Cathy had been caught in the fact of plundering, or, at least, hunting out the nests of the grouse. The Heights were Heathcliff's land, and he was reproving the poacher.
`I've neither taken any nor found any,' she said, as I toiled to them, expanding her hands in corroboration of the statement. `I didn't mean to take them; but papa told me there were quantities up here, and I wished to see the eggs.'
Heathcliff glanced at me with an ill-meaning smile, expressing his acquaintance with the party, and, consequently, his malevolence towards it, and demanded who `papa' was?
`Mr Linton of Thrushcross Grange,' she replied. `I thought you did not know me, or you wouldn't have spoken in that way.'
`You suppose papa is highly esteemed and respected then?' he said sarcastically.
`And what are you?' inquired Catherine, gazing curiously on the speaker. `That man I've seen before Is he your son?'
She pointed to Hareton, the other individual, who had gained nothing but increased bulk and strength by the addition of two years to his age: he seemed as awkward and rough as ever.
`Miss Cathy,' I interrupted, `it will be three hours instead of one that we are out, presently. We really must go back.'
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