The_Mysterious_Visitor
I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary neighbor 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.
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.
Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of grotesque carvings lavished over the front, and especially about the principal door; but above all, a quantity of grimacing dogs, in various attitudes, held a common under their feet.
Mr. Heathcliff was a dark-skinned gypsy in aspect, in dress and manners a gentleman: that is, as much a gentleman as many a country squire: rather slovenly, perhaps, yet not looking amiss with his negligence, because he has an erect and handsome figure.
I did not know whether it was not usual for him to be so reserved; but I could not help thinking his manner was somewhat singular. He seemed a proud, morose man, and when I asked him how long he had lived at Wuthering Heights, he answered sharply, 'Since I was a child.'
I did not feel inclined to continue the conversation. The room was small and dark, with a narrow window looking out over the moors. The furniture was old and worn, and the fire in the hearth burned low.
'The dogs are not kept for pleasure,' Mr. Heathcliff said, as if reading my thoughts. 'They are kept for protection. This is a lonely place, Mr. Lockwood.'
I nodded and finished my tea. The atmosphere in the house was oppressive, and I felt a strange desire to leave. Mr. Heathcliff watched me with dark, unreadable eyes.
As I prepared to depart, the wind howled around the house, rattling the windows and doors. It was as if the building itself were alive, breathing and sighing with the storm.
'I will see you again, Mr. Lockwood,' Mr. Heathcliff said, his voice cold.
I walked out into the dark night, the wind whipping at my coat. Behind me, Wuthering Heights loomed like a fortress on the hill, its windows glowing faintly against the dark sky.