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13 WUTHERING HEIGHT .. 13 her mate is dead. I said she was my daughter-in-law, therefore she must have married my son.” “And this young man is". “Not my son, assuredly !" Heathcliff smiled again, as if it were rather too bold a jost to attribute the paternity of that bear to him. “My name is Hareton Earnshaw," growled the other; "and I'd counsel you to respect it !” " I've shown po disrespect,". was my reply, langhing inter- nally at the dignity with which he announced himself. He fixed his eye on me longer than I cared to return the stare, for fear I might be tempted either to box his ears, or ren. der my hilarity audible. I began to feel unmistakably out of place in that pleasant family circle. The dismal spiritual atmo- sphere overcame, and more than neutralized, the glowing phys- ical comforts round me; and I resolved to be cautious how I ventured under those rafters a third time. The business of eating being concluded, and no one uttering a word of sociable conversation, I approached a window to ex- amine the weather. A sorrowful sight I saw; dark night coming down prema, turely, and sky and hills mingled in one bitter whirl of wind and suffocating snow. " I don't think it possible for me to get home now without a guide," I could not help exclaiming. * The roads will be bur- ied already; and if they were bare I could scarcely distinguish a foot in advance." “Hareton, drive those dozen sheep into the barn porch. They'll be covered if left in the fold all night; and put a plank hefore them," said Heathcliff. “How must I do ?" I continued, with rising irritation. There was no reply to my question; and on looking round 1 saw only Joseph, bringing in a pail of porridge for the dogs, and Mrs. Heathcliff, leaning over the fire, diverting herself with burn- ing a bundle of matches which had fallen from the chimney-piece as she restored the tea-canister to its place. The former, when he had depositod his burden, took a critical survey of the room; and in cracked tones grated out: “Aw woonder hagh yah can faishion tuh stand thear i' idle- ness un war, when all on 'em's goan aght! Bud yah're a nowt, and it's noa use talking-yah’l niver mend uh yer ill ways; bud goa raight tuh t' divil, like yor mother afore ye !"