m as a worldly visitor,
and I raised my hands in amazement. 'What! you come back? Is it really
you? Is it?'

'Yes, Heathcliff,' he replied, glancing from me up to the windows, which
reflected a score of glittering moons, but showed no lights from within.
'Are they at home? where is she? Nelly, you are not glad! you needn't be
so disturbed. Is she here? Speak! I want to have one word with
her--your mistress. Go, and say some person from Gimmerton desires to
see her.'

'How will she take it?' I exclaimed. 'What will she do? The surprise
bewilders me--it will put her out of her head! And you _are_ Heathcliff!
But altered! Nay, there's no comprehending it. Have you been for a
soldier?'

'Go and carry my message,' he interrupted, impatiently. 'I'm in hell
till you do!'

He lifted the latch, and I entered; but when I got to the parlour where
Mr. and Mrs. Linton were, I could not persuade myself to proceed. At
length I resolved on making an excuse to ask if they would have the
candles lighted, and I opened the door.

They sat together in a window whose lattice lay back against the wall,
and displayed, beyond the garden trees, and the wild green park, the
valley of Gimmerton, with a long line of mist winding nearly to its top
(for very soon after you pass the chapel, as you may have noticed, the
sough that runs from the marshes joins a beck which follows the bend of
the glen). Wuthering Heights rose above this silvery vapour; but our old
house was invisible; it rather dips down on the other side. Both the
room and its occupants, and the scene they gazed on, looked wondrously
peaceful. I shrank reluctantly from performing my errand; and was
actually going away leaving it unsaid, after having put my question about
the candles, when a sense of my folly compelled me to return, and mutter,
'A person from Gimmerton wishes to see you ma'am.'

'What does he want?' asked Mrs. Linton.

'I did not question him,' I answered.

'Well, close the curtains, Nelly,' she said; 'and bring up tea. I'll be
back again directly.'

She quitted the apartment; Mr. Edgar inquired, carelessly, who it was.

'Some one mistress does not expect,' I replied. 'That Heathcliff--you
recollect him, sir--who used to live at Mr. Earnshaw's.'

'What! the gipsy--the ploughboy?' he cried. 'Why did you not say so to
Catherine?'

'Hush! you must not call him by those names, master,' I said. 'She'd be
sadly grieved to hear you. She wa