. He probably raised the phantoms from thinking,
as he traversed the moors alone, on the nonsense he had heard his
parents and companions repeat; yet still I don't like being out in the
dark now, and I don't like being left by myself in this grim house. I
cannot help it; I shall be glad when they leave it and shift to
the Grange!

* * * * *

"They are going to the Grange, then?" I said.

"Yes," answered Mrs. Dean, "as soon as they are married; and that will
be on New Year's day."

"And who will live here then?"

"Why, Joseph will take care of the house, and perhaps a lad to keep him
company. They will live in the kitchen, and the rest will be shut up."

"For the use of such ghosts as choose to inhabit it," I observed.

"No, Mr. Lockwood," said Nelly, shaking her head. "I believe the dead
are at peace, but it is not right to speak of them with levity."

At that moment the garden gate swung to; the ramblers were returning.

"_They_ are afraid of nothing," I grumbled, watching their approach
through the window. "Together they would brave Satan and all
his legions."

As they stepped upon the door-stones, and halted to take a last look at
the moon, or more correctly at each other, by her light, I felt
irresistibly impelled to escape them again; and pressing a remembrance
into the hands of Mrs. Dean, and disregarding her expostulations at my
rudeness, I vanished through the kitchen, as they opened the house-door;
and so should have confirmed Joseph in his opinion of his
fellow-servant's gay indiscretions, had he not fortunately recognized me
for a respectable character by the sweet ring of a sovereign at
his feet.

My walk home was lengthened by a diversion in the direction of the kirk.
When beneath its walls, I perceived decay had made progress even in
seven months--many a window showed black gaps deprived of glass; and
slates jutted off, here and there, beyond the right line of the roof, to
be gradually worked off in coming autumn storms.

I sought, and soon discovered, the three headstones on the slope next
the moor--the middle one, gray, and half buried in the heath--Edgar
Linton's only harmonized by the turf and moss creeping up its
foot--Heathcliff's still bare.

I lingered round them, under that benign sky; watched the moths
fluttering among the heath and harebells; listened to the soft wind
breathing through the grass; and wondered how any one could ever imagine
unquiet