hearth, and frankly extended her hand. He blackened
and scowled like a thunder-cloud, and kept his fists resolutely clenched,
and his gaze fixed on the ground. Catherine, by instinct, must have
divined it was obdurate perversity, and not dislike, that prompted this
dogged conduct; for, after remaining an instant undecided, she stooped
and impressed on his cheek a gentle kiss. The little rogue thought I had
not seen her, and, drawing back, she took her former station by the
window, quite demurely. I shook my head reprovingly, and then she
blushed and whispered--'Well! what should I have done, Ellen? He
wouldn't shake hands, and he wouldn't look: I must show him some way that
I like him--that I want to be friends.'

Whether the kiss convinced Hareton, I cannot tell: he was very careful,
for some minutes, that his face should not be seen, and when he did raise
it, he was sadly puzzled where to turn his eyes.

Catherine employed herself in wrapping a handsome book neatly in white
paper, and having tied it with a bit of ribbon, and addressed it to 'Mr.
Hareton Earnshaw,' she desired me to be her ambassadress, and convey the
present to its destined recipient.

'And tell him, if he'll take it, I'll come and teach him to read it
right,' she said; 'and, if he refuse it, I'll go upstairs, and never
tease him again.'

I carried it, and repeated the message; anxiously watched by my employer.
Hareton would not open his fingers, so I laid it on his knee. He did not
strike it off, either. I returned to my work. Catherine leaned her head
and arms on the table, till she heard the slight rustle of the covering
being removed; then she stole away, and quietly seated herself beside her
cousin. He trembled, and his face glowed: all his rudeness and all his
surly harshness had deserted him: he could not summon courage, at first,
to utter a syllable in reply to her questioning look, and her murmured
petition.

'Say you forgive me, Hareton, do. You can make me so happy by speaking
that little word.'

He muttered something inaudible.

'And you'll be my friend?' added Catherine, interrogatively.

'Nay, you'll be ashamed of me every day of your life,' he answered; 'and
the more ashamed, the more you know me; and I cannot bide it.'

'So you won't be my friend?' she said, smiling as sweet as honey, and
creeping close up.

I overheard no further distinguishable talk, but, on looking round again,
I perceived two such radiant coun