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diff --git a/121-h/121-h.htm b/121-h/121-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dbb1fee --- /dev/null +++ b/121-h/121-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9824 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> + <head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title>Northanger Abbey | Project Gutenberg</title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> +<style> + +body { margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +sup { vertical-align: top; font-size: 0.6em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + + +.ph2, .ph3 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } +.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } +.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } +</style> +</head> + +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 121 ***</div> + +<h1>Northanger Abbey</h1> + +<div class="ph2 no-break">by Jane Austen</div> + +<div class="ph3">(1803)</div> + +<hr> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0001">ADVERTISEMENT BY THE AUTHORESS, TO NORTHANGER ABBEY</a><br><br></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0001">CHAPTER 1</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0002">CHAPTER 2</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0003">CHAPTER 3</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0004">CHAPTER 4</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0005">CHAPTER 5</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0006">CHAPTER 6</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0007">CHAPTER 7</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0008">CHAPTER 8</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0009">CHAPTER 9</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0010">CHAPTER 10</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0011">CHAPTER 11</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0012">CHAPTER 12</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0013">CHAPTER 13</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0014">CHAPTER 14</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0015">CHAPTER 15</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0016">CHAPTER 16</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0017">CHAPTER 17</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0018">CHAPTER 18</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0019">CHAPTER 19</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0020">CHAPTER 20</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0021">CHAPTER 21</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0022">CHAPTER 22</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0023">CHAPTER 23</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0024">CHAPTER 24</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0025">CHAPTER 25</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0026">CHAPTER 26</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0027">CHAPTER 27</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0028">CHAPTER 28</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0029">CHAPTER 29</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0030">CHAPTER 30</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2HCH0031">CHAPTER 31</a><br><br></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#link2H_4_0032">A NOTE ON THE TEXT</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0001"></a> ADVERTISEMENT BY THE +AUTHORESS, TO NORTHANGER ABBEY</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0001"></a>CHAPTER 1</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>almost</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +From Pope, she learnt to censure those who +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“bear about the mockery of woe.” +</p> + +<p> +From Gray, that +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Many a flower is born to blush unseen,<br> +“And waste its fragrance on the desert air.” +</p> + +<p> +From Thomson, that— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“It is a delightful task<br> +“To teach the young idea how to shoot.” +</p> + +<p> +And from Shakespeare she gained a great store of information—amongst the +rest, that— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Trifles light as air,<br> +“Are, to the jealous, confirmation strong,<br> +“As proofs of Holy Writ.” +</p> + +<p> +That +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“The poor beetle, which we tread upon,<br> +“In corporal sufferance feels a pang as great<br> +“As when a giant dies.” +</p> + +<p> +And that a young woman in love always looks— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“like Patience on a monument<br> +“Smiling at Grief.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0002"></a>CHAPTER 2</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +They were soon settled in comfortable lodgings in Pulteney Street. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“How uncomfortable it is,” whispered Catherine, “not to have +a single acquaintance here!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, my dear,” replied Mrs. Allen, with perfect serenity, +“it is very uncomfortable indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, so we do. That is very disagreeable. I wish we had a large +acquaintance here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish we had <i>any;</i>—it would be somebody to go to.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Had not we better go away as it is? Here are no tea-things for us, you +see.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>must</i> +know somebody.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Miss Morland,” said he, directly, “I hope you have had +an agreeable ball.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very agreeable indeed,” she replied, vainly endeavouring to hide a +great yawn. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall do better another evening I hope,” was Mr. Allen’s +consolation. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>now</i> have thought her exceedingly handsome. +</p> + +<p> +She <i>was</i> 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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0003"></a>CHAPTER 3</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You need not give yourself that trouble, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“About a week, sir,” replied Catherine, trying not to laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Really!” with affected astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“Why should you be surprised, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed! Have you yet honoured the Upper Rooms?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, I was there last Monday.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you been to the theatre?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, I was at the play on Tuesday.” +</p> + +<p> +“To the concert?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, on Wednesday.” +</p> + +<p> +“And are you altogether pleased with Bath?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—I like it very well.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I see what you think of me,” said he gravely—“I shall +make but a poor figure in your journal to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“My journal!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed I shall say no such thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I tell you what you ought to say?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you please.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. <i>That</i>, madam, is what I +<i>wish</i> you to say.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, perhaps, I keep no journal.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what are they?” +</p> + +<p> +“A general deficiency of subject, a total inattention to stops, and a +very frequent ignorance of grammar.” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word! I need not have been afraid of disclaiming the compliment. +You do not think too highly of us in that way.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is exactly what I should have guessed it, madam,” said Mr. +Tilney, looking at the muslin. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you understand muslins, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope I am, madam.” +</p> + +<p> +“And pray, sir, what do you think of Miss Morland’s gown?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can you,” said Catherine, laughing, “be so—” +She had almost said “strange.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am quite of your opinion, sir,” replied Mrs. Allen; “and +so I told Miss Morland when she bought it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Catherine coloured, and said, “I was not thinking of anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is artful and deep, to be sure; but I had rather be told at once +that you will not tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well then, I will not.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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,<a href="#fn-1" id="fnref-1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +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. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a id="fn-1"></a> <a href="#fnref-1">[1]</a> +Vide a letter from Mr. Richardson, No. 97, Vol. ii, Rambler. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0004"></a>CHAPTER 4</h2> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0005"></a>CHAPTER 5</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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>I</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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0006"></a>CHAPTER 6</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I have been reading it ever since I woke; and I am got to the black +veil.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you, indeed! How glad I am! What are they all?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, pretty well; but are they all horrid, are you sure they are all +horrid?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Scold them! Do you scold them for not admiring her?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>you</i> are just the kind of girl to be a great favourite with the +men.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear!” cried Catherine, colouring. “How can you say +so?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you should not persuade me that I think so very much about Mr. +Tilney, for perhaps I may never see him again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not see him again! My dearest creature, do not talk of it. I am sure you +would be miserable if you thought so!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is so odd to me, that you should never have read Udolpho before; but +I suppose Mrs. Morland objects to novels.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, she does not. She very often reads Sir Charles Grandison herself; +but new books do not fall in our way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sir Charles Grandison! That is an amazing horrid book, is it not? I +remember Miss Andrews could not get through the first volume.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is not like Udolpho at all; but yet I think it is very +entertaining.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>that</i> sometimes, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it does not signify if they do,” said Catherine, very +innocently. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are they? Well, I never observed <i>that</i>. They always behave very +well to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hardly know. I never much thought about it. Something between both, I +think. Brown—not fair, and—and not very dark.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Betray you! What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, do not distress me. I believe I have said too much. Let us drop the +subject.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“And which way are they gone?” said Isabella, turning hastily +round. “One was a very good-looking young man.” +</p> + +<p> +“They went towards the church-yard.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Catherine readily agreed. “Only,” she added, “perhaps we may +overtake the two young men.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Never mind that. If we make haste, we shall pass by them presently, +and I am dying to show you my hat.” +</p> + +<p> +“But if we only wait a few minutes, there will be no danger of our seeing +them at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not pay them any such compliment, I assure you. I have no notion +of treating men with such respect. <i>That</i> is the way to spoil them.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0007"></a>CHAPTER 7</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know the distance.” Her brother told her that it was +twenty-three miles. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Three</i>-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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have lost an hour,” said Morland; “it was only ten +o’clock when we came from Tetbury.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“He <i>does</i> look very hot, to be sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>cannot</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure I cannot guess at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I am sure,” said Catherine, “I know so little of such +things that I cannot judge whether it was cheap or dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Neither one nor t’other; I might have got it for less, I dare say; +but I hate haggling, and poor Freeman wanted cash.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was very good-natured of you,” said Catherine, quite pleased. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! D—— it, when one has the means of doing a kind thing by +a friend, I hate to be pitiful.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Morland, who overheard this; “but you forget that +your horse was included.” +</p> + +<p> +“My horse! Oh, d—— it! I would not sell my horse for a +hundred. Are you fond of an open carriage, Miss Morland?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, very; I have hardly ever an opportunity of being in one; but I am +particularly fond of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad of it; I will drive you out in mine every day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Catherine, in some distress, from a doubt of the +propriety of accepting such an offer. +</p> + +<p> +“I will drive you up Lansdown Hill to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you; but will not your horse want rest?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall you indeed!” said Catherine very seriously. “That will +be forty miles a day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Forty! Aye, fifty, for what I care. Well, I will drive you up Lansdown +to-morrow; mind, I am engaged.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Udolpho! Oh, Lord! Not I; I never read novels; I have something else to +do.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you must like Udolpho, if you were to read it; it is so very +interesting.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>them</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Udolpho was written by Mrs. Radcliffe,” said Catherine, with some +hesitation, from the fear of mortifying him. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you mean Camilla?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have never read it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very, very much indeed: Isabella particularly.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, very much indeed, I fancy; Mr. Allen thinks her the prettiest girl +in Bath.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>me</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0008"></a>CHAPTER 8</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I hope, madam, that Mr. Allen will be obliged to like the place, +from finding it of service to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“That circumstance must give great encouragement.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Isabella, how was it possible for me to get at you? I could not +even see where you were.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what is all this whispering about? What is going on?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And is that likely to satisfy me, do you think?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my honour,” said James, “in these public assemblies, it +is as often done as not.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, not at all; but if you think it wrong, you had much better +change.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very agreeable, madam.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad of it. John has charming spirits, has not he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you meet Mr. Tilney, my dear?” said Mrs. Allen. +</p> + +<p> +“No, where is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! He has got a partner; I wish he had asked <i>you</i>,” said +Mrs. Allen; and after a short silence, she added, “he is a very agreeable +young man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed he is, Mrs. Allen,” said Mrs. Thorpe, smiling complacently; +“I must say it, though I <i>am</i> his mother, that there is not a more +agreeable young man in the world.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0009"></a>CHAPTER 9</h2> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” said Catherine. “Where are you all going +to?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Something was said about it, I remember,” said Catherine, looking +at Mrs. Allen for her opinion; “but really I did not expect you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not expect me! That’s a good one! And what a dust you would have +made, if I had not come.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Mr. Allen, you mean. Yes, I believe, he is very rich.” +</p> + +<p> +“And no children at all?” +</p> + +<p> +“No—not any.” +</p> + +<p> +“A famous thing for his next heirs. He is <i>your</i> godfather, is not +he?” +</p> + +<p> +“My godfather! No.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you are always very much with them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, very much.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>this</i>—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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot believe it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet I have heard that there is a great deal of wine drunk in +Oxford.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. <i>Mine</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>then</i>, +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, ma’am, I thank you; we could not have had a nicer day.” +</p> + +<p> +“So Mrs. Thorpe said; she was vastly pleased at your all going.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have seen Mrs. Thorpe, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see anybody else of our acquaintance?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; we agreed to take a turn in the Crescent, and there we met Mrs. +Hughes, and Mr. and Miss Tilney walking with her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you indeed? And did they speak to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what did she tell you of them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! A vast deal indeed; she hardly talked of anything else.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did she tell you what part of Gloucestershire they come from?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And are Mr. and Mrs. Tilney in Bath?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And is Mr. Tilney, my partner, the only son?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0010"></a>CHAPTER 10</h2> + +<p> +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 <i>that</i> is a settled +thing—even <i>your</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Catherine, “he is not here; I cannot see him +anywhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed I should not.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Isabella smiled incredulously and talked the rest of the evening to James. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Henry!” she replied with a smile. “Yes, he does dance very +well.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>That</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, an acquaintance of Mrs. Hughes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say she was very glad to dance. Do you think her pretty?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not very.” +</p> + +<p> +“He never comes to the pump-room, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sometimes; but he has rid out this morning with my father.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps we—Yes, I think we certainly shall.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder you should think so, for you never asked me.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>you</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no; they will never think of <i>me</i>, after such a description as +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But they are such very different things!” +</p> + +<p> +“—That you think they cannot be compared together.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +<i>That</i>, I suppose, was the difference of duties which struck you, as +rendering the conditions incapable of comparison.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed, I never thought of that.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And is that to be my only security? Alas, alas!” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>want</i> to +talk to anybody.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, quite—more so, indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not think I should be tired, if I were to stay here six +months.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>that</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are not fond of the country.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But then you spend your time so much more rationally in the +country.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do I?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you not?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not believe there is much difference.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here you are in pursuit only of amusement all day long.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tilney was very much amused. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>do</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Here their conversation +closed, the demands of the dance becoming now too importunate for a divided +attention. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0011"></a>CHAPTER 11</h2> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought how it would be,” said Mrs. Allen. +</p> + +<p> +“No walk for me to-day,” sighed Catherine; “but perhaps it may +come to nothing, or it may hold up before twelve.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps it may, but then, my dear, it will be so dirty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! That will not signify; I never mind dirt.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied her friend very placidly, “I know you never +mind dirt.” +</p> + +<p> +After a short pause, “It comes on faster and faster!” said +Catherine, as she stood watching at a window. +</p> + +<p> +“So it does indeed. If it keeps raining, the streets will be very +wet.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are four umbrellas up already. How I hate the sight of an +umbrella!” +</p> + +<p> +“They are disagreeable things to carry. I would much rather take a chair +at any time.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was such a nice-looking morning! I felt so convinced it would be +dry!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>shall</i> 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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I doubt our being able to do so much,” said Morland. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Blaize Castle!” cried Catherine. “What is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“The finest place in England—worth going fifty miles at any time to +see.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, is it really a castle, an old castle?” +</p> + +<p> +“The oldest in the kingdom.” +</p> + +<p> +“But is it like what one reads of?” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly—the very same.” +</p> + +<p> +“But now really—are there towers and long galleries?” +</p> + +<p> +“By dozens.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I should like to see it; but I cannot—I cannot go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not go! My beloved creature, what do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not they indeed,” cried Thorpe; “for, as we turned into +Broad Street, I saw them—does he not drive a phaeton with bright +chestnuts?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not know indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know he does; I saw him. You are talking of the man you danced +with last night, are not you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I saw him at that moment turn up the Lansdown Road, driving a +smart-looking girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you indeed?” +</p> + +<p> +“Did upon my soul; knew him again directly, and he seemed to have got +some very pretty cattle too.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is very odd! But I suppose they thought it would be too dirty for a +walk.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Isabella corroborated it: “My dearest Catherine, you cannot form an idea +of the dirt; come, you must go; you cannot refuse going now.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes, every hole and corner.” +</p> + +<p> +“But then, if they should only be gone out for an hour till it is dryer, +and call by and by?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I will. Shall I go, Mrs. Allen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just as you please, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who? Where?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>that</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is all one to me,” replied Thorpe rather angrily; and instantly +turning his horse, they were on their way back to Bath. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, he is not,” said Catherine warmly, “for I am sure he +could not afford it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And why cannot he afford it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because he has not money enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“And whose fault is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0012"></a>CHAPTER 12</h2> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go, by all means, my dear; only put on a white gown; Miss Tilney always +wears white.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>was</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear, you tumble my gown,” was Mrs. Allen’s reply. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>you</i> 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 <i>you</i> be so ready to take offence?” +</p> + +<p> +“Me! I take offence!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, I am sure by your look, when you came into the box, you were +angry.” +</p> + +<p> +“I angry! I could have no right.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how came you to know him?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>did</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Nonsense! How can you say so?” +</p> + +<p> +“And what do you think I said?”—lowering his +voice—“well done, general, said I; I am quite of your mind.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0013"></a>CHAPTER 13</h2> + +<p> +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 <i>must</i> and <i>should</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Catherine, you must go,” said James. +</p> + +<p> +“But why cannot Mr. Thorpe drive one of his other sisters? I dare say +either of them would like to go.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is a compliment which gives me no pleasure.” But her words +were lost on Thorpe, who had turned abruptly away. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suspect,” said Isabella, in a low voice, “there is no +great struggle.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have not!” cried Catherine. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Isabella’s countenance was once more all smiles and good humour, and +James too looked happy again. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“This will not do,” said Catherine; “I cannot submit to this. +I must run after Miss Tilney directly and set her right.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is as obstinate as—” +</p> + +<p> +Thorpe never finished the simile, for it could hardly have been a proper one. +</p> + +<p> +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; <i>that</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +The business, however, though not perfectly elucidated by this speech, soon +ceased to be a puzzle. Catherine found that John Thorpe <i>had</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, my dear, a very odd appearance indeed. I cannot bear to see +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>will</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But this was something of real consequence; and I do not think you would +have found me hard to persuade.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is just what I was going to say,” added his wife. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0014"></a>CHAPTER 14</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I never look at it,” said Catherine, as they walked along the side +of the river, “without thinking of the south of France.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have been abroad then?” said Henry, a little surprised. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because they are not clever enough for you—gentlemen read better +books.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is <i>amazingly;</i> it may well suggest <i>amazement</i> 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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not very good, I am afraid. But now really, do not you think Udolpho the +nicest book in the world?” +</p> + +<p> +“The nicest—by which I suppose you mean the neatest. That must +depend upon the binding.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure,” cried Catherine, “I did not mean to say anything +wrong; but it <i>is</i> a nice book, and why should not I call it so?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“To say the truth, I do not much like any other.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I am fond of history.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>torment</i> and to <i>instruct</i> might sometimes be used as +synonymous words.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Tilney, to whom this was chiefly addressed, was startled, and hastily +replied, “Indeed! And of what nature?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good heaven! Where could you hear of such a thing?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Morland, do not mind what he says; but have the goodness to satisfy +me as to this dreadful riot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Riot! What riot?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be most happy to make her better acquainted with them.” +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt; but that is no explanation of the present.” +</p> + +<p> +“What am I to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is not enough. Be more serious.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Catherine spoke the pleasure she really felt on hearing this part of the +arrangement. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0015"></a>CHAPTER 15</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Catherine replied only by a look of wondering ignorance. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +This was a pitch of friendship beyond Catherine. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>you</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +Here Catherine again discerned the force of love. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, Isabella, you are too humble. The difference of fortune can be +nothing to signify.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! My sweet Catherine, in <i>your</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Richmond!” cried Catherine. “You must settle near Fullerton. +You must be near us.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure I shall be miserable if we do not. If I can but be near +<i>you</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +A reverie succeeded this conviction—and when Isabella spoke again, it was +to resolve on the quality of her wedding-gown. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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>I</i> say it is no bad +notion.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure I think it a very good one.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I have promised your sister to be with her, if possible.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why do you stay away so long?” replied +Catherine—finding that he waited for an answer. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! dear, there are a great many people like me, I dare say, only a +great deal better. Good morning to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I say, Miss Morland, I shall come and pay my respects at Fullerton +before it is long, if not disagreeable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pray do. My father and mother will be very glad to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I hope—I hope, Miss Morland, <i>you</i> will not be sorry to +see me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! dear, not at all. There are very few people I am sorry to see. +Company is always cheerful.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps we may; but it is more than I ever thought of. And as to <i>most +matters</i>, to say the truth, there are not many that I know my own mind +about.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0016"></a>CHAPTER 16</h2> + +<p> +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. <i>He</i> 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!” +</p> + +<p> +“But it was not so bad as that, Isabella; there was no superciliousness; +she was very civil.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not say so; but he did not seem in good spirits.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unworthy! I do not suppose he ever thinks of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I shall see how they behave to me this evening; we shall meet them +at the rooms.” +</p> + +<p> +“And must I go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not you intend it? I thought it was all settled.” +</p> + +<p> +“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; <i>that</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. <i>He</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry smiled, and said, “How very little trouble it can give you to +understand the motive of other people’s actions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why? What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“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>I</i> be influenced, What would be <i>my</i> inducement in acting so and +so?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not understand you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we are on very unequal terms, for I understand you perfectly +well.” +</p> + +<p> +“Me? Yes; I cannot speak well enough to be unintelligible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bravo! An excellent satire on modern language.” +</p> + +<p> +“But pray tell me what you mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no; it shall not do either; I am not afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot think how it could happen! Isabella was so determined not to +dance.” +</p> + +<p> +“And did Isabella never change her mind before?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! But, because—And your brother! After what you told him from +me, how could he think of going to ask her?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are laughing; but, I assure you, Isabella is very firm in +general.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why did not you?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is very handsome indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>can</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0017"></a>CHAPTER 17</h2> + +<p> +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 +<i>could</i> 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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am very sorry for it,” said Catherine dejectedly; “if I +had known this before—” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps,” said Miss Tilney in an embarrassed manner, “you +would be so good—it would make me very happy if—” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was just beginning to make the request, sir, as you came in.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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—” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0018"></a>CHAPTER 18</h2> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You shall certainly have the best in my power to give. But who are you +looking for? Are your sisters coming?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I thought, Isabella, you had something in particular to tell +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed, I cannot.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“With <i>me</i>, dear Isabella!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But <i>that</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you? Well, if you say it, it was so, I dare say—but for the +life of me, I cannot recollect it. I <i>do</i> 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—<i>he</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I certainly cannot return his affection, and as certainly never meant to +encourage it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>do</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But my opinion of your brother never did alter; it was always the same. +You are describing what never happened.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish your heart were independent. That would be enough for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“My heart, indeed! What can you have to do with hearts? You men have none +of you any hearts.” +</p> + +<p> +“If we have not hearts, we have eyes; and they give us torment +enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never more so; for the edge of a blooming cheek is still in +view—at once too much and too little.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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; <i>she</i> 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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0019"></a>CHAPTER 19</h2> + +<p> +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, <i>that</i> +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 <i>her</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“My brother does know it,” was Henry’s answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Does he? Then why does he stay here?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry smiled and said, “I am sure my brother would not wish to do +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you will persuade him to go away?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And are you sure it is my brother’s doing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, very sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it my brother’s attentions to Miss Thorpe, or Miss +Thorpe’s admission of them, that gives the pain?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is not it the same thing?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand: she is in love with James, and flirts with +Frederick.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no, not flirts. A woman in love with one man cannot flirt with +another.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +After a short pause, Catherine resumed with, “Then you do not believe +Isabella so very much attached to my brother?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can have no opinion on that subject.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what can your brother mean? If he knows her engagement, what can he +mean by his behaviour?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are a very close questioner.” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I? I only ask what I want to be told.” +</p> + +<p> +“But do you only ask what I can be expected to tell?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I think so; for you must know your brother’s heart.” +</p> + +<p> +“My brother’s heart, as you term it, on the present occasion, I +assure you I can only guess at.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Catherine, after some moments’ consideration, +“<i>you</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0020"></a>CHAPTER 20</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“But how can that be?” said Catherine. “Are not you with +her?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“How sorry you must be for that!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am always sorry to leave Eleanor.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled, and said, “You have formed a very favourable idea of the +abbey.” +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure, I have. Is not it a fine old place, just like what one reads +about?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! But this will not happen to me, I am sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing further to alarm perhaps may occur the first night. After +surmounting your <i>unconquerable</i> horror of the bed, you will retire to +rest, and get a few hours’ unquiet slumber. But on the second, or at +farthest the <i>third</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed; I should be too much frightened to do any such thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, no; do not say so. Well, go on.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0021"></a>CHAPTER 21</h2> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>T;</i> 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? +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>directly!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>had</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! <i>She</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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; <i>that</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0022"></a>CHAPTER 22</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how might you learn? By accident or argument?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it a pretty place?” asked Catherine. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The imposing effect of this last argument was equal to his wishes. The silence +of the lady proved it to be unanswerable. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>always</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The kitchen-garden was to be next admired, and he led the way to it across a +small portion of the park. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>that</i>. 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, not at all. Mr. Allen did not care about the garden, and never went +into it.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“How were Mr. Allen’s succession-houses worked?” describing +the nature of his own as they entered them. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is a happy man!” said the general, with a look of very happy +contempt. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I am particularly fond of this spot,” said her companion, with a +sigh. “It was my mother’s favourite walk.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure you must miss him very much.” +</p> + +<p> +“A mother would have been always present. A mother would have been a +constant friend; her influence would have been beyond all other.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Her picture, I suppose,” blushing at the consummate art of her own +question, “hangs in your father’s room?” +</p> + +<p> +“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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0023"></a>CHAPTER 23</h2> + +<p> +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 <i>them</i>. +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, entirely.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how long ago may it be that your mother died?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“You were with her, I suppose, to the last?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Miss Tilney, sighing; “I was unfortunately from +home. Her illness was sudden and short; and, before I arrived it was all +over.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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? <i>My</i> eyes will be blinding for the good of others, +and <i>yours</i> preparing by rest for future mischief.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0024"></a>CHAPTER 24</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>her</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>you</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been,” said Catherine, looking down, “to see your +mother’s room.” +</p> + +<p> +“My mother’s room! Is there anything extraordinary to be seen +there?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, nothing at all. I thought you did not mean to come back till +to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I was not. You have had a very fine day for your ride.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very; and does Eleanor leave you to find your way into all the rooms in +the house by yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that prevented you,” said Henry, earnestly regarding her. +“Have you looked into all the rooms in that passage?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I only wanted to see—Is not it very late? I must go and +dress.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, and I am very much surprised. Isabella promised so faithfully to +write directly.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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, <i>was</i> 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 (<i>we</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But your father,” said Catherine, “was <i>he</i> +afflicted?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am very glad of it,” said Catherine; “it would have been +very shocking!” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +They had reached the end of the gallery, and with tears of shame she ran off to +her own room. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0025"></a>CHAPTER 25</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>she</i> could allow +that an occasional memento of past folly, however painful, might not be without +use. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“Dear Catherine,<br> + “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; <i>your</i> 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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“Believe me,” &c. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I thank you” (sighing as she spoke); “they are all very +well. My letter was from my brother at Oxford.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It contained something worse than anybody could suppose! Poor James is +so unhappy! You will soon know why.” +</p> + +<p> +“To have so kind-hearted, so affectionate a sister,” replied Henry +warmly, “must be a comfort to him under any distress.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Our brother! Frederick!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>now</i> 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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is very true, however; you shall read James’s letter yourself. +Stay—There is one part—” recollecting with a blush the last +line. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you take the trouble of reading to us the passages which concern my +brother?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Her mother is a very good sort of woman,” was Catherine’s +answer. +</p> + +<p> +“What was her father?” +</p> + +<p> +“A lawyer, I believe. They live at Putney.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are they a wealthy family?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Such a sister-in-law, Henry, I should delight in,” said Eleanor +with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Among all the great variety that you have known and studied.” +</p> + +<p> +“My own disappointment and loss in her is very great; but, as for poor +James, I suppose he will hardly ever recover it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0026"></a>CHAPTER 26</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he will tell only half of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“A quarter would be enough.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go away!” said Catherine, with a very long face. “And +why?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Not seriously!” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, and sadly too—for I had much rather stay.” +</p> + +<p> +“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 +<i>anything</i> would do.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“You like it—you approve it as an object—it is enough. Henry, +remember that Robinson is spoken to about it. The cottage remains.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0027"></a>CHAPTER 27</h2> + +<p> +The next morning brought the following very unexpected letter from Isabella: +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<i>Bath, April</i> +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +My dearest Catherine,<br> + 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, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +Who ever am, etc. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It will soon be as if you never had,” said Henry. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>effect</i> of his behaviour does not justify him with you, +we had better not seek after the cause.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you do not suppose he ever really cared about her?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am persuaded that he never did.” +</p> + +<p> +“And only made believe to do so for mischief’s sake?” +</p> + +<p> +Henry bowed his assent. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is very right that you should stand by your brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if you would stand by <i>yours</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0028"></a>CHAPTER 28</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>that</i>, Papa and Mamma were in no hurry at all. As long as she was happy, +they would always be satisfied.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why, might she ask, in such a hurry herself to leave them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Because she had been there so long.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, if you can use such a word, I can urge you no farther. If you think +it long—” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Errand! To me!” +</p> + +<p> +“How shall I tell you! Oh! How shall I tell you!” +</p> + +<p> +A new idea now darted into Catherine’s mind, and turning as pale as her +friend, she exclaimed, “’Tis a messenger from Woodston!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“It will not be in my power, Catherine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come when you can, then.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>all</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have I offended the general?” said Catherine in a faltering voice. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You <i>must</i> write to me, Catherine,” she cried; “you +<i>must</i> 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 <i>one</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>will</i> write to you indeed.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0029"></a>CHAPTER 29</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can allow for his wishing Catherine away, when he recollected this +engagement,” said Sarah, “but why not do it civilly?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Catherine coloured as she warmly answered, “No friend can be better worth +keeping than Eleanor.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but <i>that</i> did not last long,” said Catherine, her eyes +brightening at the recollection of what had first given spirit to her existence +there. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do I! Oh! Perfectly.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>now</i> Henry must have arrived at +Northanger; <i>now</i> he must have heard of her departure; and <i>now</i>, +perhaps, they were all setting off for Hereford. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0030"></a>CHAPTER 30</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Catherine took up her work directly, saying, in a dejected voice, that +“her head did not run upon Bath—much.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure I do not care about the bread. It is all the same to me what I +eat.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2HCH0031"></a>CHAPTER 31</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>consent</i> was all that they wished for. They were no more inclined +than entitled to demand his <i>money</i>. 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a id="link2H_4_0032"></a> A NOTE ON THE TEXT</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div> + + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 121 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |