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On the fifth morning, or rather afternoon, a different step approached--lighter and shorter; and, this time, the person entered the room. It was Zillah; donned in her scarlet shawl, with a black silk bonnet on her head, and a willow basket swung to her arm.
`Eh, dear! Mrs Dean!' she exclaimed. `Well! there is a talk about you at Gimmerton. I never thought but you were sunk in the Blackhorse marsh, and missy with you, till master told me you'd been found, and he'd lodged you here! What! and you must have got on an island, sure? And how long were you in the hole? Did master save you, Mrs Dean? But you're not so thin--you've not been so poorly, have you?'
`Your master is a true scoundrel!' I replied. `But he shall answer for it. He
`What do you mean?' asked zillah. `It's not his tale: they tell that in the village--about your being lost in the marsh: and I calls to Earnshaw, when I come in--"Eh, they's queer things, Mr Hareton, happened since I went off. It's a sad pity of that likely young lass, and cant Nelly Dean.'' He stared. I thought he had not heard aught, so I told him the rumour. The master listened, and he just smiled to himself, and said, ``If they have been in the marsh, they are out now, Zillah. Nelly Dean is lodged, at this minute, in your room. You can tell her to flit, when you go up; here is the key. The bog water got into her head, and she would have run home quite flighty; but I fixed her till she came round to her senses. You can bid her go to the Grange at once, if she be able, and carry a message from me, that her young lady will follow in time to attend the squire's funeral."'
`Mr Edgar is not dead?' I gasped. `Oh! Zillah, Zillah!