Wuthering Heights - by Emily Bronte
'I hope it will be a lesson to you to make no more rash journeys on
these hills,' cried Heathcliff's stern voice from the kitchen
entrance. 'As to staying here, I don't keep accommodations for
visitors: you must share a bed with Hareton or Joseph, if you do.'
'I can sleep on a chair in this room,' I replied.
'No, no! A stranger is a stranger, be he rich or poor: it will
not suit me to permit any one the range of the place while I am off
guard!' said the unmannerly wretch.
With this insult my patience was at an end. I uttered an
expression of disgust, and pushed past him into the yard, running
against Earnshaw in my haste. It was so dark that I could not see
the means of exit; and, as I wandered round, I heard another
specimen of their civil behaviour amongst each other. At first the
young man appeared about to befriend me.
'I'll go with him as far as the park,' he said.
'You'll go with him to hell!' exclaimed his master, or whatever
relation he bore. 'And who is to look after the horses, eh?'
'A man's life is of more consequence than one evening's neglect of
the horses: somebody must go,' murmured Mrs. Heathcliff, more
kindly than I expected.
'Not at your command!' retorted Hareton. 'If you set store on him,
you'd better be quiet.'