“I’m tired with my journey, and I want to go to bed! Where is the maid-servant? 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 waist-coat a curiously constructed pistol, having a double-edged spring knife attached t
