mona lisa painting

Mrs Heathcliff,' I said earnestly, `you must excuse me for troubling you. I presume, because, with that face, I'm sure you cannot help being good-hearted. Do point out some landmarks by which I may know my way home: I have no more idea how to get there than you would have how to get to London!'
`Take the road you came,' she answered, ensconcing herself in a chair, with a candle, and the long book open before her. `It is brief advice, but as sound as I can give.'
`Then, if you hear of me being discovered dead in a bog or a pit full of snow, your conscience won't whisper that it is partly your fault?'
`How so? I cannot escort you. They wouldn't let me go to the end of the garden wall.'
`You! I should be sorry to ask you to cross the threshold, for my convenience, on such a night,' I cried. `I want you to tell me my way, net to show it; or else to persuade Mr Heathcliff to give me a guide.'
`Who? There is himself, Earnshaw, Zillah, Joseph, and I. Which would you have?'
`Are there no boys at the farm?'
`No, those are all.'
`Then, it follows that I am compelled to stay.'