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afternoon of August,--every breath from the hills so full of life that
it seemed whoever respired it, though dying, might revive.
Catherine’s face was just like the landscape--shadows and
sunshine flitting over it in rapid succession; but the shadows
rested longer, and the sunshine was more transient; and her poor
little heart reproached itself for even that passing forgetfulness of
We discerned Linton watching at the same spot he had selected
before. My young mistress alighted, and told me that as she was
resolved to stay a very little while, I had better hold the pony and
remain on horseback; but I dissented: I wouldn’t risk losing sight
of the charge committed to me a minute; so we climbed the slope
of heath together.
Master Heathcliff received us with greater animation on this
occasion; not the animation of high spirits though, nor yet of joy; it
looked more like fear.
“It is late!” he said, speaking short and with difficulty. “Is not
your father very ill? I thought you wouldn’t come.”
“Why won’t you be candid?” cried Catherine, swallowing her
greeting. “Why cannot you say at once you don’t want me? It is
strange, Linton, that for the second time you have brought me
here on purpose, apparently, to distress us both, and for no reason
Linton shivered, and glanced at her, half supplicating, half
ashamed; but his cousin’s patience was not sufficient to endure
this enigmatical behaviour.
“My father is very ill,” she said; “and why am I called from his
bedside--why didn’t you send to absolve me from my promise,
when you wished I wouldn’t keep it? Come! I desire an