seemed convulsed with exquisite
terror.

'Oh!' he sobbed, 'I cannot bear it! Catherine, Catherine, I'm a traitor,
too, and I dare not tell you! But leave me, and I shall be killed!
_Dear_ Catherine, my life is in your hands: and you have said you loved
me, and if you did, it wouldn't harm you. You'll not go, then? kind,
sweet, good Catherine! And perhaps you _will_ consent--and he'll let me
die with you!'

My young lady, on witnessing his intense anguish, stooped to raise him.
The old feeling of indulgent tenderness overcame her vexation, and she
grew thoroughly moved and alarmed.

'Consent to what?' she asked. 'To stay! tell me the meaning of this
strange talk, and I will. You contradict your own words, and distract
me! Be calm and frank, and confess at once all that weighs on your
heart. You wouldn't injure me, Linton, would you? You wouldn't let any
enemy hurt me, if you could prevent it? I'll believe you are a coward,
for yourself, but not a cowardly betrayer of your best friend.'

'But my father threatened me,' gasped the boy, clasping his attenuated
fingers, 'and I dread him--I dread him! I _dare_ not tell!'

'Oh, well!' said Catherine, with scornful compassion, 'keep your secret:
_I'm_ no coward. Save yourself: I'm not afraid!'

Her magnanimity provoked his tears: he wept wildly, kissing her
supporting hands, and yet could not summon courage to speak out. I was
cogitating what the mystery might be, and determined Catherine should
never suffer to benefit him or any one else, by my good will; when,
hearing a rustle among the ling, I looked up and saw Mr. Heathcliff
almost close upon us, descending the Heights. He didn't cast a glance
towards my companions, though they were sufficiently near for Linton's
sobs to be audible; but hailing me in the almost hearty tone he assumed
to none besides, and the sincerity of which I couldn't avoid doubting, he
said--

'It is something to see you so near to my house, Nelly. How are you at
the Grange? Let us hear. The rumour goes,' he added, in a lower tone,
'that Edgar Linton is on his death-bed: perhaps they exaggerate his
illness?'

'No; my master is dying,' I replied: 'it is true enough. A sad thing it
will be for us all, but a blessing for him!'

'How long will he last, do you think?' he asked.

'I don't know,' I said.

'Because,' he continued, looking at the two young people, who were fixed
under his eye--Linton appeared as if he could not ve