ray, some gem-green. I know groups of trees that
ravish the eye with their perfect, picture-like effects: rude oak,
delicate birch, glossy beech, clustered in contrast; and ash-trees,
stately as Saul, standing isolated; and superannuated wood-giants clad
in bright shrouds of ivy."

THE END OF HEATHCLIFF

From Emily Bronte's 'Wuthering Heights'

For some days after that evening Mr. Heathcliff shunned meeting us at
meals; yet he would not consent formally to exclude Hareton and Cathy.
He had an aversion to yielding so completely to his feelings, choosing
rather to absent himself; and eating once in twenty-four hours seemed
sufficient sustenance for him.

One night, after the family were in bed, I heard him go down-stairs and
out at the front door; I did not hear him re-enter, and in the morning I
found he was still away. We were in April then, the weather was sweet
and warm, the grass as green as showers and sun could make it, and the
two dwarf apple-trees near the southern wall in full bloom.

After breakfast, Catherine insisted on my bringing a chair and sitting
with my work under the fir-trees at the end of the house; and she
beguiled Hareton, who had recovered from his accident, to dig and
arrange her little garden, which was shifted to that corner by the
influence of Joseph's complaints.

I was comfortably reveling in the spring fragrance around, and the
beautiful soft blue overhead, when my young lady, who had run down near
the gate to procure some primrose roots for a border, returned only half
laden, and informed us that Mr. Heathcliff was coming in.

"And he spoke to me," she added with a perplexed look.

"What did he say?" asked Hareton.

"He told me to begone as fast as I could," she answered. "But he looked
so different from his usual look that I stopped a moment to stare
at him."

"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 every-day 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 hung