Gimmerton chapel bells were still ringing: and the full, mellow flow, of the beck in the valley, came soothingly on the ear. It was a sweet substitute for the yet absent murmur of the summer foliage which drowned that music about the Grange, when the trees were in leaf. At Wuthering Heights it always sounded on quiet days, following a great thaw, or a season of steady rain—and, of Wuthering Heights, Catherine was thinking as she listened; that is, if she thought, or listened, at all; but she had the vague, distant look, I mentioned before, which expressed no recognition of material things either by ear or eye.
"There's a letter for you, Mrs. Linton," I said, gently inserting it in one hand that rested on her knee. "You must read it immediately, because it wants an answer. Shall I break the seal?"
"Yes," she answered, without altering the direction of her eyes.
I opened it—it was very short.
