He sat within earshot, milking the cows by the light of a lantern,
which I seized unceremoniously, and, calling out that I would send
it back on the morrow, rushed to the nearest postern.

'Maister, maister, he's staling t' lanthern!' shouted the ancient,
pursuing my retreat. 'Hey, Gnasher! Hey, dog! Hey Wolf, holld
him, holld him!'

On opening the little door, two hairy monsters flew at my throat,
bearing me down, and extinguishing the light; while a mingled
guffaw from Heathcliff and Hareton put the copestone on my rage and
humiliation. Fortunately, the beasts seemed more bent on
stretching their paws, and yawning, and flourishing their tails,
than devouring me alive; but they would suffer no resurrection, and
I was forced to lie till their malignant masters pleased to deliver
me: then, hatless and trembling with wrath, I ordered the
miscreants to let me out - on their peril to keep me one minute
longer - with several incoherent threats of retaliation that, in
their indefinite depth of virulency, smacked of King Lear.

The vehemence of my agitation brought on a copious bleeding at the
nose, and still Heathcliff laughed, and still I scolded. I don't
know what would have concluded the scene, had there not been one
person at hand rather more rational than myself, and more
benevolent than my entertainer. This was Zillah, the stout
housewife; who at length issued forth to inquire into the nature of
the uproar. She thought that some of them had been laying violent
hands on me; and, not daring to attack her master, she turned her
vocal artillery against the younger scoundrel.