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“
But
why
did
he
hate
it
so
?
”
she
asked
,
after
she
had
listened
.
She
intended
to
know
if
Martha
did
.
Then
Martha
gave
up
her
store
of
knowledge
.
“
Mind
,
”
she
said
,
“
Mrs
.
Medlock
said
it
’
s
not
to
be
talked
about
.
There
’
s
lots
o
’
things
in
this
place
that
’
s
not
to
be
talked
over
.
That
’
s
Mr
.
Craven
’
s
orders
.
His
troubles
are
none
servants
’
business
,
he
says
.
But
for
th
’
garden
he
wouldn
’
t
be
like
he
is
.
It
was
Mrs
.
Craven
’
s
garden
that
she
had
made
when
first
they
were
married
an
’
she
just
loved
it
,
an
’
they
used
to
’
tend
the
flowers
themselves
.
An
’
none
o
’
th
’
gardeners
was
ever
let
to
go
in
.
Him
an
’
her
used
to
go
in
an
’
shut
th
’
door
an
’
stay
there
hours
an
’
hours
,
readin
’
and
talkin
’
.
An
’
she
was
just
a
bit
of
a
girl
an
’
there
was
an
old
tree
with
a
branch
bent
like
a
seat
on
it
.
An
’
she
made
roses
grow
over
it
an
’
she
used
to
sit
there
.
But
one
day
when
she
was
sittin
’
there
th
’
branch
broke
an
’
she
fell
on
th
’
ground
an
’
was
hurt
so
bad
that
next
day
she
died
.
Th
’
doctors
thought
he
’
d
go
out
o
’
his
mind
an
’
die
,
too
.
That
’
s
why
he
hates
it
.
No
one
’
s
never
gone
in
since
,
an
’
he
won
’
t
let
anyone
talk
about
it
.
”
Mary
did
not
ask
any
more
questions
.
She
looked
at
the
red
fire
and
listened
to
the
wind
“
wutherin
’
.
”
It
seemed
to
be
“
wutherin
’
”
louder
than
ever
.
At
that
moment
a
very
good
thing
was
happening
to
her
.
Four
good
things
had
happened
to
her
,
in
fact
,
since
she
came
to
Misselthwaite
Manor
.
She
had
felt
as
if
she
had
understood
a
robin
and
that
he
had
understood
her
;
she
had
run
in
the
wind
until
her
blood
had
grown
warm
;
she
had
been
healthily
hungry
for
the
first
time
in
her
life
;
and
she
had
found
out
what
it
was
to
be
sorry
for
someone
.
But
as
she
was
listening
to
the
wind
she
began
to
listen
to
something
else
.
She
did
not
know
what
it
was
,
because
at
first
she
could
scarcely
distinguish
it
from
the
wind
itself
.
It
was
a
curious
sound
—
it
seemed
almost
as
if
a
child
were
crying
somewhere
.
Sometimes
the
wind
sounded
rather
like
a
child
crying
,
but
presently
Mistress
Mary
felt
quite
sure
this
sound
was
inside
the
house
,
not
outside
it
.
It
was
far
away
,
but
it
was
inside
.
She
turned
round
and
looked
at
Martha
.
“
Do
you
hear
anyone
crying
?
”
she
said
.
Martha
suddenly
looked
confused
.
“
No
,
”
she
answered
.
“
It
’
s
th
’
wind
.
Sometimes
it
sounds
like
as
if
someone
was
lost
on
th
’
moor
an
’
wailin
’
.
It
’
s
got
all
sorts
o
’
sounds
.
”
