she said; ‘and bring up tea. I’ll be back again directly.’

She quitted the apartment; Mr. Edgar inquired, carelessly, who it was.

‘Some one mistress does not expect,’ I replied. ‘That Heathcliff - you recollect him, sir - who used to live at Mr. Earnshaw’s.’

‘What! the gipsy - the ploughboy?’ he cried. ‘Why did you not say so to Catherine?’

‘Hush! you must not call him by those names, master,’ I said. ‘She’d be sadly grieved to hear you. She was nearly heartbroken when he ran off. I guess his return will make a jubilee to her.’

Mr. Linton walked to a window on the other side of the room that overlooked the court. He unfastened it, and leant out. I suppose they were below, for he exclaimed quickly: