"You may be right, Ellen," she answered; "but I shall never feel at ease till I know. And I must tell Linton it is not my fault that I don't write, and convince him that I shall not change."
What use were anger and protestations against her silly credulity? We parted that night-hostile; but next day beheld me on the road to Wuthering Heights, by the side of my wilful young mistress's pony. I couldn't bear to witness her sorrow: to see her pale, dejected countenance, and heavy eyes: and I yielded, in the faint hope that Linton himself might prove, by his reception of us, how little of the tale was founded on fact.
'You may be right, Ellen,' she answered; 'but I shall never feel at ease till I know. And I must tell Linton it is not my fault that I don't write.'
What use were my protests against her silly credulity? Next day I went to Wuthering Heights beside my wilful young mistress's pony. I couldn't bear to see her sorrow: and I yielded, in the faint hope that Linton himself might prove how little of the tale was true.