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205 Wuthering Heights By Emily Brontehelp talking to her. Having reached the Heights, I rushed eagerly to the door. It wasfastened; and, I remember, that accursed Earnshaw and my wife opposed my entrance.I remember stopping to kick the breath out of him, and then hurrying up-stairs, to myroom and hers. I looked round impatiently—I felt her by me—I could almost see her,and yet I could not! I ought to have sweat blood then, from the anguish of myyearning—from the fervour of my supplications to have but one glimpse! I had not one.She showed herself, as she often was in life, a devil to me! And, since then, sometimesmore and sometimes less, I’ve been the sport of that intolerable torture! Infernal!keeping my nerves at such a stretch that, if they had not resembled catgut, they wouldlong ago have relaxed to the feebleness of Linton’s. When I sat in the house withHareton, it seemed that on going out I should meet her; when I walked on the moors Ishould meet her coming in. When I went from home I hastened to return; she must besomewhere at the Heights, I was certain! And when I slept in her chamber—I wasbeaten out of that. I couldn’t lie there; for the moment I closed my eyes, she was eitheroutside the window, or sliding back the panels, or entering the room, or even resting herdarling head on the same pillow as she did when a child; and I must open my lids to see.And so I opened and closed them a hundred times a night—to be always disappointed!It racked me! I’ve often groaned aloud, till that old rascal Joseph no doubt believed thatmy conscience was playing the fiend inside of me. Now, since I’ve seen her, I’mpacified—a little. It was a strange way of killing: not by inches, but by fractions ofhairbreadths, to beguile me with the spectre of a hope through eighteen years!’Mr. Heathcliff paused and wiped his forehead; his hair clung to it, wet with perspiration;his eyes were fixed on the red embers of the fire, the brows not contracted, but raisednext the temples; diminishing the grim aspect of his countenance, but imparting apeculiar look of trouble, and a painful appearance of mental tension towards oneabsorbing subject. He only half addressed me, and I maintained silence. I didn’t like tohear him talk! After a short period he resumed his meditation on the picture, took itdown and leant it against the sofa to contemplate it at better advantage; and while sooccupied Catherine entered, announcing that she was ready, when her pony should besaddled.‘Send that over to-morrow,’ said Heathcliff to me; then turning to her, he added: ‘Youmay do without your pony: it is a fine evening, and you’ll need no ponies at WutheringHeights; for what journeys you take, your own feet will serve you. Come along.’‘Good-bye, Ellen!’ whispered my dear little mistress.As she kissed me, her lips felt like ice. ‘Come and see me, Ellen; don’t forget.’‘Take care you do no such thing, Mrs. Dean!’ said her new father. ‘When I wish to speakto you I’ll come here. I want none of your prying at my house!’He signed her to precede him; and casting back a look that cut my heart, she obeyed. Iwatched them, from the window, walk down the garden. Heathcliff fixed Catherine’swww.globalgrey.co.uk