bonny beast, and appeared as if he wanted me to speak to him. I only told him to leave my horse alone, or else it would kick him. He answered in his vulgar accent, “It wouldn’t do mitch hurt if it did;” and surveyed its legs with a smile. I was half inclined to make it try; however, he moved off to open the door, and, as he raised the latch, he looked up to the inscription above, and said, with a stupid mixture of awkwardness and elation: “Miss Catherine! I can read yon, now.”

‘“Wonderful,” I exclaimed. “Pray let us hear you - you ARE grown clever!”

‘He spelt, and drawled over by syllables, the name - “Hareton Earnshaw.”

‘“And the figures?” I cried,