‘“Isabella, let me in, or I’ll make you repent!” he “girned,” as Joseph calls it.

‘“I cannot commit murder,” I replied. “Mr. Hindley stands sentinel with a knife and loaded pistol.”

‘“Let me in by the kitchen door,” he said.

‘“Hindley will be there before me,” I answered: “and that’s a poor love of yours that cannot bear a shower of snow! We were left at peace in our beds as long as the summer moon shone, but the moment a blast of winter returns, you must run for shelter! Heathcliff, if I were you, I’d go stretch myself over her grave and die like a faithful dog. The world is surely not worth living in now, is it? You had distinctly