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the dark.

No Catherine could I discover upstairs, and none below. The
servants affirmed they had not seen her. I listened at Mr. Edgar’s
door--all was silence. I returned to her apartment, extinguished
my candle, and seated myself in the window.

The moon shone bright; a sprinkling of snow covered the
ground, and I reflected that she might, possibly, have taken it into
her head to walk about the garden, for refreshment. I did detect a
figure creeping along the inner fence of the park; but it was not
my young mistress: on its emerging into the light, I recognised one
of the grooms.

He stood a considerable period, viewing the carriage-road
through the grounds; then started off at a brisk pace, as if he had
detected something, and reappeared presently, leading Miss’s
pony; and there she was, just dismounted, and walking by its side.

The man took his charge stealthily across the grass towards the
stable. Cathy entered by the casement-window of the drawing-
room, and glided noiselessly up to where I awaited her.

She put the door gently to, slipped off her snowy shoes, untied
her hat, and was proceeding, unconscious of my espionage, to lay
aside her mantle, when I suddenly rose and revealed myself. The
surprise petrified her an instant: she uttered an inarticulate
exclamation, and stood fixed.

“My dear Miss Catherine,” I began, too vividly impressed by
her recent kindness to break into a scold, “where have you been
riding out at this hour? And why should you try to deceive me, by
telling a tale? Where have you been? Speak!”

“To the bottom of the park,” she stammered. “I didn’t tell a

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