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 farther 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 anyone 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 sympathizing 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 sullenly preceded me
up the causeway, calling, as we entered the court: `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 soliloquized in an
undertone of peevish displeasure, while relieving me of my horse: looking, meantime, in my face so sourly that I charitably
conjectured he must have need of divine aid to digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no reference to my unexpected
advent.

Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr Heathcliff's dwelling. `Wuthering' being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the
atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing ventilation they must have up there at all
times, indeed; one may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at
the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. Happily, the
architect had foresight to build it strong: the narrow windows are deeply set in the wall, and the corners defended with large
jutting stones.
 

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