“My name was Isabella Linton,” I replied. “You’ve seen me before, sir. I’m lately married to

Mr.

Heathcliff, and he has brought me here⁠—I suppose, by your permission.”

“Is he come back, then?” asked the hermit, glaring like a hungry wolf.

“Yes⁠—we came just now,” I said; “but he left me by the kitchen door; and when I would have gone in, your little boy played sentinel over the place, and frightened me off by the help of a bulldog.”