his curious conduct;

and, five minutes afterwards, the entrance of Heathcliff re
-
lieved me, in some measure, from my uncomfortable state.

‘You see, sir, I am come, according to promise!’ I ex
-
claimed, assuming the cheerful; ‘and I fear I shall be

weather-bound for half an hour, if you can afford me shelter

during that space.’

‘Half an hour?’ he said, shaking the white flakes from

his clothes; ‘I wonder you should select the thick of a snow-

storm to ramble about in. Do you know that you run a risk

of being lost in the marshes? People familiar with these

moors often miss their road on such evenings; and I can tell

you there is no chance of a change at present.’

‘Perhaps I can get a guide among your lads, and he might

stay at the Grange till morning could you spare me one?’

‘No, I could not.’

‘Oh, indeed! Well, then, I must trust to my own sagac
-
ity.’

‘Umph!’

‘Are you going to mak’ the tea?’ demanded he of the

shabby coat, shifting his ferocious gaze from me to the

young lady.

‘Is HE to have any?’ she asked, appealing to Heathcliff.

‘Get it ready, will you?’ was the answer, uttered so sav
-
agely that I started. The tone in which the words were said
Wuthering Heights
revealed a genuine bad nature. I no longer felt inclined to

call Heathcliff a capital fellow. When the preparations were

finished, he invited me with ‘Now, sir, bring forward your

chair.’ And we all, including the rustic youth, drew round

the table: an austere silence prevailing while we discussed

our meal.

I thought, if I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to

make an effort to dispel it. They could not every day sit so

grim and taciturn; and it was impossible, however ill-tem
-
pered they might be, that the universal scowl they wore was

their every-day countenance.

‘It is strange,’ I began, in the interval of swallowing one

cup of tea and receiving another ‘it is strange how custom

can mould our tastes and ideas: many could not imagine the

existence of happiness in a life of such complete exile from

the world as you spend, Mr. Heathcliff; yet, I’ll venture to

say, that, surrounded by your family, and with your amiable

lady as the presiding genius over your home and heart ‘

‘My amiable lady!’ he interrupted, with an almost dia
-
bolical sneer on his face. ‘Where is she my amiable lady?’

‘Mrs. Heathcliff, your wife, I mean.’

‘Well, yes oh, you would intimate that her spirit has tak
-
en the post of ministering angel, and guards the fortunes of

Wuthering Heights, even when her body is gone. Is that it?’

Perceiving myself in a blunder, I attempted to correct it.

I might have seen there was too great a disparity between

the ages of the parties to make it likely that they were man

and wife. One was about forty: a period of mental vigour at

which men seldom cherish the delusion of being married
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for love by girls: that dream is reserved for the solace of our

declining years. The other did not look seventeen.

Then it flashed on me ‘The clown at my elbow, who is

drinking his tea out of a basin and eating his broad with

unwashed hands, may be her husband: Heathcliff junior,

of course. Here is the consequence of being buried alive:

she has thrown herself away upon that boor from sheer ig
-
norance that better individuals existed! A sad pity I must

beware how I cause her to regret her choice.’ The last reflec
-
tion may seem conceited; it was not. My neighbour struck

me as bordering on repulsive; I knew, through experience,

that I was tolerably attractive.

‘Mrs. Heathcliff is my daughter-in-law,’ said Heathcliff,

corroborating my surmise. He turned, as he spoke, a pecu
-
liar look in her direction: a look of hatred; unless he has a

most perverse set of facial muscles that will not, like those

of other people, interpret the language of his soul.

‘Ah, certainly I see now: you are the favoured possessor

of the beneficent fairy,’ I remarked, turning to my neigh
-
bour.

This was worse than before: the youth grew crimson,

and clenched his fist, with every appearance of a meditated

assault. But he seemed to recollect himself presently, and

smothered the storm in a brutal curse, muttered on my be
-
half: which, however, I took care not to notice.

‘Unhappy in your conjectures, sir,’ observed my host; ‘we

neither of us have the privilege of owning your good fairy;

her mate is dead. I said she was my daughter-in-law: there
-
fore, she must have married my son.’
Wuthering Heights
‘And this young man is ‘

‘Not my son, assuredly.’

Heathcliff smiled again, as if it were rather too bold a jest

to attribute the paternity of that bear to him.

‘My name is Hareton Earnshaw,’ growled the other; ‘and

I’d counsel you to respect it!’

‘I’ve shown no disrespect,’ was my reply, laughing inter
-
nally at the dignity with which he announced himself.

He fixed his eye on me longer than I cared to return the

stare, for fear I might be tempted either to box his ears or

render my hilarity audible. I began to feel unmistakably out

of place in that pleasant family circle. The dismal spiritu
-
al atmosphere overcame, and more than neutralised, the

glowing physical comforts round me; and I resolved to be

cautious how I ventured under those rafters a third time.

The business of eating being concluded, and no one utter
-
ing a word of sociable conversation, I approached a window

to examine the weather. A sorrowful sight I saw: dark night

coming down prematurely, and sky and hills mingled in

one bitter whirl of wind and suffocating snow.

‘I don’t think it possible for me to get home now with
-
out a guide,’ I could not help exclaiming. ‘The roads will be

buried already; and, if they were bare, I could scarcely dis
-
tinguish a foot in advance.’

‘Hareton, drive those dozen sheep into the barn porch.

They’ll be covered if left in the fold all night: and put a plank

before them,’ said Heathcliff.

‘How must I do?’ I continued, with rising irritation.

There was no reply to my question; and on looking round
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I saw only Joseph bringing in a pail of porridge for the dogs,

and Mrs. Heathcliff leaning over the fire, diverting herself

with burning a bundle of matches which had fallen from

the chimney-piece as she restored the tea-canister to its

place. The former, when he had deposited his burden, took a

critical survey of the room, and in cracked tones grated out

‘Aw wonder how yah can faishion to stand thear i’ idleness

un war, when all on ‘ems goan out! Bud yah’re a nowt, and

it’s no use talking yah’ll niver mend o’yer ill ways, but goa

raight to t’ divil, like yer mother afore ye!’

I imagined, for a moment, that this piece of eloquence

was addressed to me; and, sufficiently enraged, stepped to
-
wards the aged rascal with an intention of kicking him out

of the door. Mrs. Heathcliff, however, checked me by her

answer.

‘You scandalous old hypocrite!’ she replied. ‘Are you not

afraid of being carried away bodily, whenever you mention

the devil’s name? I warn you to refrain from provoking me,

or I’ll ask your abduction as a special favour! Stop! look

here, Joseph,’ she continued, taking a long, dark book from

a shelf; ‘I’ll show you how far I’ve progressed in the Black

Art: I shall soon be competent to make a clear house of it.

The red cow didn’t die by chance; and your rheumatism can

hardly be reckoned among providential visitations!’

‘Oh, wicked, wicked!’ gasped the elder; ‘may the Lord de
-
liver us from evil!’

‘No, reprobate! you are a castaway be off, or I’ll hurt you

seriously! I’ll have you all modelled in wax and clay! and the

first who passes the limits I fix shall I’ll not say what he shall
Wuthering Heights
be done to but, you’ll see! Go, I’m looking at you!’

The little witch put a mock malignity into her beauti
-
ful eyes, and Joseph, trembling with sincere horror, hurried

out, praying, and ejaculating ‘wicked’ as he went. I thought

her conduct must be prompted by a species of dreary fun;

and, now that we were alone, I endeavoured to interest her

in my distress.

‘Mrs. Heathcliff,’ I said earnestly, ‘you must excuse me

for troubling you. I presume, because, with that face, I’m

sure you cannot help being good-hearted. Do point out

some landmarks by which I may know my way home: I have

no more idea how to get there than you would have how to

get to London!’

‘Take the road you came,’ she answered, ensconcing her
-
self in a chair, with a candle, and the long book open before

her. ‘It is brief advice, but as sound as I can give.’

Then, if you hear of me being discovered dead in a bog

or a pit full of snow, your conscience won’t whisper that it is

partly your fault?’

‘How so? I cannot escort you. They wouldn’t let me go to

the end of the garden wall.’

‘YOU! I should be sorry to ask you to cross the threshold,

for my convenience, on such a night,’ I cried. ‘I want you

to tell me my way, not to SHOW it: or else to persuade Mr.

Heathcliff to give me a guide.’

‘Who? There is himself, Earnshaw, Zillah, Joseph and I.

Which would you have?’

‘Are there no boys at the farm?’

‘No; those are all.’
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Then, it follows that I am compelled to stay.’

That you may settle with your host. I have nothing to

do with it.’

‘I hope it will be a lesson to you to make no more rash

journeys on these hills,’ cried Heathcliff’s stern voice from

the kitchen entrance. ‘As to staying here, I don’t keep accom
-
modations for visitors: you must share a bed with Hareton

or Joseph, if you do.’

‘I can sleep on a chair in this room,’ I replied.

‘No, no! A stranger is a stranger, be he rich or poor: it will

not suit me to permit any one the range of the place while I

am off guard!’ said the unmannerly wretch.

With this insult my patience was at an end. I uttered an

expression of disgust, and pushed past him into the yard,

running against Earnshaw in my haste. It was so dark that

I could not see the means of exit; and, as I wandered round,

I heard another specimen of their civil behaviour amongst

each other. At first the young man appeared about to be
-
friend me.

‘I’ll go with him as far as the park,’ he said.

‘You’ll go with him to hell!’ exclaimed his master, or

whatever relation he bore. ‘And who is to look after the

horses, eh?’

‘A man’s life is of more consequence than one evening’s

neglect of the horses: somebody must go,’ murmured Mrs.

Heathcliff, more kindly than I expected.

‘Not at your command!’ retorted Hareton. ‘If you set

store on him, you’d better be quiet.’

Then I hope his ghost will haunt you; and I hope Mr.
Wuthering Heights
Heathcliff will never get another tenant till the Grange is a

ruin,’ she answered, sharply.

‘Hearken, hearken, shoo’s cursing on ‘em!’ muttered Jo
-
seph, towards whom I had been steering.

He sat within earshot, milking the cows by the light of

a lantern, which I seized unceremoniously, and, calling out

that I would send it back on the morrow, rushed to the near
-
est postern.

‘Maister, maister, he’s staling t’ lanthern!’ shouted the

ancient, pursuing my retreat. ‘Hey, Gnasher! Hey, dog! Hey

Wolf, holld him, holld him!’

On opening the little door, two hairy monsters flew at my

throat, bearing me down, and extinguishing the light; while

a mingled guffaw from Heathcliff and Hareton put the cope
-
stone on my rage and humiliation. Fortunately, the beasts

seemed more bent on stretching their paws, and yawning,

and flourishing their tails, than devouring me alive; but

they would suffer no resurrection, and I was forced to lie till

their malignant masters pleased to deliver me: then, hat
-
less and trembling with wrath, I ordered the miscreants to

let me out on their peril to keep me one minute longer with

several incoherent threats of retaliation that, in their indefi
-
nite depth of virulency, smacked of King Lear.

The vehemence of my agitation brought on a copious

bleeding at the nose, and still Heathcliff laughed, and still I

scolded. I don’t know what would have concluded the scene,

had there not been one person at hand rather more rational

than myself, and more benevolent than my entertainer. This

was Zillah, the stout housewife; who at length issued forth
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to inquire into the nature of the uproar. She thought that

some of them had been laying violent hands on me; and, not

daring to attack her master, she turned her vocal artillery

against the younger scoundrel.

‘Well, Mr. Earnshaw,’ she cried, ‘I wonder what you’ll

have agait next? Are we going to murder folk on our very

door-stones? I see this house will never do for me look at t’

poor lad, he’s fair choking! Wisht, wisht; you mun’n’t go on

so. Come in, and I’ll cure that: there now, hold ye still.’

With these words she suddenly splashed a pint of icy

water down my neck, and pulled me into the kitchen. Mr.

Heathcliff followed, his accidental merriment expiring

quickly in his habitual moroseness.

I was sick exceedingly, and dizzy, and faint; and thus

compelled perforce to accept lodgings under his roof. He

told Zillah to give me a glass of brandy, and then passed on

to the inner room; while she condoled with me on my sorry

predicament, and having obeyed his orders, whereby I was

somewhat revived, ushered me to bed.
Wuthering Heights
Chapter III

WHILE leading the
way upstairs, she recommended that
I should hide the candle, and not make a noise; for her mas
-
ter had an odd notion about the chamber she would put me

in, and never let anybody lodge there willingly. I asked the

reason. She did not know, she answered: she had only lived

there a year or two; and they had so many queer goings on,

she could not begin to be curious.

Too stupefied to be curious myself, I fastened my door

and glanced round for the bed. The whole furniture con
-
sisted of a chair, a clothes-press, and a large oak case, with

squares cut out near the top resembling coach windows.

Having approached this structure, I looked inside, and per
-
ceived it to be a singular sort of oldfashioned couch, very

conveniently designed to obviate the necessity for every

member of the family having a room to himself. In fact, it

formed a little closet, and the ledge of a window, which it

enclosed, served as a table. I slid back the panelled sides, got

in with my light, pulled them together again, and felt secure

against the vigilance of Heathcliff, and every one else.

The ledge, where I placed my candle, had a few mil
-
dewed books piled up in one corner; and it was covered

with writing scratched on the paint. This writing, however,

was nothing but a name repeated in all kinds of characters,

large and small CATHERINE EARNSHAW, here and there
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varied to CATHERINE HEATHCLIFF, and then again to

CATHERINE LINTON.

In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the window,

and continued spelling over Catherine Earnshaw Heathc
-
liff Linton, till my eyes closed; but they had not rested five

minutes when a glare of white letters started from the dark,

as vivid as spectres the air swarmed with Catherines; and

rousing myself to dispel the obtrusive name, I discovered

my candle-wick reclining on one of the antique volumes,

and perfuming the place with an odour of roasted calf-skin.

I snuffed it off, and, very ill at ease under the influence of

cold and lingering nausea, sat up and spread open the in
-
jured tome on my knee. It was a Testament, in lean type, and

smelling dreadfully musty: a fly-leaf bore the inscription

‘Catherine Earnshaw, her book,’ and a date some quarter

of a century back. I shut it, and took up another and an
-
other, till I had examined all. Catherine’s library was select,

and its state of dilapidation proved it to have been well used,

though not altogether for a legitimate purpose: scarcely one

chapter had escaped, a pen-and-ink commentary at least the

appearance of one covering every morsel of blank that the

printer had left. Some were detached sentences; other parts

took the form of a regular diary, scrawled in an unformed,

childish hand. At the top of an extra page (quite a treasure,

probably, when first lighted on) I was greatly amused to be
-
hold an excellent caricature of my friend Joseph, rudely, yet

powerfully sketched. An immediate interest kindled within

me for the unknown Catherine, and I began forthwith to

decipher her faded hieroglyphics.
Wuthering Heights
‘An awful Sunday,’ commenced the paragraph beneath.

‘I wish my father were back again. Hindley is a detestable

substitute his conduct to Heathcliff is atrocious H. and I are

going to rebel we took our initiatory step this evening.

‘All day had been flooding with rain; we could not go to

church, so Joseph must needs get up a congregation in the

garret; and, while Hindley and his wife basked downstairs

before a comfortable fire doing anything but reading their

Bibles, I’ll answer for it Heathcliff, myself, and the unhappy

ploughboy were commanded to take our prayer-books, and

mount: we were ranged in a row, on a sack of corn, groan
-
ing and shivering, and hoping that Joseph would shiver too,

so that he might give us a short homily for his own sake.

A vain idea! The service lasted precisely three hours; and

yet my brother had the face to exclaim, when he saw us de
-
scending, ‘What, done already?’ On Sunday evenings we

used to be permitted to play, if we did not make much noise;

now a mere titter is sufficient to send us into corners.

‘’You forget you have a master here,’ says the tyrant. ‘I’ll

demolish the first who puts me out of temper! I insist on

perfect sobriety and silence. Oh, boy! was that you? Fran
-
ces darling, pull his hair as you go by: I heard him snap his

fingers.’ Frances pulled his hair heartily, and then went and

seated herself on her husband’s knee, and there they were,

like two babies, kissing and talking nonsense by the hour

foolish palaver that we should be ashamed of. We made

ourselves as snug as our means allowed in the arch of the

dresser. I had just fastened our pinafores together, and hung

them up for a curtain, when in comes Joseph, on an errand
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from the stables. He tears down my handiwork, boxes my

ears, and croaks:

‘’T’ maister nobbut just buried, and Sabbath not o’ered,

und t’ sound o’ t’ gospel still i’ yer lugs, and ye darr be lai
-
king! Shame on ye! sit ye down, ill childer! there’s good

books eneugh if ye’ll read ‘em: sit ye down, and think o’ yer

sowls!’

‘Saying this, he compelled us so to square our positions

that we might receive from the far-off fire a dull ray to show

us the text of the lumber he thrust upon us. I could not bear

the employment. I took my dingy volume by the scroop, and

hurled it into the dogkennel, vowing I hated a good book.

Heathcliff kicked his to the same place. Then there was a

hubbub!

‘’Maister Hindley!’ shouted our chaplain. ‘ Maister, coom

hither! Miss Cathy’s riven th’ back off Th’ Helmet o’ Salva
-
tion,’ un’ Heathcliff’s pawsed his fit into t’ first part o’ ‘T’

Brooad Way to Destruction!’ It’s fair flaysome that ye let ‘em

go on this gait. Ech! th’ owd man wad ha’ laced ‘em properly

but he’s goan!’

‘Hindley hurried up from his paradise on the hearth,

and seizing one of us by the collar, and the other by the arm,

hurled both into the back-kitchen; where, Joseph asseverat
-
ed, ‘owd Nick would fetch us as sure as we were living: and,

so comforted, we each sought a separate nook to await his

advent. I reached this book, and a pot of ink from a shelf,

and pushed the house-door ajar to give me light, and I have

got the time on with writing for twenty minutes; but my

companion is impatient, and proposes that we should ap
-
Wuthering Heights
propriate the dairywoman’s cloak, and have a scamper on

the moors, under its shelter. A pleasant suggestion and then,

if the surly old man come in, he may believe his prophecy

verified we cannot be damper, or colder, in the rain than we

are here.’

*****

I suppose Catherine fulfilled her project, for the next

sentence took up another subject: she waxed lachrymose.

‘How little did I dream that Hindley would ever make

me cry so!’ she wrote. ‘My head aches, till I cannot keep it

on the pillow; and still I can’t give over. Poor Heathcliff!

Hindley calls him a vagabond, and won’t let him sit with us,

nor eat with us any more; and, he says, he and I must not

play together, and threatens to turn him out of the house if

we break his orders. He has been blaming our father (how

dared he?) for treating H. too liberally; and swears he will

reduce him to his right place ‘

*****

I began to nod drowsily over the dim page: my eye wan
-
dered from manuscript to print. I saw a red ornamented title

‘Seventy Times Seven, and the First of the Seventy-First.’ A

Pious Discourse delivered by the Reverend Jabez Brander
-
ham, in the Chapel of Gimmerden Sough.’ And while I was,

half-consciously, worrying my brain to guess what Jabez

Branderham would make of his subject, I sank back in bed,

and fell asleep. Alas, for the effects of bad tea and bad tem
-
per! What else could it be that made me pass such a terrible

night? I don’t remember another that I can at all compare

with it since I was capable of suffering.
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I began to dream, almost before I ceased to be sensible of

my locality. I thought it was morning; and I had set out on

my way home, with Joseph for a guide. The snow lay yards

deep in our road; and, as we floundered on, my companion

wearied me with constant reproaches that I had not brought

a pilgrim’s staff: telling me that I could never get into the

house without one, and boastfully flourishing a heavy-

headed cudgel, which I understood to be so denominated.

For a moment I considered it absurd that I should need such

a weapon to gain admittance into my own residence. Then

a new idea flashed across me. I was not going there: we were

journeying to hear the famous Jabez Branderham preach,

from the text ‘Seventy Times Seven;’ and either Joseph, the

preacher, or I had committed the ‘First of the Seventy-First,’

and were to be publicly exposed and excommunicated.

We came to the chapel. I have passed it really in my walks,

twice or thrice; it lies in a hollow, between two hills: an el
-
evated hollow, near a swamp, whose peaty moisture is said

to answer all the purposes of embalming on the few corpses

deposited there. The roof has been kept whole hitherto; but

as the clergyman’s stipend is only twenty pounds per an
-
num, and a house with two rooms, threatening speedily to

determine into one, no clergyman will undertake the du
-
ties of pastor: especially as it is currently reported that his

flock would rather let him starve than increase the living by

one penny from their own pockets. However, in my dream,

Jabez had a full and attentive congregation; and he preached

good God! what a sermon; divided into FOUR HUNDRED

AND NINETY parts, each fully equal to an ordinary ad
-