they tell that in
the village--about your being lost in the marsh; and I calls to Earnshaw,
when I come in--"Eh, they's queer things, Mr. Hareton, happened since I
went off. It's a sad pity of that likely young lass, and cant Nelly
Dean." He stared. I thought he had not heard aught, so I told him the
rumour. The master listened, and he just smiled to himself, and said,
"If they have been in the marsh, they are out now, Zillah. Nelly Dean is
lodged, at this minute, in your room. You can tell her to flit, when you
go up; here is the key. The bog-water got into her head, and she would
have run home quite flighty; but I fixed her till she came round to her
senses. You can bid her go to the Grange at once, if she be able, and
carry a message from me, that her young lady will follow in time to
attend the squire's funeral."'

'Mr. Edgar is not dead?' I gasped. 'Oh! Zillah, Zillah!'

'No, no; sit you down, my good mistress,' she replied; 'you're right
sickly yet. He's not dead; Doctor Kenneth thinks he may last another
day. I met him on the road and asked.'

Instead of sitting down, I snatched my outdoor things, and hastened
below, for the way was free. On entering the house, I looked about for
some one to give information of Catherine. The place was filled with
sunshine, and the door stood wide open; but nobody seemed at hand. As I
hesitated whether to go off at once, or return and seek my mistress, a
slight cough drew my attention to the hearth. Linton lay on the settle,
sole tenant, sucking a stick of sugar-candy, and pursuing my movements
with apathetic eyes. 'Where is Miss Catherine?' I demanded sternly,
supposing I could frighten him into giving intelligence, by catching him
thus, alone. He sucked on like an innocent.

'Is she gone?' I said.

'No,' he replied; 'she's upstairs: she's not to go; we won't let her.'

'You won't let her, little idiot!' I exclaimed. 'Direct me to her room
immediately, or I'll make you sing out sharply.'

'Papa would make you sing out, if you attempted to get there,' he
answered. 'He says I'm not to be soft with Catherine: she's my wife, and
it's shameful that she should wish to leave me. He says she hates me and
wants me to die, that she may have my money; but she shan't have it: and
she shan't go home! She never shall!--she may cry, and be sick as much
as she pleases!'

He resumed his former occupation, closing his lids, as if he meant to
drop asleep.

'Master H