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<- Previous | Table of Contents | Next -> Digital Library- Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

Cathy reached sixteen. On the anniversary of her birth we never
manifested any signs of rejoicing, because it was also the
anniversary of my late mistress’s death. Her father invariably
spent that day alone in the library; and walked, at dusk, as far as
Gimmerton kirkyard, where he would frequently prolong his stay
beyond midnight. Therefore Catherine was thrown on her own
resources for amusement.

This twentieth of March was a beautiful spring day, and when
her father had retired, my young lady came down dressed for
going out, and said she had asked to have a ramble on the edge of
the moors with me, and Mr. Linton had given her leave, if we went
only a short distance and were back within the hour.

“So make haste, Ellen!” she cried. “I know where I wish to go;
where a colony of moor-game are settled: I want to see whether
they have made their nests yet.”

“That must be a good distance up,” I answered; “they don’t
breed on the edge of the moor.”

“No, it’s not,” she said. “I’ve gone very near with Papa.”
I put on my bonnet and sallied out, thinking nothing more of
the matter. She bounded before me, and returned to my side, and
was off again like a young greyhound; and, at first, I found plenty
of entertainment in listening to the larks singing far and near, and
enjoying the sweet, warm sunshine; and watching her, my pet, and
my delight, with her golden ringlets flying loose behind, and her
bright cheek, as soft and pure in its bloom as a wild rose, and her
eyes radiant with cloudless pleasure. She was a happy creature,
and an angel, in those days. It’s a pity she could not be content.

“Well,” said I, “where are your moor-game, Miss Cathy? We
should be at them--the Grange park fence is a great way off now.”

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