《呼啸山庄》是英国女作家勃朗特姐妹之一艾米莉·勃朗特的作品。小说描写吉卜赛弃儿希 斯克利夫被山庄老主人收养后，因受辱和恋爱不遂，外出致富，回来后对与其女友凯瑟琳结婚的地主林顿及其子女进行报复的故事。全篇充满强烈的反压迫、争幸福 的斗争精神，又始终笼罩着离奇、紧张的浪漫气氛。它开始曾被人看做是年青女作家脱离现实的天真幻想，但结合其所描写地区激烈的阶级斗争和英国的社会现象， 它不久便被评论界高度肯定，并受到读者的热烈欢迎。根据这部小说改编的影视作品至今久演不衰。
For some days after that evening, Mr Heathcliff shunned meeting us at meals; yet he would not consent formally to exclude Hareton and Cathy. He had an aversion to yielding so completely to his feelings, choosing rather to absent himself; and eating once in twenty-four hours seemed sufficient sustenance for him.
One night, after the family were in bed, I heard him go downstairs, and out at the front door. I did not hear him re-enter, and in the morning I found he was still away. We were in April then: the weather was sweet and warm, the grass as green as showers and sun could make it, and the two dwarf apple trees near the southern wall in full bloom. After breakfast, Catherine insisted on my bringing a chair and sitting with my work under the fir trees at the end of the house; and she beguiled Hareton, who had perfectly recovered from his accident, to dig and arrange her little garden, which was shifted to that corner by the influence of Joseph's complaints. I was comfortably revelling in the spring fragrance around, and the beautiful soft blue overhead, when my young lady, who had run down near the gate to procure some primrose roots for a border, returned only half laden, and informed us that Mr Heathcliff was coming in. `And he spoke to me,' she added, with a perplexed countenance.
"What did he say?' asked Hareton.
`He told me to begone as fast as I could,' she answered. `But he looked so different from his usual look that I stopped a moment to stare at him.'
`How?' he inquired.
`Why, almost bright and cheerful. No, almost nothing--very much excited, and wild and glad!' she replied.
`Night walking amuses him, then,' I remarked, affecting a careless manner: in reality as surprised as she was, and anxious to ascertain the truth of her statement; for to see the master looking glad would not be an everyday spectacle. I framed an excuse to go in. Heathcliff stood at the open door, he was pale, and he trembled: yet, certainly, he had a strange, joyful glitter in his eyes, that altered the aspect of his whole face.
`Will you have some breakfast?' I said. `You must be hungry, rambling about all night!' I wanted to discover where he had been, but I did not like to ask directly.
`No, I'm not hungry,' he answered, averting his head, and speaking rather contemptuously, as if he guessed I was trying to divine the occasion of his good humour.
I felt perplexed: I didn't know whether it were not a proper opportunity to offer a bit of admonition.
`I don't think it right to wander out of doors,' I observed, `instead of being in bed: it is not wise, at any rate, this moist season. I dare say you'll catch a bad cold, or a fever: you have something the matter with you now!'
`Nothing but what I can bear,' he replied; `and with the greatest pleasure, provided you'll leave me alone; get in, and don't annoy me.'
I obeyed: and, in passing, I noticed he breathed as fast as a cat.
`Yes!' I reflected to myself, `we shall have a fit of illness. I cannot conceive what he has been doing.'
That noon he sat down to dinner with us, and received a heaped-up plate from my hands, as if he intended to make amends for previous fasting.
`I've neither cold nor fever, Nelly,' he remarked, in allusion to my morning's speech; `and I'm ready to do justice to the food you give me.
He took his knife and fork, and was going to commence eating, when the inclination appeared to become suddenly extinct. He laid them on the table, looked eagerly towards the window, then rose and went out. `We saw him walking to and fro in the garden while we concluded our meal, and Earnshaw said he'd go and ask why he would not dine: he thought we had grieved him some way.
`Well, is he coming?' cried Catherine, when her cousin returned.
`Nay,' he answered; `but he's not angry: he seemed rare and pleased indeed; only I made him impatient by speaking to him twice; and then he bid me be off to you: he wondered how I could want the company of anybody else.'
I set his plate to keep warm on the fender; and after an hour or two he re-entered, when the room was clear, in no degree calmer: the same unnatural--it was unnatural--appearance of joy under his black brows; the same bloodless hue, and his teeth visible, now and then, in a kind of smile; his frame shivering, not as one shivers with chill or weakness, but as a tight-stretched cord vibrates--a strong thrilling, rather than trembling.
I will ask what is the matter, I thought; or who should? And I exclaimed:
`Have you heard any good news, Mr Heathcliff? You look uncommonly animated.'
`Where should good news come from to me?' he said. `I'm animated with hunger; and, seemingly, I must not eat.'
`Your dinner is here,' I returned; `why won't you get it?'
`I don't want it now;' he muttered hastily; `I'll wait till supper. And, Nelly, once for all, let me beg you to warn Hareton and the other away from me. I wish to be troubled by nobody: I wish to have this place to myself.'
`Is there some new reason for this banishment?' I inquired. `Tell me why you are so queer, Mr Heathcliff? `Where were you last night? I'm not putting the question through idle curiosity, but--'
`You are putting the question through very idle curiosity,' he interrupted, with a laugh. `Yet I'll answer it. Last night I was on the threshold of hell. Today, I am within sight of my heaven. I have my eyes on it: hardly three feet to sever me! And now you'd better go! You'll neither see nor hear anything to frighten you, if you refrain from prying.'
Having swept the hearth and wiped the table, I departed; more perplexed than ever.
He did not quit the house again that afternoon, and no one intruded on his solitude; till, at eight o'clock, I deemed it proper, though unsummoned, to carry a candle and his supper to him. He was leaning against the ledge of an open lattice, but not looking out: his face was turned to the interior gloom. The fire had smouldered to ashes; the room was filled with the damp, mild air of the cloudy evening; and so still, that not only the murmur of the beck down Gimmerton was distinguishable, but its ripples and its gurgling over the pebbles, or through the large stones which it could not cover. I uttered an ejaculation of discontent at seeing the dismal grate, and commenced shutting the casements, one after another, till I came to his.
`Must I close this?' I asked, in order to rouse him; for he would not stir.
The light flashed on his features as I spoke. Oh, Mr Lockwood, I cannot express what a terrible start I got by the momentary view! Those deep black eyes! That smile, and ghastly paleness! It appeared to me, not Mr Heathcliff, but a goblin; and, in my terror, I let the candle bend towards the wall, and it left me in darkness.
`Yes, close it,' he replied, in his familiar voice. `There, that is pure awkwardness! Why did you hold the candle horizontally? Be quick, and bring another.'
I hurried out in a foolish state of dread, and said to Joseph: `The master wishes you to take him a light and rekindle the fire.'
For I dare not go in myself again just then.
Joseph rattled some fire into the shovel, and went; but he brought it back immediately, with the supper tray in his other hand, explaining that Mr Heathcliff was going to bed, and he wanted nothing to eat till morning. We heard him mount the stairs directly; he did not proceed to his ordinary chamber, but turned into that with the panelled bed: its window, as I mentioned before, is wide enough for anybody to get through; and it struck me that he plotted another midnight excursion, of which he had rather we had no suspicion.
`Is he a ghoul or a vampire?' I mused. I had read of such hideous incarnate demons. And then I set myself to reflect how I had tended him in infancy, and watched him grow to youth, and followed him almost through his whole course; and what absurd nonsense it was to yield to that sense of horror. `But where did he come from, the little dark thing, harboured by a good man to his bane?' muttered Superstition, as I dozed into unconsciousness. And I began, half dreaming, to weary myself with imagining some fit parentage for him; and, repeating my waking meditations, I tracked his existence over again, with grim variations; at last, picturing his death and funeral: of which, all I can remember is, being exceedingly vexed at having the task of dictating an inscription for his monument, and consulting the sexton about it; and, as he had no surname, and we could not `tell his age, we were obliged to content ourselves with the single word, `Heathcliff'. That came true: we were. If you enter the kirkyard, you'll read on his headstone, only that, and the date of his death.