 A hundred years ago, on the barren Yorkshire moors in England, stood a house as bleak and desolate as the wastes around it. Wuthering Heights, it was called. A forbidding place. And the country folk whispered that it was haunted. But only one man knew the truth. One man, old Edgar Linton, who lived at the Grange. Yes, sometimes when the wind is from the moors, a voice goes sighing through the house.