Wuthering Heights

presently decided—even earlier than I expected. I had just taken the
children upstairs, after tea was finished, and seen Linton asleep—he
would not suffer me to leave him till that was the case—I had come
down, and was standing by the table in the hall, lighting a bedroom
candle for Mr. Edgar, when a maid stepped out of the kitchen and
informed me that Mr. Heathcliff’s servant Joseph was at the door, and
wished to speak with the master.

“I shall ask him what he wants first,” I said, in considerable
trepidation. “A very unlikely hour to be troubling people, and the
instant they have returned from a long journey. I don’t think the
master can see him.”

Joseph had advanced through the kitchen as I uttered these words, and
now presented himself in the hall. He was donned in his Sunday
garments, with his most sanctimonious and sourest face, and, holding
his hat in one hand, and his stick in the other, he proceeded to clean
his shoes on the mat.

“Good-evening, Joseph,” I said, coldly. “What business brings you here
to-night?”

“It’s Maister Linton I mun spake to,” he answered, waving me
disdainfully aside.

“Mr. Linton is going to bed; unless you have something particular to