she cried.

‘Come, then,’ he whispered earnestly.

It was too late: Heathcliff had caught hold of her.

‘Now, YOU go!’ he said to Earnshaw. ‘Accursed witch! this time she has provoked me when I could not bear it; and I’ll make her repent it for ever!’

He had his hand in her hair; Hareton attempted to release her looks, entreating him not to hurt her that once. Heathcliff’s black eyes flashed; he seemed ready to tear Catherine in pieces, and I was just worked up to risk coming to the rescue, when of a sudden his fingers relaxed; he shifted his grasp from her head to her arm, and gazed intently in her face. Then he drew his hand over his eyes, stood a moment to collect himself apparently, and turning anew to Catherine, said, with assumed calmness -