Wuthering Heights

mad; and, in short, we’ll dismiss the matter, as you advise.”

From their tongues they did dismiss it; and Catherine, probably, from
her thoughts. The other, I felt certain, recalled it often in the
course of the evening. I saw him smile to himself—grin rather—and lapse
into ominous musing whenever Mrs. Linton had occasion to be absent from
the apartment.

I determined to watch his movements. My heart invariably cleaved to the
master’s, in preference to Catherine’s side: with reason I imagined,
for he was kind, and trustful, and honourable; and she—she could not be
called the _opposite_, yet she seemed to allow herself such wide
latitude, that I had little faith in her principles, and still less
sympathy for her feelings. I wanted something to happen which might
have the effect of freeing both Wuthering Heights and the Grange of Mr.
Heathcliff, quietly; leaving us as we had been prior to his advent. His
visits were a continual nightmare to me; and, I suspected, to my master
also. His abode at the Heights was an oppression past explaining. I
felt that God had forsaken the stray sheep there to its own wicked
wanderings, and an evil beast prowled between it and the fold, waiting