rine; "he's your son. But I'm glad I've a better, to forgive it; and I know he loves me and for that reason I love him. Mr. Heathcliff, you have nobody to love you; and, however miserable you make us, we shall still have the revenge of thinking that your cruelty rises from your greater misery! You are miserable, are you not? Lonely, like the devil, and envious like him? Nobody loves you—nobody will cry for you, when you die! I wouldn't be you!"
Catherine spoke with a kind of dreary triumph: she seemed to have made up her mind to enter into the spirit of her future family, and draw pleasure from the griefs of her enemies.
"You shall be sorry to be yourself presently," said her father-in-law. "If you stand there another minute. Begone, witch, and get your things."
She scornfully withdrew.
In her absence, I began to beg for Zillah's
