CHAPTER XXVII
SEVEN days glided away, every one marking its course by the
henceforth rapid alteration of Edgar Linton's state. The havoc
that months had previously wrought was now emulated by the inroads
of hours. Catherine we would fain have deluded yet; but her own
quick spirit refused to delude her: it divined in secret, and
brooded on the dreadful probability, gradually ripening into
certainty. She had not the heart to mention her ride, when
Thursday came round; I mentioned it for her, and obtained
permission to order her out of doors: for the library, where her
father stopped a short time daily - the brief period he could bear
to sit up - and his chamber, had become her whole world. She
grudged each moment that did not find her bending over his pillow,
or seated by his side. Her countenance grew wan with watching and
sorrow, and my master gladly dismissed her to what he flattered
himself would be a happy change of scene and society; drawing
comfort from the hope that she would not now be left entirely alone
after his death.
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