to the broken pane, and rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bed-clothes: still it wailed, "Let me in.!" and maintained its tenacious gripe, almost maddening me with fear.
"How can I?" I said at length. "Let me go, if you want me to let you in!"
The fingers relaxed, I snatched mine through the hole, hurriedly piled the books up in a pyramid against it, and stopped my ears to exclude the lamentable prayer.
I seemed to keep them closed above a quarter of an hour, the instant I listened again, there was the doleful cry moaning on.
"Begone!" I shouted, "I'll never let you in, not if you beg for twenty years!"
"It's twenty years," mourned the voice, "twenty years, I've been a waif for twenty years!"
Thereat began a feeble scratching outside, and the pile of books moved, as if thrust forward.
I tried to jump up; but could not stir a limb, and so yelled aloud, in a frenzy of fright.
To my confusion, I discovered the yell was not ideal. Hasty footsteps approached my chamber door: somebody pushed it open with a vigorous hand, and a light glimmered through the squares at the top of the bed. I sat shuddering yet, and wiping the perspiration from my forehead: the intruder appeared to hesitate, and muttered to himself.
At last he said in a half-whisper, plainly not expecting an answer,
"Is any one here?"
I considered it best to confess my presence, for I know Heathcliff's accents, and feared he might search further if I kept quiet.
With this intention, I turned and opened the panels — I shall not soon forget the effect my action produced.
Heathcliff stood near the entrance in his shirt and trowsers; with a candle dripping over his fingers, aud bis face as white as the wall behind him. The first creak of the oak startled him like an electric shock: the light leaped from his hold to a distance of some feet, and his agitation was so extreme that he could hardly pick it up.
"It is only your guest, sir," I called at, desirous to spare him the humiliation of exposing his cowardice further. "I had the
