I suppose Catherine fulfilled her project, for the next sentence took up another subject; she waxed lachrymose.
"How little did I dream that Hindley would ever make me cry so!" she wrote. "My head aches till I can not keep it on the pillow; and still I can't give over. Poor Heathcliff! Hindley calls him a vagabond, and won't let him sit with us, nor eat with us any more; and he says he and I must not play together, and threatens to turn him out of the house if we break his orders.
"He has been blaming our father (how dared he?) for treating H. too liberally, and swears he will reduce him to his right place—"
| * | * | * | * | * | * | * | * |
I began to nod drowsily over the dim page; my eye wandered from manuscript to print. I saw a red ornamented title—"Seventy Times Seven, and the First of the Seventy-First. A Pious Discourse delivered by the Reverend Jabes Branderham, in the Chapel of Gimmerden Sough." And while I was, half consciously, worrying my brain to guess what Jabes Branderham would make of his subject, I sank back in bed, and fell I asleep.
Alas, for the effects of bad tea and bad temper! what else could it be that made me pass such a terrible night? I don't remember another that I can at all compare with it since I was capable of suffering.
I began to dream, almost before I ceased to be sensible of my locality. I thought it was morning; and I had set out on my way home with Joseph for a guide. The snow lay yards deep in our road; and, as we floundered on, my companion wearied me with constant reproaches that I had not brought a pilgrim's staff: telling me I could never get into the house without one, and boastfully flourishing a heavy-headed cudgel, which I understood to be so denominated.
For a moment I consider it absurd that I should need such a weapon to gain admittance into my own residence. Then a new idea flashed across me. I was not going there; we were journeying to hear the famous Jabes Branderham preach from the text—"Seventy Times Seven;" and either Joseph, the preacher, or I had committed the "First of the Seventy First," and were to be publicly exposed and excommunicated.
We came to the chapel—I have passed it really in my walks twice or thrice—it lies in a hollow between two hills—an ele-
