ry, rambling
about all night!"

I wanted to discover where he had been; but I did not like to ask
directly.

"No, I'm not hungry," he answered, averting his head, and speaking
rather contemptuously, as if he guessed I was trying to divine the
occasion of his good humor.

I felt perplexed--I didn't know whether it were not a proper opportunity
to offer a bit of admonition.

"I don't think it right to wander out of doors," I observed, "instead of
being in bed; it is not wise, at any rate, this moist season. I daresay
you'll catch a bad cold, or a fever--you have something the matter
with you now!"

"Nothing but what I can bear," he replied, "and with the greatest
pleasure, provided you'll leave me alone--get in, and don't annoy me."

I obeyed; and in passing, I saw he breathed as fast as a cat.

"Yes!" I reflected to myself, "we shall have a fit of illness. I cannot
conceive what he has been doing!"

That noon he sat down to dinner with us, and received a heaped-up plate
from my hands, as if he intended to make amends for previous fasting.

"I've neither cold nor fever, Nelly," he remarked, in allusion to my
morning speech. "And I'm ready to do justice to the food you give me."

He took his knife and fork, and was going to commence eating, when the
inclination appeared to become suddenly extinct. He laid them on the
table, looked eagerly toward the window, then rose and went out. We saw
him walking to and fro in the garden, while we concluded our meal; and
Earnshaw said he'd go and ask why he would not dine; he thought we had
grieved him some way.

"Well, is he coming?" cried Catherine, when he returned.

"Nay," he answered; "but he's not angry: he seemed rare and pleased
indeed; only I made him impatient by speaking to him twice: and then he
bid me be off to you; he wondered how I could want the company of
anybody else."

I set his plate to keep warm on the fender; and after an hour or two he
re-entered, when the room was clear, in no degree calmer: the same
unnatural--it was unnatural!--appearance of joy under his black brows;
the same bloodless hue; and his teeth visible now and then in a kind of
smile; his frame shivering, not as one shivers with chill or weakness,
but as a tight-stretched cord vibrates--a strong thrilling, rather than
trembling.

"I will ask what is the matter," I thought, "or who should?" And I
exclaimed, "Have you heard any good news, Mr. Heathcliff? You look
uncommonly animated.