Emily Bronte: Wuthering Heights

13. CHAPTER XIII (continued)

Gladly did I take advantage of this intimation; and the minute I flung myself into a chair, by the fire, I nodded, and slept. My slumber was deep and sweet, though over far too soon. Mr. Heathcliff awoke me; he had just come in, and demanded, in his loving manner, what I was doing there? I told him the cause of my staying up so late - that he had the key of our room in his pocket. The adjective OUR gave mortal offence. He swore it was not, nor ever should be, mine; and he'd - but I'll not repeat his language, nor describe his habitual conduct: he is ingenious and unresting in seeking to gain my abhorrence! I sometimes wonder at him with an intensity that deadens my fear: yet, I assure you, a tiger or a venomous serpent could not rouse terror in me equal to that which he wakens. He told me of Catherine's illness, and accused my brother of causing it promising that I should be Edgar's proxy in suffering, till he could get hold of him.

I do hate him - I am wretched - I have been a fool! Beware of uttering one breath of this to any one at the Grange. I shall expect you every day - don't disappoint me! - ISABELLA.