“Then he would write to you, and there’d never be an end of it. No, Miss Catherine, the acquaintance must be dropped entirely: so papa expects, and I shall see that it is
“But how can one little note—?” she recommenced, putting on an imploring countenance.
“Silence!” I interrupted. “We’ll not begin with your little notes. Get into bed.”
She threw at me a very naughty look, so naughty that I would not kiss her good night at first: I covered her up, and shut her door, in great displeasure; but, repenting halfway, I returned softly, and lo! there was Miss standing at the table with a bit of blank paper before her and a pencil in her hand, which she guiltily slipped out of sight on my entrance.
“You’ll get nobody to take that, Catherine,” I said, “if you write it; and at present I shall put out your candle.”
I set the extinguisher on the flame, receiving as I did so a slap on my hand and a petulant “cross thing!” I then quitted her again, and she drew the bolt in one of her worst, most peevish humours. The letter was finished and forwarded to its destination by a milk-fetcher who came from the village; but that I didn’t learn till some time afterwards. Weeks passed on, and Cathy recovered her temper; though she grew wondrous fond of stealing off to corners by herself and often, if I came near her suddenly while reading, she would start and bend over the book, evidently desirous to hide it; and I detected edges of loose paper sticking out beyond the leaves.