Miss Cathy's riven th' back off 'Th' Helmet o' Salvation,' un'
Heathcliff's pawsed his fit into t' first part o' 'T' Brooad Way to
Destruction!' It's fair flaysome that ye let 'em go on this gait.
Ech! th' owd man wad ha' laced 'em properly - but he's goan!"

'Hindley hurried up from his paradise on the hearth, and seizing
one of us by the collar, and the other by the arm, hurled both into
the back-kitchen; where, Joseph asseverated, "owd Nick would fetch
us as sure as we were living: and, so comforted, we each sought a
separate nook to await his advent. I reached this book, and a pot
of ink from a shelf, and pushed the house-door ajar to give me
light, and I have got the time on with writing for twenty minutes;
but my companion is impatient, and proposes that we should
appropriate the dairywoman's cloak, and have a scamper on the
moors, under its shelter. A pleasant suggestion - and then, if the
surly old man come in, he may believe his prophecy verified - we
cannot be damper, or colder, in the rain than we are here.'

* * * * * *

I suppose Catherine fulfilled her project, for the next sentence
took up another subject: she waxed lachrymose.

'How little did I dream that Hindley would ever make me cry so!'
she wrote. 'My head aches, till I cannot keep it on the pillow;
and still I can't give over. Poor Heathcliff! Hindley calls him a
vagabond, and won't let him sit with us, nor eat with us any more;
and, he says, he and I must not play together, and threatens to
turn him out of the house if we break his orders. He has been
blaming our father (how dared he?) for treating H. too liberally;