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Art Painting
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was a low ottoman near the marble chimney-piece; the bed rose
before me; to my right hand there was the high, dark wardrobe, with
subdued, broken reflections varying the gloss of its panels; to my
left were the muffled windows; a great looking-glass between them
repeated the vacant majesty of the bed and room. I was not quite
sure whether they had locked the door; and when I dared move, I got up
and went to see. Alas! yes: no jail was ever more secure. Returning, I
had to cross before the looking-glass; my fascinated glance
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involuntarily explored the depth it revealed. All looked colder and
darker in that visionary hollow than in reality: and the strange
little figure there gazing at me, with a white face and arms
specking the gloom, and glittering eyes of fear moving where all

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nah, shoo's taan my garden frough me, un' by th' heart, maister, Aw cannot stand it! Yah muh bend tuh th' yoak, an ye will Aw noan used to `t, and an ow'd man dosen't sooin get used tuh new barthens. Aw'd rayther arn my bite an' my sup wi' a hammer in th' road!'
`Now, now, idiot!' interrupted Heathcliff, `cut it short! `What's your grievance? I'll interfere in no quarrels between you and Nelly. She may thrust you into the coal-hole for anything I care.'
`It's noan Nelly!' answered Joseph. `Aw sudn't shift fur Nellie--nasty ill nowt as shoo is. Thank God! shoo cannot stale t' sowl o' nob'dy! Shoo wer niver soa handsome,
oil paintings bud whet a body mud look at her `baht winking. It's yon flaysome, graceless quean, ut s witched ahr lad, wi' her bold een un' her forrard ways--till--Nay! it fair brusts my heart! He's forgetten all Ee done for him, un' made on him, un' goan un' riven up a whole row ut t' grandest currant trees, i' t' garden!' And here he lamented outright; unmanned by a sense of his bitter injuries, and Earnshaw's ingratitude and dangerous condition.

The Singing Butler

The Singing Butler
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preferred quarrelling with Joseph in the kitchen to sitting at peace in her solitude. I did not mind their skirmishes: but Hareton was often obliged to seek the kitchen also, when the master wanted to have the house to himself; and though in the beginning she either left it at his approach, or quietly joined in my occupations, and shunned remarking or addressing him--and though he was always as sullen and silent as possible--after a while she changed her behaviour, and became incapable of letting him alone: talking at him; commenting on his stupidity and idleness; expressing her wonder how he could endure the life he lived--how he could sit a whole evening staring into the fire and dozing.
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`He's just like a dog, is he not, Ellen?' she once observed, `or a carthorse? He does his work, eats his food, and sleeps eternally! What a blank, dreary mind he must have! Do you ever dream, Hareton? And, if you do, what is it about? But you can't speak to me!'
Then she looked at him; but he would neither open his mouth nor look again.
`He's, perhaps, dreaming now,' she continued. `He twitched his shoulder as Juno twitches hers. Ask him, Ellen.'

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Mr Hareton wishes you would read to us, ma'am," I said immediately. "He'd take it very kind--he'd be much obliged."
`She frowned; and looking up, answered:
`"Mr Hareton, and the whole set of you, will be good enough to understand that I reject any pretence at kindness you have the hypocrisy to offer! I despise you, and will have nothing to say to any of you! When I would have given my life for one kind word, even to see one of your faces, you all kept off. But I won't complain to you! I'm driven down here by the cold; not either to amuse you or enjoy your society."
`"What could I ha' done?" began Earnshaw. "How was I to blame?"
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`"Oh! you are an exception," answered Mrs Heathcliff. "I never missed such a concern as you."
`"But I offered more than once, and asked," he said, kindling up at her pertness, "I asked Mr Heathcliff to let me wake for you Œ`"Be silent! I'll go out of doors, or anywhere, rather than have your disagreeable voice in my ear!" said my lady.
`Hareton muttered she might go to hell, for him! and unslinging his gun, restrained himself from his Sunday occupations no longer. He talked now, freely enough; and she presently saw

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family with relating them! Yet, who knows how long you'll be a stranger? You're too young to rest always contented, living by yourself; and I some way fancy no one could see Catherine Linton and not love her. You smile; but why do you look so lively and interested, when I talk about her? and why have you asked me to hang her picture over your fireplace? and why--'
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`Stop, my good friend!' I cried. `It may be very possible that I should love her; but would she love me? I doubt it too much to venture my tranquillity by running into temptation: and then my home is not here. I'm of the busy world, and to its arms I must return. Go on. Was Catherine obedient to her father's commands?'
`She was,' continued the housekeeper. `Her affection for him was still the chief sentiment in her heart; and he spoke without anger: he spoke in the deep tenderness of one about to leave his treasure amid perils and foes, where his remembered words would be the only aid that he could bequeath to guide her. He said to me, a few days afterwards:

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`Since you are in the habit of passing dreadful nights,' I said, `it won't be miss who spoils your ease: you'd be the same had she never come. However, she shall not disturb you again; and perhaps you'll get quieter when we leave you.
`Must I go?' asked Catherine dolefully, bending over him. `Do you want me to go, Linton?'
`You can't alter what you've done,' he replied pettishly, shrinking from her, `unless you alter it for the worse by teasing me into a fever.'
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`Well, then, I must go?' she repeated.
`Let me alone, at least,' said he; `I can't bear your talking.'
She lingered, and resisted my persuasions to departure a tiresome while; but as he neither looked up nor spoke, she finally made a movement to the door and I followed. We were recalled by a scream. Linton had slid from his seat on to the hearthstone, and lay writhing in the mere perverseness of an indulged plague of a child, determined to be as grievous and

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`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?'
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.
`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.
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`You've heard of me, I dare say?'
`No,' he replied again.
`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