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on the withered turf: his dark, square head bent forward, and his little hand scooping out the earth with a piece of slate. `Poor Hindley!' I exclaimed involuntarily. I started: my bodily eye was cheated into a momentary belief that the child lifted its face and stared straight into mine! It vanished in a twinkling; but immediately I felt an irresistible yearning to be at the Heights. Superstition urged me to comply with this impulse: supposing he should be dead! I thought--or should die soon!--supposing it were
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a sign of death! The nearer I got to the house the more agitated I grew; and on catching sight of it I trembled in every limb. The apparition had outstripped me: it stood looking through the gate. That was my first idea on observing an elf-locked, brown-eyed boy setting his ruddy countenance against the bars. Further reflection suggested this must be Hareton, my Hareton, not altered greatly since I left him, ten months since.
`God bless thee, darling!' I cried, forgetting instantaneously my foolish fears. `Hareton, it's Nelly! Nelly, thy nurse.'