CHAPTER XVIII
THE twelve years, continued Mrs. Dean, following that dismal period
were the happiest of my life: my greatest troubles in their
passage rose from our little lady's trifling illnesses, which she
had to experience in common with all children, rich and poor. For
the rest, after the first six months, she grew like a larch, and
could walk and talk too, in her own way, before the heath blossomed
a second time over Mrs. Linton's dust. She was the most winning
thing that ever brought sunshine into a desolate house: a real
beauty in face, with the Earnshaws' handsome dark eyes, but the
Lintons' fair skin and small features, and yellow curling hair.
Her spirit was high, though not rough, and qualified by a heart
sensitive and lively to excess in its affections. That capacity
for intense attachments reminded me of her mother: still she did
not resemble her: for she could be soft and mild as a dove, and
she had a gentle voice and pensive expression: her anger was never
furious; her love never fierce: it was deep and tender. However,
it must be acknowledged, she had faults to foil her gifts. A
propensity to be saucy was one; and a perverse will, that indulged
children invariably acquire, whether they be good tempered or
cross. If a servant chanced to vex her, it was always - 'I shall
tell papa!' And if he reproved her, even by a look, you would have
thought it a heart-breaking business: I don't believe he ever did
speak a harsh word to her. He took her education entirely on
himself, and made it an amusement. Fortunately, curiosity and a
quick intellect made her an apt scholar: she learned rapidly and
eagerly, and did honour to his teaching.
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