“Well, close the curtains, Nelly,” she said; “and bring up tea. I’ll be back again directly.”

She quitted the apartment; Mr. Edgar inquired, carelessly, who it was.

“Someone mistress does not expect,” I replied. “That Heathcliff⁠—you recollect him, sir⁠—who used to live at Mr. Earnshaw’s.”

“What! The gipsy⁠—the ploughboy?” he cried. “Why did you not say so to Catherine?”

“Hush! you must not call him by those names, master,” I said. “She’d be sadly grieved to hear you. She was nearly heartbroken when he ran off. I guess his return will make a jubilee to her.”