Mrs. Linton

My greatest troubles in their passage rose from our little lady's trifling illnesses, which she had to experience in common with all children, rich and poor.

For the rest, after the first six months, she grew like a larch and could walk and talk, too, in her own way before the heath blossomed a second time over Mrs. Linton's dust.

She was the most winning thing that ever brought sunshine into a desolate house, a real beauty in face, with the Earnshaws' handsome, dark eyes, but the Lintons' fair skin and small features and yellow curling hair.

Her spirit was high, though not rough, and qualified by a heart sensitive and lively to excess in its affections.

He is willing to let us be friends at least, Linton and I, and you are not.

My master, perceiving that she would not take his word for her uncle-in-law's evil disposition, gave a hasty sketch of his conduct to Isabella and the manner in which Wuthering Heights became his property.

He could not bear to discourse long upon the topic, for though he spoke little of it, he still felt the same horror and detestation of his ancient enemy that had occupied his heart ever since Mrs. Linton's death.

She might have been living yet if it had not been for him, was his constant bitter reflection.