of one's weak nature, and the other's bad one, I earn for thanks two
samples of blind ingratitude, stupid to absurdity! Edgar, I was
defending you and yours; and I wish Heathcliff may flog you sick, for
daring to think an evil thought of me!'

It did not need the medium of a flogging to produce that effect on the
master. He tried to wrest the key from Catherine's grasp, and for safety
she flung it into the hottest part of the fire; whereupon Mr. Edgar was
taken with a nervous trembling, and his countenance grew deadly pale. For
his life he could not avert that excess of emotion: mingled anguish and
humiliation overcame him completely. He leant on the back of a chair,
and covered his face.

'Oh, heavens! In old days this would win you knighthood!' exclaimed Mrs.
Linton. 'We are vanquished! we are vanquished! Heathcliff would as soon
lift a finger at you as the king would march his army against a colony of
mice. Cheer up! you sha'n't be hurt! Your type is not a lamb, it's a
sucking leveret.'

'I wish you joy of the milk-blooded coward, Cathy!' said her friend. 'I
compliment you on your taste. And that is the slavering, shivering thing
you preferred to me! I would not strike him with my fist, but I'd kick
him with my foot, and experience considerable satisfaction. Is he
weeping, or is he going to faint for fear?'

The fellow approached and gave the chair on which Linton rested a push.
He'd better have kept his distance: my master quickly sprang erect, and
struck him full on the throat a blow that would have levelled a slighter
man. It took his breath for a minute; and while he choked, Mr. Linton
walked out by the back door into the yard, and from thence to the front
entrance.

'There! you've done with coming here,' cried Catherine. 'Get away, now;
he'll return with a brace of pistols and half-a-dozen assistants. If he
did overhear us, of course he'd never forgive you. You've played me an
ill turn, Heathcliff! But go--make haste! I'd rather see Edgar at bay
than you.'

'Do you suppose I'm going with that blow burning in my gullet?' he
thundered. 'By hell, no! I'll crush his ribs in like a rotten hazel-nut
before I cross the threshold! If I don't floor him now, I shall murder
him some time; so, as you value his existence, let me get at him!'

'He is not coming,' I interposed, framing a bit of a lie. 'There's the
coachman and the two gardeners; you'll surely not wait to be thrust into
the road