Joseph objected at first; she was too much in earnest, however, to suffer contradiction; and at last, he placed his hat on his head and walked grumbling forth. Meanwhile, Catherine paced up and down the floor, exclaiming—

"I wonder where he is—I wonder where he can be! What did I say, Nelly? I've forgotten. Was he vexed at my bad humor this afternoon? Dear! tell me what I've said to grieve him? I do wish he'd come. I do wish he would!"

"What a noise for nothing!" I cried, though rather uneasy myself. "What a trifle scares you! It's surely no great cause of alarm that Heathcliff should take a moonlight saunter on the moors, or even be too sulky to speak to us in the hay-loft. I'll engage he's lurking there. See if I don't ferret him out!"

I departed to renew my search; its result was disappointment, and Joseph's quest ended in the same.

"That lad gets worse and worse!" observed he on re-entering. "He's left the gate at the full swing, and Miss's pony has trodden down two rigs of corn, and plotted through, right over into the meadow! Handsome, the master will play the devil tomorrow, and he'll do well. He's patience itself with such careless, offald creatures—patience itself he is! But he'll not be so always—you'll see, all of you! You mustn't drive him out of his head for naught!"

"Have you found Heathcliff, you ass?" interrupted Catherine. "Have you been looking for him, as I ordered?"

"I'd more like to look for the horse," he replied. "It would be more sense. But I can look for neither horse nor man on a night like this—as black as the chimney! And Heathcliff's not the chap to come at my whistle—perhaps he'll be less hard of hearing with you!"

It was a very dark evening for summer: the clouds appeared inclined to thunder, and I said we had better all sit down; the approaching rain would be certain to bring him home without further trouble. However, Catherine would not be persuaded into tranquility. She kept wandering to and fro, from the gate to the door, in a state of agitation which permitted no repose; and at length took up a permanent situation on one side of the wall, near the road: where, heedless of my expostulations and the growling thunder, and the great drops that began to plash around her, she remained, calling at intervals, and then listening, and then crying outright. She beat Hareton, or any child, at a good passionate fit of crying.

About midnight, while 

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