Wuthering Heights

first correctly, without a single mistake.«
    The male speaker began to read – he was a young man, respectably dressed, and seated at a table, having a book before him. His handsome features glowed with pleasure, and his eyes kept impatiently wandering from the page to a small white hand over his shoulder, which recalled him by a smart slap on the cheek, whenever its owner detected such signs of inattention.
    Its owner stood behind; her light shining ringlets blending, at intervals, with his brown locks, as she bent to superintend his studies; and her face – it was lucky he could not see her face, or he would never have been so steady – I could, and I bit my lip, in spite, at having thrown away the chance I might have had, of doing something else besides staring at its smiting beauty.
    The task was done, not free from further blunders, but the pupil claimed a reward and received at least five kisses, which, however, he generously returned. Then, they came to the door, and from their conversation, I judged they were about to issue out and have a walk on the moors. I supposed I should be condemned in Hareton Earnshaw's heart, if not by his mouth, to the lowest pit in the infernal regions if I showed my unfortunate person in his neighbourhood then, and feeling very mean and malignant, I skulked round to seek refuge in the kitchen.
    There was unobstructed admittance on that side also; and, at the door, sat my old friend, Nelly Dean, sewing and singing a song, which was often interrupted from within, by harsh words of scorn and intolerance, uttered in far from musical accents.
    »Aw'd rayther, by th' haulf, hev 'em swearing i' my lugs frough morn tuh neeght, nur hearken yah, hahsiver!« said the tenant of the kitchen, in answer to an unheard speech of Nelly's. »It's a blazing shaime, ut Aw cannut oppen t' Blessed Book, bud yah set up them glories tuh sattan, un' all t' flaysome wickednesses ut iver wer born intuh t' warld! Oh! yah're a raight nowt; un' shoo's another; un' that poor lad' ull be lost atween ye. Poor lad!« he added, with a groan; »he's witched, Aw'm sartin on't! O, Lord, judge 'em, fur they's norther law nur justice amang wer rullers!«
    »No! or we should be sitting in flaming fagots, I suppose,« retorted the singer. »But wisht, old man, and read your Bible like a christian, and never mind me. This is ›Fairy Annie's Wedding‹ – a bonny tune – it goes to a dance.«
    Mrs. Dean was about to recommence, when I advanced, and recognizing me directly, she jumped to her feet, crying –
    »Why, bless you, Mr. Lockwood! How could you think of returning in this way? All's shut up at Thrushcross Grange. You should have given us notice!«
    »I've arranged to be accommodated there, for as long as I shall stay,« I answered. »I depart again to-morrow. And how are you transplanted here, Mrs. Dean? tell me that.«
    »Zillah left, and Mr. Heathcliff wished me to come, soon after you went to London, and stay till you returned. But, step in, pray! Have you walked from Gimmerton this evening?«
    »From the Grange,« I replied; »and, while they make me lodging room there, I want to finish my business with your master, because I don't think of having another opportunity in a hurry.«
    »What business, sir?« said Nelly, conducting me into the house. »He's gone out, at present, and wont return soon.«
    »About the rent,« I answered.
    »Oh! then it is with Mrs. Heathcliff you must settle,« she observed, »or rather with me. She has not learnt to manage her affairs yet, and I act for her; there's nobody else.«
    I looked surprised.
    »Ah! you have not heard of Heathcliff's death, I see!« she continued.
    »Heathcliff dead?« I exclaimed, astonished. »How long ago?«
    »Three months since – but, sit down, and let me take your hat, and I'll tell you all about it. Stop, you have had nothing to eat, have you?«
    »I want nothing. I have ordered supper at home. You sit down too. I never dreamt of his dying! Let me hear how it came to pass. You say you don't expect them back for some time – the young people?«
    »No – I have to scold them every evening, for their late rambles – but they don't care for me. At least, have a drink of our old ale – it will do you good – you seem weary.«
    She hastened to fetch it, before I could refuse, and I heard Joseph asking, whether »it warn't a crying scandal that she should have fellies at her time of life? And then, to get them jocks out uh t' Maister's cellar! He