《呼啸山庄》(“Wuthering Heights”)的作者是英国十九世纪著名诗人和小说家艾米莉•勃朗特(EmilyBronte，1818－1848)。这位女作家在世界上仅仅度过了三十年便默默无闻地离开了人间。应该说，她首先是个诗人，写过一些极为深沉的抒情诗，包括叙事诗和短诗，有的已被选入英国十九世纪及二十世纪中二十二位第一流的诗人的诗选内。然而她唯一的一部小说《呼啸山庄》却奠定了她在英国文学史以及世界文学史上的地位。她与《简爱》(“JaneEyre”)的作者夏洛蒂•勃朗特(“CharlotteBronteD，1816—1855)，和她们的小妹妹——《爱格尼斯•格雷》(“AgnesGrey”)的作者安•勃朗特(AnneBronteD，1820—1849)号称勃朗特三姊妹，在英国十九世纪文坛上焕发异彩。特别是《简爱》和《呼啸山庄》，犹如一对颗粒不大却光彩夺目的猫儿眼宝石，世人在浏览十九世纪英国文学遗产时，不能不惊异地发现这是稀世珍物，而其中之一更是如此令人留恋赞叹，人们不禁惋惜这一位才华洋溢的姑娘，如果不是过早地逝世，将会留下多少璀璨的篇章来养育读者的心灵！

　　Summer was already past its prime, when Edgar reluctantly yielded his assent to their entreaties, and Catherine and I set out on our first ride to join her cousin. It was a close, sultry day: devoid of sunshine, but with a sky too dappled and hazy to threaten rain; and our place of meeting had been fixed at the guide-stone, by the crossroads. On arriving there, however, a little herd-boy, dispatched as a messenger, told us that:

　　Maister Linton wer just ut this side th' Heights: and he'd be mitch obleeged to us to gang on a bit farther.'

　　Then Master Linton has forgot the first injunction of his uncle,' I observed: he bid us keep on the Grange land, and here we are off at once.'

　　Well, we'll turn our horses' heads round, when we reach him,' answered my companion, `our excursion shall lie towards home.'

　　But when we reached him, and that was scarcely a quarter of a mile from his own door, we found he had no horse; and we were forced to dismount, and leave ours to graze. He lay on the heath, awaiting our approach, and did not rise till we came within a few yards. Then he walked so feebly, and looked so pale, that I immediately exclaimed:

　　Why, Master Heathcliff, you are not fit for enjoying a ramble, this morning. How ill you do look!'

　　Catherine surveyed him with grief and astonishment; and changed the ejaculation of joy on her lips, to one of alarm; and the congratulation on their long-postponed meeting, to an anxious inquiry, whether he were worse than usual?

　　No--better--better!' he panted, trembling, and retaining her hand as if he needed its support, while his large blue eyes wandered timidly over her; the hollowness round them transforming to haggard wildness the languid expression they once possessed。

　　But you have been worse,' persisted his cousin; `worse than when I saw you last; you are thinner, and--

　　I'm tired,' he interrupted hurriedly. `It is too hot for walking, let us rest here. And, in the morning, I often feel sick--papa says I grow so fast.'

　　Badly satisfied, Cathy sat down, and he reclined beside her。