company her here. Little Hareton was nearly five years old, and I had just began to teach him his letters: We made a sad parting, but Catherine's tears were more powerful than ours—When I refused to go, and when she found her entreaties did not move me, she went lamenting to her husband, and brother. The former offered me munificent wages; the latter ordered me to pack up—he wanted no women in the house, he said, now that there was no mistress; and as to Hareton, the curate should take him in hand, by and bye. And so, I had but one choice left, to do as I was ordered—I told the master he got rid of all decent people only to run to ruin a little faster; I kissed Hareton good bye; and, since then, he has been a stranger, and it's very queer to think it, but I've no doubt, he has completely forgotten all about Ellen Dean and that he was ever more than all the world to her, and she to him!
At this point of the housekeeper's story she
