Wuthering Heights

straight in.
    »He cannot be in bed,« I thought, »those showers would drench him through! He must either be up, or out. But, I'll make no more ado, I'll go boldly, and look!«
    Having succeeded in gaining entrance with another key, I ran to unclose the panels, for the chamber was vacant – quickly pushing them aside, I peeped in. Mr. Heathcliff was there – laid on his back. His eyes met mine so keen, and fierce, I started; and then, he seemed to smile.
    I could not think him dead – but his face, and throat were washed with rain; the bed-clothes dripped, and he was perfectly still. The lattice, flapping to and fro, had grazed one hand that rested on the sill – no blood trickled from the broken skin, and when I put my fingers to it, I could doubt no more – he was dead and stark!
    I hasped the window; I combed his black long hair from his forehead; I tried to close his eyes – to extinguish, if possible, that frightful, life-like gaze of exultation, before anyone else beheld it. They would not shut – they seemed to sneer at my attempts, and his parted lips, and sharp, white teeth sneered too! Taken with another fit of cowardice, I cried out for Joseph. Joseph shuffled up, and made a noise, but resolutely refused to meddle with him.
    »Th' divil's harried off his soul,« he cried, »and he muh hev his carcass intuh t' bargin, for ow't Aw care! Ech! what a wicked un he looks girnning at death!« and the old sinner grinned in mockery.
    I thought he intended to cut a caper round the bed; but suddenly composing himself, he fell on his knees, and raised his hands, and returned thanks that the lawful master and the ancient stock were restored to their rights.
    I felt stunned by the awful event; and my memory unavoidably recurred to former times with a sort of oppressive sadness. But poor Hareton the most wronged, was the only one that really suffered much. He sat by the corpse all night, weeping in bitter earnest. He pressed its hand, and kissed the sarcastic, savage face that everyone else shrank from contemplating; and bemoaned him with that strong grief which springs naturally from a generous heart, though it be tough as tempered steel.
    Kenneth was perplexed to pronounce of what disorder the master died. I concealed the fact of his having swallowed nothing for four days, fearing it might lead to trouble, and then, I am persuaded he did not abstain on purpose; it was the consequence of his strange illness, not the cause.
    We buried him, to the scandal of the whole neighbourhood, as he had wished. Earnshaw, and I, the sexton and six men to carry the coffin, comprehended the whole attendance.
    The six men departed when they had let it down into the grave: we stayed to see it covered. Hareton, with a streaming face, dug green sods, and laid them over the brown mould himself, at present it is as smooth and verdant as its companion mounds – and I hope its tenant sleeps as soundly. But the country folks, if you asked them, would swear on their bible that he
walks.
There are those who speak to having met him near the church, and on the moor, and even within this house – Idle tales, you'll say, and so say I. Yet that old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on 'em looking out of his chamber window, on every rainy night, since his death – and an odd thing happened to me about a month ago.
    I was going to the Grange one evening – a dark evening threatening thunder – and, just at the turn of the Heights, I encountered a little boy with a sheep, and two lambs before him, he was crying terribly, and I supposed the lambs were skittish, and would not be guided.
    »What is the matter, my little man?« I asked.
    »They's Heathcliff, and a woman, yonder, under t' Nab,« he blubbered, »un' Aw darnut pass 'em.«
    I saw nothing; but neither the sheep nor he would go on, so I bid him take the road lower down.
    He probably raised the phantoms from thinking, as he traversed the moors alone, on the nonsense he had heard his parents and companions repeat – yet still, I don't like being out in the dark, now – and I don't like being left by myself in this grim house – I cannot help it, I shall be glad when they leave it, and shift to the Grange!
    »They are going to the Grange then?« I said.
    »Yes,« answered Mrs. Dean, »as soon as they are married; and that will be on New Year's day.«
    »And who will live here then?«
    »Why, Joseph will take care of the house, and, perhaps, a lad to keep him company.