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him; but now he smiled when he met her eye, and softened his voice in addressing her; and I was foolish enough to imagine the memory of her mother might disarm him from desiring her injury. Linton stood on the hearth. He had been out walking in the fields, for his cap was on, and he was calling to Joseph to bring him dry shoes. He had grown tall of his age, still wanting some months of sixteen. His features were pretty yet, and his eye and complexion brighter than I remembered them, though with merely temporary lustre borrowed from the salubrious air and genial sun.
`Now, who is that?' asked Mr Heathcliff, turning to Cathy. `Can you tell?'
`Your son?' she said, having doubtfully surveyed, first one and then the other.
`Yes, yes,' answered he: `but is this the only time you have beheld him? Think! Ah! you have a short memory. Linton, don't you recall your cousin, that you used to tease us so with wishing to see?'
`What, Linton!' cried Cathy, kindling into joyful surprise at the name. `Is that little Linton? He's taller than I am! Are you, Linton?'
The youth stepped forward, and acknowledged himself: she kissed him fervently, and they gazed with wonder at the change time had wrought in the appearance of each. Catherine had