a yawn and half a
sigh, and lapsed into an aspect of abstracted sadness: neither caring nor
knowing whether we remarked her.

'Mrs. Heathcliff,' I said, after sitting some time mute, 'you are not
aware that I am an acquaintance of yours? so intimate that I think it
strange you won't come and speak to me. My housekeeper never wearies of
talking about and praising you; and she'll be greatly disappointed if I
return with no news of or from you, except that you received her letter
and said nothing!'

She appeared to wonder at this speech, and asked,--

'Does Ellen like you?'

'Yes, very well,' I replied, hesitatingly.

'You must tell her,' she continued, 'that I would answer her letter, but
I have no materials for writing: not even a book from which I might tear
a leaf.'

'No books!' I exclaimed. 'How do you contrive to live here without them?
if I may take the liberty to inquire. Though provided with a large
library, I'm frequently very dull at the Grange; take my books away, and
I should be desperate!'

'I was always reading, when I had them,' said Catherine; 'and Mr.
Heathcliff never reads; so he took it into his head to destroy my books.
I have not had a glimpse of one for weeks. Only once, I searched through
Joseph's store of theology, to his great irritation; and once, Hareton, I
came upon a secret stock in your room--some Latin and Greek, and some
tales and poetry: all old friends. I brought the last here--and you
gathered them, as a magpie gathers silver spoons, for the mere love of
stealing! They are of no use to you; or else you concealed them in the
bad spirit that, as you cannot enjoy them, nobody else shall. Perhaps
_your_ envy counselled Mr. Heathcliff to rob me of my treasures? But
I've most of them written on my brain and printed in my heart, and you
cannot deprive me of those!'

Earnshaw blushed crimson when his cousin made this revelation of his
private literary accumulations, and stammered an indignant denial of her
accusations.

'Mr. Hareton is desirous of increasing his amount of knowledge,' I said,
coming to his rescue. 'He is not _envious_, but _emulous_ of your
attainments. He'll be a clever scholar in a few years.'

'And he wants me to sink into a dunce, meantime,' answered Catherine.
'Yes, I hear him trying to spell and read to himself, and pretty blunders
he makes! I wish you would repeat Chevy Chase as you did yesterday: it
was extremely funny. I heard you; and I heard y