《呼嘯山莊》(“Wuthering Heights”)的作者是英國十九世紀著名詩人和小說家艾米莉•勃朗特(EmilyBronte，1818－1848)。這位女作家在世界上僅僅度過了三十年便默默無聞地離開了人間。應該說，她首先是個詩人，寫過一些極為深沉的抒情詩，包括敘事詩和短詩，有的已被選入英國十九世紀及二十世紀中二十二位第一流的詩人的詩選內(nèi)。然而她唯一的一部小說《呼嘯山莊》卻奠定了她在英國文學史以及世界文學史上的地位。她與《簡愛》(“JaneEyre”)的作者夏洛蒂•勃朗特(“CharlotteBronteD，1816—1855)，和她們的小妹妹——《愛格尼斯•格雷》(“AgnesGrey”)的作者安•勃朗特(AnneBronteD，1820—1849)號稱勃朗特三姊妹，在英國十九世紀文壇上煥發(fā)異彩。特別是《簡愛》和《呼嘯山莊》，猶如一對顆粒不大卻光彩奪目的貓兒眼寶石，世人在瀏覽十九世紀英國文學遺產(chǎn)時，不能不驚異地發(fā)現(xiàn)這是稀世珍物，而其中之一更是如此令人留戀贊嘆，人們不禁惋惜這一位才華洋溢的姑娘，如果不是過早地逝世，將會留下多少璀璨的篇章來養(yǎng)育讀者的心靈！  
　　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。