Jane Austen..............................................................................................................................................1

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 worthwhile to purchase what he did not think it

worthwhile 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

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 Richardand he had never been handsome. He had a considerable independence

besides two good livingsand 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 onlived to have six children moreto 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 featuresso much for her person;

and not less unpropiteous for heroism seemed her mind. She was fond of all boy's plays, and greatly preferred

cricket not merely to dolls, but to the more heroic enjoyments of infancy, nursing a dormouse, feeding a

canarybird, or watering a rosebush. Indeed she had no taste for a garden; and if she gathered flowers at all,

it was chiefly for the pleasure of mischiefat least so it was conjectured from her always preferring those

which she was forbidden to take. Such were her propensitiesher 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 stupidby 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 spinner; 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 musicmaster 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

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 goodlooking girlshe is almost

pretty today," were words which caught her ears now and then; and how welcome were the sounds! To look

almost pretty is an acquisition of higher delight to a girl who has been looking plain the first fifteen years of

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 lyingin 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 booksor at least books of informationfor, 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

From Gray, that "Many a flower is born to blush unseen, "And waste its fragrance on the desert air."

From Thompson, that "It is a delightful task "To teach the young idea how to shoot."

And from Shakespeare she gained a great store of information amongst the rest, that "Trifles light as air,

That "The poor beetle, which we tread upon, "In corporal sufferance feels a pang as great "As when a giant

And that a young woman in love always looks "like Patience on a monument "Smiling at Grief."

So far her improvement was sufficientand 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 pencilshe had no

notion of drawingnot 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; nonot even a baronet. There was not one family among their acquaintance who

had reared and supported a boy accidentally found at their doornot one young man whose origin was

But when a young lady is to be a heroine, the perverseness of forty surrounding families cannot prevent her.

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 constitutionand his lady, a goodhumoured 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

In addition to what has been already said of Catherine Morlands 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 kindher manners just removed from the awkwardness and shyness of a girl;

her person pleasing, and, when in good looks, prettyand her mind about as ignorant and uninformed as the

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 farmhouse, must, at such a moment, relieve the fulness of her heart. Who

would not think so? But Mrs. Morland knew so little of lords and baronets, that she entertained no notion of

their general mischievousness, and was wholly unsuspicious of danger to her daughter from their

machinations. Her cautions were confined to the following points. "I beg, Catherine, you will always wrap

yourself up very warm about the throat, when you come from the rooms at night; and I wish you would try to

keep some account of the money you spend; I will give you this little book on purpose.

Sally, or rather Sarah (for what young lady of common gentility will reach the age of sixteen without altering

her name as far as she can?), must from situation be at this time the intimate friend and confidante of her

sister. It is remarkable, however, that she neither insisted on Catherine's writing by every post, nor exacted

her promise of transmitting the character of every new acquaintance, nor a detail of every interesting

conversation that Bath might produce. Everything indeed relative to this important journey was done, on the

part of the Morlands, with a degree of moderation and composure, which seemed rather consistent with the

common feelings of common life, than with the refined susceptibilities, the tender emotions which the first

separation of a heroine from her family ought always to excite. Her father, instead of giving her an unlimited

order on his banker, or even putting an hundred pounds bankbill into her hands, gave her only ten guineas,

Under these unpromising auspices, the parting took place, and the journey began. It was performed with

suitable quietness and uneventful safety. Neither robbers nor tempests befriended them, nor one lucky

overturn to introduce them to the hero. Nothing more alarming occurred than a fear, on Mrs. Allen's side, of

having once left her clogs behind her at an inn, and that fortunately proved to be groundless.

They arrived at Bath. Catherine was all eager delighther eyes were here, there, everywhere, as they

approached its fine and striking environs, and afterwards drove through those streets which conducted them

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

capablewhether by her imprudence, vulgarity, or jealousywhether by intercepting her letters, ruining her

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 chaperone was provided with a dress of

the newest fashion. Catherine too made some purchases herself, and when all these matters were arranged,

the important evening came which was to usher her into the Upper Rooms. Her hair was cut and dressed by

the best hand, her clothes put on with care, and both Mrs. Allen and her maid declared she looked quite as she

should do. With such encouragement, Catherine hoped at least to pass uncensured through the crowd. As for

admiration, it was always very welcome when it came, but she did not depend on it.

Mrs. Allen was so long in dressing that they did not enter the ballroom till late. The season was full, the room

crowded, and the two ladies squeezed in as well as they could. As for Mr. Allen, he repaired directly to the

cardroom, 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 protegee, 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 onsomething 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 dearI 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

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 disappointmentshe 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 tearoom, 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

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

"How uncomfortable it is," whispered Catherine, "not to have a single acquaintance here!"

"Yes, my dear," replied Mrs. Allen, with perfect serenity, "it is very uncomfortable indeed."

"What shall we do? The gentlemen and ladies at this table look as if they wondered why we came herewe

"Aye, so we do. That is very disagreeable. I wish we had a large acquaintance here."

"Very true, my dear; and if we knew anybody we would join them directly. The Skinners were here last

"No more there are, indeed. How very provoking! But I think we had better sit still, for one gets so tumbled

in such a crowd! How is my head, my dear? Somebody gave me a push that has hurt it, I am afraid."

"No, indeed, it looks very nice. But, dear Mrs. Allen, are you sure there is nobody you know in all this

"I don't, upon my wordI 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 strangelooking woman! What

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

"Well, Miss Morland," said he, directly, "I hope you have had an agreeable ball."

"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!"

The company began to disperse when the dancing was overenough to leave space for the remainder to

walk about in some comfort; and now was the time for a heroine, who had not yet played a very distinguished

part in the events of the evening, to be noticed and admired. Every five minutes, by removing some of the

crowd, gave greater openings for her charms. She was now seen by many young men who had not been near

her before. Not one, however, started with rapturous wonder on beholding her, no whisper of eager inquiry

ran round the room, nor was she once called a divinity by anybody. Yet Catherine was in very good looks,

and had the company only seen her three years before, they would now have thought her exceedingly

She was looked at, however, and with some admiration; for, in her own hearing, two gentlemen pronounced

her to be a pretty girl. Such words had their due effect; she immediately thought the evening pleasanter than

she had found it beforeher humble vanity was contentedshe felt more obliged to the two young men for

this simple praise than a truequality 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

Every morning now brought its regular dutiesshops were to be visited; some new part of the town to be

looked at; and the pumproom 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

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 gentlemanlike 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

spiritand 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 negligentbut are you now at leisure to satisfy me in these particulars? If you

"No trouble, I assure you, madam." Then forming his features into a set smile, and affectedly softening his

"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

"Now I must give one smirk, and then we may be rational again." Catherine turned away her head, not

knowing whether she might venture to laugh. "I see what you think of me," said he gravely"I shall make

"My journal!" "Yes, I know exactly what you will say: Friday, went to the Lower Rooms; wore my sprigged

muslin robe with blue trimmingsplain black shoesappeared to much advantage; but was strangely

harassed by a queer, halfwitted man, who would make me dance with him, and distressed me by his

"I danced with a very agreeable young man, introduced by Mr. King; had a great deal of conversation with

himseems a most extraordinary geniushope I may know more of him. That, madam, is what I wish you

"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 tenour 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

"I have sometimes thought," said Catherine, doubtingly, "whether ladies do write so much better letters than

"As far as I have had opportunity of judging, it appears to me that the usual style of letterwriting among

"A general deficiency of subject, a total inattention to stops, and a very frequent ignorance of grammar."

"Upon my word! I need not have been afraid of disclaiming the compliment. You do not think too highly of

"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

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

"That is exactly what I should have guessed it, madam," said Mr. Tilney, looking at the muslin.

"Particularly well; I always buy my own cravats, and am allowed to be an excellent judge; and my sister has

often trusted me in the choice of a gown. I bought one for her the other day, and it was pronounced to be a

prodigious bargain by every lady who saw it. I gave but five shillings a yard for it, and a true Indian muslin."

Mrs. Allen was quite struck by his genius. "Men commonly take so little notice of those things," said she; "I

can never get Mr. Allen to know one of my gowns from another. You must be a great comfort to your sister,

"It is very pretty, madam," said he, gravely examining it; "but I do not think it will wash well; I am afraid it

"I am quite of your opinion, sir," replied Mrs. Allen; "and so I told Miss Morland when she bought it."

"But then you know, madam, muslin always turns to some account or other; Miss Morland will get enough

out of it for a handkerchief, or a cap, or a cloak. Muslin can never be said to be wasted. I have heard my sister

say so forty times, when she has been extravagant in buying more than she wanted, or careless in cutting it to

"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 goeight 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 fagI come back tired to

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

"That is artful and deep, to be sure; but I had rather be told at once that you will not tell me."

"Thank you; for now we shall soon be acquainted, as I am authorized to tease you on this subject whenever

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,* 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.

With more than usual eagerness did Catherine hasten to the pumproom 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

demandedMr. Tilney did not appear. Every creature in Bath, except himself, was to be seen in the room at

different periods of the fashionable hours; crowds of people were every moment passing in and out, up the

steps and down; people whom nobody cared about, and nobody wanted to see; and he only was absent. "What

a delightful place Bath is," said Mrs. Allen as they sat down near the great clock, after parading the room till

they were tired; "and how pleasant it would be if we had any acquaintance here."

This sentiment had been uttered so often in vain that Mrs. Allen had no particular reason to hope it would be

followed with more advantage now; but we are told to "despair of nothing we would attain," as "unwearied

diligence our point would gain"; and the unwearied diligence with which she had every day wished for the

same thing was at length to have its just reward, for hardly had she been seated ten minutes before a lady of

about her own age, who was sitting by her, and had been looking at her attentively for several minutes,

addressed her with great complaisance in these words: "I think, madam, I cannot be mistaken; it is a long

time since I had the pleasure of seeing you, but is not your name Allen?" This question answered, as it readily

was, the stranger pronounced hers to be Thorpe; and Mrs. Allen immediately recognized the features of a

former schoolfellow and intimate, whom she had seen only once since their respective marriages, and that

many years ago. Their joy on this meeting was very great, as well it might, since they had been contented to

know nothing of each other for the last fifteen years. Compliments on good looks now passed; and, after

observing how time had slipped away since they were last together, how little they had thought of meeting in

Bath, and what a pleasure it was to see an old friend, they proceeded to make inquiries and give intelligence

as to their families, sisters, and cousins, talking both together, far more ready to give than to receive

information, and each hearing very little of what the other said. Mrs. Thorpe, however, had one great

advantage as a talker, over Mrs. Allen, in a family of children; and when she expatiated on the talents of her

sons, and the beauty of her daughters, when she related their different situations and viewsthat John was at

Oxford, Edward at Merchant Taylors', and William at seaand 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 eye

soon made, that the lace on Mrs. Thorpe's pelisse was not half so handsome as that on her own.

"Here come my dear girls," cried Mrs. Thorpe, pointing at three smartlooking 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

The Miss Thorpes were introduced; and Miss Morland, who had been for a short time forgotten, was

introduced likewise. The name seemed to strike them all; and, after speaking to her with great civility, the

eldest young lady observed aloud to the rest, "How excessively like her brother Miss Morland is!"

"The very picture of him indeed!" cried the motherand "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

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

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 pumproom, 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 drawingroom 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

Mrs. Thorpe was a widow, and not a very rich one; she was a goodhumoured, wellmeaning woman, and a

very indulgent mother. Her eldest daughter had great personal beauty, and the younger ones, by pretending to

be as handsome as their sister, imitating her air, and dressing in the same style, did very well.

This brief account of the family is intended to supersede the necessity of a long and minute detail from Mrs.

Thorpe herself, of her past adventures and sufferings, which might otherwise be expected to occupy the three

or four following chapters; in which the worthlessness of lords and attornies might be set forth, and

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 pumproom. 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

As soon as divine service was over, the Thorpes and Allens eagerly joined each other; and after staying long

enough in the pumproom 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

curricledrivers of the morning. His name was not in the pumproom 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 emotionbut she was not

experienced enough in the finesse of love, or the duties of friendship, to know when delicate raillery was

Mrs. Allen was now quite happyquite 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

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 novelwriters, of degrading by their contemptuous

censure the very performances, to the number of which they are themselves addingjoining 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 ninehundredth 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 pensthere 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 novelreaderI seldom

look into novelsDo not imagine that I often read novelsIt 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 bestchosen 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

The following conversation, which took place between the two friends in the pumproom 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

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

"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

"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 nowvery 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

"Yes, I have been reading it ever since I woke; and I am got to the black veil."

"Are you, indeed? How delightful! Oh! I would not tell you what is behind the black veil for the world! Are

"Oh! Yes, quite; what can it be? But do not tell meI 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

"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."

"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

"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

"Yes, that I do. There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of

loving people by halves; it is not my nature. My attachments are always excessively strong. I told Captain

Hunt at one of our assemblies this winter that if he was to tease me all night, I would not dance with him,

unless he would allow Miss Andrews to be as beautiful as an angel. The men think us incapable of real

friendship, you know, and I am determined to show them the difference. Now, if I were to hear anybody

speak slightingly of you, I should fire up in a moment: but that is not at all likely, for you are just the kind of

"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 earnestlyI am sure he is in love with you." Catherine

coloured, and disclaimed again. Isabella laughed. "It is very true, upon my honour, but I see how it is; you are

indifferent to everybody's admiration, except that of one gentleman, who shall be nameless. Nay, I cannot

blame you"speaking more seriously"your feelings are easily understood. Where the heart is really

attached, I know very well how little one can be pleased with the attention of anybody else. Everything is so

insipid, so uninteresting, that does not relate to the beloved object! I can perfectly comprehend your feelings."

"But you should not persuade me that I think so very much about Mr. Tilney, for perhaps I may never see

"Not see him again! My dearest creature, do not talk of it. I am sure you would be miserable if you thought

"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,

"It is so odd to me, that you should never have read Udolpho before; but I suppose Mrs. Morland objects to

"No, she does not. She very often reads Sir Charles Grandison herself; but new books do not fall in our way."

"Sir Charles Grandison! That is an amazing horrid book, is it not? I remember Miss Andrews could not get

"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 tonight? I am determined at all events to be dressed exactly like you. The

"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."

"Oh! They give themselves such airs. They are the most conceited creatures in the world, and think

themselves of so much importance! By the by, though I have thought of it a hundred times, I have always

forgot to ask you what is your favourite complexion in a man. Do you like them best dark or fair?"

"I hardly know. I never much thought about it. Something between both, I think. Brownnot fair, andand

"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 complexiondo

you knowI like a sallow better than any other. You must not betray me, if you should ever meet with one

"Nay, do not distress me. I believe I have said too much. Let us drop the subject."

Catherine, in some amazement, complied, and after remaining a few moments silent, was on the point of

reverting to what interested her at that time rather more than anything else in the world, Laurentina's skeleton,

when her friend prevented her, by saying, "For heaven's sake! Let us move away from this end of the room.

Do you know, there are two odious young men who have been staring at me this half hour. They really put

me quite out of countenance. Let us go and look at the arrivals. They will hardly follow us there."

Away they walked to the book; and while Isabella examined the names, it was Catherine's employment to

"They are not coming this way, are they? I hope they are not so impertinent as to follow us. Pray let me know

In a few moments Catherine, with unaffected pleasure, assured her that she need not be longer uneasy, as the

"And which way are they gone?" said Isabella, turning hastily round. "One was a very goodlooking young

"Well, I am amazingly glad I have got rid of them! And now, what say you to going to Edgar's Buildings with

Catherine readily agreed. "Only," she added, "perhaps we may overtake the two young men."

"Oh! Never mind that. If we make haste, we shall pass by them presently, and I am dying to show you my

"But if we only wait a few minutes, there will be no danger of our seeing them at all."

"I shall not pay them any such compliment, I assure you. I have no notion of treating men with such respect.

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

Half a minute conducted them through the pumpyard 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 knowinglooking

coachman with all the vehemence that could most fitly endanger the lives of himself, his companion, and his

"Oh, these odious gigs!" said Isabella, looking up. "How I detest them." But this detestation, though so just,

was of short duration, for she looked again and exclaimed, "Delightful! Mr. Morland and my brother!"

"Good heaven! 'Tis James!" was uttered at the same moment by Catherine; and, on catching the young men's

eyes, the horse was immediately checked with a violence which almost threw him on his haunches, and the

servant having now scampered up, the gentlemen jumped out, and the equipage was delivered to his care.

Catherine, by whom this meeting was wholly unexpected, received her brother with the liveliest pleasure; and

he, being of a very amiable disposition, and sincerely attached to her, gave every proof on his side of equal

satisfaction, which he could have leisure to do, while the bright eyes of Miss Thorpe were incessantly

challenging his notice; and to her his devoirs were speedily paid, with a mixture of joy and embarrassment

which might have informed Catherine, had she been more expert in the development of other people's

feelings, and less simply engrossed by her own, that her brother thought her friend quite as pretty as she could

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

"I do not know the distance." Her brother told her that it was twentythree miles.

"Three and twenty!" cried Thorpe. "Five and twenty if it is an inch." Morland remonstrated, pleaded the

authority of roadbooks, 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 innyard 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 twentyfive."

"You have lost an hour," said Morland; "it was only ten o'clock when we came from Tetbury."

"Ten o'clock! It was eleven, upon my soul! I counted every stroke. This brother of yours would persuade me

out of my senses, Miss Morland; do but look at my horse; did you ever see an animal so made for speed in

your life?" (The servant had just mounted the carriage and was driving off.) "Such true blood! Three hours

and and a half indeed coming only three and twenty miles! Look at that creature, and suppose it possible if

"Hot! He had not turned a hair till we came to Walcot Church; but look at his forehand; look at his loins; only

see how he moves; that horse cannot go less than ten miles an hour: tie his legs and he will get on. What do

you think of my gig, Miss Morland? A neat one, is not it? Well hung; townbuilt; 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;

"Curriclehung, you see; seat, trunk, swordcase, splashingboard, lamps, silver moulding, all you see

complete; the ironwork as good as new, or better. He asked fifty guineas; I closed with him directly, threw

"And I am sure," said Catherine, "I know so little of such things that I cannot judge whether it was cheap or

"Neither one nor t'other; I might have got it for less, I dare say; but I hate haggling, and poor Freeman wanted

"Oh! D it, when one has the means of doing a kind thing by a friend, I hate to be pitiful."

An inquiry now took place into the intended movements of the young ladies; and, on finding whither they

were going, it was decided that the gentlemen should accompany them to Edgar's Buildings, and pay their

respects to Mrs. Thorpe. James and Isabella led the way; and so well satisfied was the latter with her lot, so

contentedly was she endeavouring to ensure a pleasant walk to him who brought the double recommendation

of being her brother's friend, and her friend's brother, so pure and uncoquettish were her feelings, that, though

they overtook and passed the two offending young men in Milsom Street, she was so far from seeking to

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

"Yes," said Morland, who overheard this; "but you forget that your horse was included."

"My horse! Oh, d it! I would not sell my horse for a hundred. Are you fond of an open carriage, Miss

"Yes, very; I have hardly ever an opportunity of being in one; but I am particularly fond of it."

"Thank you," said Catherine, in some distress, from a doubt of the propriety of accepting such an offer.

"Rest! He has only come three and twenty miles today; 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

"Shall you indeed!" said Catherine very seriously. "That will be forty miles a day."

"Forty! Aye, fifty, for what I care. Well, I will drive you up Lansdown tomorrow; mind, I am engaged."

"How delightful that will be!" cried Isabella, turning round. "My dearest Catherine, I quite envy you; but I am

"A third indeed! No, no; I did not come to Bath to drive my sisters about; that would be a good joke, faith!

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 selfassured 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

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

"I think you must like Udolpho, if you were to read it; it is so very interesting."

"Not I, faith! No, if I read any, it shall be Mrs. Radcliffe's; her novels are amusing enough; they are worth

"Udolpho was written by Mrs. Radcliffe," said Catherine, with some hesitation, from the fear of mortifying

"No sure; was it? Aye, I remember, so it was; I was thinking of that other stupid book, written by that woman

"Yes, that's the book; such unnatural stuff! An old man playing at seesaw, 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."

"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 seesaw and learning Latin; upon my soul there is not."

This critique, the justness of which was unfortunately lost on poor Catherine, brought them to the door of

Mrs. Thorpe's lodgings, and the feelings of the discerning and unprejudiced reader of Camilla gave way to

the feelings of the dutiful and affectionate son, as they met Mrs. Thorpe, who had descried them from above,

in the passage. "Ah, Mother! How do you do?" said he, giving her a hearty shake of the hand. "Where did you

get that quiz of a hat? It makes you look like an old witch. Here is Morland and I come to stay a few days

with you, so you must look out for a couple of good beds somewhere near." And this address seemed to

satisfy all the fondest wishes of the mother's heart, for she received him with the most delighted and exulting

affection. On his two younger sisters he then bestowed an equal portion of his fraternal tenderness, for he

These manners did not please Catherine; but he was James's friend and Isabella's brother; and her judgment

was further bought off by Isabella's assuring her, when they withdrew to see the new hat, that John thought

her the most charming girl in the world, and by John's engaging her before they parted to dance with him that

evening. Had she been older or vainer, such attacks might have done little; but, where youth and diffidence

are united, it requires uncommon steadiness of reason to resist the attraction of being called the most

charming girl in the world, and of being so very early engaged as a partner; and the consequence was that,

when the two Morlands, after sitting an hour with the Thorpes, set off to walk together to Mr. Allen's, and

James, as the door was closed on them, said, "Well, Catherine, how do you like my friend Thorpe?" instead

of answering, as she probably would have done, had there been no friendship and no flattery in the case, "I do

not like him at all," she directly replied, "I like him very much; he seems very agreeable."

"He is as goodnatured a fellow as ever lived; a little of a rattle; but that will recommend him to your sex, I

"I am very glad to hear you say so; she is just the kind of young woman I could wish to see you attached to;

she has so much good sense, and is so thoroughly unaffected and amiable; I always wanted you to know her;

and she seems very fond of you. She said the highest things in your praise that could possibly be; and the

praise of such a girl as Miss Thorpe even you, Catherine," taking her hand with affection, "may be proud of."

"Indeed I am," she replied; "I love her exceedingly, and am delighted to find that you like her too. You hardly

"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 thisis not she?"

"Yes, very much indeed, I fancy; Mr. Allen thinks her the prettiest girl in Bath."

"I dare say he does; and I do not know any man who is a better judge of beauty than Mr. Allen. I need not ask

you whether you are happy here, my dear Catherine; with such a companion and friend as Isabella Thorpe, it

would be impossible for you to be otherwise; and the Allens, I am sure, are very kind to you?"

"Yes, very kind; I never was so happy before; and now you are come it will be more delightful than ever;

James accepted this tribute of gratitude, and qualified his conscience for accepting it too, by saying with

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 preengagement 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

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 chaperones, arm in arm,

into the ballroom, whispering to each other whenever a thought occurred, and supplying the place of many

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 cardroom 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, "Goodbye, 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 nonappearance of Mr. Thorpe, for she not only longed to be

dancing, but was likewise aware that, as the real dignity of her situation could not be known, she was sharing

with the scores of other young ladies still sitting down all the discredit of wanting a partner. To be disgraced

in the eye of the world, to wear the appearance of infamy while her heart is all purity, her actions all

innocence, and the misconduct of another the true source of her debasement, is one of those circumstances

which peculiarly belong to the heroine's life, and her fortitude under it what particularly dignifies her

character. Catherine had fortitude too; she suffered, but no murmur passed her lips.

From this state of humiliation, she was roused, at the end of ten minutes, to a pleasanter feeling, by seeing,

not Mr. Thorpe, but Mr. Tilney, within three yards of the place where they sat; he seemed to be moving that

way, but be 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 pleasinglooking young woman, who leant on his arm, and

whom Catherine immediately guessed to be his sister; thus unthinkingly throwing away a fair opportunity of

considering him lost to her forever, by being married already. But guided only by what was simple and

probable, it had never entered her head that Mr. Tilney could be married; he had not behaved, he had not

talked, like the married men to whom she had been used; he had never mentioned a wife, and he had

acknowledged a sister. From these circumstances sprang the instant conclusion of his sister's now being by

his side; and therefore, instead of turning of a deathlike paleness and falling in a fit on Mrs. Allen's bosom,

Catherine sat erect, in the perfect use of her senses, and with cheeks only a little redder than usual.

Mr. Tilney and his companion, who continued, though slowly, to approach, were immediately preceded by a

lady, an acquaintance of Mrs. Thorpe; and this lady stopping to speak to her, they, as belonging to her,

stopped likewise, and Catherine, catching Mr. Tilney's eye, instantly received from him the smiling tribute of

recognition. She returned it with pleasure, and then advancing still nearer, he spoke both to her and Mrs.

Allen, by whom he was very civilly acknowledged. "I am very happy to see you again, sir, indeed; I was

afraid you had left Bath." He thanked her for her fears, and said that he had quitted it for a week, on the very

"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

"And I hope, madam, that Mr. Allen will be obliged to like the place, from finding it of service to him."

"Thank you, sir. I have no doubt that he will. A neighbour of ours, Dr. Skinner, was here for his health last

"Yes, sirand Dr. Skinner and his family were here three months; so I tell Mr. Allen he must not be in a

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 libertybut 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

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

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

"My dear Isabella, how was it possible for me to get at you? I could not even see where you were."

"So I told your brother all the timebut he would not believe me. Do go and see for her, Mr. Morland, said

Ibut all in vainhe 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

"Look at that young lady with the white beads round her head," whispered Catherine, detaching her friend

"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 allconquering 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."

"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."

"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

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

"Upon my honour," said James, "in these public assemblies, it is as often done as not."

"Nonsense, how can you say so? But when you men have a point to carry, you never stick at anything. My

sweet Catherine, do support me; persuade your brother how impossible it is. Tell him that it would quite

"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 thema 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

"He was with us just now, and said he was so tired of lounging about, that he was resolved to go and dance;

"Where can he be?" said Catherine, looking round; but she had not looked round long before she saw him

"Ah! He has got a partner; I wish he had asked you," said Mrs. Allen; and after a short silence, she added, "he

"Indeed he is, Mrs. Allen," said Mrs. Thorpe, smiling complacently; "I must say it, though I am his mother,

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

Catherine was disappointed and vexed. She seemed to have missed by so little the very object she had had in

view; and this persuasion did not incline her to a very gracious reply, when John Thorpe came up to her soon

afterwards and said, "Well, Miss Morland, I suppose you and I are to stand up and jig it together again."

"Oh, no; I am much obliged to you, our two dances are over; and, besides, I am tired, and do not mean to

"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

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,

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 pumproom at noon. In the pumproom, 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 bag last night, was not it? Come, Miss Morland, be quick, for the

others are in a confounded hurry to be off. They want to get their tumble over."

"What do you mean?" said Catherine. "Where are you all going to?" "Going to? Why, you have not forgot

our engagement! Did not we agree together to take a drive this morning? What a head you have! We are

"Something was said about it, I remember," said Catherine, looking at Mrs. Allen for her opinion; "but really

"Not expect me! That's a good one! And what a dust you would have made, if I had not come."

Catherine's silent appeal to her friend, meanwhile, was entirely thrown away, for Mrs. Allen, not being at all

in the habit of conveying any expression herself by a look, was not aware of its being ever intended by

anybody else; and Catherine, whose desire of seeing Miss Tilney again could at that moment bear a short

delay in favour of a drive, and who thought there could be no impropriety in her going with Mr. Thorpe, as

Isabella was going at the same time with James, was therefore obliged to speak plainer. "Well, ma'am, what

"Do 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

Catherine followed her orders and turned away, but not too soon to hear her friend exclaim aloud to James,

"You will not be frightened, Miss Morland," said Thorpe, as he handed her in, "if my horse should dance

about a little at first setting off. He will, most likely, give a plunge or two, and perhaps take the rest for a

minute; but he will soon know his master. He is full of spirits, playful as can be, but there is no vice in him."

Catherine did not think the portrait a very inviting one, but it was too late to retreat, and she was too young to

own herself frightened; so, resigning herself to her fate, and trusting to the animal's boasted knowledge of its

owner, she sat peaceably down, and saw Thorpe sit down by her. Everything being then arranged, the servant

who stood at the horse's head was bid in an important voice "to let him go," and off they went in the quietest

manner imaginable, without a plunge or a caper, or anything like one. Catherine, delighted at so happy an

escape, spoke her pleasure aloud with grateful surprise; and her companion immediately made the matter

perfectly simple by assuring her that it was entirely owing to the peculiarly judicious manner in which he had

then held the reins, and the singular discernment and dexterity with which he had directed his whip.

Catherine, though she could not help wondering that with such perfect command of his horse, he should think

it necessary to alarm her with a relation of its tricks, congratulated herself sincerely on being under the care

of so excellent a coachman; and perceiving that the animal continued to go on in the same quiet manner,

without showing the smallest propensity towards any unpleasant vivacity, and (considering its inevitable pace

was ten miles an hour) by no means alarmingly fast, gave herself up to all the enjoyment of air and exercise

of the most invigorating kind, in a fine mild day of February, with the consciousness of safety. A silence of

several minutes succeeded their first short dialogue; it was broken by Thorpe's saying very abruptly, "Old

Allen is as rich as a Jewis not he?" Catherine did not understand himand he repeated his question,

"Aye, that is what I meant. He seems a good kind of old fellow enough, and has lived very well in his time, I

"His bottle a day! No. Why should you think of such a thing? He is a very temperate man, and you could not

"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 thisthat 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."

"Oh! Lord, it would be the saving of thousands. There is not the hundredth part of the wine consumed in this

"Oxford! There is no drinking at Oxford now, I assure you. Nobody drinks there. You would hardly meet

with a man who goes beyond his four pints at the utmost. Now, for instance, it was reckoned a remarkable

thing, at the last party in my rooms, that upon an average we cleared about five pints a head. It was looked

upon as something out of the common way. Mine is famous good stuff, to be sure. You would not often meet

with anything like it in Oxfordand that may account for it. But this will just give you a notion of the

"Yes, it does give a notion," said Catherine warmly, "and that is, that you all drink a great deal more wine

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

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

"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 leastand 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

"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! Oh, lord! What is there in that? They will only get a roll if it does break down; and there is plenty of

dirt; it will be excellent falling. Oh, curse it! The carriage is safe enough, if a man knows how to drive it; a

thing of that sort in good hands will last above twenty years after it is fairly worn out. Lord bless you! I

would undertake for five pounds to drive it to York and back again, without losing a nail."

Catherine listened with astonishment; she knew not how to reconcile two such very different accounts of the

same thing; for she had not been brought up to understand the propensities of a rattle, nor to know to how

many idle assertions and impudent falsehoods the excess of vanity will lead. Her own family were plain,

matteroffact 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 foxhounds, 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

Little as Catherine was in the habit of judging for herself, and unfixed as were her general notions of what

men ought to be, she could not entirely repress a doubt, while she bore with the effusions of his endless

conceit, of his being altogether completely agreeable. It was a bold surmise, for he was Isabella's brother; and

she had been assured by James that his manners would recommend him to all her sex; but in spite of this, the

extreme weariness of his company, which crept over her before they had been out an hour, and which

continued unceasingly to increase till they stopped in Pulteney Street again, induced her, in some small

degree, to resist such high authority, and to distrust his powers of giving universal pleasure.

When they arrived at Mrs. Allen's door, the astonishment of Isabella was hardly to be expressed, on finding

that it was too late in the day for them to attend her friend into the house: "Past three o'clock!" It was

inconceivable, incredible, impossible! And she would neither believe her own watch, nor her brother's, nor

the servant's; she would believe no assurance of it founded on reason or reality, till Morland produced his

watch, and ascertained the fact; to have doubted a moment longer then would have been equally

inconceivable, incredible, and impossible; and she could only protest, over and over again, that no two hours

and a half had ever gone off so swiftly before, as Catherine was called on to confirm; Catherine could not tell

a falsehood even to please Isabella; but the latter was spared the misery of her friend's dissenting voice, by

not waiting for her answer. Her own feelings entirely engrossed her; her wretchedness was most acute on

finding herself obliged to go directly home. It was ages since she had had a moment's conversation with her

dearest Catherine; and, though she had such thousands of things to say to her, it appeared as if they were

never to be together again; so, with sniffles of most exquisite misery, and the laughing eye of utter

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

"Yes, I went to the pumproom 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."

"Yes; we agreed to take a turn in the Crescent, and there we met Mrs. Hughes, and Mr. and Miss Tilney

"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

"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

weddingclothes. Mrs. Hughes saw all the clothes after they came from the warehouse."

"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 weddingday and that Miss Tilney has

"I cannot be quite positive about that, my dear; I have some idea he is; but, however, he is a very fine young

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.

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. Tilneybut that is a settled thingeven

your modesty cannot doubt his attachment now; his coming back to Bath makes it too plain. Oh! What would

not I give to see him! I really am quite wild with impatience. My mother says he is the most delightful young

man in the world; she saw him this morning, you know; you must introduce him to me. Is he in the house

now? Look about, for heaven's sake! I assure you, I can hardly exist till I see him."

"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

"Oh, yes you would indeed; I know you better than you know yourself. You would have told us that we

seemed born for each other, or some nonsense of that kind, which would have distressed me beyond

conception; my cheeks would have been as red as your roses; I would not have had you by for the world."

"Indeed you do me injustice; I would not have made so improper a remark upon any account; and besides, I

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 pumproom, 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 pumproom, where the ordinary course of events and conversation took place; Mr. Allen,

after drinking his glass of water, joined some gentlemen to talk over the politics of the day and compare the

accounts of their newspapers; and the ladies walked about together, noticing every new face, and almost

every new bonnet in the room. The female part of the Thorpe family, attended by James Morland, appeared

among the crowd in less than a quarter of an hour, and Catherine immediately took her usual place by the side

of her friend. James, who was now in constant attendance, maintained a similar position, and separating

themselves from the rest of their party, they walked in that manner for some time, till Catherine began to

doubt the happiness of a situation which, confining her entirely to her friend and brother, gave her very little

share in the notice of either. They were always engaged in some sentimental discussion or lively dispute, but

their sentiment was conveyed in such whispering voices, and their vivacity attended with so much laughter,

that though Catherine's supporting opinion was not unfrequently called for by one or the other, she was never

able to give any, from not having heard a word of the subject. At length however she was empowered to

disengage herself from her friend, by the avowed necessity of speaking to Miss Tilney, whom she most

joyfully saw just entering the room with Mrs. Hughes, and whom she instantly joined, with a firmer

determination to be acquainted, than she might have had courage to command, had she not been urged by the

disappointment of the day before. Miss Tilney met her with great civility, returned her advances with equal

goodwill, and they continued talking together as long as both parties remained in the room; and though in all

probability not an observation was made, nor an expression used by either which had not been made and used

some thousands of times before, under that roof, in every Bath season, yet the merit of their being spoken

with simplicity and truth, and without personal conceit, might be something uncommon.

"How well your brother dances!" was an artless exclamation of Catherine's towards the close of their

"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

"When Henry had the pleasure of seeing you before, he was in Bath but for a couple of days. He came only to

"That never occurred to me; and of course, not seeing him anywhere, I thought he must be gone. Was not the

"He never comes to the pumproom, I suppose?" "Yes, sometimes; but he has rid out this morning with my

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 tomorrow?"

"I am glad of it, for we shall all be there." This civility was duly returned; and they partedon Miss Tilney's

side with some knowledge of her new acquaintance's feelings, and on Catherine's, without the smallest

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 headdress 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

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 countrydancing beginning, and she saw nothing of

"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,

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 selfcondemnation 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

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

"That is a good one, by Jove! I asked you as soon as I came into the room, and I was just going to ask you

again, but when I turned round, you were gone! This is a cursed shabby trick! I only came for the sake of

dancing with you, and I firmly believe you were engaged to me ever since Monday. Yes; I remember, I asked

you while you were waiting in the lobby for your cloak. And here have I been telling all my acquaintance that

I was going to dance with the prettiest girl in the room; and when they see you standing up with somebody

"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. "HumI 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 roadonly forty guineas. I had fifty minds to buy it

myself, for it is one of my maxims always to buy a good horse when I meet with one; but it would not answer

my purpose, it would not do for the field. I would give any money for a real good hunter. I have three now,

the best that ever were backed. I would not take eight hundred guineas for them. Fletcher and I mean to get a

house in Leicestershire, against the next season. It is so d uncomfortable, living at an inn."

This was the last sentence by which he could weary Catherine's attention, for he was just then borne off by

the resistless pressure of a long string of passing ladies. Her partner now drew near, and said, "That

gentleman would have put me out of patience, had he stayed with you half a minute longer. He has no

business to withdraw the attention of my partner from me. We have entered into a contract of mutual

agreeableness for the space of an evening, and all our agreeableness belongs solely to each other for that

time. Nobody can fasten themselves on the notice of one, without injuring the rights of the other. I consider a

countrydance 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

"To be sure not. People that marry can never part, but must go and keep house together. People that dance

"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

"Yes, to be sure, as you state it, all this sounds very well; but still they are so very different. I cannot look

"In one respect, there certainly is a difference. In marriage, the man is supposed to provide for the support of

the woman, the woman to make the home agreeable to the man; he is to purvey, and she is to smile. But in

dancing, their duties are exactly changed; the agreeableness, the compliance are expected from him, while

she furnishes the fan and the lavender water. That, I suppose, was the difference of duties which struck you,

"Then I am quite at a loss. One thing, however, I must observe. This disposition on your side is rather

alarming. You totally disallow any similarity in the obligations; and may I not thence infer that your notions

of the duties of the dancing state are not so strict as your partner might wish? Have I not reason to fear that if

the gentleman who spoke to you just now were to return, or if any other gentleman were to address you, there

would be nothing to restrain you from conversing with him as long as you chose?"

"Mr. Thorpe is such a very particular friend of my brother's, that if he talks to me, I must talk to him again;

but there are hardly three young men in the room besides him that I have any acquaintance with."

"Nay, I am sure you cannot have a better; for if I do not know anybody, it is impossible for me to talk to

"Now you have given me a security worth having; and I shall proceed with courage. Do you find Bath as

"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

"Bath, compared with London, has little variety, and so everybody finds out every year. 'For six weeks, I

allow Bath is pleasant enough; but beyond that, it is the most tiresome place in the world.' You would be told

so by people of all descriptions, who come regularly every winter, lengthen their six weeks into ten or twelve,

"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

"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."

"And so I am at homeonly 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."

"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

"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 againI do like it so very much. If I could but

have Papa and Mamma, and the rest of them here, I suppose I should be too happy! James's coming (my

eldest brother) is quite delightfuland especially as it turns out that the very family we are just got so

intimate with are his intimate friends already. Oh! Who can ever be tired of Bath?"

"Not those who bring such fresh feelings of every sort to it as you do. But papas and mammas, and brothers,

and intimate friends are a good deal gone by, to most of the frequenters of Bathand the honest relish of

balls and plays, and everyday sights, is past with them." Here their conversation closed, the demands of the

Soon after their reaching the bottom of the set, Catherine perceived herself to be earnestly regarded by a

gentleman who stood among the lookerson, 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

Catherine's answer was only "Oh!"but it was an "Oh!" expressing everything needful: attention to his

words, and perfect reliance on their truth. With real interest and strong admiration did her eye now follow the

general, as he moved through the crowd, and "How handsome a family they are!" was her secret remark.

In chatting with Miss Tilney before the evening concluded, a new source of felicity arose to her. She had

never taken a country walk since her arrival in Bath. Miss Tilney, to whom all the commonly frequented

environs were familiar, spoke of them in terms which made her all eagerness to know them too; and on her

openly fearing that she might find nobody to go with her, it was proposed by the brother and sister that they

should join in a walk, some morning or other. "I shall like it," she cried, "beyond anything in the world; and

do not let us put it offlet us go tomorrow." 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 "Remembertwelve 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.

The morrow brought a very soberlooking 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

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.

"No walk for me today," sighed Catherine; "but perhaps it may come to nothing, or it may hold up before

After a short pause, "It comes on faster and faster!" said Catherine, as she stood watching at a window.

"They are disagreeable things to carry. I would much rather take a chair at any time."

"Anybody would have thought so indeed. There will be very few people in the pumproom, 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

The rain continuedfast, though not heavy. Catherine went every five minutes to the clock, threatening on

each return that, if it still kept on raining another five minutes, she would give up the matter as hopeless. The

clock struck twelve, and it still rained. "You will not be able to go, my dear."

"I do not quite despair yet. I shall not give it up till a quarter after twelve. This is just the time of day for it to

clear up, and I do think it looks a little lighter. There, it is twenty minutes after twelve, and now I shall give it

up entirely. Oh! That we had such weather here as they had at Udolpho, or at least in Tuscany and the south

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,

It was too dirty for Mrs. Allen to accompany her husband to the pumproom; 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

"Isabella, my brother, and Mr. Thorpe, I declare! They are coming for me perhapsbut I shall not goI

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 momentthere is no time

"To Bristol! Is not that a great way off? But, however, I cannot go with you today, 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 breakfasttime, 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,

"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."

"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

"Not they indeed," cried Thorpe; "for, as we turned into Broad Street, I saw themdoes he not drive a

"Yes, I know he does; I saw him. You are talking of the man you danced with last night, are not you?"

"Well, I saw him at that moment turn up the Lansdown Road, driving a smartlooking girl."

"Did upon my soul; knew him again directly, and he seemed to have got some very pretty cattle too."

"And well they might, for I never saw so much dirt in my life. Walk! You could no more walk than you could

Isabella corroborated it: "My dearest Catherine, you cannot form an idea of the dirt; come, you must go; you

"I should like to see the castle; but may we go all over it? May we go up every staircase, and into every suite

"But then, if they should only be gone out for an hour till it is dryer, and call by and by?"

"Make yourself easy, there is no danger of that, for I heard Tilney hallooing to a man who was just passing by

"Mrs. Allen, you must persuade her to go," was the general cry. Mrs. Allen was not inattentive to it: "Well,

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

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 trapdoors. 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?"

"On the righthand pavementshe 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

Their drive, even when this subject was over, was not likely to be very agreeable. Catherine's complaisance

was no longer what it had been in their former airing. She listened reluctantly, and her replies were short.

Blaize Castle remained her only comfort; towards that, she still looked at intervals with pleasure; though

rather than be disappointed of the promised walk, and especially rather than be thought ill of by the Tilneys,

she would willingly have given up all the happiness which its walls could supplythe happiness of a

progress through a long suite of lofty rooms, exhibiting the remains of magnificent furniture, though now for

many years desertedthe 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 today; 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

"It is all one to me," replied Thorpe rather angrily; and instantly turning his horse, they were on their way

"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 brokenwinded jade's pace. Morland is a fool for not keeping a horse

"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

As she entered the house, the footman told her that a gentleman and lady had catted 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 heartrending 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

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

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

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

"Mrs. Allen," said Catherine the next morning, "will there be any harm in my calling on Miss Tilney today? I

"Go, by all means, my dear; only put on a white gown; Miss Tilney always wears white."

Catherine cheerfully complied, and being properly equipped, was more impatient than ever to be at the

pumproom, that she might inform herself of General Tilneys 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 churchyard, and resolutely turning away her eyes, that she might not be obliged to see her

beloved Isabella and her dear family, who, she had reason to believe, were in a shop hard by. She reached the

house without any impediment, looked at the number, knocked at the door, and inquired for Miss Tilney. The

man believed Miss Tilney to be at home, but was not quite certain. Would she be pleased to send up her

name? She gave her card. In a few minutes the servant returned, and with a look which did not quite confirm

his words, said he had been mistaken, for that Miss Tilney was walked out. Catherine, with a blush of

mortification, left the house. She felt almost persuaded that Miss Tilney was at home, and too much offended

to admit her; and as she retired down the street, could not withhold one glance at the drawingroom

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

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 merrimentno 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 bowedbut 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

condemnationinstead 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 elseshe took to herself all the shame

of misconduct, or at least of its appearance, and was only eager for an opportunity of explaining its cause.

The play concludedthe curtain fellHenry 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

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

"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

Is there a Henry in the world who could be insensible to such a declaration? Henry Tilney at least was not.

With a yet sweeter smile, he said everything that need be said of his sister's concern, regret, and dependence

on Catherine's honour. "Oh! Do not say Miss Tilney was not angry," cried Catherine, "because I know she

was; for she would not see me this morning when I called; I saw her walk out of the house the next minute

after my leaving it; I was hurt, but I was not affronted. Perhaps you did not know I had been there."

"I was not within at the time; but I heard of it from Eleanor, and she has been wishing ever since to see you,

to explain the reason of such incivility; but perhaps I can do it as well. It was nothing more than that my

fatherthey were just preparing to walk out, and he being hurried for time, and not caring to have it put

offmade a point of her being denied. That was all, I do assure you. She was very much vexed, and meant

Catherine's mind was greatly eased by this information, yet a something of solicitude remained, from which

sprang the following question, thoroughly artless in itself, though rather distressing to the gentleman: "But,

Mr. Tilney, why were you less generous than your sister? If she felt such confidence in my good intentions,

and could suppose it to be only a mistake, why should you be so ready to take offence?"

"Well, nobody would have thought you had no right who saw your face." He replied by asking her to make

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

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

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, activelooks as

young as his son. I have a great regard for him, I assure you: a gentlemanlike, good sort of fellow as ever

"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 today the moment he came into the billiardroom. 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 worldI took his ball exactlybut I could not make you understand it without a table; however, I did

beat him. A very fine fellow; as rich as a Jew. I should like to dine with him; I dare say he gives famous

dinners. But what do you think we have been talking of? You. Yes, by heavens! And the general thinks you

"And what do you think I said?"lowering his voice"well done, general, said I; I am quite of your mind."

Here Catherine, who was much less gratified by his admiration than by General Tilney's, was not sorry to be

called away by Mr. Allen. Thorpe, however, would see her to her chair, and, till she entered it, continued the

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

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

tomorrow; it was quite determined, and she would not, upon any account, retract. But that she must and

should retract was instantly the eager cry of both the Thorpes; they must go to Clifton tomorrow, 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

"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

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

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

"But why cannot Mr. Thorpe drive one of his other sisters? I dare say either of them would like to go."

"Thank ye," cried Thorpe, "but I did not come to Bath to drive my sisters about, and look like a fool. No, if

"That is a compliment which gives me no pleasure." But her words were lost on Thorpe, who had turned

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

"I did not think you had been so obstinate, Catherine," said James; "you were not used to be so hard to

"I hope I am not less so now," she replied, very feelingly; "but indeed I cannot go. If I am wrong, I am doing

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 tomorrow with a safe conscience. I have been to Miss Tilney, and

"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 tomorrow, 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

Isabella's countenance was once more all smiles and good humour, and James too looked happy again.

"A most heavenly thought indeed! Now, my sweet Catherine, all our distresses are over; you are honourably

"This will not do," said Catherine; "I cannot submit to this. I must run after Miss Tilney directly and set her

Isabella, however, caught hold of one hand, Thorpe of the other, and remonstrances poured in from all three.

Even James was quite angry. When everything was settled, when Miss Tilney herself said that Tuesday

would suit her as well, it was quite ridiculous, quite absurd, to make any further objection.

"I do not care. Mr. Thorpe had no business to invent any such message. If I had thought it right to put it off, I

could have spoken to Miss Tilney myself. This is only doing it in a ruder way; and how do I know that Mr.

Thorpe has He may be mistaken again perhaps; he led me into one act of rudeness by his mistake on

Thorpe told her it would be in vain to go after the Tilneys; they were turning the corner into Brock Street,

"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.

Away walked Catherine in great agitation, as fast as the crowd would permit her, fearful of being pursued, yet

determined to persevere. As she walked, she reflected on what had passed. It was painful to her to disappoint

and displease them, particularly to displease her brother; but she could not repent her resistance. Setting her

own inclination apart, to have failed a second time in her engagement to Miss Tilney, to have retracted a

promise voluntarily made only five minutes before, and on a false pretence too, must have been wrong. She

had not been withstanding them on selfish principles alone, she had not consulted merely her own

gratification; that might have been ensured in some degree by the excursion itself, by seeing Blaize Castle;

no, she had attended to what was due to others, and to her own character in their opinion. Her conviction of

being right, however, was not enough to restore her composure; till she had spoken to Miss Tilney she could

not be at ease; and quickening her pace when she got clear of the Crescent, she almost ran over the remaining

ground till she gained the top of Milsom Street. So rapid had been her movements that in spite of the Tilneys'

advantage in the outset, they were but just fuming 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 drawingroom with General Tilney, his

son, and daughter. Her explanation, defective only in beingfrom her irritation of nerves and shortness of

breathno explanation at all, was instantly given. "I am come in a great hurryIt was all a mistakeI

never promised to goI told them from the first I could not go.I ran away in a great hurry to explain

The business, however, though not perfectly elucidated by this speech, soon ceased to be a puzzle. Catherine

found that John Thorpe had given the message; and Miss Tilney had no scruple in owning herself greatly

surprised by it. But whether her brother had still exceeded her in resentment, Catherine, though she

instinctively addressed herself as much to one as to the other in her vindication, had no means of knowing.

Whatever might have been felt before her arrival, her eager declarations immediately made every look and

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

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 streetdoor, 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

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 halfsettled scheme of

her brother and the Thorpes for the following day. Mr. Allen caught at it directly. "Well," said he, "and do

"No; I had just engaged myself to walk with Miss Tilney before they told me of it; and therefore you know I

"No, certainly not; and I am glad you do not think of it. These schemes are not at all the thing. Young men

and women driving about the country in open carriages! Now and then it is very well; but going to inns and

public places together! It is not right; and I wonder Mrs. Thorpe should allow it. I am glad you do not think of

going; I am sure Mrs. Morland would not be pleased. Mrs. Allen, are not you of my way of thinking? Do not

"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

"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?"

"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

"And so I should, my dear, you may depend on it; for as I told Mrs. Morland at parting, I would always do

the best for you in my power. But one must not be over particular. Young people will be young people, as

your good mother says herself. You know I wanted you, when we first came, not to buy that sprigged muslin,

"But this was something of real consequence; and I do not think you would have found me hard to persuade."

"As far as it has gone hitherto, there is no harm done," said Mr. Allen; "and I would only advise you, my

Catherine, relieved for herself, felt uneasy for Isabella, and after a moment's thought, asked Mr. Allen

whether it would not be both proper and kind in her to write to Miss Thorpe, and explain the indecorum of

which she must be as insensible as herself; for she considered that Isabella might otherwise perhaps be going

to Clifton the next day, in spite of what had passed. Mr. Allen, however, discouraged her from doing any

such thing. "You had better leave her alone, my dear; she is old enough to know what she is about, and if not,

has a mother to advise her. Mrs. Thorpe is too indulgent beyond a doubt; but, however, you had better not

interfere. She and your brother choose to go, and you will be only getting ill will."

Catherine submitted, and though sorry to think that Isabella should be doing wrong, felt greatly relieved by

Mr. Allen's approbation of her own conduct, and truly rejoiced to be preserved by his advice from the danger

of falling into such an error herself. Her escape from being one of the party to Clifton was now an escape

indeed; for what would the Tilneys have thought of her, if she had broken her promise to them in order to do

what was wrong in itself, if she had been guilty of one breach of propriety, only to enable her to be guilty of

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

"I never look at it," said Catherine, as they walked along the side of the river, "without thinking of the south

"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?"

"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 daysmy hair standing on end the

"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

"Thank you, Eleanora 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

"I am very glad to hear it indeed, and now I shall never be ashamed of liking Udolpho myself. But I really

"It is amazingly; it may well suggest amazement if they dofor 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 neverceasing inquiry of 'Have you read this?'

and 'Have you read that?' I shall soon leave you as far behind me aswhat shall I say?l 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

"Not very good, I am afraid. But now really, do not you think Udolpho the nicest book in the world?"

"The nicestby which I suppose you mean the neatest. That must depend upon the binding."

"Henry," said Miss Tilney, "you are very impertinent. Miss Morland, he is treating you exactly as he does his

sister. He is forever finding fault with me, for some incorrectness of language, and now he is taking the same

liberty with you. The word 'nicest,' as you used it, did not suit him; and you had better change it as soon as

you can, or we shall be overpowered with Johnson and Blair all the rest of the way."

"I am sure," cried Catherine, "I did not mean to say anything wrong; but it is a nice book, and why should not

"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 refinementpeople were nice in their dress, in their

sentiments, or their choice. But now every commendation on every subject is comprised in that one word."

"While, in fact," cried his sister, "it ought only to be applied to you, without any commendation at all. You

are more nice than wise. Come, Miss Morland, let us leave him to meditate over our faults in the utmost

propriety of diction, while we praise Udolpho in whatever terms we like best. It is a most interesting work.

"That is, I can read poetry and plays, and things of that sort, and do not dislike travels. But history, real

"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 allit 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

designsthe chief of all this must be invention, and invention is what delights me in other books."

"Historians, you think," said Miss Tilney, "are not happy in their flights of fancy. They display imagination

without raising interest. I am fond of historyand 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 madeand probably with much greater, if the

production of Mr. Hume or Mr. Robertson, than if the genuine words of Caractacus, Agricola, or Alfred the

"You are fond of history! And so are Mr. Allen and my father; and I have two brothers who do not dislike it.

So many instances within my small circle of friends is remarkable! At this rate, I shall not pity the writers of

history any longer. If people like to read their books, it is all very well, but to be at so much trouble in filling

great volumes, which, as I used to think, nobody would willingly ever look into, to be labouring only for the

torment of little boys and girls, always struck me as a hard fate; and though I know it is all very right and

necessary, I have often wondered at the person's courage that could sit down on purpose to do it."

"That little boys and girls should be tormented," said Henry, "is what no one at all acquainted with human

nature in a civilized state can deny; but in behalf of our most distinguished historians, I must observe that

they might well be offended at being supposed to have no higher aim, and that by their method and style, they

are perfectly well qualified to torment readers of the most advanced reason and mature time of life. I use the

verb 'to torment,' as I observed to be your own method, instead of 'to instruct,' supposing them to be now

"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 they

can be for a whole morning together, and how tired my poor mother is at the end of it, as I am in the habit of

seeing almost every day of my life at home, you would allow that 'to torment' and 'to instruct' might

"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 worthwhile 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. Considerif reading had not been taught, Mrs.

Catherine assentedand 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 drawingnothing 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 wellinformed 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

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 advantagesdid not know that a goodlooking 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 distancessidescreens

and perspectiveslights 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

Miss Tilney, to whom this was chiefly addressed, was startled, and hastily replied, "Indeed! And of what

nature?" "That I do not know, nor who is the author. I have only heard that it is to be more horrible than

"A particular friend of mine had an account of it in a letter from London yesterday. It is to be uncommonly

"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

"Government," said Henry, endeavouring not to smile, "neither desires nor dares to interfere in such matters.

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? NoI 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 acuteneither vigorous nor keen. Perhaps they may want observation, discernment, judgment, fire,

"Miss Morland, do not mind what he says; but have the goodness to satisfy me as to this dreadful riot."

"My dear Eleanor, the riot is only in your own brain. The confusion there is scandalous. Miss Morland has

been talking of nothing more dreadful than a new publication which is shortly to come out, in three

duodecimo volumes, two hundred and seventysix pages in each, with a frontispiece to the first, of two

tombstones and a lanterndo you understand? And you, Miss Morlandmy stupid sister has mistaken all

your clearest expressions. You talked of expected horrors in Londonand 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

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 yourselfunless 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

"You know what you ought to do. Clear your character handsomely before her. Tell her that you think very

"Miss Morland, I think very highly of the understanding of all the women in the worldespecially of

"Miss Morland, no one can think more highly of the understanding of women than I do. In my opinion, nature

has given them so much that they never find it necessary to use more than half."

"We shall get nothing more serious from him now, Miss Morland. He is not in a sober mood. But I do assure

you that he must be entirely misunderstood, if he can ever appear to say an unjust thing of any woman at all,

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

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

Catherine spoke the pleasure she really felt on hearing this part of the arrangement.

"Oh! yes," rejoined the other, "Maria is gone. She was quite wild to go. She thought it would be something

very fine. I cannot say I admire her taste; and for my part, I was determined from the first not to go, if they

Catherine, a little doubtful of this, could not help answering, "I wish you could have gone too. It is a pity you

"Thank you; but it is quite a matter of indifference to me. Indeed, I would not have gone on any account. I

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

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 detailthat they had

driven directly to the York Hotel, ate some soup, and bespoke an early dinner, walked down to the

pumproom, tasted the water, and laid out some shillings in purses and spars; thence adjoined to eat ice at a

pastrycook'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

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

"She will never forgive me, I am sure; but, you know, how could I help it? John would have me go, for he

vowed he would not drive her, because she had such thick ankles. I dare say she will not be in good humour

again this month; but I am determined I will not be cross; it is not a little matter that puts me out of temper."

Isabella now entered the room with so eager a step, and a look of such happy importance, as engaged all her

friend's notice. Maria was without ceremony sent away, and Isabella, embracing Catherine, thus began: "Yes,

my dear Catherine, it is so indeed; your penetration has not deceived you. Oh! That arch eye of yours! It sees

"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

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

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

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

"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 Christmasthe very first moment I beheld himmy heart was irrecoverably gone. I remember I wore

my yellow gown, with my hair done up in braids; and when I came into the drawingroom, and John

Here Catherine secretly acknowledged the power of love; for, though exceedingly fond of her brother, and

"I remember too, Miss Andrews drank tea with us that evening, and wore her pucecoloured 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 right 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

perpetuallyso unguarded in speaking of my partiality for the church! But my secret I was always sure

Catherine felt that nothing could have been safer; but ashamed of an ignorance little expected, she dared no

longer contest the point, nor refuse to have been as full of arch penetration and affectionate sympathy as

Isabella chose to consider her. Her brother, she found, was preparing to set off with all speed to Fullerton, to

make known his situation and ask consent; and here was a source of some real agitation to the mind of

Isabella. Catherine endeavoured to persuade her, as she was herself persuaded, that her father and mother

would never oppose their son's wishes. "It is impossible," said she, "for parents to be more kind, or more

desirous of their children's happiness; I have no doubt of their consenting immediately."

"Morland says exactly the same," replied Isabella; "and yet I dare not expect it; my fortune will be so small;

"Indeed, Isabella, you are too humble. The difference of fortune can be nothing to signify."

"Oh! My sweet Catherine, in your generous heart I know it would signify nothing; but we must not expect

such disinterestedness in many. As for myself, I am sure I only wish our situations were reversed. Had I the

command of millions, were I mistress of the whole world, your brother would be my only choice."

This charming sentiment, recommended as much by sense as novelty, gave Catherine a most pleasing

remembrance of all the heroines of her acquaintance; and she thought her friend never looked more lovely

than in uttering the grand idea. "I am sure they will consent," was her frequent declaration; "I am sure they

"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

"Richmond!" cried Catherine. "You must settle near Fullerton. You must be near us."

"I am sure I shall be miserable if we do not. If I can but be near you, I shall be satisfied. But this is idle

talking! I will not allow myself to think of such things, till we have your father's answer. Morland says that

by sending it tonight to Salisbury, we may have it tomorrow. Tomorrow? I know I shall never have courage

A reverie succeeded this convictionand when Isabella spoke again, it was to resolve on the quality of her

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, goI insist on it."

The two friends, with hearts now more united than ever, were inseparable for the day; and in schemes of

sisterly happiness the hours flew along. Mrs. Thorpe and her son, who were acquainted with everything, and

who seemed only to want Mr. Morland's consent, to consider Isabella's engagement as the most fortunate

circumstance imaginable for their family, were allowed to join their counsels, and add their quota of

significant looks and mysterious expressions to fill up the measure of curiosity to be raised in the

unprivileged younger sisters. To Catherine's simple feelings, this odd sort of reserve seemed neither kindly

meant, nor consistently supported; and its unkindness she would hardly have forborne pointing out, had its

inconsistency been less their friend; but Anne and Maria soon set her heart at ease by the sagacity of their "I

know what"; and the evening was spent in a sort of war of wit, a display of family ingenuity, on one side in

the mystery of an affected secret, on the other of undefined discovery, all equally acute.

Catherine was with her friend again the next day, endeavouring to support her spirits and while away the

many tedious hours before the delivery of the letters; a needful exertion, for as the time of reasonable

expectation drew near, Isabella became more and more desponding, and before the letter arrived, had worked

herself into a state of real distress. But when it did come, where could distress be found? "I have had no

difficulty in gaining the consent of my kind parents, and am promised that everything in their power shall be

done to forward my happiness," were the first three lines, and in one moment all was joyful security. The

brightest glow was instantly spread over Isabella's features, all care and anxiety seemed removed, her spirits

became almost too high for control, and she called herself without scruple the happiest of mortals.

Mrs. Thorpe, with tears of joy, embraced her daughter, her son, her visitor, and could have embraced half the

inhabitants of Bath with satisfaction. Her heart was overflowing with tenderness. It was "dear John" and

"dear Catherine" at every word; "dear Anne and dear Maria" must immediately be made sharers in their

felicity; and two "dears" at once before the name of Isabella were not more than that beloved child had now

well earned. John himself was no skulker in joy. He not only bestowed on Mr. Morland the high

commendation of being one of the finest fellows in the world, but swore off many sentences in his praise.

The letter, whence sprang all this felicity, was short, containing little more than this assurance of success; and

every particular was deferred till James could write again. But for particulars Isabella could well afford to

wait. The needful was comprised in Mr. Morland's promise; his honour was pledged to make everything easy;

and by what means their income was to be formed, whether landed property were to be resigned, or funded

money made over, was a matter in which her disinterested spirit took no concern. She knew enough to feel

secure of an honourable and speedy establishment, and her imagination took a rapid flight over its attendant

felicities. She saw herself at the end of a few weeks, the gaze and admiration of every new acquaintance at

Fullerton, the envy of every valued old friend in Putney, with a carriage at her command, a new name on her

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 goodbye." Catherine wished him a good journey. Without appearing to hear her, he

walked to the window, fidgeted about, hummed a tune, and seemed wholly selfoccupied.

"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.

"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."

"And then you know"twisting himself about and forcing a foolish laugh"I say, then you know, we may

"May we? But I never sing. Well, I wish you a good journey. I dine with Miss Tilney today, and must now be

"Nay, but there is no such confounded hurry. Who knows when we may be together again? Not but that I

shall be down again by the end of a fortnight, and a devilish long fortnight it will appear to me."

"Then why do you stay away so long?" replied Catherinefinding that he waited for an answer.

"That is kind of you, howeverkind and goodnatured. 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

"Oh! dear, there are a great many people like me, I dare say, only a great deal better. Good morning to you."

"But I say, Miss Morland, I shall come and pay my respects at Fullerton before it is long, if not disagreeable."

"Oh! dear, not at all. There are very few people I am sorry to see. Company is always cheerful."

"That is just my way of thinking. Give me but a little cheerful company, let me only have the company of the

people I love, let me only be where I like and with whom I like, and the devil take the rest, say I. And I am

heartily glad to hear you say the same. But I have a notion, Miss Morland, you and I think pretty much alike

"Perhaps we may; but it is more than I ever thought of. And as to most matters, to say the truth, there are not

"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

"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

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

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 herin spite of his thanks,

invitations, and complimentsit 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 goodnatured, and altogether

a very charming man, did not admit of a doubt, for he was tall and handsome, and Henry's father. He could

not be accountable for his children's want of spirits, or for her want of enjoyment in his company. The former

she hoped at last might have been accidental, and the latter she could only attribute to her own stupidity.

Isabella, on hearing the particulars of the visit, gave a different explanation: "It was all pride, pride,

insufferable haughtiness and pride! She had long suspected the family to be very high, and this made it

certain. Such insolence of behaviour as Miss Tilney's she had never heard of in her life! Not to do the

honours of her house with common good breeding! To behave to her guest with such superciliousness!

"But it was not so bad as that, Isabella; there was no superciliousness; she was very civil."

"Oh! Don't defend her! And then the brother, he, who had appeared so attached to you! Good heavens! Well,

some people's feelings are incomprehensible. And so he hardly looked once at you the whole day?"

"How contemptible! Of all things in the world inconstancy is my aversion. Let me entreat you never to think

"Unworthy! I do not suppose he ever thinks of me." "That is exactly what I say; he never thinks of you. Such

fickleness! Oh! How different to your brother and to mine! I really believe John has the most constant heart."

"But as for General Tilney, I assure you it would be impossible for anybody to behave to me with greater

civility and attention; it seemed to be his only care to entertain and make me happy."

"Oh! I know no harm of him; I do not suspect him of pride. I believe he is a very gentlemanlike man. John

"Well, I shall see how they behave to me this evening; we shall meet them at the rooms."

"Nay, since you make such a point of it, I can refuse you nothing. But do not insist upon my being very

agreeable, for my heart, you know, will be some forty miles off. And as for dancing, do not mention it, I beg;

that is quite out of the question. Charles Hodges will plague me to death, I dare say; but I shall cut him very

short. Ten to one but he guesses the reason, and that is exactly what I want to avoid, so I shall insist on his

Isabella's opinion of the Tilneys did not influence her friend; she was sure there had been no insolence in the

manners either of brother or sister; and she did not credit there being any pride in their hearts. The evening

rewarded her confidence; she was met by one with the same kindness, and by the other with the same

attention, as heretofore: Miss Tilney took pains to be near her, and Henry asked her to dance.

Having heard the day before in Milsom Street that their elder brother, Captain Tilney, was expected almost

every hour, she was at no loss for the name of a very fashionablelooking, handsome young man, whom she

had never seen before, and who now evidently belonged to their party. She looked at him with great

admiration, and even supposed it possible that some people might think him handsomer than his brother,

though, in her eyes, his air was more assuming, and his countenance less prepossessing. His taste and

manners were beyond a doubt decidedly inferior; for, within her hearing, he not only protested against every

thought of dancing himself, but even laughed openly at Henry for finding it possible. From the latter

circumstance it may be presumed that, whatever might be our heroine's opinion of him, his admiration of her

was not of a very dangerous kind; not likely to produce animosities between the brothers, nor persecutions to

the lady. He cannot be the instigator of the three villains in horsemen's greatcoats, by whom she will hereafter

be forced into a travelingchaise 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

At the end of the first dance, Captain Tilney came towards them again, and, much to Catherine's

dissatisfaction, pulled his brother away. They retired whispering together; and, though her delicate sensibility

did not take immediate alarm, and lay it down as fact, that Captain Tilney must have heard some malevolent

misrepresentation of her, which he now hastened to communicate to his brother, in the hope of separating

them forever, she could not have her partner conveyed from her sight without very uneasy sensations. Her

suspense was of full five minutes' duration; and she was beginning to think it a very long quarter of an hour,

when they both returned, and an explanation was given, by Henry's requesting to know if she thought her

friend, Miss Thorpe, would have any objection to dancing, as his brother would be most happy to be

introduced to her. Catherine, without hesitation, replied that she was very sure Miss Thorpe did not mean to

dance at all. The cruel reply was passed on to the other, and he immediately walked away.

"Your brother will not mind it, I know," said she, "because I heard him say before that he hated dancing; but

it was very goodnatured in him to think of it. I suppose he saw Isabella sitting down, and fancied she might

wish for a partner; but he is quite mistaken, for she would not dance upon any account in the world."

Henry smiled, and said, "How very little trouble it can give you to understand the motive of other people's

"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 consideredbut, How should I be

"Shall I indeed? Do you really desire it? But you are not aware of the consequences; it will involve you in a

"Well, then, I only meant that your attributing my brother's wish of dancing with Miss Thorpe to good nature

alone convinced me of your being superior in good nature yourself to all the rest of the world."

Catherine blushed and disclaimed, and the gentleman's predictions were verified. There was a something,

however, in his words which repaid her for the pain of confusion; and that something occupied her mind so

much that she drew back for some time, forgetting to speak or to listen, and almost forgetting where she was;

till, roused by the voice of Isabella, she looked up and saw her with Captain Tilney preparing to give them

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

"Oh! But, because And your brother! After what you told him from me, how could he think of going to ask

"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,

"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

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

"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 partnerbut 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 soand 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

"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

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

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

"It is very charming indeed," said Isabella, with a grave face. "Mr. Morland has behaved vastly handsome

indeed," said the gentle Mrs. Thorpe, looking anxiously at her daughter. "I only wish I could do as much. One

could not expect more from him, you know. If he finds he can do more by and by, I dare say he will, for I am

sure he must be an excellent goodhearted man. Four hundred is but a small income to begin on indeed, but

your wishes, my dear Isabella, are so moderate, you do not consider how little you ever want, my dear."

"It is not on my own account I wish for more; but I cannot bear to be the means of injuring my dear Morland,

making him sit down upon an income hardly enough to find one in the common necessaries of life. For

"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 childbut 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 liberalminded man."

"Nobody can think better of Mr. Morland than I do, I am sure. But everybody has their failing, you know, and

everybody has a right to do what they like with their own money." Catherine was hurt by these insinuations.

"I am very sure," said she, "that my father has promised to do as much as he can afford."

Isabella recollected herself. "As to that, my sweet Catherine, there cannot be a doubt, and you know me well

enough to be sure that a much smaller income would satisfy me. It is not the want of more money that makes

me just at present a little out of spirits; I hate money; and if our union could take place now upon only fifty

pounds a year, I should not have a wish unsatisfied. Ah! my Catherine, you have found me out. There's the

sting. The long, long, endless two years and half that are to pass before your brother can hold the living."

"Yes, yes, my darling Isabella," said Mrs. Thorpe, "we perfectly see into your heart. You have no disguise.

We perfectly understand the present vexation; and everybody must love you the better for such a noble honest

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,

The Allens had now entered on the sixth week of their stay in Bath; and whether it should be the last was for

some time a question, to which Catherine listened with a beating heart. To have her acquaintance with the

Tilneys end so soon was an evil which nothing could counterbalance. Her whole happiness seemed at stake,

while the affair was in suspense, and everything secured when it was determined that the lodgings should be

taken for another fortnight. What this additional fortnight was to produce to her beyond the pleasure of

sometimes seeing Henry Tilney made but a small part of Catherine's speculation. Once or twice indeed, since

James's engagement had taught her what could be done, she had got so far as to indulge in a secret "perhaps,"

but in general the felicity of being with him for the present bounded her views: the present was now

comprised in another three weeks, and her happiness being certain for that period, the rest of her life was at

such a distance as to excite but little interest. In the course of the morning which saw this business arranged,

she visited Miss Tilney, and poured forth her joyful feelings. It was doomed to be a day of trial. No sooner

had she expressed her delight in Mr. Allen's lengthened stay than Miss Tilney told her of her father's having

just determined upon quitting Bath by the end of another week. Here was a blow! The past suspense of the

morning had been ease and quiet to the present disappointment. Catherine's countenance fell, and in a voice

of most sincere concern she echoed Miss Tilney's concluding words, "By the end of another week!"

"Yes, my father can seldom be prevailed on to give the waters what I think a fair trial. He has been

disappointed of some friends' arrival whom he expected to meet here, and as he is now pretty well, is in a

"I am very sorry for it," said Catherine dejectedly; "if I had known this before"

"Perhaps," said Miss Tilney in an embarrassed manner, "you would be so goodit would make me very

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?"

"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 yoursbut 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

Northanger Abbey! These were thrilling words, and wound up Catherine's feelings to the highest point of

ecstasy. Her grateful and gratified heart could hardly restrain its expressions within the language of tolerable

calmness. To receive so flattering an invitation! To have her company so warmly solicited! Everything

honourable and soothing, every present enjoyment, and every future hope was contained in it; and her

acceptance, with only the saving clause of Papa and Mamma's approbation, was eagerly given. "I will write

home directly," said she, and if they do not object, as I dare say they will not"

General Tilney was not less sanguine, having already waited on her excellent friends in Pulteney Street, and

obtained their sanction of his wishes. "Since they can consent to part with you," said he, "we may expect

Miss Tilney was earnest, though gentle, in her secondary civilities, and the affair became in a few minutes as

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 prizedand, 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 Tilneyand 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

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

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

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 pumproom 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

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

"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.

"You shall certainly have the best in my power to give. But who are you looking for? Are your sisters

"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."

"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."

"My sweet love, do not be so abominably affected. What can he write about, but yourself? You know he is

"Nay, my sweetest Catherine, this is being quite absurd! Modesty, and all that, is very well in its way, but

really a little common honesty is sometimes quite as becoming. I have no idea of being so overstrained! It is

fishing for compliments. His attentions were such as a child must have noticed. And it was but half an hour

before he left Bath that you gave him the most positive encouragement. He says so in this letter, says that he

as good as made you an offer, and that you received his advances in the kindest way; and now he wants me to

urge his suit, and say all manner of pretty things to you. So it is in vain to affect ignorance."

Catherine, with all the earnestness of truth, expressed her astonishment at such a charge, protesting her

innocence of every thought of Mr. Thorpe's being in love with her, and the consequent impossibility of her

having ever intended to encourage him. "As to any attentions on his side, I do declare, upon my honour, I

never was sensible of them for a momentexcept 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

"But that you certainly did, for you spent the whole morning in Edgar's Buildingsit was the day your

father's consent cameand I am pretty sure that you and John were alone in the parlour some time before

"Are you? Well, if you say it, it was so, I dare saybut for the life of me, I cannot recollect it. I do remember

now being with you, and seeing him as well as the restbut 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 mebut 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 pardonthat isI do not know what I ought to saybut 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 anotherhe 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.

"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 Johnis not it so?"

"I certainly cannot return his affection, and as certainly never meant to encourage it."

"Since that is the case, I am sure I shall not tease you any further. John desired me to speak to you on the

subject, and therefore I have. But I confess, as soon as I read his letter, I thought it a very foolish, imprudent

business, and not likely to promote the good of either; for what were you to live upon, supposing you came

together? You have both of you something, to be sure, but it is not a trifle that will support a family

nowadays; and after all that romancers may say, there is no doing without money. I only wonder John could

"You do acquit me, then, of anything wrong?You are convinced that I never meant to deceive your

"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

"But my opinion of your brother never did alter; it was always the same. You are describing what never

"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;

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

"Psha, nonsense!" was Isabella's answer in the same half whisper. "Why do you put such things into my

"My heart, indeed! What can you have to do with hearts? You men have none of you any hearts."

"Do they? I am sorry for it; I am sorry they find anything so disagreeable in me. I will look another way. I

hope this pleases you" (turning her back on him); "I hope your eyes are not tormented now."

"Never more so; for the edge of a blooming cheek is still in viewat once too much and too little."

Catherine heard all this, and quite out of countenance, could listen no longer. Amazed that Isabella could

endure it, and jealous for her brother, she rose up, and saying she should join Mrs. Allen, proposed their

walking. But for this Isabella showed no inclination. She was so amazingly tired, and it was so odious to

parade about the pumproom; 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 pumproom, 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

The compliment of John Thorpe's affection did not make amends for this thoughtlessness in his sister. She

was almost as far from believing as from wishing it to be sincere; for she had not forgotten that he could

mistake, and his assertion of the offer and of her encouragement convinced her that his mistakes could

sometimes be very egregious. In vanity, therefore, she gained but little; her chief profit was in wonder. That

he should think it worth his while to fancy himself in love with her was a matter of lively astonishment.

Isabella talked of his attentions; she had never been sensible of any; but Isabella had said many things which

she hoped had been spoken in haste, and would never be said again; and upon this she was glad to rest

A few days passed away, and Catherine, though not allowing herself to suspect her friend, could not help

watching her closely. The result of her observations was not agreeable. Isabella seemed an altered creature.

When she saw her, indeed, surrounded only by their immediate friends in Edgar's Buildings or Pulteney

Street, her change of manners was so trifling that, had it gone no farther, it might have passed unnoticed. A

something of languid indifference, or of that boasted absence of mind which Catherine had never heard of

before, would occasionally come across her; but had nothing worse appeared, that might only have spread a

new grace and inspired a warmer interest. But when Catherine saw her in public, admitting Captain Tilney's

attentions as readily as they were offered, and allowing him almost an equal share with James in her notice

and smiles, the alteration became too positive to be passed over. What could be meant by such unsteady

conduct, what her friend could be at, was beyond her comprehension. Isabella could not be aware of the pain

she was inflicting; but it was a degree of wilful thoughtlessness which Catherine could not but resent. James

was the sufferer. She saw him grave and uneasy; and however careless of his present comfort the woman

might be who had given him her heart, to her it was always an object. For poor Captain Tilney too she was

greatly concerned. Though his looks did not please her, his name was a passport to her goodwill, and she

thought with sincere compassion of his approaching disappointment; for, in spite of what she had believed

herself to overbear in the pumproom, 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 bad 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.

He made no reply, and was beginning to talk of something else; but she eagerly continued, "Why do not you

persuade him to go away? The longer he stays, the worse it will be for him at last. Pray advise him for his

own sake, and for everybody's sake, to leave Bath directly. Absence will in time make him comfortable

again; but he can have no hope here, and it is only staying to be miserable." Henry smiled and said, "I am

"Persuasion is not at command; but pardon me, if I cannot even endeavour to persuade him. I have myself

told him that Miss Thorpe is engaged. He knows what he is about, and must be his own master."

"No, he does not know what he is about," cried Catherine; "he does not know the pain he is giving my

brother. Not that James has ever told me so, but I am sure he is very uncomfortable."

"Is it my brother's attentions to Miss Thorpe, or Miss Thorpe's admission of them, that gives the pain?"

"I think Mr. Morland would acknowledge a difference. No man is offended by another man's admiration of

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

"It is probable that she will neither love so well, nor flirt so well, as she might do either singly. The

After a short pause, Catherine resumed with, "Then you do not believe Isabella so very much attached to my

"But what can your brother mean? If he knows her engagement, what can he mean by his behaviour?"

"My brother's heart, as you term it, on the present occasion, I assure you I can only guess at."

"Well! Nay, if it is to be guesswork, let us all guess for ourselves. To be guided by secondhand 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

"Well," said Catherine, after some moments' consideration, "you may be able to guess at your brother's

intentions from all this; but I am sure I cannot. But is not your father uncomfortable about it? Does not he

want Captain Tilney to go away? Sure, if your father were to speak to him, he would go."

"My dear Miss Morland," said Henry, "in this amiable solicitude for your brother's comfort, may you not be a

little mistaken? Are you not carried a little too far? Would he thank you, either on his own account or Miss

Thorpe's, for supposing that her affection, or at least her good behaviour, is only to be secured by her seeing

nothing of Captain Tilney? Is he safe only in solitude? Or is her heart constant to him only when unsolicited

by anyone else? He cannot think thisand 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

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 messroom will

drink Isabella Thorpe for a fortnight, and she will laugh with your brother over poor Tilney's passion for a

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 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,

Mr. and Mrs. Allen were sorry to lose their young friend, whose good humour and cheerfulness had made her

a valuable companion, and in the promotion of whose enjoyment their own had been gently increased. Her

happiness in going with Miss Tilney, however, prevented their wishing it otherwise; and, as they were to

remain only one more week in Bath themselves, her quitting them now would not long be felt. Mr. Allen

attended her to Milsom Street, where she was to breakfast, and saw her seated with the kindest welcome

among her new friends; but so great was her agitation in finding herself as one of the family, and so fearful

was she of not doing exactly what was right, and of not being able to preserve their good opinion, that, in the

embarrassment of the first five minutes, she could almost have wished to return with him to Pulteney Street.

Miss Tilney's manners and Henry's smile soon did away some of her unpleasant feelings; but still she was far

from being at ease; nor could the incessant attentions of the general himself entirely reassure her. Nay,

perverse as it seemed, she doubted whether she might not have felt less, had she been less attended to. His

anxiety for her comforthis continual solicitations that she would eat, and his oftenexpressed fears of her

seeing nothing to her tastethough never in her life before had she beheld half such variety on a

breakfasttablemade 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

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

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 writingdesk 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 followedand her admiration of the style in which they travelled, of the

fashionable chaise and fourpostilions 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,

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 wellso quietlywithout making any disturbance, without parading to her, or

swearing at them: so different from the only gentlemancoachman 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

circumstancedshe had no female companionand, in the frequent absence of her father, was sometimes

"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."

"Yes; but besides your affection for her, you must be so fond of the abbey! After being used to such a home

"To be sure, I have. Is not it a fine old place, just like what one reads about?"

"And are you prepared to encounter all the horrors that a building such as 'what one reads about' may

"Oh! yesI do not think I should be easily frightened, because there would be so many people in the

houseand besides, it has never been uninhabited and left deserted for years, and then the family come back

"No, certainly. We shall not have to explore our way into a hall dimly lighted by the expiring embers of a

wood firenor 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 chambertoo lofty and extensive for you, with only the feeble rays of a single lamp to take in

its sizeits 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?"

"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 offyou listen to the sound of her receding footsteps as long as the last

echo can reach youand when, with fainting spirits, you attempt to fasten your door, you discover, with

"Oh! Mr. Tilney, how frightful! This is just like a book! But it cannot really happen to me. I am sure your

"Nothing further to alarm perhaps may occur the first night. After surmounting your unconquerable horror of

the bed, you will retire to rest, and get a few hours' unquiet slumber. But on the second, or at farthest the third

night after your arrival, you will probably have a violent storm. Peals of thunder so loud as to seem to shake

the edifice to its foundation will roll round the neighbouring mountainsand 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 dressinggown 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 appearwhich

door, being only secured by massy bars and a padlock, you will, after a few efforts, succeed in

openingand, with your lamp in your hand, will pass through it into a small vaulted room."

"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,

oldfashioned 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 drawerbut for some time without discovering anything of

importanceperhaps nothing but a considerable hoard of diamonds. At last, however, by touching a secret

spring, an inner compartment will opena roll of paper appearsyou seize itit contains many sheets of

manuscriptyou hasten with the precious treasure into your own chamber, but scarcely have you been able

to decipher 'Oh! Thouwhomsoever 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."

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

As they drew near the end of their journey, her impatience for a sight of the abbeyfor some time suspended

by his conversation on subjects very differentreturned 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

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 drawingroom, and capable of considering

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 preservedthe form of

them was Gothicthey might be even casementsbut every pane was so large, so clear, so light! To an

imagination which had hoped for the smallest divisions, and the heaviest stonework, for painted glass, dirt,

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 noticeand 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

Returning through the large and lofty hall, they ascended a broad staircase of shining oak, which, after many

flights and many landingplaces, 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.

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 drawingroom 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 chaiseseat 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

"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 itcost me

what it may, I will look into itand directly tooby daylight. If I stay till evening my candle may go out."

She advanced and examined it closely: it was of cedar, curiously inlaid with some darker wood, and raised,

about a foot from the ground, on a carved stand of the same. The lock was silver, though tarnished from age;

at each end were the imperfect remains of handles also of silver, broken perhaps prematurely by some strange

violence; and, on the centre of the lid, was a mysterious cipher, in the same metal. Catherine bent over it

intently, but without being able to distinguish anything with certainty. She could not, in whatever direction

she took it, believe the last letter to be a T; and yet that it should be anything else in that house was a

circumstance to raise no common degree of astonishment. If not originally theirs, by what strange events

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 illtimed

intruder was Miss Tilney's maid, sent by her mistress to be of use to Miss Morland; and though Catherine

immediately dismissed her, it recalled her to the sense of what she ought to be doing, and forced her, in spite

of her anxious desire to penetrate this mystery, to proceed in her dressing without further delay. Her progress

was not quick, for her thoughts and her eyes were still bent on the object so well calculated to interest and

alarm; and though she dared not waste a moment upon a second attempt, she could not remain many paces

from the chest. At length, however, having slipped one arm into her gown, her toilette seemed so nearly

finished that the impatience of her curiosity might safely be indulged. One moment surely might be spared;

and, so desperate should be the exertion of her strength, that, unless secured by supernatural means, the lid in

one moment should be thrown back. With this spirit she sprang forward, and her confidence did not deceive

her. Her resolute effort threw back the lid, and gave to her astonished eyes the view of a white cotton

counterpane, properly folded, reposing at one end of the chest in undisputed possession!

She was gazing on it with the first blush of surprise when Miss Tilney, anxious for her friend's being ready,

entered the room, and to the rising shame of having harboured for some minutes an absurd expectation, was

then added the shame of being caught in so idle a search. "That is a curious old chest, is not it?" said Miss

Tilney, as Catherine hastily closed it and turned away to the glass. "It is impossible to say how many

generations it has been here. How it came to be first put in this room I know not, but I have not had it moved,

because I thought it might sometimes be of use in holding hats and bonnets. The worst of it is that its weight

makes it difficult to open. In that corner, however, it is at least out of the way."

Catherine had no leisure for speech, being at once blushing, tying her gown, and forming wise resolutions

with the most violent dispatch. Miss Tilney gently hinted her fear of being late; and in half a minute they ran

downstairs together, in an alarm not wholly unfounded, for General Tilney was pacing the drawingroom, his

watch in his hand, and having, on the very instant of their entering, pulled the bell with violence, ordered

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 dinnertable, when the general's complacent

smiles, and a good appetite of her own, restored her to peace. The diningparlour was a noble room, suitable

in its dimensions to a much larger drawingroom 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 illsized room, and

further confessed that, though as careless on such subjects as most people, he did look upon a tolerably large

eatingroom as one of the necessaries of life; he supposed, however, "that she must have been used to much

"No, indeed," was Catherine's honest assurance; "Mr. Allen's diningparlour was not more than half as

large," and she had never seen so large a room as this in her life. The general's good humour increased. Why,

as he had such rooms, he thought it would be simple not to make use of them; but, upon his honour, he

believed there might be more comfort in rooms of only half their size. Mr. Allen's house, he was sure, must

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,

The night was stormy; the wind had been rising at intervals the whole afternoon; and by the time the party

broke up, it blew and rained violently. Catherine, as she crossed the hall, listened to the tempest with

sensations of awe; and, when she heard it rage round a corner of the ancient building and close with sudden

fury a distant door, felt for the first time that she was really in an abbey. Yes, these were characteristic

sounds; they brought to her recollection a countless variety of dreadful situations and horrid scenes, which

such buildings had witnessed, and such storms ushered in; and most heartily did she rejoice in the happier

circumstances attending her entrance within walls so solemn! She had nothing to dread from midnight

assassins or drunken gallants. Henry had certainly been only in jest in what he had told her that morning. In a

house so furnished, and so guarded, she could have nothing to explore or to suffer, and might go to her

bedroom as securely as if it had been her own chamber at Fullerton. Thus wisely fortifying her mind, as she

proceeded upstairs, she was enabled, especially on perceiving that Miss Tilney slept only two doors from her,

to enter her room with a tolerably stout heart; and her spirits were immediately assisted by the cheerful blaze

of a wood fire. "How much better is this," said she, as she walked to the fender"how much better to find a

fire ready lit, than to have to wait shivering in the cold till all the family are in bed, as so many poor girls

have been obliged to do, and then to have a faithful old servant frightening one by coming in with a faggot!

How glad I am that Northanger is what it is! If it had been like some other places, I do not know that, in such

a night as this, I could have answered for my courage: but now, to be sure, there is nothing to alarm one."

She looked round the room. The window curtains seemed in motion. It could be nothing but the violence of

the wind penetrating through the divisions of the shutters; and she stepped boldly forward, carelessly

humming a tune, to assure herself of its being so, peeped courageously behind each curtain, saw nothing on

either low window seat to scare her, and on placing a hand against the shutter, felt the strongest conviction of

the wind's force. A glance at the old chest, as she turned away from this examination, was not without its use;

she scorned the causeless fears of an idle fancy, and began with a most happy indifference to prepare herself

for bed. "She should take her time; she should not hurry herself; she did not care if she were the last person

up in the house. But she would not make up her fire; that would seem cowardly, as if she wished for the

protection of light after she were in bed." The fire therefore died away, and Catherine, having spent the best

part of an hour in her arrangements, was beginning to think of stepping into bed, when, on giving a parting

glance round the room, she was struck by the appearance of a high, oldfashioned black cabinet, which,

though in a situation conspicuous enough, had never caught her notice before. Henry's words, his description

of the ebony cabinet which was to escape her observation at first, immediately rushed across her; and though

there could be nothing really in it, there was something whimsical, it was certainly a very remarkable

coincidence! She took her candle and looked closely at the cabinet. It was not absolutely ebony and gold; but

it was japan, black and yellow japan of the handsomest kind; and as she held her candle, the yellow had very

much the effect of gold. The key was in the door, and she had a strange fancy to look into it; not, however,

with the smallest expectation of finding anything, but it was so very odd, after what Henry had said. In short,

she could not sleep till she had examined it. So, placing the candle with great caution on a chair, she seized

the key with a very tremulous hand and tried to turn it; but it resisted her utmost strength. Alarmed, but not

discouraged, she tried it another way; a bolt flew, and she believed herself successful; but how strangely

mysterious! The door was still immovable. She paused a moment in breathless wonder. The wind roared

down the chimney, the rain beat in torrents against the windows, and everything seemed to speak the

awfulness of her situation. To retire to bed, however, unsatisfied on such a point, would be vain, since sleep

must be impossible with the consciousness of a cabinet so mysteriously closed in her immediate vicinity.

Again, therefore, she applied herself to the key, and after moving it in every possible way for some instants

with the determined celerity of hope's last effort, the door suddenly yielded to her hand: her heart leaped with

exultation at such a victory, and having thrown open each folding door, the second being secured only by

bolts of less wonderful construction than the lock, though in that her eye could not discern anything unusual,

a double range of small drawers appeared in view, with some larger drawers above and below them; and in

the centre, a small door, closed also with a lock and key, secured in all probability a cavity of importance.

Catherine's heart beat quick, but her courage did not fail her. With a cheek flushed by hope, and an eye

straining with curiosity, her fingers grasped the handle of a drawer and drew it forth. It was entirely empty.

With less alarm and greater eagerness she seized a second, a third, a fourth; each was equally empty. Not one

was left unsearched, and in not one was anything found. Well read in the art of concealing a treasure, the

possibility of false linings to the drawers did not escape her, and she felt round each with anxious acuteness

in vain. The place in the middle alone remained now unexplored; and though she had "never from the first

had the smallest idea of finding anything in any part of the cabinet, and was not in the least disappointed at

her ill success thus far, it would be foolish not to examine it thoroughly while she was about it." It was some

time however before she could unfasten the door, the same difficulty occurring in the management of this

inner lock as of the outer; but at length it did open; and not vain, as hitherto, was her search; her quick eyes

directly fell on a roll of paper pushed back into the further part of the cavity, apparently for concealment, and

her feelings at that moment were indescribable. Her heart fluttered, her knees trembled, and her cheeks grew

pale. She seized, with an unsteady hand, the precious manuscript, for half a glance sufficed to ascertain

written characters; and while she acknowledged with awful sensations this striking exemplification of what

Henry had foretold, resolved instantly to peruse every line before she attempted to rest.

The dimness of the light her candle emitted made her turn to it with alarm; but there was no danger of its

sudden extinction; it had yet some hours to burn; and that she might not have any greater difficulty in

distinguishing the writing than what its ancient date might occasion, she hastily snuffed it. Alas! It was

snuffed and extinguished in one. A lamp could not have expired with more awful effect. Catherine, for a few

moments, was motionless with horror. It was done completely; not a remnant of light in the wick could give

hope to the rekindling breath. Darkness impenetrable and immovable filled the room. A violent gust of wind,

rising with sudden fury, added fresh horror to the moment. Catherine trembled from head to foot. In the pause

which succeeded, a sound like receding footsteps and the closing of a distant door struck on her affrighted

ear. Human nature could support no more. A cold sweat stood on her forehead, the manuscript fell from her

hand, and groping her way to the bed, she jumped hastily in, and sought some suspension of agony by

creeping far underneath the clothes. To close her eyes in sleep that night, she felt must be entirely out of the

question. With a curiosity so justly awakened, and feelings in every way so agitated, repose must be

absolutely impossible. The storm too abroad so dreadful! She had not been used to feel alarm from wind, but

now every blast seemed fraught with awful intelligence. The manuscript so wonderfully found, so

wonderfully accomplishing the morning's prediction, how was it to be accounted for? What could it contain?

To whom could it relate? By what means could it have been so long concealed? And how singularly strange

that it should fall to her lot to discover it! Till she had made herself mistress of its contents, however, she

could have neither repose nor comfort; and with the sun's first rays she was determined to peruse it. But many

were the tedious hours which must yet intervene. She shuddered, tossed about in her bed, and envied every

quiet sleeper. The storm still raged, and various were the noises, more terrific even than the wind, which

struck at intervals on her startled ear. The very curtains of her bed seemed at one moment in motion, and at

another the lock of her door was agitated, as if by the attempt of somebody to enter. Hollow murmurs seemed

to creep along the gallery, and more than once her blood was chilled by the sound of distant moans. Hour

after hour passed away, and the wearied Catherine had heard three proclaimed by all the clocks in the house

The housemaid's folding back her windowshutters at eight o'clock the next day was the sound which first

roused Catherine; and she opened her eyes, wondering that they could ever have been closed, on objects of

cheerfulness; her fire was already burning, and a bright morning had succeeded the tempest of the night.

Instantaneously, with the consciousness of existence, returned her recollection of the manuscript; and

springing from the bed in the very moment of the maid's going away, she eagerly collected every scattered

sheet which had burst from the roll on its falling to the ground, and flew back to enjoy the luxury of their

perusal on her pillow. She now plainly saw that she must not expect a manuscript of equal length with the

generality of what she had shuddered over in books, for the roll, seeming to consist entirely of small

disjointed sheets, was altogether but of trifling size, and much less than she had supposed it to be at first.

Her greedy eye glanced rapidly over a page. She started at its import. Could it be possible, or did not her

senses play her false? An inventory of linen, in coarse and modern characters, seemed all that was before her!

If the evidence of sight might be trusted, she held a washingbill 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, hairpowder, shoestring, and breechesball. And the larger

sheet, which had enclosed the rest, seemed by its first cramp line, "To poultice chestnut mare"a farrier's

bill! Such was the collection of papers (left perhaps, as she could then suppose, by the negligence of a servant

in the place whence she had taken them) which had filled her with expectation and alarm, and robbed her of

half her night's rest! She felt humbled to the dust. Could not the adventure of the chest have taught her

wisdom? A corner of it, catching her eye as she lay, seemed to rise up in judgment against her. Nothing could

now be clearer than the absurdity of her recent fancies. To suppose that a manuscript of many generations

back could have remained undiscovered in a room such as that, so modern, so habitable!Or that she should

be the first to possess the skill of unlocking a cabinet, the key of which was open to all!

How could she have so imposed on herself? Heaven forbid that Henry Tilney should ever know her folly!

And it was in a great measure his own doing, for had not the cabinet appeared so exactly to agree with his

description of her adventures, she should never have felt the smallest curiosity about it. This was the only

comfort that occurred. Impatient to get rid of those hateful evidences of her folly, those detestable papers then

scattered over the bed, she rose directly, and folding them up as nearly as possible in the same shape as

before, returned them to the same spot within the cabinet, with a very hearty wish that no untoward accident

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

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 breakfastparlour, 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

"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

"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

"But I do not want any such pursuit to get me out of doors. The pleasure of walking and breathing fresh air is

enough for me, and in fine weather I am out more than half my time. Mamma says I am never within."

"At any rate, however, I am pleased that you have learnt to love a hyacinth. The mere habit of learning to

love is the thing; and a teachableness of disposition in a young lady is a great blessing. Has my sister a

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

The elegance of the breakfast set forced itself on Catherine's notice when they were seated at table; and,

lucidly, 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 Save. 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 onethough not for himself. Catherine was probably the only one of the party who did not

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 reentering the

breakfastroom, 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

"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 southeast, with an excellent kitchengarden 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

illprovided 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

The imposing effect of this last argument was equal to his wishes. The silence of the lady proved it to be

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 nettingbox, 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

Catherine did not exactly know how this was to be understood. Why was Miss Tilney embarrassed? Could

there be any unwillingness on the general's side to show her over the abbey? The proposal was his own. And

was not it odd that he should always take his walk so early? Neither her father nor Mr. Allen did so. It was

certainly very provoking. She was all impatience to see the house, and had scarcely any curiosity about the

grounds. If Henry had been with them indeed! But now she should not know what was picturesque when she

saw it. Such were her thoughts, but she kept them to herself, and put on her bonnet in patient discontent.

She was struck, however, beyond her expectation, by the grandeur of the abbey, as she saw it for the first

time from the lawn. The whole building enclosed a large court; and two sides of the quadrangle, rich in

Gothic ornaments, stood forward for admiration. The remainder was shut off by knolls of old trees, or

luxuriant plantations, and the steep woody hills rising behind, to give it shelter, were beautiful even in the

leafless month of March. Catherine had seen nothing to compare with it; and her feelings of delight were so

strong, that without waiting for any better authority, she boldly burst forth in wonder and praise. The general

listened with assenting gratitude; and it seemed as if his own estimation of Northanger had waited unfixed till

The kitchengarden was to be next admired, and he led the way to it across a small portion of the park.

The number of acres contained in this garden was such as Catherine could not listen to without dismay, being

more than double the extent of all Mr. Allen's, as well her father's, including churchyard and orchard. The

walls seemed countless in number, endless in length; a village of hothouses 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

himselfwithout any solicitude about ithe did believe them to be unrivalled in the kingdom. If he had a

hobbyhorse, it was that. He loved a garden. Though careless enough in most matters of eating, he loved

good fruitor 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

"No, not at all. Mr. Allen did not care about the garden, and never went into it."

With a triumphant smile of selfsatisfaction, the general wished he could do the same, for he never entered

his, without being vexed in some way or other, by its falling short of his plan.

"How were Mr. Allen's successionhouses worked?" describing the nature of his own as they entered them.

"Mr. Allen had only one small hothouse, which Mrs. Allen had the use of for her plants in winter, and there

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 teahouse, proposed it as no unpleasant extension

of their walk, if Miss Morland were not tired. "But where are you going, Eleanor? Why do you choose that

cold, damp path to it? Miss Morland will get wet. Our best way is across the park."

"This is so favourite a walk of mine," said Miss Tilney, "that I always think it the best and nearest way. But

It was a narrow winding path through a thick grove of old Scotch firs; and Catherine, struck by its gloomy

aspect, and eager to enter it, could not, even by the general's disapprobation, be kept from stepping forward.

He perceived her inclination, and having again urged the plea of health in vain, was too polite to make further

opposition. He excused himself, however, from attending them: "The rays of the sun were not too cheerful for

him, and he would meet them by another course." He turned away; and Catherine was shocked to find how

much her spirits were relieved by the separation. The shock, however, being less real than the relief, offered it

no injury; and she began to talk with easy gaiety of the delightful melancholy which such a grove inspired.

"I am particularly fond of this spot," said her companion, with a sigh. "It was my mother's favourite walk."

Catherine had never heard Mrs. Tilney mentioned in the family before, and the interest excited by this tender

remembrance showed itself directly in her altered countenance, and in the attentive pause with which she

"I used to walk here so often with her!" added Eleanor; "though I never loved it then, as I have loved it since.

At that time indeed I used to wonder at her choice. But her memory endears it now."

"And ought it not," reflected Catherine, "to endear it to her husband? Yet the general would not enter it."

Miss Tilney continuing silent, she ventured to say, "Her death must have been a great affliction!"

"A great and increasing one," replied the other, in a low voice. "I was only thirteen when it happened; and

though I felt my loss perhaps as strongly as one so young could feel it, I did not, I could not, then know what

a loss it was." She stopped for a moment, and then added, with great firmness, "I have no sister, you

knowand though Henrythough my brothers are very affectionate, and Henry is a great deal here, which I

"A mother would have been always present. A mother would have been a constant friend; her influence

"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

"Her picture, I suppose," blushing at the consummate art of her own question, "hangs in your father's room?"

"No; it was intended for the drawingroom; 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 bedchamberwhere I

shall be happy to show it you; it is very like." Here was another proof. A portraitvery likeof a departed

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

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 partedbut 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.

An hour passed away before the general came in, spent, on the part of his young guest, in no very favourable

consideration of his character. "This lengthened absence, these solitary rambles, did not speak a mind at ease,

or a conscience void of reproach." At length he appeared; and, whatever might have been the gloom of his

meditations, he could still smile with them. Miss Tilney, understanding in part her friend's curiosity to see the

house, soon revived the subject; and her father being, contrary to Catherine's expectations, unprovided with

any pretence for further delay, beyond that of stopping five minutes to order refreshments to be in the room

They set forward; and, with a grandeur of air, a dignified step, which caught the eye, but could not shake the

doubts of the wellread Catherine, he led the way across the hall, through the common drawingroom and

one useless antechamber, into a room magnificent both in size and furniturethe real drawingroom, used

only with company of consequence. It was very noblevery grandvery 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 fittingup 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

wellknown 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 beforegathered 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 herby finding herself successively in a billiardroom, 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

From the diningroom, 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

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 stableyards, 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 aboutfrom 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

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 bedchambers, with their dressingrooms, 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

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 whether 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 roomthe 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

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

"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.

"No," said Miss Tilney, sighing; "I was unfortunately from home. Her illness was sudden and short; and,

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

drawingroom 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

"So much the worse!" thought Catherine; such illtimed exercise was of a piece with the strange

After an evening, the little variety and seeming length of which made her peculiarly sensible of Henry's

importance among them, she was heartily glad to be dismissed; though it was a look from the general not

designed for her observation which sent his daughter to the bell. When the butler would have lit his master's

candle, however, he was forbidden. The latter was not going to retire. "I have many pamphlets to finish," said

he to Catherine, "before I can close my eyes, and perhaps may be poring over the affairs of the nation for

hours after you are asleep. Can either of us be more meetly employed? My eyes will be blinding for the good

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

timeall favoured the supposition of her imprisonment. Its originjealousy perhaps, or wanton

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 confinementmight 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 higharched 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 wellprepared insensibility!

Catherine sometimes started at the boldness of her own surmises, and sometimes hoped or feared that she had

gone too far; but they were supported by such appearances as made their dismissal impossible.

The side of the quadrangle, in which she supposed the guilty scene to be acting, being, according to her

belief, just opposite her own, it struck her that, if judiciously watched, some rays of light from the general's

lamp might glimmer through the lower windows, as he passed to the prison of his wife; and, twice before she

stepped into bed, she stole gently from her room to the corresponding window in the gallery, to see if it

appeared; but all abroad was dark, and it must yet be too early. The various ascending noises convinced her

that the servants must still be up. Till midnight, she supposed it would be in vain to watch; but then, when the

clock had struck twelve, and all was quiet, she would, if not quite appalled by darkness, steal out and look

The next day afforded no opportunity for the proposed examination of the mysterious apartments. It was

Sunday, and the whole time between morning and afternoon service was required by the general in exercise

abroad or eating cold meat at home; and great as was Catherine's curiosity, her courage was not equal to a

wish of exploring them after dinner, either by the fading light of the sky between six and seven o'clock, or by

the yet more partial though stronger illumination of a treacherous lamp. The day was unmarked therefore by

anything to interest her imagination beyond the sight of a very elegant monument to the memory of Mrs.

Tilney, which immediately fronted the family pew. By that her eye was instantly caught and long retained;

and the perusal of the highly strained epitaph, in which every virtue was ascribed to her by the inconsolable

husband, who must have been in some way or other her destroyer, affected her even to tears.

That the general, having erected such a monument, should be able to face it, was not perhaps very strange,

and yet that he could sit so boldly collected within its view, maintain so elevated an air, look so fearlessly

around, nay, that he should even enter the church, seemed wonderful to Catherine. Not, however, that many

instances of beings equally hardened in guilt might not be produced. She could remember dozens who had

persevered in every possible vice, going on from crime to crime, murdering whomsoever they chose, without

any feeling of humanity or remorse; till a violent death or a religious retirement closed their black career. The

erection of the monument itself could not in the smallest degree affect her doubts of Mrs. Tilney's actual

decease. Were she even to descend into the family vault where her ashes were supposed to slumber, were she

to behold the coffin in which they were said to be enclosedwhat 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

The succeeding morning promised something better. The general's early walk, illtimed 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 bedchamber. 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'sthe only portraits of which she had been in the habit of thinking, bearing always an equal

resemblance of mother and child. A face once taken was taken for generations. But here she was obliged to

look and consider and study for a likeness. She contemplated it, however, in spite of this drawback, with

much emotion, and, but for a yet stronger interest, would have left it unwillingly.

Her agitation as they entered the great gallery was too much for any endeavour at discourse; she could only

look at her companion. Eleanor's countenance was dejected, yet sedate; and its composure spoke her inured to

all the gloomy objects to which they were advancing. Again she passed through the folding doors, again her

hand was upon the important lock, and Catherine, hardly able to breathe, was turning to close the former with

fearful caution, when the figure, the dreaded figure of the general himself at the further end of the gallery,

stood before her! The name of "Eleanor" at the same moment, in his loudest tone, resounded through the

building, giving to his daughter the first intimation of his presence, and to Catherine terror upon terror. An

attempt at concealment had been her first instinctive movement on perceiving him, yet she could scarcely

hope to have escaped his eye; and when her friend, who with an apologizing look darted hastily by her, had

joined and disappeared with him, she ran for safety to her own room, and, locking herself in, believed that she

should never have courage to go down again. She remained there at least an hour, in the greatest agitation,

deeply commiserating the state of her poor friend, and expecting a summons herself from the angry general to

attend him in his own apartment. No summons, however, arrived; and at last, on seeing a carriage drive up to

the abbey, she was emboldened to descend and meet him under the protection of visitors. The

breakfastroom 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

In the course of this morning's reflections, she came to a resolution of making her next attempt on the

forbidden door alone. It would be much better in every respect that Eleanor should know nothing of the

matter. To involve her in the danger of a second detection, to court her into an apartment which must wring

her heart, could not be the office of a friend. The general's utmost anger could not be to herself what it might

be to a daughter; and, besides, she thought the examination itself would be more satisfactory if made without

any companion. It would be impossible to explain to Eleanor the suspicions, from which the other had, in all

likelihood, been hitherto happily exempt; nor could she therefore, in her presence, search for those proofs of

the general's cruelty, which however they might yet have escaped discovery, she felt confident of somewhere

drawing forth, in the shape of some fragmented journal, continued to the last gasp. Of the way to the

apartment she was now perfectly mistress; and as she wished to get it over before Henry's return, who was

expected on the morrow, there was no time to be lost, The day was bright, her courage high; at four o'clock,

the sun was now two hours above the horizon, and it would be only her retiring to dress half an hour earlier

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, wellproportioned 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 dressingclosets;

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 listenedthe 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 bad no power to move. With a feeling of terror not

very definable, she fixed her eyes on the staircase, and in a few moments it gave Henry to her view. "Mr.

Tilney!" she exclaimed in a voice of more than common astonishment. He looked astonished too. "Good

God!" she continued, not attending to his address. "How came you here? How came you up that staircase?"

"How came I up that staircase!" he replied, greatly surprised. "Because it is my nearest way from the

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 be pushed back the folding doors, "ask how you came here? This passage is at

least as extraordinary a road from the breakfastparlour to your apartment, as that staircase can be from the

"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 knowyou were not aware of their leading from the offices in common use?"

"Very; and does Eleanor leave you to find your way into an the rooms in the house by yourself?"

"Oh! No; she showed me over the greatest part on Saturdayand we were coming here to these roomsbut

"And that prevented you," said Henry, earnestly regarding her. "Have you looked into all the rooms in that

"It is only a quarter past four" showing his watch"and you are not now in Bath. No theatre, no rooms to

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

"No, and I am very much surprised. Isabella promised so faithfully to write directly."

"Promised so faithfully! A faithful promise! That puzzles me. I have heard of a faithful performance. But a

faithful promisethe 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 cheerfullooking, and the

dressingclosets 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?"

"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

"Yes, a great deal. That isno, not much, but what she did say was very interesting. Her dying so suddenly"

(slowly, and with hesitation it was spoken), "and younone of you being at homeand your father, I

"And from these circumstances," he replied (his quick eye fixed on hers), "you infer perhaps the probability

of some negligencesome"(involuntarily she shook her head)"or it may beof something still less

pardonable." She raised her eyes towards him more fully than she had ever done before. "My mother's

illness," he continued, "the seizure which ended in her death, was sudden. The malady itself, one from which

she had often suffered, a bilious feverits cause therefore constitutional. On the third day, in short, as soon

as she could be prevailed on, a physician attended her, a very respectable man, and one in whom she had

always placed great confidence. Upon his opinion of her danger, two others were called in the next day, and

remained in almost constant attendance for four and twenty hours. On the fifth day she died. During the

progress of her disorder, Frederick and I (we were both at home) saw her repeatedly; and from our own

observation can bear witness to her having received every possible attention which could spring from the

affection of those about her, or which her situation in life could command. Poor Eleanor was absent, and at

"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 towe have not all, you know, the same tenderness of dispositionand 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

"If I understand you rightly, you had formed a surmise of such horror as I have hardly words to Dear Miss

Morland, consider the dreadful nature of the suspicions you have entertained. What have you been judging

from? Remember the country and the age in which we live. Remember that we are English, that we are

Christians. Consult your own understanding, your own sense of the probable, your own observation of what

is passing around you. Does our education prepare us for such atrocities? Do our laws connive at them?

Could they be perpetrated without being known, in a country like this, where social and literary intercourse is

on such a footing, where every man is surrounded by a neighbourhood of voluntary spies, and where roads

and newspapers lay everything open? Dearest Miss Morland, what ideas have you been admitting?"

They had reached the end of the gallery, and with tears of shame she ran off to her own room.

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 sunkbut 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 fathercould he ever forgive it? The absurdity of her curiosity and her fearscould they ever be

forgotten? She hated herself more than she could express. He hadshe thought he had, once or twice before

this fatal morning, shown something like affection for her. But nowin short, she made herself as miserable

as possible for about half an hour, went down when the clock struck five, with a broken heart, and could

scarcely give an intelligible answer to Eleanor's inquiry if she was well. The formidable Henry soon followed

her into the room, and the only difference in his behaviour to her was that he paid her rather more attention

than usual. Catherine had never wanted comfort more, and he looked as if he was aware of it.

The evening wore away with no abatement of this soothing politeness; and her spirits were gradually raised to

a modest tranquillity. She did not learn either to forget or defend the past; but she learned to hope that it

would never transpire farther, and that it might not cost her Henry's entire regard. Her thoughts being still

chiefly fixed on what she had with such causeless terror felt and done, nothing could shortly be clearer than

that it had been all a voluntary, selfcreated 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

Charming as were all Mrs. Radcliffe's works, and charming even as were the works of all her imitators, it was

not in them perhaps that human nature, at least in the Midland counties of England, was to be looked for. Of

the Alps and Pyrenees, with their pine forests and their vices, they might give a faithful delineation; and Italy,

Switzerland, and the south of France might be as fruitful in horrors as they were there represented. Catherine

dared not doubt beyond her own country, and even of that, if hard pressed, would have yielded the northern

and western extremities. But in the central part of England there was surely some security for the existence

even of a wife not beloved, in the laws of the land, and the manners of the age. Murder was not tolerated,

servants were not slaves, and neither poison nor sleeping potions to be procured, like rhubarb, from every

druggist. Among the Alps and Pyrenees, perhaps, there were no mixed characters. There, such as were not as

spotless as an angel might have the dispositions of a fiend. But in England it was not so; among the English,

she believed, in their hearts and habits, there was a general though unequal mixture of good and bad. Upon

this conviction, she would not be surprised if even in Henry and Eleanor Tilney, some slight imperfection

might hereafter appear; and upon this conviction she need not fear to acknowledge some actual specks in the

character of their father, who, though cleared from the grossly injurious suspicions which she must ever blush

to have entertained, she did believe, upon serious consideration, to be not perfectly amiable.

Her mind made up on these several points, and her resolution formed, of always judging and acting in future

with the greatest good sense, she had nothing to do but to forgive herself and be happier than ever; and the

lenient hand of time did much for her by insensible gradations in the course of another day. Henry's

astonishing generosity and nobleness of conduct, in never alluding in the slightest way to what had passed,

was of the greatest assistance to her; and sooner than she could have supposed it possible in the beginning of

her distress, her spirits became absolutely comfortable, and capable, as heretofore, of continual improvement

by anything he said. There were still some subjects, indeed, under which she believed they must always

tremblethe mention of a chest or a cabinet, for instanceand she did not love the sight of japan in any

shape: but even she could allow that an occasional memento of past folly, however painful, might not be

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

nettingcotton, 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

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 breakfastroom, her first object was a

letter, held out by Henry's willing hand. She thanked him as heartily as if he had written it himself. "'Tis only

from James, however," as she looked at the direction. She opened it; it was from Oxford; and to this purpose:

"Dear Catherine, "Though, God knows, with little inclination for writing, I think it my duty to tell you that

everything is at an end between Miss Thorpe and me. I left her and Bath yesterday, never to see either again.

I shall not enter into particularsthey 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 givenbut no more of this. She has made me miserable forever! Let me

soon hear from you, dear Catherine; you are my only friend; your love I do build upon. I wish your visit at

Northanger may be over before Captain Tilney makes his engagement known, or you will be uncomfortably

circumstanced. Poor Thorpe is in town: I dread the sight of him; his honest heart would feel so much. I have

written to him and my father. Her duplicity hurts me more than all; till the very last, if I reasoned with her,

she declared herself as much attached to me as ever, and laughed at my fears. I am ashamed to think how

long I bore with it; but if ever man had reason to believe himself loved, I was that man. I cannot understand

even now what she would be at, for there could be no need of my being played off to make her secure of

Tilney. We parted at last by mutual consenthappy for me had we never met! I can never expect to know

such another woman! Dearest Catherine, beware how you give your heart. "Believe me,"

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 drawingroom for

privacy, but Henry and Eleanor had likewise retreated thither, and were at that moment deep in consultation

about her. She drew back, trying to beg their pardon, but was, with gentle violence, forced to return; and the

others withdrew, after Eleanor had affectionately expressed a wish of being of use or comfort to her.

After half an hour's free indulgence of grief and reflection, Catherine felt equal to encountering her friends;

but whether she should make her distress known to them was another consideration. Perhaps, if particularly

questioned, she might just give an ideajust distantly hint at itbut not more. To expose a friend, such a

friend as Isabella had been to herand 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 breakfastroom; 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. Morlandyour brothers and sistersI

"No, I thank you" (sighing as she spoke); "they are all very well. My letter was from my brother at Oxford."

Nothing further was said for a few minutes; and then speaking through her tears, she added, "I do not think I

"I am sorry," said Henry, closing the book he had just opened; "if I had suspected the letter of containing

"It contained something worse than anybody could suppose! Poor James is so unhappy! You will soon know

"To have so kindhearted, so affectionate a sister," replied Henry warmly, "must be a comfort to him under

"I have one favour to beg," said Catherine, shortly afterwards, in an agitated manner, "that, if your brother

"Yes; I am sure I should be very sorry to leave you so soon, but something has happened that would make it

Eleanor's work was suspended while she gazed with increasing astonishment; but Henry began to suspect the

truth, and something, in which Miss Thorpe's name was included, passed his lips.

"How quick you are!" cried Catherine: "you have guessed it, I declare! And yet, when we talked about it in

Bath, you little thought of its ending so. Isabellano wonder now I have not heard from herIsabella has

deserted my brother, and is to marry yours! Could you have believed there had been such inconstancy and

"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. Morlandsorry that anyone you love should be unhappy; but my

surprise would be greater at Frederick's marrying her than at any other part of the story."

"It is very true, however; you shall read James's letter yourself. Stay There is one part" recollecting with

"Will you take the trouble of reading to us the passages which concern my brother?"

"No, read it yourself," cried Catherine, whose second thoughts were clearer. "I do not know what I was

thinking of" (blushing again that she had blushed before); "James only means to give me good advice."

He gladly received the letter, and, having read it through, with close attention, returned it saying, "Well, if it

is to be so, I can only say that I am sorry for it. Frederick will not be the first man who has chosen a wife with

less sense than his family expected. I do not envy his situation, either as a lover or a son."

Miss Tilney, at Catherine's invitation, now read the letter likewise, and, having expressed also her concern

"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

"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 mandefunct in understanding. Prepare for your sisterinlaw, Eleanor, and such a sisterinlaw

as you must delight in! Open, candid, artless, guileless, with affections strong but simple, forming no

"But perhaps," observed Catherine, "though she has behaved so ill by our family, she may behave better by

"Indeed I am afraid she will," replied Henry; "I am afraid she will be very constant, unless a baronet should

come in her way; that is Frederick's only chance. I will get the Bath paper, and look over the arrivals."

"You think it is all for ambition, then? And, upon my word, there are some things that seem very like it. I

cannot forget that, when she first knew what my father would do for them, she seemed quite disappointed that

it was not more. I never was so deceived in anyone's character in my life before."

"My own disappointment and loss in her is very great; but, as for poor James, I suppose he will hardly ever

"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

"No," said Catherine, after a few moments' reflection, "I do notought 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

"You feel, as you always do, what is most to the credit of human nature. Such feelings ought to be

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

From this time, the subject was frequently canvassed by the three young people; and Catherine found, with

some surprise, that her two young friends were perfectly agreed in considering Isabella's want of consequence

and fortune as likely to throw great difficulties in the way of her marrying their brother. Their persuasion that

the general would, upon this ground alone, independent of the objection that might be raised against her

character, oppose the connection, turned her feelings moreover with some alarm towards herself. She was as

insignificant, and perhaps as portionless, as Isabella; and if the heir of the Tilney property had not grandeur

and wealth enough in himself, at what point of interest were the demands of his younger brother to rest? The

very painful reflections to which this thought led could only be dispersed by a dependence on the effect of

that particular partiality, which, as she was given to understand by his words as well as his actions, she had

from the first been so fortunate as to excite in the general; and by a recollection of some most generous and

disinterested sentiments on the subject of money, which she had more than once heard him utter, and which

tempted her to think his disposition in such matters misunderstood by his children.

They were so fully convinced, however, that their brother would not have the courage to apply in person for

his father's consent, and so repeatedly assured her that he had never in his life been less likely to come to

Northanger than at the present time, that she suffered her mind to be at ease as to the necessity of any sudden

removal of her own. But as it was not to be supposed that Captain Tilney, whenever he made his application,

would give his father any just idea of Isabella's conduct, it occurred to her as highly expedient that Henry

should lay the whole business before him as it really was, enabling the general by that means to form a cool

and impartial opinion, and prepare his objections on a fairer ground than inequality of situations. She

proposed it to him accordingly; but he did not catch at the measure so eagerly as she had expected. "No," said

he, "my father's hands need not be strengthened, and Frederick's confession of folly need not be forestalled.

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 wildfowl, 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

"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

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 readymonied 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

"Why! How can you ask the question? Because no time is to be lost in frightening my old housekeeper out of

"But how can you think of such a thing, after what the general said? When he so particularly desired you not

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

"I wish I could reason like you, for his sake and my own. Goodbye. As tomorrow is Sunday, Eleanor, I shall

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

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 shrubberiesalways 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 wellconnected parsonage, something like Fullerton, but better:

Fullerton had its faults, but Woodston probably had none. If Wednesday should ever come!

It did come, and exactly when it might be reasonably looked for. It cameit was fineand Catherine trod

on air. By ten o'clock, the chaise and four conveyed the two 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 newbuilt 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

Catherine's mind was too full, as she entered the house, for her either to observe or to say a great deal; and,

till called on by the general for her opinion of it, she had very little idea of the room in which she was sitting.

Upon looking round it then, she perceived in a moment that it was the most comfortable room in the world;

but she was too guarded to say so, and the coldness of her praise disappointed him.

"We are not calling it a good house," said he. "We are not comparing it with Fullerton and Northangerwe

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 reasona bow thrown out, perhapsthough, between ourselves, if there is one thing more than

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

The room in question was of a commodious, wellproportioned size, and handsomely fitted up as a

diningparlour; 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 drawingroom, 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

"I trust," said the general, with a most satisfied smile, "that it will very speedily be furnished: it waits only for

"Well, if it was my house, I should never sit anywhere else. Oh! What a sweet little cottage there is among

"You like ityou approve it as an objectit is enough. Henry, remember that Robinson is spoken to about

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 pleasureground she had ever been

in before, though there was not a shrub in it higher than the green bench in the corner.

A saunter into other meadows, and through part of the village, with a visit to the stables to examine some

improvements, and a charming game of play with a litter of puppies just able to roll about, brought them to

four o'clock, when Catherine scarcely thought it could be three. At four they were to dine, and at six to set off

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 sidetable for cold meat which was not there. His son and

daughter's observations were of a different kind. They had seldom seen him eat so heartily at any table but his

own, and never before known him so little disconcerted by the melted butter's being oiled.

At six o'clock, the general having taken his coffee, the carriage again received them; and so gratifying had

been the tenor of his conduct throughout the whole visit, so well assured was her mind on the subject of his

expectations, that, could she have felt equally confident of the wishes of his son, Catherine would have

quitted Woodston with little anxiety as to the How or the When she might return to it.

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

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."

"There is but one thing that I cannot understand. I see that she has had designs on Captain Tilney, which have

not succeeded; but I do not understand what Captain Tilney has been about all this time. Why should he pay

her such attentions as to make her quarrel with my brother, and then fly off himself?"

"I have very little to say for Frederick's motives, such as I believe them to have been. He has his vanities as

well as Miss Thorpe, and the chief difference is, that, having a stronger head, they have not yet injured

himself. If the effect of his behaviour does not justify him with you, we had better not seek after the cause."

"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,

"But we must first suppose Isabella to have had a heart to loseconsequently to have been a very different

"And if you would stand by yours, you would not be much distressed by the disappointment of Miss Thorpe.

But your mind is warped by an innate principle of general integrity, and therefore not accessible to the cool

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

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

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

timehad been misled (perhaps by her wishes) to suppose that a much longer visit had been promisedand

could not but think that if Mr. and Mrs. Morland were aware of the pleasure it was to her to have her there,

they would be too generous to hasten her return." Catherine explained: "Oh! As to that, Papa and Mamma

were in no hurry at all. As long as she was happy, they would always be satisfied."

"Nay, if you can use such a word, I can urge you no farther. If you think it long"

"Oh! No, I do not indeed. For my own pleasure, I could stay with you as long again." And it was directly

settled that, till she had, her leaving them was not even to be thought of. In having this cause of uneasiness so

pleasantly removed, the force of the other was likewise weakened. The kindness, the earnestness of Eleanor's

manner in pressing her to stay, and Henry's gratified look on being told that her stay was determined, were

such sweet proofs of her importance with them, as left her only just so much solicitude as the human mind

can never do comfortably without. She didalmost alwaysbelieve 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

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 supperroom 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

housebell. 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

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

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 doorwayand 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 lavenderwater, and hung over her with affectionate solicitude. "My dear Catherine, you must

notyou must not indeed" were Eleanor's first connected words. "I am quite well. This kindness distracts

A new idea now darted into Catherine's mind, and turning as pale as her friend, she exclaimed, "'Tis a

"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 unlookedfor 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 ushow 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 acceptedand that the happiness your company has hitherto given us is to

be repaid by But I must not trust myself with words. My dear Catherine, we are to part. My father has

recollected an engagement that takes our whole family away on Monday. We are going to Lord Longtown's,

near Hereford, for a fortnight. Explanation and apology are equally impossible. I cannot attempt either."

"My dear Eleanor," cried Catherine, suppressing her feelings as well as she could, "do not be so distressed. A

second engagement must give way to a first. I am very, very sorry we are to partso 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

Eleanor made no answer; and Catherine's thoughts recurring to something more directly interesting, she

added, thinkng aloud, "Mondayso soon as Monday; and you all go. Well, I am certain of I shall be able

to take leave, however. I need not go till just before you do, you know. Do not be distressed, Eleanor, I can

go on Monday very well. My father and mother's having no notice of it is of very little consequence. The

general will send a servant with me, I dare say, half the wayand then I shall soon be at Salisbury, and then

"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. Buthow can I tell you?tomorrow 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

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

myselfbut 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 thisalmost

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

"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

It was with pain that Catherine could speak at all; and it was only for Eleanor's sake that she attempted it. "I

am sure," said she, "I am very sorry if I have offended him. It was the last thing I would willingly have done.

But do not be unhappy, Eleanor. An engagement, you know, must be kept. I am only sorry it was not

recollected sooner, that I might have written home. But it is of very little consequence."

"I hope, I earnestly hope, that to your real safety it will be of none; but to everything else it is of the greatest

consequence: to comfort, appearance, propriety, to your family, to the world. Were your friends, the Allens,

still in Bath, you might go to them with comparative ease; a few hours would take you there; but a journey of

"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,

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 distancenot 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

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 thenhow mournfully superior in reality and substance! Her anxiety had foundation in fact, her fears in

probability; and with a mind so occupied in the contemplation of actual and natural evil, the solitude of her

situation, the darkness of her chamber, the antiquity of the building, were felt and considered without the

smallest emotion; and though the wind was high, and often produced strange and sudden noises throughout

the house, she heard it all as she lay awake, hour after hour, without curiosity or terror.

Soon after six Eleanor entered her room, eager to show attention or give assistance where it was possible; but

very little remained to be done. Catherine had not loitered; she was almost dressed, and her packing almost

finished. The possibility of some conciliatory message from the general occurred to her as his daughter

appeared. What so natural, as that anger should pass away and repentance succeed it? And she only wanted to

know how far, after what had passed, an apology might properly be received by her. But the knowledge

would have been useless here; it was not called for; neither clemency nor dignity was put to the

trialEleanor 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 wellknown, cherished object, and went down to the breakfastparlour,

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.

"You must write to me, Catherine," she cried; "you must let me hear from you as soon as possible. Till I

know you to be safe at home, I shall not have an hour's comfort. For one letter, at all risks, all hazards, I must

entreat. Let me have the satisfaction of knowing that you are safe at Fullerton, and have found your family

well, and then, till I can ask for your correspondence as I ought to do, I will not expect more. Direct to me at

"No, Eleanor, if you are not allowed to receive a letter from me, I am sure I had better not write. There can be

Eleanor only replied, "I cannot wonder at your feelings. I will not importune you. I will trust to your own

kindness of heart when I am at a distance from you." But this, with the look of sorrow accompanying it, was

enough to melt Catherine's pride in a moment, and she instantly said, "Oh, Eleanor, I will write to you

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.

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 comer 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

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 regardhad he even confused her by his too significant reference!

And nowwhat had she done, or what had she omitted to do, to merit such a change?

The only offence against him of which she could accuse herself had been such as was scarcely possible to

reach his knowledge. Henry and her own heart only were privy to the shocking suspicions which she had so

idly entertained; and equally safe did she believe her secret with each. Designedly, at least, Henry could not

have betrayed her. If, indeed, by any strange mischance his father should have gained intelligence of what she

had dared to think and look for, of her causeless fancies and injurious examinations, she could not wonder at

any degree of his indignation. If aware of her having viewed him as a murderer, she could not wonder at his

even turning her from his house. But a justification so full of torture to herself, she trusted, would not be in

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

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 hersan eleven weeks' absence. What had she to say that would not humble herself and pain

her family, that would not increase her own grief by the confession of it, extend an useless resentment, and

perhaps involve the innocent with the guilty in undistinguishing ill will? She could never do justice to Henry

and Eleanor's merit; she felt it too strongly for expression; and should a dislike be taken against them, should

they be thought of unfavourably, on their father's account, it would cut her to the heart.

With these feelings, she rather dreaded than sought for the first view of that wellknown 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 postmasters for the names of the places which were then

to conduct her to it; so great had been her ignorance of her route. She met with nothing, however, to distress

or frighten her. Her youth, civil manners, and liberal pay procured her all the attention that a traveller like

herself could require; and stopping only to change horses, she travelled on for about eleven hours without

accident or alarm, and between six and seven o'clock in the evening found herself entering Fullerton.

A heroine returning, at the close of her career, to her native village, in all the triumph of recovered reputation,

and all the dignity of a countess, with a long train of noble relations in their several phaetons, and three

waitingmaids 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 postchaise is such

a blow upon sentiment, as no attempt at grandeur or pathos can withstand. Swiftly therefore shall her

postboy drive through the village, amid the gaze of Sunday groups, and speedy shall be her descent from it.

But, whatever might be the distress of Catherine's mind, as she thus advanced towards the parsonage, and

whatever the humiliation of her biographer in relating it, she was preparing enjoyment of no everyday nature

for those to whom she went; first, in the appearance of her carriageand 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 sweepgate was a pleasure to brighten every eye and occupy every fancya 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

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 teatable, 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

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 feelinglyneither 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;

"I can allow for his wishing Catherine away, when he recollected this engagement," said Sarah, "but why not

"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 an 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

shatterbrained 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

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

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 resentmenta

letter which Eleanor might not be pained by the perusal ofand, 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

"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

Catherine coloured as she warmly answered, "No friend can be better worth keeping than Eleanor."

"If so, my dear, I dare say you will meet again some time or other; do not be uneasy. It is ten to one but you

are thrown together again in the course of a few years; and then what a pleasure it will be!"

Mrs. Morland was not happy in her attempt at consolation. The hope of meeting again in the course of a few

years could only put into Catherine's head what might happen within that time to make a meeting dreadful to

her. She could never forget Henry Tilney, or think of him with less tenderness than she did at that moment;

but he might forget her; and in that case, to meet! Her eyes filled with tears as she pictured her

acquaintance so renewed; and her mother, perceiving her comfortable suggestions to have had no good effect,

proposed, as another expedient for restoring her spirits, that they should call on Mrs. Allen.

The two houses were only a quarter of a mile apart; and, as they walked, Mrs. Morland quickly dispatched all

that she felt on the score of James's disappointment. "We are sorry for him," said she; "but otherwise there is

no harm done in the match going off; for it could not be a desirable thing to have him engaged to a girl whom

we had not the smallest acquaintance with, and who was so entirely without fortune; and now, after such

behaviour, we cannot think at all well of her. Just at present it comes hard to poor James; but that will not last

forever; and I dare say he will be a discreeter man all his life, for the foolishness of his first choice."

This was just such a summary view of the affair as Catherine could listen to; another sentence might have

endangered her complaisance, and made her reply less rational; for soon were all her thinking powers

swallowed up in the reflection of her own change of feelings and spirits since last she had trodden that

wellknown 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

She was received by the Allens with all the kindness which her unlookedfor 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 treatedthough Mrs. Morland's account of it was no inflated representation, no studied appeal

to their passions. "Catherine took us quite by surprise yesterday evening," said she. "She travelled all the way

post by herself, and knew nothing of coming till Saturday night; for General Tilney, from some odd fancy or

other, all of a sudden grew tired of having her there, and almost turned her out of the house. Very unfriendly,

certainly; and he must be a very odd man; but we are so glad to have her amongst us again! And it is a great

comfort to find that she is not a poor helpless creature, but can shift very well for herself."

Mr. Allen expressed himself on the occasion with the reasonable resentment of a sensible friend; and Mrs.

Allen thought his expressions quite good enough to be immediately made use of again by herself. His

wonder, his conjectures, and his explanations became in succession hers, with the addition of this single

remark"I really have not patience with the general"to fill up every accidental pause. And, "I really have

not patience with the general," was uttered twice after Mr. Allen left the room, without any relaxation of

anger, or any material digression of thought. A more considerable degree of wandering attended the third

repetition; and, after completing the fourth, she immediately added, "Only think, my dear, of my having got

that frightful great rent in my best Mechlin so charmingly mended, before I left Bath, that one can hardly see

where it was. I must show it you some day or other. Bath is a nice place, Catherine, after all. I assure you I

did not above half like coming away. Mrs. Thorpe's being there was such a comfort to us, was not it? You

"Yes, but that did not last long," said Catherine, her eyes brightening at the recollection of what had first

"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

"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

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 betterbred man in your life. His lodgings were taken the very day after he left

As they walked home again, Mrs. Morland endeavoured to impress on her daughter's mind the happiness of

having such steady wellwishers as Mr. and Mrs. Allen, and the very little consideration which the neglect or

unkindness of slight acquaintance like the Tilneys ought to have with her, while she could preserve the good

opinion and affection of her earliest friends. There was a great deal of good sense in all this; but there are

some situations of the human mind in which good sense has very little power; and Catherine's feelings

contradicted almost every position her mother advanced. It was upon the behaviour of these very slight

acquaintance that all her present happiness depended; and while Mrs. Morland was successfully confirming

her own opinions by the justness of her own representations, Catherine was silently reflecting that now Henry

must have arrived at Northanger; now he must have heard of her departure; and now, perhaps, they were all

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

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 everythinga time for balls and plays, and a time for work.

Catherine took up her work directly, saying, in a dejected voice, that "her head did not run upon

"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

"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 acquaintanceThe Mirror, I think. I will look it out for you some day or

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

He was not illinclined to obey this request, for, though his heart was greatly relieved by such unlookedfor

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 meanwhilethe anxious, agitated, happy, feverish Catherinesaid

not a word; but her glowing cheek and brightened eye made her mother trust that this goodnatured visit

would at least set her heart at ease for a time, and gladly therefore did she lay aside the first volume of The

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 homeand 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

A very short visit to Mrs. Allen, in which Henry talked at random, without sense or connection, and

Catherine, rapt in the contemplation of her own unutterable happiness, scarcely opened her lips, dismissed

them to the ecstasies of another teteatete; 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

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

daughterinlaw. On discovering his error, to turn her from the house seemed the best, though to his feelings

an inadequate proof of his resentment towards herself, and his contempt of her family.

John Thorpe had first misled him. The general, perceiving his son one night at the theatre to be paying

considerable attention to Miss Morland, had accidentally inquired of Thorpe if he knew more of her than her

name. Thorpe, most happy to be on speaking terms with a man of General Tilney's importance, had been

joyfully and proudly communicative; and being at that time not only in daily expectation of Morland's

engaging Isabella, but likewise pretty well resolved upon marrying Catherine himself, his vanity induced him

to represent the family as yet more wealthy than his vanity and avarice had made him believe them. With

whomsoever he was, or was likely to be connected, his own consequence always required that theirs should

be great, and as his intimacy with any acquaintance grew, so regularly grew their fortune. The expectations of

his friend Morland, therefore, from the first overrated, had ever since his introduction to Isabella been

gradually increasing; and by merely adding twice as much for the grandeur of the moment, by doubling what

he chose to think the amount of Mr. Morland's preferment, trebling his private fortune, bestowing a rich aunt,

and sinking half the children, he was able to represent the whole family to the general in a most respectable

light. For Catherine, however, the peculiar object of the general's curiosity, and his own speculations, he had

yet something more in reserve, and the ten or fifteen thousand pounds which her father could give her would

be a pretty addition to Mr. Allen's estate. Her intimacy there had made him seriously determine on her being

handsomely legacied hereafter; and to speak of her therefore as the almost acknowledged future heiress of

Fullerton naturally followed. Upon such intelligence the general had proceeded; for never had it occurred to

him to doubt its authority. Thorpe's interest in the family, by his sister's approaching connection with one of

its members, and his own views on another (circumstances of which he boasted with almost equal openness),

seemed sufficient vouchers for his truth; and to these were added the absolute facts of the Allens being

wealthy and childless, of Miss Morland's being under their care, andas soon as his acquaintance allowed

him to judgeof 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 Morlandsconfessed 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,

The terrified general pronounced the name of Allen with an inquiring look; and here too Thorpe had learnt

his error. The Allens, he believed, had lived near them too long, and he knew the young man on whom the

Fullerton estate must devolve. The general needed no more. Enraged with almost everybody in the world but

himself, he set out the next day for the abbey, where his performances have been seen.

I leave it to my reader's sagacity to determine how much of all this it was possible for Henry to communicate

at this time to Catherine, how much of it he could have learnt from his father, in what points his own

conjectures might assist him, and what portion must yet remain to be told in a letter from James. I have united

for their case 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

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 narrowminded 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 in 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

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

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 selfevident 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

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 obtainedand their own hearts made them trust that it could not be very long deniedtheir

willing approbation was instantly to follow. His consent was all that they wished for. They were no more

inclined than entitled to demand his money. Of a very considerable fortune, his son was, by marriage

settlements, eventually secure; his present income was an income of independence and comfort, and under

The young people could not be surprised at a decision like this. They felt and they deploredbut 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 fullness 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 didthey had been too kind to exact any promise; and whenever Catherine received a

letter, as, at that time, happened pretty often, they always looked another way.

The anxiety, which in this state of their attachment must be the portion of Henry and Catherine, and of all

who loved either, as to its final event, can hardly extend, I fear, to the bosom of my readers, who will see in

the telltale 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 summeran

accession of dignity that threw him into a fit of good humour, from which he did not recover till after Eleanor

had obtained his forgiveness of Henry, and his permission for him "to be a fool if he liked it!"

The marriage of Eleanor Tilney, her removal from all the evils of such a home as Northanger had been made

by Henry's banishment, to the home of her choice and the man of her choice, is an event which I expect to

give general satisfaction among all her acquaintance. My own joy on the occasion is very sincere. I know no

one more entitled, by unpretending merit, or better prepared by habitual suffering, to receive and enjoy

felicity. Her partiality for this gentleman was not of recent origin; and he had been long withheld only by

inferiority of situation from addressing her. His unexpected accession to title and fortune had removed all his

difficulties; and never had the general loved his daughter so well in all her hours of companionship, utility,

and patient endurance as when he first hailed her "Your Ladyship!" Her husband was really deserving of her;

independent of his peerage, his wealth, and his attachment, being to a precision the most charming young

man in the world. Any further definition of his merits must be unnecessary; the most charming young man in

the world is instantly before the imagination of us all. Concerning the one in question, therefore, I have only

to addaware that the rules of composition forbid the introduction of a character not connected with my

fablethat this was the very gentleman whose negligent servant left behind him that collection of

washingbills, resulting from a long visit at Northanger, by which my heroine was involved in one of her

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

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 twentysix 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.

Northanger Abbey was written in 179798 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 1818the year following Miss Austen's death. Spelling

and punctuation have been largely brought into conformity with modern British usage.