Hindley had come out, and stood on the kitchen hearth, haggard and drowsy.
"What ails you, Cathy?" he was saying when I entered; "You look as dismal as a drowned whelp—Why are you so damp and pale child?"
"I've been wet;" she answered reluctantly "and I'm cold, that's all."
"Oh, she is naughty!" I cried, perceiving the master to be tolerably sober; "She got steeped in the shower of yesterday evening, and there she has sat, the night through, and I couldn't prevail on her to stir."
Mr. Earnshaw stared at us in surprise. "The night through," he repeated. "What kept her up, not fear of the thunder, surely? That was over, hours since."
Neither of us wished to mention Heathcliff's absence, as long as we could conceal it; so, I replied, I didn't know how she took it into her head to sit up; and she said nothing.
The morning was fresh and cool; I threw
