Nothing distracted the intense sleepless attention with which the darkened mind kept always in view that one absorbing expectation.

Words fell from her at night, which seemed to show that she expected a summons--a voice along the fell, calling her spirit into the dark.

And then would come the shriek, the struggle to get loose, the choked waking, the wandering, horror-stricken eyes, subsiding by degrees into the old silent watch.
On the morning of the 23d, when Robert, sitting at his work, was looking at Burwood through the window in the flattering belief that Catherine was the captive of the weather, she had spent an hour or more with Mary Backhouse, and the austere influences of the visit had perhaps had more share than she knew in determining her own mood that day.

The world seemed such dross, the pretences of personal happiness so hollow and delusive, after such a sight! The girl lay dying fast, with a look of extraordinary attentiveness in her face, hearing every noise, every footfall, and, as it seemed to Catherine, in a mood of inward joy.
She took, moreover, some notice of her visitor.

As a rough tomboy of fourteen, she had shown Catherine, who had taught her in the school sometimes and had especially won her regard on one occasion by a present of some article of dress, a good many uncouth signs of affection.