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the other, leaning on Edgarís arm.
Ah, I thought myself, she might recover, so waited on as she
was. And there was double cause to desire it, for on her existence
depended that of another: we cherished the hope that in a little
while, Mr. Lintonís heart would be gladdened, and his lands
secured from a strangerís gripe, by the birth of an heir.
I should mention that Isabella sent to her brother, some six
weeks from her departure, a short note, announcing her marriage
with Heathcliff. It appeared dry and cold; but at the bottom was
dotted in with pencil an obscure apology, and an entreaty for kind
remembrance and reconciliation, if her proceeding had offended
him: asserting that she could not help it then, and being done, she
had now no power to repeal it.
Linton did not reply to this, I believe; and, in a fortnight more, I
got a long letter which I considered odd, coming from the pen of a
bride just out of the honeymoon. Iíll read it; for I keep it yet. Any
relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living.
DEAR ELLEN, it begins--I came last night to Wuthering
Heights, and heard, for the first time, that Catherine has been, and
is yet, very ill. I must not write to her, I suppose, and my brother is
either too angry or too distressed to answer what I send him. Still,
I must write to somebody, and the only choice left me is you.
Inform Edgar that Iíd give the world to see his face again--that
my heart returned to Thrushcross Grange in twenty-four hours
after I left it, and is there at this moment, full of warm feelings for
him, and Catherine! I canít follow it though--(those words are
underlined) they need not expect me, and they may draw what
conclusions they please; taking care, however to lay nothing at the