oil painting artist

I sat and thought a doleful time: the clock struck eight, and nine, and still my companion paced to and fro, his head bent on his breast, and perfectly silent, unless a groan or a bitter ejaculation forced itself out at intervals. I listened to detect a woman's voice in the house, and filled the interim with wild regrets and dismal anticipations, which, at last, spoke audibly in irrepressible sighing and weeping. I was not aware how openly I grieved, till Earnshaw halted opposite, in his measured walk, and gave me a stare of newly-awakened surprise. Taking advantage of his recovered attention, I exclaimed:
`I'm tired with my journey, and I want to go to bed! Where is the maidservant? Direct me to her, as she won't come to me!'
`We have none,' he answered; `you must wait on yourself!'
`Where must I sleep, then?' I sobbed: I was beyond regarding self-respect, weighed down by fatigue and wretchedness.
`Joseph will show you Heathcliff's chamber,' said he; `open that door--he's in there.'
`Be so good as to turn your lock, and draw your bolt--don't omit it!'
`Well!' I said. `But why, Mr Earnshaw?' I did not relish the notion of deliberately fastening myself in with Heathcliff.
`Look here!' he replied, pulling from his waistcoat a curiously constructed pistol, having a double-edged spring knife attached to the barrel. `That's a great tempter to a desperate man, is it not? I cannot resist going up with this every night, and trying his door. If once I find it open he's done for! I do it invariably, even though the minute before I have been recalling a hundred reasons that should make me refrain: it is some devil that urges me to thwart my own schemes by killing him. You fight against that devil for love as long as you may; when the times comes, not all the angels in heaven shall save him!'