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300 “And nowhere else?” I demanded. “No,” was the muttered reply. “Oh, Catherine!” I cried, sorrowfully. “You know you have been doing wrong, or you wouldn’t be driven to uttering an untruth to me. That does grieve me. I’d rather be three months ill, than hear you frame a deliberate lie.” She sprang forward and, bursting into tears, threw her arms round my neck. “Well, Ellen, I’m so afraid of you being angry,” she said. “Promise not to be angry, and you shall know the very truth: I hate to hide it.” We sat down in the window-seat; I assured her I would not scold, whatever her secret might be, and I guessed it, of course; so she commenced-- “I’ve been to Wuthering Heights, Ellen, and I’ve never missed going a day since you fell ill; except thrice before and twice after you left your room. I gave Michael books and pictures to prepare Minny every evening, and to put her back in the stable--you mustn’t scold him either, mind. I was at the Heights by half-past six, and generally stayed till half-past eight, and then galloped home. It was not to amuse myself that I went--I was often wretched all the time. Now and then, I was happy; once in a week perhaps. At first, I expected there would be sad work persuading you to let me keep my word to Linton; for I had engaged to call again next day, when we quitted him; but, as you stayed upstairs on the morrow, I escaped that trouble; and while Michael was refastening the lock of the park door in the afternoon, I got possession of the key, and told him how my cousin wished me to visit him, because he was sick, and couldn’t come to the Grange; |