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"
It
's
your
father
's
,
is
n't
it
?
"
said
she
,
turning
to
Hareton
.
"
Nay
,
"
he
replied
,
looking
down
,
and
blushing
bashfully
.
He
could
not
stand
a
steady
gaze
from
her
eyes
,
though
they
were
just
his
own
.
"
Whose
then
--
your
master
's
?
"
she
asked
.
He
coloured
deeper
,
with
a
different
feeling
,
muttered
an
oath
,
and
turned
away
.
"
Who
is
his
master
?
"
continued
the
tiresome
girl
,
appealing
to
me
.
"
He
talked
about
'
our
house'and
'
our
folk
.
'
I
thought
he
had
been
the
owner
's
son
.
And
he
never
said
,
Miss
;
he
should
have
done
,
should
n't
he
,
if
he
's
a
servant
?
"
Hareton
grew
black
as
a
thundercloud
,
at
this
childish
speech
.
I
silently
shook
my
questioner
,
and
at
last
succeeded
in
equipping
her
for
departure
.
"
Now
,
get
my
horse
,
"
she
said
,
addressing
her
unknown
kinsman
as
she
would
one
of
the
stable-boys
at
the
Grange
.
"
And
you
may
come
with
me
.
I
want
to
see
where
the
goblin-hunter
rises
in
the
marsh
,
and
to
hear
about
the
fairishes
,
as
you
call
them
:
but
make
haste
!
What
's
the
matter
?
Get
my
horse
,
I
say
.
"
"
I
'll
see
thee
damned
before
I
be
thy
servant
!
"
growled
the
lad
.
"
You
'll
see
me
what
?
"
asked
Catherine
in
surprise
.
"
Damned
--
thou
saucy
witch
!
"
he
replied
.
