Грозовой перевал

           Itblewbleakaswinter—allroundwassolitary.Ididn’tfearthatherfoolofahusbandwouldwanderupthedensolate;andnooneelsehadbusinesstobringthemthere.Beingalone,andconscioustwoyardsoflooseearthwasthesolebarrierbetweenus,Isaidtomyself—‘I’llhaveherinmyarmsagain!Ifshebecold,I’llthinkitisthisnorthwindthatchillsme;andifshebemotionless,itissleep.’Igotaspadefromthetoolhouse,andbegantodelvewithallmymight—itscrapedthecoffin;Ifelltoworkwithmyhands;thewoodcommencedcrackingaboutthescrews;Iwasonthepointofattainingmyobject,whenitseemedthatIheardasighfromsomeoneabove,closeattheedgeofthegrave,andbendingdown.‘IfIcanonlygetthisoff,’Imuttered,‘Iwishtheymayshovelintheearthoverusboth!’andIwrenchedatitmoredesperatelystill.Therewasanothersigh,closeatmyear.Iappearedtofeelthewarmbreathofitdisplacingthesleet-ladenwind.Iknewnolivingthinginfleshandbloodwasby;but,ascertainlyasyouperceivetheapproachtosomesubstantialbodyinthedark,thoughitcannotbediscerned,socertainlyIfeltthatCathywasthere:notunderme,butontheearth.Asuddensenseofreliefflowedfrommyheartthrougheverylimb.Irelinquishedmylabourofagony,andturnedconsoledatonce:unspeakablyconsoled.Herpresencewaswithme:itremainedwhileIrefilledthegrave,andledmehome.Youmaylaugh,ifyouwill;butIwassureIshouldseeherthere.