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“There you differ with me, Miss Cathy,” I remarked; “I should
conjecture him to be far worse.”
Linton here started from his slumber in bewildered terror, and
asked if any one had called his name.
“No,” said Catherine; “unless in dreams. I cannot conceive how
you manage to doze out of doors, in the morning.”
“I thought I heard my father,” he gasped, glancing up to the
frowning nab above us. “You are sure nobody spoke?”
“Quite sure,” replied his cousin. “Only Ellen and I were
disputing concerning your health. Are you truly stronger, Linton,
than when we separated in winter? If you be, I’m certain one thing
is not stronger--your regard for me--speak, are you?”
The tears gushed from Linton’s eyes as he answered--“Yes,
yes, I am!”
And, still under the spell of the imaginary voice, his gaze
wandered up and down to detect its owner. Cathy rose. “For today
we must part,” she said. “And I won’t conceal that I have been
sadly disappointed with our meeting, though I’ll mention it to
nobody but you: not that I stand in awe of Mr. Heathcliff!”
“Hush,” murmured Linton; “for God’s sake, hush! He’s
coming.” And he clung to Catherine’s arm, striving to detain her;
but at that announcement she hastily disengaged herself, and
whistled to Minny, who obeyed like a dog.
“I’ll be here next Thursday,” she cried, springing to the saddle.
“Good-bye. Quick, Ellen!”
And so we left him, scarcely conscious of our departure, so
absorbed was he in anticipating his father’s approach.
Before we reached home, Catherine’s displeasure softened into
a perplexed sensation of pity and regret, largely blended with