eathcliff,' I resumed, 'have you forgotten all Catherine's
kindness to you last winter, when you affirmed you loved her, and when
she brought you books and sung you songs, and came many a time through
wind and snow to see you? She wept to miss one evening, because you
would be disappointed; and you felt then that she was a hundred times too
good to you: and now you believe the lies your father tells, though you
know he detests you both. And you join him against her. That's fine
gratitude, is it not?'

The corner of Linton's mouth fell, and he took the sugar-candy from his
lips.

'Did she come to Wuthering Heights because she hated you?' I continued.
'Think for yourself! As to your money, she does not even know that you
will have any. And you say she's sick; and yet you leave her alone, up
there in a strange house! You who have felt what it is to be so
neglected! You could pity your own sufferings; and she pitied them, too;
but you won't pity hers! I shed tears, Master Heathcliff, you see--an
elderly woman, and a servant merely--and you, after pretending such
affection, and having reason to worship her almost, store every tear you
have for yourself, and lie there quite at ease. Ah! you're a heartless,
selfish boy!'

'I can't stay with her,' he answered crossly. 'I'll not stay by myself.
She cries so I can't bear it. And she won't give over, though I say I'll
call my father. I did call him once, and he threatened to strangle her
if she was not quiet; but she began again the instant he left the room,
moaning and grieving all night long, though I screamed for vexation that
I couldn't sleep.'

'Is Mr. Heathcliff out?' I inquired, perceiving that the wretched
creature had no power to sympathize with his cousin's mental tortures.

'He's in the court,' he replied, 'talking to Doctor Kenneth; who says
uncle is dying, truly, at last. I'm glad, for I shall be master of the
Grange after him. Catherine always spoke of it as her house. It isn't
hers! It's mine: papa says everything she has is mine. All her nice
books are mine; she offered to give me them, and her pretty birds, and
her pony Minny, if I would get the key of our room, and let her out; but
I told her she had nothing to give, they ware all, all mine. And then
she cried, and took a little picture from her neck, and said I should
have that; two pictures in a gold case, on one side her mother, and on
the other uncle, when they were young. That was yes