him, scarcely conscious of our departure, so absorbed was
he in anticipating his father's approach.

Before we reached home, Catherine's displeasure softened into a perplexed
sensation of pity and regret, largely blended with vague, uneasy doubts
about Linton's actual circumstances, physical and social: in which I
partook, though I counselled her not to say much; for a second journey
would make us better judges. My master requested an account of our
ongoings. His nephew's offering of thanks was duly delivered, Miss Cathy
gently touching on the rest: I also threw little light on his inquiries,
for I hardly knew what to hide and what to reveal.

CHAPTER XXVII

Seven days glided away, every one marking its course by the henceforth
rapid alteration of Edgar Linton's state. The havoc that months had
previously wrought was now emulated by the inroads of hours. Catherine
we would fain have deluded yet; but her own quick spirit refused to
delude her: it divined in secret, and brooded on the dreadful
probability, gradually ripening into certainty. She had not the heart to
mention her ride, when Thursday came round; I mentioned it for her, and
obtained permission to order her out of doors: for the library, where her
father stopped a short time daily--the brief period he could bear to sit
up--and his chamber, had become her whole world. She grudged each moment
that did not find her bending over his pillow, or seated by his side. Her
countenance grew wan with watching and sorrow, and my master gladly
dismissed her to what he flattered himself would be a happy change of
scene and society; drawing comfort from the hope that she would not now
be left entirely alone after his death.

He had a fixed idea, I guessed by several observations he let fall, that,
as his nephew resembled him in person, he would resemble him in mind; for
Linton's letters bore few or no indications of his defective character.
And I, through pardonable weakness, refrained from correcting the error;
asking myself what good there would be in disturbing his last moments
with information that he had neither power nor opportunity to turn to
account.

We deferred our excursion till the afternoon; a golden afternoon of
August: every breath from the hills so full of life, that it seemed
whoever respired it, though dying, might revive. Catherine's face was
just like the landscape--shadows and sunshine flitting over it in rapid
succession; but the sha