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The carriage stopped; and the sleeper, being roused, was lifted
to the ground by his uncle.

“This is your cousin Cathy, Linton,” he said, putting their little
hands together. “She’s fond of you already; and mind you don’t
grieve her by crying tonight. Try to be cheerful now; the travelling
is at an end, and you have nothing to do but rest and amuse
yourself as you please.”

“Let me go to bed, then,” answered the boy, shrinking from
Catherine’s salute; and he put his fingers to his eyes to remove
incipient tears.

“Come, come, there’s a good child,” I whispered, leading him
in. “You’ll make her weep too--see how sorry she is for you!”

I do not know whether it were sorrow for him, but his cousin
put on as sad a countenance as himself, and returned to her
father. All three entered, and mounted to the library, where tea
was laid ready.

I proceeded to remove Linton’s cap and mantle, and placed him
on a chair by the table; but he was no sooner seated than he began
to cry afresh. My master inquired what was the matter.

“I can’t sit on a chair,” sobbed the boy.
“Go to the sofa, then, and Ellen shall bring you some tea,”
answered his uncle patiently.

He had been greatly tried during the journey, I felt convinced,
by his fretful ailing charge.

Linton slowly trailed himself off, and lay down. Cathy carried a
footstool and her cup to his side.

At first she sat silent; but that could not last: she had resolved to
make a pet of her little cousin, as she would have him to be; and
she commenced stroking his curls, and kissing his cheek, and

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