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“Oh, a little further--only a little further, Ellen,” was her
answer continually. “Climb to that hillock, pass that bank, and by
the time you reach the other side I shall have raised the birds.”

But there were so many hillocks and banks to climb and pass,
that, at length, I began to be weary, and told her we must halt, and
retrace our steps.

I shouted to her, as she had outstripped me, a long way; she
either did not hear or did not regard, for she still sprang on, and I
was compelled to follow. Finally, she dived into a hollow; and
before I came in sight of her again, she was two miles nearer
Wuthering Heights than her own home; and I beheld a couple of
persons arrest her, one of whom I felt convinced was Mr.
Heathcliff himself.

Cathy had been caught in the fact of plundering, or, at least,
hunting out the nests of the grouse.

The Heights were Heathcliff’s land, and he was reproving the

“I’ve neither taken any nor found any,” she said, as I toiled to
them, expanding her hands in corroboration of the statement. “I
didn’t mean to take them; but Papa told me there were quantities
up here, and I wished to see the eggs.”

Heathcliff glanced at me with an ill-meaning smile, expressing
his acquaintance with the party, and, consequently, his
malevolence towards it, and demanded who “Papa” was?

“Mr. Linton of Thrushcross Grange,” she replied. “I thought
you did not know me, or you wouldn’t have spoken in that way.”

“You suppose Papa is highly esteemed and respected, then?”
he said sarcastically.

“And what are you?” inquired Catherine, gazing curiously on

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