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373 hearth-brush into the grates in mistake for the poker, and malappropriated several other articles of her craft; but I retired, confiding in her energy for a resting-place against my return. Wuthering Heights was the goal of my proposed excursion. An afterthought brought me back, when I had quitted the court. “All well at the Heights?” I inquired of the woman. “Eea f’r owt Ee knaw!” she answered, scurrying away with a pan of hot cinders. I would have asked why Mrs. Dean had deserted the Grange, but it was impossible to delay her at such a crisis, so I turned away and made my exit, rambling leisurely along, with the glow of a sinking sun behind, and the mild glory of a rising moon in front-- one fading, and the other brightening--as I quitted the park, and climbed the stony by-road branching off to Mr. Heathcliff’s dwelling. Before I arrived in sight of it, all that remained of day was a beamless, amber light along the west; but I could see every pebble on the path, and every blade of grass, by that splendid moon. I had neither to climb the gate, nor to knock--it yielded to my hand. That is an improvement, I thought. And I noticed another, by the aid of my nostrils,--a fragrance of stocks and wallflowers, wafted on the air, from amongst the homely fruit-trees. Both doors and lattices were open; and yet, as is usually the case in a coal district, a fine, red fire illumined the chimney: the comfort which the eye derives from it renders the extra heat endurable. But the house of Wuthering Heights is so large, that the inmates have plenty of space for withdrawing out of its influence; and, accordingly, what inmates there were had stationed themselves not far from one of the windows. I could both |