something to see you so near to my house, Nelly. How are you at the Grange? Let us hear. The rumour goes,’ he added, in a lower tone, ‘that Edgar Linton is on his death-bed: perhaps they exaggerate his illness?’
‘No; my master is dying,’ I replied: ‘it is true enough. A sad thing it will be for us all, but a blessing for him!’
‘How long will he last, do you think?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
‘Because,’ he continued, looking at the two young people, who were fixed under his eye - Linton appeared as if he could not venture to stir or raise his head, and Catherine could not move, on his account - ‘because that lad yonder seems determined to beat me; and I’d