Well, I reflected, there was never a pleasanter, or more harmless sight; and it will be a burning shame to scold them.

The red fire-light glowed on their two bonny heads, and revealed their faces animated with the eager interest of children; for, though he was twenty-three and she eighteen, each had so much of novelty to feel and learn, that neither experienced nor evinced the sentiments of sober disenchanted maturity.
They lifted their eyes together, to encounter Mr.Heathcliff: perhaps you have never remarked that their eyes are precisely similar, and they are those of Catherine Earnshaw.

The present Catherine has no other likeness to her, except a breadth of forehead, and a certain arch of the nostril that makes her appear rather haughty, whether she will or not.

With Hareton the resemblance is carried farther: it is singular at all times, _then_ it was particularly striking; because his senses were alert, and his mental faculties wakened to unwonted activity.

I suppose this resemblance disarmed Mr.Heathcliff: he walked to the hearth in evident agitation; but it quickly subsided as he looked at the young man: or, I should say, altered its character; for it was there yet.