CHAPTER XVIII

tifsheshouldhaveslippedinclamberingamongthem,”Ireflected,“andbeenkilled,orbrokensomeofherbones?”Mysuspensewastrulypainfuland,atfirst,itgavemedelightfulrelieftoobserve,inhurryingbythefarmhouse,Charlie,thefiercestofthepointers,lyingunderawindow,withswelledheadandbleedingear.Iopenedthewicketandrantothedoor,knockingvehementlyforadmittance.AwomanwhomIknew,andwhoformerlylivedatGimmerton,answered:shehadbeenservanttheresincethedeathofMr.Earnshaw. “Ah,”saidshe,“youarecomea-seekingyourlittlemistress!Don’tbefrightened.She’sheresafe:butI’mgladitisn’tthemaster.” “Heisnotathomethen,ishe?”Ipanted,quitebreathlesswithquickwalkingandalarm. “No,no,”shereplied:“bothheandJosephareoff,andIthinktheywon’treturnthishourormore.Stepinandrestyouabit.” Ientered,andbeheldmystraylambseatedonthehearth,rockingherselfinalittlechairthathadbeenhermother’swhenachild.Herhatwashungagainstthewall,andsheseemedperfectlyathome,laughingandchattering,inthebestspiritsimaginable,toHareton—nowagreat,strongladofeighteen—whostaredatherwithconsiderablecuriosityandastonishment:comprehendingpreciouslittleofthefluentsuccessionofremarksandquestionswhichhertongueneverceasedpouringforth. “Verywell,Miss!”Iexclaimed,concealingmyjoyunderanangrycountenance.“Thisisyourlastride,tillpapacomesback.I’llnottrustyouoverthethresholdagain,younaughty,naughtygirl!” “Aha,Ellen!”shecried,gaily,jumpingupandrunningtomyside.“Ishallhaveaprettystorytotellto-nightandsoyou’vefoundmeout.Haveyoueverbeenhereinyourlifebefore?” “Putthathaton,andhomeatonce,”saidI.“I’mdreadfullygrievedatyou,MissCathy:you’vedoneextremelywrong!It’snousepoutingandcrying:thatwon’trepaythetroubleI’vehad,scouringthecountryafteryou.TothinkhowMr.Lintonchargedmetokeepyouinandyoustealingoffso!Itshowsyouareacunninglittlefox,andnobodywillputfaithinyouanymore.” “WhathaveIdone?”sobbedshe,instantlychecked.“Papachargedmenothing:he’llnotscoldme,Ellen—he’snevercross,likeyou!” “Come,come!”Irepeated.“I’lltietheriband.Now,letushavenopetulance.Oh,forshame!Youthirteenyearsold,andsuchababy!” Thisexclamationwascausedbyherpushingthehatfromherhead,andretreatingtothechimneyoutofmyreach. “Nay,”saidtheservant,“don’tbehardonthebonnylass,Mrs.Dean.Wemadeherstop:she’dfainhaveriddenforwards,afeardyoushouldbeuneasy.Haretonofferedtogowithher,andIthoughtheshould:it’sawildroadoverthehills.” Hareton,duringthediscussion,stoodwithhishandsinhispockets,tooawkwardtospeakthoughhelookedasifhedidnotrelishmyintrusion. “HowlongamItowait?”Icontinued,disregardingthewoman’sinterference.“Itwillbedarkintenminutes.Whereisthepony,MissCathy?AndwhereisPhoenix?Ishallleaveyou,unlessyoubequicksopleaseyourself.” “Theponyisintheyard,”shereplied,“andPhoenixisshutinthere.He’sbitten—andsoisCharlie.Iwasgoingtotellyouallaboutitbutyouareinabadtemper,anddon’tdeservetohear.” Ipickedupherhat,andapproachedtoreinstateitbutperceivingthatthepeopleofthehousetookherpart,shecommencedcaperingroundtheroomandonmygivingchase,ranlikeamouseoverandunderandbehindthefurniture,renderingitridiculousformetopursue.Haretonandthewomanlaughed,andshejoinedthem,andwaxedmoreimpertinentstilltillIcried,ingreatirritation,—“Well,MissCathy,ifyouwereawarewhosehousethisisyou’dbegladenoughtogetout.” “It’syourfather’s,isn’tit?”saidshe,turningtoHareton. “Nay,”hereplied,lookingdown,andblushingbashfully. Hecouldnotstandasteadygazef