'Have you found Heathcliff, you ass?' interrupted Catherine. 'Have
you been looking for him, as I ordered?'
'I sud more likker look for th' horse,' he replied. 'It 'ud be to
more sense. Bud I can look for norther horse nur man of a neeght
loike this - as black as t' chimbley! und Heathcliff's noan t' chap
to coom at MY whistle - happen he'll be less hard o' hearing wi'
YE!'
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 hot be persuaded into
tranquillity. 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.
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