He's mistaken, I think; but I guess where he lives: at the farmhouse I visited in coming from Penistone' Crags.

Don't you ?' 'I do.

Come, Nelly, hold your tongue--it will be a treat for her to look in on us.

Hareton, get forwards with the lass.

You shall walk with me, Nelly.' 'No, she's not going to any such place,' I cried, struggling to release my arm, which he had seized: but she was almost at the door-stones already, scampering round the brow at full speed.