`But I think', said Cathy, `you'd be more comfortable at home than sitting here; and I cannot amuse you today, I see, by my tales, and songs, and chatter: you have grown wiser than I, in these six months; you have little taste for my diversions now: or else, if I could amuse you, I'd willingly stay.'

`Stay to rest yourself,' he replied. `And Catherine, don't think, or say that I'm very unwell: it is the heavy weather and heat that make me dull; and I walked about, before you came, a great deal for me. Tell uncle I'm in tolerable health, will you?'

`I'll tell him that you say so, Linton. I couldn't affirm that you are,' observed my young lady, wondering at his pertinacious assertion of what was evidently an untruth.

`And be here again next Thursday,' continued he, shunning her puzzled gaze. `And give him my thanks for permitting you to come--my best thanks, Catherine. And-and, if you did meet my father, and he asked you about me, don't lead him to suppose that I've been extremely silent and stupid: don't look sad and downcast, as you are doing--he'll be angry.'

`I care nothing for his anger,' exclaimed Cathy, imagining she would be its object.

`But I do,' said her cousin, shuddering. `Don't provoke him against me, Catherine, for he is very hard.'

`Is he severe to you, Master Heathcliff?' I inquired. `Has he grown weary of indulgence, and passed from passive to active hatred?'

Linton looked at me, but did not answer; and, after keeping her seat by his side another ten minutes, during which his head fell drowsily on his breast, and he uttered nothing except suppressed moans of exhaustion or pain, Cathy began to seek solace in looking for bilberries, and sharing the produce of her researches with me: she did not offer them to him, for she saw further notice would only weary and annoy.

`Is it half an hour now, Ellen?' she whispered in my ear, at last. `I can't tell why we should stay. He's asleep, and papa will be wanting us back.'

`Well, we must not leave him asleep,' I answered; `wait till he wakes, and be patient. You were mighty eager to set off, but your longing to see poor Linton has soon evaporated!'

`Why did he wish to see me?' returned Catherine. `In his crossest humours, formerly, I liked him better than I do in his present curious mood. It's just as if it were a task he was compelled to perform--this interview--for fear his father should scold him. But I'm hardly going to come to give Mr Heathcliff pleasure; whatever reason he may have for ordering Linton to undergo this penance. And, though I'm glad he's better in health, I'm sorry he's so much less pleasant, and so much less affectionate to me.'

`You think he is better in health then?' I said.

`Yes,' she answered; `because he always made such a great deal of his sufferings, you know. He is not tolerably well, as he told me to tell papa; but he's better, very likely.'

`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 anyone 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?'