was a holiday, carried his ill-humour onto the moors; not re-appearing till the family were departed for church. Fasting, and reflection seemed to have brought him to a better spirit. He hung about me, for a while, and having screwed up his courage, exclaimed abruptly,
"Nelly, make me decent, I'm going to be good."
"High time, Heathcliff," I said, "you have grieved Catherine; she's sorry she ever came home, I dare say! It looks as if you envied her, because she is more thought of than you."
The notion of envying Catherine was incomprehensible to him, but the notion of grieving her, be understood clearly enough.
"Did she say she was grieved?" he inquired looking very serious.
"She cried when I told her you were off again this morning."
"Well, I cried last night" he returned, "and I had more reason to cry than she."
