Once or twice, after we had gone to bed, I've happened to open my door again and seen her sitting crying on the stairs'-top; and then I've shut myself in quick, for fear of being moved to interfere.

I did pity her then, I'm sure: still I didn't wish to lose my place, you know.
'At last, one night she came boldly into my chamber, and frightened me out of my wits, by saying, "Tell Mr.Heathcliff that his son is dying--I'm sure he is, this time.

Get up, instantly, and tell him." 'Having uttered this speech, she vanished again.

I lay a quarter of an hour listening and trembling.

Nothing stirred--the house was quiet.
'She's mistaken, I said to myself.