into t' bargin, for aught I care! Ech! what a wicked 'un he
looks, girning at death!' and the old sinner grinned in mockery. I
thought he intended to cut a caper round the bed; but suddenly composing
himself, he fell on his knees, and raised his hands, and returned thanks
that the lawful master and the ancient stock were restored to their
rights.

I felt stunned by the awful event; and my memory unavoidably recurred to
former times with a sort of oppressive sadness. But poor Hareton, the
most wronged, was the only one who really suffered much. He sat by the
corpse all night, weeping in bitter earnest. He pressed its hand, and
kissed the sarcastic, savage face that every one else shrank from
contemplating; and bemoaned him with that strong grief which springs
naturally from a generous heart, though it be tough as tempered steel.

Mr. Kenneth was perplexed to pronounce of what disorder the master died.
I concealed the fact of his having swallowed nothing for four days,
fearing it might lead to trouble, and then, I am persuaded, he did not
abstain on purpose: it was the consequence of his strange illness, not
the cause.

We buried him, to the scandal of the whole neighbourhood, as he wished.
Earnshaw and I, the sexton, and six men to carry the coffin, comprehended
the whole attendance. The six men departed when they had let it down
into the grave: we stayed to see it covered. Hareton, with a streaming
face, dug green sods, and laid them over the brown mould himself: at
present it is as smooth and verdant as its companion mounds--and I hope
its tenant sleeps as soundly. But the country folks, if you ask them,
would swear on the Bible that he _walks_: there are those who speak to
having met him near the church, and on the moor, and even within this
house. Idle tales, you'll say, and so say I. Yet that old man by the
kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on 'em looking out of his chamber
window on every rainy night since his death:--and an odd thing happened
to me about a month ago. I was going to the Grange one evening--a dark
evening, threatening thunder--and, just at the turn of the Heights, I
encountered a little boy with a sheep and two lambs before him; he was
crying terribly; and I supposed the lambs were skittish, and would not be
guided.

'What is the matter, my little man?' I asked.

'There's Heathcliff and a woman yonder, under t' nab,' he blubbered, 'un'
I darnut pass 'em.'

I saw nothing; but nei