XIII

listened to detect a woman’s voice in the house, and filled the interim with wild regrets and dismal anticipations, which, at last, spoke audibly in irrepressible sighing and weeping. I was not aware how openly I grieved, till Earnshaw halted opposite, in his measured walk, and gave me a stare of newly-awakened surprise. Taking advantage of his recovered attention, I exclaimed⁠—“I’m tired with my journey, and I want to go to bed! Where is the maidservant? Direct me to her, as she won’t come to me!” “We have none,” he answered; “you must wait on yourself!” “Where must I sleep, then?” I sobbed; I was beyond regarding self-respect, weighed down by fatigue and wretchedness. “Joseph will show you Heathcliff’s chamber,” said he; “open that door⁠—he’s in there.” I was going to obey, but he suddenly arrested me, and added in the strangest tone⁠—“Be so good as to turn your lock, and draw your bolt⁠—don’t omit it!” “Well!” I said. “But why, Mr. Earnshaw?” I did not relish the notion of deliberately fastening myself in with Heathcliff. “Look here!” he replied, pulling from his waistcoat a curiously-constructed pistol, having a double-edged spring knife attached to the barrel. “That’s a great tempter to a desperate man, is it not? I cannot resist going up with this every night, and trying his door. If once I find it open he’s done for; I do it invariably, even though the minute before