of her flight. One of the maids, a thoughtless girl, who had been on an early errand to Gimmerton, came panting up-stairs, open-mouthed, and dashed into the chamber, crying: ‘Oh, dear, dear! What mun we have next? Master, master, our young lady - ‘

‘Hold your noise!’ cried, I hastily, enraged at her clamorous manner.

‘Speak lower, Mary - What is the matter?’ said Mr. Linton. ‘What ails your young lady?’

‘She’s gone, she’s gone! Yon’ Heathcliff’s run off wi’ her!’ gasped the girl.

‘That is not true!’ exclaimed Linton, rising in agitation. ‘It cannot be: how has the idea entered your head? Ellen Dean, go and seek her. It is incredible: it cannot be.’