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Why, Master Heathcliff, you are not fit for enjoying a ramble, this morning. How ill you do look!'
Catherine surveyed him with grief and astonishment; and changed the ejaculation of joy on her lips, to one of alarm; and the congratulation on their long-postponed meeting, to an anxious inquiry, whether he were worse than usual?
`No--better--better!' he panted, trembling, and retaining her hand as if he needed its support, while his large blue eyes wandered timidly over her; the hollowness round them transforming to haggard wildness the languid expression they once possessed.
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`But you have been worse,' persisted his cousin; `worse than when I saw you last; you are thinner, and--
`I'm tired,' he interrupted hurriedly. `It is too hot for walking, let us rest here. And, in the morning, I often feel sick--papa says I grow so fast.'
Badly satisfied, Cathy sat down, and he reclined beside her.
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