ting her hated sick chamber. By evening she seemed greatly
exhausted; yet no arguments could persuade her to return to that
apartment, and I had to arrange the parlour sofa for her bed, till
another room could be prepared. To obviate the fatigue of mounting and
descending the stairs, we fitted up this, where you lie at present--on
the same floor with the parlour; and she was soon strong enough to move
from one to the other, leaning on Edgar's arm. Ah, I thought myself, she
might recover, so waited on as she was. And there was double cause to
desire it, for on her existence depended that of another: we cherished
the hope that in a little while Mr. Linton's heart would be gladdened,
and his lands secured from a stranger's gripe, by the birth of an heir.

I should mention that Isabella sent to her brother, some six weeks from
her departure, a short note, announcing her marriage with Heathcliff. It
appeared dry and cold; but at the bottom was dotted in with pencil an
obscure apology, and an entreaty for kind remembrance and reconciliation,
if her proceeding had offended him: asserting that she could not help it
then, and being done, she had now no power to repeal it. Linton did not
reply to this, I believe; and, in a fortnight more, I got a long letter,
which I considered odd, coming from the pen of a bride just out of the
honeymoon. I'll read it: for I keep it yet. Any relic of the dead is
precious, if they were valued living.

* * * * *

DEAR ELLEN, it begins,--I came last night to Wuthering Heights, and
heard, for the first time, that Catherine has been, and is yet, very ill.
I must not write to her, I suppose, and my brother is either too angry or
too distressed to answer what I sent him. Still, I must write to
somebody, and the only choice left me is you.

Inform Edgar that I'd give the world to see his face again--that my heart
returned to Thrushcross Grange in twenty-four hours after I left it, and
is there at this moment, full of warm feelings for him, and Catherine! _I
can't follow it though_--(these words are underlined)--they need not
expect me, and they may draw what conclusions they please; taking care,
however, to lay nothing at the door of my weak will or deficient
affection.

The remainder of the letter is for yourself alone. I want to ask you two
questions: the first is,--How did you contrive to preserve the common
sympathies of human nature when you resided here? I cannot recognise any
sen