athcliff.

'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!'

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 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.'

'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?'

'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!'

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!