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 knew 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 trousers; with a candle dripping over his fingers, and his 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
