I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass; and wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.

This line appears near the close of Emily Brontë’s novel *Wuthering Heights* (1847), in the final chapter. The narrator, Mr. Lockwood, visits the churchyard at Gimmerton and reflects on the graves of Catherine Earnshaw, Edgar Linton, and Heathcliff. After hearing local gossip about sightings of the lovers’ ghosts on the moor, Lockwood lingers by the burial place in a calm evening landscape—heath, harebells, moths, and a gentle wind—contrasting the novel’s violent passions and supernatural rumors with the stillness of nature and the ordinary peace of a rural cemetery.

The passage sets tranquility against the story’s turbulence. Lockwood’s sensory attention to moths, flowers, and wind frames death not as horror but as absorption into a benign natural order. His “wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers” gently rebukes the community’s ghost stories and, more broadly, the human tendency to project unrest onto the dead. Coming at the novel’s end, it also functions as a quiet coda: after obsessive love, cruelty, and revenge, the landscape suggests release, continuity, and a peace that neither social scandal nor supernatural speculation can disturb.