Wuthering Heights HTML version

Chapter 1
1801-----I have just returned from a visit to my landlord---the solitary neighbour that I
shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not
believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of
society. A perfect misanthropist's heaven; and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable
pair to divide the desolation between us. A capital fellow! He little imagined how my
heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes withdraw so suspiciously under
their brows, as I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves, with a jealous
resolution, still further in his waistcoat, as I announced my name.
"Mr. Heathcliff!" I said.
A nod was the answer.
"Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I do myself the honour of calling as soon as
possible after my arrival, to express the hope that I have not inconvenienced you by my
perseverance in soliciting the occupation of Thrushcross Grange: I heard yesterday you
had had some thoughts--"
"Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir," he interrupted wincing. "I should not allow any one
to inconvenience me, if I could hinder it---walk in!"
The "walk in" was uttered with closed teeth, and expressed the sentiment, "Go to the
deuce": even the gate over which he leant manifested no sympathising movement to the
words; and I think that circumstance determined me to accept the invitation: I felt
interested in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself.
When he saw my horse's breast fairly pushing the barrier, he did put out his hand to
unchain it, and then suddenly preceded me up the causeway, calling, as we entered the
"Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood's horse; and bring up some wine."
"Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, I suppose," was the reflection
suggested by this compound order. "No wonder the grass grows up between the flags,
and cattle are the only hedge-cutters."
Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man: very old, perhaps, though hale and sinewy.
"The Lord help us!" he soliloquised in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while
relieving me of my horse: looking, meantime, in my face so sourly that I charitably