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.

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.

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!'

'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.'

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!'

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