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‘Con-trary!’ said a voice as sweet as a silver bell.  ‘That for the third time, you dunce!  I’m not going to tell you again. Recollect, or I’ll pull your hair!’

‘Contrary, then,’ answered another, in deep but softened tones. ‘And now, kiss me, for minding so well.’

‘No, read it over 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 looks, 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 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.

‘I’d rayther, by th’ haulf, hev’ ’em swearing i’ my lugs fro’h morn to neeght, nor hearken ye hahsiver!’ said the tenant of the kitchen, in answer to an unheard speech of Nelly’s.  ‘It’s a blazing shame, that I cannot oppen t’ blessed Book, but yah set up them glories to sattan, and all t’ flaysome wickednesses that iver were born into th’ warld!  Oh! ye’re a raight nowt; and shoo’s another; and that poor lad ’ll be lost atween ye.  Poor lad!’ he added, with a groan; ‘he’s witched: I’m sartin on’t.  Oh, Lord, judge ’em, for there’s norther law nor justice among 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 recognising 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 won’t 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 followers at her time of life?  And then, to get them jocks out o’ t’ maister’s cellar!  He fair shaamed to ‘bide still and see it.’

She did not stay to retaliate, but re-entered in a minute, bearing a reaming silver pint, whose contents I lauded with becoming earnestness.  And afterwards she furnished me with the sequel of Heathcliff’s history.  He had a ‘queer’ end, as she expressed it.

I was summoned to Wuthering Heights, within a fortnight of your leaving us, she said; and I obeyed joyfully, for Catherine’s sake. My first interview with her grieved and shocked me: she had altered so much since our separation.  Mr. Heathcliff did not explain his reasons for taking a new mind about my coming here; he only told me he wanted me, and he was tired of seeing Catherine: I must make the little parlour my sitting-room, and keep her with me. It was enough if he were obliged to see her once or twice a day. She seemed pleased at this arrangement; and, by degrees, I smuggled over a great number of books, and other articles, that had formed her amusement at the Grange; and flattered myself we should get on in tolerable comfort.  The delusion did not last long.  Catherine, contented at first, in a brief space grew irritable and restless. For one thing, she was forbidden to move out of the garden, and it fretted her sadly to be confined to its narrow bounds as spring drew on; for another, in following the house, I was forced to quit her frequently, and she complained of loneliness: she preferred quarrelling with Joseph in the kitchen to sitting at peace in her solitude.  I did not mind their skirmishes: but Hareton was often obliged to seek the kitchen also, when the master wanted to have the house to himself! and though in the beginning she either left it at his approach, or quietly joined in my occupations, and shunned remarking or addressing him—and though he was always as sullen and silent as possible—after a while, she changed her behaviour, and became incapable of letting him alone: talking at him; commenting on his stupidity and idleness; expressing her wonder how he could endure the life he lived—how he could sit a whole evening staring into the fire, and dozing.

‘He’s just like a dog, is he not, Ellen?’ she once observed, ‘or a cart-horse?  He does his work, eats his food, and sleeps eternally! What a blank, dreary mind he must have!  Do you ever dream, Hareton?  And, if you do, what is it about?  But you can’t speak to me!’