Wuthering Heights

fun; and, now that we were alone, I endeavoured to interest her in my distress.
    »Mrs. Heathcliff,« I said, earnestly, »you must excuse me for troubling you – I presume, because, with that face, I'm sure you cannot help being good-hearted. Do point out some landmarks by which I may know my way home – I have no more idea how to get there than you would have how to get to London!«
    »Take the road you came,« she answered, ensconcing herself in a chair, with a candle, and the long book open before her. »It is brief advice; but, as sound as I can give.«
    »Then, if you hear of me being discovered dead in a bog, or a pit full of snow, your conscience won't whisper that it is partly your fault?«
    »How so? I cannot escort you. They wouldn't let me go to the end of the garden-wall.«
    »
You!
I should be sorry to ask you to cross the threshold, for my convenience, on such a night,« I cried. »I want you to
tell
me my way, not to
show
it; or else to persuade Mr. Heathcliff to give me a guide.«
    »Who? There is himself, Earnshaw, Zillah, Joseph, and I. Which would you have?«
    »Are there no boys at the farm?«
    »No, those are all.«
    »Then, it follows that I am compelled to stay.«
    »That you may settle with your host. I have nothing to do with it.«
    »I hope it will be a lesson to you, to make no more rash journeys on these hills,« cried Heathcliff's stern voice from the kitchen entrance. »As to staying here, I don't keep accommodations for visiters; you must share a bed with Hareton, or Joseph, if you do.«
    »I can sleep on a chair in this room,« I replied.
    »No, no! A stranger is a stranger, be he rich or poor – it will not suit me to permit any one the range of the place while I am off guard!« said the unmannerly wretch.
    With this insult my patience was at an end. I uttered an expression of disgust, and pushed past him into the yard, running against Earnshaw in my haste. It was so dark that I could not see the means of exit, and, as I wandered round, I heard another specimen of their civil behaviour amongst each other.
    At first, the young man appeared about to befriend me.
    »I'll go with him as far as the park,« he said.
    »You'll go with him to hell!« exclaimed his master, or whatever relation he bore. »And who is to look after the horses, eh?«
    »A man's life is of more consequence than one evening's neglect of the horses; somebody must go,« murmured Mrs. Heathcliff, more kindly than I expected.
    »Not at your command!« retorted Hareton. »If you set store on him, you'd better be quiet.«
    »Then I hope his ghost will haunt you; and I hope Mr. Heathcliff will never get another tenant, till the Grange is a ruin!« she answered sharply.
    »Hearken, hearken, shoo's cursing on em!« muttered Joseph, towards whom I had been steering.
    He sat within earshot, milking the cows, by the aid of a lantern which I seized unceremoniously, and calling out that I would send it back on the morrow, rushed to the nearest postern.
    »Maister, maister, he's staling t' lantern!« shouted the ancient, pursuing my retreat. »Hey, Gnasher! Hey, dog! Hey, Wolf, holld him, holld him!«
    On opening the little door, two hairy monsters flew at my throat, bearing me down, and extinguishing the light, while a mingled guffaw, from Heathcliff and Hareton, put the copestone on my rage and humiliation.
    Fortunately, the beasts seemed more bent on stretching their paws, and yawning, and flourishing their tails, than devouring me alive; but, they would suffer no resurrection, and I was forced to lie till their malignant masters pleased to deliver me: then hatless, and trembling with wrath, I ordered the miscreants to let me out – on their peril to keep me one minute longer – with several incoherent threats of retaliation, that in their indefinite depth of virulency, smacked of King Lear.
    The vehemence of my agitation brought on a copious bleeding at the nose, and still Heathcliff laughed, and still I scolded. I don't know what would have concluded the scene had there not been one person at hand rather more rational than myself, and more benevolent than my entertainer. This was Zillah, the stout housewife; who at length issued forth to inquire into the nature of the uproar. She thought that some of them had been laying violent hands on me; and, not daring to attack her master, she turned her vocal artillery against the younger scoundrel.
    »Well, Mr. Earnshaw,« she cried, »I wonder what you'll have agait next! Are