lly established his right to be expected. He retained a great deal of the reserve for which his boyhood was remarkable; and that served to repress all startling demonstrations of feeling. My master's uneasiness experienced a lull, and further circumstances diverted it into another channel for a space.

His new source of trouble sprang from the not anticipated misfortune of Isabella Linton evincing a sudden and irresistible attraction towards the tolerated guest. She was at that time a charming young lady of eighteen; infantile in manners, though possessed of keen wit, keen feelings, and a keen temper, too, if irritated. Her brother, who loved her tenderly, was appalled at this fantastic preference. Leaving aside the degradation of an alliance with a nameless man, and the possible fact that his property, in default of heirs male, might pass into such a one's power, he had sense to comprehend Heathcliff's disposition: to know that, though his exterior was altered, his mind was unchangeable and unchanged. And he dreaded that mind: it revolted him: he shrank forebodingly from the idea of committing Isabella to his keeping. He would have recoiled still more had he been aware that her attachment rose unsolicited, and was bestowed where it awakened no reciprocation of sentiment; for the minute he discovered its existence, he laid the blame on Heathcliff's deliberate designing.

We had all remarked, during some time, that Miss Linton fretted and pined over something. She grew cross and wearisome; snapping at and teasing Catherine continually, at the imminent risk of exhausting her limited patience. We excused her, to a certain extent, on the plea of ill-health: she was dwindling and fading before our eyes. But one day, when she had been peculiarly wayward, rejecting her breakfast, complaining that the servants did not do what she told them; that the mistress would allow her to be nothing in the house, and Edgar neglected her; that she had caught a cold with the doors being left open, and we let the parlour fire go out on purpose to vex her, with a hundred yet more frivolous accusations, Mrs Linton peremptorily insisted that she should get to bed; and, having scolded her heartily, threatened to send for the doctor. Mention of Kenneth caused her to exclaim, instantly, that her health was perfect, and it was only Catherine's harshness which made her unhappy.

`How can you say I am harsh, you naughty fondling?' cried the mistress, amazed at the unreasonable assertion. `You are surely losing your reason. When have I been harsh, tell me?'

`Yesterday,' sobbed Isabella, `and now!'

`Yesterday!' said her sister-in-law. `On what occasion?'

`In our walk along the moor: you told me to ramble where I pleased, while you sauntered on with Mr Heathcliff!'

`And that's your notion of harshness?' said Catherine, laughing. `It was no hint that your company was superfluous: we didn't care whether you kept with us or not; I merely thought Heathcliffs talk would have nothing entertaining for your ears.

`Oh no,' wept the young lady; `you wished me away, because you knew I liked to be there!'

`Is she sane?' asked Mrs Linton, appealing to me. `I'll repeat our conversation, word for word, Isabella; and you point out any charm it could have had for you.'

`I don't mind the conversation,' she answered: `I wanted to be with---'

`Well!' said Catherine, perceiving her hesitate to com

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