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diff --git a/121-0.txt b/121-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d5952ba --- /dev/null +++ b/121-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7999 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 121 *** + +Northanger Abbey + + +by Jane Austen + +(1803) + + + + +Contents + + + ADVERTISEMENT BY THE AUTHORESS, TO NORTHANGER ABBEY + + CHAPTER 1 + CHAPTER 2 + CHAPTER 3 + CHAPTER 4 + CHAPTER 5 + CHAPTER 6 + CHAPTER 7 + CHAPTER 8 + CHAPTER 9 + CHAPTER 10 + CHAPTER 11 + CHAPTER 12 + CHAPTER 13 + CHAPTER 14 + CHAPTER 15 + CHAPTER 16 + CHAPTER 17 + CHAPTER 18 + CHAPTER 19 + CHAPTER 20 + CHAPTER 21 + CHAPTER 22 + CHAPTER 23 + CHAPTER 24 + CHAPTER 25 + CHAPTER 26 + CHAPTER 27 + CHAPTER 28 + CHAPTER 29 + CHAPTER 30 + CHAPTER 31 + + A NOTE ON THE TEXT + + + + +ADVERTISEMENT BY THE AUTHORESS, TO NORTHANGER ABBEY + + +This little work was finished in the year 1803, and intended for +immediate publication. It was disposed of to a bookseller, it was even +advertised, and why the business proceeded no farther, the author has +never been able to learn. That any bookseller should think it +worth-while to purchase what he did not think it worth-while to publish +seems extraordinary. But with this, neither the author nor the public +have any other concern than as some observation is necessary upon those +parts of the work which thirteen years have made comparatively +obsolete. The public are entreated to bear in mind that thirteen years +have passed since it was finished, many more since it was begun, and +that during that period, places, manners, books, and opinions have +undergone considerable changes. + + + + +CHAPTER 1 + + +No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy would have +supposed her born to be an heroine. Her situation in life, the +character of her father and mother, her own person and disposition, +were all equally against her. Her father was a clergyman, without being +neglected, or poor, and a very respectable man, though his name was +Richard—and he had never been handsome. He had a considerable +independence besides two good livings—and he was not in the least +addicted to locking up his daughters. Her mother was a woman of useful +plain sense, with a good temper, and, what is more remarkable, with a +good constitution. She had three sons before Catherine was born; and +instead of dying in bringing the latter into the world, as anybody +might expect, she still lived on—lived to have six children more—to see +them growing up around her, and to enjoy excellent health herself. A +family of ten children will be always called a fine family, where there +are heads and arms and legs enough for the number; but the Morlands had +little other right to the word, for they were in general very plain, +and Catherine, for many years of her life, as plain as any. She had a +thin awkward figure, a sallow skin without colour, dark lank hair, and +strong features—so much for her person; and not less unpropitious for +heroism seemed her mind. She was fond of all boys’ plays, and greatly +preferred cricket not merely to dolls, but to the more heroic +enjoyments of infancy, nursing a dormouse, feeding a canary-bird, or +watering a rose-bush. Indeed she had no taste for a garden; and if she +gathered flowers at all, it was chiefly for the pleasure of mischief—at +least so it was conjectured from her always preferring those which she +was forbidden to take. Such were her propensities—her abilities were +quite as extraordinary. She never could learn or understand anything +before she was taught; and sometimes not even then, for she was often +inattentive, and occasionally stupid. Her mother was three months in +teaching her only to repeat the “Beggar’s Petition”; and after all, her +next sister, Sally, could say it better than she did. Not that +Catherine was always stupid—by no means; she learnt the fable of “The +Hare and Many Friends” as quickly as any girl in England. Her mother +wished her to learn music; and Catherine was sure she should like it, +for she was very fond of tinkling the keys of the old forlorn spinnet; +so, at eight years old she began. She learnt a year, and could not bear +it; and Mrs. Morland, who did not insist on her daughters being +accomplished in spite of incapacity or distaste, allowed her to leave +off. The day which dismissed the music-master was one of the happiest +of Catherine’s life. Her taste for drawing was not superior; though +whenever she could obtain the outside of a letter from her mother or +seize upon any other odd piece of paper, she did what she could in that +way, by drawing houses and trees, hens and chickens, all very much like +one another. Writing and accounts she was taught by her father; French +by her mother: her proficiency in either was not remarkable, and she +shirked her lessons in both whenever she could. What a strange, +unaccountable character!—for with all these symptoms of profligacy at +ten years old, she had neither a bad heart nor a bad temper, was seldom +stubborn, scarcely ever quarrelsome, and very kind to the little ones, +with few interruptions of tyranny; she was moreover noisy and wild, +hated confinement and cleanliness, and loved nothing so well in the +world as rolling down the green slope at the back of the house. + +Such was Catherine Morland at ten. At fifteen, appearances were +mending; she began to curl her hair and long for balls; her complexion +improved, her features were softened by plumpness and colour, her eyes +gained more animation, and her figure more consequence. Her love of +dirt gave way to an inclination for finery, and she grew clean as she +grew smart; she had now the pleasure of sometimes hearing her father +and mother remark on her personal improvement. “Catherine grows quite a +good-looking girl—she is almost pretty to-day,” were words which caught +her ears now and then; and how welcome were the sounds! to look +_almost_ pretty is an acquisition of higher delight to a girl who has +been looking plain the first fifteen years of her life than a beauty +from her cradle can ever receive. + +Mrs. Morland was a very good woman, and wished to see her children +everything they ought to be; but her time was so much occupied in +lying-in and teaching the little ones, that her elder daughters were +inevitably left to shift for themselves; and it was not very wonderful +that Catherine, who had by nature nothing heroic about her, should +prefer cricket, baseball, riding on horseback, and running about the +country at the age of fourteen, to books—or at least books of +information—for, provided that nothing like useful knowledge could be +gained from them, provided they were all story and no reflection, she +had never any objection to books at all. But from fifteen to seventeen +she was in training for a heroine; she read all such works as heroines +must read to supply their memories with those quotations which are so +serviceable and so soothing in the vicissitudes of their eventful +lives. + +From Pope, she learnt to censure those who + +“bear about the mockery of woe.” + + +From Gray, that + +“Many a flower is born to blush unseen, +“And waste its fragrance on the desert air.” + + +From Thomson, that— + +“It is a delightful task +“To teach the young idea how to shoot.” + + +And from Shakespeare she gained a great store of information—amongst +the rest, that— + +“Trifles light as air, +“Are, to the jealous, confirmation strong, +“As proofs of Holy Writ.” + + +That + +“The poor beetle, which we tread upon, +“In corporal sufferance feels a pang as great +“As when a giant dies.” + + +And that a young woman in love always looks— + +“like Patience on a monument +“Smiling at Grief.” + + +So far her improvement was sufficient—and in many other points she came +on exceedingly well; for though she could not write sonnets, she +brought herself to read them; and though there seemed no chance of her +throwing a whole party into raptures by a prelude on the pianoforte, of +her own composition, she could listen to other people’s performance +with very little fatigue. Her greatest deficiency was in the pencil—she +had no notion of drawing—not enough even to attempt a sketch of her +lover’s profile, that she might be detected in the design. There she +fell miserably short of the true heroic height. At present she did not +know her own poverty, for she had no lover to portray. She had reached +the age of seventeen, without having seen one amiable youth who could +call forth her sensibility, without having inspired one real passion, +and without having excited even any admiration but what was very +moderate and very transient. This was strange indeed! but strange +things may be generally accounted for if their cause be fairly searched +out. There was not one lord in the neighbourhood; no—not even a +baronet. There was not one family among their acquaintance who had +reared and supported a boy accidentally found at their door—not one +young man whose origin was unknown. Her father had no ward, and the +squire of the parish no children. + +But when a young lady is to be a heroine, the perverseness of forty +surrounding families cannot prevent her. Something must and will happen +to throw a hero in her way. + +Mr. Allen, who owned the chief of the property about Fullerton, the +village in Wiltshire where the Morlands lived, was ordered to Bath for +the benefit of a gouty constitution—and his lady, a good-humoured +woman, fond of Miss Morland, and probably aware that if adventures will +not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad, +invited her to go with them. Mr. and Mrs. Morland were all compliance, +and Catherine all happiness. + + + + +CHAPTER 2 + + +In addition to what has been already said of Catherine Morland’s +personal and mental endowments, when about to be launched into all the +difficulties and dangers of a six weeks’ residence in Bath, it may be +stated, for the reader’s more certain information, lest the following +pages should otherwise fail of giving any idea of what her character is +meant to be, that her heart was affectionate; her disposition cheerful +and open, without conceit or affectation of any kind—her manners just +removed from the awkwardness and shyness of a girl; her person +pleasing, and, when in good looks, pretty—and her mind about as +ignorant and uninformed as the female mind at seventeen usually is. + +When the hour of departure drew near, the maternal anxiety of Mrs. +Morland will be naturally supposed to be most severe. A thousand +alarming presentiments of evil to her beloved Catherine from this +terrific separation must oppress her heart with sadness, and drown her +in tears for the last day or two of their being together; and advice of +the most important and applicable nature must of course flow from her +wise lips in their parting conference in her closet. Cautions against +the violence of such noblemen and baronets as delight in forcing young +ladies away to some remote farm-house, must, at such a moment, relieve +the fulness of her heart. Who would not think so? But Mrs. Morland knew +so little of lords and baronets, that she entertained no notion of +their general mischievousness, and was wholly unsuspicious of danger to +her daughter from their machinations. Her cautions were confined to the +following points. “I beg, Catherine, you will always wrap yourself up +very warm about the throat, when you come from the Rooms at night; and +I wish you would try to keep some account of the money you spend; I +will give you this little book on purpose.” + +Sally, or rather Sarah (for what young lady of common gentility will +reach the age of sixteen without altering her name as far as she can?), +must from situation be at this time the intimate friend and confidante +of her sister. It is remarkable, however, that she neither insisted on +Catherine’s writing by every post, nor exacted her promise of +transmitting the character of every new acquaintance, nor a detail of +every interesting conversation that Bath might produce. Everything +indeed relative to this important journey was done, on the part of the +Morlands, with a degree of moderation and composure, which seemed +rather consistent with the common feelings of common life, than with +the refined susceptibilities, the tender emotions which the first +separation of a heroine from her family ought always to excite. Her +father, instead of giving her an unlimited order on his banker, or even +putting an hundred pounds bank-bill into her hands, gave her only ten +guineas, and promised her more when she wanted it. + +Under these unpromising auspices, the parting took place, and the +journey began. It was performed with suitable quietness and uneventful +safety. Neither robbers nor tempests befriended them, nor one lucky +overturn to introduce them to the hero. Nothing more alarming occurred +than a fear, on Mrs. Allen’s side, of having once left her clogs behind +her at an inn, and that fortunately proved to be groundless. + +They arrived at Bath. Catherine was all eager delight—her eyes were +here, there, everywhere, as they approached its fine and striking +environs, and afterwards drove through those streets which conducted +them to the hotel. She was come to be happy, and she felt happy +already. + +They were soon settled in comfortable lodgings in Pulteney Street. + +It is now expedient to give some description of Mrs. Allen, that the +reader may be able to judge in what manner her actions will hereafter +tend to promote the general distress of the work, and how she will, +probably, contribute to reduce poor Catherine to all the desperate +wretchedness of which a last volume is capable—whether by her +imprudence, vulgarity, or jealousy—whether by intercepting her letters, +ruining her character, or turning her out of doors. + +Mrs. Allen was one of that numerous class of females, whose society can +raise no other emotion than surprise at there being any men in the +world who could like them well enough to marry them. She had neither +beauty, genius, accomplishment, nor manner. The air of a gentlewoman, a +great deal of quiet, inactive good temper, and a trifling turn of mind +were all that could account for her being the choice of a sensible, +intelligent man like Mr. Allen. In one respect she was admirably fitted +to introduce a young lady into public, being as fond of going +everywhere and seeing everything herself as any young lady could be. +Dress was her passion. She had a most harmless delight in being fine; +and our heroine’s entree into life could not take place till after +three or four days had been spent in learning what was mostly worn, and +her chaperon was provided with a dress of the newest fashion. +Catherine too made some purchases herself, and when all these matters +were arranged, the important evening came which was to usher her into +the Upper Rooms. Her hair was cut and dressed by the best hand, her +clothes put on with care, and both Mrs. Allen and her maid declared she +looked quite as she should do. With such encouragement, Catherine hoped +at least to pass uncensured through the crowd. As for admiration, it +was always very welcome when it came, but she did not depend on it. + +Mrs. Allen was so long in dressing that they did not enter the ballroom +till late. The season was full, the room crowded, and the two ladies +squeezed in as well as they could. As for Mr. Allen, he repaired +directly to the card-room, and left them to enjoy a mob by themselves. +With more care for the safety of her new gown than for the comfort of +her protégée, Mrs. Allen made her way through the throng of men by the +door, as swiftly as the necessary caution would allow; Catherine, +however, kept close at her side, and linked her arm too firmly within +her friend’s to be torn asunder by any common effort of a struggling +assembly. But to her utter amazement she found that to proceed along +the room was by no means the way to disengage themselves from the +crowd; it seemed rather to increase as they went on, whereas she had +imagined that when once fairly within the door, they should easily find +seats and be able to watch the dances with perfect convenience. But +this was far from being the case, and though by unwearied diligence +they gained even the top of the room, their situation was just the +same; they saw nothing of the dancers but the high feathers of some of +the ladies. Still they moved on—something better was yet in view; and +by a continued exertion of strength and ingenuity they found themselves +at last in the passage behind the highest bench. Here there was +something less of crowd than below; and hence Miss Morland had a +comprehensive view of all the company beneath her, and of all the +dangers of her late passage through them. It was a splendid sight, and +she began, for the first time that evening, to feel herself at a ball: +she longed to dance, but she had not an acquaintance in the room. Mrs. +Allen did all that she could do in such a case by saying very placidly, +every now and then, “I wish you could dance, my dear—I wish you could +get a partner.” For some time her young friend felt obliged to her for +these wishes; but they were repeated so often, and proved so totally +ineffectual, that Catherine grew tired at last, and would thank her no +more. + +They were not long able, however, to enjoy the repose of the eminence +they had so laboriously gained. Everybody was shortly in motion for +tea, and they must squeeze out like the rest. Catherine began to feel +something of disappointment—she was tired of being continually pressed +against by people, the generality of whose faces possessed nothing to +interest, and with all of whom she was so wholly unacquainted that she +could not relieve the irksomeness of imprisonment by the exchange of a +syllable with any of her fellow captives; and when at last arrived in +the tea-room, she felt yet more the awkwardness of having no party to +join, no acquaintance to claim, no gentleman to assist them. They saw +nothing of Mr. Allen; and after looking about them in vain for a more +eligible situation, were obliged to sit down at the end of a table, at +which a large party were already placed, without having anything to do +there, or anybody to speak to, except each other. + +Mrs. Allen congratulated herself, as soon as they were seated, on +having preserved her gown from injury. “It would have been very +shocking to have it torn,” said she, “would not it? It is such a +delicate muslin. For my part I have not seen anything I like so well in +the whole room, I assure you.” + +“How uncomfortable it is,” whispered Catherine, “not to have a single +acquaintance here!” + +“Yes, my dear,” replied Mrs. Allen, with perfect serenity, “it is very +uncomfortable indeed.” + +“What shall we do? The gentlemen and ladies at this table look as if +they wondered why we came here—we seem forcing ourselves into their +party.” + +“Aye, so we do. That is very disagreeable. I wish we had a large +acquaintance here.” + +“I wish we had _any;_—it would be somebody to go to.” + +“Very true, my dear; and if we knew anybody we would join them +directly. The Skinners were here last year—I wish they were here now.” + +“Had not we better go away as it is? Here are no tea-things for us, you +see.” + +“No more there are, indeed. How very provoking! but I think we had +better sit still, for one gets so tumbled in such a crowd! how is my +head, my dear? Somebody gave me a push that has hurt it, I am afraid.” + +“No, indeed, it looks very nice. But, dear Mrs. Allen, are you sure +there is nobody you know in all this multitude of people? I think you +_must_ know somebody.” + +“I don’t, upon my word—I wish I did. I wish I had a large acquaintance +here with all my heart, and then I should get you a partner. I should +be so glad to have you dance. There goes a strange-looking woman! what +an odd gown she has got on! how old-fashioned it is! look at the back.” + +After some time they received an offer of tea from one of their +neighbours; it was thankfully accepted, and this introduced a light +conversation with the gentleman who offered it, which was the only time +that anybody spoke to them during the evening, till they were +discovered and joined by Mr. Allen when the dance was over. + +“Well, Miss Morland,” said he, directly, “I hope you have had an +agreeable ball.” + +“Very agreeable indeed,” she replied, vainly endeavouring to hide a +great yawn. + +“I wish she had been able to dance,” said his wife; “I wish we could +have got a partner for her. I have been saying how glad I should be if +the Skinners were here this winter instead of last; or if the Parrys +had come, as they talked of once, she might have danced with George +Parry. I am so sorry she has not had a partner!” + +“We shall do better another evening I hope,” was Mr. Allen’s +consolation. + +The company began to disperse when the dancing was over—enough to leave +space for the remainder to walk about in some comfort; and now was the +time for a heroine, who had not yet played a very distinguished part in +the events of the evening, to be noticed and admired. Every five +minutes, by removing some of the crowd, gave greater openings for her +charms. She was now seen by many young men who had not been near her +before. Not one, however, started with rapturous wonder on beholding +her, no whisper of eager inquiry ran round the room, nor was she once +called a divinity by anybody. Yet Catherine was in very good looks, and +had the company only seen her three years before, they would _now_ have +thought her exceedingly handsome. + +She _was_ looked at, however, and with some admiration; for, in her own +hearing, two gentlemen pronounced her to be a pretty girl. Such words +had their due effect; she immediately thought the evening pleasanter +than she had found it before—her humble vanity was contented—she felt +more obliged to the two young men for this simple praise than a +true quality heroine would have been for fifteen sonnets in celebration +of her charms, and went to her chair in good humour with everybody, and +perfectly satisfied with her share of public attention. + + + + +CHAPTER 3 + + +Every morning now brought its regular duties—shops were to be visited; +some new part of the town to be looked at; and the Pump-room to be +attended, where they paraded up and down for an hour, looking at +everybody and speaking to no one. The wish of a numerous acquaintance +in Bath was still uppermost with Mrs. Allen, and she repeated it after +every fresh proof, which every morning brought, of her knowing nobody +at all. + +They made their appearance in the Lower Rooms; and here fortune was +more favourable to our heroine. The master of the ceremonies introduced +to her a very gentleman-like young man as a partner; his name was +Tilney. He seemed to be about four or five and twenty, was rather tall, +had a pleasing countenance, a very intelligent and lively eye, and, if +not quite handsome, was very near it. His address was good, and +Catherine felt herself in high luck. There was little leisure for +speaking while they danced; but when they were seated at tea, she found +him as agreeable as she had already given him credit for being. He +talked with fluency and spirit—and there was an archness and pleasantry +in his manner which interested, though it was hardly understood by her. +After chatting some time on such matters as naturally arose from the +objects around them, he suddenly addressed her with—“I have hitherto +been very remiss, madam, in the proper attentions of a partner here; I +have not yet asked you how long you have been in Bath; whether you were +ever here before; whether you have been at the Upper Rooms, the +theatre, and the concert; and how you like the place altogether. I have +been very negligent—but are you now at leisure to satisfy me in these +particulars? If you are I will begin directly.” + +“You need not give yourself that trouble, sir.” + +“No trouble, I assure you, madam.” Then forming his features into a set +smile, and affectedly softening his voice, he added, with a simpering +air, “Have you been long in Bath, madam?” + +“About a week, sir,” replied Catherine, trying not to laugh. + +“Really!” with affected astonishment. + +“Why should you be surprised, sir?” + +“Why, indeed!” said he, in his natural tone. “But some emotion must +appear to be raised by your reply, and surprise is more easily assumed, +and not less reasonable than any other. Now let us go on. Were you +never here before, madam?” + +“Never, sir.” + +“Indeed! have you yet honoured the Upper Rooms?” + +“Yes, sir, I was there last Monday.” + +“Have you been to the theatre?” + +“Yes, sir, I was at the play on Tuesday.” + +“To the concert?” + +“Yes, sir, on Wednesday.” + +“And are you altogether pleased with Bath?” + +“Yes—I like it very well.” + +“Now I must give one smirk, and then we may be rational again.” +Catherine turned away her head, not knowing whether she might venture +to laugh. + +“I see what you think of me,” said he gravely—“I shall make +but a poor figure in your journal to-morrow.” + +“My journal!” + +“Yes, I know exactly what you will say: Friday, went to the Lower +Rooms; wore my sprigged muslin robe with blue trimmings—plain black +shoes—appeared to much advantage; but was strangely harassed by a +queer, half-witted man, who would make me dance with him, and +distressed me by his nonsense.” + +“Indeed I shall say no such thing.” + +“Shall I tell you what you ought to say?” + +“If you please.” + +“I danced with a very agreeable young man, introduced by Mr. King; had +a great deal of conversation with him—seems a most extraordinary +genius—hope I may know more of him. _That_, madam, is what I _wish_ you +to say.” + +“But, perhaps, I keep no journal.” + +“Perhaps you are not sitting in this room, and I am not sitting by you. +These are points in which a doubt is equally possible. Not keep a +journal! how are your absent cousins to understand the tenor of your +life in Bath without one? How are the civilities and compliments of +every day to be related as they ought to be, unless noted down every +evening in a journal? How are your various dresses to be remembered, +and the particular state of your complexion, and curl of your hair to +be described in all their diversities, without having constant recourse +to a journal? My dear madam, I am not so ignorant of young ladies’ ways +as you wish to believe me; it is this delightful habit of journaling +which largely contributes to form the easy style of writing for which +ladies are so generally celebrated. Everybody allows that the talent of +writing agreeable letters is peculiarly female. Nature may have done +something, but I am sure it must be essentially assisted by the +practice of keeping a journal.” + +“I have sometimes thought,” said Catherine, doubtingly, “whether ladies +do write so much better letters than gentlemen! that is—I should not +think the superiority was always on our side.” + +“As far as I have had opportunity of judging, it appears to me that the +usual style of letter-writing among women is faultless, except in three +particulars.” + +“And what are they?” + +“A general deficiency of subject, a total inattention to stops, and a +very frequent ignorance of grammar.” + +“Upon my word! i need not have been afraid of disclaiming the +compliment. You do not think too highly of us in that way.” + +“I should no more lay it down as a general rule that women write better +letters than men, than that they sing better duets, or draw better +landscapes. In every power, of which taste is the foundation, +excellence is pretty fairly divided between the sexes.” + +They were interrupted by Mrs. Allen: “My dear Catherine,” said she, “do +take this pin out of my sleeve; I am afraid it has torn a hole already; +I shall be quite sorry if it has, for this is a favourite gown, though +it cost but nine shillings a yard.” + +“That is exactly what I should have guessed it, madam,” said Mr. +Tilney, looking at the muslin. + +“Do you understand muslins, sir?” + +“Particularly well; I always buy my own cravats, and am allowed to be +an excellent judge; and my sister has often trusted me in the choice of +a gown. I bought one for her the other day, and it was pronounced to be +a prodigious bargain by every lady who saw it. I gave but five +shillings a yard for it, and a true Indian muslin.” + +Mrs. Allen was quite struck by his genius. “Men commonly take so little +notice of those things,” said she; “I can never get Mr. Allen to know +one of my gowns from another. You must be a great comfort to your +sister, sir.” + +“I hope I am, madam.” + +“And pray, sir, what do you think of Miss Morland’s gown?” + +“It is very pretty, madam,” said he, gravely examining it; “but I do +not think it will wash well; I am afraid it will fray.” + +“How can you,” said Catherine, laughing, “be so—” She had almost said +“strange.” + +“I am quite of your opinion, sir,” replied Mrs. Allen; “and so I told +Miss Morland when she bought it.” + +“But then you know, madam, muslin always turns to some account or +other; Miss Morland will get enough out of it for a handkerchief, or a +cap, or a cloak. Muslin can never be said to be wasted. I have heard my +sister say so forty times, when she has been extravagant in buying more +than she wanted, or careless in cutting it to pieces.” + +“Bath is a charming place, sir; there are so many good shops here. We +are sadly off in the country; not but what we have very good shops in +Salisbury, but it is so far to go—eight miles is a long way; Mr. Allen +says it is nine, measured nine; but I am sure it cannot be more than +eight; and it is such a fag—I come back tired to death. Now, here one +can step out of doors and get a thing in five minutes.” + +Mr. Tilney was polite enough to seem interested in what she said; and +she kept him on the subject of muslins till the dancing recommenced. +Catherine feared, as she listened to their discourse, that he indulged +himself a little too much with the foibles of others. “What are you +thinking of so earnestly?” said he, as they walked back to the +ballroom; “not of your partner, I hope, for, by that shake of the head, +your meditations are not satisfactory.” + +Catherine coloured, and said, “I was not thinking of anything.” + +“That is artful and deep, to be sure; but I had rather be told at once +that you will not tell me.” + +“Well then, I will not.” + +“Thank you; for now we shall soon be acquainted, as I am authorized to +tease you on this subject whenever we meet, and nothing in the world +advances intimacy so much.” + +They danced again; and, when the assembly closed, parted, on the lady’s +side at least, with a strong inclination for continuing the +acquaintance. Whether she thought of him so much, while she drank her +warm wine and water, and prepared herself for bed, as to dream of him +when there, cannot be ascertained; but I hope it was no more than in a +slight slumber, or a morning doze at most; for if it be true, as a +celebrated writer has maintained, that no young lady can be justified +in falling in love before the gentleman’s love is declared,[1] it must +be very improper that a young lady should dream of a gentleman before +the gentleman is first known to have dreamt of her. How proper Mr. +Tilney might be as a dreamer or a lover had not yet perhaps entered Mr. +Allen’s head, but that he was not objectionable as a common +acquaintance for his young charge he was on inquiry satisfied; for he +had early in the evening taken pains to know who her partner was, and +had been assured of Mr. Tilney’s being a clergyman, and of a very +respectable family in Gloucestershire. + + [1] Vide a letter from Mr. Richardson, No. 97, Vol. ii, Rambler. + + + + +CHAPTER 4 + + +With more than usual eagerness did Catherine hasten to the pump-room +the next day, secure within herself of seeing Mr. Tilney there before +the morning were over, and ready to meet him with a smile; but no smile +was demanded—Mr. Tilney did not appear. Every creature in Bath, except +himself, was to be seen in the room at different periods of the +fashionable hours; crowds of people were every moment passing in and +out, up the steps and down; people whom nobody cared about, and nobody +wanted to see; and he only was absent. “What a delightful place Bath +is,” said Mrs. Allen as they sat down near the great clock, after +parading the room till they were tired; “and how pleasant it would be +if we had any acquaintance here.” + +This sentiment had been uttered so often in vain that Mrs. Allen had no +particular reason to hope it would be followed with more advantage now; +but we are told to “despair of nothing we would attain,” as “unwearied +diligence our point would gain”; and the unwearied diligence with which +she had every day wished for the same thing was at length to have its +just reward, for hardly had she been seated ten minutes before a lady +of about her own age, who was sitting by her, and had been looking at +her attentively for several minutes, addressed her with great +complaisance in these words: “I think, madam, I cannot be mistaken; it +is a long time since I had the pleasure of seeing you, but is not your +name Allen?” This question answered, as it readily was, the stranger +pronounced hers to be Thorpe; and Mrs. Allen immediately recognized the +features of a former schoolfellow and intimate, whom she had seen only +once since their respective marriages, and that many years ago. Their +joy on this meeting was very great, as well it might, since they had +been contented to know nothing of each other for the last fifteen +years. Compliments on good looks now passed; and, after observing how +time had slipped away since they were last together, how little they +had thought of meeting in Bath, and what a pleasure it was to see an +old friend, they proceeded to make inquiries and give intelligence as +to their families, sisters, and cousins, talking both together, far +more ready to give than to receive information, and each hearing very +little of what the other said. Mrs. Thorpe, however, had one great +advantage as a talker, over Mrs. Allen, in a family of children; and +when she expatiated on the talents of her sons, and the beauty of her +daughters, when she related their different situations and views—that +John was at Oxford, Edward at Merchant Taylors’, and William at sea—and +all of them more beloved and respected in their different station than +any other three beings ever were, Mrs. Allen had no similar information +to give, no similar triumphs to press on the unwilling and unbelieving +ear of her friend, and was forced to sit and appear to listen to all +these maternal effusions, consoling herself, however, with the +discovery, which her keen eyes soon made, that the lace on Mrs. Thorpe’s +pelisse was not half so handsome as that on her own. + +“Here come my dear girls,” cried Mrs. Thorpe, pointing at three +smart-looking females who, arm in arm, were then moving towards her. +“My dear Mrs. Allen, I long to introduce them; they will be so +delighted to see you: the tallest is Isabella, my eldest; is not she a +fine young woman? The others are very much admired too, but I believe +Isabella is the handsomest.” + +The Miss Thorpes were introduced; and Miss Morland, who had been for a +short time forgotten, was introduced likewise. The name seemed to +strike them all; and, after speaking to her with great civility, the +eldest young lady observed aloud to the rest, “How excessively like her +brother Miss Morland is!” + +“The very picture of him indeed!” cried the mother—and “I should have +known her anywhere for his sister!” was repeated by them all, two or +three times over. For a moment Catherine was surprised; but Mrs. Thorpe +and her daughters had scarcely begun the history of their acquaintance +with Mr. James Morland, before she remembered that her eldest brother +had lately formed an intimacy with a young man of his own college, of +the name of Thorpe; and that he had spent the last week of the +Christmas vacation with his family, near London. + +The whole being explained, many obliging things were said by the Miss +Thorpes of their wish of being better acquainted with her; of being +considered as already friends, through the friendship of their +brothers, etc., which Catherine heard with pleasure, and answered with +all the pretty expressions she could command; and, as the first proof +of amity, she was soon invited to accept an arm of the eldest Miss +Thorpe, and take a turn with her about the room. Catherine was +delighted with this extension of her Bath acquaintance, and almost +forgot Mr. Tilney while she talked to Miss Thorpe. Friendship is +certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love. + +Their conversation turned upon those subjects, of which the free +discussion has generally much to do in perfecting a sudden intimacy +between two young ladies: such as dress, balls, flirtations, and +quizzes. Miss Thorpe, however, being four years older than Miss +Morland, and at least four years better informed, had a very decided +advantage in discussing such points; she could compare the balls of +Bath with those of Tunbridge, its fashions with the fashions of London; +could rectify the opinions of her new friend in many articles of +tasteful attire; could discover a flirtation between any gentleman and +lady who only smiled on each other; and point out a quiz through the +thickness of a crowd. These powers received due admiration from +Catherine, to whom they were entirely new; and the respect which they +naturally inspired might have been too great for familiarity, had not +the easy gaiety of Miss Thorpe’s manners, and her frequent expressions +of delight on this acquaintance with her, softened down every feeling +of awe, and left nothing but tender affection. Their increasing +attachment was not to be satisfied with half a dozen turns in the +pump-room, but required, when they all quitted it together, that Miss +Thorpe should accompany Miss Morland to the very door of Mr. Allen’s +house; and that they should there part with a most affectionate and +lengthened shake of hands, after learning, to their mutual relief, that +they should see each other across the theatre at night, and say their +prayers in the same chapel the next morning. Catherine then ran +directly upstairs, and watched Miss Thorpe’s progress down the street +from the drawing-room window; admired the graceful spirit of her walk, +the fashionable air of her figure and dress; and felt grateful, as well +she might, for the chance which had procured her such a friend. + +Mrs. Thorpe was a widow, and not a very rich one; she was a +good-humoured, well-meaning woman, and a very indulgent mother. Her +eldest daughter had great personal beauty, and the younger ones, by +pretending to be as handsome as their sister, imitating her air, and +dressing in the same style, did very well. + +This brief account of the family is intended to supersede the necessity +of a long and minute detail from Mrs. Thorpe herself, of her past +adventures and sufferings, which might otherwise be expected to occupy +the three or four following chapters; in which the worthlessness of +lords and attorneys might be set forth, and conversations, which had +passed twenty years before, be minutely repeated. + + + + +CHAPTER 5 + + +Catherine was not so much engaged at the theatre that evening, in +returning the nods and smiles of Miss Thorpe, though they certainly +claimed much of her leisure, as to forget to look with an inquiring eye +for Mr. Tilney in every box which her eye could reach; but she looked +in vain. Mr. Tilney was no fonder of the play than the pump-room. She +hoped to be more fortunate the next day; and when her wishes for fine +weather were answered by seeing a beautiful morning, she hardly felt a +doubt of it; for a fine Sunday in Bath empties every house of its +inhabitants, and all the world appears on such an occasion to walk +about and tell their acquaintance what a charming day it is. + +As soon as divine service was over, the Thorpes and Allens eagerly +joined each other; and after staying long enough in the pump-room to +discover that the crowd was insupportable, and that there was not a +genteel face to be seen, which everybody discovers every Sunday +throughout the season, they hastened away to the Crescent, to breathe +the fresh air of better company. Here Catherine and Isabella, arm in +arm, again tasted the sweets of friendship in an unreserved +conversation; they talked much, and with much enjoyment; but again was +Catherine disappointed in her hope of reseeing her partner. He was +nowhere to be met with; every search for him was equally unsuccessful, +in morning lounges or evening assemblies; neither at the Upper nor +Lower Rooms, at dressed or undressed balls, was he perceivable; nor +among the walkers, the horsemen, or the curricle-drivers of the +morning. His name was not in the pump-room book, and curiosity could do +no more. He must be gone from Bath. Yet he had not mentioned that his +stay would be so short! this sort of mysteriousness, which is always so +becoming in a hero, threw a fresh grace in Catherine’s imagination +around his person and manners, and increased her anxiety to know more +of him. From the Thorpes she could learn nothing, for they had been +only two days in Bath before they met with Mrs. Allen. It was a +subject, however, in which she often indulged with her fair friend, +from whom she received every possible encouragement to continue to +think of him; and his impression on her fancy was not suffered +therefore to weaken. Isabella was very sure that he must be a charming +young man, and was equally sure that he must have been delighted with +her dear Catherine, and would therefore shortly return. She liked him +the better for being a clergyman, “for she must confess herself very +partial to the profession”; and something like a sigh escaped her as +she said it. Perhaps Catherine was wrong in not demanding the cause of +that gentle emotion—but she was not experienced enough in the finesse +of love, or the duties of friendship, to know when delicate raillery +was properly called for, or when a confidence should be forced. + +Mrs. Allen was now quite happy—quite satisfied with Bath. She had found +some acquaintance, had been so lucky too as to find in them the family +of a most worthy old friend; and, as the completion of good fortune, +had found these friends by no means so expensively dressed as herself. +Her daily expressions were no longer, “I wish we had some acquaintance +in Bath!” They were changed into, “How glad I am we have met with Mrs. +Thorpe!” and she was as eager in promoting the intercourse of the two +families, as her young charge and Isabella themselves could be; never +satisfied with the day unless she spent the chief of it by the side of +Mrs. Thorpe, in what they called conversation, but in which there was +scarcely ever any exchange of opinion, and not often any resemblance of +subject, for Mrs. Thorpe talked chiefly of her children, and Mrs. Allen +of her gowns. + +The progress of the friendship between Catherine and Isabella was quick +as its beginning had been warm, and they passed so rapidly through +every gradation of increasing tenderness that there was shortly no +fresh proof of it to be given to their friends or themselves. They +called each other by their Christian name, were always arm in arm when +they walked, pinned up each other’s train for the dance, and were not +to be divided in the set; and if a rainy morning deprived them of other +enjoyments, they were still resolute in meeting in defiance of wet and +dirt, and shut themselves up, to read novels together. Yes, novels; for +I will not adopt that ungenerous and impolitic custom so common with +novel-writers, of degrading by their contemptuous censure the very +performances, to the number of which they are themselves adding—joining +with their greatest enemies in bestowing the harshest epithets on such +works, and scarcely ever permitting them to be read by their own +heroine, who, if she accidentally take up a novel, is sure to turn over +its insipid pages with disgust. Alas! if the heroine of one novel be +not patronized by the heroine of another, from whom can she expect +protection and regard? I cannot approve of it. Let us leave it to the +reviewers to abuse such effusions of fancy at their leisure, and over +every new novel to talk in threadbare strains of the trash with which +the press now groans. Let us not desert one another; we are an injured +body. Although our productions have afforded more extensive and +unaffected pleasure than those of any other literary corporation in the +world, no species of composition has been so much decried. From pride, +ignorance, or fashion, our foes are almost as many as our readers. And +while the abilities of the nine-hundredth abridger of the History of +England, or of the man who collects and publishes in a volume some +dozen lines of Milton, Pope, and Prior, with a paper from the +Spectator, and a chapter from Sterne, are eulogized by a thousand +pens—there seems almost a general wish of decrying the capacity and +undervaluing the labour of the novelist, and of slighting the +performances which have only genius, wit, and taste to recommend them. +“I am no novel-reader—I seldom look into novels—Do not imagine that _I_ +often read novels—It is really very well for a novel.” Such is the +common cant. “And what are you reading, Miss——?” “Oh! it is only a +novel!” replies the young lady, while she lays down her book with +affected indifference, or momentary shame. “It is only Cecilia, or +Camilla, or Belinda”; or, in short, only some work in which the +greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough +knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, +the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in +the best-chosen language. Now, had the same young lady been engaged +with a volume of the Spectator, instead of such a work, how proudly +would she have produced the book, and told its name; though the chances +must be against her being occupied by any part of that voluminous +publication, of which either the matter or manner would not disgust a +young person of taste: the substance of its papers so often consisting +in the statement of improbable circumstances, unnatural characters, and +topics of conversation which no longer concern anyone living; and their +language, too, frequently so coarse as to give no very favourable idea +of the age that could endure it. + + + + +CHAPTER 6 + + +The following conversation, which took place between the two friends in +the pump-room one morning, after an acquaintance of eight or nine days, +is given as a specimen of their very warm attachment, and of the +delicacy, discretion, originality of thought, and literary taste which +marked the reasonableness of that attachment. + +They met by appointment; and as Isabella had arrived nearly five +minutes before her friend, her first address naturally was, “My dearest +creature, what can have made you so late? I have been waiting for you +at least this age!” + +“Have you, indeed! i am very sorry for it; but really I thought I was +in very good time. It is but just one. I hope you have not been here +long?” + +“Oh! these ten ages at least. I am sure I have been here this half +hour. But now, let us go and sit down at the other end of the room, and +enjoy ourselves. I have an hundred things to say to you. In the first +place, I was so afraid it would rain this morning, just as I wanted to +set off; it looked very showery, and that would have thrown me into +agonies! do you know, I saw the prettiest hat you can imagine, in a +shop window in Milsom Street just now—very like yours, only with +coquelicot ribbons instead of green; I quite longed for it. But, my +dearest Catherine, what have you been doing with yourself all this +morning? Have you gone on with Udolpho?” + +“Yes, I have been reading it ever since I woke; and I am got to the +black veil.” + +“Are you, indeed? How delightful! oh! i would not tell you what is +behind the black veil for the world! are not you wild to know?” + +“Oh! yes, quite; what can it be? But do not tell me—I would not be told +upon any account. I know it must be a skeleton, I am sure it is +Laurentina’s skeleton. Oh! i am delighted with the book! i should like +to spend my whole life in reading it. I assure you, if it had not been +to meet you, I would not have come away from it for all the world.” + +“Dear creature! how much I am obliged to you; and when you have +finished Udolpho, we will read the Italian together; and I have made +out a list of ten or twelve more of the same kind for you.” + +“Have you, indeed! how glad I am! what are they all?” + +“I will read you their names directly; here they are, in my pocketbook. +Castle of Wolfenbach, Clermont, Mysterious Warnings, Necromancer of the +Black Forest, Midnight Bell, Orphan of the Rhine, and Horrid Mysteries. +Those will last us some time.” + +“Yes, pretty well; but are they all horrid, are you sure they are all +horrid?” + +“Yes, quite sure; for a particular friend of mine, a Miss Andrews, a +sweet girl, one of the sweetest creatures in the world, has read every +one of them. I wish you knew Miss Andrews, you would be delighted with +her. She is netting herself the sweetest cloak you can conceive. I +think her as beautiful as an angel, and I am so vexed with the men for +not admiring her! i scold them all amazingly about it.” + +“Scold them! do you scold them for not admiring her?” + +“Yes, that I do. There is nothing I would not do for those who are +really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves; it is +not my nature. My attachments are always excessively strong. I told +Captain Hunt at one of our assemblies this winter that if he was to +tease me all night, I would not dance with him, unless he would allow +Miss Andrews to be as beautiful as an angel. The men think us incapable +of real friendship, you know, and I am determined to show them the +difference. Now, if I were to hear anybody speak slightingly of you, I +should fire up in a moment: but that is not at all likely, for _you_ +are just the kind of girl to be a great favourite with the men.” + +“Oh, dear!” cried Catherine, colouring. “How can you say so?” + +“I know you very well; you have so much animation, which is exactly +what Miss Andrews wants, for I must confess there is something +amazingly insipid about her. Oh! i must tell you, that just after we +parted yesterday, I saw a young man looking at you so earnestly—I am +sure he is in love with you.” Catherine coloured, and disclaimed again. +Isabella laughed. “It is very true, upon my honour, but I see how it +is; you are indifferent to everybody’s admiration, except that of one +gentleman, who shall be nameless. Nay, I cannot blame you”—speaking +more seriously—“your feelings are easily understood. Where the heart is +really attached, I know very well how little one can be pleased with +the attention of anybody else. Everything is so insipid, so +uninteresting, that does not relate to the beloved object! i can +perfectly comprehend your feelings.” + +“But you should not persuade me that I think so very much about Mr. +Tilney, for perhaps I may never see him again.” + +“Not see him again! my dearest creature, do not talk of it. I am sure +you would be miserable if you thought so!” + +“No, indeed, I should not. I do not pretend to say that I was not very +much pleased with him; but while I have Udolpho to read, I feel as if +nobody could make me miserable. Oh! the dreadful black veil! my dear +Isabella, I am sure there must be Laurentina’s skeleton behind it.” + +“It is so odd to me, that you should never have read Udolpho before; +but I suppose Mrs. Morland objects to novels.” + +“No, she does not. She very often reads Sir Charles Grandison herself; +but new books do not fall in our way.” + +“Sir Charles Grandison! that is an amazing horrid book, is it not? I +remember Miss Andrews could not get through the first volume.” + +“It is not like Udolpho at all; but yet I think it is very +entertaining.” + +“Do you indeed! you surprise me; I thought it had not been readable. +But, my dearest Catherine, have you settled what to wear on your head +to-night? I am determined at all events to be dressed exactly like you. +The men take notice of _that_ sometimes, you know.” + +“But it does not signify if they do,” said Catherine, very innocently. + +“Signify! oh, heavens! i make it a rule never to mind what they say. +They are very often amazingly impertinent if you do not treat them with +spirit, and make them keep their distance.” + +“Are they? Well, I never observed _that_. They always behave very well +to me.” + +“Oh! they give themselves such airs. They are the most conceited +creatures in the world, and think themselves of so much importance! by +the by, though I have thought of it a hundred times, I have always +forgot to ask you what is your favourite complexion in a man. Do you +like them best dark or fair?” + +“I hardly know. I never much thought about it. Something between both, +I think. Brown—not fair, and—and not very dark.” + +“Very well, Catherine. That is exactly he. I have not forgot your +description of Mr. Tilney—‘a brown skin, with dark eyes, and rather +dark hair.’ Well, my taste is different. I prefer light eyes, and as to +complexion—do you know—I like a sallow better than any other. You must +not betray me, if you should ever meet with one of your acquaintance +answering that description.” + +“Betray you! what do you mean?” + +“Nay, do not distress me. I believe I have said too much. Let us drop +the subject.” + +Catherine, in some amazement, complied, and after remaining a few +moments silent, was on the point of reverting to what interested her at +that time rather more than anything else in the world, Laurentina’s +skeleton, when her friend prevented her, by saying, “For heaven’s sake! +Let us move away from this end of the room. Do you know, there are two +odious young men who have been staring at me this half hour. They +really put me quite out of countenance. Let us go and look at the +arrivals. They will hardly follow us there.” + +Away they walked to the book; and while Isabella examined the names, it +was Catherine’s employment to watch the proceedings of these alarming +young men. + +“They are not coming this way, are they? I hope they are not so +impertinent as to follow us. Pray let me know if they are coming. I am +determined I will not look up.” + +In a few moments Catherine, with unaffected pleasure, assured her that +she need not be longer uneasy, as the gentlemen had just left the +pump-room. + +“And which way are they gone?” said Isabella, turning hastily round. +“One was a very good-looking young man.” + +“They went towards the church-yard.” + +“Well, I am amazingly glad I have got rid of them! and now, what say +you to going to Edgar’s Buildings with me, and looking at my new hat? +You said you should like to see it.” + +Catherine readily agreed. “Only,” she added, “perhaps we may overtake +the two young men.” + +“Oh! never mind that. If we make haste, we shall pass by them +presently, and I am dying to show you my hat.” + +“But if we only wait a few minutes, there will be no danger of our +seeing them at all.” + +“I shall not pay them any such compliment, I assure you. I have no +notion of treating men with such respect. _That_ is the way to spoil +them.” + +Catherine had nothing to oppose against such reasoning; and therefore, +to show the independence of Miss Thorpe, and her resolution of humbling +the sex, they set off immediately as fast as they could walk, in +pursuit of the two young men. + + + + +CHAPTER 7 + + +Half a minute conducted them through the pump-yard to the archway, +opposite Union Passage; but here they were stopped. Everybody +acquainted with Bath may remember the difficulties of crossing Cheap +Street at this point; it is indeed a street of so impertinent a nature, +so unfortunately connected with the great London and Oxford roads, and +the principal inn of the city, that a day never passes in which parties +of ladies, however important their business, whether in quest of +pastry, millinery, or even (as in the present case) of young men, are +not detained on one side or other by carriages, horsemen, or carts. +This evil had been felt and lamented, at least three times a day, by +Isabella since her residence in Bath; and she was now fated to feel and +lament it once more, for at the very moment of coming opposite to Union +Passage, and within view of the two gentlemen who were proceeding +through the crowds, and threading the gutters of that interesting +alley, they were prevented crossing by the approach of a gig, driven +along on bad pavement by a most knowing-looking coachman with all the +vehemence that could most fitly endanger the lives of himself, his +companion, and his horse. + +“Oh, these odious gigs!” said Isabella, looking up. “How I detest +them.” But this detestation, though so just, was of short duration, for +she looked again and exclaimed, “Delightful! mr. Morland and my +brother!” + +“Good heaven! ’Tis James!” was uttered at the same moment by Catherine; +and, on catching the young men’s eyes, the horse was immediately +checked with a violence which almost threw him on his haunches, and the +servant having now scampered up, the gentlemen jumped out, and the +equipage was delivered to his care. + +Catherine, by whom this meeting was wholly unexpected, received her +brother with the liveliest pleasure; and he, being of a very amiable +disposition, and sincerely attached to her, gave every proof on his +side of equal satisfaction, which he could have leisure to do, while +the bright eyes of Miss Thorpe were incessantly challenging his notice; +and to her his devoirs were speedily paid, with a mixture of joy and +embarrassment which might have informed Catherine, had she been more +expert in the development of other people’s feelings, and less simply +engrossed by her own, that her brother thought her friend quite as +pretty as she could do herself. + +John Thorpe, who in the meantime had been giving orders about the +horses, soon joined them, and from him she directly received the amends +which were her due; for while he slightly and carelessly touched the +hand of Isabella, on her he bestowed a whole scrape and half a short +bow. He was a stout young man of middling height, who, with a plain +face and ungraceful form, seemed fearful of being too handsome unless +he wore the dress of a groom, and too much like a gentleman unless he +were easy where he ought to be civil, and impudent where he might be +allowed to be easy. He took out his watch: “How long do you think we +have been running it from Tetbury, Miss Morland?” + +“I do not know the distance.” Her brother told her that it was +twenty-three miles. + +“_Three_-and-twenty!” cried Thorpe, “five-and-twenty if it is an inch.” +Morland remonstrated, pleaded the authority of road-books, innkeepers, +and milestones; but his friend disregarded them all; he had a surer +test of distance. “I know it must be five-and-twenty,” said he, “by the +time we have been doing it. It is now half after one; we drove out of +the inn-yard at Tetbury as the town clock struck eleven; and I defy any +man in England to make my horse go less than ten miles an hour in +harness; that makes it exactly twenty-five.” + +“You have lost an hour,” said Morland; “it was only ten o’clock when we +came from Tetbury.” + +“Ten o’clock! it was eleven, upon my soul! i counted every stroke. This +brother of yours would persuade me out of my senses, Miss Morland; do +but look at my horse; did you ever see an animal so made for speed in +your life?” (The servant had just mounted the carriage and was driving +off.) “Such true blood! three hours and and a half indeed coming only +three and twenty miles! look at that creature, and suppose it possible +if you can.” + +“He _does_ look very hot, to be sure.” + +“Hot! he had not turned a hair till we came to Walcot Church; but look +at his forehand; look at his loins; only see how he moves; that horse +_cannot_ go less than ten miles an hour: tie his legs and he will get +on. What do you think of my gig, Miss Morland? A neat one, is not it? +Well hung; town-built; I have not had it a month. It was built for a +Christchurch man, a friend of mine, a very good sort of fellow; he ran +it a few weeks, till, I believe, it was convenient to have done with +it. I happened just then to be looking out for some light thing of the +kind, though I had pretty well determined on a curricle too; but I +chanced to meet him on Magdalen Bridge, as he was driving into Oxford, +last term: ‘Ah! thorpe,’ said he, ‘do you happen to want such a little +thing as this? It is a capital one of the kind, but I am cursed tired +of it.’ ‘Oh! d—,’ said I; ‘I am your man; what do you ask?’ And how +much do you think he did, Miss Morland?” + +“I am sure I cannot guess at all.” + +“Curricle-hung, you see; seat, trunk, sword-case, splashing-board, +lamps, silver moulding, all you see complete; the iron-work as good as +new, or better. He asked fifty guineas; I closed with him directly, +threw down the money, and the carriage was mine.” + +“And I am sure,” said Catherine, “I know so little of such things that +I cannot judge whether it was cheap or dear.” + +“Neither one nor t’other; I might have got it for less, I dare say; but +I hate haggling, and poor Freeman wanted cash.” + +“That was very good-natured of you,” said Catherine, quite pleased. + +“Oh! d—— it, when one has the means of doing a kind thing by a friend, +I hate to be pitiful.” + +An inquiry now took place into the intended movements of the young +ladies; and, on finding whither they were going, it was decided that +the gentlemen should accompany them to Edgar’s Buildings, and pay their +respects to Mrs. Thorpe. James and Isabella led the way; and so well +satisfied was the latter with her lot, so contentedly was she +endeavouring to ensure a pleasant walk to him who brought the double +recommendation of being her brother’s friend, and her friend’s brother, +so pure and uncoquettish were her feelings, that, though they overtook +and passed the two offending young men in Milsom Street, she was so far +from seeking to attract their notice, that she looked back at them only +three times. + +John Thorpe kept of course with Catherine, and, after a few minutes’ +silence, renewed the conversation about his gig. “You will find, +however, Miss Morland, it would be reckoned a cheap thing by some +people, for I might have sold it for ten guineas more the next day; +Jackson, of Oriel, bid me sixty at once; Morland was with me at the +time.” + +“Yes,” said Morland, who overheard this; “but you forget that your +horse was included.” + +“My horse! oh, d—— it! i would not sell my horse for a hundred. Are you +fond of an open carriage, Miss Morland?” + +“Yes, very; I have hardly ever an opportunity of being in one; but I am +particularly fond of it.” + +“I am glad of it; I will drive you out in mine every day.” + +“Thank you,” said Catherine, in some distress, from a doubt of the +propriety of accepting such an offer. + +“I will drive you up Lansdown Hill to-morrow.” + +“Thank you; but will not your horse want rest?” + +“Rest! he has only come three and twenty miles to-day; all nonsense; +nothing ruins horses so much as rest; nothing knocks them up so soon. +No, no; I shall exercise mine at the average of four hours every day +while I am here.” + +“Shall you indeed!” said Catherine very seriously. “That will be forty +miles a day.” + +“Forty! aye, fifty, for what I care. Well, I will drive you up Lansdown +to-morrow; mind, I am engaged.” + +“How delightful that will be!” cried Isabella, turning round. “My +dearest Catherine, I quite envy you; but I am afraid, brother, you will +not have room for a third.” + +“A third indeed! no, no; I did not come to Bath to drive my sisters +about; that would be a good joke, faith! morland must take care of +you.” + +This brought on a dialogue of civilities between the other two; but +Catherine heard neither the particulars nor the result. Her companion’s +discourse now sunk from its hitherto animated pitch to nothing more +than a short decisive sentence of praise or condemnation on the face of +every woman they met; and Catherine, after listening and agreeing as +long as she could, with all the civility and deference of the youthful +female mind, fearful of hazarding an opinion of its own in opposition +to that of a self-assured man, especially where the beauty of her own +sex is concerned, ventured at length to vary the subject by a question +which had been long uppermost in her thoughts; it was, “Have you ever +read Udolpho, Mr. Thorpe?” + +“Udolpho! oh, Lord! not I; I never read novels; I have something else +to do.” + +Catherine, humbled and ashamed, was going to apologize for her +question, but he prevented her by saying, “Novels are all so full of +nonsense and stuff; there has not been a tolerably decent one come out +since Tom Jones, except The Monk; I read that t’other day; but as for +all the others, they are the stupidest things in creation.” + +“I think you must like Udolpho, if you were to read it; it is so very +interesting.” + +“Not I, faith! no, if I read any, it shall be Mrs. Radcliffe’s; her +novels are amusing enough; they are worth reading; some fun and nature +in _them_.” + +“Udolpho was written by Mrs. Radcliffe,” said Catherine, with some +hesitation, from the fear of mortifying him. + +“No, sure; was it? Aye, I remember, so it was; I was thinking of that +other stupid book, written by that woman they make such a fuss about, +she who married the French emigrant.” + +“I suppose you mean Camilla?” + +“Yes, that’s the book; such unnatural stuff! an old man playing at +see-saw, I took up the first volume once and looked it over, but I soon +found it would not do; indeed I guessed what sort of stuff it must be +before I saw it: as soon as I heard she had married an emigrant, I was +sure I should never be able to get through it.” + +“I have never read it.” + +“You had no loss, I assure you; it is the horridest nonsense you can +imagine; there is nothing in the world in it but an old man’s playing +at see-saw and learning Latin; upon my soul there is not.” + +This critique, the justness of which was unfortunately lost on poor +Catherine, brought them to the door of Mrs. Thorpe’s lodgings, and the +feelings of the discerning and unprejudiced reader of Camilla gave way +to the feelings of the dutiful and affectionate son, as they met Mrs. +Thorpe, who had descried them from above, in the passage. “Ah, Mother! +How do you do?” said he, giving her a hearty shake of the hand. “Where +did you get that quiz of a hat? It makes you look like an old witch. +Here is Morland and I come to stay a few days with you, so you must +look out for a couple of good beds somewhere near.” And this address +seemed to satisfy all the fondest wishes of the mother’s heart, for she +received him with the most delighted and exulting affection. On his two +younger sisters he then bestowed an equal portion of his fraternal +tenderness, for he asked each of them how they did, and observed that +they both looked very ugly. + +These manners did not please Catherine; but he was James’s friend and +Isabella’s brother; and her judgment was further bought off by +Isabella’s assuring her, when they withdrew to see the new hat, that +John thought her the most charming girl in the world, and by John’s +engaging her before they parted to dance with him that evening. Had she +been older or vainer, such attacks might have done little; but, where +youth and diffidence are united, it requires uncommon steadiness of +reason to resist the attraction of being called the most charming girl +in the world, and of being so very early engaged as a partner; and the +consequence was that, when the two Morlands, after sitting an hour with +the Thorpes, set off to walk together to Mr. Allen’s, and James, as the +door was closed on them, said, “Well, Catherine, how do you like my +friend Thorpe?” instead of answering, as she probably would have done, +had there been no friendship and no flattery in the case, “I do not +like him at all,” she directly replied, “I like him very much; he seems +very agreeable.” + +“He is as good-natured a fellow as ever lived; a little of a rattle; +but that will recommend him to your sex, I believe: and how do you like +the rest of the family?” + +“Very, very much indeed: Isabella particularly.” + +“I am very glad to hear you say so; she is just the kind of young woman +I could wish to see you attached to; she has so much good sense, and is +so thoroughly unaffected and amiable; I always wanted you to know her; +and she seems very fond of you. She said the highest things in your +praise that could possibly be; and the praise of such a girl as Miss +Thorpe even you, Catherine,” taking her hand with affection, “may be +proud of.” + +“Indeed I am,” she replied; “I love her exceedingly, and am delighted +to find that you like her too. You hardly mentioned anything of her +when you wrote to me after your visit there.” + +“Because I thought I should soon see you myself. I hope you will be a +great deal together while you are in Bath. She is a most amiable girl; +such a superior understanding! how fond all the family are of her; she +is evidently the general favourite; and how much she must be admired in +such a place as this—is not she?” + +“Yes, very much indeed, I fancy; Mr. Allen thinks her the prettiest +girl in Bath.” + +“I dare say he does; and I do not know any man who is a better judge of +beauty than Mr. Allen. I need not ask you whether you are happy here, +my dear Catherine; with such a companion and friend as Isabella Thorpe, +it would be impossible for you to be otherwise; and the Allens, I am +sure, are very kind to you?” + +“Yes, very kind; I never was so happy before; and now you are come it +will be more delightful than ever; how good it is of you to come so far +on purpose to see _me_.” + +James accepted this tribute of gratitude, and qualified his conscience +for accepting it too, by saying with perfect sincerity, “Indeed, +Catherine, I love you dearly.” + +Inquiries and communications concerning brothers and sisters, the +situation of some, the growth of the rest, and other family matters now +passed between them, and continued, with only one small digression on +James’s part, in praise of Miss Thorpe, till they reached Pulteney +Street, where he was welcomed with great kindness by Mr. and Mrs. +Allen, invited by the former to dine with them, and summoned by the +latter to guess the price and weigh the merits of a new muff and +tippet. A pre-engagement in Edgar’s Buildings prevented his accepting +the invitation of one friend, and obliged him to hurry away as soon as +he had satisfied the demands of the other. The time of the two parties +uniting in the Octagon Room being correctly adjusted, Catherine was +then left to the luxury of a raised, restless, and frightened +imagination over the pages of Udolpho, lost from all worldly concerns +of dressing and dinner, incapable of soothing Mrs. Allen’s fears on the +delay of an expected dressmaker, and having only one minute in sixty to +bestow even on the reflection of her own felicity, in being already +engaged for the evening. + + + + +CHAPTER 8 + + +In spite of Udolpho and the dressmaker, however, the party from +Pulteney Street reached the Upper Rooms in very good time. The Thorpes +and James Morland were there only two minutes before them; and Isabella +having gone through the usual ceremonial of meeting her friend with the +most smiling and affectionate haste, of admiring the set of her gown, +and envying the curl of her hair, they followed their chaperons, arm +in arm, into the ballroom, whispering to each other whenever a thought +occurred, and supplying the place of many ideas by a squeeze of the +hand or a smile of affection. + +The dancing began within a few minutes after they were seated; and +James, who had been engaged quite as long as his sister, was very +importunate with Isabella to stand up; but John was gone into the +card-room to speak to a friend, and nothing, she declared, should +induce her to join the set before her dear Catherine could join it too. +“I assure you,” said she, “I would not stand up without your dear +sister for all the world; for if I did we should certainly be separated +the whole evening.” Catherine accepted this kindness with gratitude, +and they continued as they were for three minutes longer, when +Isabella, who had been talking to James on the other side of her, +turned again to his sister and whispered, “My dear creature, I am +afraid I must leave you, your brother is so amazingly impatient to +begin; I know you will not mind my going away, and I dare say John will +be back in a moment, and then you may easily find me out.” Catherine, +though a little disappointed, had too much good nature to make any +opposition, and the others rising up, Isabella had only time to press +her friend’s hand and say, “Good-bye, my dear love,” before they +hurried off. The younger Miss Thorpes being also dancing, Catherine was +left to the mercy of Mrs. Thorpe and Mrs. Allen, between whom she now +remained. She could not help being vexed at the non-appearance of Mr. +Thorpe, for she not only longed to be dancing, but was likewise aware +that, as the real dignity of her situation could not be known, she was +sharing with the scores of other young ladies still sitting down all +the discredit of wanting a partner. To be disgraced in the eye of the +world, to wear the appearance of infamy while her heart is all purity, +her actions all innocence, and the misconduct of another the true +source of her debasement, is one of those circumstances which +peculiarly belong to the heroine’s life, and her fortitude under it +what particularly dignifies her character. Catherine had fortitude too; +she suffered, but no murmur passed her lips. + +From this state of humiliation, she was roused, at the end of ten +minutes, to a pleasanter feeling, by seeing, not Mr. Thorpe, but Mr. +Tilney, within three yards of the place where they sat; he seemed to be +moving that way, but he did not see her, and therefore the smile and +the blush, which his sudden reappearance raised in Catherine, passed +away without sullying her heroic importance. He looked as handsome and +as lively as ever, and was talking with interest to a fashionable and +pleasing-looking young woman, who leant on his arm, and whom Catherine +immediately guessed to be his sister; thus unthinkingly throwing away a +fair opportunity of considering him lost to her forever, by being +married already. But guided only by what was simple and probable, it +had never entered her head that Mr. Tilney could be married; he had not +behaved, he had not talked, like the married men to whom she had been +used; he had never mentioned a wife, and he had acknowledged a sister. +From these circumstances sprang the instant conclusion of his sister’s +now being by his side; and therefore, instead of turning of a deathlike +paleness and falling in a fit on Mrs. Allen’s bosom, Catherine sat +erect, in the perfect use of her senses, and with cheeks only a little +redder than usual. + +Mr. Tilney and his companion, who continued, though slowly, to +approach, were immediately preceded by a lady, an acquaintance of Mrs. +Thorpe; and this lady stopping to speak to her, they, as belonging to +her, stopped likewise, and Catherine, catching Mr. Tilney’s eye, +instantly received from him the smiling tribute of recognition. She +returned it with pleasure, and then advancing still nearer, he spoke +both to her and Mrs. Allen, by whom he was very civilly acknowledged. +“I am very happy to see you again, sir, indeed; I was afraid you had +left Bath.” He thanked her for her fears, and said that he had quitted +it for a week, on the very morning after his having had the pleasure of +seeing her. + +“Well, sir, and I dare say you are not sorry to be back again, for it +is just the place for young people—and indeed for everybody else too. I +tell Mr. Allen, when he talks of being sick of it, that I am sure he +should not complain, for it is so very agreeable a place, that it is +much better to be here than at home at this dull time of year. I tell +him he is quite in luck to be sent here for his health.” + +“And I hope, madam, that Mr. Allen will be obliged to like the place, +from finding it of service to him.” + +“Thank you, sir. I have no doubt that he will. A neighbour of ours, Dr. +Skinner, was here for his health last winter, and came away quite +stout.” + +“That circumstance must give great encouragement.” + +“Yes, sir—and Dr. Skinner and his family were here three months; so I +tell Mr. Allen he must not be in a hurry to get away.” + +Here they were interrupted by a request from Mrs. Thorpe to Mrs. Allen, +that she would move a little to accommodate Mrs. Hughes and Miss Tilney +with seats, as they had agreed to join their party. This was +accordingly done, Mr. Tilney still continuing standing before them; and +after a few minutes’ consideration, he asked Catherine to dance with +him. This compliment, delightful as it was, produced severe +mortification to the lady; and in giving her denial, she expressed her +sorrow on the occasion so very much as if she really felt it, that had +Thorpe, who joined her just afterwards, been half a minute earlier, he +might have thought her sufferings rather too acute. The very easy +manner in which he then told her that he had kept her waiting did not +by any means reconcile her more to her lot; nor did the particulars +which he entered into while they were standing up, of the horses and +dogs of the friend whom he had just left, and of a proposed exchange of +terriers between them, interest her so much as to prevent her looking +very often towards that part of the room where she had left Mr. Tilney. +Of her dear Isabella, to whom she particularly longed to point out that +gentleman, she could see nothing. They were in different sets. She was +separated from all her party, and away from all her acquaintance; one +mortification succeeded another, and from the whole she deduced this +useful lesson, that to go previously engaged to a ball does not +necessarily increase either the dignity or enjoyment of a young lady. +From such a moralizing strain as this, she was suddenly roused by a +touch on the shoulder, and turning round, perceived Mrs. Hughes +directly behind her, attended by Miss Tilney and a gentleman. “I beg +your pardon, Miss Morland,” said she, “for this liberty—but I cannot +anyhow get to Miss Thorpe, and Mrs. Thorpe said she was sure you would +not have the least objection to letting in this young lady by you.” +Mrs. Hughes could not have applied to any creature in the room more +happy to oblige her than Catherine. The young ladies were introduced to +each other, Miss Tilney expressing a proper sense of such goodness, +Miss Morland with the real delicacy of a generous mind making light of +the obligation; and Mrs. Hughes, satisfied with having so respectably +settled her young charge, returned to her party. + +Miss Tilney had a good figure, a pretty face, and a very agreeable +countenance; and her air, though it had not all the decided pretension, +the resolute stylishness of Miss Thorpe’s, had more real elegance. Her +manners showed good sense and good breeding; they were neither shy nor +affectedly open; and she seemed capable of being young, attractive, and +at a ball without wanting to fix the attention of every man near her, +and without exaggerated feelings of ecstatic delight or inconceivable +vexation on every little trifling occurrence. Catherine, interested at +once by her appearance and her relationship to Mr. Tilney, was desirous +of being acquainted with her, and readily talked therefore whenever she +could think of anything to say, and had courage and leisure for saying +it. But the hindrance thrown in the way of a very speedy intimacy, by +the frequent want of one or more of these requisites, prevented their +doing more than going through the first rudiments of an acquaintance, +by informing themselves how well the other liked Bath, how much she +admired its buildings and surrounding country, whether she drew, or +played, or sang, and whether she was fond of riding on horseback. + +The two dances were scarcely concluded before Catherine found her arm +gently seized by her faithful Isabella, who in great spirits exclaimed, +“At last I have got you. My dearest creature, I have been looking for +you this hour. What could induce you to come into this set, when you +knew I was in the other? I have been quite wretched without you.” + +“My dear Isabella, how was it possible for me to get at you? I could +not even see where you were.” + +“So I told your brother all the time—but he would not believe me. Do go +and see for her, Mr. Morland, said I—but all in vain—he would not stir +an inch. Was not it so, Mr. Morland? But you men are all so +immoderately lazy! i have been scolding him to such a degree, my dear +Catherine, you would be quite amazed. You know I never stand upon +ceremony with such people.” + +“Look at that young lady with the white beads round her head,” +whispered Catherine, detaching her friend from James. “It is Mr. +Tilney’s sister.” + +“Oh! heavens! you don’t say so! let me look at her this moment. What a +delightful girl! i never saw anything half so beautiful! but where is +her all-conquering brother? Is he in the room? Point him out to me this +instant, if he is. I die to see him. Mr. Morland, you are not to +listen. We are not talking about you.” + +“But what is all this whispering about? What is going on?” + +“There now, I knew how it would be. You men have such restless +curiosity! talk of the curiosity of women, indeed! ’Tis nothing. But be +satisfied, for you are not to know anything at all of the matter.” + +“And is that likely to satisfy me, do you think?” + +“Well, I declare I never knew anything like you. What can it signify to +you, what we are talking of. Perhaps we are talking about you; +therefore I would advise you not to listen, or you may happen to hear +something not very agreeable.” + +In this commonplace chatter, which lasted some time, the original +subject seemed entirely forgotten; and though Catherine was very well +pleased to have it dropped for a while, she could not avoid a little +suspicion at the total suspension of all Isabella’s impatient desire to +see Mr. Tilney. When the orchestra struck up a fresh dance, James would +have led his fair partner away, but she resisted. “I tell you, Mr. +Morland,” she cried, “I would not do such a thing for all the world. +How can you be so teasing; only conceive, my dear Catherine, what your +brother wants me to do. He wants me to dance with him again, though I +tell him that it is a most improper thing, and entirely against the +rules. It would make us the talk of the place, if we were not to change +partners.” + +“Upon my honour,” said James, “in these public assemblies, it is as +often done as not.” + +“Nonsense, how can you say so? But when you men have a point to carry, +you never stick at anything. My sweet Catherine, do support me; +persuade your brother how impossible it is. Tell him that it would +quite shock you to see me do such a thing; now would not it?” + +“No, not at all; but if you think it wrong, you had much better +change.” + +“There,” cried Isabella, “you hear what your sister says, and yet you +will not mind her. Well, remember that it is not my fault, if we set +all the old ladies in Bath in a bustle. Come along, my dearest +Catherine, for heaven’s sake, and stand by me.” And off they went, to +regain their former place. John Thorpe, in the meanwhile, had walked +away; and Catherine, ever willing to give Mr. Tilney an opportunity of +repeating the agreeable request which had already flattered her once, +made her way to Mrs. Allen and Mrs. Thorpe as fast as she could, in the +hope of finding him still with them—a hope which, when it proved to be +fruitless, she felt to have been highly unreasonable. “Well, my dear,” +said Mrs. Thorpe, impatient for praise of her son, “I hope you have had +an agreeable partner.” + +“Very agreeable, madam.” + +“I am glad of it. John has charming spirits, has not he?” + +“Did you meet Mr. Tilney, my dear?” said Mrs. Allen. + +“No, where is he?” + +“He was with us just now, and said he was so tired of lounging about, +that he was resolved to go and dance; so I thought perhaps he would ask +you, if he met with you.” + +“Where can he be?” said Catherine, looking round; but she had not +looked round long before she saw him leading a young lady to the dance. + +“Ah! he has got a partner; I wish he had asked _you_,” said Mrs. Allen; +and after a short silence, she added, “he is a very agreeable young +man.” + +“Indeed he is, Mrs. Allen,” said Mrs. Thorpe, smiling complacently; “I +must say it, though I _am_ his mother, that there is not a more +agreeable young man in the world.” + +This inapplicable answer might have been too much for the comprehension +of many; but it did not puzzle Mrs. Allen, for after only a moment’s +consideration, she said, in a whisper to Catherine, “I dare say she +thought I was speaking of her son.” + +Catherine was disappointed and vexed. She seemed to have missed by so +little the very object she had had in view; and this persuasion did not +incline her to a very gracious reply, when John Thorpe came up to her +soon afterwards and said, “Well, Miss Morland, I suppose you and I are +to stand up and jig it together again.” + +“Oh, no; I am much obliged to you, our two dances are over; and, +besides, I am tired, and do not mean to dance any more.” + +“Do not you? Then let us walk about and quiz people. Come along with +me, and I will show you the four greatest quizzers in the room; my two +younger sisters and their partners. I have been laughing at them this +half hour.” + +Again Catherine excused herself; and at last he walked off to quiz his +sisters by himself. The rest of the evening she found very dull; Mr. +Tilney was drawn away from their party at tea, to attend that of his +partner; Miss Tilney, though belonging to it, did not sit near her, and +James and Isabella were so much engaged in conversing together that the +latter had no leisure to bestow more on her friend than one smile, one +squeeze, and one “dearest Catherine.” + + + + +CHAPTER 9 + + +The progress of Catherine’s unhappiness from the events of the evening +was as follows. It appeared first in a general dissatisfaction with +everybody about her, while she remained in the rooms, which speedily +brought on considerable weariness and a violent desire to go home. +This, on arriving in Pulteney Street, took the direction of +extraordinary hunger, and when that was appeased, changed into an +earnest longing to be in bed; such was the extreme point of her +distress; for when there she immediately fell into a sound sleep which +lasted nine hours, and from which she awoke perfectly revived, in +excellent spirits, with fresh hopes and fresh schemes. The first wish +of her heart was to improve her acquaintance with Miss Tilney, and +almost her first resolution, to seek her for that purpose, in the +pump-room at noon. In the pump-room, one so newly arrived in Bath must +be met with, and that building she had already found so favourable for +the discovery of female excellence, and the completion of female +intimacy, so admirably adapted for secret discourses and unlimited +confidence, that she was most reasonably encouraged to expect another +friend from within its walls. Her plan for the morning thus settled, +she sat quietly down to her book after breakfast, resolving to remain +in the same place and the same employment till the clock struck one; +and from habitude very little incommoded by the remarks and +ejaculations of Mrs. Allen, whose vacancy of mind and incapacity for +thinking were such, that as she never talked a great deal, so she could +never be entirely silent; and, therefore, while she sat at her work, if +she lost her needle or broke her thread, if she heard a carriage in the +street, or saw a speck upon her gown, she must observe it aloud, +whether there were anyone at leisure to answer her or not. At about +half past twelve, a remarkably loud rap drew her in haste to the +window, and scarcely had she time to inform Catherine of there being +two open carriages at the door, in the first only a servant, her +brother driving Miss Thorpe in the second, before John Thorpe came +running upstairs, calling out, “Well, Miss Morland, here I am. Have you +been waiting long? We could not come before; the old devil of a +coachmaker was such an eternity finding out a thing fit to be got into, +and now it is ten thousand to one but they break down before we are out +of the street. How do you do, Mrs. Allen? A famous ball last night, was +not it? Come, Miss Morland, be quick, for the others are in a +confounded hurry to be off. They want to get their tumble over.” + +“What do you mean?” said Catherine. “Where are you all going to?” + +“Going to? Why, you have not forgot our engagement! did not we agree +together to take a drive this morning? What a head you have! we are +going up Claverton Down.” + +“Something was said about it, I remember,” said Catherine, looking at +Mrs. Allen for her opinion; “but really I did not expect you.” + +“Not expect me! that’s a good one! and what a dust you would have made, +if I had not come.” + +Catherine’s silent appeal to her friend, meanwhile, was entirely thrown +away, for Mrs. Allen, not being at all in the habit of conveying any +expression herself by a look, was not aware of its being ever intended +by anybody else; and Catherine, whose desire of seeing Miss Tilney +again could at that moment bear a short delay in favour of a drive, and +who thought there could be no impropriety in her going with Mr. Thorpe, +as Isabella was going at the same time with James, was therefore +obliged to speak plainer. “Well, ma’am, what do you say to it? Can you +spare me for an hour or two? Shall I go?” + +“Do just as you please, my dear,” replied Mrs. Allen, with the most +placid indifference. Catherine took the advice, and ran off to get +ready. In a very few minutes she reappeared, having scarcely allowed +the two others time enough to get through a few short sentences in her +praise, after Thorpe had procured Mrs. Allen’s admiration of his gig; +and then receiving her friend’s parting good wishes, they both hurried +downstairs. “My dearest creature,” cried Isabella, to whom the duty of +friendship immediately called her before she could get into the +carriage, “you have been at least three hours getting ready. I was +afraid you were ill. What a delightful ball we had last night. I have a +thousand things to say to you; but make haste and get in, for I long to +be off.” + +Catherine followed her orders and turned away, but not too soon to hear +her friend exclaim aloud to James, “What a sweet girl she is! i quite +dote on her.” + +“You will not be frightened, Miss Morland,” said Thorpe, as he handed +her in, “if my horse should dance about a little at first setting off. +He will, most likely, give a plunge or two, and perhaps take the rest +for a minute; but he will soon know his master. He is full of spirits, +playful as can be, but there is no vice in him.” + +Catherine did not think the portrait a very inviting one, but it was +too late to retreat, and she was too young to own herself frightened; +so, resigning herself to her fate, and trusting to the animal’s boasted +knowledge of its owner, she sat peaceably down, and saw Thorpe sit down +by her. Everything being then arranged, the servant who stood at the +horse’s head was bid in an important voice “to let him go,” and off +they went in the quietest manner imaginable, without a plunge or a +caper, or anything like one. Catherine, delighted at so happy an +escape, spoke her pleasure aloud with grateful surprise; and her +companion immediately made the matter perfectly simple by assuring her +that it was entirely owing to the peculiarly judicious manner in which +he had then held the reins, and the singular discernment and dexterity +with which he had directed his whip. Catherine, though she could not +help wondering that with such perfect command of his horse, he should +think it necessary to alarm her with a relation of its tricks, +congratulated herself sincerely on being under the care of so excellent +a coachman; and perceiving that the animal continued to go on in the +same quiet manner, without showing the smallest propensity towards any +unpleasant vivacity, and (considering its inevitable pace was ten miles +an hour) by no means alarmingly fast, gave herself up to all the +enjoyment of air and exercise of the most invigorating kind, in a fine +mild day of February, with the consciousness of safety. A silence of +several minutes succeeded their first short dialogue; it was broken by +Thorpe’s saying very abruptly, “Old Allen is as rich as a Jew—is not +he?” Catherine did not understand him—and he repeated his question, +adding in explanation, “Old Allen, the man you are with.” + +“Oh! mr. Allen, you mean. Yes, I believe, he is very rich.” + +“And no children at all?” + +“No—not any.” + +“A famous thing for his next heirs. He is _your_ godfather, is not he?” + +“My godfather! no.” + +“But you are always very much with them.” + +“Yes, very much.” + +“Aye, that is what I meant. He seems a good kind of old fellow enough, +and has lived very well in his time, I dare say; he is not gouty for +nothing. Does he drink his bottle a day now?” + +“His bottle a day! no. Why should you think of such a thing? He is a +very temperate man, and you could not fancy him in liquor last night?” + +“Lord help you! you women are always thinking of men’s being in liquor. +Why, you do not suppose a man is overset by a bottle? I am sure of +_this_—that if everybody was to drink their bottle a day, there would +not be half the disorders in the world there are now. It would be a +famous good thing for us all.” + +“I cannot believe it.” + +“Oh! lord, it would be the saving of thousands. There is not the +hundredth part of the wine consumed in this kingdom that there ought to +be. Our foggy climate wants help.” + +“And yet I have heard that there is a great deal of wine drunk in +Oxford.” + +“Oxford! there is no drinking at Oxford now, I assure you. Nobody +drinks there. You would hardly meet with a man who goes beyond his four +pints at the utmost. Now, for instance, it was reckoned a remarkable +thing, at the last party in my rooms, that upon an average we cleared +about five pints a head. It was looked upon as something out of the +common way. _Mine_ is famous good stuff, to be sure. You would not +often meet with anything like it in Oxford—and that may account for it. +But this will just give you a notion of the general rate of drinking +there.” + +“Yes, it does give a notion,” said Catherine warmly, “and that is, that +you all drink a great deal more wine than I thought you did. However, I +am sure James does not drink so much.” + +This declaration brought on a loud and overpowering reply, of which no +part was very distinct, except the frequent exclamations, amounting +almost to oaths, which adorned it, and Catherine was left, when it +ended, with rather a strengthened belief of there being a great deal of +wine drunk in Oxford, and the same happy conviction of her brother’s +comparative sobriety. + +Thorpe’s ideas then all reverted to the merits of his own equipage, and +she was called on to admire the spirit and freedom with which his horse +moved along, and the ease which his paces, as well as the excellence of +the springs, gave the motion of the carriage. She followed him in all +his admiration as well as she could. To go before or beyond him was +impossible. His knowledge and her ignorance of the subject, his +rapidity of expression, and her diffidence of herself put that out of +her power; she could strike out nothing new in commendation, but she +readily echoed whatever he chose to assert, and it was finally settled +between them without any difficulty that his equipage was altogether +the most complete of its kind in England, his carriage the neatest, his +horse the best goer, and himself the best coachman. “You do not really +think, Mr. Thorpe,” said Catherine, venturing after some time to +consider the matter as entirely decided, and to offer some little +variation on the subject, “that James’s gig will break down?” + +“Break down! oh, lord! did you ever see such a little tittuppy thing in +your life? There is not a sound piece of iron about it. The wheels have +been fairly worn out these ten years at least—and as for the body! upon +my soul, you might shake it to pieces yourself with a touch. It is the +most devilish little rickety business I ever beheld! thank God! we have +got a better. I would not be bound to go two miles in it for fifty +thousand pounds.” + +“Good heavens!” cried Catherine, quite frightened. “Then pray let us +turn back; they will certainly meet with an accident if we go on. Do +let us turn back, Mr. Thorpe; stop and speak to my brother, and tell +him how very unsafe it is.” + +“Unsafe! oh, lord! what is there in that? They will only get a roll if +it does break down; and there is plenty of dirt; it will be excellent +falling. Oh, curse it! the carriage is safe enough, if a man knows how +to drive it; a thing of that sort in good hands will last above twenty +years after it is fairly worn out. Lord bless you! i would undertake +for five pounds to drive it to York and back again, without losing a +nail.” + +Catherine listened with astonishment; she knew not how to reconcile two +such very different accounts of the same thing; for she had not been +brought up to understand the propensities of a rattle, nor to know to +how many idle assertions and impudent falsehoods the excess of vanity +will lead. Her own family were plain, matter-of-fact people who seldom +aimed at wit of any kind; her father, at the utmost, being contented +with a pun, and her mother with a proverb; they were not in the habit +therefore of telling lies to increase their importance, or of asserting +at one moment what they would contradict the next. She reflected on the +affair for some time in much perplexity, and was more than once on the +point of requesting from Mr. Thorpe a clearer insight into his real +opinion on the subject; but she checked herself, because it appeared to +her that he did not excel in giving those clearer insights, in making +those things plain which he had before made ambiguous; and, joining to +this, the consideration that he would not really suffer his sister and +his friend to be exposed to a danger from which he might easily +preserve them, she concluded at last that he must know the carriage to +be in fact perfectly safe, and therefore would alarm herself no longer. +By him the whole matter seemed entirely forgotten; and all the rest of +his conversation, or rather talk, began and ended with himself and his +own concerns. He told her of horses which he had bought for a trifle +and sold for incredible sums; of racing matches, in which his judgment +had infallibly foretold the winner; of shooting parties, in which he +had killed more birds (though without having one good shot) than all +his companions together; and described to her some famous day’s sport, +with the fox-hounds, in which his foresight and skill in directing the +dogs had repaired the mistakes of the most experienced huntsman, and in +which the boldness of his riding, though it had never endangered his +own life for a moment, had been constantly leading others into +difficulties, which he calmly concluded had broken the necks of many. + +Little as Catherine was in the habit of judging for herself, and +unfixed as were her general notions of what men ought to be, she could +not entirely repress a doubt, while she bore with the effusions of his +endless conceit, of his being altogether completely agreeable. It was a +bold surmise, for he was Isabella’s brother; and she had been assured +by James that his manners would recommend him to all her sex; but in +spite of this, the extreme weariness of his company, which crept over +her before they had been out an hour, and which continued unceasingly +to increase till they stopped in Pulteney Street again, induced her, in +some small degree, to resist such high authority, and to distrust his +powers of giving universal pleasure. + +When they arrived at Mrs. Allen’s door, the astonishment of Isabella +was hardly to be expressed, on finding that it was too late in the day +for them to attend her friend into the house: “Past three o’clock!” It +was inconceivable, incredible, impossible! and she would neither +believe her own watch, nor her brother’s, nor the servant’s; she would +believe no assurance of it founded on reason or reality, till Morland +produced his watch, and ascertained the fact; to have doubted a moment +longer _then_, would have been equally inconceivable, incredible, and +impossible; and she could only protest, over and over again, that no +two hours and a half had ever gone off so swiftly before, as Catherine +was called on to confirm; Catherine could not tell a falsehood even to +please Isabella; but the latter was spared the misery of her friend’s +dissenting voice, by not waiting for her answer. Her own feelings +entirely engrossed her; her wretchedness was most acute on finding +herself obliged to go directly home. It was ages since she had had a +moment’s conversation with her dearest Catherine; and, though she had +such thousands of things to say to her, it appeared as if they were +never to be together again; so, with smiles of most exquisite misery, +and the laughing eye of utter despondency, she bade her friend adieu +and went on. + +Catherine found Mrs. Allen just returned from all the busy idleness of +the morning, and was immediately greeted with, “Well, my dear, here you +are,” a truth which she had no greater inclination than power to +dispute; “and I hope you have had a pleasant airing?” + +“Yes, ma’am, I thank you; we could not have had a nicer day.” + +“So Mrs. Thorpe said; she was vastly pleased at your all going.” + +“You have seen Mrs. Thorpe, then?” + +“Yes, I went to the pump-room as soon as you were gone, and there I met +her, and we had a great deal of talk together. She says there was +hardly any veal to be got at market this morning, it is so uncommonly +scarce.” + +“Did you see anybody else of our acquaintance?” + +“Yes; we agreed to take a turn in the Crescent, and there we met Mrs. +Hughes, and Mr. and Miss Tilney walking with her.” + +“Did you indeed? And did they speak to you?” + +“Yes, we walked along the Crescent together for half an hour. They seem +very agreeable people. Miss Tilney was in a very pretty spotted muslin, +and I fancy, by what I can learn, that she always dresses very +handsomely. Mrs. Hughes talked to me a great deal about the family.” + +“And what did she tell you of them?” + +“Oh! a vast deal indeed; she hardly talked of anything else.” + +“Did she tell you what part of Gloucestershire they come from?” + +“Yes, she did; but I cannot recollect now. But they are very good kind +of people, and very rich. Mrs. Tilney was a Miss Drummond, and she and +Mrs. Hughes were schoolfellows; and Miss Drummond had a very large +fortune; and, when she married, her father gave her twenty thousand +pounds, and five hundred to buy wedding-clothes. Mrs. Hughes saw all +the clothes after they came from the warehouse.” + +“And are Mr. and Mrs. Tilney in Bath?” + +“Yes, I fancy they are, but I am not quite certain. Upon recollection, +however, I have a notion they are both dead; at least the mother is; +yes, I am sure Mrs. Tilney is dead, because Mrs. Hughes told me there +was a very beautiful set of pearls that Mr. Drummond gave his daughter +on her wedding-day and that Miss Tilney has got now, for they were put +by for her when her mother died.” + +“And is Mr. Tilney, my partner, the only son?” + +“I cannot be quite positive about that, my dear; I have some idea he +is; but, however, he is a very fine young man, Mrs. Hughes says, and +likely to do very well.” + +Catherine inquired no further; she had heard enough to feel that Mrs. +Allen had no real intelligence to give, and that she was most +particularly unfortunate herself in having missed such a meeting with +both brother and sister. Could she have foreseen such a circumstance, +nothing should have persuaded her to go out with the others; and, as it +was, she could only lament her ill luck, and think over what she had +lost, till it was clear to her that the drive had by no means been very +pleasant and that John Thorpe himself was quite disagreeable. + + + + +CHAPTER 10 + + +The Allens, Thorpes, and Morlands all met in the evening at the +theatre; and, as Catherine and Isabella sat together, there was then an +opportunity for the latter to utter some few of the many thousand +things which had been collecting within her for communication in the +immeasurable length of time which had divided them. “Oh, heavens! my +beloved Catherine, have I got you at last?” was her address on +Catherine’s entering the box and sitting by her. “Now, Mr. Morland,” +for he was close to her on the other side, “I shall not speak another +word to you all the rest of the evening; so I charge you not to expect +it. My sweetest Catherine, how have you been this long age? But I need +not ask you, for you look delightfully. You really have done your hair +in a more heavenly style than ever; you mischievous creature, do you +want to attract everybody? I assure you, my brother is quite in love +with you already; and as for Mr. Tilney—but _that_ is a settled +thing—even _your_ modesty cannot doubt his attachment now; his coming +back to Bath makes it too plain. Oh! what would not I give to see him! +I really am quite wild with impatience. My mother says he is the most +delightful young man in the world; she saw him this morning, you know; +you must introduce him to me. Is he in the house now? Look about, for +heaven’s sake! i assure you, I can hardly exist till I see him.” + +“No,” said Catherine, “he is not here; I cannot see him anywhere.” + +“Oh, horrid! am I never to be acquainted with him? How do you like my +gown? I think it does not look amiss; the sleeves were entirely my own +thought. Do you know, I get so immoderately sick of Bath; your brother +and I were agreeing this morning that, though it is vastly well to be +here for a few weeks, we would not live here for millions. We soon +found out that our tastes were exactly alike in preferring the country +to every other place; really, our opinions were so exactly the same, it +was quite ridiculous! there was not a single point in which we +differed; I would not have had you by for the world; you are such a sly +thing, I am sure you would have made some droll remark or other about +it.” + +“No, indeed I should not.” + +“Oh, yes you would indeed; I know you better than you know yourself. +You would have told us that we seemed born for each other, or some +nonsense of that kind, which would have distressed me beyond +conception; my cheeks would have been as red as your roses; I would not +have had you by for the world.” + +“Indeed you do me injustice; I would not have made so improper a remark +upon any account; and besides, I am sure it would never have entered my +head.” + +Isabella smiled incredulously and talked the rest of the evening to +James. + +Catherine’s resolution of endeavouring to meet Miss Tilney again +continued in full force the next morning; and till the usual moment of +going to the pump-room, she felt some alarm from the dread of a second +prevention. But nothing of that kind occurred, no visitors appeared to +delay them, and they all three set off in good time for the pump-room, +where the ordinary course of events and conversation took place; Mr. +Allen, after drinking his glass of water, joined some gentlemen to talk +over the politics of the day and compare the accounts of their +newspapers; and the ladies walked about together, noticing every new +face, and almost every new bonnet in the room. The female part of the +Thorpe family, attended by James Morland, appeared among the crowd in +less than a quarter of an hour, and Catherine immediately took her +usual place by the side of her friend. James, who was now in constant +attendance, maintained a similar position, and separating themselves +from the rest of their party, they walked in that manner for some time, +till Catherine began to doubt the happiness of a situation which, +confining her entirely to her friend and brother, gave her very little +share in the notice of either. They were always engaged in some +sentimental discussion or lively dispute, but their sentiment was +conveyed in such whispering voices, and their vivacity attended with so +much laughter, that though Catherine’s supporting opinion was not +unfrequently called for by one or the other, she was never able to give +any, from not having heard a word of the subject. At length however she +was empowered to disengage herself from her friend, by the avowed +necessity of speaking to Miss Tilney, whom she most joyfully saw just +entering the room with Mrs. Hughes, and whom she instantly joined, with +a firmer determination to be acquainted, than she might have had +courage to command, had she not been urged by the disappointment of the +day before. Miss Tilney met her with great civility, returned her +advances with equal goodwill, and they continued talking together as +long as both parties remained in the room; and though in all +probability not an observation was made, nor an expression used by +either which had not been made and used some thousands of times before, +under that roof, in every Bath season, yet the merit of their being +spoken with simplicity and truth, and without personal conceit, might +be something uncommon. + +“How well your brother dances!” was an artless exclamation of +Catherine’s towards the close of their conversation, which at once +surprised and amused her companion. + +“Henry!” she replied with a smile. “Yes, he does dance very well.” + +“He must have thought it very odd to hear me say I was engaged the +other evening, when he saw me sitting down. But I really had been +engaged the whole day to Mr. Thorpe.” Miss Tilney could only bow. “You +cannot think,” added Catherine after a moment’s silence, “how surprised +I was to see him again. I felt so sure of his being quite gone away.” + +“When Henry had the pleasure of seeing you before, he was in Bath but +for a couple of days. He came only to engage lodgings for us.” + +“_That_ never occurred to me; and of course, not seeing him anywhere, I +thought he must be gone. Was not the young lady he danced with on +Monday a Miss Smith?” + +“Yes, an acquaintance of Mrs. Hughes.” + +“I dare say she was very glad to dance. Do you think her pretty?” + +“Not very.” + +“He never comes to the pump-room, I suppose?” + +“Yes, sometimes; but he has rid out this morning with my father.” + +Mrs. Hughes now joined them, and asked Miss Tilney if she was ready to +go. “I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again soon,” said +Catherine. “Shall you be at the cotillion ball to-morrow?” + +“Perhaps we—Yes, I think we certainly shall.” + +“I am glad of it, for we shall all be there.” This civility was duly +returned; and they parted—on Miss Tilney’s side with some knowledge of +her new acquaintance’s feelings, and on Catherine’s, without the +smallest consciousness of having explained them. + +She went home very happy. The morning had answered all her hopes, and +the evening of the following day was now the object of expectation, the +future good. What gown and what head-dress she should wear on the +occasion became her chief concern. She cannot be justified in it. Dress +is at all times a frivolous distinction, and excessive solicitude about +it often destroys its own aim. Catherine knew all this very well; her +great aunt had read her a lecture on the subject only the Christmas +before; and yet she lay awake ten minutes on Wednesday night debating +between her spotted and her tamboured muslin, and nothing but the +shortness of the time prevented her buying a new one for the evening. +This would have been an error in judgment, great though not uncommon, +from which one of the other sex rather than her own, a brother rather +than a great aunt, might have warned her, for man only can be aware of +the insensibility of man towards a new gown. It would be mortifying to +the feelings of many ladies, could they be made to understand how +little the heart of man is affected by what is costly or new in their +attire; how little it is biased by the texture of their muslin, and how +unsusceptible of peculiar tenderness towards the spotted, the sprigged, +the mull, or the jackonet. Woman is fine for her own satisfaction +alone. No man will admire her the more, no woman will like her the +better for it. Neatness and fashion are enough for the former, and a +something of shabbiness or impropriety will be most endearing to the +latter. But not one of these grave reflections troubled the +tranquillity of Catherine. + +She entered the rooms on Thursday evening with feelings very different +from what had attended her thither the Monday before. She had then been +exulting in her engagement to Thorpe, and was now chiefly anxious to +avoid his sight, lest he should engage her again; for though she could +not, dared not expect that Mr. Tilney should ask her a third time to +dance, her wishes, hopes, and plans all centred in nothing less. Every +young lady may feel for my heroine in this critical moment, for every +young lady has at some time or other known the same agitation. All have +been, or at least all have believed themselves to be, in danger from +the pursuit of someone whom they wished to avoid; and all have been +anxious for the attentions of someone whom they wished to please. As +soon as they were joined by the Thorpes, Catherine’s agony began; she +fidgeted about if John Thorpe came towards her, hid herself as much as +possible from his view, and when he spoke to her pretended not to hear +him. The cotillions were over, the country-dancing beginning, and she +saw nothing of the Tilneys. + +“Do not be frightened, my dear Catherine,” whispered Isabella, “but I +am really going to dance with your brother again. I declare positively +it is quite shocking. I tell him he ought to be ashamed of himself, but +you and John must keep us in countenance. Make haste, my dear creature, +and come to us. John is just walked off, but he will be back in a +moment.” + +Catherine had neither time nor inclination to answer. The others walked +away, John Thorpe was still in view, and she gave herself up for lost. +That she might not appear, however, to observe or expect him, she kept +her eyes intently fixed on her fan; and a self-condemnation for her +folly, in supposing that among such a crowd they should even meet with +the Tilneys in any reasonable time, had just passed through her mind, +when she suddenly found herself addressed and again solicited to dance, +by Mr. Tilney himself. With what sparkling eyes and ready motion she +granted his request, and with how pleasing a flutter of heart she went +with him to the set, may be easily imagined. To escape, and, as she +believed, so narrowly escape John Thorpe, and to be asked, so +immediately on his joining her, asked by Mr. Tilney, as if he had +sought her on purpose!—it did not appear to her that life could supply +any greater felicity. + +Scarcely had they worked themselves into the quiet possession of a +place, however, when her attention was claimed by John Thorpe, who +stood behind her. “Heyday, Miss Morland!” said he. “What is the meaning +of this? I thought you and I were to dance together.” + +“I wonder you should think so, for you never asked me.” + +“That is a good one, by Jove! i asked you as soon as I came into the +room, and I was just going to ask you again, but when I turned round, +you were gone! this is a cursed shabby trick! i only came for the sake +of dancing with _you_, and I firmly believe you were engaged to me ever +since Monday. Yes; I remember, I asked you while you were waiting in +the lobby for your cloak. And here have I been telling all my +acquaintance that I was going to dance with the prettiest girl in the +room; and when they see you standing up with somebody else, they will +quiz me famously.” + +“Oh, no; they will never think of _me_, after such a description as +that.” + +“By heavens, if they do not, I will kick them out of the room for +blockheads. What chap have you there?” Catherine satisfied his +curiosity. “Tilney,” he repeated. “Hum—I do not know him. A good figure +of a man; well put together. Does he want a horse? Here is a friend of +mine, Sam Fletcher, has got one to sell that would suit anybody. A +famous clever animal for the road—only forty guineas. I had fifty minds +to buy it myself, for it is one of my maxims always to buy a good horse +when I meet with one; but it would not answer my purpose, it would not +do for the field. I would give any money for a real good hunter. I have +three now, the best that ever were backed. I would not take eight +hundred guineas for them. Fletcher and I mean to get a house in +Leicestershire, against the next season. It is so d—— uncomfortable, +living at an inn.” + +This was the last sentence by which he could weary Catherine’s +attention, for he was just then borne off by the resistless pressure of +a long string of passing ladies. Her partner now drew near, and said, +“That gentleman would have put me out of patience, had he stayed with +you half a minute longer. He has no business to withdraw the attention +of my partner from me. We have entered into a contract of mutual +agreeableness for the space of an evening, and all our agreeableness +belongs solely to each other for that time. Nobody can fasten +themselves on the notice of one, without injuring the rights of the +other. I consider a country-dance as an emblem of marriage. Fidelity +and complaisance are the principal duties of both; and those men who do +not choose to dance or marry themselves, have no business with the +partners or wives of their neighbours.” + +“But they are such very different things!” + +“—That you think they cannot be compared together.” + +“To be sure not. People that marry can never part, but must go and keep +house together. People that dance only stand opposite each other in a +long room for half an hour.” + +“And such is your definition of matrimony and dancing. Taken in that +light certainly, their resemblance is not striking; but I think I could +place them in such a view. You will allow, that in both, man has the +advantage of choice, woman only the power of refusal; that in both, it +is an engagement between man and woman, formed for the advantage of +each; and that when once entered into, they belong exclusively to each +other till the moment of its dissolution; that it is their duty, each +to endeavour to give the other no cause for wishing that he or she had +bestowed themselves elsewhere, and their best interest to keep their +own imaginations from wandering towards the perfections of their +neighbours, or fancying that they should have been better off with +anyone else. You will allow all this?” + +“Yes, to be sure, as you state it, all this sounds very well; but still +they are so very different. I cannot look upon them at all in the same +light, nor think the same duties belong to them.” + +“In one respect, there certainly is a difference. In marriage, the man +is supposed to provide for the support of the woman, the woman to make +the home agreeable to the man; he is to purvey, and she is to smile. +But in dancing, their duties are exactly changed; the agreeableness, +the compliance are expected from him, while she furnishes the fan and +the lavender water. _That_, I suppose, was the difference of duties +which struck you, as rendering the conditions incapable of comparison.” + +“No, indeed, I never thought of that.” + +“Then I am quite at a loss. One thing, however, I must observe. This +disposition on your side is rather alarming. You totally disallow any +similarity in the obligations; and may I not thence infer that your +notions of the duties of the dancing state are not so strict as your +partner might wish? Have I not reason to fear that if the gentleman who +spoke to you just now were to return, or if any other gentleman were to +address you, there would be nothing to restrain you from conversing +with him as long as you chose?” + +“Mr. Thorpe is such a very particular friend of my brother’s, that if +he talks to me, I must talk to him again; but there are hardly three +young men in the room besides him that I have any acquaintance with.” + +“And is that to be my only security? Alas, alas!” + +“Nay, I am sure you cannot have a better; for if I do not know anybody, +it is impossible for me to talk to them; and, besides, I do not _want_ +to talk to anybody.” + +“Now you have given me a security worth having; and I shall proceed +with courage. Do you find Bath as agreeable as when I had the honour of +making the inquiry before?” + +“Yes, quite—more so, indeed.” + +“More so! take care, or you will forget to be tired of it at the proper +time. You ought to be tired at the end of six weeks.” + +“I do not think I should be tired, if I were to stay here six months.” + +“Bath, compared with London, has little variety, and so everybody finds +out every year. ‘For six weeks, I allow Bath is pleasant enough; but +beyond _that_, it is the most tiresome place in the world.’ You would +be told so by people of all descriptions, who come regularly every +winter, lengthen their six weeks into ten or twelve, and go away at +last because they can afford to stay no longer.” + +“Well, other people must judge for themselves, and those who go to +London may think nothing of Bath. But I, who live in a small retired +village in the country, can never find greater sameness in such a place +as this than in my own home; for here are a variety of amusements, a +variety of things to be seen and done all day long, which I can know +nothing of there.” + +“You are not fond of the country.” + +“Yes, I am. I have always lived there, and always been very happy. But +certainly there is much more sameness in a country life than in a Bath +life. One day in the country is exactly like another.” + +“But then you spend your time so much more rationally in the country.” + +“Do I?” + +“Do you not?” + +“I do not believe there is much difference.” + +“Here you are in pursuit only of amusement all day long.” + +“And so I am at home—only I do not find so much of it. I walk about +here, and so I do there; but here I see a variety of people in every +street, and there I can only go and call on Mrs. Allen.” + +Mr. Tilney was very much amused. + +“Only go and call on Mrs. Allen!” he repeated. “What a picture of +intellectual poverty! however, when you sink into this abyss again, you +will have more to say. You will be able to talk of Bath, and of all +that you did here.” + +“Oh! yes. I shall never be in want of something to talk of again to +Mrs. Allen, or anybody else. I really believe I shall always be talking +of Bath, when I am at home again—I _do_ like it so very much. If I +could but have Papa and Mamma, and the rest of them here, I suppose I +should be too happy! james’s coming (my eldest brother) is quite +delightful—and especially as it turns out that the very family we are +just got so intimate with are his intimate friends already. Oh! who can +ever be tired of Bath?” + +“Not those who bring such fresh feelings of every sort to it as you do. +But papas and mammas, and brothers, and intimate friends are a good +deal gone by, to most of the frequenters of Bath—and the honest relish +of balls and plays, and everyday sights, is past with them.” + +Here their conversation closed, the demands of the dance becoming now +too importunate for a divided attention. + +Soon after their reaching the bottom of the set, Catherine perceived +herself to be earnestly regarded by a gentleman who stood among the +lookers-on, immediately behind her partner. He was a very handsome man, +of a commanding aspect, past the bloom, but not past the vigour of +life; and with his eye still directed towards her, she saw him +presently address Mr. Tilney in a familiar whisper. Confused by his +notice, and blushing from the fear of its being excited by something +wrong in her appearance, she turned away her head. But while she did +so, the gentleman retreated, and her partner, coming nearer, said, “I +see that you guess what I have just been asked. That gentleman knows +your name, and you have a right to know his. It is General Tilney, my +father.” + +Catherine’s answer was only “Oh!”—but it was an “Oh!” expressing +everything needful: attention to his words, and perfect reliance on +their truth. With real interest and strong admiration did her eye now +follow the General, as he moved through the crowd, and “How handsome a +family they are!” was her secret remark. + +In chatting with Miss Tilney before the evening concluded, a new source +of felicity arose to her. She had never taken a country walk since her +arrival in Bath. Miss Tilney, to whom all the commonly frequented +environs were familiar, spoke of them in terms which made her all +eagerness to know them too; and on her openly fearing that she might +find nobody to go with her, it was proposed by the brother and sister +that they should join in a walk, some morning or other. “I shall like +it,” she cried, “beyond anything in the world; and do not let us put it +off—let us go to-morrow.” This was readily agreed to, with only a +proviso of Miss Tilney’s, that it did not rain, which Catherine was +sure it would not. At twelve o’clock, they were to call for her in +Pulteney Street; and “Remember—twelve o’clock,” was her parting speech +to her new friend. Of her other, her older, her more established +friend, Isabella, of whose fidelity and worth she had enjoyed a +fortnight’s experience, she scarcely saw anything during the evening. +Yet, though longing to make her acquainted with her happiness, she +cheerfully submitted to the wish of Mr. Allen, which took them rather +early away, and her spirits danced within her, as she danced in her +chair all the way home. + + + + +CHAPTER 11 + + +The morrow brought a very sober-looking morning, the sun making only a +few efforts to appear, and Catherine augured from it everything most +favourable to her wishes. A bright morning so early in the year, she +allowed, would generally turn to rain, but a cloudy one foretold +improvement as the day advanced. She applied to Mr. Allen for +confirmation of her hopes, but Mr. Allen, not having his own skies and +barometer about him, declined giving any absolute promise of sunshine. +She applied to Mrs. Allen, and Mrs. Allen’s opinion was more positive. +“She had no doubt in the world of its being a very fine day, if the +clouds would only go off, and the sun keep out.” + +At about eleven o’clock, however, a few specks of small rain upon the +windows caught Catherine’s watchful eye, and “Oh! dear, I do believe it +will be wet,” broke from her in a most desponding tone. + +“I thought how it would be,” said Mrs. Allen. + +“No walk for me to-day,” sighed Catherine; “but perhaps it may come to +nothing, or it may hold up before twelve.” + +“Perhaps it may, but then, my dear, it will be so dirty.” + +“Oh! that will not signify; I never mind dirt.” + +“No,” replied her friend very placidly, “I know you never mind dirt.” + +After a short pause, “It comes on faster and faster!” said Catherine, +as she stood watching at a window. + +“So it does indeed. If it keeps raining, the streets will be very wet.” + +“There are four umbrellas up already. How I hate the sight of an +umbrella!” + +“They are disagreeable things to carry. I would much rather take a +chair at any time.” + +“It was such a nice-looking morning! i felt so convinced it would be +dry!” + +“Anybody would have thought so indeed. There will be very few people in +the pump-room, if it rains all the morning. I hope Mr. Allen will put +on his greatcoat when he goes, but I dare say he will not, for he had +rather do anything in the world than walk out in a greatcoat; I wonder +he should dislike it, it must be so comfortable.” + +The rain continued—fast, though not heavy. Catherine went every five +minutes to the clock, threatening on each return that, if it still kept +on raining another five minutes, she would give up the matter as +hopeless. The clock struck twelve, and it still rained. “You will not +be able to go, my dear.” + +“I do not quite despair yet. I shall not give it up till a quarter +after twelve. This is just the time of day for it to clear up, and I do +think it looks a little lighter. There, it is twenty minutes after +twelve, and now I _shall_ give it up entirely. Oh! that we had such +weather here as they had at Udolpho, or at least in Tuscany and the +south of France!—the night that poor St. Aubin died!—such beautiful +weather!” + +At half past twelve, when Catherine’s anxious attention to the weather +was over and she could no longer claim any merit from its amendment, +the sky began voluntarily to clear. A gleam of sunshine took her quite +by surprise; she looked round; the clouds were parting, and she +instantly returned to the window to watch over and encourage the happy +appearance. Ten minutes more made it certain that a bright afternoon +would succeed, and justified the opinion of Mrs. Allen, who had “always +thought it would clear up.” But whether Catherine might still expect +her friends, whether there had not been too much rain for Miss Tilney +to venture, must yet be a question. + +It was too dirty for Mrs. Allen to accompany her husband to the +pump-room; he accordingly set off by himself, and Catherine had barely +watched him down the street when her notice was claimed by the approach +of the same two open carriages, containing the same three people that +had surprised her so much a few mornings back. + +“Isabella, my brother, and Mr. Thorpe, I declare! they are coming for +me perhaps—but I shall not go—I cannot go indeed, for you know Miss +Tilney may still call.” Mrs. Allen agreed to it. John Thorpe was soon +with them, and his voice was with them yet sooner, for on the stairs he +was calling out to Miss Morland to be quick. “Make haste! make haste!” +as he threw open the door. “Put on your hat this moment—there is no +time to be lost—we are going to Bristol. How d’ye do, Mrs. Allen?” + +“To Bristol! is not that a great way off? But, however, I cannot go +with you to-day, because I am engaged; I expect some friends every +moment.” This was of course vehemently talked down as no reason at all; +Mrs. Allen was called on to second him, and the two others walked in, +to give their assistance. “My sweetest Catherine, is not this +delightful? We shall have a most heavenly drive. You are to thank your +brother and me for the scheme; it darted into our heads at +breakfast-time, I verily believe at the same instant; and we should +have been off two hours ago if it had not been for this detestable +rain. But it does not signify, the nights are moonlight, and we shall +do delightfully. Oh! i am in such ecstasies at the thoughts of a little +country air and quiet! so much better than going to the Lower Rooms. We +shall drive directly to Clifton and dine there; and, as soon as dinner +is over, if there is time for it, go on to Kingsweston.” + +“I doubt our being able to do so much,” said Morland. + +“You croaking fellow!” cried Thorpe. “We shall be able to do ten times +more. Kingsweston! aye, and Blaize Castle too, and anything else we can +hear of; but here is your sister says she will not go.” + +“Blaize Castle!” cried Catherine. “What is that?” + +“The finest place in England—worth going fifty miles at any time to +see.” + +“What, is it really a castle, an old castle?” + +“The oldest in the kingdom.” + +“But is it like what one reads of?” + +“Exactly—the very same.” + +“But now really—are there towers and long galleries?” + +“By dozens.” + +“Then I should like to see it; but I cannot—I cannot go.” + +“Not go! my beloved creature, what do you mean?” + +“I cannot go, because”—looking down as she spoke, fearful of Isabella’s +smile—“I expect Miss Tilney and her brother to call on me to take a +country walk. They promised to come at twelve, only it rained; but now, +as it is so fine, I dare say they will be here soon.” + +“Not they indeed,” cried Thorpe; “for, as we turned into Broad Street, +I saw them—does he not drive a phaeton with bright chestnuts?” + +“I do not know indeed.” + +“Yes, I know he does; I saw him. You are talking of the man you danced +with last night, are not you?” + +“Yes.” + +“Well, I saw him at that moment turn up the Lansdown Road, driving a +smart-looking girl.” + +“Did you indeed?” + +“Did upon my soul; knew him again directly, and he seemed to have got +some very pretty cattle too.” + +“It is very odd! but I suppose they thought it would be too dirty for a +walk.” + +“And well they might, for I never saw so much dirt in my life. Walk! +You could no more walk than you could fly! it has not been so dirty the +whole winter; it is ankle-deep everywhere.” + +Isabella corroborated it: “My dearest Catherine, you cannot form an +idea of the dirt; come, you must go; you cannot refuse going now.” + +“I should like to see the castle; but may we go all over it? May we go +up every staircase, and into every suite of rooms?” + +“Yes, yes, every hole and corner.” + +“But then, if they should only be gone out for an hour till it is +dryer, and call by and by?” + +“Make yourself easy, there is no danger of that, for I heard Tilney +hallooing to a man who was just passing by on horseback, that they were +going as far as Wick Rocks.” + +“Then I will. Shall I go, Mrs. Allen?” + +“Just as you please, my dear.” + +“Mrs. Allen, you must persuade her to go,” was the general cry. Mrs. +Allen was not inattentive to it: “Well, my dear,” said she, “suppose +you go.” And in two minutes they were off. + +Catherine’s feelings, as she got into the carriage, were in a very +unsettled state; divided between regret for the loss of one great +pleasure, and the hope of soon enjoying another, almost its equal in +degree, however unlike in kind. She could not think the Tilneys had +acted quite well by her, in so readily giving up their engagement, +without sending her any message of excuse. It was now but an hour later +than the time fixed on for the beginning of their walk; and, in spite +of what she had heard of the prodigious accumulation of dirt in the +course of that hour, she could not from her own observation help +thinking that they might have gone with very little inconvenience. To +feel herself slighted by them was very painful. On the other hand, the +delight of exploring an edifice like Udolpho, as her fancy represented +Blaize Castle to be, was such a counterpoise of good as might console +her for almost anything. + +They passed briskly down Pulteney Street, and through Laura Place, +without the exchange of many words. Thorpe talked to his horse, and she +meditated, by turns, on broken promises and broken arches, phaetons and +false hangings, Tilneys and trap-doors. As they entered Argyle +Buildings, however, she was roused by this address from her companion, +“Who is that girl who looked at you so hard as she went by?” + +“Who? Where?” + +“On the right-hand pavement—she must be almost out of sight now.” +Catherine looked round and saw Miss Tilney leaning on her brother’s +arm, walking slowly down the street. She saw them both looking back at +her. “Stop, stop, Mr. Thorpe,” she impatiently cried; “it is Miss +Tilney; it is indeed. How could you tell me they were gone? Stop, stop, +I will get out this moment and go to them.” But to what purpose did she +speak? Thorpe only lashed his horse into a brisker trot; the Tilneys, +who had soon ceased to look after her, were in a moment out of sight +round the corner of Laura Place, and in another moment she was herself +whisked into the marketplace. Still, however, and during the length of +another street, she entreated him to stop. “Pray, pray stop, Mr. +Thorpe. I cannot go on. I will not go on. I must go back to Miss +Tilney.” But Mr. Thorpe only laughed, smacked his whip, encouraged his +horse, made odd noises, and drove on; and Catherine, angry and vexed as +she was, having no power of getting away, was obliged to give up the +point and submit. Her reproaches, however, were not spared. “How could +you deceive me so, Mr. Thorpe? How could you say that you saw them +driving up the Lansdown Road? I would not have had it happen so for the +world. They must think it so strange, so rude of me! to go by them, +too, without saying a word! you do not know how vexed I am; I shall +have no pleasure at Clifton, nor in anything else. I had rather, ten +thousand times rather, get out now, and walk back to them. How could +you say you saw them driving out in a phaeton?” Thorpe defended himself +very stoutly, declared he had never seen two men so much alike in his +life, and would hardly give up the point of its having been Tilney +himself. + +Their drive, even when this subject was over, was not likely to be very +agreeable. Catherine’s complaisance was no longer what it had been in +their former airing. She listened reluctantly, and her replies were +short. Blaize Castle remained her only comfort; towards _that_, she +still looked at intervals with pleasure; though rather than be +disappointed of the promised walk, and especially rather than be +thought ill of by the Tilneys, she would willingly have given up all +the happiness which its walls could supply—the happiness of a progress +through a long suite of lofty rooms, exhibiting the remains of +magnificent furniture, though now for many years deserted—the happiness +of being stopped in their way along narrow, winding vaults, by a low, +grated door; or even of having their lamp, their only lamp, +extinguished by a sudden gust of wind, and of being left in total +darkness. In the meanwhile, they proceeded on their journey without any +mischance, and were within view of the town of Keynsham, when a halloo +from Morland, who was behind them, made his friend pull up, to know +what was the matter. The others then came close enough for +conversation, and Morland said, “We had better go back, Thorpe; it is +too late to go on to-day; your sister thinks so as well as I. We have +been exactly an hour coming from Pulteney Street, very little more than +seven miles; and, I suppose, we have at least eight more to go. It will +never do. We set out a great deal too late. We had much better put it +off till another day, and turn round.” + +“It is all one to me,” replied Thorpe rather angrily; and instantly +turning his horse, they were on their way back to Bath. + +“If your brother had not got such a d—— beast to drive,” said he soon +afterwards, “we might have done it very well. My horse would have +trotted to Clifton within the hour, if left to himself, and I have +almost broke my arm with pulling him in to that cursed broken-winded +jade’s pace. Morland is a fool for not keeping a horse and gig of his +own.” + +“No, he is not,” said Catherine warmly, “for I am sure he could not +afford it.” + +“And why cannot he afford it?” + +“Because he has not money enough.” + +“And whose fault is that?” + +“Nobody’s, that I know of.” Thorpe then said something in the loud, +incoherent way to which he had often recourse, about its being a +d—— thing to be miserly; and that if people who rolled in money could not +afford things, he did not know who could, which Catherine did not even +endeavour to understand. Disappointed of what was to have been the +consolation for her first disappointment, she was less and less +disposed either to be agreeable herself or to find her companion so; +and they returned to Pulteney Street without her speaking twenty words. + +As she entered the house, the footman told her that a gentleman and +lady had called and inquired for her a few minutes after her setting +off; that, when he told them she was gone out with Mr. Thorpe, the lady +had asked whether any message had been left for her; and on his saying +no, had felt for a card, but said she had none about her, and went +away. Pondering over these heart-rending tidings, Catherine walked +slowly upstairs. At the head of them she was met by Mr. Allen, who, on +hearing the reason of their speedy return, said, “I am glad your +brother had so much sense; I am glad you are come back. It was a +strange, wild scheme.” + +They all spent the evening together at Thorpe’s. Catherine was +disturbed and out of spirits; but Isabella seemed to find a pool of +commerce, in the fate of which she shared, by private partnership with +Morland, a very good equivalent for the quiet and country air of an inn +at Clifton. Her satisfaction, too, in not being at the Lower Rooms was +spoken more than once. “How I pity the poor creatures that are going +there! how glad I am that I am not amongst them! i wonder whether it +will be a full ball or not! they have not begun dancing yet. I would +not be there for all the world. It is so delightful to have an evening +now and then to oneself. I dare say it will not be a very good ball. I +know the Mitchells will not be there. I am sure I pity everybody that +is. But I dare say, Mr. Morland, you long to be at it, do not you? I am +sure you do. Well, pray do not let anybody here be a restraint on you. +I dare say we could do very well without you; but you men think +yourselves of such consequence.” + +Catherine could almost have accused Isabella of being wanting in +tenderness towards herself and her sorrows, so very little did they +appear to dwell on her mind, and so very inadequate was the comfort she +offered. “Do not be so dull, my dearest creature,” she whispered. “You +will quite break my heart. It was amazingly shocking, to be sure; but +the Tilneys were entirely to blame. Why were not they more punctual? It +was dirty, indeed, but what did that signify? I am sure John and I +should not have minded it. I never mind going through anything, where a +friend is concerned; that is my disposition, and John is just the same; +he has amazing strong feelings. Good heavens! what a delightful hand +you have got! kings, I vow! i never was so happy in my life! i would +fifty times rather you should have them than myself.” + +And now I may dismiss my heroine to the sleepless couch, which is the +true heroine’s portion; to a pillow strewed with thorns and wet with +tears. And lucky may she think herself, if she get another good night’s +rest in the course of the next three months. + + + + +CHAPTER 12 + + +“Mrs. Allen,” said Catherine the next morning, “will there be any harm +in my calling on Miss Tilney to-day? I shall not be easy till I have +explained everything.” + +“Go, by all means, my dear; only put on a white gown; Miss Tilney +always wears white.” + +Catherine cheerfully complied, and being properly equipped, was more +impatient than ever to be at the pump-room, that she might inform +herself of General Tilney’s lodgings, for though she believed they were +in Milsom Street, she was not certain of the house, and Mrs. Allen’s +wavering convictions only made it more doubtful. To Milsom Street she +was directed, and having made herself perfect in the number, hastened +away with eager steps and a beating heart to pay her visit, explain her +conduct, and be forgiven; tripping lightly through the church-yard, and +resolutely turning away her eyes, that she might not be obliged to see +her beloved Isabella and her dear family, who, she had reason to +believe, were in a shop hard by. She reached the house without any +impediment, looked at the number, knocked at the door, and inquired for +Miss Tilney. The man believed Miss Tilney to be at home, but was not +quite certain. Would she be pleased to send up her name? She gave her +card. In a few minutes the servant returned, and with a look which did +not quite confirm his words, said he had been mistaken, for that Miss +Tilney was walked out. Catherine, with a blush of mortification, left +the house. She felt almost persuaded that Miss Tilney _was_ at home, +and too much offended to admit her; and as she retired down the street, +could not withhold one glance at the drawing-room windows, in +expectation of seeing her there, but no one appeared at them. At the +bottom of the street, however, she looked back again, and then, not at +a window, but issuing from the door, she saw Miss Tilney herself. She +was followed by a gentleman, whom Catherine believed to be her father, +and they turned up towards Edgar’s Buildings. Catherine, in deep +mortification, proceeded on her way. She could almost be angry herself +at such angry incivility; but she checked the resentful sensation; she +remembered her own ignorance. She knew not how such an offence as hers +might be classed by the laws of worldly politeness, to what a degree of +unforgivingness it might with propriety lead, nor to what rigours of +rudeness in return it might justly make her amenable. + +Dejected and humbled, she had even some thoughts of not going with the +others to the theatre that night; but it must be confessed that they +were not of long continuance, for she soon recollected, in the first +place, that she was without any excuse for staying at home; and, in the +second, that it was a play she wanted very much to see. To the theatre +accordingly they all went; no Tilneys appeared to plague or please her; +she feared that, amongst the many perfections of the family, a fondness +for plays was not to be ranked; but perhaps it was because they were +habituated to the finer performances of the London stage, which she +knew, on Isabella’s authority, rendered everything else of the kind +“quite horrid.” She was not deceived in her own expectation of +pleasure; the comedy so well suspended her care that no one, observing +her during the first four acts, would have supposed she had any +wretchedness about her. On the beginning of the fifth, however, the +sudden view of Mr. Henry Tilney and his father, joining a party in the +opposite box, recalled her to anxiety and distress. The stage could no +longer excite genuine merriment—no longer keep her whole attention. +Every other look upon an average was directed towards the opposite box; +and, for the space of two entire scenes, did she thus watch Henry +Tilney, without being once able to catch his eye. No longer could he be +suspected of indifference for a play; his notice was never withdrawn +from the stage during two whole scenes. At length, however, he did look +towards her, and he bowed—but such a bow! no smile, no continued +observance attended it; his eyes were immediately returned to their +former direction. Catherine was restlessly miserable; she could almost +have run round to the box in which he sat and forced him to hear her +explanation. Feelings rather natural than heroic possessed her; instead +of considering her own dignity injured by this ready +condemnation—instead of proudly resolving, in conscious innocence, to +show her resentment towards him who could harbour a doubt of it, to +leave to him all the trouble of seeking an explanation, and to +enlighten him on the past only by avoiding his sight, or flirting with +somebody else—she took to herself all the shame of misconduct, or at +least of its appearance, and was only eager for an opportunity of +explaining its cause. + +The play concluded—the curtain fell—Henry Tilney was no longer to be +seen where he had hitherto sat, but his father remained, and perhaps he +might be now coming round to their box. She was right; in a few minutes +he appeared, and, making his way through the then thinning rows, spoke +with like calm politeness to Mrs. Allen and her friend. Not with such +calmness was he answered by the latter: “Oh! mr. Tilney, I have been +quite wild to speak to you, and make my apologies. You must have +thought me so rude; but indeed it was not my own fault, was it, Mrs. +Allen? Did not they tell me that Mr. Tilney and his sister were gone +out in a phaeton together? And then what could I do? But I had ten +thousand times rather have been with you; now had not I, Mrs. Allen?” + +“My dear, you tumble my gown,” was Mrs. Allen’s reply. + +Her assurance, however, standing sole as it did, was not thrown away; +it brought a more cordial, more natural smile into his countenance, and +he replied in a tone which retained only a little affected reserve: “We +were much obliged to you at any rate for wishing us a pleasant walk +after our passing you in Argyle Street: you were so kind as to look +back on purpose.” + +“But indeed I did not wish you a pleasant walk; I never thought of such +a thing; but I begged Mr. Thorpe so earnestly to stop; I called out to +him as soon as ever I saw you; now, Mrs. Allen, did not—Oh! you were +not there; but indeed I did; and, if Mr. Thorpe would only have +stopped, I would have jumped out and run after you.” + +Is there a Henry in the world who could be insensible to such a +declaration? Henry Tilney at least was not. With a yet sweeter smile, +he said everything that need be said of his sister’s concern, regret, +and dependence on Catherine’s honour. “Oh, do not say Miss Tilney was +not angry,” cried Catherine, “because I know she was; for she would not +see me this morning when I called; I saw her walk out of the house the +next minute after my leaving it; I was hurt, but I was not affronted. +Perhaps you did not know I had been there.” + +“I was not within at the time; but I heard of it from Eleanor, and she +has been wishing ever since to see you, to explain the reason of such +incivility; but perhaps I can do it as well. It was nothing more than +that my father—they were just preparing to walk out, and he being +hurried for time, and not caring to have it put off—made a point of her +being denied. That was all, I do assure you. She was very much vexed, +and meant to make her apology as soon as possible.” + +Catherine’s mind was greatly eased by this information, yet a something +of solicitude remained, from which sprang the following question, +thoroughly artless in itself, though rather distressing to the +gentleman: “But, Mr. Tilney, why were _you_ less generous than your +sister? If she felt such confidence in my good intentions, and could +suppose it to be only a mistake, why should _you_ be so ready to take +offence?” + +“Me! i take offence!” + +“Nay, I am sure by your look, when you came into the box, you were +angry.” + +“I angry! i could have no right.” + +“Well, nobody would have thought you had no right who saw your face.” +He replied by asking her to make room for him, and talking of the play. + +He remained with them some time, and was only too agreeable for +Catherine to be contented when he went away. Before they parted, +however, it was agreed that the projected walk should be taken as soon +as possible; and, setting aside the misery of his quitting their box, +she was, upon the whole, left one of the happiest creatures in the +world. + +While talking to each other, she had observed with some surprise that +John Thorpe, who was never in the same part of the house for ten +minutes together, was engaged in conversation with General Tilney; and +she felt something more than surprise when she thought she could +perceive herself the object of their attention and discourse. What +could they have to say of her? She feared General Tilney did not like +her appearance: she found it was implied in his preventing her +admittance to his daughter, rather than postpone his own walk a few +minutes. “How came Mr. Thorpe to know your father?” was her anxious +inquiry, as she pointed them out to her companion. He knew nothing +about it; but his father, like every military man, had a very large +acquaintance. + +When the entertainment was over, Thorpe came to assist them in getting +out. Catherine was the immediate object of his gallantry; and, while +they waited in the lobby for a chair, he prevented the inquiry which +had travelled from her heart almost to the tip of her tongue, by +asking, in a consequential manner, whether she had seen him talking +with General Tilney: “He is a fine old fellow, upon my soul! stout, +active—looks as young as his son. I have a great regard for him, I +assure you: a gentleman-like, good sort of fellow as ever lived.” + +“But how came you to know him?” + +“Know him! there are few people much about town that I do not know. I +have met him forever at the Bedford; and I knew his face again to-day +the moment he came into the billiard-room. One of the best players we +have, by the by; and we had a little touch together, though I was +almost afraid of him at first: the odds were five to four against me; +and, if I had not made one of the cleanest strokes that perhaps ever +was made in this world—I took his ball exactly—but I could not make you +understand it without a table; however, I _did_ beat him. A very fine +fellow; as rich as a Jew. I should like to dine with him; I dare say he +gives famous dinners. But what do you think we have been talking of? +You. Yes, by heavens! and the General thinks you the finest girl in +Bath.” + +“Oh! nonsense! how can you say so?” + +“And what do you think I said?”—lowering his voice—“well done, General, +said I; I am quite of your mind.” + +Here Catherine, who was much less gratified by his admiration than by +General Tilney’s, was not sorry to be called away by Mr. Allen. Thorpe, +however, would see her to her chair, and, till she entered it, +continued the same kind of delicate flattery, in spite of her +entreating him to have done. + +That General Tilney, instead of disliking, should admire her, was very +delightful; and she joyfully thought that there was not one of the +family whom she need now fear to meet. The evening had done more, much +more, for her than could have been expected. + + + + +CHAPTER 13 + + +Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday have now +passed in review before the reader; the events of each day, its hopes +and fears, mortifications and pleasures, have been separately stated, +and the pangs of Sunday only now remain to be described, and close the +week. The Clifton scheme had been deferred, not relinquished, and on +the afternoon’s Crescent of this day, it was brought forward again. In +a private consultation between Isabella and James, the former of whom +had particularly set her heart upon going, and the latter no less +anxiously placed his upon pleasing her, it was agreed that, provided +the weather were fair, the party should take place on the following +morning; and they were to set off very early, in order to be at home in +good time. The affair thus determined, and Thorpe’s approbation +secured, Catherine only remained to be apprised of it. She had left +them for a few minutes to speak to Miss Tilney. In that interval the +plan was completed, and as soon as she came again, her agreement was +demanded; but instead of the gay acquiescence expected by Isabella, +Catherine looked grave, was very sorry, but could not go. The +engagement which ought to have kept her from joining in the former +attempt would make it impossible for her to accompany them now. She had +that moment settled with Miss Tilney to take their proposed walk +to-morrow; it was quite determined, and she would not, upon any account, +retract. But that she _must_ and _should_ retract, was instantly the +eager cry of both the Thorpes; they must go to Clifton to-morrow, they +would not go without her, it would be nothing to put off a mere walk +for one day longer, and they would not hear of a refusal. Catherine was +distressed, but not subdued. “Do not urge me, Isabella. I am engaged to +Miss Tilney. I cannot go.” This availed nothing. The same arguments +assailed her again; she must go, she should go, and they would not hear +of a refusal. “It would be so easy to tell Miss Tilney that you had +just been reminded of a prior engagement, and must only beg to put off +the walk till Tuesday.” + +“No, it would not be easy. I could not do it. There has been no prior +engagement.” But Isabella became only more and more urgent, calling on +her in the most affectionate manner, addressing her by the most +endearing names. She was sure her dearest, sweetest Catherine would not +seriously refuse such a trifling request to a friend who loved her so +dearly. She knew her beloved Catherine to have so feeling a heart, so +sweet a temper, to be so easily persuaded by those she loved. But all +in vain; Catherine felt herself to be in the right, and though pained +by such tender, such flattering supplication, could not allow it to +influence her. Isabella then tried another method. She reproached her +with having more affection for Miss Tilney, though she had known her so +little a while, than for her best and oldest friends, with being grown +cold and indifferent, in short, towards herself. “I cannot help being +jealous, Catherine, when I see myself slighted for strangers, I, who +love you so excessively! when once my affections are placed, it is not +in the power of anything to change them. But I believe my feelings are +stronger than anybody’s; I am sure they are too strong for my own +peace; and to see myself supplanted in your friendship by strangers +does cut me to the quick, I own. These Tilneys seem to swallow up +everything else.” + +Catherine thought this reproach equally strange and unkind. Was it the +part of a friend thus to expose her feelings to the notice of others? +Isabella appeared to her ungenerous and selfish, regardless of +everything but her own gratification. These painful ideas crossed her +mind, though she said nothing. Isabella, in the meanwhile, had applied +her handkerchief to her eyes; and Morland, miserable at such a sight, +could not help saying, “Nay, Catherine. I think you cannot stand out +any longer now. The sacrifice is not much; and to oblige such a +friend—I shall think you quite unkind, if you still refuse.” + +This was the first time of her brother’s openly siding against her, and +anxious to avoid his displeasure, she proposed a compromise. If they +would only put off their scheme till Tuesday, which they might easily +do, as it depended only on themselves, she could go with them, and +everybody might then be satisfied. But “No, no, no!” was the immediate +answer; “that could not be, for Thorpe did not know that he might not +go to town on Tuesday.” Catherine was sorry, but could do no more; and +a short silence ensued, which was broken by Isabella, who in a voice of +cold resentment said, “Very well, then there is an end of the party. If +Catherine does not go, I cannot. I cannot be the only woman. I would +not, upon any account in the world, do so improper a thing.” + +“Catherine, you must go,” said James. + +“But why cannot Mr. Thorpe drive one of his other sisters? I dare say +either of them would like to go.” + +“Thank ye,” cried Thorpe, “but I did not come to Bath to drive my +sisters about, and look like a fool. No, if you do not go, d—— me if I +do. I only go for the sake of driving you.” + +“That is a compliment which gives me no pleasure.” But her words were +lost on Thorpe, who had turned abruptly away. + +The three others still continued together, walking in a most +uncomfortable manner to poor Catherine; sometimes not a word was said, +sometimes she was again attacked with supplications or reproaches, and +her arm was still linked within Isabella’s, though their hearts were at +war. At one moment she was softened, at another irritated; always +distressed, but always steady. + +“I did not think you had been so obstinate, Catherine,” said James; +“you were not used to be so hard to persuade; you once were the +kindest, best-tempered of my sisters.” + +“I hope I am not less so now,” she replied, very feelingly; “but indeed +I cannot go. If I am wrong, I am doing what I believe to be right.” + +“I suspect,” said Isabella, in a low voice, “there is no great +struggle.” + +Catherine’s heart swelled; she drew away her arm, and Isabella made no +opposition. Thus passed a long ten minutes, till they were again joined +by Thorpe, who, coming to them with a gayer look, said, “Well, I have +settled the matter, and now we may all go to-morrow with a safe +conscience. I have been to Miss Tilney, and made your excuses.” + +“You have not!” cried Catherine. + +“I have, upon my soul. Left her this moment. Told her you had sent me +to say that, having just recollected a prior engagement of going to +Clifton with us to-morrow, you could not have the pleasure of walking +with her till Tuesday. She said very well, Tuesday was just as +convenient to her; so there is an end of all our difficulties. A pretty +good thought of mine—hey?” + +Isabella’s countenance was once more all smiles and good humour, and +James too looked happy again. + +“A most heavenly thought indeed! now, my sweet Catherine, all our +distresses are over; you are honourably acquitted, and we shall have a +most delightful party.” + +“This will not do,” said Catherine; “I cannot submit to this. I must +run after Miss Tilney directly and set her right.” + +Isabella, however, caught hold of one hand, Thorpe of the other, and +remonstrances poured in from all three. Even James was quite angry. +When everything was settled, when Miss Tilney herself said that Tuesday +would suit her as well, it was quite ridiculous, quite absurd, to make +any further objection. + +“I do not care. Mr. Thorpe had no business to invent any such message. +If I had thought it right to put it off, I could have spoken to Miss +Tilney myself. This is only doing it in a ruder way; and how do I know +that Mr. Thorpe has—He may be mistaken again perhaps; he led me into +one act of rudeness by his mistake on Friday. Let me go, Mr. Thorpe; +Isabella, do not hold me.” + +Thorpe told her it would be in vain to go after the Tilneys; they were +turning the corner into Brock Street, when he had overtaken them, and +were at home by this time. + +“Then I will go after them,” said Catherine; “wherever they are I will +go after them. It does not signify talking. If I could not be persuaded +into doing what I thought wrong, I never will be tricked into it.” And +with these words she broke away and hurried off. Thorpe would have +darted after her, but Morland withheld him. “Let her go, let her go, if +she will go.” + +“She is as obstinate as—” + +Thorpe never finished the simile, for it could hardly have been a +proper one. + +Away walked Catherine in great agitation, as fast as the crowd would +permit her, fearful of being pursued, yet determined to persevere. As +she walked, she reflected on what had passed. It was painful to her to +disappoint and displease them, particularly to displease her brother; +but she could not repent her resistance. Setting her own inclination +apart, to have failed a second time in her engagement to Miss Tilney, +to have retracted a promise voluntarily made only five minutes before, +and on a false pretence too, must have been wrong. She had not been +withstanding them on selfish principles alone, she had not consulted +merely her own gratification; _that_ might have been ensured in some +degree by the excursion itself, by seeing Blaize Castle; no, she had +attended to what was due to others, and to her own character in their +opinion. Her conviction of being right, however, was not enough to +restore her composure; till she had spoken to Miss Tilney she could not +be at ease; and quickening her pace when she got clear of the Crescent, +she almost ran over the remaining ground till she gained the top of +Milsom Street. So rapid had been her movements that in spite of the +Tilneys’ advantage in the outset, they were but just turning into their +lodgings as she came within view of them; and the servant still +remaining at the open door, she used only the ceremony of saying that +she must speak with Miss Tilney that moment, and hurrying by him +proceeded upstairs. Then, opening the first door before her, which +happened to be the right, she immediately found herself in the +drawing-room with General Tilney, his son, and daughter. Her +explanation, defective only in being—from her irritation of nerves and +shortness of breath—no explanation at all, was instantly given. “I am +come in a great hurry—It was all a mistake—I never promised to go—I +told them from the first I could not go.—I ran away in a great hurry to +explain it.—I did not care what you thought of me.—I would not stay for +the servant.” + +The business, however, though not perfectly elucidated by this speech, +soon ceased to be a puzzle. Catherine found that John Thorpe _had_ +given the message; and Miss Tilney had no scruple in owning herself +greatly surprised by it. But whether her brother had still exceeded her +in resentment, Catherine, though she instinctively addressed herself as +much to one as to the other in her vindication, had no means of +knowing. Whatever might have been felt before her arrival, her eager +declarations immediately made every look and sentence as friendly as +she could desire. + +The affair thus happily settled, she was introduced by Miss Tilney to +her father, and received by him with such ready, such solicitous +politeness as recalled Thorpe’s information to her mind, and made her +think with pleasure that he might be sometimes depended on. To such +anxious attention was the General’s civility carried, that not aware of +her extraordinary swiftness in entering the house, he was quite angry +with the servant whose neglect had reduced her to open the door of the +apartment herself. “What did William mean by it? He should make a point +of inquiring into the matter.” And if Catherine had not most warmly +asserted his innocence, it seemed likely that William would lose the +favour of his master forever, if not his place, by her rapidity. + +After sitting with them a quarter of an hour, she rose to take leave, +and was then most agreeably surprised by General Tilney’s asking her if +she would do his daughter the honour of dining and spending the rest of +the day with her. Miss Tilney added her own wishes. Catherine was +greatly obliged; but it was quite out of her power. Mr. and Mrs. Allen +would expect her back every moment. The General declared he could say +no more; the claims of Mr. and Mrs. Allen were not to be superseded; +but on some other day he trusted, when longer notice could be given, +they would not refuse to spare her to her friend. “Oh, no; Catherine +was sure they would not have the least objection, and she should have +great pleasure in coming.” The General attended her himself to the +street-door, saying everything gallant as they went downstairs, +admiring the elasticity of her walk, which corresponded exactly with +the spirit of her dancing, and making her one of the most graceful bows +she had ever beheld, when they parted. + +Catherine, delighted by all that had passed, proceeded gaily to +Pulteney Street, walking, as she concluded, with great elasticity, +though she had never thought of it before. She reached home without +seeing anything more of the offended party; and now that she had been +triumphant throughout, had carried her point, and was secure of her +walk, she began (as the flutter of her spirits subsided) to doubt +whether she had been perfectly right. A sacrifice was always noble; and +if she had given way to their entreaties, she should have been spared +the distressing idea of a friend displeased, a brother angry, and a +scheme of great happiness to both destroyed, perhaps through her means. +To ease her mind, and ascertain by the opinion of an unprejudiced +person what her own conduct had really been, she took occasion to +mention before Mr. Allen the half-settled scheme of her brother and the +Thorpes for the following day. Mr. Allen caught at it directly. “Well,” +said he, “and do you think of going too?” + +“No; I had just engaged myself to walk with Miss Tilney before they +told me of it; and therefore you know I could not go with them, could +I?” + +“No, certainly not; and I am glad you do not think of it. These schemes +are not at all the thing. Young men and women driving about the country +in open carriages! now and then it is very well; but going to inns and +public places together! it is not right; and I wonder Mrs. Thorpe +should allow it. I am glad you do not think of going; I am sure Mrs. +Morland would not be pleased. Mrs. Allen, are not you of my way of +thinking? Do not you think these kind of projects objectionable?” + +“Yes, very much so indeed. Open carriages are nasty things. A clean +gown is not five minutes’ wear in them. You are splashed getting in and +getting out; and the wind takes your hair and your bonnet in every +direction. I hate an open carriage myself.” + +“I know you do; but that is not the question. Do not you think it has +an odd appearance, if young ladies are frequently driven about in them +by young men, to whom they are not even related?” + +“Yes, my dear, a very odd appearance indeed. I cannot bear to see it.” + +“Dear madam,” cried Catherine, “then why did not you tell me so before? +I am sure if I had known it to be improper, I would not have gone with +Mr. Thorpe at all; but I always hoped you would tell me, if you thought +I was doing wrong.” + +“And so I should, my dear, you may depend on it; for as I told Mrs. +Morland at parting, I would always do the best for you in my power. But +one must not be over particular. Young people _will_ be young people, +as your good mother says herself. You know I wanted you, when we first +came, not to buy that sprigged muslin, but you would. Young people do +not like to be always thwarted.” + +“But this was something of real consequence; and I do not think you +would have found me hard to persuade.” + +“As far as it has gone hitherto, there is no harm done,” said Mr. +Allen; “and I would only advise you, my dear, not to go out with Mr. +Thorpe any more.” + +“That is just what I was going to say,” added his wife. + +Catherine, relieved for herself, felt uneasy for Isabella, and after a +moment’s thought, asked Mr. Allen whether it would not be both proper +and kind in her to write to Miss Thorpe, and explain the indecorum of +which she must be as insensible as herself; for she considered that +Isabella might otherwise perhaps be going to Clifton the next day, in +spite of what had passed. Mr. Allen, however, discouraged her from +doing any such thing. “You had better leave her alone, my dear; she is +old enough to know what she is about, and if not, has a mother to +advise her. Mrs. Thorpe is too indulgent beyond a doubt; but, however, +you had better not interfere. She and your brother choose to go, and +you will be only getting ill will.” + +Catherine submitted, and though sorry to think that Isabella should be +doing wrong, felt greatly relieved by Mr. Allen’s approbation of her +own conduct, and truly rejoiced to be preserved by his advice from the +danger of falling into such an error herself. Her escape from being one +of the party to Clifton was now an escape indeed; for what would the +Tilneys have thought of her, if she had broken her promise to them in +order to do what was wrong in itself, if she had been guilty of one +breach of propriety, only to enable her to be guilty of another? + + + + +CHAPTER 14 + + +The next morning was fair, and Catherine almost expected another attack +from the assembled party. With Mr. Allen to support her, she felt no +dread of the event: but she would gladly be spared a contest, where +victory itself was painful, and was heartily rejoiced therefore at +neither seeing nor hearing anything of them. The Tilneys called for her +at the appointed time; and no new difficulty arising, no sudden +recollection, no unexpected summons, no impertinent intrusion to +disconcert their measures, my heroine was most unnaturally able to +fulfil her engagement, though it was made with the hero himself. They +determined on walking round Beechen Cliff, that noble hill whose +beautiful verdure and hanging coppice render it so striking an object +from almost every opening in Bath. + +“I never look at it,” said Catherine, as they walked along the side of +the river, “without thinking of the south of France.” + +“You have been abroad then?” said Henry, a little surprised. + +“Oh! no, I only mean what I have read about. It always puts me in mind +of the country that Emily and her father travelled through, in The +Mysteries of Udolpho. But you never read novels, I dare say?” + +“Why not?” + +“Because they are not clever enough for you—gentlemen read better +books.” + +“The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good +novel, must be intolerably stupid. I have read all Mrs. Radcliffe’s +works, and most of them with great pleasure. The Mysteries of Udolpho, +when I had once begun it, I could not lay down again; I remember +finishing it in two days—my hair standing on end the whole time.” + +“Yes,” added Miss Tilney, “and I remember that you undertook to read it +aloud to me, and that when I was called away for only five minutes to +answer a note, instead of waiting for me, you took the volume into the +Hermitage Walk, and I was obliged to stay till you had finished it.” + +“Thank you, Eleanor—a most honourable testimony. You see, Miss Morland, +the injustice of your suspicions. Here was I, in my eagerness to get +on, refusing to wait only five minutes for my sister, breaking the +promise I had made of reading it aloud, and keeping her in suspense at +a most interesting part, by running away with the volume, which, you +are to observe, was her own, particularly her own. I am proud when I +reflect on it, and I think it must establish me in your good opinion.” + +“I am very glad to hear it indeed, and now I shall never be ashamed of +liking Udolpho myself. But I really thought before, young men despised +novels amazingly.” + +“It is _amazingly;_ it may well suggest _amazement_ if they do—for they +read nearly as many as women. I myself have read hundreds and hundreds. +Do not imagine that you can cope with me in a knowledge of Julias and +Louisas. If we proceed to particulars, and engage in the never-ceasing +inquiry of ‘Have you read this?’ and ‘Have you read that?’ I shall soon +leave you as far behind me as—what shall I say?—I want an appropriate +simile.—as far as your friend Emily herself left poor Valancourt when +she went with her aunt into Italy. Consider how many years I have had +the start of you. I had entered on my studies at Oxford, while you were +a good little girl working your sampler at home!” + +“Not very good, I am afraid. But now really, do not you think Udolpho +the nicest book in the world?” + +“The nicest—by which I suppose you mean the neatest. That must depend +upon the binding.” + +“Henry,” said Miss Tilney, “you are very impertinent. Miss Morland, he +is treating you exactly as he does his sister. He is forever finding +fault with me, for some incorrectness of language, and now he is taking +the same liberty with you. The word ‘nicest,’ as you used it, did not +suit him; and you had better change it as soon as you can, or we shall +be overpowered with Johnson and Blair all the rest of the way.” + +“I am sure,” cried Catherine, “I did not mean to say anything wrong; +but it _is_ a nice book, and why should not I call it so?” + +“Very true,” said Henry, “and this is a very nice day, and we are +taking a very nice walk, and you are two very nice young ladies. Oh! it +is a very nice word indeed! it does for everything. Originally perhaps +it was applied only to express neatness, propriety, delicacy, or +refinement—people were nice in their dress, in their sentiments, or +their choice. But now every commendation on every subject is comprised +in that one word.” + +“While, in fact,” cried his sister, “it ought only to be applied to +you, without any commendation at all. You are more nice than wise. +Come, Miss Morland, let us leave him to meditate over our faults in the +utmost propriety of diction, while we praise Udolpho in whatever terms +we like best. It is a most interesting work. You are fond of that kind +of reading?” + +“To say the truth, I do not much like any other.” + +“Indeed!” + +“That is, I can read poetry and plays, and things of that sort, and do +not dislike travels. But history, real solemn history, I cannot be +interested in. Can you?” + +“Yes, I am fond of history.” + +“I wish I were too. I read it a little as a duty, but it tells me +nothing that does not either vex or weary me. The quarrels of popes and +kings, with wars or pestilences, in every page; the men all so good for +nothing, and hardly any women at all—it is very tiresome: and yet I +often think it odd that it should be so dull, for a great deal of it +must be invention. The speeches that are put into the heroes’ mouths, +their thoughts and designs—the chief of all this must be invention, and +invention is what delights me in other books.” + +“Historians, you think,” said Miss Tilney, “are not happy in their +flights of fancy. They display imagination without raising interest. I +am fond of history—and am very well contented to take the false with +the true. In the principal facts they have sources of intelligence in +former histories and records, which may be as much depended on, I +conclude, as anything that does not actually pass under one’s own +observation; and as for the little embellishments you speak of, they +are embellishments, and I like them as such. If a speech be well drawn +up, I read it with pleasure, by whomsoever it may be made—and probably +with much greater, if the production of Mr. Hume or Mr. Robertson, than +if the genuine words of Caractacus, Agricola, or Alfred the Great.” + +“You are fond of history! and so are Mr. Allen and my father; and I +have two brothers who do not dislike it. So many instances within my +small circle of friends is remarkable! at this rate, I shall not pity +the writers of history any longer. If people like to read their books, +it is all very well, but to be at so much trouble in filling great +volumes, which, as I used to think, nobody would willingly ever look +into, to be labouring only for the torment of little boys and girls, +always struck me as a hard fate; and though I know it is all very right +and necessary, I have often wondered at the person’s courage that could +sit down on purpose to do it.” + +“That little boys and girls should be tormented,” said Henry, “is what +no one at all acquainted with human nature in a civilized state can +deny; but in behalf of our most distinguished historians, I must +observe that they might well be offended at being supposed to have no +higher aim, and that by their method and style, they are perfectly well +qualified to torment readers of the most advanced reason and mature +time of life. I use the verb ‘to torment,’ as I observed to be your own +method, instead of ‘to instruct,’ supposing them to be now admitted as +synonymous.” + +“You think me foolish to call instruction a torment, but if you had +been as much used as myself to hear poor little children first learning +their letters and then learning to spell, if you had ever seen how +stupid they can be for a whole morning together, and how tired my poor +mother is at the end of it, as I am in the habit of seeing almost every +day of my life at home, you would allow that to _torment_ and to +_instruct_ might sometimes be used as synonymous words.” + +“Very probably. But historians are not accountable for the difficulty +of learning to read; and even you yourself, who do not altogether seem +particularly friendly to very severe, very intense application, may +perhaps be brought to acknowledge that it is very well worth-while to +be tormented for two or three years of one’s life, for the sake of +being able to read all the rest of it. Consider—if reading had not been +taught, Mrs. Radcliffe would have written in vain—or perhaps might not +have written at all.” + +Catherine assented—and a very warm panegyric from her on that lady’s +merits closed the subject. The Tilneys were soon engaged in another on +which she had nothing to say. They were viewing the country with the +eyes of persons accustomed to drawing, and decided on its capability of +being formed into pictures, with all the eagerness of real taste. Here +Catherine was quite lost. She knew nothing of drawing—nothing of taste: +and she listened to them with an attention which brought her little +profit, for they talked in phrases which conveyed scarcely any idea to +her. The little which she could understand, however, appeared to +contradict the very few notions she had entertained on the matter +before. It seemed as if a good view were no longer to be taken from the +top of an high hill, and that a clear blue sky was no longer a proof of +a fine day. She was heartily ashamed of her ignorance. A misplaced +shame. Where people wish to attach, they should always be ignorant. To +come with a well-informed mind is to come with an inability of +administering to the vanity of others, which a sensible person would +always wish to avoid. A woman especially, if she have the misfortune of +knowing anything, should conceal it as well as she can. + +The advantages of natural folly in a beautiful girl have been already +set forth by the capital pen of a sister author; and to her treatment +of the subject I will only add, in justice to men, that though to the +larger and more trifling part of the sex, imbecility in females is a +great enhancement of their personal charms, there is a portion of them +too reasonable and too well informed themselves to desire anything more +in woman than ignorance. But Catherine did not know her own +advantages—did not know that a good-looking girl, with an affectionate +heart and a very ignorant mind, cannot fail of attracting a clever +young man, unless circumstances are particularly untoward. In the +present instance, she confessed and lamented her want of knowledge, +declared that she would give anything in the world to be able to draw; +and a lecture on the picturesque immediately followed, in which his +instructions were so clear that she soon began to see beauty in +everything admired by him, and her attention was so earnest that he +became perfectly satisfied of her having a great deal of natural taste. +He talked of foregrounds, distances, and second distances—side-screens +and perspectives—lights and shades; and Catherine was so hopeful a +scholar that when they gained the top of Beechen Cliff, she voluntarily +rejected the whole city of Bath as unworthy to make part of a +landscape. Delighted with her progress, and fearful of wearying her +with too much wisdom at once, Henry suffered the subject to decline, +and by an easy transition from a piece of rocky fragment and the +withered oak which he had placed near its summit, to oaks in general, +to forests, the enclosure of them, waste lands, crown lands and +government, he shortly found himself arrived at politics; and from +politics, it was an easy step to silence. The general pause which +succeeded his short disquisition on the state of the nation was put an +end to by Catherine, who, in rather a solemn tone of voice, uttered +these words, “I have heard that something very shocking indeed will +soon come out in London.” + +Miss Tilney, to whom this was chiefly addressed, was startled, and +hastily replied, “Indeed! and of what nature?” + +“That I do not know, nor who is the author. I have only heard that it +is to be more horrible than anything we have met with yet.” + +“Good heaven! where could you hear of such a thing?” + +“A particular friend of mine had an account of it in a letter from +London yesterday. It is to be uncommonly dreadful. I shall expect +murder and everything of the kind.” + +“You speak with astonishing composure! but I hope your friend’s +accounts have been exaggerated; and if such a design is known +beforehand, proper measures will undoubtedly be taken by government to +prevent its coming to effect.” + +“Government,” said Henry, endeavouring not to smile, “neither desires +nor dares to interfere in such matters. There must be murder; and +government cares not how much.” + +The ladies stared. He laughed, and added, “Come, shall I make you +understand each other, or leave you to puzzle out an explanation as you +can? No—I will be noble. I will prove myself a man, no less by the +generosity of my soul than the clearness of my head. I have no patience +with such of my sex as disdain to let themselves sometimes down to the +comprehension of yours. Perhaps the abilities of women are neither +sound nor acute—neither vigorous nor keen. Perhaps they may want +observation, discernment, judgment, fire, genius, and wit.” + +“Miss Morland, do not mind what he says; but have the goodness to +satisfy me as to this dreadful riot.” + +“Riot! what riot?” + +“My dear Eleanor, the riot is only in your own brain. The confusion +there is scandalous. Miss Morland has been talking of nothing more +dreadful than a new publication which is shortly to come out, in three +duodecimo volumes, two hundred and seventy-six pages in each, with a +frontispiece to the first, of two tombstones and a lantern—do you +understand? And you, Miss Morland—my stupid sister has mistaken all +your clearest expressions. You talked of expected horrors in London—and +instead of instantly conceiving, as any rational creature would have +done, that such words could relate only to a circulating library, she +immediately pictured to herself a mob of three thousand men assembling +in St. George’s Fields, the Bank attacked, the Tower threatened, the +streets of London flowing with blood, a detachment of the Twelfth Light +Dragoons (the hopes of the nation) called up from Northampton to quell +the insurgents, and the gallant Captain Frederick Tilney, in the moment +of charging at the head of his troop, knocked off his horse by a +brickbat from an upper window. Forgive her stupidity. The fears of the +sister have added to the weakness of the woman; but she is by no means +a simpleton in general.” + +Catherine looked grave. “And now, Henry,” said Miss Tilney, “that you +have made us understand each other, you may as well make Miss Morland +understand yourself—unless you mean to have her think you intolerably +rude to your sister, and a great brute in your opinion of women in +general. Miss Morland is not used to your odd ways.” + +“I shall be most happy to make her better acquainted with them.” + +“No doubt; but that is no explanation of the present.” + +“What am I to do?” + +“You know what you ought to do. Clear your character handsomely before +her. Tell her that you think very highly of the understanding of +women.” + +“Miss Morland, I think very highly of the understanding of all the +women in the world—especially of those—whoever they may be—with whom I +happen to be in company.” + +“That is not enough. Be more serious.” + +“Miss Morland, no one can think more highly of the understanding of +women than I do. In my opinion, nature has given them so much that they +never find it necessary to use more than half.” + +“We shall get nothing more serious from him now, Miss Morland. He is +not in a sober mood. But I do assure you that he must be entirely +misunderstood, if he can ever appear to say an unjust thing of any +woman at all, or an unkind one of me.” + +It was no effort to Catherine to believe that Henry Tilney could never +be wrong. His manner might sometimes surprise, but his meaning must +always be just: and what she did not understand, she was almost as +ready to admire, as what she did. The whole walk was delightful, and +though it ended too soon, its conclusion was delightful too; her +friends attended her into the house, and Miss Tilney, before they +parted, addressing herself with respectful form, as much to Mrs. Allen +as to Catherine, petitioned for the pleasure of her company to dinner +on the day after the next. No difficulty was made on Mrs. Allen’s side, +and the only difficulty on Catherine’s was in concealing the excess of +her pleasure. + +The morning had passed away so charmingly as to banish all her +friendship and natural affection, for no thought of Isabella or James +had crossed her during their walk. When the Tilneys were gone, she +became amiable again, but she was amiable for some time to little +effect; Mrs. Allen had no intelligence to give that could relieve her +anxiety; she had heard nothing of any of them. Towards the end of the +morning, however, Catherine, having occasion for some indispensable +yard of ribbon which must be bought without a moment’s delay, walked +out into the town, and in Bond Street overtook the second Miss Thorpe +as she was loitering towards Edgar’s Buildings between two of the +sweetest girls in the world, who had been her dear friends all the +morning. From her, she soon learned that the party to Clifton had taken +place. “They set off at eight this morning,” said Miss Anne, “and I am +sure I do not envy them their drive. I think you and I are very well +off to be out of the scrape. It must be the dullest thing in the world, +for there is not a soul at Clifton at this time of year. Belle went +with your brother, and John drove Maria.” + +Catherine spoke the pleasure she really felt on hearing this part of +the arrangement. + +“Oh! yes,” rejoined the other, “Maria is gone. She was quite wild to +go. She thought it would be something very fine. I cannot say I admire +her taste; and for my part, I was determined from the first not to go, +if they pressed me ever so much.” + +Catherine, a little doubtful of this, could not help answering, “I wish +you could have gone too. It is a pity you could not all go.” + +“Thank you; but it is quite a matter of indifference to me. Indeed, I +would not have gone on any account. I was saying so to Emily and Sophia +when you overtook us.” + +Catherine was still unconvinced; but glad that Anne should have the +friendship of an Emily and a Sophia to console her, she bade her adieu +without much uneasiness, and returned home, pleased that the party had +not been prevented by her refusing to join it, and very heartily +wishing that it might be too pleasant to allow either James or Isabella +to resent her resistance any longer. + + + + +CHAPTER 15 + + +Early the next day, a note from Isabella, speaking peace and tenderness +in every line, and entreating the immediate presence of her friend on a +matter of the utmost importance, hastened Catherine, in the happiest +state of confidence and curiosity, to Edgar’s Buildings. The two +youngest Miss Thorpes were by themselves in the parlour; and, on Anne’s +quitting it to call her sister, Catherine took the opportunity of +asking the other for some particulars of their yesterday’s party. Maria +desired no greater pleasure than to speak of it; and Catherine +immediately learnt that it had been altogether the most delightful +scheme in the world, that nobody could imagine how charming it had +been, and that it had been more delightful than anybody could conceive. +Such was the information of the first five minutes; the second unfolded +thus much in detail—that they had driven directly to the York Hotel, +ate some soup, and bespoke an early dinner, walked down to the +pump-room, tasted the water, and laid out some shillings in purses and +spars; thence adjourned to eat ice at a pastry-cook’s, and hurrying +back to the hotel, swallowed their dinner in haste, to prevent being in +the dark; and then had a delightful drive back, only the moon was not +up, and it rained a little, and Mr. Morland’s horse was so tired he +could hardly get it along. + +Catherine listened with heartfelt satisfaction. It appeared that Blaize +Castle had never been thought of; and, as for all the rest, there was +nothing to regret for half an instant. Maria’s intelligence concluded +with a tender effusion of pity for her sister Anne, whom she +represented as insupportably cross, from being excluded the party. + +“She will never forgive me, I am sure; but, you know, how could I help +it? John would have me go, for he vowed he would not drive her, because +she had such thick ankles. I dare say she will not be in good humour +again this month; but I am determined I will not be cross; it is not a +little matter that puts me out of temper.” + +Isabella now entered the room with so eager a step, and a look of such +happy importance, as engaged all her friend’s notice. Maria was without +ceremony sent away, and Isabella, embracing Catherine, thus began: +“Yes, my dear Catherine, it is so indeed; your penetration has not +deceived you. Oh, that arch eye of yours! it sees through everything.” + +Catherine replied only by a look of wondering ignorance. + +“Nay, my beloved, sweetest friend,” continued the other, “compose +yourself. I am amazingly agitated, as you perceive. Let us sit down and +talk in comfort. Well, and so you guessed it the moment you had my +note? Sly creature! oh! my dear Catherine, you alone, who know my +heart, can judge of my present happiness. Your brother is the most +charming of men. I only wish I were more worthy of him. But what will +your excellent father and mother say? Oh! heavens! when I think of them +I am so agitated!” + +Catherine’s understanding began to awake: an idea of the truth suddenly +darted into her mind; and, with the natural blush of so new an emotion, +she cried out, “Good heaven! my dear Isabella, what do you mean? Can +you—can you really be in love with James?” + +This bold surmise, however, she soon learnt comprehended but half the +fact. The anxious affection, which she was accused of having +continually watched in Isabella’s every look and action, had, in the +course of their yesterday’s party, received the delightful confession +of an equal love. Her heart and faith were alike engaged to James. +Never had Catherine listened to anything so full of interest, wonder, +and joy. Her brother and her friend engaged! new to such circumstances, +the importance of it appeared unspeakably great, and she contemplated +it as one of those grand events, of which the ordinary course of life +can hardly afford a return. The strength of her feelings she could not +express; the nature of them, however, contented her friend. The +happiness of having such a sister was their first effusion, and the +fair ladies mingled in embraces and tears of joy. + +Delighting, however, as Catherine sincerely did, in the prospect of the +connection, it must be acknowledged that Isabella far surpassed her in +tender anticipations. “You will be so infinitely dearer to me, my +Catherine, than either Anne or Maria: I feel that I shall be so much +more attached to my dear Morland’s family than to my own.” + +This was a pitch of friendship beyond Catherine. + +“You are so like your dear brother,” continued Isabella, “that I quite +doted on you the first moment I saw you. But so it always is with me; +the first moment settles everything. The very first day that Morland +came to us last Christmas—the very first moment I beheld him—my heart +was irrecoverably gone. I remember I wore my yellow gown, with my hair +done up in braids; and when I came into the drawing-room, and John +introduced him, I thought I never saw anybody so handsome before.” + +Here Catherine secretly acknowledged the power of love; for, though +exceedingly fond of her brother, and partial to all his endowments, she +had never in her life thought him handsome. + +“I remember too, Miss Andrews drank tea with us that evening, and wore +her puce-coloured sarsenet; and she looked so heavenly that I thought +your brother must certainly fall in love with her; I could not sleep a +wink all night for thinking of it. Oh! catherine, the many sleepless +nights I have had on your brother’s account! i would not have you +suffer half what I have done! i am grown wretchedly thin, I know; but I +will not pain you by describing my anxiety; you have seen enough of it. +I feel that I have betrayed myself perpetually—so unguarded in speaking +of my partiality for the church! but my secret I was always sure would +be safe with _you_.” + +Catherine felt that nothing could have been safer; but ashamed of an +ignorance little expected, she dared no longer contest the point, nor +refuse to have been as full of arch penetration and affectionate +sympathy as Isabella chose to consider her. Her brother, she found, was +preparing to set off with all speed to Fullerton, to make known his +situation and ask consent; and here was a source of some real agitation +to the mind of Isabella. Catherine endeavoured to persuade her, as she +was herself persuaded, that her father and mother would never oppose +their son’s wishes. “It is impossible,” said she, “for parents to be +more kind, or more desirous of their children’s happiness; I have no +doubt of their consenting immediately.” + +“Morland says exactly the same,” replied Isabella; “and yet I dare not +expect it; my fortune will be so small; they never can consent to it. +Your brother, who might marry anybody!” + +Here Catherine again discerned the force of love. + +“Indeed, Isabella, you are too humble. The difference of fortune can be +nothing to signify.” + +“Oh! my sweet Catherine, in _your_ generous heart I know it would +signify nothing; but we must not expect such disinterestedness in many. +As for myself, I am sure I only wish our situations were reversed. Had +I the command of millions, were I mistress of the whole world, your +brother would be my only choice.” + +This charming sentiment, recommended as much by sense as novelty, gave +Catherine a most pleasing remembrance of all the heroines of her +acquaintance; and she thought her friend never looked more lovely than +in uttering the grand idea. “I am sure they will consent,” was her +frequent declaration; “I am sure they will be delighted with you.” + +“For my own part,” said Isabella, “my wishes are so moderate that the +smallest income in nature would be enough for me. Where people are +really attached, poverty itself is wealth; grandeur I detest: I would +not settle in London for the universe. A cottage in some retired +village would be ecstasy. There are some charming little villas about +Richmond.” + +“Richmond!” cried Catherine. “You must settle near Fullerton. You must +be near us.” + +“I am sure I shall be miserable if we do not. If I can but be near +_you_, I shall be satisfied. But this is idle talking! i will not allow +myself to think of such things, till we have your father’s answer. +Morland says that by sending it to-night to Salisbury, we may have it +to-morrow. To-morrow? I know I shall never have courage to open the +letter. I know it will be the death of me.” + +A reverie succeeded this conviction—and when Isabella spoke again, it +was to resolve on the quality of her wedding-gown. + +Their conference was put an end to by the anxious young lover himself, +who came to breathe his parting sigh before he set off for Wiltshire. +Catherine wished to congratulate him, but knew not what to say, and her +eloquence was only in her eyes. From them, however, the eight parts of +speech shone out most expressively, and James could combine them with +ease. Impatient for the realization of all that he hoped at home, his +adieus were not long; and they would have been yet shorter, had he not +been frequently detained by the urgent entreaties of his fair one that +he would go. Twice was he called almost from the door by her eagerness +to have him gone. “Indeed, Morland, I must drive you away. Consider how +far you have to ride. I cannot bear to see you linger so. For heaven’s +sake, waste no more time. There, go, go—I insist on it.” + +The two friends, with hearts now more united than ever, were +inseparable for the day; and in schemes of sisterly happiness the hours +flew along. Mrs. Thorpe and her son, who were acquainted with +everything, and who seemed only to want Mr. Morland’s consent, to +consider Isabella’s engagement as the most fortunate circumstance +imaginable for their family, were allowed to join their counsels, and +add their quota of significant looks and mysterious expressions to fill +up the measure of curiosity to be raised in the unprivileged younger +sisters. To Catherine’s simple feelings, this odd sort of reserve +seemed neither kindly meant, nor consistently supported; and its +unkindness she would hardly have forborne pointing out, had its +inconsistency been less their friend; but Anne and Maria soon set her +heart at ease by the sagacity of their “I know what”; and the evening +was spent in a sort of war of wit, a display of family ingenuity, on +one side in the mystery of an affected secret, on the other of +undefined discovery, all equally acute. + +Catherine was with her friend again the next day, endeavouring to +support her spirits and while away the many tedious hours before the +delivery of the letters; a needful exertion, for as the time of +reasonable expectation drew near, Isabella became more and more +desponding, and before the letter arrived, had worked herself into a +state of real distress. But when it did come, where could distress be +found? “I have had no difficulty in gaining the consent of my kind +parents, and am promised that everything in their power shall be done +to forward my happiness,” were the first three lines, and in one moment +all was joyful security. The brightest glow was instantly spread over +Isabella’s features, all care and anxiety seemed removed, her spirits +became almost too high for control, and she called herself without +scruple the happiest of mortals. + +Mrs. Thorpe, with tears of joy, embraced her daughter, her son, her +visitor, and could have embraced half the inhabitants of Bath with +satisfaction. Her heart was overflowing with tenderness. It was “dear +John” and “dear Catherine” at every word; “dear Anne and dear Maria” +must immediately be made sharers in their felicity; and two “dears” at +once before the name of Isabella were not more than that beloved child +had now well earned. John himself was no skulker in joy. He not only +bestowed on Mr. Morland the high commendation of being one of the +finest fellows in the world, but swore off many sentences in his +praise. + +The letter, whence sprang all this felicity, was short, containing +little more than this assurance of success; and every particular was +deferred till James could write again. But for particulars Isabella +could well afford to wait. The needful was comprised in Mr. Morland’s +promise; his honour was pledged to make everything easy; and by what +means their income was to be formed, whether landed property were to be +resigned, or funded money made over, was a matter in which her +disinterested spirit took no concern. She knew enough to feel secure of +an honourable and speedy establishment, and her imagination took a +rapid flight over its attendant felicities. She saw herself at the end +of a few weeks, the gaze and admiration of every new acquaintance at +Fullerton, the envy of every valued old friend in Putney, with a +carriage at her command, a new name on her tickets, and a brilliant +exhibition of hoop rings on her finger. + +When the contents of the letter were ascertained, John Thorpe, who had +only waited its arrival to begin his journey to London, prepared to set +off. “Well, Miss Morland,” said he, on finding her alone in the +parlour, “I am come to bid you good-bye.” Catherine wished him a good +journey. Without appearing to hear her, he walked to the window, +fidgeted about, hummed a tune, and seemed wholly self-occupied. + +“Shall not you be late at Devizes?” said Catherine. He made no answer; +but after a minute’s silence burst out with, “A famous good thing this +marrying scheme, upon my soul! a clever fancy of Morland’s and Belle’s. +What do you think of it, Miss Morland? _I_ say it is no bad notion.” + +“I am sure I think it a very good one.” + +“Do you? That’s honest, by heavens! i am glad you are no enemy to +matrimony, however. Did you ever hear the old song, ‘Going to One +Wedding Brings on Another?’ I say, you will come to Belle’s wedding, I +hope.” + +“Yes; I have promised your sister to be with her, if possible.” + +“And then you know”—twisting himself about and forcing a foolish +laugh—“I say, then you know, we may try the truth of this same old +song.” + +“May we? But I never sing. Well, I wish you a good journey. I dine with +Miss Tilney to-day, and must now be going home.” + +“Nay, but there is no such confounded hurry. Who knows when we may be +together again? Not but that I shall be down again by the end of a +fortnight, and a devilish long fortnight it will appear to me.” + +“Then why do you stay away so long?” replied Catherine—finding that he +waited for an answer. + +“That is kind of you, however—kind and good-natured. I shall not forget +it in a hurry. But you have more good nature and all that, than anybody +living, I believe. A monstrous deal of good nature, and it is not only +good nature, but you have so much, so much of everything; and then you +have such—upon my soul, I do not know anybody like you.” + +“Oh! dear, there are a great many people like me, I dare say, only a +great deal better. Good morning to you.” + +“But I say, Miss Morland, I shall come and pay my respects at Fullerton +before it is long, if not disagreeable.” + +“Pray do. My father and mother will be very glad to see you.” + +“And I hope—I hope, Miss Morland, _you_ will not be sorry to see me.” + +“Oh! dear, not at all. There are very few people I am sorry to see. +Company is always cheerful.” + +“That is just my way of thinking. Give me but a little cheerful +company, let me only have the company of the people I love, let me only +be where I like and with whom I like, and the devil take the rest, say +I. And I am heartily glad to hear you say the same. But I have a +notion, Miss Morland, you and I think pretty much alike upon most +matters.” + +“Perhaps we may; but it is more than I ever thought of. And as to _most +matters_, to say the truth, there are not many that I know my own mind +about.” + +“By Jove, no more do I. It is not my way to bother my brains with what +does not concern me. My notion of things is simple enough. Let me only +have the girl I like, say I, with a comfortable house over my head, and +what care I for all the rest? Fortune is nothing. I am sure of a good +income of my own; and if she had not a penny, why, so much the better.” + +“Very true. I think like you there. If there is a good fortune on one +side, there can be no occasion for any on the other. No matter which +has it, so that there is enough. I hate the idea of one great fortune +looking out for another. And to marry for money I think the wickedest +thing in existence. Good day. We shall be very glad to see you at +Fullerton, whenever it is convenient.” And away she went. It was not in +the power of all his gallantry to detain her longer. With such news to +communicate, and such a visit to prepare for, her departure was not to +be delayed by anything in his nature to urge; and she hurried away, +leaving him to the undivided consciousness of his own happy address, +and her explicit encouragement. + +The agitation which she had herself experienced on first learning her +brother’s engagement made her expect to raise no inconsiderable emotion +in Mr. and Mrs. Allen, by the communication of the wonderful event. How +great was her disappointment! the important affair, which many words of +preparation ushered in, had been foreseen by them both ever since her +brother’s arrival; and all that they felt on the occasion was +comprehended in a wish for the young people’s happiness, with a remark, +on the gentleman’s side, in favour of Isabella’s beauty, and on the +lady’s, of her great good luck. It was to Catherine the most surprising +insensibility. The disclosure, however, of the great secret of James’s +going to Fullerton the day before, did raise some emotion in Mrs. +Allen. She could not listen to that with perfect calmness, but +repeatedly regretted the necessity of its concealment, wished she could +have known his intention, wished she could have seen him before he +went, as she should certainly have troubled him with her best regards +to his father and mother, and her kind compliments to all the Skinners. + + + + +CHAPTER 16 + + +Catherine’s expectations of pleasure from her visit in Milsom Street +were so very high that disappointment was inevitable; and accordingly, +though she was most politely received by General Tilney, and kindly +welcomed by his daughter, though Henry was at home, and no one else of +the party, she found, on her return, without spending many hours in the +examination of her feelings, that she had gone to her appointment +preparing for happiness which it had not afforded. Instead of finding +herself improved in acquaintance with Miss Tilney, from the intercourse +of the day, she seemed hardly so intimate with her as before; instead +of seeing Henry Tilney to greater advantage than ever, in the ease of a +family party, he had never said so little, nor been so little +agreeable; and, in spite of their father’s great civilities to her—in +spite of his thanks, invitations, and compliments—it had been a release +to get away from him. It puzzled her to account for all this. It could +not be General Tilney’s fault. That he was perfectly agreeable and +good-natured, and altogether a very charming man, did not admit of a +doubt, for he was tall and handsome, and Henry’s father. _He_ could not +be accountable for his children’s want of spirits, or for her want of +enjoyment in his company. The former she hoped at last might have been +accidental, and the latter she could only attribute to her own +stupidity. Isabella, on hearing the particulars of the visit, gave a +different explanation: “It was all pride, pride, insufferable +haughtiness and pride! she had long suspected the family to be very +high, and this made it certain. Such insolence of behaviour as Miss +Tilney’s she had never heard of in her life! not to do the honours of +her house with common good breeding! to behave to her guest with such +superciliousness! hardly even to speak to her!” + +“But it was not so bad as that, Isabella; there was no +superciliousness; she was very civil.” + +“Oh, don’t defend her! and then the brother, he, who had appeared so +attached to you! good heavens! well, some people’s feelings are +incomprehensible. And so he hardly looked once at you the whole day?” + +“I do not say so; but he did not seem in good spirits.” + +“How contemptible! of all things in the world inconstancy is my +aversion. Let me entreat you never to think of him again, my dear +Catherine; indeed he is unworthy of you.” + +“Unworthy! i do not suppose he ever thinks of me.” + +“That is exactly what I say; he never thinks of you. Such fickleness! +Oh! how different to your brother and to mine! i really believe John +has the most constant heart.” + +“But as for General Tilney, I assure you it would be impossible for +anybody to behave to me with greater civility and attention; it seemed +to be his only care to entertain and make me happy.” + +“Oh! i know no harm of him; I do not suspect him of pride. I believe he +is a very gentleman-like man. John thinks very well of him, and John’s +judgment—” + +“Well, I shall see how they behave to me this evening; we shall meet +them at the rooms.” + +“And must I go?” + +“Do not you intend it? I thought it was all settled.” + +“Nay, since you make such a point of it, I can refuse you nothing. But +do not insist upon my being very agreeable, for my heart, you know, +will be some forty miles off. And as for dancing, do not mention it, I +beg; _that_ is quite out of the question. Charles Hodges will plague me +to death, I dare say; but I shall cut him very short. Ten to one but he +guesses the reason, and that is exactly what I want to avoid, so I +shall insist on his keeping his conjecture to himself.” + +Isabella’s opinion of the Tilneys did not influence her friend; she was +sure there had been no insolence in the manners either of brother or +sister; and she did not credit there being any pride in their hearts. +The evening rewarded her confidence; she was met by one with the same +kindness, and by the other with the same attention, as heretofore: Miss +Tilney took pains to be near her, and Henry asked her to dance. + +Having heard the day before in Milsom Street that their elder brother, +Captain Tilney, was expected almost every hour, she was at no loss for +the name of a very fashionable-looking, handsome young man, whom she +had never seen before, and who now evidently belonged to their party. +She looked at him with great admiration, and even supposed it possible +that some people might think him handsomer than his brother, though, in +her eyes, his air was more assuming, and his countenance less +prepossessing. His taste and manners were beyond a doubt decidedly +inferior; for, within her hearing, he not only protested against every +thought of dancing himself, but even laughed openly at Henry for +finding it possible. From the latter circumstance it may be presumed +that, whatever might be our heroine’s opinion of him, his admiration of +her was not of a very dangerous kind; not likely to produce animosities +between the brothers, nor persecutions to the lady. _He_ cannot be the +instigator of the three villains in horsemen’s greatcoats, by whom she +will hereafter be forced into a traveling-chaise and four, which will +drive off with incredible speed. Catherine, meanwhile, undisturbed by +presentiments of such an evil, or of any evil at all, except that of +having but a short set to dance down, enjoyed her usual happiness with +Henry Tilney, listening with sparkling eyes to everything he said; and, +in finding him irresistible, becoming so herself. + +At the end of the first dance, Captain Tilney came towards them again, +and, much to Catherine’s dissatisfaction, pulled his brother away. They +retired whispering together; and, though her delicate sensibility did +not take immediate alarm, and lay it down as fact, that Captain Tilney +must have heard some malevolent misrepresentation of her, which he now +hastened to communicate to his brother, in the hope of separating them +forever, she could not have her partner conveyed from her sight without +very uneasy sensations. Her suspense was of full five minutes’ +duration; and she was beginning to think it a very long quarter of an +hour, when they both returned, and an explanation was given, by Henry’s +requesting to know, if she thought her friend, Miss Thorpe, would have +any objection to dancing, as his brother would be most happy to be +introduced to her. Catherine, without hesitation, replied that she was +very sure Miss Thorpe did not mean to dance at all. The cruel reply was +passed on to the other, and he immediately walked away. + +“Your brother will not mind it, I know,” said she, “because I heard him +say before that he hated dancing; but it was very good-natured in him +to think of it. I suppose he saw Isabella sitting down, and fancied she +might wish for a partner; but he is quite mistaken, for she would not +dance upon any account in the world.” + +Henry smiled, and said, “How very little trouble it can give you to +understand the motive of other people’s actions.” + +“Why? What do you mean?” + +“With you, it is not, How is such a one likely to be influenced, What +is the inducement most likely to act upon such a person’s feelings, +age, situation, and probable habits of life considered—but, How should +_I_ be influenced, What would be _my_ inducement in acting so and so?” + +“I do not understand you.” + +“Then we are on very unequal terms, for I understand you perfectly +well.” + +“Me? Yes; I cannot speak well enough to be unintelligible.” + +“Bravo! an excellent satire on modern language.” + +“But pray tell me what you mean.” + +“Shall I indeed? Do you really desire it? But you are not aware of the +consequences; it will involve you in a very cruel embarrassment, and +certainly bring on a disagreement between us.” + +“No, no; it shall not do either; I am not afraid.” + +“Well, then, I only meant that your attributing my brother’s wish of +dancing with Miss Thorpe to good nature alone convinced me of your +being superior in good nature yourself to all the rest of the world.” + +Catherine blushed and disclaimed, and the gentleman’s predictions were +verified. There was a something, however, in his words which repaid her +for the pain of confusion; and that something occupied her mind so much +that she drew back for some time, forgetting to speak or to listen, and +almost forgetting where she was; till, roused by the voice of Isabella, +she looked up and saw her with Captain Tilney preparing to give them +hands across. + +Isabella shrugged her shoulders and smiled, the only explanation of +this extraordinary change which could at that time be given; but as it +was not quite enough for Catherine’s comprehension, she spoke her +astonishment in very plain terms to her partner. + +“I cannot think how it could happen! isabella was so determined not to +dance.” + +“And did Isabella never change her mind before?” + +“Oh! but, because—And your brother! after what you told him from me, +how could he think of going to ask her?” + +“I cannot take surprise to myself on that head. You bid me be surprised +on your friend’s account, and therefore I am; but as for my brother, +his conduct in the business, I must own, has been no more than I +believed him perfectly equal to. The fairness of your friend was an +open attraction; her firmness, you know, could only be understood by +yourself.” + +“You are laughing; but, I assure you, Isabella is very firm in +general.” + +“It is as much as should be said of anyone. To be always firm must be +to be often obstinate. When properly to relax is the trial of judgment; +and, without reference to my brother, I really think Miss Thorpe has by +no means chosen ill in fixing on the present hour.” + +The friends were not able to get together for any confidential +discourse till all the dancing was over; but then, as they walked about +the room arm in arm, Isabella thus explained herself: “I do not wonder +at your surprise; and I am really fatigued to death. He is such a +rattle! amusing enough, if my mind had been disengaged; but I would +have given the world to sit still.” + +“Then why did not you?” + +“Oh! my dear! it would have looked so particular; and you know how I +abhor doing that. I refused him as long as I possibly could, but he +would take no denial. You have no idea how he pressed me. I begged him +to excuse me, and get some other partner—but no, not he; after aspiring +to my hand, there was nobody else in the room he could bear to think +of; and it was not that he wanted merely to dance, he wanted to be with +me. Oh! such nonsense! i told him he had taken a very unlikely way to +prevail upon me; for, of all things in the world, I hated fine speeches +and compliments; and so—and so then I found there would be no peace if +I did not stand up. Besides, I thought Mrs. Hughes, who introduced him, +might take it ill if I did not: and your dear brother, I am sure he +would have been miserable if I had sat down the whole evening. I am so +glad it is over! my spirits are quite jaded with listening to his +nonsense: and then, being such a smart young fellow, I saw every eye +was upon us.” + +“He is very handsome indeed.” + +“Handsome! yes, I suppose he may. I dare say people would admire him in +general; but he is not at all in my style of beauty. I hate a florid +complexion and dark eyes in a man. However, he is very well. Amazingly +conceited, I am sure. I took him down several times, you know, in my +way.” + +When the young ladies next met, they had a far more interesting subject +to discuss. James Morland’s second letter was then received, and the +kind intentions of his father fully explained. A living, of which Mr. +Morland was himself patron and incumbent, of about four hundred pounds +yearly value, was to be resigned to his son as soon as he should be old +enough to take it; no trifling deduction from the family income, no +niggardly assignment to one of ten children. An estate of at least +equal value, moreover, was assured as his future inheritance. + +James expressed himself on the occasion with becoming gratitude; and +the necessity of waiting between two and three years before they could +marry, being, however unwelcome, no more than he had expected, was +borne by him without discontent. Catherine, whose expectations had been +as unfixed as her ideas of her father’s income, and whose judgment was +now entirely led by her brother, felt equally well satisfied, and +heartily congratulated Isabella on having everything so pleasantly +settled. + +“It is very charming indeed,” said Isabella, with a grave face. “Mr. +Morland has behaved vastly handsome indeed,” said the gentle Mrs. +Thorpe, looking anxiously at her daughter. “I only wish I could do as +much. One could not expect more from him, you know. If he finds he +_can_ do more by and by, I dare say he will, for I am sure he must be +an excellent good-hearted man. Four hundred is but a small income to +begin on indeed, but your wishes, my dear Isabella, are so moderate, +you do not consider how little you ever want, my dear.” + +“It is not on my own account I wish for more; but I cannot bear to be +the means of injuring my dear Morland, making him sit down upon an +income hardly enough to find one in the common necessaries of life. For +myself, it is nothing; I never think of myself.” + +“I know you never do, my dear; and you will always find your reward in +the affection it makes everybody feel for you. There never was a young +woman so beloved as you are by everybody that knows you; and I dare say +when Mr. Morland sees you, my dear child—but do not let us distress our +dear Catherine by talking of such things. Mr. Morland has behaved so +very handsome, you know. I always heard he was a most excellent man; +and you know, my dear, we are not to suppose but what, if you had had a +suitable fortune, he would have come down with something more, for I am +sure he must be a most liberal-minded man.” + +“Nobody can think better of Mr. Morland than I do, I am sure. But +everybody has their failing, you know, and everybody has a right to do +what they like with their own money.” + +Catherine was hurt by these insinuations. “I am very sure,” said she, +“that my father has promised to do as much as he can afford.” + +Isabella recollected herself. “As to that, my sweet Catherine, there +cannot be a doubt, and you know me well enough to be sure that a much +smaller income would satisfy me. It is not the want of more money that +makes me just at present a little out of spirits; I hate money; and if +our union could take place now upon only fifty pounds a year, I should +not have a wish unsatisfied. Ah! my Catherine, you have found me out. +There’s the sting. The long, long, endless two years and a half that are +to pass before your brother can hold the living.” + +“Yes, yes, my darling Isabella,” said Mrs. Thorpe, “we perfectly see +into your heart. You have no disguise. We perfectly understand the +present vexation; and everybody must love you the better for such a +noble honest affection.” + +Catherine’s uncomfortable feelings began to lessen. She endeavoured to +believe that the delay of the marriage was the only source of +Isabella’s regret; and when she saw her at their next interview as +cheerful and amiable as ever, endeavoured to forget that she had for a +minute thought otherwise. James soon followed his letter, and was +received with the most gratifying kindness. + + + + +CHAPTER 17 + + +The Allens had now entered on the sixth week of their stay in Bath; and +whether it should be the last was for some time a question, to which +Catherine listened with a beating heart. To have her acquaintance with +the Tilneys end so soon was an evil which nothing could counterbalance. +Her whole happiness seemed at stake, while the affair was in suspense, +and everything secured when it was determined that the lodgings should +be taken for another fortnight. What this additional fortnight was to +produce to her beyond the pleasure of sometimes seeing Henry Tilney +made but a small part of Catherine’s speculation. Once or twice indeed, +since James’s engagement had taught her what _could_ be done, she had +got so far as to indulge in a secret “perhaps,” but in general the +felicity of being with him for the present bounded her views: the +present was now comprised in another three weeks, and her happiness +being certain for that period, the rest of her life was at such a +distance as to excite but little interest. In the course of the morning +which saw this business arranged, she visited Miss Tilney, and poured +forth her joyful feelings. It was doomed to be a day of trial. No +sooner had she expressed her delight in Mr. Allen’s lengthened stay +than Miss Tilney told her of her father’s having just determined upon +quitting Bath by the end of another week. Here was a blow! the past +suspense of the morning had been ease and quiet to the present +disappointment. Catherine’s countenance fell, and in a voice of most +sincere concern she echoed Miss Tilney’s concluding words, “By the end +of another week!” + +“Yes, my father can seldom be prevailed on to give the waters what I +think a fair trial. He has been disappointed of some friends’ arrival +whom he expected to meet here, and as he is now pretty well, is in a +hurry to get home.” + +“I am very sorry for it,” said Catherine dejectedly; “if I had known +this before—” + +“Perhaps,” said Miss Tilney in an embarrassed manner, “you would be so +good—it would make me very happy if—” + +The entrance of her father put a stop to the civility, which Catherine +was beginning to hope might introduce a desire of their corresponding. +After addressing her with his usual politeness, he turned to his +daughter and said, “Well, Eleanor, may I congratulate you on being +successful in your application to your fair friend?” + +“I was just beginning to make the request, sir, as you came in.” + +“Well, proceed by all means. I know how much your heart is in it. My +daughter, Miss Morland,” he continued, without leaving his daughter +time to speak, “has been forming a very bold wish. We leave Bath, as +she has perhaps told you, on Saturday se’nnight. A letter from my +steward tells me that my presence is wanted at home; and being +disappointed in my hope of seeing the Marquis of Longtown and General +Courteney here, some of my very old friends, there is nothing to detain +me longer in Bath. And could we carry our selfish point with you, we +should leave it without a single regret. Can you, in short, be +prevailed on to quit this scene of public triumph and oblige your +friend Eleanor with your company in Gloucestershire? I am almost +ashamed to make the request, though its presumption would certainly +appear greater to every creature in Bath than yourself. Modesty such as +yours—but not for the world would I pain it by open praise. If you can +be induced to honour us with a visit, you will make us happy beyond +expression. ’Tis true, we can offer you nothing like the gaieties of +this lively place; we can tempt you neither by amusement nor splendour, +for our mode of living, as you see, is plain and unpretending; yet no +endeavours shall be wanting on our side to make Northanger Abbey not +wholly disagreeable.” + +Northanger Abbey! these were thrilling words, and wound up Catherine’s +feelings to the highest point of ecstasy. Her grateful and gratified +heart could hardly restrain its expressions within the language of +tolerable calmness. To receive so flattering an invitation! to have her +company so warmly solicited! everything honourable and soothing, every +present enjoyment, and every future hope was contained in it; and her +acceptance, with only the saving clause of Papa and Mamma’s +approbation, was eagerly given. “I will write home directly,” said she, +“and if they do not object, as I dare say they will not—” + +General Tilney was not less sanguine, having already waited on her +excellent friends in Pulteney Street, and obtained their sanction of +his wishes. “Since they can consent to part with you,” said he, “we may +expect philosophy from all the world.” + +Miss Tilney was earnest, though gentle, in her secondary civilities, +and the affair became in a few minutes as nearly settled as this +necessary reference to Fullerton would allow. + +The circumstances of the morning had led Catherine’s feelings through +the varieties of suspense, security, and disappointment; but they were +now safely lodged in perfect bliss; and with spirits elated to rapture, +with Henry at her heart, and Northanger Abbey on her lips, she hurried +home to write her letter. Mr. and Mrs. Morland, relying on the +discretion of the friends to whom they had already entrusted their +daughter, felt no doubt of the propriety of an acquaintance which had +been formed under their eye, and sent therefore by return of post their +ready consent to her visit in Gloucestershire. This indulgence, though +not more than Catherine had hoped for, completed her conviction of +being favoured beyond every other human creature, in friends and +fortune, circumstance and chance. Everything seemed to cooperate for +her advantage. By the kindness of her first friends, the Allens, she +had been introduced into scenes where pleasures of every kind had met +her. Her feelings, her preferences, had each known the happiness of a +return. Wherever she felt attachment, she had been able to create it. +The affection of Isabella was to be secured to her in a sister. The +Tilneys, they, by whom, above all, she desired to be favourably thought +of, outstripped even her wishes in the flattering measures by which +their intimacy was to be continued. She was to be their chosen visitor, +she was to be for weeks under the same roof with the person whose +society she mostly prized—and, in addition to all the rest, this roof +was to be the roof of an abbey! her passion for ancient edifices was +next in degree to her passion for Henry Tilney—and castles and abbeys +made usually the charm of those reveries which his image did not fill. +To see and explore either the ramparts and keep of the one, or the +cloisters of the other, had been for many weeks a darling wish, though +to be more than the visitor of an hour had seemed too nearly impossible +for desire. And yet, this was to happen. With all the chances against +her of house, hall, place, park, court, and cottage, Northanger turned +up an abbey, and she was to be its inhabitant. Its long, damp passages, +its narrow cells and ruined chapel, were to be within her daily reach, +and she could not entirely subdue the hope of some traditional legends, +some awful memorials of an injured and ill-fated nun. + +It was wonderful that her friends should seem so little elated by the +possession of such a home, that the consciousness of it should be so +meekly borne. The power of early habit only could account for it. A +distinction to which they had been born gave no pride. Their +superiority of abode was no more to them than their superiority of +person. + +Many were the inquiries she was eager to make of Miss Tilney; but so +active were her thoughts, that when these inquiries were answered, she +was hardly more assured than before, of Northanger Abbey having been a +richly endowed convent at the time of the Reformation, of its having +fallen into the hands of an ancestor of the Tilneys on its dissolution, +of a large portion of the ancient building still making a part of the +present dwelling although the rest was decayed, or of its standing low +in a valley, sheltered from the north and east by rising woods of oak. + + + + +CHAPTER 18 + + +With a mind thus full of happiness, Catherine was hardly aware that two +or three days had passed away, without her seeing Isabella for more +than a few minutes together. She began first to be sensible of this, +and to sigh for her conversation, as she walked along the pump-room one +morning, by Mrs. Allen’s side, without anything to say or to hear; and +scarcely had she felt a five minutes’ longing of friendship, before the +object of it appeared, and inviting her to a secret conference, led the +way to a seat. “This is my favourite place,” said she as they sat down +on a bench between the doors, which commanded a tolerable view of +everybody entering at either; “it is so out of the way.” + +Catherine, observing that Isabella’s eyes were continually bent towards +one door or the other, as in eager expectation, and remembering how +often she had been falsely accused of being arch, thought the present a +fine opportunity for being really so; and therefore gaily said, “Do not +be uneasy, Isabella, James will soon be here.” + +“Psha! my dear creature,” she replied, “do not think me such a +simpleton as to be always wanting to confine him to my elbow. It would +be hideous to be always together; we should be the jest of the place. +And so you are going to Northanger! i am amazingly glad of it. It is +one of the finest old places in England, I understand. I shall depend +upon a most particular description of it.” + +“You shall certainly have the best in my power to give. But who are you +looking for? Are your sisters coming?” + +“I am not looking for anybody. One’s eyes must be somewhere, and you +know what a foolish trick I have of fixing mine, when my thoughts are +an hundred miles off. I am amazingly absent; I believe I am the most +absent creature in the world. Tilney says it is always the case with +minds of a certain stamp.” + +“But I thought, Isabella, you had something in particular to tell me?” + +“Oh yes, and so I have. But here is a proof of what I was saying. My +poor head, I had quite forgot it. Well, the thing is this: I have just +had a letter from John; you can guess the contents.” + +“No, indeed, I cannot.” + +“My sweet love, do not be so abominably affected. What can he write +about, but yourself? You know he is over head and ears in love with +you.” + +“With _me_, dear Isabella!” + +“Nay, my sweetest Catherine, this is being quite absurd! modesty, and +all that, is very well in its way, but really a little common honesty +is sometimes quite as becoming. I have no idea of being so +overstrained! it is fishing for compliments. His attentions were such +as a child must have noticed. And it was but half an hour before he +left Bath that you gave him the most positive encouragement. He says so +in this letter, says that he as good as made you an offer, and that you +received his advances in the kindest way; and now he wants me to urge +his suit, and say all manner of pretty things to you. So it is in vain +to affect ignorance.” + +Catherine, with all the earnestness of truth, expressed her +astonishment at such a charge, protesting her innocence of every +thought of Mr. Thorpe’s being in love with her, and the consequent +impossibility of her having ever intended to encourage him. “As to any +attentions on his side, I do declare, upon my honour, I never was +sensible of them for a moment—except just his asking me to dance the +first day of his coming. And as to making me an offer, or anything like +it, there must be some unaccountable mistake. I could not have +misunderstood a thing of that kind, you know! and, as I ever wish to be +believed, I solemnly protest that no syllable of such a nature ever +passed between us. The last half hour before he went away! it must be +all and completely a mistake—for I did not see him once that whole +morning.” + +“But _that_ you certainly did, for you spent the whole morning in +Edgar’s Buildings—it was the day your father’s consent came—and I am +pretty sure that you and John were alone in the parlour some time +before you left the house.” + +“Are you? Well, if you say it, it was so, I dare say—but for the life +of me, I cannot recollect it. I _do_ remember now being with you, and +seeing him as well as the rest—but that we were ever alone for five +minutes— However, it is not worth arguing about, for whatever might pass +on his side, you must be convinced, by my having no recollection of it, +that I never thought, nor expected, nor wished for anything of the kind +from him. I am excessively concerned that he should have any regard for +me—but indeed it has been quite unintentional on my side; I never had +the smallest idea of it. Pray undeceive him as soon as you can, and +tell him I beg his pardon—that is—I do not know what I ought to say—but +make him understand what I mean, in the properest way. I would not +speak disrespectfully of a brother of yours, Isabella, I am sure; but +you know very well that if I could think of one man more than +another—_he_ is not the person.” Isabella was silent. “My dear friend, +you must not be angry with me. I cannot suppose your brother cares so +very much about me. And, you know, we shall still be sisters.” + +“Yes, yes” (with a blush), “there are more ways than one of our being +sisters. But where am I wandering to? Well, my dear Catherine, the case +seems to be that you are determined against poor John—is not it so?” + +“I certainly cannot return his affection, and as certainly never meant +to encourage it.” + +“Since that is the case, I am sure I shall not tease you any further. +John desired me to speak to you on the subject, and therefore I have. +But I confess, as soon as I read his letter, I thought it a very +foolish, imprudent business, and not likely to promote the good of +either; for what were you to live upon, supposing you came together? +You have both of you something, to be sure, but it is not a trifle that +will support a family nowadays; and after all that romancers may say, +there is no doing without money. I only wonder John could think of it; +he could not have received my last.” + +“You _do_ acquit me, then, of anything wrong?—You are convinced that I +never meant to deceive your brother, never suspected him of liking me +till this moment?” + +“Oh! as to that,” answered Isabella laughingly, “I do not pretend to +determine what your thoughts and designs in time past may have been. +All that is best known to yourself. A little harmless flirtation or so +will occur, and one is often drawn on to give more encouragement than +one wishes to stand by. But you may be assured that I am the last +person in the world to judge you severely. All those things should be +allowed for in youth and high spirits. What one means one day, you +know, one may not mean the next. Circumstances change, opinions alter.” + +“But my opinion of your brother never did alter; it was always the +same. You are describing what never happened.” + +“My dearest Catherine,” continued the other without at all listening to +her, “I would not for all the world be the means of hurrying you into +an engagement before you knew what you were about. I do not think +anything would justify me in wishing you to sacrifice all your +happiness merely to oblige my brother, because he is my brother, and +who perhaps after all, you know, might be just as happy without you, +for people seldom know what they would be at, young men especially, +they are so amazingly changeable and inconstant. What I say is, why +should a brother’s happiness be dearer to me than a friend’s? You know +I carry my notions of friendship pretty high. But, above all things, my +dear Catherine, do not be in a hurry. Take my word for it, that if you +are in too great a hurry, you will certainly live to repent it. Tilney +says there is nothing people are so often deceived in as the state of +their own affections, and I believe he is very right. Ah! here he +comes; never mind, he will not see us, I am sure.” + +Catherine, looking up, perceived Captain Tilney; and Isabella, +earnestly fixing her eye on him as she spoke, soon caught his notice. +He approached immediately, and took the seat to which her movements +invited him. His first address made Catherine start. Though spoken low, +she could distinguish, “What! always to be watched, in person or by +proxy!” + +“Psha, nonsense!” was Isabella’s answer in the same half whisper. “Why +do you put such things into my head? If I could believe it—my spirit, +you know, is pretty independent.” + +“I wish your heart were independent. That would be enough for me.” + +“My heart, indeed! what can you have to do with hearts? You men have +none of you any hearts.” + +“If we have not hearts, we have eyes; and they give us torment enough.” + +“Do they? I am sorry for it; I am sorry they find anything so +disagreeable in me. I will look another way. I hope this pleases you” +(turning her back on him); “I hope your eyes are not tormented now.” + +“Never more so; for the edge of a blooming cheek is still in view—at +once too much and too little.” + +Catherine heard all this, and quite out of countenance, could listen no +longer. Amazed that Isabella could endure it, and jealous for her +brother, she rose up, and saying she should join Mrs. Allen, proposed +their walking. But for this Isabella showed no inclination. She was so +amazingly tired, and it was so odious to parade about the pump-room; +and if she moved from her seat she should miss her sisters; she was +expecting her sisters every moment; so that her dearest Catherine must +excuse her, and must sit quietly down again. But Catherine could be +stubborn too; and Mrs. Allen just then coming up to propose their +returning home, she joined her and walked out of the pump-room, leaving +Isabella still sitting with Captain Tilney. With much uneasiness did +she thus leave them. It seemed to her that Captain Tilney was falling +in love with Isabella, and Isabella unconsciously encouraging him; +unconsciously it must be, for Isabella’s attachment to James was as +certain and well acknowledged as her engagement. To doubt her truth or +good intentions was impossible; and yet, during the whole of their +conversation her manner had been odd. She wished Isabella had talked +more like her usual self, and not so much about money, and had not +looked so well pleased at the sight of Captain Tilney. How strange that +she should not perceive his admiration! catherine longed to give her a +hint of it, to put her on her guard, and prevent all the pain which her +too lively behaviour might otherwise create both for him and her +brother. + +The compliment of John Thorpe’s affection did not make amends for this +thoughtlessness in his sister. She was almost as far from believing as +from wishing it to be sincere; for she had not forgotten that he could +mistake, and his assertion of the offer and of her encouragement +convinced her that his mistakes could sometimes be very egregious. In +vanity, therefore, she gained but little; her chief profit was in +wonder. That he should think it worth his while to fancy himself in +love with her was a matter of lively astonishment. Isabella talked of +his attentions; _she_ had never been sensible of any; but Isabella had +said many things which she hoped had been spoken in haste, and would +never be said again; and upon this she was glad to rest altogether for +present ease and comfort. + + + + +CHAPTER 19 + + +A few days passed away, and Catherine, though not allowing herself to +suspect her friend, could not help watching her closely. The result of +her observations was not agreeable. Isabella seemed an altered +creature. When she saw her, indeed, surrounded only by their immediate +friends in Edgar’s Buildings or Pulteney Street, her change of manners +was so trifling that, had it gone no farther, it might have passed +unnoticed. A something of languid indifference, or of that boasted +absence of mind which Catherine had never heard of before, would +occasionally come across her; but had nothing worse appeared, _that_ +might only have spread a new grace and inspired a warmer interest. But +when Catherine saw her in public, admitting Captain Tilney’s attentions +as readily as they were offered, and allowing him almost an equal share +with James in her notice and smiles, the alteration became too positive +to be passed over. What could be meant by such unsteady conduct, what +her friend could be at, was beyond her comprehension. Isabella could +not be aware of the pain she was inflicting; but it was a degree of +wilful thoughtlessness which Catherine could not but resent. James was +the sufferer. She saw him grave and uneasy; and however careless of his +present comfort the woman might be who had given him her heart, to +_her_ it was always an object. For poor Captain Tilney too she was +greatly concerned. Though his looks did not please her, his name was a +passport to her goodwill, and she thought with sincere compassion of +his approaching disappointment; for, in spite of what she had believed +herself to overhear in the pump-room, his behaviour was so incompatible +with a knowledge of Isabella’s engagement that she could not, upon +reflection, imagine him aware of it. He might be jealous of her brother +as a rival, but if more had seemed implied, the fault must have been in +her misapprehension. She wished, by a gentle remonstrance, to remind +Isabella of her situation, and make her aware of this double +unkindness; but for remonstrance, either opportunity or comprehension +was always against her. If able to suggest a hint, Isabella could never +understand it. In this distress, the intended departure of the Tilney +family became her chief consolation; their journey into Gloucestershire +was to take place within a few days, and Captain Tilney’s removal would +at least restore peace to every heart but his own. But Captain Tilney +had at present no intention of removing; he was not to be of the party +to Northanger; he was to continue at Bath. When Catherine knew this, +her resolution was directly made. She spoke to Henry Tilney on the +subject, regretting his brother’s evident partiality for Miss Thorpe, +and entreating him to make known her prior engagement. + +“My brother does know it,” was Henry’s answer. + +“Does he? Then why does he stay here?” + +He made no reply, and was beginning to talk of something else; but she +eagerly continued, “Why do not you persuade him to go away? The longer +he stays, the worse it will be for him at last. Pray advise him for his +own sake, and for everybody’s sake, to leave Bath directly. Absence +will in time make him comfortable again; but he can have no hope here, +and it is only staying to be miserable.” + +Henry smiled and said, “I am sure my brother would not wish to do +that.” + +“Then you will persuade him to go away?” + +“Persuasion is not at command; but pardon me, if I cannot even +endeavour to persuade him. I have myself told him that Miss Thorpe is +engaged. He knows what he is about, and must be his own master.” + +“No, he does not know what he is about,” cried Catherine; “he does not +know the pain he is giving my brother. Not that James has ever told me +so, but I am sure he is very uncomfortable.” + +“And are you sure it is my brother’s doing?” + +“Yes, very sure.” + +“Is it my brother’s attentions to Miss Thorpe, or Miss Thorpe’s +admission of them, that gives the pain?” + +“Is not it the same thing?” + +“I think Mr. Morland would acknowledge a difference. No man is offended +by another man’s admiration of the woman he loves; it is the woman only +who can make it a torment.” + +Catherine blushed for her friend, and said, “Isabella is wrong. But I +am sure she cannot mean to torment, for she is very much attached to my +brother. She has been in love with him ever since they first met, and +while my father’s consent was uncertain, she fretted herself almost +into a fever. You know she must be attached to him.” + +“I understand: she is in love with James, and flirts with Frederick.” + +“Oh no, not flirts. A woman in love with one man cannot flirt with +another.” + +“It is probable that she will neither love so well, nor flirt so well, +as she might do either singly. The gentlemen must each give up a +little.” + +After a short pause, Catherine resumed with, “Then you do not believe +Isabella so very much attached to my brother?” + +“I can have no opinion on that subject.” + +“But what can your brother mean? If he knows her engagement, what can +he mean by his behaviour?” + +“You are a very close questioner.” + +“Am I? I only ask what I want to be told.” + +“But do you only ask what I can be expected to tell?” + +“Yes, I think so; for you must know your brother’s heart.” + +“My brother’s heart, as you term it, on the present occasion, I assure +you I can only guess at.” + +“Well?” + +“Well! nay, if it is to be guesswork, let us all guess for ourselves. +To be guided by second-hand conjecture is pitiful. The premises are +before you. My brother is a lively and perhaps sometimes a thoughtless +young man; he has had about a week’s acquaintance with your friend, and +he has known her engagement almost as long as he has known her.” + +“Well,” said Catherine, after some moments’ consideration, “_you_ may +be able to guess at your brother’s intentions from all this; but I am +sure I cannot. But is not your father uncomfortable about it? Does not +he want Captain Tilney to go away? Sure, if your father were to speak +to him, he would go.” + +“My dear Miss Morland,” said Henry, “in this amiable solicitude for +your brother’s comfort, may you not be a little mistaken? Are you not +carried a little too far? Would he thank you, either on his own account +or Miss Thorpe’s, for supposing that her affection, or at least her +good behaviour, is only to be secured by her seeing nothing of Captain +Tilney? Is he safe only in solitude? Or is her heart constant to him +only when unsolicited by anyone else? He cannot think this—and you may +be sure that he would not have you think it. I will not say, ‘Do not be +uneasy,’ because I know that you are so, at this moment; but be as +little uneasy as you can. You have no doubt of the mutual attachment of +your brother and your friend; depend upon it, therefore, that real +jealousy never can exist between them; depend upon it that no +disagreement between them can be of any duration. Their hearts are open +to each other, as neither heart can be to you; they know exactly what +is required and what can be borne; and you may be certain that one will +never tease the other beyond what is known to be pleasant.” + +Perceiving her still to look doubtful and grave, he added, “Though +Frederick does not leave Bath with us, he will probably remain but a +very short time, perhaps only a few days behind us. His leave of +absence will soon expire, and he must return to his regiment. And what +will then be their acquaintance? The mess-room will drink Isabella +Thorpe for a fortnight, and she will laugh with your brother over poor +Tilney’s passion for a month.” + +Catherine would contend no longer against comfort. She had resisted its +approaches during the whole length of a speech, but it now carried her +captive. Henry Tilney must know best. She blamed herself for the extent +of her fears, and resolved never to think so seriously on the subject +again. + +Her resolution was supported by Isabella’s behaviour in their parting +interview. The Thorpes spent the last evening of Catherine’s stay in +Pulteney Street, and nothing passed between the lovers to excite her +uneasiness, or make her quit them in apprehension. James was in +excellent spirits, and Isabella most engagingly placid. Her tenderness +for her friend seemed rather the first feeling of her heart; but that +at such a moment was allowable; and once she gave her lover a flat +contradiction, and once she drew back her hand; but Catherine +remembered Henry’s instructions, and placed it all to judicious +affection. The embraces, tears, and promises of the parting fair ones +may be fancied. + + + + +CHAPTER 20 + + +Mr. and Mrs. Allen were sorry to lose their young friend, whose good +humour and cheerfulness had made her a valuable companion, and in the +promotion of whose enjoyment their own had been gently increased. Her +happiness in going with Miss Tilney, however, prevented their wishing +it otherwise; and, as they were to remain only one more week in Bath +themselves, her quitting them now would not long be felt. Mr. Allen +attended her to Milsom Street, where she was to breakfast, and saw her +seated with the kindest welcome among her new friends; but so great was +her agitation in finding herself as one of the family, and so fearful +was she of not doing exactly what was right, and of not being able to +preserve their good opinion, that, in the embarrassment of the first +five minutes, she could almost have wished to return with him to +Pulteney Street. + +Miss Tilney’s manners and Henry’s smile soon did away some of her +unpleasant feelings; but still she was far from being at ease; nor +could the incessant attentions of the General himself entirely reassure +her. Nay, perverse as it seemed, she doubted whether she might not have +felt less, had she been less attended to. His anxiety for her +comfort—his continual solicitations that she would eat, and his +often-expressed fears of her seeing nothing to her taste—though never +in her life before had she beheld half such variety on a +breakfast-table—made it impossible for her to forget for a moment that +she was a visitor. She felt utterly unworthy of such respect, and knew +not how to reply to it. Her tranquillity was not improved by the +General’s impatience for the appearance of his eldest son, nor by the +displeasure he expressed at his laziness when Captain Tilney at last +came down. She was quite pained by the severity of his father’s +reproof, which seemed disproportionate to the offence; and much was her +concern increased when she found herself the principal cause of the +lecture, and that his tardiness was chiefly resented from being +disrespectful to her. This was placing her in a very uncomfortable +situation, and she felt great compassion for Captain Tilney, without +being able to hope for his goodwill. + +He listened to his father in silence, and attempted not any defence, +which confirmed her in fearing that the inquietude of his mind, on +Isabella’s account, might, by keeping him long sleepless, have been the +real cause of his rising late. It was the first time of her being +decidedly in his company, and she had hoped to be now able to form her +opinion of him; but she scarcely heard his voice while his father +remained in the room; and even afterwards, so much were his spirits +affected, she could distinguish nothing but these words, in a whisper +to Eleanor, “How glad I shall be when you are all off.” + +The bustle of going was not pleasant. The clock struck ten while the +trunks were carrying down, and the General had fixed to be out of +Milsom Street by that hour. His greatcoat, instead of being brought for +him to put on directly, was spread out in the curricle in which he was +to accompany his son. The middle seat of the chaise was not drawn out, +though there were three people to go in it, and his daughter’s maid had +so crowded it with parcels that Miss Morland would not have room to +sit; and, so much was he influenced by this apprehension when he handed +her in, that she had some difficulty in saving her own new writing-desk +from being thrown out into the street. At last, however, the door was +closed upon the three females, and they set off at the sober pace in +which the handsome, highly fed four horses of a gentleman usually +perform a journey of thirty miles: such was the distance of Northanger +from Bath, to be now divided into two equal stages. Catherine’s spirits +revived as they drove from the door; for with Miss Tilney she felt no +restraint; and, with the interest of a road entirely new to her, of an +abbey before, and a curricle behind, she caught the last view of Bath +without any regret, and met with every milestone before she expected +it. The tediousness of a two hours’ wait at Petty France, in which +there was nothing to be done but to eat without being hungry, and +loiter about without anything to see, next followed—and her admiration +of the style in which they travelled, of the fashionable chaise and +four—postilions handsomely liveried, rising so regularly in their +stirrups, and numerous outriders properly mounted, sunk a little under +this consequent inconvenience. Had their party been perfectly +agreeable, the delay would have been nothing; but General Tilney, +though so charming a man, seemed always a check upon his children’s +spirits, and scarcely anything was said but by himself; the observation +of which, with his discontent at whatever the inn afforded, and his +angry impatience at the waiters, made Catherine grow every moment more +in awe of him, and appeared to lengthen the two hours into four. At +last, however, the order of release was given; and much was Catherine +then surprised by the General’s proposal of her taking his place in his +son’s curricle for the rest of the journey: “the day was fine, and he +was anxious for her seeing as much of the country as possible.” + +The remembrance of Mr. Allen’s opinion, respecting young men’s open +carriages, made her blush at the mention of such a plan, and her first +thought was to decline it; but her second was of greater deference for +General Tilney’s judgment; he could not propose anything improper for +her; and, in the course of a few minutes, she found herself with Henry +in the curricle, as happy a being as ever existed. A very short trial +convinced her that a curricle was the prettiest equipage in the world; +the chaise and four wheeled off with some grandeur, to be sure, but it +was a heavy and troublesome business, and she could not easily forget +its having stopped two hours at Petty France. Half the time would have +been enough for the curricle, and so nimbly were the light horses +disposed to move, that, had not the General chosen to have his own +carriage lead the way, they could have passed it with ease in half a +minute. But the merit of the curricle did not all belong to the horses; +Henry drove so well—so quietly—without making any disturbance, without +parading to her, or swearing at them: so different from the only +gentleman-coachman whom it was in her power to compare him with! and +then his hat sat so well, and the innumerable capes of his greatcoat +looked so becomingly important! to be driven by him, next to being +dancing with him, was certainly the greatest happiness in the world. In +addition to every other delight, she had now that of listening to her +own praise; of being thanked at least, on his sister’s account, for her +kindness in thus becoming her visitor; of hearing it ranked as real +friendship, and described as creating real gratitude. His sister, he +said, was uncomfortably circumstanced—she had no female companion—and, +in the frequent absence of her father, was sometimes without any +companion at all. + +“But how can that be?” said Catherine. “Are not you with her?” + +“Northanger is not more than half my home; I have an establishment at +my own house in Woodston, which is nearly twenty miles from my +father’s, and some of my time is necessarily spent there.” + +“How sorry you must be for that!” + +“I am always sorry to leave Eleanor.” + +“Yes; but besides your affection for her, you must be so fond of the +abbey! after being used to such a home as the abbey, an ordinary +parsonage-house must be very disagreeable.” + +He smiled, and said, “You have formed a very favourable idea of the +abbey.” + +“To be sure, I have. Is not it a fine old place, just like what one +reads about?” + +“And are you prepared to encounter all the horrors that a building such +as ‘what one reads about’ may produce? Have you a stout heart? Nerves +fit for sliding panels and tapestry?” + +“Oh! yes—I do not think I should be easily frightened, because there +would be so many people in the house—and besides, it has never been +uninhabited and left deserted for years, and then the family come back +to it unawares, without giving any notice, as generally happens.” + +“No, certainly. We shall not have to explore our way into a hall dimly +lighted by the expiring embers of a wood fire—nor be obliged to spread +our beds on the floor of a room without windows, doors, or furniture. +But you must be aware that when a young lady is (by whatever means) +introduced into a dwelling of this kind, she is always lodged apart +from the rest of the family. While they snugly repair to their own end +of the house, she is formally conducted by Dorothy, the ancient +housekeeper, up a different staircase, and along many gloomy passages, +into an apartment never used since some cousin or kin died in it about +twenty years before. Can you stand such a ceremony as this? Will not +your mind misgive you when you find yourself in this gloomy chamber—too +lofty and extensive for you, with only the feeble rays of a single lamp +to take in its size—its walls hung with tapestry exhibiting figures as +large as life, and the bed, of dark green stuff or purple velvet, +presenting even a funereal appearance? Will not your heart sink within +you?” + +“Oh! but this will not happen to me, I am sure.” + +“How fearfully will you examine the furniture of your apartment! and +what will you discern? Not tables, toilettes, wardrobes, or drawers, +but on one side perhaps the remains of a broken lute, on the other a +ponderous chest which no efforts can open, and over the fireplace the +portrait of some handsome warrior, whose features will so +incomprehensibly strike you, that you will not be able to withdraw your +eyes from it. Dorothy, meanwhile, no less struck by your appearance, +gazes on you in great agitation, and drops a few unintelligible hints. +To raise your spirits, moreover, she gives you reason to suppose that +the part of the abbey you inhabit is undoubtedly haunted, and informs +you that you will not have a single domestic within call. With this +parting cordial she curtsies off—you listen to the sound of her +receding footsteps as long as the last echo can reach you—and when, +with fainting spirits, you attempt to fasten your door, you discover, +with increased alarm, that it has no lock.” + +“Oh! mr. Tilney, how frightful! this is just like a book! but it cannot +really happen to me. I am sure your housekeeper is not really Dorothy. +Well, what then?” + +“Nothing further to alarm perhaps may occur the first night. After +surmounting your _unconquerable_ horror of the bed, you will retire to +rest, and get a few hours’ unquiet slumber. But on the second, or at +farthest the _third_ night after your arrival, you will probably have a +violent storm. Peals of thunder so loud as to seem to shake the edifice +to its foundation will roll round the neighbouring mountains—and during +the frightful gusts of wind which accompany it, you will probably think +you discern (for your lamp is not extinguished) one part of the hanging +more violently agitated than the rest. Unable of course to repress your +curiosity in so favourable a moment for indulging it, you will +instantly arise, and throwing your dressing-gown around you, proceed to +examine this mystery. After a very short search, you will discover a +division in the tapestry so artfully constructed as to defy the +minutest inspection, and on opening it, a door will immediately +appear—which door, being only secured by massy bars and a padlock, you +will, after a few efforts, succeed in opening—and, with your lamp in +your hand, will pass through it into a small vaulted room.” + +“No, indeed; I should be too much frightened to do any such thing.” + +“What! not when Dorothy has given you to understand that there is a +secret subterraneous communication between your apartment and the +chapel of St. Anthony, scarcely two miles off. Could you shrink from so +simple an adventure? No, no, you will proceed into this small vaulted +room, and through this into several others, without perceiving anything +very remarkable in either. In one perhaps there may be a dagger, in +another a few drops of blood, and in a third the remains of some +instrument of torture; but there being nothing in all this out of the +common way, and your lamp being nearly exhausted, you will return +towards your own apartment. In repassing through the small vaulted +room, however, your eyes will be attracted towards a large, +old-fashioned cabinet of ebony and gold, which, though narrowly +examining the furniture before, you had passed unnoticed. Impelled by +an irresistible presentiment, you will eagerly advance to it, unlock +its folding doors, and search into every drawer—but for some time +without discovering anything of importance—perhaps nothing but a +considerable hoard of diamonds. At last, however, by touching a secret +spring, an inner compartment will open—a roll of paper appears—you +seize it—it contains many sheets of manuscript—you hasten with the +precious treasure into your own chamber, but scarcely have you been +able to decipher ‘Oh thou, whomsoever thou mayst be, into whose hands +these memoirs of the wretched Matilda may fall’—when your lamp suddenly +expires in the socket, and leaves you in total darkness.” + +“Oh, no, no; do not say so. Well, go on.” + +But Henry was too much amused by the interest he had raised to be able +to carry it farther; he could no longer command solemnity either of +subject or voice, and was obliged to entreat her to use her own fancy +in the perusal of Matilda’s woes. Catherine, recollecting herself, grew +ashamed of her eagerness, and began earnestly to assure him that her +attention had been fixed without the smallest apprehension of really +meeting with what he related. “Miss Tilney, she was sure, would never +put her into such a chamber as he had described! she was not at all +afraid.” + +As they drew near the end of their journey, her impatience for a sight +of the abbey—for some time suspended by his conversation on subjects +very different—returned in full force, and every bend in the road was +expected with solemn awe to afford a glimpse of its massy walls of grey +stone, rising amidst a grove of ancient oaks, with the last beams of +the sun playing in beautiful splendour on its high Gothic windows. But +so low did the building stand, that she found herself passing through +the great gates of the lodge into the very grounds of Northanger, +without having discerned even an antique chimney. + +She knew not that she had any right to be surprised, but there was a +something in this mode of approach which she certainly had not +expected. To pass between lodges of a modern appearance, to find +herself with such ease in the very precincts of the abbey, and driven +so rapidly along a smooth, level road of fine gravel, without obstacle, +alarm, or solemnity of any kind, struck her as odd and inconsistent. +She was not long at leisure, however, for such considerations. A sudden +scud of rain, driving full in her face, made it impossible for her to +observe anything further, and fixed all her thoughts on the welfare of +her new straw bonnet; and she was actually under the abbey walls, was +springing, with Henry’s assistance, from the carriage, was beneath the +shelter of the old porch, and had even passed on to the hall, where her +friend and the General were waiting to welcome her, without feeling one +awful foreboding of future misery to herself, or one moment’s suspicion +of any past scenes of horror being acted within the solemn edifice. The +breeze had not seemed to waft the sighs of the murdered to her; it had +wafted nothing worse than a thick mizzling rain; and having given a +good shake to her habit, she was ready to be shown into the common +drawing-room, and capable of considering where she was. + +An abbey! yes, it was delightful to be really in an abbey! but she +doubted, as she looked round the room, whether anything within her +observation would have given her the consciousness. The furniture was +in all the profusion and elegance of modern taste. The fireplace, where +she had expected the ample width and ponderous carving of former times, +was contracted to a Rumford, with slabs of plain though handsome +marble, and ornaments over it of the prettiest English china. The +windows, to which she looked with peculiar dependence, from having +heard the General talk of his preserving them in their Gothic form with +reverential care, were yet less what her fancy had portrayed. To be +sure, the pointed arch was preserved—the form of them was Gothic—they +might be even casements—but every pane was so large, so clear, so +light! to an imagination which had hoped for the smallest divisions, +and the heaviest stone-work, for painted glass, dirt, and cobwebs, the +difference was very distressing. + +The General, perceiving how her eye was employed, began to talk of the +smallness of the room and simplicity of the furniture, where +everything, being for daily use, pretended only to comfort, etc.; +flattering himself, however, that there were some apartments in the +Abbey not unworthy her notice—and was proceeding to mention the costly +gilding of one in particular, when, taking out his watch, he stopped +short to pronounce it with surprise within twenty minutes of five! this +seemed the word of separation, and Catherine found herself hurried away +by Miss Tilney in such a manner as convinced her that the strictest +punctuality to the family hours would be expected at Northanger. + +Returning through the large and lofty hall, they ascended a broad +staircase of shining oak, which, after many flights and many +landing-places, brought them upon a long, wide gallery. On one side it +had a range of doors, and it was lighted on the other by windows which +Catherine had only time to discover looked into a quadrangle, before +Miss Tilney led the way into a chamber, and scarcely staying to hope +she would find it comfortable, left her with an anxious entreaty that +she would make as little alteration as possible in her dress. + + + + +CHAPTER 21 + + +A moment’s glance was enough to satisfy Catherine that her apartment +was very unlike the one which Henry had endeavoured to alarm her by the +description of. It was by no means unreasonably large, and contained +neither tapestry nor velvet. The walls were papered, the floor was +carpeted; the windows were neither less perfect nor more dim than those +of the drawing-room below; the furniture, though not of the latest +fashion, was handsome and comfortable, and the air of the room +altogether far from uncheerful. Her heart instantaneously at ease on +this point, she resolved to lose no time in particular examination of +anything, as she greatly dreaded disobliging the General by any delay. +Her habit therefore was thrown off with all possible haste, and she was +preparing to unpin the linen package, which the chaise-seat had +conveyed for her immediate accommodation, when her eye suddenly fell on +a large high chest, standing back in a deep recess on one side of the +fireplace. The sight of it made her start; and, forgetting everything +else, she stood gazing on it in motionless wonder, while these thoughts +crossed her: + +“This is strange indeed! i did not expect such a sight as this! an +immense heavy chest! what can it hold? Why should it be placed here? +Pushed back too, as if meant to be out of sight! i will look into +it—cost me what it may, I will look into it—and directly too—by +daylight. If I stay till evening my candle may go out.” She advanced +and examined it closely: it was of cedar, curiously inlaid with some +darker wood, and raised, about a foot from the ground, on a carved +stand of the same. The lock was silver, though tarnished from age; at +each end were the imperfect remains of handles also of silver, broken +perhaps prematurely by some strange violence; and, on the centre of the +lid, was a mysterious cipher, in the same metal. Catherine bent over it +intently, but without being able to distinguish anything with +certainty. She could not, in whatever direction she took it, believe +the last letter to be a _T;_ and yet that it should be anything else in +that house was a circumstance to raise no common degree of +astonishment. If not originally theirs, by what strange events could it +have fallen into the Tilney family? + +Her fearful curiosity was every moment growing greater; and seizing, +with trembling hands, the hasp of the lock, she resolved at all hazards +to satisfy herself at least as to its contents. With difficulty, for +something seemed to resist her efforts, she raised the lid a few +inches; but at that moment a sudden knocking at the door of the room +made her, starting, quit her hold, and the lid closed with alarming +violence. This ill-timed intruder was Miss Tilney’s maid, sent by her +mistress to be of use to Miss Morland; and though Catherine immediately +dismissed her, it recalled her to the sense of what she ought to be +doing, and forced her, in spite of her anxious desire to penetrate this +mystery, to proceed in her dressing without further delay. Her progress +was not quick, for her thoughts and her eyes were still bent on the +object so well calculated to interest and alarm; and though she dared +not waste a moment upon a second attempt, she could not remain many +paces from the chest. At length, however, having slipped one arm into +her gown, her toilette seemed so nearly finished that the impatience of +her curiosity might safely be indulged. One moment surely might be +spared; and, so desperate should be the exertion of her strength, that, +unless secured by supernatural means, the lid in one moment should be +thrown back. With this spirit she sprang forward, and her confidence +did not deceive her. Her resolute effort threw back the lid, and gave +to her astonished eyes the view of a white cotton counterpane, properly +folded, reposing at one end of the chest in undisputed possession! + +She was gazing on it with the first blush of surprise when Miss Tilney, +anxious for her friend’s being ready, entered the room, and to the +rising shame of having harboured for some minutes an absurd +expectation, was then added the shame of being caught in so idle a +search. “That is a curious old chest, is not it?” said Miss Tilney, as +Catherine hastily closed it and turned away to the glass. “It is +impossible to say how many generations it has been here. How it came to +be first put in this room I know not, but I have not had it moved, +because I thought it might sometimes be of use in holding hats and +bonnets. The worst of it is that its weight makes it difficult to open. +In that corner, however, it is at least out of the way.” + +Catherine had no leisure for speech, being at once blushing, tying her +gown, and forming wise resolutions with the most violent dispatch. Miss +Tilney gently hinted her fear of being late; and in half a minute they +ran downstairs together, in an alarm not wholly unfounded, for General +Tilney was pacing the drawing-room, his watch in his hand, and having, +on the very instant of their entering, pulled the bell with violence, +ordered “Dinner to be on table _directly!_” + +Catherine trembled at the emphasis with which he spoke, and sat pale +and breathless, in a most humble mood, concerned for his children, and +detesting old chests; and the General, recovering his politeness as he +looked at her, spent the rest of his time in scolding his daughter for +so foolishly hurrying her fair friend, who was absolutely out of breath +from haste, when there was not the least occasion for hurry in the +world: but Catherine could not at all get over the double distress of +having involved her friend in a lecture and been a great simpleton +herself, till they were happily seated at the dinner-table, when the +General’s complacent smiles, and a good appetite of her own, restored +her to peace. The dining-parlour was a noble room, suitable in its +dimensions to a much larger drawing-room than the one in common use, +and fitted up in a style of luxury and expense which was almost lost on +the unpractised eye of Catherine, who saw little more than its +spaciousness and the number of their attendants. Of the former, she +spoke aloud her admiration; and the General, with a very gracious +countenance, acknowledged that it was by no means an ill-sized room, +and further confessed that, though as careless on such subjects as most +people, he did look upon a tolerably large eating-room as one of the +necessaries of life; he supposed, however, “that she must have been +used to much better-sized apartments at Mr. Allen’s?” + +“No, indeed,” was Catherine’s honest assurance; “Mr. Allen’s +dining-parlour was not more than half as large,” and she had never seen +so large a room as this in her life. The General’s good humour +increased. Why, as he _had_ such rooms, he thought it would be simple +not to make use of them; but, upon his honour, he believed there might +be more comfort in rooms of only half their size. Mr. Allen’s house, he +was sure, must be exactly of the true size for rational happiness. + +The evening passed without any further disturbance, and, in the +occasional absence of General Tilney, with much positive cheerfulness. +It was only in his presence that Catherine felt the smallest fatigue +from her journey; and even then, even in moments of languor or +restraint, a sense of general happiness preponderated, and she could +think of her friends in Bath without one wish of being with them. + +The night was stormy; the wind had been rising at intervals the whole +afternoon; and by the time the party broke up, it blew and rained +violently. Catherine, as she crossed the hall, listened to the tempest +with sensations of awe; and, when she heard it rage round a corner of +the ancient building and close with sudden fury a distant door, felt +for the first time that she was really in an abbey. Yes, these were +characteristic sounds; they brought to her recollection a countless +variety of dreadful situations and horrid scenes, which such buildings +had witnessed, and such storms ushered in; and most heartily did she +rejoice in the happier circumstances attending her entrance within +walls so solemn! _She_ had nothing to dread from midnight assassins or +drunken gallants. Henry had certainly been only in jest in what he had +told her that morning. In a house so furnished, and so guarded, she +could have nothing to explore or to suffer, and might go to her bedroom +as securely as if it had been her own chamber at Fullerton. Thus wisely +fortifying her mind, as she proceeded upstairs, she was enabled, +especially on perceiving that Miss Tilney slept only two doors from +her, to enter her room with a tolerably stout heart; and her spirits +were immediately assisted by the cheerful blaze of a wood fire. “How +much better is this,” said she, as she walked to the fender—“how much +better to find a fire ready lit, than to have to wait shivering in the +cold till all the family are in bed, as so many poor girls have been +obliged to do, and then to have a faithful old servant frightening one +by coming in with a faggot! how glad I am that Northanger is what it +is! if it had been like some other places, I do not know that, in such +a night as this, I could have answered for my courage: but now, to be +sure, there is nothing to alarm one.” + +She looked round the room. The window curtains seemed in motion. It +could be nothing but the violence of the wind penetrating through the +divisions of the shutters; and she stepped boldly forward, carelessly +humming a tune, to assure herself of its being so, peeped courageously +behind each curtain, saw nothing on either low window seat to scare +her, and on placing a hand against the shutter, felt the strongest +conviction of the wind’s force. A glance at the old chest, as she +turned away from this examination, was not without its use; she scorned +the causeless fears of an idle fancy, and began with a most happy +indifference to prepare herself for bed. “She should take her time; she +should not hurry herself; she did not care if she were the last person +up in the house. But she would not make up her fire; _that_ would seem +cowardly, as if she wished for the protection of light after she were +in bed.” The fire therefore died away, and Catherine, having spent the +best part of an hour in her arrangements, was beginning to think of +stepping into bed, when, on giving a parting glance round the room, she +was struck by the appearance of a high, old-fashioned black cabinet, +which, though in a situation conspicuous enough, had never caught her +notice before. Henry’s words, his description of the ebony cabinet +which was to escape her observation at first, immediately rushed across +her; and though there could be nothing really in it, there was +something whimsical, it was certainly a very remarkable coincidence! +She took her candle and looked closely at the cabinet. It was not +absolutely ebony and gold; but it was japan, black and yellow japan of +the handsomest kind; and as she held her candle, the yellow had very +much the effect of gold. The key was in the door, and she had a strange +fancy to look into it; not, however, with the smallest expectation of +finding anything, but it was so very odd, after what Henry had said. In +short, she could not sleep till she had examined it. So, placing the +candle with great caution on a chair, she seized the key with a very +tremulous hand and tried to turn it; but it resisted her utmost +strength. Alarmed, but not discouraged, she tried it another way; a +bolt flew, and she believed herself successful; but how strangely +mysterious! the door was still immovable. She paused a moment in +breathless wonder. The wind roared down the chimney, the rain beat in +torrents against the windows, and everything seemed to speak the +awfulness of her situation. To retire to bed, however, unsatisfied on +such a point, would be vain, since sleep must be impossible with the +consciousness of a cabinet so mysteriously closed in her immediate +vicinity. Again, therefore, she applied herself to the key, and after +moving it in every possible way for some instants with the determined +celerity of hope’s last effort, the door suddenly yielded to her hand: +her heart leaped with exultation at such a victory, and having thrown +open each folding door, the second being secured only by bolts of less +wonderful construction than the lock, though in that her eye could not +discern anything unusual, a double range of small drawers appeared in +view, with some larger drawers above and below them; and in the centre, +a small door, closed also with a lock and key, secured in all +probability a cavity of importance. + +Catherine’s heart beat quick, but her courage did not fail her. With a +cheek flushed by hope, and an eye straining with curiosity, her fingers +grasped the handle of a drawer and drew it forth. It was entirely +empty. With less alarm and greater eagerness she seized a second, a +third, a fourth; each was equally empty. Not one was left unsearched, +and in not one was anything found. Well read in the art of concealing a +treasure, the possibility of false linings to the drawers did not +escape her, and she felt round each with anxious acuteness in vain. The +place in the middle alone remained now unexplored; and though she had +“never from the first had the smallest idea of finding anything in any +part of the cabinet, and was not in the least disappointed at her ill +success thus far, it would be foolish not to examine it thoroughly +while she was about it.” It was some time however before she could +unfasten the door, the same difficulty occurring in the management of +this inner lock as of the outer; but at length it did open; and not +vain, as hitherto, was her search; her quick eyes directly fell on a +roll of paper pushed back into the further part of the cavity, +apparently for concealment, and her feelings at that moment were +indescribable. Her heart fluttered, her knees trembled, and her cheeks +grew pale. She seized, with an unsteady hand, the precious manuscript, +for half a glance sufficed to ascertain written characters; and while +she acknowledged with awful sensations this striking exemplification of +what Henry had foretold, resolved instantly to peruse every line before +she attempted to rest. + +The dimness of the light her candle emitted made her turn to it with +alarm; but there was no danger of its sudden extinction; it had yet +some hours to burn; and that she might not have any greater difficulty +in distinguishing the writing than what its ancient date might +occasion, she hastily snuffed it. Alas! it was snuffed and extinguished +in one. A lamp could not have expired with more awful effect. +Catherine, for a few moments, was motionless with horror. It was done +completely; not a remnant of light in the wick could give hope to the +rekindling breath. Darkness impenetrable and immovable filled the room. +A violent gust of wind, rising with sudden fury, added fresh horror to +the moment. Catherine trembled from head to foot. In the pause which +succeeded, a sound like receding footsteps and the closing of a distant +door struck on her affrighted ear. Human nature could support no more. +A cold sweat stood on her forehead, the manuscript fell from her hand, +and groping her way to the bed, she jumped hastily in, and sought some +suspension of agony by creeping far underneath the clothes. To close +her eyes in sleep that night, she felt must be entirely out of the +question. With a curiosity so justly awakened, and feelings in every +way so agitated, repose must be absolutely impossible. The storm too +abroad so dreadful! she had not been used to feel alarm from wind, but +now every blast seemed fraught with awful intelligence. The manuscript +so wonderfully found, so wonderfully accomplishing the morning’s +prediction, how was it to be accounted for? What could it contain? To +whom could it relate? By what means could it have been so long +concealed? And how singularly strange that it should fall to her lot to +discover it! till she had made herself mistress of its contents, +however, she could have neither repose nor comfort; and with the sun’s +first rays she was determined to peruse it. But many were the tedious +hours which must yet intervene. She shuddered, tossed about in her bed, +and envied every quiet sleeper. The storm still raged, and various were +the noises, more terrific even than the wind, which struck at intervals +on her startled ear. The very curtains of her bed seemed at one moment +in motion, and at another the lock of her door was agitated, as if by +the attempt of somebody to enter. Hollow murmurs seemed to creep along +the gallery, and more than once her blood was chilled by the sound of +distant moans. Hour after hour passed away, and the wearied Catherine +had heard three proclaimed by all the clocks in the house before the +tempest subsided or she unknowingly fell fast asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER 22 + + +The housemaid’s folding back her window-shutters at eight o’clock the +next day was the sound which first roused Catherine; and she opened her +eyes, wondering that they could ever have been closed, on objects of +cheerfulness; her fire was already burning, and a bright morning had +succeeded the tempest of the night. Instantaneously, with the +consciousness of existence, returned her recollection of the +manuscript; and springing from the bed in the very moment of the maid’s +going away, she eagerly collected every scattered sheet which had burst +from the roll on its falling to the ground, and flew back to enjoy the +luxury of their perusal on her pillow. She now plainly saw that she +must not expect a manuscript of equal length with the generality of +what she had shuddered over in books, for the roll, seeming to consist +entirely of small disjointed sheets, was altogether but of trifling +size, and much less than she had supposed it to be at first. + +Her greedy eye glanced rapidly over a page. She started at its import. +Could it be possible, or did not her senses play her false? An +inventory of linen, in coarse and modern characters, seemed all that +was before her! if the evidence of sight might be trusted, she held a +washing-bill in her hand. She seized another sheet, and saw the same +articles with little variation; a third, a fourth, and a fifth +presented nothing new. Shirts, stockings, cravats, and waistcoats faced +her in each. Two others, penned by the same hand, marked an expenditure +scarcely more interesting, in letters, hair-powder, shoe-string, and +breeches-ball. And the larger sheet, which had enclosed the rest, +seemed by its first cramp line, “To poultice chestnut mare”—a farrier’s +bill! such was the collection of papers (left perhaps, as she could +then suppose, by the negligence of a servant in the place whence she +had taken them) which had filled her with expectation and alarm, and +robbed her of half her night’s rest! she felt humbled to the dust. +Could not the adventure of the chest have taught her wisdom? A corner +of it, catching her eye as she lay, seemed to rise up in judgment +against her. Nothing could now be clearer than the absurdity of her +recent fancies. To suppose that a manuscript of many generations back +could have remained undiscovered in a room such as that, so modern, so +habitable!—Or that she should be the first to possess the skill of +unlocking a cabinet, the key of which was open to all! + +How could she have so imposed on herself? Heaven forbid that Henry +Tilney should ever know her folly! and it was in a great measure his +own doing, for had not the cabinet appeared so exactly to agree with +his description of her adventures, she should never have felt the +smallest curiosity about it. This was the only comfort that occurred. +Impatient to get rid of those hateful evidences of her folly, those +detestable papers then scattered over the bed, she rose directly, and +folding them up as nearly as possible in the same shape as before, +returned them to the same spot within the cabinet, with a very hearty +wish that no untoward accident might ever bring them forward again, to +disgrace her even with herself. + +Why the locks should have been so difficult to open, however, was still +something remarkable, for she could now manage them with perfect ease. +In this there was surely something mysterious, and she indulged in the +flattering suggestion for half a minute, till the possibility of the +door’s having been at first unlocked, and of being herself its +fastener, darted into her head, and cost her another blush. + +She got away as soon as she could from a room in which her conduct +produced such unpleasant reflections, and found her way with all speed +to the breakfast-parlour, as it had been pointed out to her by Miss +Tilney the evening before. Henry was alone in it; and his immediate +hope of her having been undisturbed by the tempest, with an arch +reference to the character of the building they inhabited, was rather +distressing. For the world would she not have her weakness suspected, +and yet, unequal to an absolute falsehood, was constrained to +acknowledge that the wind had kept her awake a little. “But we have a +charming morning after it,” she added, desiring to get rid of the +subject; “and storms and sleeplessness are nothing when they are over. +What beautiful hyacinths! i have just learnt to love a hyacinth.” + +“And how might you learn? By accident or argument?” + +“Your sister taught me; I cannot tell how. Mrs. Allen used to take +pains, year after year, to make me like them; but I never could, till I +saw them the other day in Milsom Street; I am naturally indifferent +about flowers.” + +“But now you love a hyacinth. So much the better. You have gained a new +source of enjoyment, and it is well to have as many holds upon +happiness as possible. Besides, a taste for flowers is always desirable +in your sex, as a means of getting you out of doors, and tempting you +to more frequent exercise than you would otherwise take. And though the +love of a hyacinth may be rather domestic, who can tell, the sentiment +once raised, but you may in time come to love a rose?” + +“But I do not want any such pursuit to get me out of doors. The +pleasure of walking and breathing fresh air is enough for me, and in +fine weather I am out more than half my time. Mamma says I am never +within.” + +“At any rate, however, I am pleased that you have learnt to love a +hyacinth. The mere habit of learning to love is the thing; and a +teachableness of disposition in a young lady is a great blessing. Has +my sister a pleasant mode of instruction?” + +Catherine was saved the embarrassment of attempting an answer by the +entrance of the General, whose smiling compliments announced a happy +state of mind, but whose gentle hint of sympathetic early rising did +not advance her composure. + +The elegance of the breakfast set forced itself on Catherine’s notice +when they were seated at table; and, luckily, it had been the General’s +choice. He was enchanted by her approbation of his taste, confessed it +to be neat and simple, thought it right to encourage the manufacture of +his country; and for his part, to his uncritical palate, the tea was as +well flavoured from the clay of Staffordshire, as from that of Dresden +or Sêve. But this was quite an old set, purchased two years ago. The +manufacture was much improved since that time; he had seen some +beautiful specimens when last in town, and had he not been perfectly +without vanity of that kind, might have been tempted to order a new +set. He trusted, however, that an opportunity might ere long occur of +selecting one—though not for himself. Catherine was probably the only +one of the party who did not understand him. + +Shortly after breakfast Henry left them for Woodston, where business +required and would keep him two or three days. They all attended in the +hall to see him mount his horse, and immediately on re-entering the +breakfast-room, Catherine walked to a window in the hope of catching +another glimpse of his figure. “This is a somewhat heavy call upon your +brother’s fortitude,” observed the General to Eleanor. “Woodston will +make but a sombre appearance to-day.” + +“Is it a pretty place?” asked Catherine. + +“What say you, Eleanor? Speak your opinion, for ladies can best tell +the taste of ladies in regard to places as well as men. I think it +would be acknowledged by the most impartial eye to have many +recommendations. The house stands among fine meadows facing the +south-east, with an excellent kitchen-garden in the same aspect; the +walls surrounding which I built and stocked myself about ten years ago, +for the benefit of my son. It is a family living, Miss Morland; and the +property in the place being chiefly my own, you may believe I take care +that it shall not be a bad one. Did Henry’s income depend solely on +this living, he would not be ill-provided for. Perhaps it may seem odd, +that with only two younger children, I should think any profession +necessary for him; and certainly there are moments when we could all +wish him disengaged from every tie of business. But though I may not +exactly make converts of you young ladies, I am sure your father, Miss +Morland, would agree with me in thinking it expedient to give every +young man some employment. The money is nothing, it is not an object, +but employment is the thing. Even Frederick, my eldest son, you see, +who will perhaps inherit as considerable a landed property as any +private man in the county, has his profession.” + +The imposing effect of this last argument was equal to his wishes. The +silence of the lady proved it to be unanswerable. + +Something had been said the evening before of her being shown over the +house, and he now offered himself as her conductor; and though +Catherine had hoped to explore it accompanied only by his daughter, it +was a proposal of too much happiness in itself, under any +circumstances, not to be gladly accepted; for she had been already +eighteen hours in the abbey, and had seen only a few of its rooms. The +netting-box, just leisurely drawn forth, was closed with joyful haste, +and she was ready to attend him in a moment. “And when they had gone +over the house, he promised himself moreover the pleasure of +accompanying her into the shrubberies and garden.” She curtsied her +acquiescence. “But perhaps it might be more agreeable to her to make +those her first object. The weather was at present favourable, and at +this time of year the uncertainty was very great of its continuing so. +Which would she prefer? He was equally at her service. Which did his +daughter think would most accord with her fair friend’s wishes? But he +thought he could discern. Yes, he certainly read in Miss Morland’s eyes +a judicious desire of making use of the present smiling weather. But +when did she judge amiss? The abbey would be always safe and dry. He +yielded implicitly, and would fetch his hat and attend them in a +moment.” He left the room, and Catherine, with a disappointed, anxious +face, began to speak of her unwillingness that he should be taking them +out of doors against his own inclination, under a mistaken idea of +pleasing her; but she was stopped by Miss Tilney’s saying, with a +little confusion, “I believe it will be wisest to take the morning +while it is so fine; and do not be uneasy on my father’s account; he +always walks out at this time of day.” + +Catherine did not exactly know how this was to be understood. Why was +Miss Tilney embarrassed? Could there be any unwillingness on the +General’s side to show her over the abbey? The proposal was his own. +And was not it odd that he should _always_ take his walk so early? +Neither her father nor Mr. Allen did so. It was certainly very +provoking. She was all impatience to see the house, and had scarcely +any curiosity about the grounds. If Henry had been with them indeed! +But now she should not know what was picturesque when she saw it. Such +were her thoughts, but she kept them to herself, and put on her bonnet +in patient discontent. + +She was struck, however, beyond her expectation, by the grandeur of the +abbey, as she saw it for the first time from the lawn. The whole +building enclosed a large court; and two sides of the quadrangle, rich +in Gothic ornaments, stood forward for admiration. The remainder was +shut off by knolls of old trees, or luxuriant plantations, and the +steep woody hills rising behind, to give it shelter, were beautiful +even in the leafless month of March. Catherine had seen nothing to +compare with it; and her feelings of delight were so strong, that +without waiting for any better authority, she boldly burst forth in +wonder and praise. The General listened with assenting gratitude; and +it seemed as if his own estimation of Northanger had waited unfixed +till that hour. + +The kitchen-garden was to be next admired, and he led the way to it +across a small portion of the park. + +The number of acres contained in this garden was such as Catherine +could not listen to without dismay, being more than double the extent +of all Mr. Allen’s, as well as her father’s, including church-yard and +orchard. The walls seemed countless in number, endless in length; a +village of hot-houses seemed to arise among them, and a whole parish to +be at work within the enclosure. The General was flattered by her looks +of surprise, which told him almost as plainly, as he soon forced her to +tell him in words, that she had never seen any gardens at all equal to +them before; and he then modestly owned that, “without any ambition of +that sort himself—without any solicitude about it—he did believe them +to be unrivalled in the kingdom. If he had a hobby-horse, it was +_that_. He loved a garden. Though careless enough in most matters of +eating, he loved good fruit—or if he did not, his friends and children +did. There were great vexations, however, attending such a garden as +his. The utmost care could not always secure the most valuable fruits. +The pinery had yielded only one hundred in the last year. Mr. Allen, he +supposed, must feel these inconveniences as well as himself.” + +“No, not at all. Mr. Allen did not care about the garden, and never +went into it.” + +With a triumphant smile of self-satisfaction, the General wished he +could do the same, for he never entered his, without being vexed in +some way or other, by its falling short of his plan. + +“How were Mr. Allen’s succession-houses worked?” describing the nature +of his own as they entered them. + +“Mr. Allen had only one small hot-house, which Mrs. Allen had the use +of for her plants in winter, and there was a fire in it now and then.” + +“He is a happy man!” said the General, with a look of very happy +contempt. + +Having taken her into every division, and led her under every wall, +till she was heartily weary of seeing and wondering, he suffered the +girls at last to seize the advantage of an outer door, and then +expressing his wish to examine the effect of some recent alterations +about the tea-house, proposed it as no unpleasant extension of their +walk, if Miss Morland were not tired. “But where are you going, +Eleanor? Why do you choose that cold, damp path to it? Miss Morland +will get wet. Our best way is across the park.” + +“This is so favourite a walk of mine,” said Miss Tilney, “that I always +think it the best and nearest way. But perhaps it may be damp.” + +It was a narrow winding path through a thick grove of old Scotch firs; +and Catherine, struck by its gloomy aspect, and eager to enter it, +could not, even by the General’s disapprobation, be kept from stepping +forward. He perceived her inclination, and having again urged the plea +of health in vain, was too polite to make further opposition. He +excused himself, however, from attending them: “The rays of the sun +were not too cheerful for him, and he would meet them by another +course.” He turned away; and Catherine was shocked to find how much her +spirits were relieved by the separation. The shock, however, being less +real than the relief, offered it no injury; and she began to talk with +easy gaiety of the delightful melancholy which such a grove inspired. + +“I am particularly fond of this spot,” said her companion, with a sigh. +“It was my mother’s favourite walk.” + +Catherine had never heard Mrs. Tilney mentioned in the family before, +and the interest excited by this tender remembrance showed itself +directly in her altered countenance, and in the attentive pause with +which she waited for something more. + +“I used to walk here so often with her!” added Eleanor; “though I never +loved it then, as I have loved it since. At that time indeed I used to +wonder at her choice. But her memory endears it now.” + +“And ought it not,” reflected Catherine, “to endear it to her husband? +Yet the General would not enter it.” Miss Tilney continuing silent, she +ventured to say, “Her death must have been a great affliction!” + +“A great and increasing one,” replied the other, in a low voice. “I was +only thirteen when it happened; and though I felt my loss perhaps as +strongly as one so young could feel it, I did not, I could not, then +know what a loss it was.” She stopped for a moment, and then added, +with great firmness, “I have no sister, you know—and though +Henry—though my brothers are very affectionate, and Henry is a great +deal here, which I am most thankful for, it is impossible for me not to +be often solitary.” + +“To be sure you must miss him very much.” + +“A mother would have been always present. A mother would have been a +constant friend; her influence would have been beyond all other.” + +“Was she a very charming woman? Was she handsome? Was there any picture +of her in the abbey? And why had she been so partial to that grove? Was +it from dejection of spirits?”—were questions now eagerly poured forth; +the first three received a ready affirmative, the two others were +passed by; and Catherine’s interest in the deceased Mrs. Tilney +augmented with every question, whether answered or not. Of her +unhappiness in marriage, she felt persuaded. The General certainly had +been an unkind husband. He did not love her walk: could he therefore +have loved her? And besides, handsome as he was, there was a something +in the turn of his features which spoke his not having behaved well to +her. + +“Her picture, I suppose,” blushing at the consummate art of her own +question, “hangs in your father’s room?” + +“No; it was intended for the drawing-room; but my father was +dissatisfied with the painting, and for some time it had no place. Soon +after her death I obtained it for my own, and hung it in my +bed-chamber—where I shall be happy to show it you; it is very like.” +Here was another proof. A portrait—very like—of a departed wife, not +valued by the husband! he must have been dreadfully cruel to her! + +Catherine attempted no longer to hide from herself the nature of the +feelings which, in spite of all his attentions, he had previously +excited; and what had been terror and dislike before, was now absolute +aversion. Yes, aversion! his cruelty to such a charming woman made him +odious to her. She had often read of such characters, characters which +Mr. Allen had been used to call unnatural and overdrawn; but here was +proof positive of the contrary. + +She had just settled this point when the end of the path brought them +directly upon the General; and in spite of all her virtuous +indignation, she found herself again obliged to walk with him, listen +to him, and even to smile when he smiled. Being no longer able, +however, to receive pleasure from the surrounding objects, she soon +began to walk with lassitude; the General perceived it, and with a +concern for her health, which seemed to reproach her for her opinion of +him, was most urgent for returning with his daughter to the house. He +would follow them in a quarter of an hour. Again they parted—but +Eleanor was called back in half a minute to receive a strict charge +against taking her friend round the abbey till his return. This second +instance of his anxiety to delay what she so much wished for struck +Catherine as very remarkable. + + + + +CHAPTER 23 + + +An hour passed away before the General came in, spent, on the part of +his young guest, in no very favourable consideration of his character. +“This lengthened absence, these solitary rambles, did not speak a mind +at ease, or a conscience void of reproach.” At length he appeared; and, +whatever might have been the gloom of his meditations, he could still +smile with _them_. Miss Tilney, understanding in part her friend’s +curiosity to see the house, soon revived the subject; and her father +being, contrary to Catherine’s expectations, unprovided with any +pretence for further delay, beyond that of stopping five minutes to +order refreshments to be in the room by their return, was at last ready +to escort them. + +They set forward; and, with a grandeur of air, a dignified step, which +caught the eye, but could not shake the doubts of the well-read +Catherine, he led the way across the hall, through the common +drawing-room and one useless antechamber, into a room magnificent both +in size and furniture—the real drawing-room, used only with company of +consequence. It was very noble—very grand—very charming!—was all that +Catherine had to say, for her indiscriminating eye scarcely discerned +the colour of the satin; and all minuteness of praise, all praise that +had much meaning, was supplied by the General: the costliness or +elegance of any room’s fitting-up could be nothing to her; she cared +for no furniture of a more modern date than the fifteenth century. When +the General had satisfied his own curiosity, in a close examination of +every well-known ornament, they proceeded into the library, an +apartment, in its way, of equal magnificence, exhibiting a collection +of books, on which an humble man might have looked with pride. +Catherine heard, admired, and wondered with more genuine feeling than +before—gathered all that she could from this storehouse of knowledge, +by running over the titles of half a shelf, and was ready to proceed. +But suites of apartments did not spring up with her wishes. Large as +was the building, she had already visited the greatest part; though, on +being told that, with the addition of the kitchen, the six or seven +rooms she had now seen surrounded three sides of the court, she could +scarcely believe it, or overcome the suspicion of there being many +chambers secreted. It was some relief, however, that they were to +return to the rooms in common use, by passing through a few of less +importance, looking into the court, which, with occasional passages, +not wholly unintricate, connected the different sides; and she was +further soothed in her progress by being told that she was treading +what had once been a cloister, having traces of cells pointed out, and +observing several doors that were neither opened nor explained to +her—by finding herself successively in a billiard-room, and in the +General’s private apartment, without comprehending their connection, or +being able to turn aright when she left them; and lastly, by passing +through a dark little room, owning Henry’s authority, and strewed with +his litter of books, guns, and greatcoats. + +From the dining-room, of which, though already seen, and always to be +seen at five o’clock, the General could not forgo the pleasure of +pacing out the length, for the more certain information of Miss +Morland, as to what she neither doubted nor cared for, they proceeded +by quick communication to the kitchen—the ancient kitchen of the +convent, rich in the massy walls and smoke of former days, and in the +stoves and hot closets of the present. The General’s improving hand had +not loitered here: every modern invention to facilitate the labour of +the cooks had been adopted within this, their spacious theatre; and, +when the genius of others had failed, his own had often produced the +perfection wanted. His endowments of this spot alone might at any time +have placed him high among the benefactors of the convent. + +With the walls of the kitchen ended all the antiquity of the abbey; the +fourth side of the quadrangle having, on account of its decaying state, +been removed by the General’s father, and the present erected in its +place. All that was venerable ceased here. The new building was not +only new, but declared itself to be so; intended only for offices, and +enclosed behind by stable-yards, no uniformity of architecture had been +thought necessary. Catherine could have raved at the hand which had +swept away what must have been beyond the value of all the rest, for +the purposes of mere domestic economy; and would willingly have been +spared the mortification of a walk through scenes so fallen, had the +General allowed it; but if he had a vanity, it was in the arrangement +of his offices; and as he was convinced that, to a mind like Miss +Morland’s, a view of the accommodations and comforts by which the +labours of her inferiors were softened, must always be gratifying, he +should make no apology for leading her on. They took a slight survey of +all; and Catherine was impressed, beyond her expectation, by their +multiplicity and their convenience. The purposes for which a few +shapeless pantries and a comfortless scullery were deemed sufficient at +Fullerton, were here carried on in appropriate divisions, commodious +and roomy. The number of servants continually appearing did not strike +her less than the number of their offices. Wherever they went, some +pattened girl stopped to curtsy, or some footman in dishabille sneaked +off. Yet this was an abbey! how inexpressibly different in these +domestic arrangements from such as she had read about—from abbeys and +castles, in which, though certainly larger than Northanger, all the +dirty work of the house was to be done by two pair of female hands at +the utmost. How they could get through it all had often amazed Mrs. +Allen; and, when Catherine saw what was necessary here, she began to be +amazed herself. + +They returned to the hall, that the chief staircase might be ascended, +and the beauty of its wood, and ornaments of rich carving might be +pointed out: having gained the top, they turned in an opposite +direction from the gallery in which her room lay, and shortly entered +one on the same plan, but superior in length and breadth. She was here +shown successively into three large bed-chambers, with their +dressing-rooms, most completely and handsomely fitted up; everything +that money and taste could do, to give comfort and elegance to +apartments, had been bestowed on these; and, being furnished within the +last five years, they were perfect in all that would be generally +pleasing, and wanting in all that could give pleasure to Catherine. As +they were surveying the last, the General, after slightly naming a few +of the distinguished characters by whom they had at times been +honoured, turned with a smiling countenance to Catherine, and ventured +to hope that henceforward some of their earliest tenants might be “our +friends from Fullerton.” She felt the unexpected compliment, and deeply +regretted the impossibility of thinking well of a man so kindly +disposed towards herself, and so full of civility to all her family. + +The gallery was terminated by folding doors, which Miss Tilney, +advancing, had thrown open, and passed through, and seemed on the point +of doing the same by the first door to the left, in another long reach +of gallery, when the General, coming forwards, called her hastily, and, +as Catherine thought, rather angrily back, demanding whither she were +going?—And what was there more to be seen?—Had not Miss Morland already +seen all that could be worth her notice?—And did she not suppose her +friend might be glad of some refreshment after so much exercise? Miss +Tilney drew back directly, and the heavy doors were closed upon the +mortified Catherine, who, having seen, in a momentary glance beyond +them, a narrower passage, more numerous openings, and symptoms of a +winding staircase, believed herself at last within the reach of +something worth her notice; and felt, as she unwillingly paced back the +gallery, that she would rather be allowed to examine that end of the +house than see all the finery of all the rest. The General’s evident +desire of preventing such an examination was an additional stimulant. +Something was certainly to be concealed; her fancy, though it had +trespassed lately once or twice, could not mislead her here; and what +that something was, a short sentence of Miss Tilney’s, as they followed +the General at some distance downstairs, seemed to point out: “I was +going to take you into what was my mother’s room—the room in which she +died—” were all her words; but few as they were, they conveyed pages of +intelligence to Catherine. It was no wonder that the General should +shrink from the sight of such objects as that room must contain; a room +in all probability never entered by him since the dreadful scene had +passed, which released his suffering wife, and left him to the stings +of conscience. + +She ventured, when next alone with Eleanor, to express her wish of +being permitted to see it, as well as all the rest of that side of the +house; and Eleanor promised to attend her there, whenever they should +have a convenient hour. Catherine understood her: the General must be +watched from home, before that room could be entered. “It remains as it +was, I suppose?” said she, in a tone of feeling. + +“Yes, entirely.” + +“And how long ago may it be that your mother died?” + +“She has been dead these nine years.” And nine years, Catherine knew, +was a trifle of time, compared with what generally elapsed after the +death of an injured wife, before her room was put to rights. + +“You were with her, I suppose, to the last?” + +“No,” said Miss Tilney, sighing; “I was unfortunately from home. Her +illness was sudden and short; and, before I arrived it was all over.” + +Catherine’s blood ran cold with the horrid suggestions which naturally +sprang from these words. Could it be possible? Could Henry’s father—? +And yet how many were the examples to justify even the blackest +suspicions! and, when she saw him in the evening, while she worked with +her friend, slowly pacing the drawing-room for an hour together in +silent thoughtfulness, with downcast eyes and contracted brow, she felt +secure from all possibility of wronging him. It was the air and +attitude of a Montoni! what could more plainly speak the gloomy +workings of a mind not wholly dead to every sense of humanity, in its +fearful review of past scenes of guilt? Unhappy man! and the +anxiousness of her spirits directed her eyes towards his figure so +repeatedly, as to catch Miss Tilney’s notice. “My father,” she +whispered, “often walks about the room in this way; it is nothing +unusual.” + +“So much the worse!” thought Catherine; such ill-timed exercise was of +a piece with the strange unseasonableness of his morning walks, and +boded nothing good. + +After an evening, the little variety and seeming length of which made +her peculiarly sensible of Henry’s importance among them, she was +heartily glad to be dismissed; though it was a look from the General +not designed for her observation which sent his daughter to the bell. +When the butler would have lit his master’s candle, however, he was +forbidden. The latter was not going to retire. “I have many pamphlets +to finish,” said he to Catherine, “before I can close my eyes, and +perhaps may be poring over the affairs of the nation for hours after +you are asleep. Can either of us be more meetly employed? _My_ eyes +will be blinding for the good of others, and _yours_ preparing by rest +for future mischief.” + +But neither the business alleged, nor the magnificent compliment, could +win Catherine from thinking that some very different object must +occasion so serious a delay of proper repose. To be kept up for hours, +after the family were in bed, by stupid pamphlets was not very likely. +There must be some deeper cause: something was to be done which could +be done only while the household slept; and the probability that Mrs. +Tilney yet lived, shut up for causes unknown, and receiving from the +pitiless hands of her husband a nightly supply of coarse food, was the +conclusion which necessarily followed. Shocking as was the idea, it was +at least better than a death unfairly hastened, as, in the natural +course of things, she must ere long be released. The suddenness of her +reputed illness, the absence of her daughter, and probably of her other +children, at the time—all favoured the supposition of her imprisonment. +Its origin—jealousy perhaps, or wanton cruelty—was yet to be +unravelled. + +In revolving these matters, while she undressed, it suddenly struck her +as not unlikely that she might that morning have passed near the very +spot of this unfortunate woman’s confinement—might have been within a +few paces of the cell in which she languished out her days; for what +part of the abbey could be more fitted for the purpose than that which +yet bore the traces of monastic division? In the high-arched passage, +paved with stone, which already she had trodden with peculiar awe, she +well remembered the doors of which the General had given no account. To +what might not those doors lead? In support of the plausibility of this +conjecture, it further occurred to her that the forbidden gallery, in +which lay the apartments of the unfortunate Mrs. Tilney, must be, as +certainly as her memory could guide her, exactly over this suspected +range of cells, and the staircase by the side of those apartments of +which she had caught a transient glimpse, communicating by some secret +means with those cells, might well have favoured the barbarous +proceedings of her husband. Down that staircase she had perhaps been +conveyed in a state of well-prepared insensibility! + +Catherine sometimes started at the boldness of her own surmises, and +sometimes hoped or feared that she had gone too far; but they were +supported by such appearances as made their dismissal impossible. + +The side of the quadrangle, in which she supposed the guilty scene to +be acting, being, according to her belief, just opposite her own, it +struck her that, if judiciously watched, some rays of light from the +General’s lamp might glimmer through the lower windows, as he passed to +the prison of his wife; and, twice before she stepped into bed, she +stole gently from her room to the corresponding window in the gallery, +to see if it appeared; but all abroad was dark, and it must yet be too +early. The various ascending noises convinced her that the servants +must still be up. Till midnight, she supposed it would be in vain to +watch; but then, when the clock had struck twelve, and all was quiet, +she would, if not quite appalled by darkness, steal out and look once +more. The clock struck twelve—and Catherine had been half an hour +asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER 24 + + +The next day afforded no opportunity for the proposed examination of +the mysterious apartments. It was Sunday, and the whole time between +morning and afternoon service was required by the General in exercise +abroad or eating cold meat at home; and great as was Catherine’s +curiosity, her courage was not equal to a wish of exploring them after +dinner, either by the fading light of the sky between six and seven +o’clock, or by the yet more partial though stronger illumination of a +treacherous lamp. The day was unmarked therefore by anything to +interest her imagination beyond the sight of a very elegant monument to +the memory of Mrs. Tilney, which immediately fronted the family pew. By +that her eye was instantly caught and long retained; and the perusal of +the highly strained epitaph, in which every virtue was ascribed to her +by the inconsolable husband, who must have been in some way or other +her destroyer, affected her even to tears. + +That the General, having erected such a monument, should be able to +face it, was not perhaps very strange, and yet that he could sit so +boldly collected within its view, maintain so elevated an air, look so +fearlessly around, nay, that he should even enter the church, seemed +wonderful to Catherine. Not, however, that many instances of beings +equally hardened in guilt might not be produced. She could remember +dozens who had persevered in every possible vice, going on from crime +to crime, murdering whomsoever they chose, without any feeling of +humanity or remorse; till a violent death or a religious retirement +closed their black career. The erection of the monument itself could +not in the smallest degree affect her doubts of Mrs. Tilney’s actual +decease. Were she even to descend into the family vault where her ashes +were supposed to slumber, were she to behold the coffin in which they +were said to be enclosed—what could it avail in such a case? Catherine +had read too much not to be perfectly aware of the ease with which a +waxen figure might be introduced, and a supposititious funeral carried +on. + +The succeeding morning promised something better. The General’s early +walk, ill-timed as it was in every other view, was favourable here; and +when she knew him to be out of the house, she directly proposed to Miss +Tilney the accomplishment of her promise. Eleanor was ready to oblige +her; and Catherine reminding her as they went of another promise, their +first visit in consequence was to the portrait in her bed-chamber. It +represented a very lovely woman, with a mild and pensive countenance, +justifying, so far, the expectations of its new observer; but they were +not in every respect answered, for Catherine had depended upon meeting +with features, hair, complexion, that should be the very counterpart, +the very image, if not of Henry’s, of Eleanor’s—the only portraits of +which she had been in the habit of thinking, bearing always an equal +resemblance of mother and child. A face once taken was taken for +generations. But here she was obliged to look and consider and study +for a likeness. She contemplated it, however, in spite of this +drawback, with much emotion, and, but for a yet stronger interest, +would have left it unwillingly. + +Her agitation as they entered the great gallery was too much for any +endeavour at discourse; she could only look at her companion. Eleanor’s +countenance was dejected, yet sedate; and its composure spoke her +inured to all the gloomy objects to which they were advancing. Again +she passed through the folding doors, again her hand was upon the +important lock, and Catherine, hardly able to breathe, was turning to +close the former with fearful caution, when the figure, the dreaded +figure of the General himself at the further end of the gallery, stood +before her! the name of “Eleanor” at the same moment, in his loudest +tone, resounded through the building, giving to his daughter the first +intimation of his presence, and to Catherine terror upon terror. An +attempt at concealment had been her first instinctive movement on +perceiving him, yet she could scarcely hope to have escaped his eye; +and when her friend, who with an apologizing look darted hastily by +her, had joined and disappeared with him, she ran for safety to her own +room, and, locking herself in, believed that she should never have +courage to go down again. She remained there at least an hour, in the +greatest agitation, deeply commiserating the state of her poor friend, +and expecting a summons herself from the angry General to attend him in +his own apartment. No summons, however, arrived; and at last, on seeing +a carriage drive up to the abbey, she was emboldened to descend and +meet him under the protection of visitors. The breakfast-room was gay +with company; and she was named to them by the General as the friend of +his daughter, in a complimentary style, which so well concealed his +resentful ire, as to make her feel secure at least of life for the +present. And Eleanor, with a command of countenance which did honour to +her concern for his character, taking an early occasion of saying to +her, “My father only wanted me to answer a note,” she began to hope +that she had either been unseen by the General, or that from some +consideration of policy she should be allowed to suppose herself so. +Upon this trust she dared still to remain in his presence, after the +company left them, and nothing occurred to disturb it. + +In the course of this morning’s reflections, she came to a resolution +of making her next attempt on the forbidden door alone. It would be +much better in every respect that Eleanor should know nothing of the +matter. To involve her in the danger of a second detection, to court +her into an apartment which must wring her heart, could not be the +office of a friend. The General’s utmost anger could not be to herself +what it might be to a daughter; and, besides, she thought the +examination itself would be more satisfactory if made without any +companion. It would be impossible to explain to Eleanor the suspicions, +from which the other had, in all likelihood, been hitherto happily +exempt; nor could she therefore, in _her_ presence, search for those +proofs of the General’s cruelty, which however they might yet have +escaped discovery, she felt confident of somewhere drawing forth, in +the shape of some fragmented journal, continued to the last gasp. Of +the way to the apartment she was now perfectly mistress; and as she +wished to get it over before Henry’s return, who was expected on the +morrow, there was no time to be lost. The day was bright, her courage +high; at four o’clock, the sun was now two hours above the horizon, and +it would be only her retiring to dress half an hour earlier than usual. + +It was done; and Catherine found herself alone in the gallery before +the clocks had ceased to strike. It was no time for thought; she +hurried on, slipped with the least possible noise through the folding +doors, and without stopping to look or breathe, rushed forward to the +one in question. The lock yielded to her hand, and, luckily, with no +sullen sound that could alarm a human being. On tiptoe she entered; the +room was before her; but it was some minutes before she could advance +another step. She beheld what fixed her to the spot and agitated every +feature. She saw a large, well-proportioned apartment, an handsome +dimity bed, arranged as unoccupied with an housemaid’s care, a bright +Bath stove, mahogany wardrobes, and neatly painted chairs, on which the +warm beams of a western sun gaily poured through two sash windows! +Catherine had expected to have her feelings worked, and worked they +were. Astonishment and doubt first seized them; and a shortly +succeeding ray of common sense added some bitter emotions of shame. She +could not be mistaken as to the room; but how grossly mistaken in +everything else!—in Miss Tilney’s meaning, in her own calculation! this +apartment, to which she had given a date so ancient, a position so +awful, proved to be one end of what the General’s father had built. +There were two other doors in the chamber, leading probably into +dressing-closets; but she had no inclination to open either. Would the +veil in which Mrs. Tilney had last walked, or the volume in which she +had last read, remain to tell what nothing else was allowed to whisper? +No: whatever might have been the General’s crimes, he had certainly too +much wit to let them sue for detection. She was sick of exploring, and +desired but to be safe in her own room, with her own heart only privy +to its folly; and she was on the point of retreating as softly as she +had entered, when the sound of footsteps, she could hardly tell where, +made her pause and tremble. To be found there, even by a servant, would +be unpleasant; but by the General (and he seemed always at hand when +least wanted), much worse! she listened—the sound had ceased; and +resolving not to lose a moment, she passed through and closed the door. +At that instant a door underneath was hastily opened; someone seemed +with swift steps to ascend the stairs, by the head of which she had yet +to pass before she could gain the gallery. She had no power to move. +With a feeling of terror not very definable, she fixed her eyes on the +staircase, and in a few moments it gave Henry to her view. “Mr. +Tilney!” she exclaimed in a voice of more than common astonishment. He +looked astonished too. “Good God!” she continued, not attending to his +address. “How came you here? How came you up that staircase?” + +“How came I up that staircase!” he replied, greatly surprised. “Because +it is my nearest way from the stable-yard to my own chamber; and why +should I not come up it?” + +Catherine recollected herself, blushed deeply, and could say no more. +He seemed to be looking in her countenance for that explanation which +her lips did not afford. She moved on towards the gallery. “And may I +not, in my turn,” said he, as he pushed back the folding doors, “ask +how _you_ came here? This passage is at least as extraordinary a road +from the breakfast-parlour to your apartment, as that staircase can be +from the stables to mine.” + +“I have been,” said Catherine, looking down, “to see your mother’s +room.” + +“My mother’s room! is there anything extraordinary to be seen there?” + +“No, nothing at all. I thought you did not mean to come back till +to-morrow.” + +“I did not expect to be able to return sooner, when I went away; but +three hours ago I had the pleasure of finding nothing to detain me. You +look pale. I am afraid I alarmed you by running so fast up those +stairs. Perhaps you did not know—you were not aware of their leading +from the offices in common use?” + +“No, I was not. You have had a very fine day for your ride.” + +“Very; and does Eleanor leave you to find your way into all the rooms +in the house by yourself?” + +“Oh no! she showed me over the greatest part on Saturday—and we were +coming here to these rooms—but only,” dropping her voice, “your father +was with us.” + +“And that prevented you,” said Henry, earnestly regarding her. “Have +you looked into all the rooms in that passage?” + +“No, I only wanted to see—Is not it very late? I must go and dress.” + +“It is only a quarter past four,” showing his watch; “and you are not now +in Bath. No theatre, no rooms to prepare for. Half an hour at +Northanger must be enough.” + +She could not contradict it, and therefore suffered herself to be +detained, though her dread of further questions made her, for the first +time in their acquaintance, wish to leave him. They walked slowly up +the gallery. “Have you had any letter from Bath since I saw you?” + +“No, and I am very much surprised. Isabella promised so faithfully to +write directly.” + +“Promised so faithfully! a faithful promise! that puzzles me. I have +heard of a faithful performance. But a faithful promise—the fidelity of +promising! it is a power little worth knowing, however, since it can +deceive and pain you. My mother’s room is very commodious, is it not? +Large and cheerful-looking, and the dressing-closets so well disposed! +It always strikes me as the most comfortable apartment in the house, +and I rather wonder that Eleanor should not take it for her own. She +sent you to look at it, I suppose?” + +“No.” + +“It has been your own doing entirely?” Catherine said nothing. After a +short silence, during which he had closely observed her, he added, “As +there is nothing in the room in itself to raise curiosity, this must +have proceeded from a sentiment of respect for my mother’s character, +as described by Eleanor, which does honour to her memory. The world, I +believe, never saw a better woman. But it is not often that virtue can +boast an interest such as this. The domestic, unpretending merits of a +person never known do not often create that kind of fervent, venerating +tenderness which would prompt a visit like yours. Eleanor, I suppose, +has talked of her a great deal?” + +“Yes, a great deal. That is—no, not much, but what she did say was very +interesting. Her dying so suddenly” (slowly, and with hesitation it was +spoken), “and you—none of you being at home—and your father, I +thought—perhaps had not been very fond of her.” + +“And from these circumstances,” he replied (his quick eye fixed on +hers), “you infer perhaps the probability of some +negligence—some”—(involuntarily she shook her head)—“or it may be—of +something still less pardonable.” She raised her eyes towards him more +fully than she had ever done before. “My mother’s illness,” he +continued, “the seizure which ended in her death, _was_ sudden. The +malady itself, one from which she had often suffered, a bilious +fever—its cause therefore constitutional. On the third day, in short, +as soon as she could be prevailed on, a physician attended her, a very +respectable man, and one in whom she had always placed great +confidence. Upon his opinion of her danger, two others were called in +the next day, and remained in almost constant attendance for four and +twenty hours. On the fifth day she died. During the progress of her +disorder, Frederick and I (_we_ were both at home) saw her repeatedly; +and from our own observation can bear witness to her having received +every possible attention which could spring from the affection of those +about her, or which her situation in life could command. Poor Eleanor +was absent, and at such a distance as to return only to see her mother +in her coffin.” + +“But your father,” said Catherine, “was _he_ afflicted?” + +“For a time, greatly so. You have erred in supposing him not attached +to her. He loved her, I am persuaded, as well as it was possible for +him to—we have not all, you know, the same tenderness of +disposition—and I will not pretend to say that while she lived, she +might not often have had much to bear, but though his temper injured +her, his judgment never did. His value of her was sincere; and, if not +permanently, he was truly afflicted by her death.” + +“I am very glad of it,” said Catherine; “it would have been very +shocking!” + +“If I understand you rightly, you had formed a surmise of such horror +as I have hardly words to—Dear Miss Morland, consider the dreadful +nature of the suspicions you have entertained. What have you been +judging from? Remember the country and the age in which we live. +Remember that we are English, that we are Christians. Consult your own +understanding, your own sense of the probable, your own observation of +what is passing around you. Does our education prepare us for such +atrocities? Do our laws connive at them? Could they be perpetrated +without being known, in a country like this, where social and literary +intercourse is on such a footing, where every man is surrounded by a +neighbourhood of voluntary spies, and where roads and newspapers lay +everything open? Dearest Miss Morland, what ideas have you been +admitting?” + +They had reached the end of the gallery, and with tears of shame she +ran off to her own room. + + + + +CHAPTER 25 + + +The visions of romance were over. Catherine was completely awakened. +Henry’s address, short as it had been, had more thoroughly opened her +eyes to the extravagance of her late fancies than all their several +disappointments had done. Most grievously was she humbled. Most +bitterly did she cry. It was not only with herself that she was +sunk—but with Henry. Her folly, which now seemed even criminal, was all +exposed to him, and he must despise her forever. The liberty which her +imagination had dared to take with the character of his father—could he +ever forgive it? The absurdity of her curiosity and her fears—could +they ever be forgotten? She hated herself more than she could express. +He had—she thought he had, once or twice before this fatal morning, +shown something like affection for her. But now—in short, she made +herself as miserable as possible for about half an hour, went down when +the clock struck five, with a broken heart, and could scarcely give an +intelligible answer to Eleanor’s inquiry if she was well. The +formidable Henry soon followed her into the room, and the only +difference in his behaviour to her was that he paid her rather more +attention than usual. Catherine had never wanted comfort more, and he +looked as if he was aware of it. + +The evening wore away with no abatement of this soothing politeness; +and her spirits were gradually raised to a modest tranquillity. She did +not learn either to forget or defend the past; but she learned to hope +that it would never transpire farther, and that it might not cost her +Henry’s entire regard. Her thoughts being still chiefly fixed on what +she had with such causeless terror felt and done, nothing could shortly +be clearer than that it had been all a voluntary, self-created +delusion, each trifling circumstance receiving importance from an +imagination resolved on alarm, and everything forced to bend to one +purpose by a mind which, before she entered the abbey, had been craving +to be frightened. She remembered with what feelings she had prepared +for a knowledge of Northanger. She saw that the infatuation had been +created, the mischief settled, long before her quitting Bath, and it +seemed as if the whole might be traced to the influence of that sort of +reading which she had there indulged. + +Charming as were all Mrs. Radcliffe’s works, and charming even as were +the works of all her imitators, it was not in them perhaps that human +nature, at least in the Midland counties of England, was to be looked +for. Of the Alps and Pyrenees, with their pine forests and their vices, +they might give a faithful delineation; and Italy, Switzerland, and the +south of France might be as fruitful in horrors as they were there +represented. Catherine dared not doubt beyond her own country, and even +of that, if hard pressed, would have yielded the northern and western +extremities. But in the central part of England there was surely some +security for the existence even of a wife not beloved, in the laws of +the land, and the manners of the age. Murder was not tolerated, +servants were not slaves, and neither poison nor sleeping potions to be +procured, like rhubarb, from every druggist. Among the Alps and +Pyrenees, perhaps, there were no mixed characters. There, such as were +not as spotless as an angel might have the dispositions of a fiend. But +in England it was not so; among the English, she believed, in their +hearts and habits, there was a general though unequal mixture of good +and bad. Upon this conviction, she would not be surprised if even in +Henry and Eleanor Tilney, some slight imperfection might hereafter +appear; and upon this conviction she need not fear to acknowledge some +actual specks in the character of their father, who, though cleared +from the grossly injurious suspicions which she must ever blush to have +entertained, she did believe, upon serious consideration, to be not +perfectly amiable. + +Her mind made up on these several points, and her resolution formed, of +always judging and acting in future with the greatest good sense, she +had nothing to do but to forgive herself and be happier than ever; and +the lenient hand of time did much for her by insensible gradations in +the course of another day. Henry’s astonishing generosity and nobleness +of conduct, in never alluding in the slightest way to what had passed, +was of the greatest assistance to her; and sooner than she could have +supposed it possible in the beginning of her distress, her spirits +became absolutely comfortable, and capable, as heretofore, of continual +improvement by anything he said. There were still some subjects, +indeed, under which she believed they must always tremble—the mention +of a chest or a cabinet, for instance—and she did not love the sight of +japan in any shape: but even _she_ could allow that an occasional +memento of past folly, however painful, might not be without use. + +The anxieties of common life began soon to succeed to the alarms of +romance. Her desire of hearing from Isabella grew every day greater. +She was quite impatient to know how the Bath world went on, and how the +rooms were attended; and especially was she anxious to be assured of +Isabella’s having matched some fine netting-cotton, on which she had +left her intent; and of her continuing on the best terms with James. +Her only dependence for information of any kind was on Isabella. James +had protested against writing to her till his return to Oxford; and +Mrs. Allen had given her no hopes of a letter till she had got back to +Fullerton. But Isabella had promised and promised again; and when she +promised a thing, she was so scrupulous in performing it! this made it +so particularly strange! + +For nine successive mornings, Catherine wondered over the repetition of +a disappointment, which each morning became more severe: but, on the +tenth, when she entered the breakfast-room, her first object was a +letter, held out by Henry’s willing hand. She thanked him as heartily +as if he had written it himself. “’Tis only from James, however,” as +she looked at the direction. She opened it; it was from Oxford; and to +this purpose: + +“Dear Catherine, + “Though, God knows, with little inclination for writing, I think it + my duty to tell you that everything is at an end between Miss + Thorpe and me. I left her and Bath yesterday, never to see either + again. I shall not enter into particulars—they would only pain you + more. You will soon hear enough from another quarter to know where + lies the blame; and I hope will acquit your brother of everything + but the folly of too easily thinking his affection returned. Thank + God! i am undeceived in time! but it is a heavy blow! after my + father’s consent had been so kindly given—but no more of this. She + has made me miserable forever! let me soon hear from you, dear + Catherine; you are my only friend; _your_ love I do build upon. I + wish your visit at Northanger may be over before Captain Tilney + makes his engagement known, or you will be uncomfortably + circumstanced. Poor Thorpe is in town: I dread the sight of him; + his honest heart would feel so much. I have written to him and my + father. Her duplicity hurts me more than all; till the very last, + if I reasoned with her, she declared herself as much attached to me + as ever, and laughed at my fears. I am ashamed to think how long I + bore with it; but if ever man had reason to believe himself loved, + I was that man. I cannot understand even now what she would be at, + for there could be no need of my being played off to make her + secure of Tilney. We parted at last by mutual consent—happy for me + had we never met! i can never expect to know such another woman! + Dearest Catherine, beware how you give your heart. + + +“Believe me,” &c. + + +Catherine had not read three lines before her sudden change of +countenance, and short exclamations of sorrowing wonder, declared her +to be receiving unpleasant news; and Henry, earnestly watching her +through the whole letter, saw plainly that it ended no better than it +began. He was prevented, however, from even looking his surprise by his +father’s entrance. They went to breakfast directly; but Catherine could +hardly eat anything. Tears filled her eyes, and even ran down her +cheeks as she sat. The letter was one moment in her hand, then in her +lap, and then in her pocket; and she looked as if she knew not what she +did. The General, between his cocoa and his newspaper, had luckily no +leisure for noticing her; but to the other two her distress was equally +visible. As soon as she dared leave the table she hurried away to her +own room; but the housemaids were busy in it, and she was obliged to +come down again. She turned into the drawing-room for privacy, but +Henry and Eleanor had likewise retreated thither, and were at that +moment deep in consultation about her. She drew back, trying to beg +their pardon, but was, with gentle violence, forced to return; and the +others withdrew, after Eleanor had affectionately expressed a wish of +being of use or comfort to her. + +After half an hour’s free indulgence of grief and reflection, Catherine +felt equal to encountering her friends; but whether she should make her +distress known to them was another consideration. Perhaps, if +particularly questioned, she might just give an idea—just distantly +hint at it—but not more. To expose a friend, such a friend as Isabella +had been to her—and then their own brother so closely concerned in it! +She believed she must waive the subject altogether. Henry and Eleanor +were by themselves in the breakfast-room; and each, as she entered it, +looked at her anxiously. Catherine took her place at the table, and, +after a short silence, Eleanor said, “No bad news from Fullerton, I +hope? Mr. and Mrs. Morland—your brothers and sisters—I hope they are +none of them ill?” + +“No, I thank you” (sighing as she spoke); “they are all very well. My +letter was from my brother at Oxford.” + +Nothing further was said for a few minutes; and then speaking through +her tears, she added, “I do not think I shall ever wish for a letter +again!” + +“I am sorry,” said Henry, closing the book he had just opened; “if I +had suspected the letter of containing anything unwelcome, I should +have given it with very different feelings.” + +“It contained something worse than anybody could suppose! poor James is +so unhappy! you will soon know why.” + +“To have so kind-hearted, so affectionate a sister,” replied Henry +warmly, “must be a comfort to him under any distress.” + +“I have one favour to beg,” said Catherine, shortly afterwards, in an +agitated manner, “that, if your brother should be coming here, you will +give me notice of it, that I may go away.” + +“Our brother! frederick!” + +“Yes; I am sure I should be very sorry to leave you so soon, but +something has happened that would make it very dreadful for me to be in +the same house with Captain Tilney.” + +Eleanor’s work was suspended while she gazed with increasing +astonishment; but Henry began to suspect the truth, and something, in +which Miss Thorpe’s name was included, passed his lips. + +“How quick you are!” cried Catherine: “you have guessed it, I declare! +And yet, when we talked about it in Bath, you little thought of its +ending so. Isabella—no wonder _now_ I have not heard from her—Isabella +has deserted my brother, and is to marry yours! could you have believed +there had been such inconstancy and fickleness, and everything that is +bad in the world?” + +“I hope, so far as concerns my brother, you are misinformed. I hope he +has not had any material share in bringing on Mr. Morland’s +disappointment. His marrying Miss Thorpe is not probable. I think you +must be deceived so far. I am very sorry for Mr. Morland—sorry that +anyone you love should be unhappy; but my surprise would be greater at +Frederick’s marrying her than at any other part of the story.” + +“It is very true, however; you shall read James’s letter yourself. +Stay—There is one part—” recollecting with a blush the last line. + +“Will you take the trouble of reading to us the passages which concern +my brother?” + +“No, read it yourself,” cried Catherine, whose second thoughts were +clearer. “I do not know what I was thinking of” (blushing again that +she had blushed before); “James only means to give me good advice.” + +He gladly received the letter, and, having read it through, with close +attention, returned it saying, “Well, if it is to be so, I can only say +that I am sorry for it. Frederick will not be the first man who has +chosen a wife with less sense than his family expected. I do not envy +his situation, either as a lover or a son.” + +Miss Tilney, at Catherine’s invitation, now read the letter likewise, +and, having expressed also her concern and surprise, began to inquire +into Miss Thorpe’s connections and fortune. + +“Her mother is a very good sort of woman,” was Catherine’s answer. + +“What was her father?” + +“A lawyer, I believe. They live at Putney.” + +“Are they a wealthy family?” + +“No, not very. I do not believe Isabella has any fortune at all: but +that will not signify in your family. Your father is so very liberal! +He told me the other day that he only valued money as it allowed him to +promote the happiness of his children.” The brother and sister looked +at each other. “But,” said Eleanor, after a short pause, “would it be +to promote his happiness, to enable him to marry such a girl? She must +be an unprincipled one, or she could not have used your brother so. And +how strange an infatuation on Frederick’s side! a girl who, before his +eyes, is violating an engagement voluntarily entered into with another +man! is not it inconceivable, Henry? Frederick too, who always wore his +heart so proudly! who found no woman good enough to be loved!” + +“That is the most unpromising circumstance, the strongest presumption +against him. When I think of his past declarations, I give him up. +Moreover, I have too good an opinion of Miss Thorpe’s prudence to +suppose that she would part with one gentleman before the other was +secured. It is all over with Frederick indeed! he is a deceased +man—defunct in understanding. Prepare for your sister-in-law, Eleanor, +and such a sister-in-law as you must delight in! open, candid, artless, +guileless, with affections strong but simple, forming no pretensions, +and knowing no disguise.” + +“Such a sister-in-law, Henry, I should delight in,” said Eleanor with a +smile. + +“But perhaps,” observed Catherine, “though she has behaved so ill by +our family, she may behave better by yours. Now she has really got the +man she likes, she may be constant.” + +“Indeed I am afraid she will,” replied Henry; “I am afraid she will be +very constant, unless a baronet should come in her way; that is +Frederick’s only chance. I will get the Bath paper, and look over the +arrivals.” + +“You think it is all for ambition, then? And, upon my word, there are +some things that seem very like it. I cannot forget that, when she +first knew what my father would do for them, she seemed quite +disappointed that it was not more. I never was so deceived in anyone’s +character in my life before.” + +“Among all the great variety that you have known and studied.” + +“My own disappointment and loss in her is very great; but, as for poor +James, I suppose he will hardly ever recover it.” + +“Your brother is certainly very much to be pitied at present; but we +must not, in our concern for his sufferings, undervalue yours. You +feel, I suppose, that in losing Isabella, you lose half yourself: you +feel a void in your heart which nothing else can occupy. Society is +becoming irksome; and as for the amusements in which you were wont to +share at Bath, the very idea of them without her is abhorrent. You +would not, for instance, now go to a ball for the world. You feel that +you have no longer any friend to whom you can speak with unreserve, on +whose regard you can place dependence, or whose counsel, in any +difficulty, you could rely on. You feel all this?” + +“No,” said Catherine, after a few moments’ reflection, “I do not—ought +I? To say the truth, though I am hurt and grieved, that I cannot still +love her, that I am never to hear from her, perhaps never to see her +again, I do not feel so very, very much afflicted as one would have +thought.” + +“You feel, as you always do, what is most to the credit of human +nature. Such feelings ought to be investigated, that they may know +themselves.” + +Catherine, by some chance or other, found her spirits so very much +relieved by this conversation that she could not regret her being led +on, though so unaccountably, to mention the circumstance which had +produced it. + + + + +CHAPTER 26 + + +From this time, the subject was frequently canvassed by the three young +people; and Catherine found, with some surprise, that her two young +friends were perfectly agreed in considering Isabella’s want of +consequence and fortune as likely to throw great difficulties in the +way of her marrying their brother. Their persuasion that the General +would, upon this ground alone, independent of the objection that might +be raised against her character, oppose the connection, turned her +feelings moreover with some alarm towards herself. She was as +insignificant, and perhaps as portionless, as Isabella; and if the heir +of the Tilney property had not grandeur and wealth enough in himself, +at what point of interest were the demands of his younger brother to +rest? The very painful reflections to which this thought led could only +be dispersed by a dependence on the effect of that particular +partiality, which, as she was given to understand by his words as well +as his actions, she had from the first been so fortunate as to excite +in the General; and by a recollection of some most generous and +disinterested sentiments on the subject of money, which she had more +than once heard him utter, and which tempted her to think his +disposition in such matters misunderstood by his children. + +They were so fully convinced, however, that their brother would not +have the courage to apply in person for his father’s consent, and so +repeatedly assured her that he had never in his life been less likely +to come to Northanger than at the present time, that she suffered her +mind to be at ease as to the necessity of any sudden removal of her +own. But as it was not to be supposed that Captain Tilney, whenever he +made his application, would give his father any just idea of Isabella’s +conduct, it occurred to her as highly expedient that Henry should lay +the whole business before him as it really was, enabling the General by +that means to form a cool and impartial opinion, and prepare his +objections on a fairer ground than inequality of situations. She +proposed it to him accordingly; but he did not catch at the measure so +eagerly as she had expected. “No,” said he, “my father’s hands need not +be strengthened, and Frederick’s confession of folly need not be +forestalled. He must tell his own story.” + +“But he will tell only half of it.” + +“A quarter would be enough.” + +A day or two passed away and brought no tidings of Captain Tilney. His +brother and sister knew not what to think. Sometimes it appeared to +them as if his silence would be the natural result of the suspected +engagement, and at others that it was wholly incompatible with it. The +General, meanwhile, though offended every morning by Frederick’s +remissness in writing, was free from any real anxiety about him, and +had no more pressing solicitude than that of making Miss Morland’s time +at Northanger pass pleasantly. He often expressed his uneasiness on +this head, feared the sameness of every day’s society and employments +would disgust her with the place, wished the Lady Frasers had been in +the country, talked every now and then of having a large party to +dinner, and once or twice began even to calculate the number of young +dancing people in the neighbourhood. But then it was such a dead time +of year, no wild-fowl, no game, and the Lady Frasers were not in the +country. And it all ended, at last, in his telling Henry one morning +that when he next went to Woodston, they would take him by surprise +there some day or other, and eat their mutton with him. Henry was +greatly honoured and very happy, and Catherine was quite delighted with +the scheme. “And when do you think, sir, I may look forward to this +pleasure? I must be at Woodston on Monday to attend the parish meeting, +and shall probably be obliged to stay two or three days.” + +“Well, well, we will take our chance some one of those days. There is +no need to fix. You are not to put yourself at all out of your way. +Whatever you may happen to have in the house will be enough. I think I +can answer for the young ladies making allowance for a bachelor’s +table. Let me see; Monday will be a busy day with you, we will not come +on Monday; and Tuesday will be a busy one with me. I expect my surveyor +from Brockham with his report in the morning; and afterwards I cannot +in decency fail attending the club. I really could not face my +acquaintance if I stayed away now; for, as I am known to be in the +country, it would be taken exceedingly amiss; and it is a rule with me, +Miss Morland, never to give offence to any of my neighbours, if a small +sacrifice of time and attention can prevent it. They are a set of very +worthy men. They have half a buck from Northanger twice a year; and I +dine with them whenever I can. Tuesday, therefore, we may say is out of +the question. But on Wednesday, I think, Henry, you may expect us; and +we shall be with you early, that we may have time to look about us. Two +hours and three quarters will carry us to Woodston, I suppose; we shall +be in the carriage by ten; so, about a quarter before one on Wednesday, +you may look for us.” + +A ball itself could not have been more welcome to Catherine than this +little excursion, so strong was her desire to be acquainted with +Woodston; and her heart was still bounding with joy when Henry, about +an hour afterwards, came booted and greatcoated into the room where she +and Eleanor were sitting, and said, “I am come, young ladies, in a very +moralizing strain, to observe that our pleasures in this world are +always to be paid for, and that we often purchase them at a great +disadvantage, giving ready-monied actual happiness for a draft on the +future, that may not be honoured. Witness myself, at this present hour. +Because I am to hope for the satisfaction of seeing you at Woodston on +Wednesday, which bad weather, or twenty other causes, may prevent, I +must go away directly, two days before I intended it.” + +“Go away!” said Catherine, with a very long face. “And why?” + +“Why! how can you ask the question? Because no time is to be lost in +frightening my old housekeeper out of her wits, because I must go and +prepare a dinner for you, to be sure.” + +“Oh! not seriously!” + +“Aye, and sadly too—for I had much rather stay.” + +“But how can you think of such a thing, after what the General said? +When he so particularly desired you not to give yourself any trouble, +because _anything_ would do.” + +Henry only smiled. “I am sure it is quite unnecessary upon your +sister’s account and mine. You must know it to be so; and the General +made such a point of your providing nothing extraordinary: besides, if +he had not said half so much as he did, he has always such an excellent +dinner at home, that sitting down to a middling one for one day could +not signify.” + +“I wish I could reason like you, for his sake and my own. Good-bye. As +to-morrow is Sunday, Eleanor, I shall not return.” + +He went; and, it being at any time a much simpler operation to +Catherine to doubt her own judgment than Henry’s, she was very soon +obliged to give him credit for being right, however disagreeable to her +his going. But the inexplicability of the General’s conduct dwelt much +on her thoughts. That he was very particular in his eating, she had, by +her own unassisted observation, already discovered; but why he should +say one thing so positively, and mean another all the while, was most +unaccountable! how were people, at that rate, to be understood? Who but +Henry could have been aware of what his father was at? + +From Saturday to Wednesday, however, they were now to be without Henry. +This was the sad finale of every reflection: and Captain Tilney’s +letter would certainly come in his absence; and Wednesday she was very +sure would be wet. The past, present, and future were all equally in +gloom. Her brother so unhappy, and her loss in Isabella so great; and +Eleanor’s spirits always affected by Henry’s absence! what was there to +interest or amuse her? She was tired of the woods and the +shrubberies—always so smooth and so dry; and the abbey in itself was no +more to her now than any other house. The painful remembrance of the +folly it had helped to nourish and perfect was the only emotion which +could spring from a consideration of the building. What a revolution in +her ideas! she, who had so longed to be in an abbey! now, there was +nothing so charming to her imagination as the unpretending comfort of a +well-connected parsonage, something like Fullerton, but better: +Fullerton had its faults, but Woodston probably had none. If Wednesday +should ever come! + +It did come, and exactly when it might be reasonably looked for. It +came—it was fine—and Catherine trod on air. By ten o’clock, the chaise +and four conveyed the trio from the abbey; and, after an agreeable +drive of almost twenty miles, they entered Woodston, a large and +populous village, in a situation not unpleasant. Catherine was ashamed +to say how pretty she thought it, as the General seemed to think an +apology necessary for the flatness of the country, and the size of the +village; but in her heart she preferred it to any place she had ever +been at, and looked with great admiration at every neat house above the +rank of a cottage, and at all the little chandler’s shops which they +passed. At the further end of the village, and tolerably disengaged +from the rest of it, stood the parsonage, a new-built substantial stone +house, with its semicircular sweep and green gates; and, as they drove +up to the door, Henry, with the friends of his solitude, a large +Newfoundland puppy and two or three terriers, was ready to receive and +make much of them. + +Catherine’s mind was too full, as she entered the house, for her either +to observe or to say a great deal; and, till called on by the General +for her opinion of it, she had very little idea of the room in which +she was sitting. Upon looking round it then, she perceived in a moment +that it was the most comfortable room in the world; but she was too +guarded to say so, and the coldness of her praise disappointed him. + +“We are not calling it a good house,” said he. “We are not comparing it +with Fullerton and Northanger—we are considering it as a mere +parsonage, small and confined, we allow, but decent, perhaps, and +habitable; and altogether not inferior to the generality; or, in other +words, I believe there are few country parsonages in England half so +good. It may admit of improvement, however. Far be it from me to say +otherwise; and anything in reason—a bow thrown out, perhaps—though, +between ourselves, if there is one thing more than another my aversion, +it is a patched-on bow.” + +Catherine did not hear enough of this speech to understand or be pained +by it; and other subjects being studiously brought forward and +supported by Henry, at the same time that a tray full of refreshments +was introduced by his servant, the General was shortly restored to his +complacency, and Catherine to all her usual ease of spirits. + +The room in question was of a commodious, well-proportioned size, and +handsomely fitted up as a dining-parlour; and on their quitting it to +walk round the grounds, she was shown, first into a smaller apartment, +belonging peculiarly to the master of the house, and made unusually +tidy on the occasion; and afterwards into what was to be the +drawing-room, with the appearance of which, though unfurnished, +Catherine was delighted enough even to satisfy the General. It was a +prettily shaped room, the windows reaching to the ground, and the view +from them pleasant, though only over green meadows; and she expressed +her admiration at the moment with all the honest simplicity with which +she felt it. “Oh! why do not you fit up this room, Mr. Tilney? What a +pity not to have it fitted up! it is the prettiest room I ever saw; it +is the prettiest room in the world!” + +“I trust,” said the General, with a most satisfied smile, “that it will +very speedily be furnished: it waits only for a lady’s taste!” + +“Well, if it was my house, I should never sit anywhere else. Oh! what a +sweet little cottage there is among the trees—apple trees, too! it is +the prettiest cottage!” + +“You like it—you approve it as an object—it is enough. Henry, remember +that Robinson is spoken to about it. The cottage remains.” + +Such a compliment recalled all Catherine’s consciousness, and silenced +her directly; and, though pointedly applied to by the General for her +choice of the prevailing colour of the paper and hangings, nothing like +an opinion on the subject could be drawn from her. The influence of +fresh objects and fresh air, however, was of great use in dissipating +these embarrassing associations; and, having reached the ornamental +part of the premises, consisting of a walk round two sides of a meadow, +on which Henry’s genius had begun to act about half a year ago, she was +sufficiently recovered to think it prettier than any pleasure-ground +she had ever been in before, though there was not a shrub in it higher +than the green bench in the corner. + +A saunter into other meadows, and through part of the village, with a +visit to the stables to examine some improvements, and a charming game +of play with a litter of puppies just able to roll about, brought them +to four o’clock, when Catherine scarcely thought it could be three. At +four they were to dine, and at six to set off on their return. Never +had any day passed so quickly! + +She could not but observe that the abundance of the dinner did not seem +to create the smallest astonishment in the General; nay, that he was +even looking at the side-table for cold meat which was not there. His +son and daughter’s observations were of a different kind. They had +seldom seen him eat so heartily at any table but his own, and never +before known him so little disconcerted by the melted butter’s being +oiled. + +At six o’clock, the General having taken his coffee, the carriage again +received them; and so gratifying had been the tenor of his conduct +throughout the whole visit, so well assured was her mind on the subject +of his expectations, that, could she have felt equally confident of the +wishes of his son, Catherine would have quitted Woodston with little +anxiety as to the How or the When she might return to it. + + + + +CHAPTER 27 + + +The next morning brought the following very unexpected letter from +Isabella: + +_Bath, April_ + + +My dearest Catherine, + I received your two kind letters with the greatest delight, and + have a thousand apologies to make for not answering them sooner. I + really am quite ashamed of my idleness; but in this horrid place + one can find time for nothing. I have had my pen in my hand to + begin a letter to you almost every day since you left Bath, but + have always been prevented by some silly trifler or other. Pray + write to me soon, and direct to my own home. Thank God, we leave + this vile place to-morrow. Since you went away, I have had no + pleasure in it—the dust is beyond anything; and everybody one cares + for is gone. I believe if I could see you I should not mind the + rest, for you are dearer to me than anybody can conceive. I am + quite uneasy about your dear brother, not having heard from him + since he went to Oxford; and am fearful of some misunderstanding. + Your kind offices will set all right: he is the only man I ever did + or could love, and I trust you will convince him of it. The spring + fashions are partly down; and the hats the most frightful you can + imagine. I hope you spend your time pleasantly, but am afraid you + never think of me. I will not say all that I could of the family + you are with, because I would not be ungenerous, or set you against + those you esteem; but it is very difficult to know whom to trust, + and young men never know their minds two days together. I rejoice + to say that the young man whom, of all others, I particularly + abhor, has left Bath. You will know, from this description, I must + mean Captain Tilney, who, as you may remember, was amazingly + disposed to follow and tease me, before you went away. Afterwards + he got worse, and became quite my shadow. Many girls might have + been taken in, for never were such attentions; but I knew the + fickle sex too well. He went away to his regiment two days ago, and + I trust I shall never be plagued with him again. He is the greatest + coxcomb I ever saw, and amazingly disagreeable. The last two days + he was always by the side of Charlotte Davis: I pitied his taste, + but took no notice of him. The last time we met was in Bath Street, + and I turned directly into a shop that he might not speak to me; I + would not even look at him. He went into the pump-room afterwards; + but I would not have followed him for all the world. Such a + contrast between him and your brother! pray send me some news of + the latter—I am quite unhappy about him; he seemed so uncomfortable + when he went away, with a cold, or something that affected his + spirits. I would write to him myself, but have mislaid his + direction; and, as I hinted above, am afraid he took something in + my conduct amiss. Pray explain everything to his satisfaction; or, + if he still harbours any doubt, a line from himself to me, or a + call at Putney when next in town, might set all to rights. I have + not been to the Rooms this age, nor to the play, except going in + last night with the Hodges, for a frolic, at half price: they + teased me into it; and I was determined they should not say I shut + myself up because Tilney was gone. We happened to sit by the + Mitchells, and they pretended to be quite surprised to see me out. + I knew their spite: at one time they could not be civil to me, but + now they are all friendship; but I am not such a fool as to be + taken in by them. You know I have a pretty good spirit of my own. + Anne Mitchell had tried to put on a turban like mine, as I wore it + the week before at the Concert, but made wretched work of it—it + happened to become my odd face, I believe, at least Tilney told me + so at the time, and said every eye was upon me; but he is the last + man whose word I would take. I wear nothing but purple now: I know + I look hideous in it, but no matter—it is your dear brother’s + favourite colour. Lose no time, my dearest, sweetest Catherine, in + writing to him and to me, + + +Who ever am, etc. + + +Such a strain of shallow artifice could not impose even upon Catherine. +Its inconsistencies, contradictions, and falsehood struck her from the +very first. She was ashamed of Isabella, and ashamed of having ever +loved her. Her professions of attachment were now as disgusting as her +excuses were empty, and her demands impudent. “Write to James on her +behalf! no, James should never hear Isabella’s name mentioned by her +again.” + +On Henry’s arrival from Woodston, she made known to him and Eleanor +their brother’s safety, congratulating them with sincerity on it, and +reading aloud the most material passages of her letter with strong +indignation. When she had finished it—“So much for Isabella,” she +cried, “and for all our intimacy! she must think me an idiot, or she +could not have written so; but perhaps this has served to make her +character better known to me than mine is to her. I see what she has +been about. She is a vain coquette, and her tricks have not answered. I +do not believe she had ever any regard either for James or for me, and +I wish I had never known her.” + +“It will soon be as if you never had,” said Henry. + +“There is but one thing that I cannot understand. I see that she has +had designs on Captain Tilney, which have not succeeded; but I do not +understand what Captain Tilney has been about all this time. Why should +he pay her such attentions as to make her quarrel with my brother, and +then fly off himself?” + +“I have very little to say for Frederick’s motives, such as I believe +them to have been. He has his vanities as well as Miss Thorpe, and the +chief difference is, that, having a stronger head, they have not yet +injured himself. If the _effect_ of his behaviour does not justify him +with you, we had better not seek after the cause.” + +“Then you do not suppose he ever really cared about her?” + +“I am persuaded that he never did.” + +“And only made believe to do so for mischief’s sake?” + +Henry bowed his assent. + +“Well, then, I must say that I do not like him at all. Though it has +turned out so well for us, I do not like him at all. As it happens, +there is no great harm done, because I do not think Isabella has any +heart to lose. But, suppose he had made her very much in love with +him?” + +“But we must first suppose Isabella to have had a heart to +lose—consequently to have been a very different creature; and, in that +case, she would have met with very different treatment.” + +“It is very right that you should stand by your brother.” + +“And if you would stand by _yours_, you would not be much distressed by +the disappointment of Miss Thorpe. But your mind is warped by an innate +principle of general integrity, and therefore not accessible to the +cool reasonings of family partiality, or a desire of revenge.” + +Catherine was complimented out of further bitterness. Frederick could +not be unpardonably guilty, while Henry made himself so agreeable. She +resolved on not answering Isabella’s letter, and tried to think no more +of it. + + + + +CHAPTER 28 + + +Soon after this, the General found himself obliged to go to London for +a week; and he left Northanger earnestly regretting that any necessity +should rob him even for an hour of Miss Morland’s company, and +anxiously recommending the study of her comfort and amusement to his +children as their chief object in his absence. His departure gave +Catherine the first experimental conviction that a loss may be +sometimes a gain. The happiness with which their time now passed, every +employment voluntary, every laugh indulged, every meal a scene of ease +and good humour, walking where they liked and when they liked, their +hours, pleasures, and fatigues at their own command, made her +thoroughly sensible of the restraint which the General’s presence had +imposed, and most thankfully feel their present release from it. Such +ease and such delights made her love the place and the people more and +more every day; and had it not been for a dread of its soon becoming +expedient to leave the one, and an apprehension of not being equally +beloved by the other, she would at each moment of each day have been +perfectly happy; but she was now in the fourth week of her visit; +before the General came home, the fourth week would be turned, and +perhaps it might seem an intrusion if she stayed much longer. This was +a painful consideration whenever it occurred; and eager to get rid of +such a weight on her mind, she very soon resolved to speak to Eleanor +about it at once, propose going away, and be guided in her conduct by +the manner in which her proposal might be taken. + +Aware that if she gave herself much time, she might feel it difficult +to bring forward so unpleasant a subject, she took the first +opportunity of being suddenly alone with Eleanor, and of Eleanor’s +being in the middle of a speech about something very different, to +start forth her obligation of going away very soon. Eleanor looked and +declared herself much concerned. She had “hoped for the pleasure of her +company for a much longer time—had been misled (perhaps by her wishes) +to suppose that a much longer visit had been promised—and could not but +think that if Mr. and Mrs. Morland were aware of the pleasure it was to +her to have her there, they would be too generous to hasten her +return.” Catherine explained: “Oh! as to _that_, Papa and Mamma were in +no hurry at all. As long as she was happy, they would always be +satisfied.” + +“Then why, might she ask, in such a hurry herself to leave them?” + +“Oh! because she had been there so long.” + +“Nay, if you can use such a word, I can urge you no farther. If you +think it long—” + +“Oh! no, I do not indeed. For my own pleasure, I could stay with you as +long again.” And it was directly settled that, till she had, her +leaving them was not even to be thought of. In having this cause of +uneasiness so pleasantly removed, the force of the other was likewise +weakened. The kindness, the earnestness of Eleanor’s manner in pressing +her to stay, and Henry’s gratified look on being told that her stay was +determined, were such sweet proofs of her importance with them, as left +her only just so much solicitude as the human mind can never do +comfortably without. She did—almost always—believe that Henry loved +her, and quite always that his father and sister loved and even wished +her to belong to them; and believing so far, her doubts and anxieties +were merely sportive irritations. + +Henry was not able to obey his father’s injunction of remaining wholly +at Northanger in attendance on the ladies, during his absence in +London, the engagements of his curate at Woodston obliging him to leave +them on Saturday for a couple of nights. His loss was not now what it +had been while the General was at home; it lessened their gaiety, but +did not ruin their comfort; and the two girls agreeing in occupation, +and improving in intimacy, found themselves so well sufficient for the +time to themselves, that it was eleven o’clock, rather a late hour at +the abbey, before they quitted the supper-room on the day of Henry’s +departure. They had just reached the head of the stairs when it seemed, +as far as the thickness of the walls would allow them to judge, that a +carriage was driving up to the door, and the next moment confirmed the +idea by the loud noise of the house-bell. After the first perturbation +of surprise had passed away, in a “Good heaven! what can be the +matter?” it was quickly decided by Eleanor to be her eldest brother, +whose arrival was often as sudden, if not quite so unseasonable, and +accordingly she hurried down to welcome him. + +Catherine walked on to her chamber, making up her mind as well as she +could, to a further acquaintance with Captain Tilney, and comforting +herself under the unpleasant impression his conduct had given her, and +the persuasion of his being by far too fine a gentleman to approve of +her, that at least they should not meet under such circumstances as +would make their meeting materially painful. She trusted he would never +speak of Miss Thorpe; and indeed, as he must by this time be ashamed of +the part he had acted, there could be no danger of it; and as long as +all mention of Bath scenes were avoided, she thought she could behave +to him very civilly. In such considerations time passed away, and it +was certainly in his favour that Eleanor should be so glad to see him, +and have so much to say, for half an hour was almost gone since his +arrival, and Eleanor did not come up. + +At that moment Catherine thought she heard her step in the gallery, and +listened for its continuance; but all was silent. Scarcely, however, +had she convicted her fancy of error, when the noise of something +moving close to her door made her start; it seemed as if someone was +touching the very doorway—and in another moment a slight motion of the +lock proved that some hand must be on it. She trembled a little at the +idea of anyone’s approaching so cautiously; but resolving not to be +again overcome by trivial appearances of alarm, or misled by a raised +imagination, she stepped quietly forward, and opened the door. Eleanor, +and only Eleanor, stood there. Catherine’s spirits, however, were +tranquillized but for an instant, for Eleanor’s cheeks were pale, and +her manner greatly agitated. Though evidently intending to come in, it +seemed an effort to enter the room, and a still greater to speak when +there. Catherine, supposing some uneasiness on Captain Tilney’s +account, could only express her concern by silent attention, obliged +her to be seated, rubbed her temples with lavender water, and hung over +her with affectionate solicitude. “My dear Catherine, you must not—you +must not indeed—” were Eleanor’s first connected words. “I am quite +well. This kindness distracts me—I cannot bear it—I come to you on such +an errand!” + +“Errand! to me!” + +“How shall I tell you! oh! how shall I tell you!” + +A new idea now darted into Catherine’s mind, and turning as pale as her +friend, she exclaimed, “’Tis a messenger from Woodston!” + +“You are mistaken, indeed,” returned Eleanor, looking at her most +compassionately; “it is no one from Woodston. It is my father himself.” +Her voice faltered, and her eyes were turned to the ground as she +mentioned his name. His unlooked-for return was enough in itself to +make Catherine’s heart sink, and for a few moments she hardly supposed +there were anything worse to be told. She said nothing; and Eleanor, +endeavouring to collect herself and speak with firmness, but with eyes +still cast down, soon went on. “You are too good, I am sure, to think +the worse of me for the part I am obliged to perform. I am indeed a +most unwilling messenger. After what has so lately passed, so lately +been settled between us—how joyfully, how thankfully on my side!—as to +your continuing here as I hoped for many, many weeks longer, how can I +tell you that your kindness is not to be accepted—and that the +happiness your company has hitherto given us is to be repaid by—But I +must not trust myself with words. My dear Catherine, we are to part. My +father has recollected an engagement that takes our whole family away +on Monday. We are going to Lord Longtown’s, near Hereford, for a +fortnight. Explanation and apology are equally impossible. I cannot +attempt either.” + +“My dear Eleanor,” cried Catherine, suppressing her feelings as well as +she could, “do not be so distressed. A second engagement must give way +to a first. I am very, very sorry we are to part—so soon, and so +suddenly too; but I am not offended, indeed I am not. I can finish my +visit here, you know, at any time; or I hope you will come to me. Can +you, when you return from this lord’s, come to Fullerton?” + +“It will not be in my power, Catherine.” + +“Come when you can, then.” + +Eleanor made no answer; and Catherine’s thoughts recurring to something +more directly interesting, she added, thinking aloud, “Monday—so soon +as Monday; and you _all_ go. Well, I am certain of—I shall be able to +take leave, however. I need not go till just before you do, you know. +Do not be distressed, Eleanor, I can go on Monday very well. My father +and mother’s having no notice of it is of very little consequence. The +General will send a servant with me, I dare say, half the way—and then +I shall soon be at Salisbury, and then I am only nine miles from home.” + +“Ah, Catherine! were it settled so, it would be somewhat less +intolerable, though in such common attentions you would have received +but half what you ought. But—how can I tell you?—to-morrow morning is +fixed for your leaving us, and not even the hour is left to your +choice; the very carriage is ordered, and will be here at seven +o’clock, and no servant will be offered you.” + +Catherine sat down, breathless and speechless. “I could hardly believe +my senses, when I heard it; and no displeasure, no resentment that you +can feel at this moment, however justly great, can be more than I +myself—but I must not talk of what I felt. Oh! that I could suggest +anything in extenuation! good God! what will your father and mother +say! after courting you from the protection of real friends to +this—almost double distance from your home, to have you driven out of +the house, without the considerations even of decent civility! dear, +dear Catherine, in being the bearer of such a message, I seem guilty +myself of all its insult; yet, I trust you will acquit me, for you must +have been long enough in this house to see that I am but a nominal +mistress of it, that my real power is nothing.” + +“Have I offended the General?” said Catherine in a faltering voice. + +“Alas! for my feelings as a daughter, all that I know, all that I +answer for, is that you can have given him no just cause of offence. He +certainly is greatly, very greatly discomposed; I have seldom seen him +more so. His temper is not happy, and something has now occurred to +ruffle it in an uncommon degree; some disappointment, some vexation, +which just at this moment seems important, but which I can hardly +suppose you to have any concern in, for how is it possible?” + +It was with pain that Catherine could speak at all; and it was only for +Eleanor’s sake that she attempted it. “I am sure,” said she, “I am very +sorry if I have offended him. It was the last thing I would willingly +have done. But do not be unhappy, Eleanor. An engagement, you know, +must be kept. I am only sorry it was not recollected sooner, that I +might have written home. But it is of very little consequence.” + +“I hope, I earnestly hope, that to your real safety it will be of none; +but to everything else it is of the greatest consequence: to comfort, +appearance, propriety, to your family, to the world. Were your friends, +the Allens, still in Bath, you might go to them with comparative ease; +a few hours would take you there; but a journey of seventy miles, to be +taken post by you, at your age, alone, unattended!” + +“Oh, the journey is nothing. Do not think about that. And if we are to +part, a few hours sooner or later, you know, makes no difference. I can +be ready by seven. Let me be called in time.” Eleanor saw that she +wished to be alone; and believing it better for each that they should +avoid any further conversation, now left her with, “I shall see you in +the morning.” + +Catherine’s swelling heart needed relief. In Eleanor’s presence +friendship and pride had equally restrained her tears, but no sooner +was she gone than they burst forth in torrents. Turned from the house, +and in such a way! without any reason that could justify, any apology +that could atone for the abruptness, the rudeness, nay, the insolence +of it. Henry at a distance—not able even to bid him farewell. Every +hope, every expectation from him suspended, at least, and who could say +how long? Who could say when they might meet again? And all this by +such a man as General Tilney, so polite, so well bred, and heretofore +so particularly fond of her! it was as incomprehensible as it was +mortifying and grievous. From what it could arise, and where it would +end, were considerations of equal perplexity and alarm. The manner in +which it was done so grossly uncivil, hurrying her away without any +reference to her own convenience, or allowing her even the appearance +of choice as to the time or mode of her travelling; of two days, the +earliest fixed on, and of that almost the earliest hour, as if resolved +to have her gone before he was stirring in the morning, that he might +not be obliged even to see her. What could all this mean but an +intentional affront? By some means or other she must have had the +misfortune to offend him. Eleanor had wished to spare her from so +painful a notion, but Catherine could not believe it possible that any +injury or any misfortune could provoke such ill will against a person +not connected, or, at least, not supposed to be connected with it. + +Heavily passed the night. Sleep, or repose that deserved the name of +sleep, was out of the question. That room, in which her disturbed +imagination had tormented her on her first arrival, was again the scene +of agitated spirits and unquiet slumbers. Yet how different now the +source of her inquietude from what it had been then—how mournfully +superior in reality and substance! her anxiety had foundation in fact, +her fears in probability; and with a mind so occupied in the +contemplation of actual and natural evil, the solitude of her +situation, the darkness of her chamber, the antiquity of the building, +were felt and considered without the smallest emotion; and though the +wind was high, and often produced strange and sudden noises throughout +the house, she heard it all as she lay awake, hour after hour, without +curiosity or terror. + +Soon after six Eleanor entered her room, eager to show attention or +give assistance where it was possible; but very little remained to be +done. Catherine had not loitered; she was almost dressed, and her +packing almost finished. The possibility of some conciliatory message +from the General occurred to her as his daughter appeared. What so +natural, as that anger should pass away and repentance succeed it? And +she only wanted to know how far, after what had passed, an apology +might properly be received by her. But the knowledge would have been +useless here; it was not called for; neither clemency nor dignity was +put to the trial—Eleanor brought no message. Very little passed between +them on meeting; each found her greatest safety in silence, and few and +trivial were the sentences exchanged while they remained upstairs, +Catherine in busy agitation completing her dress, and Eleanor with more +goodwill than experience intent upon filling the trunk. When everything +was done they left the room, Catherine lingering only half a minute +behind her friend to throw a parting glance on every well-known, +cherished object, and went down to the breakfast-parlour, where +breakfast was prepared. She tried to eat, as well to save herself from +the pain of being urged as to make her friend comfortable; but she had +no appetite, and could not swallow many mouthfuls. The contrast between +this and her last breakfast in that room gave her fresh misery, and +strengthened her distaste for everything before her. It was not four +and twenty hours ago since they had met there to the same repast, but +in circumstances how different! with what cheerful ease, what happy, +though false, security, had she then looked around her, enjoying +everything present, and fearing little in future, beyond Henry’s going +to Woodston for a day! happy, happy breakfast! for Henry had been +there; Henry had sat by her and helped her. These reflections were long +indulged undisturbed by any address from her companion, who sat as deep +in thought as herself; and the appearance of the carriage was the first +thing to startle and recall them to the present moment. Catherine’s +colour rose at the sight of it; and the indignity with which she was +treated, striking at that instant on her mind with peculiar force, made +her for a short time sensible only of resentment. Eleanor seemed now +impelled into resolution and speech. + +“You _must_ write to me, Catherine,” she cried; “you _must_ let me hear +from you as soon as possible. Till I know you to be safe at home, I +shall not have an hour’s comfort. For _one_ letter, at all risks, all +hazards, I must entreat. Let me have the satisfaction of knowing that +you are safe at Fullerton, and have found your family well, and then, +till I can ask for your correspondence as I ought to do, I will not +expect more. Direct to me at Lord Longtown’s, and, I must ask it, under +cover to Alice.” + +“No, Eleanor, if you are not allowed to receive a letter from me, I am +sure I had better not write. There can be no doubt of my getting home +safe.” + +Eleanor only replied, “I cannot wonder at your feelings. I will not +importune you. I will trust to your own kindness of heart when I am at +a distance from you.” But this, with the look of sorrow accompanying +it, was enough to melt Catherine’s pride in a moment, and she instantly +said, “Oh, Eleanor, I _will_ write to you indeed.” + +There was yet another point which Miss Tilney was anxious to settle, +though somewhat embarrassed in speaking of. It had occurred to her that +after so long an absence from home, Catherine might not be provided +with money enough for the expenses of her journey, and, upon suggesting +it to her with most affectionate offers of accommodation, it proved to +be exactly the case. Catherine had never thought on the subject till +that moment, but, upon examining her purse, was convinced that but for +this kindness of her friend, she might have been turned from the house +without even the means of getting home; and the distress in which she +must have been thereby involved filling the minds of both, scarcely +another word was said by either during the time of their remaining +together. Short, however, was that time. The carriage was soon +announced to be ready; and Catherine, instantly rising, a long and +affectionate embrace supplied the place of language in bidding each +other adieu; and, as they entered the hall, unable to leave the house +without some mention of one whose name had not yet been spoken by +either, she paused a moment, and with quivering lips just made it +intelligible that she left “her kind remembrance for her absent +friend.” But with this approach to his name ended all possibility of +restraining her feelings; and, hiding her face as well as she could +with her handkerchief, she darted across the hall, jumped into the +chaise, and in a moment was driven from the door. + + + + +CHAPTER 29 + + +Catherine was too wretched to be fearful. The journey in itself had no +terrors for her; and she began it without either dreading its length or +feeling its solitariness. Leaning back in one corner of the carriage, +in a violent burst of tears, she was conveyed some miles beyond the +walls of the abbey before she raised her head; and the highest point of +ground within the park was almost closed from her view before she was +capable of turning her eyes towards it. Unfortunately, the road she now +travelled was the same which only ten days ago she had so happily +passed along in going to and from Woodston; and, for fourteen miles, +every bitter feeling was rendered more severe by the review of objects +on which she had first looked under impressions so different. Every +mile, as it brought her nearer Woodston, added to her sufferings, and +when within the distance of five, she passed the turning which led to +it, and thought of Henry, so near, yet so unconscious, her grief and +agitation were excessive. + +The day which she had spent at that place had been one of the happiest +of her life. It was there, it was on that day, that the General had +made use of such expressions with regard to Henry and herself, had so +spoken and so looked as to give her the most positive conviction of his +actually wishing their marriage. Yes, only ten days ago had he elated +her by his pointed regard—had he even confused her by his too +significant reference! and now—what had she done, or what had she +omitted to do, to merit such a change? + +The only offence against him of which she could accuse herself had been +such as was scarcely possible to reach his knowledge. Henry and her own +heart only were privy to the shocking suspicions which she had so idly +entertained; and equally safe did she believe her secret with each. +Designedly, at least, Henry could not have betrayed her. If, indeed, by +any strange mischance his father should have gained intelligence of +what she had dared to think and look for, of her causeless fancies and +injurious examinations, she could not wonder at any degree of his +indignation. If aware of her having viewed him as a murderer, she could +not wonder at his even turning her from his house. But a justification +so full of torture to herself, she trusted, would not be in his power. + +Anxious as were all her conjectures on this point, it was not, however, +the one on which she dwelt most. There was a thought yet nearer, a more +prevailing, more impetuous concern. How Henry would think, and feel, +and look, when he returned on the morrow to Northanger and heard of her +being gone, was a question of force and interest to rise over every +other, to be never ceasing, alternately irritating and soothing; it +sometimes suggested the dread of his calm acquiescence, and at others +was answered by the sweetest confidence in his regret and resentment. +To the General, of course, he would not dare to speak; but to +Eleanor—what might he not say to Eleanor about her? + +In this unceasing recurrence of doubts and inquiries, on any one +article of which her mind was incapable of more than momentary repose, +the hours passed away, and her journey advanced much faster than she +looked for. The pressing anxieties of thought, which prevented her from +noticing anything before her, when once beyond the neighbourhood of +Woodston, saved her at the same time from watching her progress; and +though no object on the road could engage a moment’s attention, she +found no stage of it tedious. From this, she was preserved too by +another cause, by feeling no eagerness for her journey’s conclusion; +for to return in such a manner to Fullerton was almost to destroy the +pleasure of a meeting with those she loved best, even after an absence +such as hers—an eleven weeks’ absence. What had she to say that would +not humble herself and pain her family, that would not increase her own +grief by the confession of it, extend an useless resentment, and +perhaps involve the innocent with the guilty in undistinguishing ill +will? She could never do justice to Henry and Eleanor’s merit; she felt +it too strongly for expression; and should a dislike be taken against +them, should they be thought of unfavourably, on their father’s +account, it would cut her to the heart. + +With these feelings, she rather dreaded than sought for the first view +of that well-known spire which would announce her within twenty miles +of home. Salisbury she had known to be her point on leaving Northanger; +but after the first stage she had been indebted to the post-masters for +the names of the places which were then to conduct her to it; so great +had been her ignorance of her route. She met with nothing, however, to +distress or frighten her. Her youth, civil manners, and liberal pay +procured her all the attention that a traveller like herself could +require; and stopping only to change horses, she travelled on for about +eleven hours without accident or alarm, and between six and seven +o’clock in the evening found herself entering Fullerton. + +A heroine returning, at the close of her career, to her native village, +in all the triumph of recovered reputation, and all the dignity of a +countess, with a long train of noble relations in their several +phaetons, and three waiting-maids in a travelling chaise and four, +behind her, is an event on which the pen of the contriver may well +delight to dwell; it gives credit to every conclusion, and the author +must share in the glory she so liberally bestows. But my affair is +widely different; I bring back my heroine to her home in solitude and +disgrace; and no sweet elation of spirits can lead me into minuteness. +A heroine in a hack post-chaise is such a blow upon sentiment, as no +attempt at grandeur or pathos can withstand. Swiftly therefore shall +her post-boy drive through the village, amid the gaze of Sunday groups, +and speedy shall be her descent from it. + +But, whatever might be the distress of Catherine’s mind, as she thus +advanced towards the parsonage, and whatever the humiliation of her +biographer in relating it, she was preparing enjoyment of no everyday +nature for those to whom she went; first, in the appearance of her +carriage—and secondly, in herself. The chaise of a traveller being a +rare sight in Fullerton, the whole family were immediately at the +window; and to have it stop at the sweep-gate was a pleasure to +brighten every eye and occupy every fancy—a pleasure quite unlooked for +by all but the two youngest children, a boy and girl of six and four +years old, who expected a brother or sister in every carriage. Happy +the glance that first distinguished Catherine! happy the voice that +proclaimed the discovery! but whether such happiness were the lawful +property of George or Harriet could never be exactly understood. + +Her father, mother, Sarah, George, and Harriet, all assembled at the +door to welcome her with affectionate eagerness, was a sight to awaken +the best feelings of Catherine’s heart; and in the embrace of each, as +she stepped from the carriage, she found herself soothed beyond +anything that she had believed possible. So surrounded, so caressed, +she was even happy! in the joyfulness of family love everything for a +short time was subdued, and the pleasure of seeing her, leaving them at +first little leisure for calm curiosity, they were all seated round the +tea-table, which Mrs. Morland had hurried for the comfort of the poor +traveller, whose pale and jaded looks soon caught her notice, before +any inquiry so direct as to demand a positive answer was addressed to +her. + +Reluctantly, and with much hesitation, did she then begin what might +perhaps, at the end of half an hour, be termed, by the courtesy of her +hearers, an explanation; but scarcely, within that time, could they at +all discover the cause, or collect the particulars, of her sudden +return. They were far from being an irritable race; far from any +quickness in catching, or bitterness in resenting, affronts: but here, +when the whole was unfolded, was an insult not to be overlooked, nor, +for the first half hour, to be easily pardoned. Without suffering any +romantic alarm, in the consideration of their daughter’s long and +lonely journey, Mr. and Mrs. Morland could not but feel that it might +have been productive of much unpleasantness to her; that it was what +they could never have voluntarily suffered; and that, in forcing her on +such a measure, General Tilney had acted neither honourably nor +feelingly—neither as a gentleman nor as a parent. Why he had done it, +what could have provoked him to such a breach of hospitality, and so +suddenly turned all his partial regard for their daughter into actual +ill will, was a matter which they were at least as far from divining as +Catherine herself; but it did not oppress them by any means so long; +and, after a due course of useless conjecture, that “it was a strange +business, and that he must be a very strange man,” grew enough for all +their indignation and wonder; though Sarah indeed still indulged in the +sweets of incomprehensibility, exclaiming and conjecturing with +youthful ardour. “My dear, you give yourself a great deal of needless +trouble,” said her mother at last; “depend upon it, it is something not +at all worth understanding.” + +“I can allow for his wishing Catherine away, when he recollected this +engagement,” said Sarah, “but why not do it civilly?” + +“I am sorry for the young people,” returned Mrs. Morland; “they must +have a sad time of it; but as for anything else, it is no matter now; +Catherine is safe at home, and our comfort does not depend upon General +Tilney.” Catherine sighed. “Well,” continued her philosophic mother, “I +am glad I did not know of your journey at the time; but now it is all +over, perhaps there is no great harm done. It is always good for young +people to be put upon exerting themselves; and you know, my dear +Catherine, you always were a sad little scatter-brained creature; but +now you must have been forced to have your wits about you, with so much +changing of chaises and so forth; and I hope it will appear that you +have not left anything behind you in any of the pockets.” + +Catherine hoped so too, and tried to feel an interest in her own +amendment, but her spirits were quite worn down; and, to be silent and +alone becoming soon her only wish, she readily agreed to her mother’s +next counsel of going early to bed. Her parents, seeing nothing in her +ill looks and agitation but the natural consequence of mortified +feelings, and of the unusual exertion and fatigue of such a journey, +parted from her without any doubt of their being soon slept away; and +though, when they all met the next morning, her recovery was not equal +to their hopes, they were still perfectly unsuspicious of there being +any deeper evil. They never once thought of her heart, which, for the +parents of a young lady of seventeen, just returned from her first +excursion from home, was odd enough! + +As soon as breakfast was over, she sat down to fulfil her promise to +Miss Tilney, whose trust in the effect of time and distance on her +friend’s disposition was already justified, for already did Catherine +reproach herself with having parted from Eleanor coldly, with having +never enough valued her merits or kindness, and never enough +commiserated her for what she had been yesterday left to endure. The +strength of these feelings, however, was far from assisting her pen; +and never had it been harder for her to write than in addressing +Eleanor Tilney. To compose a letter which might at once do justice to +her sentiments and her situation, convey gratitude without servile +regret, be guarded without coldness, and honest without resentment—a +letter which Eleanor might not be pained by the perusal of—and, above +all, which she might not blush herself, if Henry should chance to see, +was an undertaking to frighten away all her powers of performance; and, +after long thought and much perplexity, to be very brief was all that +she could determine on with any confidence of safety. The money +therefore which Eleanor had advanced was enclosed with little more than +grateful thanks, and the thousand good wishes of a most affectionate +heart. + +“This has been a strange acquaintance,” observed Mrs. Morland, as the +letter was finished; “soon made and soon ended. I am sorry it happens +so, for Mrs. Allen thought them very pretty kind of young people; and +you were sadly out of luck too in your Isabella. Ah! poor James! well, +we must live and learn; and the next new friends you make I hope will +be better worth keeping.” + +Catherine coloured as she warmly answered, “No friend can be better +worth keeping than Eleanor.” + +“If so, my dear, I dare say you will meet again some time or other; do +not be uneasy. It is ten to one but you are thrown together again in +the course of a few years; and then what a pleasure it will be!” + +Mrs. Morland was not happy in her attempt at consolation. The hope of +meeting again in the course of a few years could only put into +Catherine’s head what might happen within that time to make a meeting +dreadful to her. She could never forget Henry Tilney, or think of him +with less tenderness than she did at that moment; but he might forget +her; and in that case, to meet—! her eyes filled with tears as she +pictured her acquaintance so renewed; and her mother, perceiving her +comfortable suggestions to have had no good effect, proposed, as +another expedient for restoring her spirits, that they should call on +Mrs. Allen. + +The two houses were only a quarter of a mile apart; and, as they +walked, Mrs. Morland quickly dispatched all that she felt on the score +of James’s disappointment. “We are sorry for him,” said she; “but +otherwise there is no harm done in the match going off; for it could +not be a desirable thing to have him engaged to a girl whom we had not +the smallest acquaintance with, and who was so entirely without +fortune; and now, after such behaviour, we cannot think at all well of +her. Just at present it comes hard to poor James; but that will not +last forever; and I dare say he will be a discreeter man all his life, +for the foolishness of his first choice.” + +This was just such a summary view of the affair as Catherine could +listen to; another sentence might have endangered her complaisance, and +made her reply less rational; for soon were all her thinking powers +swallowed up in the reflection of her own change of feelings and +spirits since last she had trodden that well-known road. It was not +three months ago since, wild with joyful expectation, she had there run +backwards and forwards some ten times a day, with an heart light, gay, +and independent; looking forward to pleasures untasted and unalloyed, +and free from the apprehension of evil as from the knowledge of it. +Three months ago had seen her all this; and now, how altered a being +did she return! + +She was received by the Allens with all the kindness which her +unlooked-for appearance, acting on a steady affection, would naturally +call forth; and great was their surprise, and warm their displeasure, +on hearing how she had been treated—though Mrs. Morland’s account of it +was no inflated representation, no studied appeal to their passions. +“Catherine took us quite by surprise yesterday evening,” said she. “She +travelled all the way post by herself, and knew nothing of coming till +Saturday night; for General Tilney, from some odd fancy or other, all +of a sudden grew tired of having her there, and almost turned her out +of the house. Very unfriendly, certainly; and he must be a very odd +man; but we are so glad to have her amongst us again! and it is a great +comfort to find that she is not a poor helpless creature, but can shift +very well for herself.” + +Mr. Allen expressed himself on the occasion with the reasonable +resentment of a sensible friend; and Mrs. Allen thought his expressions +quite good enough to be immediately made use of again by herself. His +wonder, his conjectures, and his explanations became in succession +hers, with the addition of this single remark—“I really have not +patience with the General”—to fill up every accidental pause. And, “I +really have not patience with the General,” was uttered twice after Mr. +Allen left the room, without any relaxation of anger, or any material +digression of thought. A more considerable degree of wandering attended +the third repetition; and, after completing the fourth, she immediately +added, “Only think, my dear, of my having got that frightful great rent +in my best Mechlin so charmingly mended, before I left Bath, that one +can hardly see where it was. I must show it you some day or other. Bath +is a nice place, Catherine, after all. I assure you I did not above +half like coming away. Mrs. Thorpe’s being there was such a comfort to +us, was not it? You know, you and I were quite forlorn at first.” + +“Yes, but _that_ did not last long,” said Catherine, her eyes +brightening at the recollection of what had first given spirit to her +existence there. + +“Very true: we soon met with Mrs. Thorpe, and then we wanted for +nothing. My dear, do not you think these silk gloves wear very well? I +put them on new the first time of our going to the Lower Rooms, you +know, and I have worn them a great deal since. Do you remember that +evening?” + +“Do I! oh! perfectly.” + +“It was very agreeable, was not it? Mr. Tilney drank tea with us, and I +always thought him a great addition, he is so very agreeable. I have a +notion you danced with him, but am not quite sure. I remember I had my +favourite gown on.” + +Catherine could not answer; and, after a short trial of other subjects, +Mrs. Allen again returned to—“I really have not patience with the +General! such an agreeable, worthy man as he seemed to be! i do not +suppose, Mrs. Morland, you ever saw a better-bred man in your life. His +lodgings were taken the very day after he left them, Catherine. But no +wonder; Milsom Street, you know.” + +As they walked home again, Mrs. Morland endeavoured to impress on her +daughter’s mind the happiness of having such steady well-wishers as Mr. +and Mrs. Allen, and the very little consideration which the neglect or +unkindness of slight acquaintance like the Tilneys ought to have with +her, while she could preserve the good opinion and affection of her +earliest friends. There was a great deal of good sense in all this; but +there are some situations of the human mind in which good sense has +very little power; and Catherine’s feelings contradicted almost every +position her mother advanced. It was upon the behaviour of these very +slight acquaintance that all her present happiness depended; and while +Mrs. Morland was successfully confirming her own opinions by the +justness of her own representations, Catherine was silently reflecting +that _now_ Henry must have arrived at Northanger; _now_ he must have +heard of her departure; and _now_, perhaps, they were all setting off +for Hereford. + + + + +CHAPTER 30 + + +Catherine’s disposition was not naturally sedentary, nor had her habits +been ever very industrious; but whatever might hitherto have been her +defects of that sort, her mother could not but perceive them now to be +greatly increased. She could neither sit still nor employ herself for +ten minutes together, walking round the garden and orchard again and +again, as if nothing but motion was voluntary; and it seemed as if she +could even walk about the house rather than remain fixed for any time +in the parlour. Her loss of spirits was a yet greater alteration. In +her rambling and her idleness she might only be a caricature of +herself; but in her silence and sadness she was the very reverse of all +that she had been before. + +For two days Mrs. Morland allowed it to pass even without a hint; but +when a third night’s rest had neither restored her cheerfulness, +improved her in useful activity, nor given her a greater inclination +for needlework, she could no longer refrain from the gentle reproof of, +“My dear Catherine, I am afraid you are growing quite a fine lady. I do +not know when poor Richard’s cravats would be done, if he had no friend +but you. Your head runs too much upon Bath; but there is a time for +everything—a time for balls and plays, and a time for work. You have +had a long run of amusement, and now you must try to be useful.” + +Catherine took up her work directly, saying, in a dejected voice, that +“her head did not run upon Bath—much.” + +“Then you are fretting about General Tilney, and that is very simple of +you; for ten to one whether you ever see him again. You should never +fret about trifles.” After a short silence—“I hope, my Catherine, you +are not getting out of humour with home because it is not so grand as +Northanger. That would be turning your visit into an evil indeed. +Wherever you are you should always be contented, but especially at +home, because there you must spend the most of your time. I did not +quite like, at breakfast, to hear you talk so much about the French +bread at Northanger.” + +“I am sure I do not care about the bread. It is all the same to me what +I eat.” + +“There is a very clever essay in one of the books upstairs upon much +such a subject, about young girls that have been spoilt for home by +great acquaintance—The Mirror, I think. I will look it out for you some +day or other, because I am sure it will do you good.” + +Catherine said no more, and, with an endeavour to do right, applied to +her work; but, after a few minutes, sunk again, without knowing it +herself, into languor and listlessness, moving herself in her chair, +from the irritation of weariness, much oftener than she moved her +needle. Mrs. Morland watched the progress of this relapse; and seeing, +in her daughter’s absent and dissatisfied look, the full proof of that +repining spirit to which she had now begun to attribute her want of +cheerfulness, hastily left the room to fetch the book in question, +anxious to lose no time in attacking so dreadful a malady. It was some +time before she could find what she looked for; and other family +matters occurring to detain her, a quarter of an hour had elapsed ere +she returned downstairs with the volume from which so much was hoped. +Her avocations above having shut out all noise but what she created +herself, she knew not that a visitor had arrived within the last few +minutes, till, on entering the room, the first object she beheld was a +young man whom she had never seen before. With a look of much respect, +he immediately rose, and being introduced to her by her conscious +daughter as “Mr. Henry Tilney,” with the embarrassment of real +sensibility began to apologize for his appearance there, acknowledging +that after what had passed he had little right to expect a welcome at +Fullerton, and stating his impatience to be assured of Miss Morland’s +having reached her home in safety, as the cause of his intrusion. He +did not address himself to an uncandid judge or a resentful heart. Far +from comprehending him or his sister in their father’s misconduct, Mrs. +Morland had been always kindly disposed towards each, and instantly, +pleased by his appearance, received him with the simple professions of +unaffected benevolence; thanking him for such an attention to her +daughter, assuring him that the friends of her children were always +welcome there, and entreating him to say not another word of the past. + +He was not ill-inclined to obey this request, for, though his heart was +greatly relieved by such unlooked-for mildness, it was not just at that +moment in his power to say anything to the purpose. Returning in +silence to his seat, therefore, he remained for some minutes most +civilly answering all Mrs. Morland’s common remarks about the weather +and roads. Catherine meanwhile—the anxious, agitated, happy, feverish +Catherine—said not a word; but her glowing cheek and brightened eye +made her mother trust that this good-natured visit would at least set +her heart at ease for a time, and gladly therefore did she lay aside +the first volume of The Mirror for a future hour. + +Desirous of Mr. Morland’s assistance, as well in giving encouragement, +as in finding conversation for her guest, whose embarrassment on his +father’s account she earnestly pitied, Mrs. Morland had very early +dispatched one of the children to summon him; but Mr. Morland was from +home—and being thus without any support, at the end of a quarter of an +hour she had nothing to say. After a couple of minutes’ unbroken +silence, Henry, turning to Catherine for the first time since her +mother’s entrance, asked her, with sudden alacrity, if Mr. and Mrs. +Allen were now at Fullerton? And on developing, from amidst all her +perplexity of words in reply, the meaning, which one short syllable +would have given, immediately expressed his intention of paying his +respects to them, and, with a rising colour, asked her if she would +have the goodness to show him the way. “You may see the house from this +window, sir,” was information on Sarah’s side, which produced only a +bow of acknowledgment from the gentleman, and a silencing nod from her +mother; for Mrs. Morland, thinking it probable, as a secondary +consideration in his wish of waiting on their worthy neighbours, that +he might have some explanation to give of his father’s behaviour, which +it must be more pleasant for him to communicate only to Catherine, +would not on any account prevent her accompanying him. They began their +walk, and Mrs. Morland was not entirely mistaken in his object in +wishing it. Some explanation on his father’s account he had to give; +but his first purpose was to explain himself, and before they reached +Mr. Allen’s grounds he had done it so well that Catherine did not think +it could ever be repeated too often. She was assured of his affection; +and that heart in return was solicited, which, perhaps, they pretty +equally knew was already entirely his own; for, though Henry was now +sincerely attached to her, though he felt and delighted in all the +excellencies of her character and truly loved her society, I must +confess that his affection originated in nothing better than gratitude, +or, in other words, that a persuasion of her partiality for him had +been the only cause of giving her a serious thought. It is a new +circumstance in romance, I acknowledge, and dreadfully derogatory of an +heroine’s dignity; but if it be as new in common life, the credit of a +wild imagination will at least be all my own. + +A very short visit to Mrs. Allen, in which Henry talked at random, +without sense or connection, and Catherine, wrapt in the contemplation +of her own unutterable happiness, scarcely opened her lips, dismissed +them to the ecstasies of another tête-à-tête; and before it was +suffered to close, she was enabled to judge how far he was sanctioned +by parental authority in his present application. On his return from +Woodston, two days before, he had been met near the abbey by his +impatient father, hastily informed in angry terms of Miss Morland’s +departure, and ordered to think of her no more. + +Such was the permission upon which he had now offered her his hand. The +affrighted Catherine, amidst all the terrors of expectation, as she +listened to this account, could not but rejoice in the kind caution +with which Henry had saved her from the necessity of a conscientious +rejection, by engaging her faith before he mentioned the subject; and +as he proceeded to give the particulars, and explain the motives of his +father’s conduct, her feelings soon hardened into even a triumphant +delight. The General had had nothing to accuse her of, nothing to lay +to her charge, but her being the involuntary, unconscious object of a +deception which his pride could not pardon, and which a better pride +would have been ashamed to own. She was guilty only of being less rich +than he had supposed her to be. Under a mistaken persuasion of her +possessions and claims, he had courted her acquaintance in Bath, +solicited her company at Northanger, and designed her for his +daughter-in-law. On discovering his error, to turn her from the house +seemed the best, though to his feelings an inadequate proof of his +resentment towards herself, and his contempt of her family. + +John Thorpe had first misled him. The General, perceiving his son one +night at the theatre to be paying considerable attention to Miss +Morland, had accidentally inquired of Thorpe if he knew more of her +than her name. Thorpe, most happy to be on speaking terms with a man of +General Tilney’s importance, had been joyfully and proudly +communicative; and being at that time not only in daily expectation of +Morland’s engaging Isabella, but likewise pretty well resolved upon +marrying Catherine himself, his vanity induced him to represent the +family as yet more wealthy than his vanity and avarice had made him +believe them. With whomsoever he was, or was likely to be connected, +his own consequence always required that theirs should be great, and as +his intimacy with any acquaintance grew, so regularly grew their +fortune. The expectations of his friend Morland, therefore, from the +first overrated, had ever since his introduction to Isabella been +gradually increasing; and by merely adding twice as much for the +grandeur of the moment, by doubling what he chose to think the amount +of Mr. Morland’s preferment, trebling his private fortune, bestowing a +rich aunt, and sinking half the children, he was able to represent the +whole family to the General in a most respectable light. For Catherine, +however, the peculiar object of the General’s curiosity, and his own +speculations, he had yet something more in reserve, and the ten or +fifteen thousand pounds which her father could give her would be a +pretty addition to Mr. Allen’s estate. Her intimacy there had made him +seriously determine on her being handsomely legacied hereafter; and to +speak of her therefore as the almost acknowledged future heiress of +Fullerton naturally followed. Upon such intelligence the General had +proceeded; for never had it occurred to him to doubt its authority. +Thorpe’s interest in the family, by his sister’s approaching connection +with one of its members, and his own views on another (circumstances of +which he boasted with almost equal openness), seemed sufficient +vouchers for his truth; and to these were added the absolute facts of +the Allens being wealthy and childless, of Miss Morland’s being under +their care, and—as soon as his acquaintance allowed him to judge—of +their treating her with parental kindness. His resolution was soon +formed. Already had he discerned a liking towards Miss Morland in the +countenance of his son; and thankful for Mr. Thorpe’s communication, he +almost instantly determined to spare no pains in weakening his boasted +interest and ruining his dearest hopes. Catherine herself could not be +more ignorant at the time of all this, than his own children. Henry and +Eleanor, perceiving nothing in her situation likely to engage their +father’s particular respect, had seen with astonishment the suddenness, +continuance, and extent of his attention; and though latterly, from +some hints which had accompanied an almost positive command to his son +of doing everything in his power to attach her, Henry was convinced of +his father’s believing it to be an advantageous connection, it was not +till the late explanation at Northanger that they had the smallest idea +of the false calculations which had hurried him on. That they were +false, the General had learnt from the very person who had suggested +them, from Thorpe himself, whom he had chanced to meet again in town, +and who, under the influence of exactly opposite feelings, irritated by +Catherine’s refusal, and yet more by the failure of a very recent +endeavour to accomplish a reconciliation between Morland and Isabella, +convinced that they were separated forever, and spurning a friendship +which could be no longer serviceable, hastened to contradict all that +he had said before to the advantage of the Morlands—confessed himself +to have been totally mistaken in his opinion of their circumstances and +character, misled by the rhodomontade of his friend to believe his +father a man of substance and credit, whereas the transactions of the +two or three last weeks proved him to be neither; for after coming +eagerly forward on the first overture of a marriage between the +families, with the most liberal proposals, he had, on being brought to +the point by the shrewdness of the relator, been constrained to +acknowledge himself incapable of giving the young people even a decent +support. They were, in fact, a necessitous family; numerous, too, +almost beyond example; by no means respected in their own +neighbourhood, as he had lately had particular opportunities of +discovering; aiming at a style of life which their fortune could not +warrant; seeking to better themselves by wealthy connections; a +forward, bragging, scheming race. + +The terrified General pronounced the name of Allen with an inquiring +look; and here too Thorpe had learnt his error. The Allens, he +believed, had lived near them too long, and he knew the young man on +whom the Fullerton estate must devolve. The General needed no more. +Enraged with almost everybody in the world but himself, he set out the +next day for the abbey, where his performances have been seen. + +I leave it to my reader’s sagacity to determine how much of all this it +was possible for Henry to communicate at this time to Catherine, how +much of it he could have learnt from his father, in what points his own +conjectures might assist him, and what portion must yet remain to be +told in a letter from James. I have united for their ease what they +must divide for mine. Catherine, at any rate, heard enough to feel that +in suspecting General Tilney of either murdering or shutting up his +wife, she had scarcely sinned against his character, or magnified his +cruelty. + +Henry, in having such things to relate of his father, was almost as +pitiable as in their first avowal to himself. He blushed for the +narrow-minded counsel which he was obliged to expose. The conversation +between them at Northanger had been of the most unfriendly kind. +Henry’s indignation on hearing how Catherine had been treated, on +comprehending his father’s views, and being ordered to acquiesce in +them, had been open and bold. The General, accustomed on every ordinary +occasion to give the law in his family, prepared for no reluctance but +of feeling, no opposing desire that should dare to clothe itself in +words, could ill brook the opposition of his son, steady as the +sanction of reason and the dictate of conscience could make it. But, in +such a cause, his anger, though it must shock, could not intimidate +Henry, who was sustained in his purpose by a conviction of its justice. +He felt himself bound as much in honour as in affection to Miss +Morland, and believing that heart to be his own which he had been +directed to gain, no unworthy retraction of a tacit consent, no +reversing decree of unjustifiable anger, could shake his fidelity, or +influence the resolutions it prompted. + +He steadily refused to accompany his father into Herefordshire, an +engagement formed almost at the moment to promote the dismissal of +Catherine, and as steadily declared his intention of offering her his +hand. The General was furious in his anger, and they parted in dreadful +disagreement. Henry, in an agitation of mind which many solitary hours +were required to compose, had returned almost instantly to Woodston, +and, on the afternoon of the following day, had begun his journey to +Fullerton. + + + + +CHAPTER 31 + + +Mr. and Mrs. Morland’s surprise on being applied to by Mr. Tilney for +their consent to his marrying their daughter was, for a few minutes, +considerable, it having never entered their heads to suspect an +attachment on either side; but as nothing, after all, could be more +natural than Catherine’s being beloved, they soon learnt to consider it +with only the happy agitation of gratified pride, and, as far as they +alone were concerned, had not a single objection to start. His pleasing +manners and good sense were self-evident recommendations; and having +never heard evil of him, it was not their way to suppose any evil could +be told. Goodwill supplying the place of experience, his character +needed no attestation. “Catherine would make a sad, heedless young +housekeeper to be sure,” was her mother’s foreboding remark; but quick +was the consolation of there being nothing like practice. + +There was but one obstacle, in short, to be mentioned; but till that +one was removed, it must be impossible for them to sanction the +engagement. Their tempers were mild, but their principles were steady, +and while his parent so expressly forbade the connection, they could +not allow themselves to encourage it. That the General should come +forward to solicit the alliance, or that he should even very heartily +approve it, they were not refined enough to make any parading +stipulation; but the decent appearance of consent must be yielded, and +that once obtained—and their own hearts made them trust that it could +not be very long denied—their willing approbation was instantly to +follow. His _consent_ was all that they wished for. They were no more +inclined than entitled to demand his _money_. Of a very considerable +fortune, his son was, by marriage settlements, eventually secure; his +present income was an income of independence and comfort, and under +every pecuniary view, it was a match beyond the claims of their +daughter. + +The young people could not be surprised at a decision like this. They +felt and they deplored—but they could not resent it; and they parted, +endeavouring to hope that such a change in the General, as each +believed almost impossible, might speedily take place, to unite them +again in the fulness of privileged affection. Henry returned to what +was now his only home, to watch over his young plantations, and extend +his improvements for her sake, to whose share in them he looked +anxiously forward; and Catherine remained at Fullerton to cry. Whether +the torments of absence were softened by a clandestine correspondence, +let us not inquire. Mr. and Mrs. Morland never did—they had been too +kind to exact any promise; and whenever Catherine received a letter, +as, at that time, happened pretty often, they always looked another +way. + +The anxiety, which in this state of their attachment must be the +portion of Henry and Catherine, and of all who loved either, as to its +final event, can hardly extend, I fear, to the bosom of my readers, who +will see in the tell-tale compression of the pages before them, that we +are all hastening together to perfect felicity. The means by which +their early marriage was effected can be the only doubt: what probable +circumstance could work upon a temper like the General’s? The +circumstance which chiefly availed was the marriage of his daughter +with a man of fortune and consequence, which took place in the course +of the summer—an accession of dignity that threw him into a fit of good +humour, from which he did not recover till after Eleanor had obtained +his forgiveness of Henry, and his permission for him “to be a fool if +he liked it!” + +The marriage of Eleanor Tilney, her removal from all the evils of such +a home as Northanger had been made by Henry’s banishment, to the home +of her choice and the man of her choice, is an event which I expect to +give general satisfaction among all her acquaintance. My own joy on the +occasion is very sincere. I know no one more entitled, by unpretending +merit, or better prepared by habitual suffering, to receive and enjoy +felicity. Her partiality for this gentleman was not of recent origin; +and he had been long withheld only by inferiority of situation from +addressing her. His unexpected accession to title and fortune had +removed all his difficulties; and never had the General loved his +daughter so well in all her hours of companionship, utility, and +patient endurance as when he first hailed her “Your Ladyship!” Her +husband was really deserving of her; independent of his peerage, his +wealth, and his attachment, being to a precision the most charming +young man in the world. Any further definition of his merits must be +unnecessary; the most charming young man in the world is instantly +before the imagination of us all. Concerning the one in question, +therefore, I have only to add—aware that the rules of composition +forbid the introduction of a character not connected with my fable—that +this was the very gentleman whose negligent servant left behind him +that collection of washing-bills, resulting from a long visit at +Northanger, by which my heroine was involved in one of her most +alarming adventures. + +The influence of the Viscount and Viscountess in their brother’s behalf +was assisted by that right understanding of Mr. Morland’s circumstances +which, as soon as the General would allow himself to be informed, they +were qualified to give. It taught him that he had been scarcely more +misled by Thorpe’s first boast of the family wealth than by his +subsequent malicious overthrow of it; that in no sense of the word were +they necessitous or poor, and that Catherine would have three thousand +pounds. This was so material an amendment of his late expectations that +it greatly contributed to smooth the descent of his pride; and by no +means without its effect was the private intelligence, which he was at +some pains to procure, that the Fullerton estate, being entirely at the +disposal of its present proprietor, was consequently open to every +greedy speculation. + +On the strength of this, the General, soon after Eleanor’s marriage, +permitted his son to return to Northanger, and thence made him the +bearer of his consent, very courteously worded in a page full of empty +professions to Mr. Morland. The event which it authorized soon +followed: Henry and Catherine were married, the bells rang, and +everybody smiled; and, as this took place within a twelvemonth from the +first day of their meeting, it will not appear, after all the dreadful +delays occasioned by the General’s cruelty, that they were essentially +hurt by it. To begin perfect happiness at the respective ages of +twenty-six and eighteen is to do pretty well; and professing myself +moreover convinced that the General’s unjust interference, so far from +being really injurious to their felicity, was perhaps rather conducive +to it, by improving their knowledge of each other, and adding strength +to their attachment, I leave it to be settled, by whomsoever it may +concern, whether the tendency of this work be altogether to recommend +parental tyranny, or reward filial disobedience. + + + + + A NOTE ON THE TEXT + + +Northanger Abbey was written in 1797–98 under a different title. The +manuscript was revised around 1803 and sold to a London publisher, +Crosbie & Co., who sold it back in 1816. The Signet Classic text is +based on the first edition, published by John Murray, London, in +1818—the year following Miss Austen’s death. Spelling and punctuation +have been largely brought into conformity with modern British usage. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 121 *** |