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397 “How?” he inquired. “Why, almost bright and cheerful. No, almost nothing--very much excited, and wild and glad!” she replied. “Night-walking amuses him, then,” I remarked, affecting a careless manner: in reality, as surprised as she was, and anxious to ascertain the truth of her statement; for to see the master looking glad would not be an everyday spectacle. I framed an excuse to go in. Heathcliff stood at the open door; he was pale, and he trembled; yet, certainly, he had a strange, joyful glitter in his eyes, that altered the aspect of his whole face. “Will you have some breakfast?” I said. “You must be hungry, rambling about all night!” I wanted to discover where he had been, but I did not like to ask directly. “No, I’m not hungry,” he answered, averting his head, and speaking rather contemptuously, as if he guessed I was trying to divine the occasion of his good humour. I felt perplexed: I didn’t know whether it were not a proper opportunity to offer a bit of admonition. “I don’t think it right to wander out of doors,” I observed, “instead of being in bed; it is not wise, at any rate, this moist season. I daresay you’ll catch a bad cold, or a fever--you have something the matter with you now!” “Nothing but what I can bear,” he replied, “and with the greatest pleasure, provided you’ll leave me alone. Get in, and don’t annoy me.” I obeyed; and, in passing, I noticed he breathed as fast as a cat. “Yes!” I reflected to myself, “we shall have a fit of illness. I cannot conceive what he has been doing!” |