Good evening. Welcome to the Just Sleep podcast. I'm Tasia, your host.

Every week, I will read you an old story to help you relax of the stressful day behind you and drift off to sleep.

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Tonight, I will be continuing the story, Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte.

So lie down, close your eyes, and let me read you a story.

Chapter 8

On the morning of a fine June day, my first bonny little nursling and the last of the ancient Earnshaw stock was born.

We were busy with the hay in a faraway field, when the girl that usually brought her breakfasts came running an hour too soon across the meadow and up the lane, calling me as she ran.

Oh, such a grand bairn, she panted out.

The finest lad that ever breathed.

But the doctor says Mrs. Must Go.

He says she's been in a consumption these many months.

I heard him tell Mr. Hindley,

and now she has nothing to keep her,

and she'll be dead before winter.

He must come home directly. You're to nurse it, Nellie, to feed it with sugar and milk, and to take care of it day and night.

I wish I were you, because it will be all yours when there's no missus.

But is she very ill, I asked, flinging down my rake and tying my bonnet.

"'I guess she is. Yet she looks bravely,' replied the girl,

...