tter the word. '_Loving_!
Did anybody ever hear the like! I might just as well talk of loving the
miller who comes once a year to buy our corn. Pretty loving, indeed! and
both times together you have seen Linton hardly four hours in your life!
Now here is the babyish trash. I'm going with it to the library; and
we'll see what your father says to such _loving_.'

She sprang at her precious epistles, but I hold them above my head; and
then she poured out further frantic entreaties that I would burn them--do
anything rather than show them. And being really fully as much inclined
to laugh as scold--for I esteemed it all girlish vanity--I at length
relented in a measure, and asked,--'If I consent to burn them, will you
promise faithfully neither to send nor receive a letter again, nor a book
(for I perceive you have sent him books), nor locks of hair, nor rings,
nor playthings?'

'We don't send playthings,' cried Catherine, her pride overcoming her
shame.

'Nor anything at all, then, my lady?' I said. 'Unless you will, here I
go.'

'I promise, Ellen!' she cried, catching my dress. 'Oh, put them in the
fire, do, do!'

But when I proceeded to open a place with the poker the sacrifice was too
painful to be borne. She earnestly supplicated that I would spare her
one or two.

'One or two, Ellen, to keep for Linton's sake!'

I unknotted the handkerchief, and commenced dropping them in from an
angle, and the flame curled up the chimney.

'I will have one, you cruel wretch!' she screamed, darting her hand into
the fire, and drawing forth some half-consumed fragments, at the expense
of her fingers.

'Very well--and I will have some to exhibit to papa!' I answered,
shaking back the rest into the bundle, and turning anew to the door.

She emptied her blackened pieces into the flames, and motioned me to
finish the immolation. It was done; I stirred up the ashes, and interred
them under a shovelful of coals; and she mutely, and with a sense of
intense injury, retired to her private apartment. I descended to tell my
master that the young lady's qualm of sickness was almost gone, but I
judged it best for her to lie down a while. She wouldn't dine; but she
reappeared at tea, pale, and red about the eyes, and marvellously subdued
in outward aspect. Next morning I answered the letter by a slip of
paper, inscribed, 'Master Heathcliff is requested to send no more notes
to Miss Linton, as she will not receive them.' An