a
couple of hours, according to custom; then she accompanied him into the
grounds, and the whole day passed as usual: but in the evening, when she
had retired to her room, and I went to help her to undress, I found her
crying, on her knees by the bedside.

'Oh, fie, silly child!' I exclaimed. 'If you had any real griefs you'd
be ashamed to waste a tear on this little contrariety. You never had one
shadow of substantial sorrow, Miss Catherine. Suppose, for a minute,
that master and I were dead, and you were by yourself in the world: how
would you feel, then? Compare the present occasion with such an
affliction as that, and be thankful for the friends you have, instead of
coveting more.'

'I'm not crying for myself, Ellen,' she answered, 'it's for him. He
expected to see me again to-morrow, and there he'll be so disappointed:
and he'll wait for me, and I sha'n't come!'

'Nonsense!' said I, 'do you imagine he has thought as much of you as you
have of him? Hasn't he Hareton for a companion? Not one in a hundred
would weep at losing a relation they had just seen twice, for two
afternoons. Linton will conjecture how it is, and trouble himself no
further about you.'

'But may I not write a note to tell him why I cannot come?' she asked,
rising to her feet. 'And just send those books I promised to lend him?
His books are not as nice as mine, and he wanted to have them extremely,
when I told him how interesting they were. May I not, Ellen?'

'No, indeed! no, indeed!' replied I with decision. 'Then he would write
to you, and there'd never be an end of it. No, Miss Catherine, the
acquaintance must be dropped entirely: so papa expects, and I shall see
that it is done.'

'But how can one little note--?' she recommenced, putting on an imploring
countenance.

'Silence!' I interrupted. 'We'll not begin with your little notes. Get
into bed.'

She threw at me a very naughty look, so naughty that I would not kiss her
good-night at first: I covered her up, and shut her door, in great
displeasure; but, repenting half-way, I returned softly, and lo! there
was Miss standing at the table with a bit of blank paper before her and a
pencil in her hand, which she guiltily slipped out of sight on my
entrance.

'You'll get nobody to take that, Catherine,' I said, 'if you write it;
and at present I shall put out your candle.'

I set the extinguisher on the flame, receiving as I did so a slap on my
hand and a petulant 'cro