I was comfortably revelling in the spring fragrance around, and the beautiful soft blue overhead, when my young lady, who had run down near the gate to procure some primrose roots for a border, returned only half laden, and informed us that Mr.
Heathcliff was coming in.

'And he spoke to me,' she added, with a perplexed countenance.
'What did he say ?' asked Hareton.
'He told me to begone as fast as I could,' she answered.

'But he looked so different from his usual look that I stopped a moment to stare at him.' 'How ?' he inquired.
'Why, almost bright and cheerful.

No, _almost_ nothing--_very much_ excited, and wild, and glad!' she replied.
'Night-walking amuses him, then,' I remarked, affecting a careless manner: in reality as surprised as she was, and anxious to ascertain the truth of her statement; for to see the master looking glad would not be an every-day spectacle.

I framed an excuse to go in.