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I . The House on the Hill In the late autumn of 1801 I rented a large old house in the north of England . It was called Thrushcross Grange , and it stood in a quiet park among wild , empty hills . I had come there because I was tired of people and wanted to live alone for a while . My landlord lived four miles away , at a farmhouse called Wuthering Heights . Soon after I arrived , I rode over to visit him . Wuthering Heights stood high on the hill , open to every storm . In that part of the country the word “ wuthering ” describes the noise of a strong wind , and up there the wind must blow very hard . A few short trees near the house grew bent to one side , as if they were asking the sun for help . The walls were thick and the windows were small and deep . Over the front door I saw some old carved letters and a date , 1500 , and the name “ Hareton Earnshaw ” . My landlord , Mr Heathcliff , met me at the gate . He was a tall , dark man of nearly forty , with black eyes under heavy brows . He was dressed like a gentleman , but he looked more like a gipsy . He did not shake my hand , and he did not seem pleased to see me . “ Mr Heathcliff ? ” I said . “ I am Mr Lockwood , your new tenant . ” “ Walk in , ” he said through his teeth . It sounded more like “ Go to the devil . ” He led me into the main room of the house , where there was a huge fireplace , a stone floor and a row of old guns on the wall . A great dog lay by the fire with her puppies , and other dogs were watching from dark corners . Mr Heathcliff went to fetch some wine . While I was alone with the animals , I made faces at the dog , and she jumped at my legs , and in a moment half a dozen dogs were round me , barking and biting at my coat . I shouted for help , and at last a fat woman from the kitchen ran in with a frying pan and drove them away . “ Your dogs nearly killed me , sir , ” I told Mr Heathcliff when he came back . “ You should keep them away from your guests . ” “ They won’t hurt people who touch nothing , ” he answered . “ Have a glass of wine . ” We talked for a while about the house I had rented , and he was clever and not unfriendly in his cold way . When I left , I told him that I would come again the next day . He clearly did not want me to come , but I decided to go anyway . I was curious about him . I thought that he and I were alike , two men who preferred to keep to themselves . The next afternoon was cold and grey , and it had started to snow . I walked the four miles across the moor and reached Wuthering Heights just as the first heavy flakes began to fall . The gate was locked , and I knocked and called until an old man put his head out of a barn . He was a sour old servant called Joseph .
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