terday--I said they
were mine, too; and tried to get them from her. The spiteful thing
wouldn't let me: she pushed me off, and hurt me. I shrieked out--that
frightens her--she heard papa coming, and she broke the hinges and
divided the case, and gave me her mother's portrait; the other she
attempted to hide: but papa asked what was the matter, and I explained
it. He took the one I had away, and ordered her to resign hers to me;
she refused, and he--he struck her down, and wrenched it off the chain,
and crushed it with his foot.'

'And were you pleased to see her struck?' I asked: having my designs in
encouraging his talk.

'I winked,' he answered: 'I wink to see my father strike a dog or a
horse, he does it so hard. Yet I was glad at first--she deserved
punishing for pushing me: but when papa was gone, she made me come to the
window and showed me her cheek cut on the inside, against her teeth, and
her mouth filling with blood; and then she gathered up the bits of the
picture, and went and sat down with her face to the wall, and she has
never spoken to me since: and I sometimes think she can't speak for pain.
I don't like to think so; but she's a naughty thing for crying
continually; and she looks so pale and wild, I'm afraid of her.'

'And you can get the key if you choose?' I said.

'Yes, when I am up-stairs,' he answered; 'but I can't walk up-stairs
now.'

'In what apartment is it?' I asked.

'Oh,' he cried, 'I shan't tell _you_ where it is. It is our secret.
Nobody, neither Hareton nor Zillah, is to know. There! you've tired
me--go away, go away!' And he turned his face on to his arm, and shut
his eyes again.

I considered it best to depart without seeing Mr. Heathcliff, and bring a
rescue for my young lady from the Grange. On reaching it, the
astonishment of my fellow-servants to see me, and their joy also, was
intense; and when they heard that their little mistress was safe, two or
three were about to hurry up and shout the news at Mr. Edgar's door: but
I bespoke the announcement of it myself. How changed I found him, even
in those few days! He lay an image of sadness and resignation awaiting
his death. Very young he looked: though his actual age was thirty-nine,
one would have called him ten years younger, at least. He thought of
Catherine; for he murmured her name. I touched his hand, and spoke.

'Catherine is coming, dear master!' I whispered; 'she is alive and well;
and will be here, I ho