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95 “Yes, Miss,” I replied. She entered and approached the hearth. I, supposing she was going to say something, looked up. The expression of her face seemed disturbed and anxious. Her lips were half asunder, as if she meant to speak, and she drew a breath; but it escaped in a sigh instead of a sentence. I resumed my song, not having forgotten her recent behaviour. “Where’s Heathcliff?” she said, interrupting me. “About his work in the stable,” was my answer. He did not contradict me; perhaps he had fallen into a doze. There followed another long pause, during which I perceived a drop or two trickle from Catherine’s cheek to the flags. Is she sorry for her shameful conduct? I asked myself. That will be a novelty: but she may come to the point as she will--I shan’t help her! No, she felt small trouble regarding any subject, save her own concerns. “Oh, dear!” she cried at last. “I’m very unhappy!” “A pity,” observed I. “You’re hard to please: so many friends and so few cares, and can’t make yourself content!” “Nelly, will you keep a secret for me?” she pursued, kneeling down by me, and lifting her winsome eyes to my face with that sort of look which turns off bad temper, even when one has all the right in the world to indulge it. “Is it worth keeping?” I inquired, less sulkily. “Yes, and it worries me, and I must let it out! I want to know what I should do. Today, Edgar Linton has asked me to marry him, and I’ve given him an answer. Now, before I tell you whether it was a consent or denial, you tell me which it ought to have |