The Complete Works of Jane Austen - Part 5

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The Complete Works of Jane Austen - Part 5

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NORTHANGER ABBEY 

(First Published i'Si8) 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 

Chapter i 

No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy would have 
supposed her born to be an heroine. Her situation in life, the character 
of her father and mother, her own person and disposition, were all equally 
against her. Her father was a clergyman, without being neglected or poor, 
and a very respectable man, though his name was Richard, and he had 
never been handsome. He had a considerable independence, besides two 
good livings, and he was not in the last addicted to locking up his 
daughters. Her mother was a woman of useful plain sense, with a good 
temper, and, what is more remarkable, with a good constitution. She had 
three sons before Catherine was born ; and, instead of dying in bringing the 
latter into the world, as anybody might expect, she still lived on lived to 
have six children more to see them growing up around her, and to enjoy 
excellent health herself. A family of ten children will be always called a 
fine family, where there are heads, and arms, and legs enough for the 
number ; but the Morlands had little other right to the word, for they were 
in general very plain, and Catherine, for many years of her life, as plain as 
any. She had a thin awkward figure, a sallow skin without colour, dark 
lank hair, and strong features ; so much for her person, and not less un 
propitious for heroism seemed her mind. She was fond of all boys' play 
and greatly preferred cricket, not merely to dolls, but to the more heroic 
enjoyments of infancy, nursing a dormouse, feeding a canary-bird, or 
watering a rose-bush. Indeed she had no taste for a garden, and if she 
gathered flowers at all, it was chiefly for the pleasure of mischief, at least 
so it was conjectured from her always preferring those which she was 
forbidden to take. Such were her propensities ; her abilities were quite as 
extraordinary. She never could learn or understand anything before she 
was taught, and sometimes not even then, for she was often inattentive, 
and occasionally stupid. Her mother was three months in teaching her 
only to repeat the "Beggar's Petition," and, after all, her next sister Sally 
could say it better than she did. Not that Catherine was always stupid ; by 
no means; she learnt the fable of "The Hare and many Friends," as 
quickly as any girl in England. Her mother wished her to learn music ; and 
Catherine was sure she should like it, for she was very fond of tinkling the 
keys of the old forlorn spinnet, so at eight years old she began. She learnt 
a year and could not bear it ; and Mrs. Morland, who did not insist on her 
daughters being accomplished in spite of incapacity or distaste, allowed 
her to leave off. The day which dismissed the music-master was one of the 

1063 



xo6 4 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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 unaccount- 
able 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 inter- 
ruptions of tyranny. She was, moreover, noisy and wild, hated confinement 
and cleanliness, and loved nothing so well in the world as rolling down the 
green slope at the back of the house. 

Such was Catherine Morland at ten. At fifteen appearances were mend- 
ing; she began to curl her hair and long for balls, her complexion im- 
proved, her features were softened by plumpness and colour, her eyes 
gained more animation, and her figure more consequence. Her love of dirt 
gave way to an inclination for finery, and she grew clean as she grew 
smart; she had now the pleasure of sometimes hearing her father and 
mother remark on her personal improvement. "Catherine grows quite a 
good-looking girl ; she is almost pretty to-day," were words which caught 
her ears now and then ; and how welcome were the sounds ! To look almost 
pretty is an acquisition of higher delight to a girl who has been looking 
plain the first fifteen years of her life than a beauty from her cradle can 
ever receive. 

Mrs. Morland was a very good woman, and wished to see her children 
everything they ought to be : but her time was so much occupied in lying-in 
and teaching the little ones, that her elder daughters were inevitably left 
to shift for themselves; and it was not very wonderful that Catherine, 
who had by nature nothing heroic about her, should prefer cricket, base- 
ball, riding on horseback, and running about the country, at the age of 
fourteen, to books, or at least books of information, for, provided that 
nothing like useful knowledge could be gained from them, provided they 
were all story and no reflection, she had never any objection to books at 
all. But from fifteen to seventeen she was in training for a heroine; she 
read all such works as heroines must read to supply their memories with 
those quotations which are so serviceable and so soothing in the vicissi- 
tudes of their eventful lives. 

From Pope, she learnt to censure those who 

"bear about the mockery of woe." 
From Gray, that 

"Many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air." 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 7065 

From Thomson, that it is a 

"Delightful task . . . 
To teach the young idea how to shoot." 

And from Shakespeare she gained a great store of information : amongst 
the rest, that 

"trifles light as air, 

Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong 
As proofs of Holy Writ." 

That 

"The poor beetle, that we tread upon, 
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great 
As when a giant dies." 

And that a young woman in love always looks 

"like Patience on a monument 
Smiling at Grief." 

So far her improvement was sufficient, and in many other points she 
came on exceedingly well; for though she could not write sonnets, she 
brought herself to read them ; and though there seemed no chance of her 
throwing a whole party into raptures by a prelude on the pianoforte of her 
own composition, she could listen to other people's performance with very 
little fatigue. Her greatest deficiency was in the pencil she had no notion 
of drawing not enough even to attempt a sketch of her lover's profile, 
that she might be detected in the design. There she fell miserably short of 
the true heroic height. At present she did not know her own poverty, for 
she had no lover to portray. She had reached the age of seventeen without 
having seen one amiable youth who could call forth her sensibility: with- 
out 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 neighbour- 
hood; no, not even a baronet. There was not one family among their ac- 
quaintances who had reared and supported a boy accidentally found at 
their door ; not one young man whose origin was unknown. Her father had 
no ward, and the squire of the parish no children. 

But when a young lady is to be a heroine, the perverseness of forty 
surrounding families cannot prevent her. Something must and will happen 
to throw a hero in her way. 

Mr. Allen, who owened the chief of the property about Fullerton, the 
village in Wiltshire where the Morlands lived, was ordered to Bath for the 
benefit of a gouty constitution ; and his lady, a good-humoured woman, 



io66 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

fond of Miss Morland, and probably aware that, if adventures will not 
befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad, invited 
her to go with them. Mr. and Mrs. Morland were all compliance, and 
Catherine all happiness. 



Chapter 2 

IN addition to what has been already said of Catherine Morland's per- 
sonal and mental endowments, when about to be launched into all the 
difficulties and dangers of a six weeks' residence in Bath, it may be stated, 
for the reader's more certain information, lest the following pages should 
otherwise fail of giving any idea of what her character is meant to be, that 
her heart was affectionate, her disposition cheerful and open, without 
conceit or affectation of any kind; her manners just removed from the 
awkwardness and shyness of a girl ; her person pleasing, and, when in good 
looks, pretty ; and her mind about as ignorant and uninformed as the fe- 
male mind at seventeen usually is. 

When the hour of departure drew near, the maternal anxiety of Mrs. 
Morland will be naturally supposed to be most severe. A thousand alarm- 
ing presentiments of evil to her beloved Catherine from this terrific separa- 
tion 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 part- 
ing conference in her closet. Cautions against the violence of such noble- 
men and baronets as delight in forcing young ladies away to some remote 
farmhouse, must, at such a moment, relieve the fullness 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 ma- 
chinations. 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 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1067 

family ought always to excite. Her father, instead of giving her an un- 
limited order on his banker, or even putting a hundred pounds' bank- 
bill into her hands, gave her only ten guineas, and promised her more 
when she wanted it. 

Under these unpromising auspices, the parting took place and the 
journey began. It was performed with suitable quietness and uneventful 
safety. Neither robbers nor tempests befriended them, nor bne lucky 
overturn to introduce them to the hero. Nothing more alarming occurred 
than a fear, on Mrs. Allen's side, of having once left her clogs behind 
her at an inn, and that fortunately proved to be groundless. 

They arrived at Bath. Catherine was all eager delight ; her eyes were 
here, there, everywhere, as they approached its fine and striking environs, 
and afterwards drove through those streets which conducted them to the 
hotel. She was come to be happy, and she felt happy already. 

They were soon settled in comfortable lodgings in Pulteney Street. 

It is now expedient to give some description of Mrs. Allen that the 
reader may be able to judge in what manner her actions will hereafter 
tend to promote the general distress of the work, and how she will prob- 
ably contribute to reduce poor Catherine to all the desperate wretchedness 
of which a last volume is capable whether by her imprudence, vulgarity, 
or jealousy whether by intercepting her letters, ruining her character, 
or turning her out of doors. 

Mrs. Allen was one of that numerous class of females, whose society 
can raise no other emotion than surprise at there being any men in the 
world who could like them well enough to marry them. She had neither 
beauty, genius, accomplishment, nor manner. The air of a gentlewoman, 
a great deal of quiet, inactive good temper, and a trifling turn of mind, 
were all that could account for her being the choice of a sensible, intel- 
ligent man, like Mr. Allen. In one respect she was admirably fitted to 
introduce a young lady into public, being as fond of going everywhere 
and seeing everything herself, as any young lady could be. Dress was 
her passion. She had a most harmless delight in being fine; and our 
heroine's entree into life could not take place till after three or four 
days had been spent in learning what was mostly worn, and her chaperon 
was provided with a dress of the newest fashion. Catherine, too, made 
some purchases herself, and when all these matters were arranged, the 
important evening came which was to usher her into the Upper Rooms. 
Her hair was cut and dressed by the best hand, her clothes put on with 
care, and both Mrs. Allen and her maid declared she looked quite as 
she should do. With such encouragement, Catherine hoped at least to 
pass uncensured through the crowd; as for admiration, it was always 
very welcome when it came, but she did not depend on it. 

Mrs. Allen was so long in dressing that they did not enter the ballroom 
till late. The season was full, the room crowded, and the two ladies 
squeezed in as well as they could. As for Mr. Allen, he repaired directly 
to the card-room, and left them to enjoy a mob by themselves. With 



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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 on: 
something better was yet in view; and by a continued exertion of strength 
and ingenuity, they found themselves at last in the passage behind the 
highest bench. Here there was something less of a crowd than below; and 
hence Miss Morland had a comprehensive view of all the company be- 
neath her, and of all the dangers of her late passage through them. It 
was a splendid sight; and she began, for the first time that evening, to 
feel herself at a ball : she longed to dance, but she had not an acquaintance 
in the room. Mrs. Allen did all that she could do in such a case, by saying 
very placidly, every now and then, "I wish you could dance, my dear; 
I wish you could get a partner." For some time her young friend felt 
obliged to her for these wishes, but they were repeated so often, and 
proved so totally ineffectual, that Catherine grew tired at last, and would 
thank her no more. 

They were not long able, however, to enjoy the repose of the eminence 
they had so laboriously gained. Everybody was shortly in motion for tea, 
and they must squeeze out like the rest. Catherine began to feel some- 
thing of disappointment: she was tired of being continually pressed 
against by people, the generality of whose faces possessed nothing to 
interest, and with all of whom she was so wholly unacquainted that she 
could not relieve the irksomeness of imprisonment by the exchange of a 
syllable with any of her fellow-captives ; and when at last arrived in the 
Tea Room, she felt yet more the awkwardness of having no party to 
join, no acquaintance to claim, no gentlemen to assist them. They saw 
nothing of Mr. Allen; and after looking about them in vain for a more 
eligible situation, were obliged to sit down at the end of a table, at which 
a large party were already placed, without having anything to do there, 
or anybody to speak to, except each other. 

Mrs. Allen congratulated herself, as soon as they were seated, on having 
preserved her gown from injury. "It would have been very shocking to 
have it torn," said she, "would not it? It is such a delicate muslin. For my 
part, I have not seen anything I like so well in the whole room, I assure 
you." 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1069 

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

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

"What shall we do? The gentlemen and ladies at this table look as if 
they wondered why we came here; we seem forcing ourselves into their 
party." 

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

"I wish we had any; it would be somebody to go to." 

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

"Had not we better go away as it is? Here are no tea-things for us, 
you see." 

"No more there are, indeed. How very provoking! But I think we had 
better sit still, for one gets so tumbled in such a crowd. How is my head, 
my dear? Somebody gave me a push that has hurt it, I am afraid." 

"No, indeed, it looks very nice. But, dear Mrs. Allen, are you sure there 
is nobody you know in all this multitude of people? I think you must 
know somebody." 

"I don't, upon my word ; I wish I did. I wish I had a large acquaintance 
here with all my heart, and then I should get you a partner. I should be 
so glad to have you dance. There goes a strange-looking woman! What an 
odd gown she has got on! How old-fashioned it is! Look at the back." 

After some time they received an offer of tea from one of their neigh- 
bours; it was thankfully accepted, and this introduced a light conversa- 
tion with the gentleman who offered it, which was the only time that any- 
body spoke to them during the evening, till they were discovered and 
joined by Mr. Allen when the dance was over. 

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

"Very agreeable, indeed," she replied, vainly endeavouring to hide a 
great yawn. 

"I wish she had been able to dance," said his wife; "I wish we could 
have got a partner for her. I have been saying how glad I should be if the 
Skinners were here this winter instead of last; or, if the Parrys had come, 
as they talked of once, she might have danced with George Parry. I am 
so sorry she has not had a partner." 

"We shall do better another evening, I hope," was Mr. Allen's con- 
solation. 

The company began to disperse when the dancing was over : enough to 
leave space for the remainder to walk about in some comfort; and now 
was the time for a heroine, who had not yet played a very distinguished 
part in the events of the evening, to be noticed and admired. Every five 
minutes, by removing some of the crowd, gave greater openings for her 
charms. She was now seen by many young men who had not been near 



1070 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

her before. Not one, however, started with rapturous wonder on beholding 
her, no whisper of eager inquiry ran round the room, nor was she once 
called a divinity by anybody. Yet Catherine was in very good looks, and 
had the company only seen her three years before, they would now have 
thought her exceedingly handsome. 

She was looked at, however, and with some admiration ; for, in her own 
hearing two gentlemen pronounced her to be a pretty girl. Such words had 
their due effect : she immediately thought the evening more pleasant than 
she had found it before, her humble vanity was contented ; she felt more 
obliged to the two young men for this simple praise, than a true quality 
heroine would have been for fifteen sonnets in celebration of her charms, 
and went to her chair in good humour with everybody, and perfectly 
satisfied with her share of public attention. 



Chapter 3 

EVERY morning now brought its regular duties ; shops were to be visited, 
some new part of the town to be looked at, and the Pump Room to be 
attended, where they paraded up and down for an hour, looking at every 
body and speaking to no one. The wish of a numerous acquaintance in 
Bath was still uppermost with Mrs. Allen, and she repeated it after every 
fresh proof, which every morning brought, of her knowing nobody at all. 

They made their appearance in the Lower Rooms; and here fortune 
was more favourable to our heroine. The master of the ceremonies intro- 
duced to her a very gentleman-like young man as a partner ; his name was 
Tilney. He seemed to be about four or five-and-twenty, was rather tall, 
had a pleasing countenance, a very intelligent and lively eye, and, if not 
quite handsome, was very near it. His address was good and Catherine 
felt herself in high luck. There was little leisure for speaking while they 
danced ; but when they were seated at tea she found him as agreeable as 
she had already given him credit for being. He talked with fluency and 
spirit, and there was an archness and pleasantry in his manner which 
interested, though it was hardly understood by her. After chatting some 
time on such matters as naturally arose from the objects around them, he 
suddenly addressed her with: "I have hitherto been very remiss, madam, 
in the proper attentions of a partner here ; I have not yet asked you how 
long you have been in Bath, whether you were ever here before, whether 
you have been at the Upper Rooms, the theatre, and the concert, and how 
you like the place altogether. I have been very negligent ; but are you now 
at leisure to satisfy me in these particulars? If you are, I will begin 
directly." 

"You need not give yourself that trouble, sir." 

"No trouble, I assure you, madam." Then forming his features into a 
set smile, and affectedly softening his voice, he added, with a simpering 
air, "Have you been long in Bath, madam?" 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1071 

"About a week, sir," replied Catherine, trying not to laugh. 

"Really!" with affected astonishment. 

"Why should you be surprised, sir?" 

"Why indeed?" said he, in his natural tone; "but some emotion must 
appear to be raised by your reply, and surprise is more easily assumed, 
and not less reasonable, than any other. Now let us go on. Were you never 
here before, madam?" 

"Never, sir." 

"Indeed! Have you yet honoured the Upper Rooms?" 

"Yes, sir; I was there last Monday." 

"Have you been to the theatre?" 

"Yes, sir ; I was at the play on Tuesday." 

"To the concert?" 

"Yes, sir; on Wednesday." 

"And are you altogether pleased with Bath?" 

"Yes; I like it very well." 

"Now I must give one smirk, and then we may be rational again." 

Catherine turned away her head, not knowing whether she might 
venture to laugh. 

"I see what you think of me," said he gravely; "I shall make but a 
poor figure in your journal to-morrow." 

"My journal!" 

"Yes; I know exactly what you will say: 'Friday, went to the Lower 
Rooms ; wore my sprigged muslin robe with blue trimmings, plain black 
shoes; appeared to much advantage, but was strangely harassed by a 
queer half-witted man, who would make me dance with him, and distressed 
me by his nonsense.' ' : 

"Indeed I shall say no such thing." 

"Shall I tell you what you ought to say?" 

"If you please." 

"I danced with a very agreeable young man, introduced by Mr. King; 
had a great deal of conversation with him; seems a most extraordinary 
genius ; hope I may know more of him. That, madam, is what I wish you 
to say." 

"But perhaps I keep no journal." 

"Perhaps you are not sitting in this room, and I am not sitting by you. 
These are points in which a doubt is equally possible. Not keep a journal ! 
How are your absent cousins to understand the tenor of your life in Bath 
without one? How are the civilities and compliments of every day to be 
related as they ought to be unless noted down every evening in a journal? 
How are your various dresses to be remembered, and the particular state 
of your complexion, and curl of your hair to be described in all their 
diversities, without having constant recourse to a journal? My dear 
madam, I am not so ignorant of young ladies' ways as you wish to believe 
me. It is this delightful habit of journalising which largely contributes to 
form the easy style of writing for which ladies are so generally celebrated. 



1072 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

Everybody allows that the talent of writing agreeable letters is peculiarly 
female. Nature may have done something, but I am sure it must be 
essentially assisted by the practice of keeping a journal." 

"I have sometimes thought," said Catherine, doubtingly, "whether 
ladies do write so much better letters than gentlemen. That is, I should 
not think the superiority was always on our side." 

"As far as I have had opportunity of judging it appears to me that the 
usual style of letter-writing among women is faultless, except in three 
particulars." 

"And what are they?" 

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

"Upon my word, I need not have been afraid of disclaiming the com- 
pliment! You do not think too highly of us in that way." 

"I should no more lay it down as a general rule that women write 
better letters than men, than that they sing better duets, or draw better 
landscapes. In every power of which taste is the foundation, excellence is 
pretty fairly divided between the sexes." 

They were interrupted by Mrs. Allen. "My dear Catherine," said she, 
"do take this pin out of my sleeve. I am afraid it has torn a hole already. 
I shall be quite sorry if it has, for this is a favourite gown, though it cost 
but nine shillings a yard." 

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

"Do you understand muslins, sir?" 

"Particularly well; I always buy my own cravats, and am allowed to 
be an excellent judge; and my sister has often trusted me in the choice 
of a gown. I bought one for her the other day, and it was pronounced to 
be a prodigious bargain by every lady who saw it. I gave but five shillings 
a yard for it, and a true Indian muslin." 

Mrs. Allen was quite struck by his genius. "Men commonly take so 
little notice of those things," said she. "I can never get Mr. Allen to know 
one of my gowns from another. You must be a great comfort to your 
sister, sir." 

"I hope I am, madam." 

"And pray, sir, what do you think of Miss Morland's gown?" 

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

"How can you," said Catherine, laughing, "be so ?" she had almost 

said "strange." 

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

"But then you know, madam, muslin always turns to some account 
or other ; Miss Morland will get enough out of it for a handkerchief, or a 
cap, or a cloak. Muslin can never be said to be wasted. I have heard my 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1073 

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

"Bath is a charming place, sir; there are so many good shops here. We 
are sadly off in the country; not but what we have very good shops in 
Salisbury, but it is so far to go ; eight miles is a long way. Mr. Allen says 
it is nine, measured nine ; but I am sure it cannot be more than eight ; and 
it is such a fag; I come back tired to death. Now, here one can step out 
of doors, and get a thing in five minutes." 

Mr. Tilney was polite enough to seem interested in what she said ; and 
she kept him on the subject of muslin till the dancing recommenced. 
Catherine feared as she listened to their discourse, that he indulged him- 
self a little too much with the foibles of others. "What are you thinking of 
so earnestly?" said he, as they walked back to the ball-room; "not of 
your partner, I hope, for by that shake of the head, your meditations 
are not satisfactory." 

Catherine coloured, and said, "I was not thinking of anything." 

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

"Well, then, I will not." 

"Thank you ; for now we shall soon be acquainted, as I am authorised 
to tease you on this subject whenever we meet, and nothing in the world 
advances intimacy so much." 

They danced again ; and when the assembly closed, parted on the lady's 
side at least with a strong inclination for continuing the acquaintance. 
Whether she thought of him so much, while she drank her warm wine 
and water, and prepared herself for bed, as to dream of him when there, 
cannot be ascertained, but I hope it was no more than in a slight slumber, 
or a morning doze at most; for if it be true, as a celebrated writer has 
maintained, that no young lady can be justified in falling in love before 
the gentleman's love is declared,* 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 clergy- 
man, and of a very respectable family in Gloucestershire. 



Chapter 4 

WITH more than usual eagerness did Catherine hasten to the Pump 
Room the next day, secure within herself of seeing Mr. Tilney there before 
the morning was over, and ready to meet him with a smile: but no smile 

* Vide a letter from Mr. Richardson, No. 97, vol. ii, "Rambler." 



co74 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

was demanded Mr. Tilney did not appear. Every creature in Bath, 
except himself, was to be seen in the Room at different periods of the 
fashionable hours; crowds of people were every moment passing in and 
out, up the steps and down; people whom nobody cared about, and 
nobody wanted to see; and he only was absent. "What a delightful place 
Bath is," said Mrs. Allen, as they sat down near the great clock, after 
parading the Room till they were tired; "and how pleasant it would be 
if we had any acquaintances 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 "Un- 
wearied 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 recognised the features of a former 
schoolfellow and intimate, whom she had seen only once since their re- 
spective marriages, and that many years ago. Their joy on this meeting 
was very great, as well as it might be, 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 what the other said. Mrs. Thorpe, however, 
had one great advantage as a talker, over Mrs. Allen, in a family of 
children; and when she expatiated on the talents of her sons, and the 
beauty of her daughters, when she related their different situations and 
views, that John was at Oxford, Edward at Merchant Taylors', and Wil- 
liam at sea, and all of them more beloved and respected in their different 
stations than any other three beings ever were, Mrs. Allen had no similar 
information to give, no similar triumphs to press on the unwilling and 
unbelieving ear of her friend ; and was forced to sit and appear to listen 
to all these maternal effusions, consoling herself, however, with the 
discovery, which her keen eyes soon made, that the lace on Mrs. Thorpe's 
pelisse was not half so handsome as that on her own. 

"Here come my dear girls," cried Mrs. Thorpe, pointing at three smart- 
looking females, who, arm-in-arm, were then moving towards her. "My 
dear Mrs. Allen, I long to introduce them; they will be so delighted to see 
you ; the tallest is Isabella, my eldest ; is not she a fine young woman ? The 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1075 

others are very much admired too, but I believe Isabella is the hand- 
somest." 

The Miss Thorpes were introduced, and Miss Morland, who had been 
for a short time forgotten, was introduced likewise. The name seemed to 
strike them all ; and, after speaking to her with great civility, the eldest 
young lady observed aloud to the rest, "How excessively like her brother 
Miss Morland is!" 

"The very picture of him, indeed!" cried the mother; and "I should 
have known her anywhere for his sister!" was repeated by them all, two 
or three times over. For a moment Catherine was surprised; but Mrs. 
Thorpe and her daughters had scarcely begun the history of their ac- 
quaintance with Mr. James Morland, before she remembered that her 
eldest brother had lately formed an intimacy with a young man of his 
own college, of the name of Thorpe, and that he had spent the last week 
of the Christmas vacation with his family near London. 

The whole being explained, many obliging things were said by the Miss 
Thorpes of their wish of being better acquainted with her ; of being con- 
sidered as already friends, through the friendship of their brothers, etc., 
which Catherine heard with pleasure, and answered with all the pretty 
expressions she could command ; and, as the first proof of amity, she was 
soon invited to accept an arm of the eldest Miss Thorpe, and take a turn 
with her about the Room. Catherine was delighted with this extension 
of her Bath acquaintance, and almost forgot Mr. Tilney while she talked 
to Miss Thorpe. Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of 
disappointed love. 

Their conversation turned upon those subjects of which the free dis- 
cussion had generally much to do in perfecting a sudden intimacy between 
two young ladies; such as dress, balls, flirtations and quizzes. Miss 
Thorpe, however, being four years older than Miss Morland, and at least 
four years better informed, had a very decided advantage in discussing 
such points. She could compare the balls of Bath with those of Tunbridge ; 
its fashions with the fashions of London ; could rectify the opinions of her 
new friend in many articles of tasteful attire; could discover a flirtation 
between any gentleman and lady who only smiled on each other; and 
point out a quiz through the thickness of a crowd. These powers received 
due admiration from Catherine, to whom they were entirely new; and the 
respect which they naturally inspired might have been too great for 
familiarity, had not the easy gaiety of Miss Thorpe's manners, and her 
frequent expressions of delight on this acquaintance with her, softened 
down every feeling of awe, and left nothing but tender affection. Their 
increasing attachment was not to be satisfied with half a dozen turns in 
the Pump Room, but required, when they all quitted it together, that 
Miss Thorpe should accompany Miss Morland to the very door of Mr. 
Allen's house; and that they should there part with a most affectionate 
and lengthened shake of hands, after learning, to their mutual relief, that 
they should see each other across the theatre at night, and say their 



1076 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

prayers in the same chapel the next morning. Catherine then ran directly 
upstairs, and watched Miss Thorpe's progress down the street from the 
drawing-room window; admired the graceful spirit of her walk, the 
fashionable air of her figure and dress, and felt grateful, as well she 
might, for the chance which had procured her such a friend. 

Mrs. Thorpe was a widow, and not a very rich one ; she was a good- 
humoured, well-meaning woman, and a very indulgent mother. Her eldest 
daughter had great personal beauty, and the younger ones, by pretending 
to be as handsome as their sister, imitating her air, and dressing in the 
same style, did very well. 

This brief account of the family is intended to supersede the necessity 
of a long and minute detail from Mrs. Thorpe herself, of her past adven- 
tures 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 conversations which had passed twenty 
years before be minutely repeated. 



Chapter 5 

CATHERINE was not so much engaged at the theatre, that evening, in 
returning the nods and smiles of Miss Thorpe, though they certainly 
claimed much of her leisure, as to forget to look with an inquiring eye for 
Mr. Tilney in every box which her eye could reach ; but she looked in vain. 
Mr. Tilney was no fonder of the play than the Pump Room. She hoped 
to be more fortunate the next day ; and when her wishes for fine weather 
were answered by seeing a beautiful morning, she hardly felt a doubt of 
it ; for a fine Sunday in Bath empties every house of its inhabitants, and 
all the world appears on such an occasion, to walk about, and tell their 
acquaintances what a charming day it is. 

As soon as divine service was over, the Thorpes and Aliens eagerly 
joined each other ; and, after staying long enough in the Pump Room to 
discover that the crowd was unsupportable, and that there was not a 
genteel face to be seen, which everybody discovers every Sunday through- 
out 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 re-seeing her partner. He was nowhere to be met with ; every 
search for him was equally unsuccessful, in morning lounges or evening 
assemblies, neither at the Upper nor Lower rooms, at dressed or undressed 
balls was he perceivable; nor among the walkers, the horsemen, or the 
curricle-drivers of the morning. His name was not in the Pump Room 
book, and curiosity could do no more. He must be gone from Bath; yet 
he had not mentioned that his stay would be so short. This sort of mys- 
teriousness, which is always so becoming in a hero, threw a fresh grace, 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1077 

in Catherine's imagination, around his person and manners, and increased 
her anxiety to know more of him. From the Thorpes she could learn 
nothing, for they had been only two days in Bath before they met with 
Mrs. Allen. It was a subject, however, in which she often indulged with 
her fair friend, from whom she received every possible encouragement to 
continue to think of him ; and his impression on her fancy was not suffered 
therefore to weaken. Isabella was very sure that he must be a charming 
young man ; and was equally sure that he must have been delighted with 
her dear Catherine, and would therefore shortly return. She liked him the 
better for being a clergyman, "for she must confess herself very partial 
to the profession" ; and something like a sigh escaped her as she said it. 
Perhaps Catherine was wrong in not demanding the cause of that gentle 
emotion, but she was not experienced enough in the finesse of love, or 
the duties of friendship, to know when delicate raillery was properly 
called for, or when a confidence should be forced. 

Mrs. Allen was now quite happy, quite satisfied with Bath. She had 
found some acquaintance ; had been so lucky, too, as to find in them the 
family of a most worthy old friend ; and, as the completion of good fortune, 
had found these friends by no means so expensively dressed as herself. 
Her daily expressions were no longer, "I wish we had some acquaintances 
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 sub- 
ject, for Mrs. Thorpe talked chiefly of her children, and Mrs. Allen of 
her gowns. 

The progress of the friendship between Catherine and Isabella was quick 
as its beginning had been warm ; and they passed so rapidly through every 
gradation of increasing tenderness, that there was shortly no fresh proof 
of it to be given to their friends or themselves. They called each other by 
their Christian name, were always arm-in-arm when they walked, pinned 
up each other's train for the dance, and were not to be divided in the set; 
and, if a rainy morning deprived them of other enjoyments, they were 
still resolute in meeting in defiance of wet and dirt, and shut themselves 
up to read novels together. Yes, novels; for I will not adopt that un- 
generous and impolitic custom, so common with novel writers, of de- 
grading, by their contemptuous censure, the very performances to the 
number of which they are themselves adding: joining with their greatest 
enemies in bestowing the harshest epithets on such works, and scarcely 
ever permitting them to be read by their own heroine, who, if she acci- 
dentally take up a novel, is sure to turn over its insipid pages with disgust 
Alas! If the heroine of one novel be not patronised by the heroine oi 
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 



1078 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

fancy at their leisure, and over every new novel to talk in threadbare 
strains of the trash with which the press now groans. Let us not desert 
one another; we are an injured body. Although our productions have 
afforded more extensive and unaffected pleasure than those of any other 
literary corporation in the world, no species of composition has been so 
much decried. From pride, ignorance, or fashion, our foes are almost as 
many as our readers; and while the abilities of the nine-hundredth 
abridger of the History of England, or of the man who collects and pub- 
lishes in a volume some dozen lines of Milton, Pope, and Prior, with a 
paper from the Spectator, and a chapter from Sterne, are eulogised by a 
thousand pens, there seems almost a general wish of decrying the capacity 
and undervaluing the labour of the novelist, and of slighting the perform- 
ances which have only genius, wit and taste to recommend them. "I am 
no novel reader ; I seldom look into novels ; do not imagine that 7 often 
read novels; it is really very well for a novel." Such is the common cant. 

"And what are you reading, Miss ?" "Oh! it is only a novel! " replies 

the young lady; while she lays down her book with affected indifference, 
or momentary shame. "It is only Cecilia, or Camilla, or Belinda" ; or, in 
short, only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are dis- 
played, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the hap- 
piest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, 
are conveyed to the world in the best chosen language. Now, had the same 
young lady been engaged with a volume of the Spectator, instead of such 
a work, how proudly would she have produced the book, and told its 
name ! though the chances must be against her being occupied by any part 
of that voluminous publication, of which either the matter or manner 
would not disgust a young person of taste ; the substance of its papers so 
often consisting in the statement of improbable circumstances, unnatural 
characters, and topics of conversation, which no longer concern any one 
living; and their language, too, frequently so coarse as to give no very 
favourable idea of the age that could endure it. 



Chapter 6 

THE following conversation, which took place between the two friends 
in the Pump Room one morning, after an acquaintance of eight or nine 
days, is given as a specimen of their very warm attachment, and of the 
delicacy, discretion, originality of thought, and literary taste which 
marked the reasonableness of that attachment. 

They met by appointment; and as Isabella had arrived nearly five 
minutes before her friend, her first address naturally was: "My dearest 
creature, what can have made you so late? I have been waiting for you 
at least this age ! " 

"Have you, indeed? I am very sorry for it, but really I thought I was 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1079 

in very good time. It is but just one. I hope you have not been here 
long?" 

"Oh ! these ten ages at least. I am sure I have been here this half-hour. 
But now, let us go and sit down at the other end of the Room and enjoy 
ourselves. I have an hundred things to say to you. In the first place, I was 
so afraid it would rain this morning just as I wanted to set off; it looked 
very showery, and that would have thrown me into agonies! Do you know 
I saw the prettiest hat you can imagine in a shop window in Milsom Street 
just now; very like yours, only with coquelicot ribands instead of green; 
I quite longed for it. But, my dearest Catherine, what have you been 
doing with yourself all this morning? Have you gone on with Udolpho?" 

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

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

"Oh! yes, quite; what can it be? But do not tell me: I would not be 
told upon any account. I know it must be a skeleton; I am sure it is 
Laurentina's skeleton. Oh! I am delighted with the book! I should like to 
spend my whole life in reading it, I assure you ; if it had not been to meet 
you, I would not have come away from it for all the world." 

"Dear creature, how much I am obliged to you; and when you have 
finished Udolpho, we will read the Italian together ; and I have made out 
a list of ten or twelve more of the same kind for you." 

"Have you, indeed? How glad I am! What are they all?" 

"I will read you their names directly ; here they are in my pocket-book. 
Castle of Wolfenbach, Clermont, Mysterious Warnings, Necromancer oj 
the Black Forest, Midnight Bell, Orphan of the Rhine, and Horrid Mys- 
teries. Those will last us some time." 

"Yes; pretty well; but are they all horrid? Are you sure they are all 
horrid?" 

"Yes, quite sure; for a particular friend of mine, a Miss Andrews, a 
sweet girl, one of the sweetest creatures in the world, has read every one 
of them. I wish you knew Miss Andrews, you would be delighted with her. 
She is netting herself the sweetest cloak you can conceive. I think her 
as beautiful as an angel, and I am so vexed with the men for not admii ing 
her! I scold them all amazingly about it." 

"Scold them! Do you scold them for not admiring her?" 

"Yes, that I do. There is nothing I would not do for those who are really 
my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves; it is not my 
nature. My attachments are always excessively strong. I told Captain 
Hunt, at one of our assemblies this winter, that if he was to tease me all 
night, I would not dance with him, unless he would allow Miss Andrews 
to be as beautiful as an angel. The men think us incapable of real friend- 
ship, you know, and I am determined to show them the difference. Now, 
if I were to hear anybodv speak slightingly of you, I should fire up in a 



io8o THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

moment ; but that is not at all likely, for you are just the kind of girl to 
be a great favourite with the men." 

"Oh, dear!" cried Catherine, colouring, "how can you say so?" 

"I know you very well; you have so much animation, which is exactly 
what Miss Andrews wants ; for I must confess there is something amaz- 
ingly insipid about her. Oh! I must tell you, that, just after we parted 
yesterday, I saw a young man looking at you so earnestly ; I am sure he 
is in love with you." Catherine coloured, and disclaimed again. Isabella 
laughed. "It is very true, upon my honour; but I see how it is: you are 
indifferent to everybody's admiration, except that of one gentleman, who 
shall be nameless. Nay, I cannot blame you" (speaking more seriously) 
"your feelings are easily understood. Where the heart is really attached, 
I know very well how little one can be pleased with the attention of any- 
body else. Everything is so insipid, so uninteresting, that does not relate 
to the beloved object! I can perfectly comprehend your feelings." 

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

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

"No, indeed; I should not. I do not pretend to say that I was not very 
much pleased with him; but while I have Udolpho to read, I feel as if 
nobody could make me miserable. Oh! the dreadful black veil! My dear 
Isabella, I am sure there must be Laurentina's skeleton behind it." 

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

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

"Sir Charles Grandison! That is an amazingly horrid book, is it not? 
I remember Miss Andrews could not get through the first volume." 

"It is :iot like Udolpho at all; but yet I think it is very entertaining." 

"Do you indeed? You surprise me; I thought it had not been readable. 
But, my dearest Catherine, have you settled what to wear on your head 
to-night? I am determined, at all events, to be dressed exactly like you. 
The men take notice of that sometimes, you know." 

"But it does not signify, if they do," said Catherine, very innocently. 

"Signify! Oh heavens! I make it a rule never to mind what they say. 
They are very often amazingly impertinent, if you do not treat them with 
spirit, and make them keep their distance." 

"Are they? Well, I never observed that. They always behave very well 
to me." 

"Oh! They give themselves such airs. They are the most conceited 
creatures in the world, and think themselves of so much importance ! By 
the bye, though I have thought of it an hundred times, I have always for- 
got to ask you what Is your favourite complexion in a man. Do you like 
them best dark or fair?" 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1081 

"I hardly know. I never much thought about it. Something between 
both, I think; brown: not fair, and not very dark." 

"Very well, Catherine. That is exactly he. I have not forgot your 
description of Mr. Tilney: 'a brown skin, with dark eyes, and rather dark 
hair.' Well, my taste is different. I prefer light eyes; and as to complexion, 
do you know, I like a sallow better than any other. You must not betray 
me, if you should ever meet with one of your acquaintances answering 
that description." 

"Betray you! What do you mean?" 

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

Catherine, m some amazement, complied; and, after remaining a few 
moments silent, was on the point of reverting to what interested her at 
that time rather more than anything else in the world, Laurentina's 
skeleton, when her friend prevented her, by saying: "For Heaven's sake! 
let us move away from this end of the room. Do you know, there are two 
odious young men who have been staring at me this half-hour. They really 
put me quite out of countenance. Let us go and look at the arrivals. They 
will hardly follow us there." 

Away they walked to the book ; and while Isabella examined the names, 
it was Catherine's employment to watch the proceedings of these alarming 
young men. 

"They are not coming this way, are they? I hope they are not so im- 
pertinent as to follow us. Pray let me know if they are coming. I am 
determined I will not look up." 

In a few moments Catherine, with unaffected pleasure, assured her that 
she need not be long uneasy, as the gentlemen had just left the Pump 
Room. 

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

"They went towards the churchyard.'*' 

"Well, I am amazingly glad I have got rid of them. And now, what say 
you to going to Edgar's Buildings with me, and looking at my new hat? 
You said you would like to see u." 

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 pres 
ently, and I am dying to show you my hat." 

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

"I shall not pay them any such compliment, I assure you. I have no 
notion of treating men with such respect. That is the way to spoil them." 

Catherine had nothing to oppose against such reasoning; and therefore, 
to show the independence of Miss Thorpe, and her resolution of humbling 
the sex, they set off immediately, as fast as they could walk, in pursuit of 
the two young men. 



THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

Chapter 7 

HALF a minute conducted them through the Pump-yard to the arch- 
way, 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 the 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 cross- 
ing by the approach of a gig, driven along on bad pavement by a most 
knowing-looking coachman, with all the vehemence that could most fitly 
endanger the lives of himself, his companions, and his horse. 

"Oh! these odious gigs! " said Isabella, looking up, "how I detest them! " 
But this detestation, though so just, was of short duration, for she looked 
again, and exclaimed, "Delightful! Mr. Morland and my brother! " 

"Good heaven! 'tis James!" was uttered at the same moment by 
Catherine ; and, on catching the young men's eyes, the horse was imme- 
diately checked with a violence which almost threw him on his haunches, 
and the servant having now scampered up, the gentlemen jumped out, 
and the equippage 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 dis- 
position, and sincerely attached to her, gave every proof on his side of 
equal satisfaction, which he could have leisure to do, while the bright eyes 
of Miss Thorpe were incessantly challenging his notice; and to her his 
devoirs were speedily paid, with a mixture of joy and embarrassment 
which might have informed Catherine, had she been more expert in the 
development of other people's feelings, and less simply engrossed by her 
own, that her brother thought her friend quite as pretty as she could do 
herself. 

John Thorpe, who, in the meantime, had been giving orders about the 
horses, soon joined them, and from him she directly received the amends 
which were her due; for while he slightly and carelessly touched the hand 
of Isabella, on her he bestowed a whole scrape and half a short bow. He 
was a stout young man, of middling height, who with a plain face and 
ungraceful form, seemed fearful of being too handsome, unless he wore 
the dress of a groom, and too much like a gentleman unless he were easy 
where he ought to be civil, and impudent where he might be allowed to be 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1083 

easy. He took out. his watch: "How long do you think we have been 
running it from Tetbury, Miss Morland?" 

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

"Three and twenty!" cried Thorpe; "five and twenty if it is an inch." 
Morland remonstrated, pleaded the authority of road-books, innkeepers, 
and milestones; but his friend disregarded them all; he had a surer test of 
distance. "I know it must be five and twenty," said he, "by the time we 
have been doing it. It is now half after one ; we drove out of the inn-yard 
at Tetbury as the town-clock struck eleven ; and I defy any man in Eng- 
land to make my horse go less than ten miles in harness; that makes it 
exactly twenty-five." 

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

"Ten o'clock! It was eleven, upon my soul! I counted every stroke. 
This brother of yours would persuade me out of my senses, Miss Morland ; 
do but look at my horse ; did you ever see an animal so made for speed in 
your life?" (The servant had just mounted the carriage and was driving 
off.) "Such true blood! Three hours and a half indeed, coming only three 
and twenty miles! Look at that creature, and suppose it possible if you 
can." 

"He does look very hot, to be sure! " 

"Hot! He had not turned a hair till we came to Walcot church ; but look 
at his forehead ; 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 it not? Well hung; town 
built. I have not had it a month. It was built for a Christ Church man, a 
friend of mine, a very good sort of fellow ; he ran it a few weeks, till, I 
believe, it was convenient to have done with it. I happened just then to 
be looking out for some light thing of the kind, though I had pretty well 
determined on a curricle too; but I chanced to meet him on Magdalen 
Bridge, as he was driving into Oxford last term. 'Ah! Thorpe/ said he, 
'do you happen to want such a little thing as this? It is a capital one of 

the kind, but I am cursed tired of it.' 'Oh! d ,' said I, 'I am your man ; 

what do you ask?' And how much do you think he did, Miss Morland?" 

"I am sure I cannot guess at all." 

"Curricle-hung, you see; seat, trunk, sword-case, splashing-board, 
lamps, silver moulding, all, you see, complete; the ironwork as good as 
new, or better. He asked fifty guineas: I closed with him directly, threw 
down the money, and the carriage was mine." 

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

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

"That was very good-natured of you." said Catherine, quite pleased 



1084 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"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 un- 
coquettish were her feelings, that, though they overtook and passed the 
two offending young men in Milsom Street, she was so far from seeking 
to attract their notice, that she looked back at them only three times. 

John Thorpe kept of course with Catherine, and, after a few minutes' 
silence, renewed the conversation about his gig: "You will find, however, 
Miss Morland, it would be reckoned a cheap thing by some people, for I 
might have sold it for ten guineas more the next day ; Jackson, of Oriel, 
bid me sixty at once; Morland was with me at the time." 

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

"My horse! Oh, d it! I would not sell my horse for a hundred. Are 

you fond of an open carriage, Miss Morland?" 

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

"I am glad of it; I will drive you out in mine every day." 

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

"I will drive you up Lansdown Hill to-morrow." 

"Thank you; but will not your horse want rest?" 

"Rest! He has only come three and twenty miles to-day; all nonsense; 
nothing ruins horses so much as rest ; nothing knocks them up so soon. 
No, no ; I shall exercise mine at the average of four hours every day while 
I am here." 

"Shall you, indeed?" said Catherine, very seriously, "that will be forty 
miles a day." 

"Forty! aye, fifty for what I care. Well, I will drive you up Lansdown 
to-morrow; mind, I am engaged." 

"How delightful that will be!" cried Isabella, turning round; "my 
dearest Catherine, I quite envy you ; but I am afraid, brother, you will 
not have room for a third." 

"A third, indeed! No, no; I did not come to jdath to drive my sisters 
about; that would be a good joke, fajth! Morland must take care of you." 

This brought on a dialogue of civilities between the other two; but 
Catherine heard neither the particulars nor the result. Her companion's 
discourse now sunk from its hitherto animated pitch, to nothing more 
than a short, decisive sentence of praise or condemnation on the face of 
every woman they met; and Catherine, after listening and agreeing as 



NORTHANGER A B B E \ 1085 

long as she could, with all the civility and deference of the youthful female 
mind, fearful of hazarding an opinion of its own in opposition to that of 
a self-assured man, especially where the beauty of her own sex is con- 
cerned, ventured at length to vary the subject by a question which had 
been long uppermost in her thoughts: it was, "Have you ever read 
Udolpho, Mr. Thorpe?" 

"Udolpho! Oh, Lord! not I; I never read novels. I have something else 
to do." 

Catherine, humbled and ashamed, was going to apologise for her ques- 
tion; but he prevented her by saying, "Novels are all so full of nonsense 
and stuff! There has not been a tolerably decent one come out since Tom 
Jones, except The Monk; I read that t'other day; but as for all the others, 
they are the stupidest things in creation." 

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

"Not I, faith! No, if I read any, it shall be Mrs. Radcliffe's. Her novels 
are amusing enough; they are worth reading; some fun and nature in 
them" 

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

"No, sure; was it? Aye, I remember, so it was; I was thinking of that 
other stupid book, written by that woman they make such a fuss about ; 
she who married the French emigrant." 

"I suppose you mean Camilla!" 

"Yes, that's the book; such unnatural stuff! An old man playing at 
see-saw. I took up the first volume once, and looked it over, but I soon 
found it would not do; indeed, I guessed what sort of stuff it must be 
before I saw it ; as soon as I heard she had married an emigrant, I was sure 
I should never be able to get through it." 

"I have never read it." 

"You had no loss, I assure you; it is the horridest nonsense you can 
imagine; there is nothing in the world in it but an old man's playing at 
see-saw and learning Latin; upon my soul, +bere is not.^ 

This critique, the justness of which wa? unfortunately lost on poor 
Catherine, brought them to the door of Mrs, Thorpe's lodgings, and the 
feelings of the discerning and unprejudiced reaner of Camilla gave way 
to the feelings of the dutiful and affectionate son, as they met Mrs. Thorpe, 
who had descried them from above, in the passage. "Ah, Mother, how do 
you do?" said he, giving her a hearty shake of the hand. "Where did you 
get that quiz of a hat, it makes you look like an old witch ? Here is Morland 
and I come to stay a few days with you ; so you must look out for a couple 
of good beds somewhere near." And this address seemed to satisfy all the 
fondest wishes of the mother's heart, for she received him with the most 
delighted and exulting affection. On his two younger sisters he then 
bestowed an equal portion of his fraternal tenderness, for he asked each 
of them how they did. and observed that they both looked very ugly. 



io86 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

These manners did not please Catherine; but he was James's friend 
and Isabella's brother ; and her judgment was further bought off by Isa- 
bella'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 engag- 
ing 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 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 
Bo friendship, and no flattery in the case, "I do not like him at all;" she 
directly replied, "I like him very much; he seems very agreeable." 

"He is as good-natured a fellow as ever lived; a little of a rattle; but 
that will recommend him to your sex, I believe; and how* do you like 
the rest of the family?" 

"Very, very much indeed; Isabella particularly." 

"I am very glad to hear you say so; she is just the kind of young 
woman I could wish to see you attached to ; she has so much good sense, 
and is so thoroughly unaffected and amiable. I always wanted you to 
know her; and she seems very fond of you. She said the highest things 
in your praise that could possibly be; and the praise of such a girl as 
Miss Thorpe, even you, Catherine," taking her hand with affection, 
"may be proud of." 

"Indeed I am," she replied; "I love her exceedingly, and am delighted 
to find that you like her too. You hardly mentioned anything of her 
when you wrote to me after your visit there." 

"Because I thought I should soon see you myself. I hope you will be a 
great deal together while you are in Bath. She is a most amiable girl; 
such a superior understanding! How fond all the family are of her; she 
is evidently the general favourite; and how much she must be admired 
in such a place as this. Is not she?" 

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

"I dare say he does; and I do not know any man who is a better judge 
of beauty than Mr. Allen. I need not ask you whether you are happy 
here, my dear Catherine; with such a companion and friend as Isabella 
Thorpe, it would be impossible for you to be otherwise; and the Aliens, 
I am sure, are very kind to you." 

"Yes, very kind; I never was so happy before; and now you are 
come it will be more delightful than ever. How good it is of you to come 
so far on purpose to see me" 

James accepted this tribute of gratitude, and qualified his conscience 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1087 

for accepting it too, by saying with perfect sincerity, "Indeed, Catherine, 
I love you dearly." 

Inquiries and communications concerning brothers and sisters, the 
situation of some, the growth of the rest, and other family matters, now 
passed between them, and continued, with ony one small digression on 
James's part, in praise of Miss Thorpe, till they reached Pulteney Street, 
where he was welcomed with great kindness by Mr. and Mrs. Allen, 
invited by the former to dine with them, and summoned by the latter to 
guess the price and weigh the merits of a new muff and tippet. A pre- 
engagement in Edgar's Buildings prevented his accepting the invitation 
of one friend, and obliged him to hurry away as soon as he had satisfied 
the demands of the other. The time of the two parties' uniting in the 
Octagon Room being correctly adjusted, Catherine was then left to the 
luxury of a raised, restless, and frightened imagination over the pages 
of Udolpho, lost from all worldly concerns of dressing and dinner, in- 
capable of soothing Mrs. Allen's fears on the delay of an expected dress- 
maker, and having only one minute in sixty to bestow even on the 
reflection of her own felicity, in being already engaged for the evening. 



Chapter 8 

IN spite of Udolpho and the dressmaker, however, the party from 
Pulteney Street reached the Upper Rooms in very good time. The 
Thorpes and James Morland were there only two minutes before them; 
and Isabella having gone through the usual ceremonial of meeting her 
friend with the most smiling and affectionate haste, of admiring the set 
of her gown, and envying the curl of her hair, they followed their 
chaperons, arm-in-arm, into the ball-room, whispering to each other 
whenever a thought occurred, and supplying the place of many ideas by 
a squeeze of the hand or a smile of affection. 

The dancing began within a few minutes after they were seated ; and 
James, who had been engaged quite as long as his sister, was very im- 
portunate with Isabella to stand up; but John was gone into the card- 
room to speak to a friend, and nothing, she declared, should induce her 
to join the set before her dear Catherine could join it too. "I assure you," 
said she, "I would not stand up without your dear sister for all the 
world; for if I did, we should certainly be separated the whole evening." 
Catherine accepted this kindness with gratitude and they continued as 
they were for three minutes longer, when Isabella, who had been talking 
to James on the other side of her, turned again to his sister and whis- 
pered, "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, 



io88 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

Isabella had only time to press her friend's hand and say, "Good-bye, 
my dear love," before they hurried off. The younger Miss Thorpes being 
also dancing, Catherine was left to the mercy of Mrs. Thorpe and Mrs. 
Allen, between whom she now remained. She could not help being vexed 
at the non-appearance of Mr. Thorpe: for she not only longed to be 
dancing, but was likewise aware that, as the real dignity of her situation 
could not be known, she was sharing with the scores of other young 
ladies still sitting down all the discredit of wanting a partner. To be 
disgraced in the eye of the world, to wear the appearance of infamy 
while her heart is all purity, her actions all innocence, and the miscon- 
duct of another the true source of her debasement, is one of those cir- 
cumstances which peculiarly belong to the heroine's life, and her fortitude 
under it what particularly dignifies her character. Catherine had forti- 
tude too; she suffered, but no murmur passed her lips. 

From this state of humiliation she was roused at the end of ten min- 
utes, to a pleasanter feeling, by seeing, not Mr. Thorpe, but Mr. Tilney, 
within three yards of the place where they sat ; he seemed to be moving 
that way, but he did not see her, and, therefore, the smile and the blush, 
which his sudden reappearance raised in Catherine, passed away without 
sullying her heroic importance. He looked as handsome and as lively as 
ever, and was talking with interest to a fashionable and pleasing-looking 
young woman who leant on his arm, and whom Catherine immediately 
guessed to be his sister; thus unthinkingly throwing away a fair oppor- 
tunity of considering him lost to her for ever, by being married already. 
But, guided only by what was simple and probable, it had never en- 
tered 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 pale- 
ness, 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, in- 
stantly 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 civilly acknowledged. "I am very happy 
to see you again, sir, indeed; I was afraid you had left Bath." He thanked 
her for her fears, and said that he had quitted it for a week on the very 
morning after his having had the pleasure of seeing her. 

"Well, sir, and I dare say you are not sorry to be back again, for it is 
mst the place for young people; and, indeed, for everybody else too. I 
t ell Mr. Allen, when he talks of being sick of it, that I am sure he should 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1089 

not complain, for it is so very agreeable a place, that it is much better 
to be here than at home at this dull time of year. I tell him he is quite 
in luck to be sent here for his health." 

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

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

"This circumstance must give great encouragement." 

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

Here they were interrupted by a request from Mrs. Thorpe to Mrs. 
Allen, that she would move a little to accommodate Mrs. Hughes and 
Miss Tilney with seats, as they had agreed to join their party. This was 
accordingly done, Mr. Tilney still continuing standing before them ; and, 
after a few minutes' consideration, he asked Catherine to dance with 
him. This compliment, delightful as it was, produced severe mortifica- 
tion 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 Isa- 
bella, 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 acquaintances; one mortification 
succeeded another, and from the whole she deduced their 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 moraliz- 
ing strain as this she was suddenly roused by a touch on the shoulder; 
and, turning round, perceived Mrs. Hughes directly behind her, attended 
by Miss Tilney and a gentleman. "I beg your pardon, Miss Morland," 
said she, "for this liberty, but I cannot anyhow get to Miss Thorpe; 
and Mrs. Thorpe said she was sure you would not have the least ob- 
jection to letting in this young lady by you." Mrs. Hughes could not 
have applied to any creature in the room more happy to oblige her than 
Catherine. The young ladies were introduced to each other, Miss Tilney 
expressing a proper sense of such goodness; Miss Morland, with the real 
delicacy of a generous mind, making light of the obligation; and Mrs. 
Hughes, satisfied with having so respectably settled her young charge, 
returned to her party. 

Miss Tilney had a good figure, a pretty face, and a very agreeable 



1090 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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 inconceiv- 
able vexation on every little trifling occurrence. Catherine, interested 
at once by her appearance and her relationship to Mr. Tilney, was 
desirous of being acquainted with her, and readily talked, therefore, 
whenever she could think of anything to say, and had courage and 
leisure for saying it. But the hindrance thrown in the way of a very 
speedy intimacy by the frequent want of one or more of these requisites, 
prevented their doing more than going through the first rudiments of 
an acquaintance, by informing themselves how well the other liked Bath, 
how much she admired its buildings and surrounding country; whether 
she drew, or played, or sang, and whether she was fond of riding on 
horseback. 

The two dances were scarcely concluded, before Catherine found her 
arm gently seized by her faithful Isabella, who in great spirits exclaimed, 
"At last I have got you. My dearest creature, I have been looking for 
you this hour. What could induce you to come into this set, when you 
knew I was in the other? I have been quite wretched without you." 

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

"So I told your brother all the time, but he would not believe me. 
Do go and seek for her, Mr. Morland, said I ; but all in vain, he would 
not stir an inch. Was not it so, Mr. Morland? But you men are all so 
immoderately lazy! I have been scolding him to such a degree, my dear 
Catherine, you would be quite amazed. You know I never stand upon 
ceremony with such people." 

"Look at that young lady with the white beads round her head," 
whispered Catherine, detaching her friend from James: "it is Mr. Til- 
tiey's sister." 

"Oh heavens! you don't say so! Let me look at her this moment. 
What a delightful girl! I never saw anything half so beautiful! But 
where is her all-conquering brother? Is he in the room? Point him out 
to me this instant, if he is; I die to see him. Mr. Morland, you are not 
to listen ; we are not talking about you." 

"But what is all this whispering about? What is going on?" 

"There now, I knew how it would be! You men have such restless 
curiosity! Talk of the curiosity of women, indeed! 'tis nothing. But be 
satisfied; for you are not to know anything at all of the matter." 

"And is that likely to satisfy me, do you think?" 

"Well, I declare, I never knew anything like you. What can it signify 
to you what we are talking of? Perhaps we are talking about you; 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1091 

therefore I would advise you not to listen, or you may happen to hear 
something not very agreeable." 

In this common-place 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 sus- 
picion 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. Mor- 
land," she cried, "I would not do such a thing for all the world. How can 
you be so teasing! Only conceive, my dear Catherine, what your brother 
wants me to do? He wants me to dance with him again, though I tell 
him that it is a most improper thing, and entirely against the rules. It 
would make us the talk of the place, if we were not to change partners." 

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

"Nonsense, how can you say so? But when you men have a point to 
carry, you never stick at anything. My sweet Catherine, do support me; 
persuade your brother how impossible it is. Tell him that it would quite 
shock you to see me do such a thing; now would not it?" 

"No, not at all; but if you think it wrong, you had much better 
change." 

"There," cried Isabella, "you hear what your sister says, and yet you 
will not mind her. Well, remember that it is not my fault, if we set all 
the old ladies in Bath in a bustle. Come along, my dearest Catherine, for 
heaven's sake, and stand by me." And off they went to regain their 
former place. John Thorpe, in the meanwhile, had walked away; and 
Catherine, ever willing to give Mr. Tilney an opportunity of repeating 
the agreeable request which had already flattered her once, made her 
way to Mrs. Allen and Mrs. Thorpe as fast as she could, in the hope 
of finding him still with them, a hope which, when it proved to be fruit- 
less, she felt to have been highly unreasonable. "Well, my dear," said 
Mrs. Thorpe, impatient for praise of her son, "I hope you have had an 
agreeable partner." 

"Very agreeable, madam." 

"I am glad of it. John has charming spirits, has not he?" 

"Did you meet Mr. Tilney, my dear?" said Mrs. Allen. 

"No; where is he?" 

"He was with us just now, and said he was so tired of lounging about, 
that he was resolved to go and dance ; so I thought perhaps he would ask 
you, if he met with you." 

"Where can he be?" said Catherine, looking round; but she had not 
looked around long, before she saw him leading a young lady to the 
dance. 

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

"Indeed he is, Mrs. Allen," said Mrs. Thorpe, smiling complacently; 



1092 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"I must say it, though I am his mother, that there is not a more agree- 
able young man in the world." 

This inapplicable answer might have been too much for the com- 
prehension of many; but it did not puzzle Mrs. Allen; for, after only a 
moment's consideration, she said, in a whisper, to Catherine, "I dare say 
she thought I was speaking of her son." 

Catherine was disappointed and vexed. She seemed to have missed, 
by so little, the very object she had had in view; and this persuasion 
did not incline her to a very gracious reply, when John Thorpe came 
up to her soon afterwards, and said, "Well, Miss Morland, I suppose you 
and I are to stand up and jig it together again?" 

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

"Do not you? then let us walk about and quiz people. Come along 
with me, and I will show you the four greatest quizzers in the room; 
my two younger sisters and their partners. I have been laughing at them 
this half-hour." 

Again Catherine excused herself; and at last he walked off to quiz 
his sisters by himself. The rest of the evening she found very dull; 
Mr. Tilney was drawn away from their party at tea to attend that of 
his partner; Miss Tilney, though belonging to it, did not sit near her; 
and James and Isabella were so much engaged in conversing together 
that the latter had no leisure to bestow more on her friend than one 
smile, one squeeze, and one "dearest Catherine." 



Chapter 9 

THE progress of Catherine's unhappiness from the events of the eve- 
ning 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 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 ac- 
quaintance with Miss Tilney, and almost her first resolution to seek 
her for that purpose in the Pump Room at noon. In the Pump Room 
one so newly arrived in Bath must be met with; and that building she 
had already found so favourable for the discovery of female excellence, 
and the completion of female intimacy, so admirably adapted for secret 
discourses and unlimited confidence, that she was most reasonably en- 
couraged to expect another friend from within its walls. Her plan for 
the morning thus settled, she sat quietly down to her book after break- 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1093 

fast, 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 any one at leisure to answer her or not. 
About half-past twelve a remarkably loud rap drew her in haste to the 
window, and scarcely had she time to inform Catherine of their being 
two open carriages at the door, in the first only a servant, her brother 
driving Miss Thorpe in the second, before John Thorpe came running 
upstairs, calling out, "Well, Miss Morland, here I am. Have you been 
waiting long? We could not come before, the old devil of a coachmaker 
was such an eternity finding out a thing fit to be got into, and now it 
is ten thousand to one but they break down before we are out of the 
street. How do you do, Mrs. Allen? A famous ball last night, was not 
it? Come, Miss Morland, be quick, for the others are in a confounded 
hurry to be off. They want to get their tumble over." 

"What do you mean?" said Catherine; "where are you all going to?" 

"Going to! Why, you have not forgotten our engagement? Did not 
we agree together to take a drive this morning? What a head you have? 
We are going up Claverton Down." 

"Something was said about it, I remember," said Catherine, looking 
at Mrs. Allen for her opinion; "but really I did not expect you." 

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

Catherine's silent appeal to her friend, meanwhile, was entirely thrown 
away; for Mrs. Allen, not being at all in the habit of conveying any 
expression herself by a look, was not aware of its being ever intended by 
anybody else; and Catherine, whose desire of seeing Miss Tilney again, 
could at that moment bear a short delay in favour of a drive, and who 
thought there could be no impropriety in her going with Mr. Thorpe as 
Isabella was going at the same time with James, was therefore obliged 
to speak plainer. "Well, ma'am, what do you say to it? Can you spare 
me for an hour or two? Shall I go?" 

"Do just as you please, my dear," replied Mrs. Allen, with the most 
placid indifference. Catherine took the advice, and ran off to get ready. 
In a very few minutes she reappeared, having scarcely allowed the two 
others time enough to get through a few short sentences in her praise, 
after Thorpe had procured Mrs. Allen's admiration of his gig, and then, 
receiving her friend's parting good wishes, they both hurried downstairs. 
"My dearest creature," cried Isabella, to whom the duty of friendship 
immediately called her before she could get into the carriage, "you have 
been at least three hours getting ready: I was afraid you v^ere ill. What 



1094 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

a delightful ball we had last night! I have a thousand things to say 
to you; but make haste and get in, for I long to be off." 

Catherine followed her orders and turned away, but not too soon 
to hear her friend exclaim aloud to James, "What a sweet girl she is! 
I quite dote on her." 

"You will not be frightened, Miss Morland," said Thorpe, as he 
handed her in, "if my horse should dance about a little at first setting 
off. He will most likely give a plunge or two, and perhaps take the rest 
for a minute; but he will soon know his master. He is full of spirits, 
playful as can be, but there is no vice in him." 

Catherine did not think the portrait a very inviting one, but it was 
too late to retreat, and she was too young to own herself frightened ; so, 
resigning herself to her fate, and trusting to the animal's boasted knowl- 
edge 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 caper, or any- 
thing 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 exer- 
cise of the most invigorating kind in a fine mild day of February, with 
the consciousness of safety. A silence of several minutes succeeded their 
first short dialogue. It was broken by Thorpe's saying very abruptly, 
"Old Allen is as rich as a Jew, is not he?" Catherine did not understand 
him, and he repeated his question, adding in explanation, "Old Allen, 
the man you are with." 

"Oh! Mr. Allen you mean. Yes, I believe he is very rich." 

"And no children at all?" 

"No, not any." 

"A famous thing for his next heirs. He is your godfather, is not he?" 

"My godfather! No." 

"But you are always very much with them?" 

"Yes, very much." 

"Aye, that is what I meant. He seems a good kind of old fellow 
enough, and has lived very well in his time, I dare say ; he is not gouty 
for nothing. Does he drink his bottle a day now?" 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 109?, 

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

"Lord help me! You women are always thinking of men's being in 
liquor. Why, you do not suppose a man is overset by a bottle? I am sure 
of this, that if everybody was to drink their bottle a day, there would 
not be half the disorders in the world there are now. It would be a 
famous good thing for us all." 

"I cannot believe it." 

"Oh! lord, it would be the saving of thousands. There is not the 
hundredth part of the wine consumed in this kingdom that there ought 
to be. Our foggy climate wants help." 

"And yet I have heard that there is a great deal of wine drank in 
Oxford." 

"Oxford! There is no drinking at Oxford now, I assure you. Nobody 
drinks there. You would hardly meet with a man who goes beyond his 
four pints at the utmost. Now, for instance, it was reckoned a remark- 
able thing at the last party in my rooms, that upon an average we 
cleared about five pints a head. It was looked upon as something out 
of the common way. Mine is famous good stuff, to be sure. You would 
not often meet with anything like it in Oxford, and that may account 
for it. But this will just give you a notion of the general rate of drinking 
there." 

"Yes, it does give a notion," said Catherine, warmly, "and that is, that 
you all drink a great deal more wine than I thought you did. However, I 
am sure James does not drink so much." 

This declaration brought on a loud and overpowering reply, of which 
no part was very distinct, except the frequent exclamations, amounting 
almost to oaths, which adorned it, and Catherine was left, when it ended, 
with rather a strengthened belief of there being a great deal of wine 
drank in Oxford, and the same happy conviction of her brother's com- 
parative sobriety. 

Thorpe's ideas then all reverted to the merits of his own equipage, 
and she was called on to admire the spirit and freedom with which his 
horse moved along, and the ease which his paces, as well as the excel- 
lence 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 this 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 
chink, Mr. Thorpe," said Catherine, venturing after some time to con- 



io 9 6 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

sider the matter as entirely decided, and to offer some little variation 
on the subject, "that James's gig will break down?" 

"Break down! Oh, lord! Did you ever see such a little tittuppy thing 
in your life? There is not a sound piece of iron about it. The wheels 
have been fairly worn out these ten years at least; and as for the body, 
upon my soul, you might shake it to pieces yourself with a touch. It is the 
most devilish little rickety business I ever beheld! Thank God! we have 
got a better. I would not be bound to go two miles in it for fifty thou- 
sand pounds." 

"Good heavens!" cried Catherine, quite frightened, "then pray let us 
turn back; they will certainly meet with an accident if we go on. Do 
let us turn back, Mr. Thorpe; stop and speak to my brother, and tell 
him how very unsafe it is." 

"Unsafe! Oh, lord! what is there in that? They will only get a roll 
if it does break down; and there is plenty of dirt, it will be excellent 
falling. Oh, curse it! the carriage is safe enough if a man knows how to 
drive it ; a thing of that sort in good hands will last above twenty years 
after it is fairly worn out. Lord bless you! I would undertake for five 
pounds to drive it to York and back again without losing a nail." ; 

Catherine listened with astonishment. She knew not how to reconcile 
two such very different accounts of the same thing ; for she had not been 
brought up to understand the propensities of a rattle, nor to know to 
how many idle assertions and impudent falsehoods the excess of vanity 
will lead. Her own family were plain matter-of-fact people, who seldom 
aimed at wit of any kind ; her father at the utmost being contented with 
a pun, and her mother with a proverb ; they were not in the habit, there- 
fore, 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 per- 
fectly safe, and therefore would alarm herself no longer. By him the 
whole matter seemed entirely forgotten; and all the rest of his conver- 
sation, or rather talk, began and ended with himself and his own con- 
cerns. 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 in- 
fallibly foretold the winner; of shooting parties, in which he had killed 
more birds (though without having one good shot) than all his com- 
panions together; and described to her some famous days' 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 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1097 

the boldness of his riding, though it had never endangered his own life 
for a moment, had been constantly leading others into difficulties, which, 
he calmly concluded, had broken the necks of many. 

Little as Catherine was in the habit of judging for herself, and unfixed 
as were her general notions of what men ought to be, she could not en- 
tirely 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 con- 
firm; Catherine could not tell a falsehood even to please Isabella; but 
the latter was spared the misery of her friend's dissenting voice by not 
waiting for her answer. Her own feelings entirely engrossed her; her 
wretchedness was most acute on finding herself obliged to go directly 
home. It was ages since she had had a moment's conversation with her 
dearest Catherine, and though she had such thousands of things to say 
to her, it appeared as if they were never to be together again; so with 
smiles of most exquisite misery, and the laughing eye of utter despond- 
ency, she bade her friend adieu and went on. 

Catherine found Mrs. Allen just returned from all the busy idleness 
of the morning, and was immediately greeted with, "Well, my dear, here 
you are!" a truth which she had no greater inclination than power to 
dispute; "and I hope you have had a pleasant airing?" 

"Yes, ma'am, I thank you; we could not have had a nicer day." 

"So Mrs. Thorpe said. She was vastly pleased at your all going." 

"You have seen Mrs. Thorpe, then?" 

"Yes; I went to the Pump Room as soon as you were gone, and there 
I met her, and we had a great deal of talk together. She says there was 
hardly any veal to be got at market this morning, it is so uncommonly 
scarce." 

"Did you see anybody else of our acquaintance?" 



io 9 8 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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

"Did you, indeed? and did they speak to you?" 

"Yes; we walked along the Crescent together for half an hour. They 
seem very agreeable people. Miss Tilney was in a very pretty spotted 
muslin, and I fancy, by what I can learn, that she always dresses very 
handsomely. Mrs. Hughes talked to me a great deal about the family." 

"And what did she tell you of them?" 

"Oh! a vast deal, indeed; she hardly talked of anything else." 

"Did she tell you what part of Gloucestershire they come from?" 

"Yes, she did, but I cannot recollect now. But they are very good kind 
of people, and very rich. Mrs. Tilney was a Miss Drummond, and she 
and Mrs. Hughes were school-fellows; and Miss Drummond had a very 
large fortune, and, when she married, her father gave her twenty thou- 
sand pounds, and five hundred to buy wedding clothes. Mrs. Hughes 
saw all the clothes after they came from the warehouse." 

"And are Mr. and Mrs. Tilney in Bath?" 

"Yes, I fancy they are, but I am not quite certain. Upon recollection, 
however, I have a notion they are both dead; at least the mother is; 
yes, I am sure Mrs. Tilney is dead, because Mrs. Hughes told me there 
was a very beautiful set of pearls that Mr. Drummond gave his daughter 
on her wedding-day, and that Miss Tilney has got now, for they were 
put by for her when her mother died." 

"And is Mr. Tilney, my partner, the only son?" 

"I cannot be quite positive about that, my dear; I have some idea 
he is ; but, however, he is a very fine young man, Mrs. Hughes says, and 
likely to do very well." 

Catherine inquired no further; she had heard enough to feel that Mrs. 
Allen had no real intelligence to give, and that she was most particularly 
unfortunate herself in having missed such a meeting with both brother 
and sister. Could she have foreseen such a circumstance, nothing should 
have persuaded her to go out with the others; and, as it was, she could 
only lament her ill-luck, and think over what she had lost, till it was 
clear to her that the drive had by no means been very pleasant, and that 
John Thorpe himself was quite disagreeable. 



Chapter 10 

THE Aliens, 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 immeasur- 
able 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 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1099 

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 de- 
lightfully. You really have done your hair in a more heavenly style than 
ever; you mischievous creature, do you want to attract everybody? I 
assure you, my brother is quite in love with you already; and as for Mr. 
Tilney but that is a settled thing even your modesty cannot doubt his 
attachment now; his coming back to Bath makes it too plain. Oh! what 
would not I give to see him! I really am quite wild with impatience. My 
mother says he is the most delightful young man in the world ; she saw him 
this morning, you know. You must introduce him to me. Is he in the house 
now? Look about, for heaven's sake! I assure you I can hardly exist till 
1 see him." 

"No," said Catherine, "he is not here. I cannot see him anywhere." 

"Oh, horrid! am I never to be acquainted with him? How do you like 
my gown ? I think it does not look amiss ; the sleeves were entirely my own 
thought. Do you know, I get so immoderately sick of Bath! Your brother 
and I were agreeing this morning, that, though it is vastly well to be here 
for a few weeks, we would not live here for millions. We soon found out 
that our tastes were exactly alike in preferring the country to every other 
place ; really our opinions were so exactly the same, it was quite ridicu- 
lous ! There was not a single point in which we differed. I would not have 
had you by for the world ; you are such a sly thing, I am sure you would 
have made some droll remark or other about it." 

"No, indeed, I should not." 

"Oh, yes! you would, indeed. I know you better than you know your- 
self. You would have told us that we seemed born for each other, or some 
nonsense of that kind which would have distressed me beyond conception ; 
my cheeks would have been as red as your roses ; I would not have had you 
by for the world." 

"Indeed, you do me injustice; I would not have made so improper a 
remark upon any account; and besides, I am sure it would never have 
entered my head." 

Isabella smiled incredulously, and talked the rest of the evening to 
James. 

Catherine's resolution of endeavouring to meet Miss Tilney again 
continued in full force the next morning; and till the usual moment of 
going to the Pump Room, she felt some alarm from the dread of a second 
prevention. But nothing of that kind occurred, no visitors appeared to 
delay them, and they all three set off in good time for the Pump Room, 
where the ordinary course of events and conversation took place. Mr. 
Allen, after drinking his glass of water, joined some gentlemen to talk over 
the politics of the day, and compare the accounts of their newspapers ; 
and the ladies walked about together, noticing every new face, and almost 
every new bonnet in the room. The female part of the Thorpe family, 
attended by James Morland, appeared among the crowd in less than a 



iioo THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

quarter of an hour, and Catherine immediately took her usual place by 
the side of her friend. James, who was now in constant attendance, main- 
tained 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 good-will, and they continued talking together as long as both 
parties remained in the Room; and though in all probability not an 
observation was made, not an expression used by either which had not 
been made and used some thousands of time before, under that roof, in 
every Bath season, yet the merit of their being spoken with simplicity 
and truth, and without personal conceit, might be something uncommon. 

"How well your brother dances!" was an artless exclamation of 
Catherine's towards the close of their conversation, which at once sur- 
prised and amused her companion. 

"Henry! " she replied with a smile. "Yes, he does dance very well." 

"He must have thought it very odd to hear me say I was engaged the 
other evening, when he saw me sitting down. But I really had been en- 
gaged the whole day to Mr. Thorpe." Miss Tilney could only bow. "You 
cannot think," added Catherine, after a moment's silence, "how surprised 
I was to see him again. I felt so sure of his being quite gone away." 

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

"That never occurred to me; and of course, not seeing him anywhere, I 
thought he must be gone. Was not the young lady he danced with on 
Monday a Miss Smith?" 

"Yes; an acquaintance of Mrs. Hughes." 

"I dare say she was very glad to dance. Do you think her pretty?" 

"Not very." 

"He never conies to the Pump Room, I suppose?" 

"Yes; sometimes; but he has rid out this morning with my father." 

Mrs. Hughes now joined them, and asked Miss Tilney if she was ready 
to go. "I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again soon," said 
Catherine. "Shall you be at the cotillion ball to-morrow?" 

"Perhaps we yes, I think we certainly shall." 



NORTHANGER ABBEY noi 

"1 am glad of it, for we shall all be there." This civility was duly re- 
turned and they parted: on Miss Tilney's side with some knowledge of her 
new acquaintance's feelings, and on Catherine's without the smallest 
consciousness of having explained them. 

She went home very happy. The morning had answered all her hopes, 
and the evening of the following day was now the object of expectation 
the future good. What gown and what head-dress she should wear on the 
occasion became her chief concern. She cannot be justified in it. Dress is at 
all times a frivolous distinction, and excessive solicitude about it often 
destroys its own aim. Catherine knew all this very well ; her great-aunt 
1 .ad 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 wil 1 admire her the more, no 
woman will like her the better for it. Neatness and fashion are enough for 
the former, and a something of shabbiness or impropriety will be most 
endearing to the latter. But not one of these grave reflections troubled 
the tranquillity of Catherine. 

She entered the Rooms on Thursday evening with feelings very differ- 
ent from what had attended her thither the Monday before. She had then 
tfeen 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 on 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 wish to avoid ; and all have been anxious 
for the attentions of someone whom they wished to please. As soon as 
they were joined by the Thorpes, Catherine's agony began; she fidgeted 
about if John Thorpe came towards her, hid herself as much as possible 
from his view, and when he spoke to her pretended not to hear him. The 
cotillions were over, the country-dancing beginning, and she saw nothing 
of the Tilneys. "Do not be frightened, my dear Catherine," whispered 
Isabella, "but I am really going to dance with your brother again. I 
declare positively it is quite shocking. I tell him he ought to be ashamed 
of himself, but you and John must keep us in countenance. Make haste, 



H02 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

my dear creature, and come to us. John is just walked off, but he will be 
back in a moment." 

Catherine had neither time nor inclination to answer. The others walked 
away. John Thorpe was still in view, and she gave herself up for lost. That 
she might not appear, however, to observe or expect him, she kept her 
eyes intently fixed on her fan ; and a self-condemnation for her folly, in 
supposing that among such a crowd they should even meet with the 
Tilneys in any reasonable time, had just passed through her mind, when 
she suddenly found herself addressed and again solicited to dance, by Mr. 
Tilney himself. With what sparkling eyes and ready motion she granted 
his request, and with how pleasing a flutter of heart she went with him to 
the set may be easily imagined ! To escape, and as she believed, so nar- 
rowly escape John Thorpe, and to be asked, so immediately on his joining 
her, asked by Mr. Tilney, as if he had sought her on purpose ! it did not 
appear to her that life could supply any greater felicity. 

Scarcely had they worked themselves into the quiet possession of a 
place, however, when her attention was claimed by John Thorpe, who 
stood behind her. "Heyday, Miss Morland! " said he, "what is the mean- 
ing of this? I thought you and I were to dance together." 

"I wonder you should think so, for you never asked me." 

"That is a good one, by jove! I asked you as soon as I came into the 
room, and I was just going to ask you again, but when I turned round, you 
were gone! This is a cursed shabby trick! I only came for the sake of 
dancing with you, and I firmly believe you were engaged to me ever since 
Monday. Yes; I remember, I asked you while you were waiting in the 
lobby for your cloak ; and here have I been telling all my acquaintances 
that I was going to dance with the prettiest girl in the room ; and when 
they see you standing up with somebody else; they will quiz me 
famously." 

"Oh! no; they will never think of me, after such a description as that." 

"By heavens! if they do not, I will kick them out of the room for 
blockheads. What chap have you there?" Catherine satisfied his curiosity. 
"Tilney," he repeated ; "hum ; I do not know him. A good figure of a man ; 
well put together. Does he want a horse? Here is a friend of mine, Sam 
Fletcher, has got one to sell that would suit anybody. A famous clever 
animal for the road ; only forty guineas. I had fifty minds to buy it myself, 
for it is one of my maxims always to buy a good horse when I meet with 
one; but it would not answer my purpose, it would not do for the field. 
I would give any money for a real good hunter. I have three now, the best 
that ever were backed. I would not take eight hundred guineas for them. 
Fletcher and I mean to get a house in Leicestershire against the next 
season. It is so d uncomfortable living at an inn." 

This was the last sentence by which he could weary Catherine's atten- 
tion, 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 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1103 

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 agreeable- 
ness for the space of an evening, and all our agreeableness belongs solely 
to each other for that time. Nobody can fasten themselves on the notice 
of one, without injuring the rights of the other. I consider a country- 
dance as an emblem of marriage. Fidelity and complaisance are the prin- 
cipal duties of both ; and those men who do not choose to dance or marry 
themselves, have no business with the partners or wives of their neigh- 
bours." 

"But they are such very different things!" 
"That you think they cannot be compared together?" 
"To be sure not. People that marry can never part, but must go and 
keep house together. People that dance, only stand opposite to each other 
in a long room for half an hour." 

"And such is your definition of matrimony and dancing. Taken in that 
light certainly, their resemblance is not striking ; but I think I could place 
them in such a view. You will allow that in both man has the advantage of 
choice, woman only the power of refusal ; that in both it is an engagement 
between man and woman, formed for the advantage of each; and that 
when once entered into, they belong exclusively to each other till the 
moment of its dissolution ; that it is their duty each to endeavour to give 
no cause for wishing that he or she had bestowed themselves elsewhere, 
and their best interest to keep their own imaginations from wandering 
towards the perfections of their neighbours, or fancying that they should 
have been better off with anyone else. You will allow all this?" 

"Yes, to be sure, as you state it, all this sounds very well ; but still they 
are so very different. I cannot look upon them at all in the same light, nor 
think the same duties belong to them." 

"In one respect, there certainly is a difference. In marriage, the man 
is supposed to provide for the support of the woman ; the woman to make 
the home agreeable to the man ; he is to purvey, and she is to smile. But 
in dancing, their duties are exactly changed ; the agreeableness, the com- 
pliance are expected from him, while she furnishes the fan and the 
lavender water. That, I suppose, was the difference of duties which 
struck you, as rendering the conditions incapable of comparison." 
"No, indeed, I never thought of that." 

"Then I am quite at a loss. One thing, however, I must observe. This 
disposition on your side is rather alarming. You totally disallow any 
similarity in the obligations; and may I not thence infer, that your no- 
tions 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 gentleman were to address 
you, there would be nothing to restrain you from conversing with him 
as long as you choose?" 

"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 



1 104 



THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 



young men in the room besides him that I have any acquaintance with." 

"And is that to be my only security? alas! alas!" 

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

"Now you have given me a security worth having; and I shall pro- 
ceed with courage. Do you find Bath as agreeable as when I had the 
honour of making the inquiry before?" 

"Yes, quite; more so, indeed." 

"More so! Take care, or you will forget to be tired of it at the proper 
time. You ought to be tired at the end of six weeks." 

"I do not think I should be tired, if I were to stay here six months." 

"Bath, compared with London, has little variety, and so everybody 
finds out every year. Tor six weeks, I allow, Bath is pleasant enough; 
but beyond that, it is the most tiresome place in the world.' You would 
be told so by people of all descriptions, who come regularly every winter, 
lengthen their six weeks into ten or twelve, and go away at last because 
they can afford to stay no longer." 

"Well, other people must judge for themselves, and those who go to 
London may think nothing of Bath. But I, who live in a small retired 
village in the country, can never find greater sameness in such a place 
as this than in my own home; for here are a variety of amusements, a 
variety of things to be seen and done all day long, which I can know 
nothing of there." 

"You are not fond of the country." 

"Yes, I am. I have always lived there, and always been very happy. 
But certainly there is much more sameness in a country life than in a Bath 
life. One day in the country is exactly like another." 

"But then you spend your time so much more rationally in the 
country." 

"Do I?" 

"Do you not?" 

"I do not believe there is much difference." 

"Here you are in pursuit only of amusement all day long." 

"And so I am at home: only I do not find so much of it. I walk about 
here, and so I do there; but here I see a variety of people in every street, 
and there I can only go and call on Mrs. Allen," 

Mr. Tilney was very much amused. "Only go and call on Mrs. Allen! " 
he repeated. "What a picture of intellectual poverty! However, when 
you sink into this abyss again, you will have more to say. You will be 
able to talk of Bath, and of all that you did here." 

"Oh, yes; I shall never be in want of something to talk of again to Mrs. 
Allen, or anybody else. I really believe I shall always be talking of Bath, 
when I am at home again; I do like it so very much. If I could have but 
papa and mamma, and the rest of them here, I suppose I should be too 
happy! James's coming (my eldest brother) is quite delightful; and espe- 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1105 

daily as it turns out that the very family we are just got so intimate with 
are his intimate friends already. Oh! who can ever be tired of Bath?" 

"Not those who bring such fresh feelings of every sort to it as you do. 
But papas and mammas, and brothers and intimate friends, are a good 
deal gone by, to most of the frequenters of Bath ; and the honest relish of 
balls and plays, and every-day sights, is past with them." 

Here their conversation closed; the demands of the dance becoming 
now too importunate for a divided attention. 

Soon after their reaching the bottom of the set, Catherine perceived 
herself to be earnestly regarded by a gentleman who stood among the 
lookers-on, immediately behind her partner. He was a very handsome 
man, of a commanding aspect, past the bloom, but not past the vigour of 
life; and with his eye still directed towards her, she saw him presently 
address Mr. Tilney in a familiar whisper. Confused by his notice, and 
blushing from the fear of its being excited by something wrong in her 
appearance, she turned away her head. But while she did so, the gentleman 
retreated, and her partner coming nearer, said, "I see that you guess what 
I have just been asked. That gentleman knows your name, and you have a 
right to know his. It is General Tilney, my father." 

Catherine's answer was only "Oh!" but it was an "Oh!" expressing 
everything needful: attention to his words, and perfect reliance on their 
truth. With real interest and strong admiration did her eye now follow the 
General, as he moved through the crowd, and "How handsome a family 
they are!" was her secret remark. 

In chatting with Miss Tilney before the evening concluded, a new 
source of felicity arose to her. She had never taken a country walk since 
her arrival in Bath. Miss Tilney, to whom all the commonly frequented 
environs were familiar, spoke of them in terms which made her all eager- 
ness to know them too; and on her openly fearing that she might find 
nobody to go with her, it was proposed by the brother and sister that they 
should join in a walk, some morning or other. "I shall like it," she cried, 
"beyond anything in the world; and do not let us put it off; let us go 
to-morrow." This was readily agreed to, with only a proviso of Miss 
Tilney's, that it did not rain, which Catherine was sure it would not. At 
twelve o'clock, they were to call for her in Pulteney Street, and "remember 
twelve o'clock," was her parting speech to her new friend. Of her other, 
her older, her more established friend, Isabella, of whose fidelity and 
worth she had enjoyed a fortnight's experience, she scarcely saw anything 
during the evening. Yet, though longing to make her acquainted with her 
happiness, she cheerfully submitted to the wish of Mr. Allen, which took 
them rather early away, and her spirits danced within her, as she danced in 
her chair all the way home. 



*io6 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

Chapter n 

THE morrow brought a very sober-looking morning, the sun making 
only a few efforts to appear; and Catherine augured from it everything 
most favourable to her wishes. A bright morning so early in the year, she 
allowed, would generally turn to rain ; but a cloudy one foretold improve- 
ment 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 go off, 
and the sun keep out." 

At about eleven o'clock, however, a few specks of small rain upon the 
windows caught Catherine's watchful eye, and "Oh dear! I do believe it 
will be wet," broke from her in a most desponding tone. 

"I thought how it would be," said Mrs. Allen. 

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

"Perhaps it may; but then, my dear, it will be so dirty." 

"Oh! that will not signify; I never mind dirt." 

"No," replied her friend very placidly, "I know you never mind dirt." 

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

"So it does, indeed. If it keeps raining, the streets will be very wet." 

"There are four umbrellas up already. How I hate the sight of an 
umbrella!" 

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

"It was such a nice looking morning! I felt so convinced it would be 
dry!" 

"Anybody would have thought so, indeed. There will be very few people 
in the Pump Room, if it rains all morning. I hope Mr. Allen will put on 
his great-coat when he goes, but I dare say he will not, for he had rather 
do anything in the world than walk out in a great-coat ; I wonder he should 
dislike it, it must be so comfortable." 

The rain continued, fast though not heavy. Catherine went every five 
minutes to the clock, threatening, on each return, that, if it still kept on 
raining another five minutes, she would give up the matter as hopeless. 
The clock struck twelve, and it still rained. "You will not be able to go, 
my dear." 

"I do not quite despair yet. I shall not give it up till a quarter after 
twelve. This is just the time of day for it to clear up, and I do think it 
looks a little lighter. There, it is twenty minutes after twelve, and now I 
shall give it up entirely. Oh| that we had such weather here as they had at 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1107 

Udolpho, or at least in Tuscany and the south of France! the night that 
poor St. Aubin died! such beautiful weather!" 

At half past twelve, when Catherine's anxious attention to the weather 
was over, and she could no longer claim any merit from its amendment, 
the sky began voluntarily to clear. A gleam of sunshine took her quite by 
surprise; she looked round, the clouds were parting, and she instantly 
returned to the window to watch over and encourage the happy appear- 
ance. Ten minutes more made it certain that a bright afternoon would 
succeed, and justified the opinion of Mrs. Allen, who had "always thought 
it would clear up." But whether Catherine might still expect her friends, 
whether there had not been too much rain for Miss Tilney to venture, 
must yet be a question. 

It was too dirty for Mrs. Allen to accompany her husband to the Pump 
Room; he accordingly set off by himself, and Catherine had barely 
watched him down the street, when her notice was claimed by the ap- 
proach of the same two open carriages, containing the same three people 
that had surprised her so much a few mornings back. 

"Isabella, my brother, and, Mr. Thorpe, I declare! They are coming for 
me, perhaps ; but I shall not go ; I cannot go, indeed ; for, you know, Miss 
Tilney may still call." Mrs. Allen agreed to it. John Thorpe was soon with 
them, and his voice was with them yet sooner, for on the stairs he was 
calling to Miss Morland to be quick. "Make haste! make haste!" as he 
threw open the door, "put on your hat this moment; there is no time to be 
lost; we are going to Bristol. How d'ye do, Mrs. Allen?" 

"To Bristol! Is not that a great way off? But, however, I cannot go 
with you to-day, because I am engaged ; I expect some friends every mo- 
ment." This was of course vehemently talked down as no reason at all, 
Mrs. Allen was called on to second him, and the two others walked in, to 
give their assistance. "My sweetest Catherine, is not this delightful? We 
shall have a most heavenly drive. You are to thank your brother and me 
for the scheme : it darted into our heads at breakfast time, I verily believe 
at the same instant ; and we should have been off two hours ago, if it had 
not been for this detestable rain. But it does not signify, the nights are 
moonlight, and we shall do delightfully. Oh! I am in such ecstasies at the 
thoughts of a little country air and quiet! so much better than going to 
the Lower Rooms. We shall drive directly to Clifton and dine there ; and 
as soon as dinner is over, if there is time for it, go on to Kingsweston." 

"I doubt our being able to do so much," said Morland. 

"You croaking fellow! " cried Thorpe, "we shall be able to do ten times 
more. Kingsweston ! aye, and Blaize Castle too, and anything else we can 
hear of; but here is your sister says she will not go." 

"Blaize Castle!" cried Catherine; "what is that?" 

"The finest place in England ; worth going fifty miles at any time to 
see." 

"What, is it really a castle, an old castle?" 

"The oldest in the kingdom." 



no8 THE WORKS X) F JANE AUSTEN 

"But is it like what one reads of?" 

" Exactly: the very same." 

"But now, really, are there towers and long galleries?" 

"By dozens." 

"Then I should like to see it ; but I cannot, I cannot go." 

"Not go! my beloved creature, what do you mean?" 

"I cannot go, because" (looking down as she spoke, fearful of Isabella's 
smile) "I expect Miss Tilney and her brother to call on me to take a 
country walk. They promised to come at twelve, only it rained ; but now, 
as it is so fine, I dare say they will be here soon." 

"Not they, indeed," cried Thorpe; "for as we turned into Broad Street, 
I saw them. Does he not drive a phaeton with bright chestnuts?" 

"I do not know, indeed. " 

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

"Yes." 

"Well, I saw him at that moment turn up Lansdown Road, driving a 
smart-looking girl." 

"Did you, indeed?" 

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

"It is very odd! But I suppose they thought it would be too dirty for a 
walk." 

"And well they might, for I never saw so much dirt in my life. Walk! 
you could no more walk than you could fly ! It has not been so dirty the 
whole winter; it is ankle deep everywhere." 

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

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

"Yes, yes; every hole and corner." 

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

"Make yourself easy, there is no danger of that; for I heard Tilney 
hallooing to a man who was just passing by on horseback, that they were 
going as far as Wick Rocks." 

"Then I will. Shall I go, Mrs. Allen?" 

"Just as you please, my dear." 

"Mrs. Allen, you must persuade her to go," was the general cry. Mrs. 
Allen was not inattentive to it. "Well, my dear," said she, "suppose you 
go." And in two minutes they were off. 

Catherine's feelings, as she got into the carriage, were in a very unset- 
tled 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 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1109 

message of excuse. It was now but an hour later than the time fixed on for 
the beginning of their walk ; and, in spite of what she had heard of the 
prodigious accumulation of dirt in the course of that hour, she could not 
from her own observation help thinking that they might have gone with 
very little inconvenience. To feel herself slighted by them was very painful. 
On the other hand, the delight of exploring an edifice like Udolpho, as her 
fancy represented Blaize Castle to be, was such a counterpoise of good, as 
might console her for almost anything. 

They passed briskly down Pulteney Street, and through Laura Place, 
without the exchange of many words. Thorpe talked to his horse, and she 
meditated by turns on broken promises and broken arches, phaetons and 
false hangings, Tilneys and trap-doors. As they entered Argyle Buildings, 
however, she was roused by this address from her companion, "Who is 
that girl who looked at you so hard as she went by?" 

"Who? where?" 

"On the right-hand pavement: she must be almost out of sight now." 
Catherine looked round, and saw Miss Tilney leaning on her brother's 
arm, walking slowly down the street. She saw them both looking back at 
her. "Stop, stop, Mr. Thorpe," she impatiently cried, "it is Miss Tilney; 
it is indeed. How could you tell me they were gone? Stop, stop, I will get 
out this moment and go to them." But to what purpose did she speak? 
Thorpe only lashed his horse into a brisker trot ; the Tilneys, who had soon 
ceased to look after her, were in a moment out of sight round the corner of 
Laura Place, and in another moment, she was herself whisked into the 
Market Place. 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, how- 
ever, were not spared. "How could you deceive me so, Mr. Thorpe? How 
could you say that you saw them driving up the Lansdown Road? I would 
not have had it happen so for the world. They must think it so strange, so 
rude of me, to go by them, too, without saying a word! You do not know 
how vexed I am. I shall have no pleasure at Clifton, nor in anything else. 
I had rather, ten thousand times rather, get out now, and walk back to 
them. How could you say, you saw them driving out in a phaeton?" 
Thorpe defended himself very stoutly, declared he had never seen two 
men so much alike in his life, and would hardly give up the point of its 
having been Tilney himself. 

Their drive, even when this subject was over, was not likely to be very 
agreeable. Catherine's complaisance was no longer what it had been in 
their former airing. She listened reluctantly, and her replies were short. 
Blaize Castle remained her only comfort; towards that, she still looked at 
intervals with pleasure ; though rather than be disappointed of the prom- 
ised walk, and especially rather than be thought ill of by the TOneys, 



mo THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

she would willingly have given up all the happiness which its walls could 
supply: the happiness of a progress through a long suite of lofty rooms, 
exhibiting the remains of magnificent furniture, though now for many 
years deserted: the happiness of being stopped in their way along narrow, 
winding vaults, by a low, grated door; or even of having their lamp, their 
only lamp, extinguished by a sudden gust of wind, and of being left in 
total darkness. In the meanwhile, they proceeded on their journey without 
any mischance : and were within view of the town of Keynsham, when a 
halloo from Morland, who was behind them, made his friend pull up, to 
know what was the matter. The others then came close enough for con- 
versation ; and Morland said, "We had better go back, Thorpe ; it is too 
late to go on to-day; your sister thinks so as well as I. We have been 
exactly an hour coming from Pulteney Street, very little more than seven 
miles ; and, I suppose, we have at least eight more to go. It will never do. 
We set out a great deal too late. We had much better put it off till another 
day, and turn round." 

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

"If your brother had not got such a d beast to drive," said he soon 

afterwards, "we might have done it very well. My horse would have 
trotted to Clifton within the hour, if left to himself, and I have almost 
broke my arm pulling him in to the cursed broken-winded jade's pace. 
Morland is a fool for not keeping a horse and gig of his own." 

"No, he is not," said Catherine warmly; "for I am sure he could not 
afford it." 

"And why cannot he afford it?" 

"Because he has not money enough." 

"And whose fault is that?" 

"Nobody's that I know of." Thorpe then said something in the loud, 

incoherent way to which he had often recourse, about its being a d 

thing to be miserly; and that if people who rolled in money could not 
afford things, he did not know who could, which Catherine did not even 
endeavour to understand. Disappointed of what was to have been the 
consolation of her first disappointment, she was less and less disposed 
either to be agreeable herself, or to find her companion so; and they re- 
turned to Pulteney Street without her speaking twenty words. 

As she entered the house, the footman told her, that a gentleman and 
lady had called and inquired for her a few minutes after 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 saying no, had felt 
for a card, but said she had none about her, and went away. Pondering 
over these heart-rending tidings, Catherine walked slowly upstairs. At the 
head of them she was met by Mr. Allen, who, on hearing the reason of their 
speedy return, said, "I am glad your brother had so much sense ; I am glad 
you are come back. It was a strange wild scheme." 

They all spent the evening together at Thorpe's. Catherine was dis- 



NORTHANGER ABBEY mi 

turbed 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 one's self. 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 with- 
out you, but you men think yourselves of such consequence." 

Catherine could almost have accused Isabella of being wanting in 
tenderness towards herself and her sorrows, so very little did they appear 
to dwell on her mind, and so very inadequate was the comfort she offered. 
"Do not be so dull, my dearest creature," she whispered. "You will quite 
break my heart. It was amazingly shocking, to be sure, but the Tilneys 
were entirely to blame. Why were they not more punctual? It was dirty, 
indeed, but what did that signify? I am sure John and I should have not 
minded it. I never mind going through anything where a friend is con- 
cerned; that is my disposition, and John is just the same; he has amazing 
strong feelings. Good heavens! what a delightful hand you have gotl 
Kings, I vow! I never was so happy in my life! I would fifty times rather 
you should have them than myself." 

And now I may dismiss my heroine to the sleepless couch which is the 
true heroine's portion ; to a pillow strewed with thorns and wet with tears. 
And lucky may she think herself, if she get another good night's rest in 
the course of the next three months. 



Chapter 12 

"MRS. ALLEN," said Catherine, the next morning, "will there be any 
harm in my calling on Miss Tilney to-day? I shall not be easy till I have 
explained everything." 

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

Catherine cheerfully complied ; and, being properly equipped, was more 
impatient than ever to be at the Pump Room, that she might inform 
herself of General Tilney 's lodgings; for though she believed they were in 
Milsom Street, she was not certain of the house, and Mrs. Allen's wavering 
convictions only made it more doubtful. To Milsom Street she was di- 
rected ; 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 



ni2 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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 had walked out. Cath- 
erine, with a blush of mortification, left the house. She left almost per- 
suaded that Miss Tilney was at home, and too much offended to admit 
her ; and as she retired down the street, could not withhold one glance at 
the drawing-room windows, in expectation of seeing her there ; but no one 
appeared at them. At the bottom of the street, however, she looked back 
again, and then, not at a window, but issuing from the door, she saw Miss 
Tilney herself. She was followed by a gentleman whom Catherine believed 
to be her father, and they turned up towards Edgar's Buildings. Catherine, 
in deep mortification, proceeded on her way. She could almost be angry 
herself at such angry incivility; but she checked the resentful sensation, 
she remembered her own ignorance. She knew not how such an offence as 
hers might be classed by the laws of worldly politeness, to what a degree 
of unforgiveness it might with propriety lead, nor to what rigours of 
rudeness in return it might justly make her amenable. Dejected and 
humbled, she had even some thoughts of not going with the others to the 
theatre that night; but, it must be confessed that they were not of long 
continuance; for she soon recollected, in the first place, that she was 
without any excuse for staying at home ; and, in the second, that it was 
a play she wanted very much to see. To the theatre accordingly they 
all went, no Tilneys appeared to plague or please her; she feared that 
amongst the many perfections of the family a fondness for plays was not 
to be ranked, but perhaps it was because they were habituated to the 
finer performances of the London stage, which she knew, on Isabella's 
authority, rendered everything else of the kind "quite horrid." She was 
not deceived in her own expectation of pleasure: the comedy so well sus- 
pended her care, that no one observing her during the first four acts would 
have supposed she had any wretchedness about her. On the beginning of 
the fifth, however, the sudden view of Mr. Henry Tilney and his father 
joining a party in the opposite box recalled her to anxiety and distress. 
The stage could no longer excite genuine merriment, no longer keep her 
whole attention. Every other look upon an average was directed towards 
the opposite box; and for the space of two entire scenes did she thus watch 
Henry Tilney, without being once able to catch his eye. No longer could 
he be suspected of indifference for a play; his notice was never withdrawn 
from the stage during two whole scenes. At length, however, he did look 
towards her, and he bowed, bst such a bow! No smile, no continued ob- 
servance attended it: his eyes were immediately returned to their former 
direction. Catherine was restlessly miserable; she could almost have run 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1113 

round to the box in which he sat, and forced him to hear her explanation. 
Feelings rather natural than heroic possessed her. Instead of considering 
her own dignity injured by this ready condemnation; instead of proudly 
resolving in conscious innocence, to show her resentment towards him 
who could harbour a doubt of it, to leave to him all the trouble of seeking 
an explanation, and to enlighten him on the past only by avoiding his 
sight, or flirting with somebody else, she took to herself all the shame of 
misconduct, or, at least, of its appearance, and was only eager for an op- 
portunity of explaining its cause. 

The play concluded, the curtain fell ; Henry Tilney was no longer to be 
seen where he had hitherto sat, but his father remained, and perhaps he 
might be now coming round to their box. She was right: in a few minutes 
he appeared, and making his way through the then thinning rows, spoke 
with like calm politeness to Mrs. Allen- and her friend. Not with such 
calmness was he answered by the latter. "Oh, Mr. Tilney, I have been 
quite wild to speak to you, and make my apologies. You must have 
thought me so rude; but indeed it was not my own fault. Was it, Mrs. 
Allen? Did not they tell me that Mr. Tilney and his sister were gone out 
in a phaeton together? And then what could I do? But I had ten thousand 
times rather have been with you. Now, had not I, Mrs. Allen?" 

"My dear, you tumble my gown," was Mrs. Allen's reply. 

Her assurance, however, standing sole as it did, was not thrown away; 
it brought a more cordial, more natural smile into his countenance, and 
he replied in a tone which retained only a little affected reserve. "We were 
much obliged to you, at any rate, for wishing us a pleasant walk after our 
passing you in Argyle Street. You were so kind as to look back on pur- 
pose." 

"But indeed, I did not wish you a pleasant walk, I never thought of 
such a thing ; but I begged Mr. Thorpe so earnestly to stop ; I called out to 

him as soon as ever I saw you. Now, Mrs. Allen, did not Oh! you were 

not there. But, indeed, I did ; and, if Mr. Thorpe would only have stopped, 
I would have jumped out and run after you." 

Is there a Henry in the world who could be insensible to such a declara- 
tion? 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 morn- 
ing 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 in- 
civility; but perhaps, 'I can do it as well. It was nothing more than that 
my father . They were just preparing to walk out, and he being hur- 
ried for time, and not caring to have it put off, made a point of her being 



IH4 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

denied. That was all, I do assure you. She was very much vexed, and 
meant to make her apology as soon as possible." 

Catherine's mind was greatly eased by this information, yet a something 
of solicitude remained, from which sprang the following question, thor- 
oughly 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 mis- 
take, why should you be so ready to take offence?" 

"Me! I take offence!" 

"Nay, I am sure by your look, when you came into the box, you were 
angry." 

"I angry! I could have no right! " 

"Well, nobody would have thought you had no right who saw your 
face." 

He replied by asking her to make room for him and talking of the play. 
He remained with them some time, and was only too agreeable for Cath- 
erine to be contented when he went away. Before they parted, however, 
it was agreed that the projected walk should be taken as soon as possible ; 
and, setting aside the misery of his quitting their box, she was, upon the 
whole, left one of the happiest creatures in the world. 

While talking to each other, she had observed with some surprise that 
John Thorpe, who was never in the same part of the house for ten minutes 
together, was engaged in conversation with General Tilney ; and she felt 
something more than surprise, when she thought she could perceive herself 
the object of their attention and discourse. What could they have to say 
of her? She feared General Tilney did not like her appearance. She found 
it was implied in his preventing her admittance to his daughter, rather 
than postpone his own walk a few minutes. "How came Mr. Thorpe to 
know your father?" was her anxious inquiry, as she pointed them out to 
her companion. He knew nothing about it: but his father, like every mili- 
tary man, had a very large acquaintance. 

^ When the entertainment was over, Thorpe came to assist them in get- 
ting out. Catherine was the immediate object of his gallantry; and, while 
they waited in the lobby for a chair, he prevented the inquiry which had 
travelled from her heart almost to the tip of her tongue, by asking in a 
consequential manner, whether she had seen him talking with General 
Tilney. "He is a fine old fellow, upon my soul ! Stout, active ; looks as 
young as his son. I have a great regard for him, I assure you. A gentleman- 
like, good sort of fellow as ever lived." 

"But how came you to know him?" 

"Know him ! There are few people much about town that I do not know. 
I have met him for ever at the Bedford; and I knew his face again to-day 
the moment he came into the billiard-room. One of the best players we 
have, by the bye ; 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 ckanest strokes that perhaps ever was made in this 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1115 

world I took his ball exactly but I could not make you understand it 
without a table: however, I did beat him. A very fine fellow; as rich as a 
Jew. I should like to dine with him. I dare say he gives famous dinners. 
But what do you think we have been talking of? You. Yes, by heavens, 
and the General thinks you the finest girl in Bath." 

"Oh, nonsense! How can you say so?" 

"And what do you think I said?" (lowering his voice). " 'Well done, 
General,' said I, 'I am quite of your mind.' ' 

Here Catherine, who was much less gratified by his admiration than by 
General Tilney's, was not sorry to be called away by Mr. Allen. Thorpe, 
however, would see her to her chair, and, till she entered it, continued the 
same kind of delicate flattery, in spite of her entreating him to have done. 

That General Tilney, instead of disliking, should admire her, was very 
delightful ; and she joyfully thought that there was not one of the family 
whom she need now fear to meet. The evening had done more, much more, 
for her than could have been expected. 



Chapter 13 

MONDAY, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday have 
now passed in review before the reader ; the events of each day, its hopes 
and fears, mortifications and pleasures, have been separately stated, and 
the pangs of Sunday only now remain to be described, and close the 
week. The Clifton scheme had been deferred, not relinquished; and on 
the afternoon's Crescent of this day it vvas 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 
was 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 re- 
mained 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 accom- 
pany them now. She had that moment settled with Miss Tilney to take 
their promised walk to-morrow ; it was quite determined, and she would 
not, upon any account, retract. But that she must and should retract was 
instantly the eager cry of both the Thorpes ; they must go to Clifton to- 
morrow, they would not go without her, it would be nothing to put off a 
mere walk for one day longer, and they would not hear of a refusal. 
Catherine was distressed, but not subdued. "Do not urge me, Isabella. 
I am engaged to Miss Tilney. I cannot go." This availed nothing. The 



in6 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

same arguments assailed her again; she must go, she should go, and they 
would not hear of a refusal. "It would be so easy to tell Miss Tilney that 
you had just been reminded of a prior engagement, and must only beg to 
put off the walk till Tuesday." 

"No, it would not be easy. I could not do it. There has been no prior 
engagement." But Isabella became only more and more urgent; calling 
on her in the most affectionate manner ; addressing her by the most en- 
dearing 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 tem- 
per, to be easily persuaded by those she loved. But all in vain; Catherine 
felt herself to be in the right, and though pained by such tender, such 
flattering supplication, could not allow it to influence her. Isabella then 
tried another method. She reproached her with having more affection for 
Miss Tilney, though she had known her so little a while, than for her best 
and oldest friends ; with being grown cold and indifferent, in short, towards 
herself. "I cannot help being jealous, Catherine, when I see myself slighted 
for strangers ; I, who love you so excessively ! When once my affections are 
placed, it is not in the power of anything to change them. But I believe 
my feelings are stronger than anybody's; I am sure they are too strong 
for my own peace; and to see myself supplanted in your friendship by 
strangers does cut me to the quick, I own. These Tilneys seem to swallow 
up everything else." 

Catherine thought this reproach equally strange and unkind. Was it 
the part of a friend thus to expose her feelings to the notice of others? 
Isabella appeared to her ungenerous and selfish, regardless of everything 
but her own gratification. These painful ideas crossed her mind, though 
she said nothing. Isabella, in the meanwhile, had applied her handkerchief 
to her eyes ; and Morland, miserable at such a sight, could not help say- 
ing, "Nay, Catherine, I think you cannot stand out any longer now. The 
sacrifice is not much; and to oblige such a friend, I shall think you quite 
unkind, if you still refuse." 

This was the first time of her brother's openly siding against her ; and 
anxious to avoid his displeasure, she proposed a compromise. If they would 
only put off their scheme till Tuesday, which they might easily do, as it 
depended only on themselves, she could go with them, and everybody 
might then be satisfied. But "No, no, no!" was the immediate answer; 
"that could not be, for Thorpe did not know that he might not go to town 
on Tuesday." Catherine was sorry, but could do no more; and a short 
silence ensued, which was broken by Isabella, who, in a voice of cold re- 
sentment, said, "Very well, then there is an end of the party. If Catherine 
does not go, I cannot. I cannot be the only woman. I would not upon any 
account in the world do so improper a thing." 

"Catherine, you must go," said James. 

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



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1117 

"Thank ye," cried Thorpe; "but I did not come to Bath to drive my 

jisters about and look like a fool. No, if you do not go, d me if I do. 

I only go for the sake of driving you." 

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

The three others still continued together, talking in a most uncomfort- 
able 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 mo- 
ment she was softened, at another irritated ; always distressed, but always 
steady. 

"I did not think you had been so obstinate, Catherine," said James; 
"you were not used to be so hard to persuade; you once were the kindest, 
best-tempered of my sisters. " 

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

"I suspect," said Isabella, in a low voice, "there is no great struggle.'' 

Catherine's heart swelled; she drew away her arm, and Isabella made 
no opposition. Thus passed a long ten minutes, till they were again joined 
by Thorpe, who, coming to them with a gayer look, said, "Well, I have 
settled the matter, and now we may all go to-morrow with a safe con- 
science. I have been to Miss Tilney, and made your excuses." 

"You have not! " cried Catherine. 

"I have upon my soul. Left her this moment. Told her you had sent 
me to say, that having just recollected a prior engagement of going to 
Clifton with us to-morrow you could not have the pleasure of walking 
with her till Tuesday. She said very well, Tuesday was just as convenient 
to her ; so there is an end of all our difficulties. A pretty good thought of 
mine, eh?" 

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

"A most heavenly thought, indeed! Now, my sweet Catherine, all our 
distresses are over, you are honourably acquitted, and we shall have a 
most delightful party." 

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

Isabella, however, caught hold of one hand, Thorpe of the other ; and 
remonstrances poured in from all three. Even James was quite angry. 
When everything was settled, when Miss Tilney herself said that Tuesday 
would suit her as well, it was quite ridiculous, quite absurd, to make any 
further objection. 

"I do not care. Mr. Thorpe had no business to invent any such message. 
If I had thought it right to put it off, I could have spoken to Miss Tilney 
myself. This is only doing it in a ruder way; and how do I know that Mr. 
Thorpe has ; he may be mistaken again, perhaps. He led me into one 



in8 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

act of rudeness by his mistake on Friday. Let me go, Mr. Thorpe ; Isabella, 
do not hold me." 

Thorpe told her it would be in vain to go after the Tilneys; they were 
turning the corner into Brook Street when he had overtaken them, and 
were at home by this time. 

"Then I will go after them," said Catherine; "wherever they are, I will 
go after them. It does not signify talking. If I could not be persuaded into 
doing what I thought wrong, I never will be tricked into it." And with 
these words she broke away and hurried off. Thorpe would have darted 
after her, but Morland withheld him. "Let her go, let her go, if she will go. 
She is as obstinate as " 

Morland never finished the simile, for it could hardly have been a 
proper one. 

Away walked Catherine in great agitation, as fast as the crowd would 
permit her, fearful of being pursued, yet determined to persevere. As she 
walked, she reflected on what had passed. It was painful to her to dis- 
appoint 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 pre- 
tence too, must have been wrong. She had not been withstanding them on 
selfish principles alone, she had not consulted merely her own gratifica- 
tion ; that might have been ensured in some degree by the excursion itself, 
by seeing Blaize Castle ; no, she had attended to what was due to others, 
and to her own character in their opinion. Her conviction of being right, 
however, was not enough to restore her composure ; till she had spoken to 
Miss Tilney, she could not be at ease ; and quickening her pace when she 
got clear of the Crescent, she almost ran over the remaining ground till 
she gained the top of Milsom Street. So rapid had been her movements, 
that in spite of the Tilneys' advantage in the outset, they were but just 
turning into their lodgings as she came within view of them; and the 
servant still remaining at the open door, she used only the ceremony of 
saying that she must speak with Miss Tilney that moment, and hurrying 
by him proceeded upstairs. Then, opening the first door before her, which 
happened to be the right, she immediately found herself in the drawing- 
room with General Tilney, his son and daughter. Her explanation, de- 
fective only in being from her irritation of nerves, and shortness of 
breath no explanation at all, was instantly given. "I am come in a great 
hurry it was all a mistake; I never promised to go; I told them from the 
first I could not go ; I ran away in a great hurry to explain it ; I did not 
care what you thought of me ; I would not stay for the servant." 

The business, however, though not perfectly elucidated by this speech, 
soon ceased to be a puzzle. Catherine found that John Thorpe had given 
the message; and Miss Tilney had no scruples in owning herself greatly 
surprised by it. But whether her brother had still exceeded her in resent- 
ment, Catherine, though she instinctively addressed herself as much to 



NOR T H ANGER ABBEY 1119 

one as to the other in her vindication, had no means of knowing. Whatever 
might have been felt before her arrival, her eager declarations immediately 
made every look and sentence as friendly as she could desire. 

The affair thus happily settled, she was introduced by Miss Tilney to 
her father, and received by him with such ready, such solicitous polite- 
ness, 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 apart- 
ment 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 for ever, if not his place, by her rapidity. 

After sitting with them a quarter of an hour, she rose to take leave, 
and was then most agreeably surprised by General Tilney's asking her if 
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 v 
they would not refuse to spare her to her friend. "Oh, no ; Catherine was 
sure they would not have the least objection and she should have great 
pleasure in coming." The General attended her himself to the street 
door, saying everything gallant as they went downstairs, admiring the 
elasticity of her walk, which corresponded exactly with the spirit of her 
dancing, and making her one of the most graceful bows she had ever bfr 
held when they parted. 

Catherine, delighted by all that had passed, proceeded gaily to Pulteney 
Street, walking, as she concluded, with great elasticity, though she had 
never thought of it before. She reached home without seeing anything 
more of the offended party; and now that she had been triumphant 
throughout, had carried her point, and was secure of her walk, she began 
(as the flutter of her spirits subsided) to doubt whether she had been 
perfectly right. A sacrifice was always noble; and if she had given way to 
their entreaties, she should have been spared the distressing idea of a 
friend displeased, a brother angry, and a scheme of great happiness to 
both destroyed, perhaps through her means. To ease her mind, and ascer- 
tain by the opinion of an unprejudiced person what her own conduct 
had really been, she took occasion to mention before Mr. Allen the half- 
settled scheme of her brother and the Thorpes for the following day. 
Mr. Allen caught at it directly. "Well," said he, "and do you think of 
going too?" 

"No ; I had just engaged myself to walk with Miss Tilney before they 
told me of it ; and therefore, you know, I could not go with them, could I?" 



ii20 THE W3RKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"No, certainly not ; and I am glad you do not think of it. These schemes 
are not at all the thing. Young men and women driving about the country 
in open carriages ! Now and then it is very well ; but going to inns and 
public places together! It is not right; and I wonder Mrs. Thorpe should 
allow it. I am glad you do not think of going; I am sure Mrs. Morland 
would not be pleased. Mrs. Allen, are not you of my way of thinking? 
Do not you think these kind of projects objectionable?" 

"Yes, very much so, indeed. Open carriages are nasty things. A clean 
gown is not five minutes' wear in them. You are splashed getting in and 
getting out; and the wind takes your hair and your bonnet in every 
direction. I hate an open carriage myself." 

"I know you do; but that is not the question. Do not you think it has 
an odd appearance, if young ladies are frequently driven about in them 
by young men, to whom they are not even related?" 

"Yes, my dear, a very odd appearance indeed. I cannot bear to see it." 

"Dear madam," cried Catherine, "then why did not you tell me so 
before? I am sure if I had known it to be improper I would not have gone 
with Mr. Thorpe at all; but I always hoped you would tell me, if you 
thought I was doing wrong." 

"And so I should, my dear, you may depend on it; for, as I told Mrs. 
Morland at parting, I would always do the best for you in my power. 
But one must not be over particular. Young people will be young people, 
as your good mother says herself. You know I wanted you, when we first 
came, not to buy that sprigged muslin, but you would. Young people 
do not like to be always thwarted." 

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

"As far as it has gone hitherto, there is no harm done," said Mr. Allen: 
"and I would only advise you, my dear, not to go out with Mr. Thorpe 
any more." 

"That is just what I was going to say," added his wife. 

Catherine, relieved for herself, felt uneasy for Isabella; and after a 
moment's thought, asked Mr. Allen whether it would not be both proper 
and kind in her to write to Miss Thorpe, and explain the indecorum of 
which she must be as insensible as herself; for she considered that Isabella 
might otherwise perhaps be going to Clifton the next day, in spite of what 
had passed. Mr. Allen, however, discouraged her from doing any such 
thing. "You had better leave her alone, my dear, she is old enough to 
know what she is about: and if not, has a mother to advise her. Mrs. 
Thorpe is too indulgent beyond a doubt: but, however, you had better 
not interfere. She and your brother choose to go, and you will be only 
getting ill-will." 

Catherine submitted; and though sorry to think that Isabella should 
be doing wrong, felt greatly relieved by Mr. Allen's approbation of her 
own conduct, and truly rejoiced to be preserved by his advice from the 
danger of falling into such an error herself. Her escape from being one 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 



Of the party to Clifton was now an escape indeed; for what would the 
Tilneys have thought of her, if she had broken her promise to them in 
order to do what was wrong in itself if she had been guilty of one 
breach of propriety only to enable her to be guilty of another? 



Chapter 14 

THE next morning was fair, and Catherine almost expected another 
attack from the assembled party. With Mr. Allen to support her, she felt 
no dread of the event; but she would gladly be spared a contest where 
victory itself was painful, and was heartily rejoiced, therefore, at neither 
seeing nor hearing anything of them. The Tilneys called for her at the 
appointed time, and no new difficulty arising, no sudden recollection, 
no unexpected summons, no impertinent intrusion to disconcert their 
measures, my heroine was most unnaturally able to fulfil her engagement, 
though it was made with the hero himself. They determined on walking 
round Beechen Cliff, that noble hill, whose beautiful verdure and hanging 
coppice render it so striking an object from almost every opening in 
Bath. 

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

"You have been abroad, then?" said Henry, a little surprised. 

"Oh! no, I only mean what I have read about. It always puts me in 
mind of the country that Emily and her father travelled through in The 
Mysteries of Udolpho. But you never read novels, I dare say?" 

"Why not?" 

"Because they are not clever enough for you; gentlemen read better 
books." 

"The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good 
novel, must be intolerably stupid. I have read all Mrs. Radcliffe's works, 
and most of them with great pleasure. The Mysteries of Udolpho, when I 
had once begun it, I could not lay down again; I remember finishing it 
in two days, my hair standing on end the whole time." 

"Yes," added Miss Tilney; "and I remember that you undertook to 
read it aloud to me; and that when I was called away for only five 
minutes to answer a note, instead of waiting for me, you took the volume 
into the Hermitage Walk, and I was obliged to stay till you had 
finished it." 

"Thank you, Eleanor; a most honourable testimony. You see, Miss 
Morland, the injustice of your suspicions. Here was I, in my eagerness to 
get on, refusing to wait only five minutes for my sister; breaking the 
promise I had made of reading it aloud, and keeping her in suspense at 
a most interesting part, by running away with the volume, which, you 
are to observe, was her own, particularly her own. I am proud when I 
reflect on it, and I think it must establish me in your good opinion." 



H22 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"I am very glad to hear it, indeed; and now I shall never be ashamed 
of liking Udolpho myself. But I really thought before, young men despised 
novels amazingly." 

"It is amazingly; it may well suggest amazement if they do, for they 
read nearly as many as women. I, myself, have read hundreds and hun- 
dreds. Do not imagine that you can cope with me in a knowledge of 
Julias and Louisas. If we proceed to particulars, and engage in the never- 
ceasing inquiry of 'Have you read this?' and 'Have you read that?' I shall 
soon leave you as far behind me as what shall I say? I want an appro- 
priate simile; as far as your friend Emily herself left poor Valancourt 
when she went with her aunt into Italy. Consider how many years I have 
had the start of you. I had entered on my studies at Oxford, while you 
were a good little girl working your sampler at home!" 

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

"The nicest; by which I suppose you mean the neatest. That must 
depend upon the binding." 

"Henry," said Miss Tilney, "you are very impertinent. Miss Morland, 
he is treating you exactly as he does his sister. He is for ever 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 over- 
powered with Johnson and Blair all the rest of the way." 

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

"Very true," said Henry, "and this is a very nice day; and we are 
taking a very nice walk; and you are two very nice young ladies. Oh! 
it is a very nice word, indeed! It does for everything. Originally, perhaps, 
it was applied only to express neatness, propriety, delicacy, or refinement ; 
people were nice in their dress, in their sentiments, or their choice. But 
now every commendation on every subject is comprised in that one 
word." 

"While, in fact," cried his sister, "it ought only to be applied to you, 
without any commendation at all. You are more nice than wise. Come, 
Miss Morland, let us leave him to meditate over our faults in the utmost 
propriety of diction, while we praise Udolpho in whatever terms we like 
best. It is a most interesting work. You are fond of that kind of reading?" 

"To say the truth, I do not much like any other." 

"Indeed!" 

"That is, I can read poetry and plays, and things of that sort, and 
do not dsilike travels. But history, real solemn history, I cannot be in- 
terested in. Can you?" 

"Yes, I am fond of history." 

"I wish I were too. I read it a little as a duty; but it tells me nothing 
that does not either vex or weary me. The quarrels of popes and kings, 
with wars and pestilences in every page; the men all so good for nothing, 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1123 

and hardly any women at all, it is very tiresome ; and yet I often think 
it odd that it should be so dull, for a great deal of it must be invention. 
The speeches that are put into the heroes' mouths, their thoughts and 
designs; the chief of all this must be invention, and invention is what 
delights me in other books." 

"Historians you think," said Miss Tilney, "are not happy in their 
flights of fancy. They display imagination without raising interest. I am 
fond of history, and am very well contented to take the false with the 
true. In the principal facts they have sources of intelligence in former 
histories and records, which may be as much depended on, I conclude, 
as anything that does not actually pass under one's own observation ; and 
as for the little embellishments you speak of, they are embellishments, 
and I like them as such. If a speech be well drawn up, I read it with 
pleasure, by whomsoever it may be made; and probably with much 
greater, if the production of Mr. Hume or Mr. Robertson, than if the 
genuine words of Caractacus, Agricola, or Alfred the Great." 

"You are fond of history! And so are Mr. Allen and my father; and 
I have two brothers who do not dislike it. So many instances within my 
small circle of friends is remarkable! At this rate, I shall not pity the 
writers of history any longer. If people like to read their books, it is all 
very well; but to be at so much trouble in filling great volumes, which, 
as I used to think, nobody would willingly ever look into, to be labouring 
only for the torment of little boys and girls, always struck me as a hard 
fate ; and though I know it is all very right and necessary, I have often 
wondered at the person's courage that could sit down on purpose to do it." 

"That little boys and girls should be tormented," said Henry, "is what 
no one at all acquainted with human nature in a civilised state can 
deny; but in behalf of our most distinguished historians, I must observe, 
that they might well be offended at being supposed to have no higher 
aim ; and that by their method and style they are perfectly well qualified 
to torment readers of the most advanced reason and mature time of life. 
I use the verb 'to torment,' as I observed to be your own method, instead 
of 'to instruct,' supposing them to be now admitted as synonymous." 

"You think me foolish to call instruction a torment; but if you had 
been as much used as myself to hear poor little children first learning 
their letters, and then learning to spell, if you had ever seen how stupid 
they can be for a whole morning together, and how tired my poor mother 
is at the end of it, as I am in the habit of seeing almost every day of my 
life at home, you would allow, that to torment and to instruct might some- 
times be used as synonymous words." 

"Very probably. But historians are not accountable for the difficulty 
of learning to read ; and even you yourself, who do not altogether seem 
particularly friendly to very severe, very intense application, may perhaps 
be brought to acknowledge that it is very well worth while to be tormented 
for two or three years of one's life, for the sake of being able to read 
all the rest of it. Consider, if reading had not beenj:aught, Mrs. Radcliffe 



ri2 4 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

would have written in vain, or, perhaps, might not have written at all." 
Catherine assented ; and a very warm panegyric from her on that lady's 
merits closed the subject. The Tilneys were soon engaged in another, on 
which she had nothing to say. They were viewing the country with the 
eyes of persons accustomed to drawing, and decided on its capability of 
being formed into pictures, with all the eagerness of real taste. Here 
Catherine was quite lost. She knew nothing of drawing nothing of taste; 
and she listened to them with an attention which brought her little profit, 
for they talked in phrases which conveyed scarcely any idea to her. The 
little which she could understand, however, appeared to contradict the 
very few notions she had entertained on the matter before. It seemed as 
if a good view were no longer to be taken from the top of a 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 poeple wish to 
attach, they should always be ignorant. To come with a well-informed 
mind, is to come with an inability of administering to the vanity of 
others, which a sensible person would always wish to avoid. A woman, 
especially, if she have the misfortune of knowing anything, should conceal 
it as well as she can. 

The advantages of natural folly in a beautiful girl have been already 
set forth by the capital pen of a sister author ; and to her treatment of the 
subject I will only add, in justice to men, that though, to the larger and 
more trifling part of the sex, imbecility in females is a great enchance- 
ment of their personal charms, there is a portion of them too reasonable, 
and too well informed themselves, to desire anything more in woman 
than ignorance. But Catherine did not know her own advantages; did 
not know that a good-looking girl with an affectionate heart, and a very 
ignorant mind, cannot fail of attracting a clever young man, unless cir- 
cumstances are particularly untoward. In the present instance, she con- 
fessed 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 atten- 
tion was so earnest, that he became perfectly satisfied of her having a 
great deal of natural taste. He talked of foregrounds, distances, and sec- 
ond distances; side-screens and perspectives; lights and shades; and 
Catherine was so hopeful a scholar, that when they gained the top of 
Beechen Cliff, she voluntarily rejected the whole city of Bath, as un- 
worthy 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 suc- 
ceeded his short disquisition on the state of the nation was put an end to 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1125 

by Catherine, who, in rather a solemn tone of voice, uttered these 
words, "I have heard that something very shocking indeed will soon come 
out in London." 

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

"That I do not know, nor who is the author. I have only heard that it 
is to be more horrible than anything we have met with yet." 

"Good heaven ! Where could you hear of such a thing?" 

"A particular friend of mine had an account of it in a letter from Lon- 
don yesterday. It is to be uncommonly dreadful. I shall expect murder 
and everything of the kind." 

"You speak with astonishing composure. But I hope your friend's 
accounts have been exaggerated; and if such a design is known before- 
hand, proper measures will undoubtedly be taken by government to 
prevent its coming to effect." 

"Government," said Henry, endeavouring not to smile, "neither desires 
nor dares to interfere in such matters. There must be murder, and gov- 
ernment cares not how much." 

The ladies stared. He laughed, and added, "Come, shall I make you 
understand each other, or leave you to puzzle out an explanation as you 
can? No, I will be noble. I will prove myself a man no less by the 
generosity of my soul, than the clearness of my head. I have no patience 
with such of my sex as disdain, to let themselves sometimes down to the 
comprehension of yours. Perhaps the abilities of women are neither sound 
nor acute, neither vigorous nor keen. Perhaps they may want observation, 
discernment, judgment, fire, genius and wit." 

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

"Riot! What riot?" 

"My dear Eleanor, the riot is only in your own brain. The confusion 
there is scandalous. Miss Morland has been talking of nothing more 
dreadful than a new publication which is shortly to come out, in three 
duodecimo volumes, two hundred and seventy-six pages in each, with a 
frontispiece to the first, of two tombstones and a lantern do you under- 
stand? And you, Miss Morland my stupid sister has mistaken all your 
clearest expressions. You talked of expected horrors in London; and 
instead of instantly conceiving, as any rational creature would have done, 
that such words could relate only to a circulating library, she immediately 
pictured to herself a mob of three thousand men assembling in St. George's 
Fields ; the Bank attacked, the Tower threatened, the streets of London 
flowing with blood, a detachment of the i2th 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 brick-bat from an upper 
window. Forgive her stupidity. The fears of the sister have added to the 
weakness of the woman, but she is by no means a simpleton in general." 



H26 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

Catherine looked grave. "And now, Henry," said Miss Tilney, "that 
you have made us understand each other, you may as well make Miss 
Morland understand yourself, unless you mean to have her think you 
intolerably rude to your sister, and a great brute in your opinion of women 
in general. Miss Morland is not used to your odd ways." 

"I shall be most happy to make her better acquainted with them." 

"No doubt; but that is no explanation of the present." 

"What am I to do?" 

"You know what you ought to do. Clear your character handsomely 
before her. Tell her that you think very highly of the understanding of 
women." 

"Miss Morland, I think very highly of the understanding of all the 
women in the world, especially of those, whoever they may be, with whom 
I happen to be in company." 

"That is not enough. Be more serious." 

"Miss Morland, no one can think more highly of the understanding of 
women than I do. In my opinion, nature has given them so much that they 
never find it necessary to use more than half." 

"We shall get nothing more serious from him now, Miss Morland. He 
is not in a sober mood. But I assure you that he must be entirely misunder- 
stood if he can ever appear to say an unjust thing of any woman at all, 
or an unkind one of me." 

It was no effort to Catherine to believe that Henry Tilney could never 
be wrong. His manner might sometimes surprise, but his meaning must 
always be just; and what she did not understand, she was almost as ready 
to admire, as what she did. The .whole walk was delightful, and though 
it ended too soon, its conclusion was delightful too. Her friends attended 
her into the house, and Miss Tilney, before they parted, addressing herself 
with respectful form, as much to Mrs. Allen as to Catherine, petitioned 
for the pleasure of her company to dinner on the day after the next. 
No difficulty was made on Mrs. Allen's side, and the only difficulty on 
Catherine's was in concealing the excess of her pleasure. 

The morning had passed away so charmingly as to banish all her friend- 
ship and natural affection; for no thought of Isabella or James crossed 
her mind 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 riband, 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 loiter- 
ing 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 ei^ht 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 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1127 

scrape. It must be the dullest thing in the world, for there is not a soul 
at Clifton at this time of the year. Belle went with your brother, and John 
drove Maria." 

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

"Oh! yes," rejoined the other, "Maria is gone. She was quite wild to go. 
She thought it would be something very fine. I cannot say I admire her 
taste; and, for my part, I was determined from the first not to go, if they 
pressed me ever so much." 

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

"Thank you: but it is quite a matter of indifference to me. Indeed, I 
would not have gone on any account. I was saying so to Emily and Sophia 
when you overtook us." 

Catherine was still unconvinced; but glad that Anne should have the 
friendship of an Emily and a Sophia to console her, she bade her adieu 
without much uneasiness, and returned home, pleased that the party had 
not been prevented by her refusing to join it, and very heartily wishing 
that it might be too pleasant to allow either James or Isabella to resent 
her resistance any longer. 



Chapter 15 

EARLY the next day, a note from Isabella, speaking peace and tender- 
ness 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 learned that it had been altogether the most delightful 
scheme in the world, that nobody could imagine how charming it had 
been, and that it had been more delightful than anybody could conceive. 
Such was the information of the first five minutes ; the second unfolded 
thus much in detail, that they had driven directly to the York Hotel, ate 
some soup, and bespoke an early dinner, walked down to the Pump 
Room, tasted the water, and laid out some shillings in purses and spars; 
thence adjourned to eat ice at a 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 was so tired he could hardly get it 
along. 

Catherine listened with heartfelt satisfaction. It appeared that Blaize 
Castle had never been thought of, and as for all the rest, there was 



H28 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

nothing to regret for half an instant. Maria's intelligence concluded with 
a tender effusion of pity for her sister Anne, whom she represented as 
insupportably cross from being excluded the party. 

"She will never forgive me, I am sure; but, you know, how could I 
help it? John would have me go, for he vowed he would not drive her 
because she had such thick ankles. I dare say she will not be in good 
humour again this month ; but I am determined I will not be cross ; it is 
not a little matter that puts me out of temper." 

Isabella now entered the room with so eager a step, and a look of such 
happy importance, as engaged all her friend's notice. Maria was without 
ceremony sent away, and Isabella, embracing Catherine, thus began: 
"Yes, my dear Catherine, it is so, indeed; your penetration has not 
deceived you. Oh, that arch eye of yours! It sees through everything." 

Catherine replied only by a look of wondering ignorance. 

"Nay, my beloved, sweetest friend," continued the other, "compose 
yourself. I am amazingly agitated, as you perceive. Let us sit down and 
talk in comfort. Well, and so you guessed it the moment you had my 
note? Sly creature! Oh! my dear Catherine, you alone who know my 
heart can judge of my present happiness. Your brother is the most charm- 
ing of men. I only wish I were more worthy of him. But what will your 
excellent father and mother say? Oh, heavens! When I think of them, 
I am so agitated ! " 

Catherine's understanding began to awake; an idea of the truth sud- 
denly darted into her mind; and, with the natural blush of so new an 
emotion, she cried out, "Good heaven! my dear Isabella, what do you 
mean? Can you can you really be in love with ? James?" 

This bold surmise, however, she soon learnt comprehended but half 
the fact. The anxious affection which she was accused of having con- 
tinually 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 im- 
portance 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 em- 
braces and tears of joy. 

Delighting, however, as Catherine sincerely did, in the prospect of the 
connection, it must be acknowledged that Isabella far surpassed her in 
tender anticipations. "You will be so infinitely dearer to me, my Catherine, 
than either Anne or Maria. I feel that I shall be so much more attached to 
my dear Morland's family than to my own." 

This was a pitch of friendship beyond Catherine. 

"You are so like your dear brother," continued Isabella, "that I quite 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1129 

doted on you the first moment I saw you. But so it always is with me: the 
first moment settles everything. The very first day that Morland came to 
us last Christmas, the very first moment I beheld him, my heart was 
irrevocably gone. I remember I wore my yellow gown, with my hair done 
up in braids ; and when I came into the drawing-room, and' John in- 
troduced him, I thought I never saw anybody so handsome before." 

Here Catherine secretly acknowledged the power of love; for though 
exceedingly fond of her brother, and partial to all his endowments, she 
had never in her life thought him handsome. 

"I remember, too, Miss Andrews drank tea with us that evening, and 
wore her puce-coloured sarsenet; and she looked so heavenly that I 
thought your brother must certainly fall in love with her; I could not 
sleep a wink all night for thinking of it. Oh! Catherine, the many sleep- 
less nights I have had on your brother's account ! I would not have you 
suffer half what I have done! I am grown wretchedly thin, I know; but 
I will not pain you by describing my anxiety; you have seen enough of it. 
I feel that I have betrayed myself perpetually ; so unguarded in speaking 
of my partiality for the church! But my secret I was always sure would 
be safe with you" 

Catherine felt that nothing could have been safer ; but ashamed of an 
ignorance little expected, she dared no longer contest the point, nor refuse 
to have been as full of arch penetration and affectionate sympathy as 
Isabella chose to consider her. Her brother, she found, was preparing to 
set off with all speed to Fullerton, to make known his situation and ask 
consent; and here was a source of some real agitation to the mind of 
Isabella. Catherine endeavoured to persuade her, as she was herself 
persuaded, that her father and mother would never oppose their son's 
wishes. "It is impossible," said she, "for parents to be more kind, or more 
desirous of their children's happiness; I have no doubt of their consent- 
ing immediately." 

"Morland says exactly the same," replied Isabella; "and yet I dare 
not expect it; my fortune will be so small; they never can consent to it. 
Your brother, who might marry anybody!" 

Here Catherine again discerned the force of love. 

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

"Oh! my sweet Catherine, in your generous heart I know it would 
signify nothing, but we must not expect such disinterestedness in many. 
As for myself, I am sure I only wish our situations were reversed. Had I 
the command of millions, were I mistress of the whole world, your brother 
would be my only choice." 

This charming sentiment, recommended as much by sense as novelty, 
gave Catherine a most pleasing remembrance of all the heroines of her 
acquaintance ; and she thought her friend never looked more lovely than 
in uttering the grand idea. "I am sure they will consent," was her frequent 
declaration; "I am sure they will be delighted with you." 



Ii 3 o THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"For my own part," said Isabella, "my wishes are so moderate, that 
the smallest income in nature would be enough for me. Where people are 
really attached, poverty itself is wealth: grandeur I detest: I would not 
settle in London for the universe. A cottage in some retired village would 
be ecstasy. There are some charming little villas about Richmond." 

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

"I am sure I shall be miserable if we do not. If I can but be near you, 
I shall be satisfied. But this is idle talking! I will not allow myself to 
think of such things till we have your father's answer. Morland says that 
by sending it to-night to Salisbury, we may have it to-morrow. To- 
morrow! I know I shall never have courage to open the letter. I know it 
will be the death of me." 

A reverie succeeded this conviction, and when Isabella spoke again, 
it was to resolve on the quality of her wedding-gown. 

Their conference was put an end to by the anxious young lover him- 
self, 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 realisation of all that he hoped at home, 
his adieux were not long, and they would have been yet shorter had he 
not been frequently detained by the urgent entreaties of his fair one 
that he would go. Twice was he called almost from the door by her 
eagerness to have him gone. "Indeed, Morland, I must drive you away. 
Consider how far you have to ride. I cannot bear to see you linger so. 
For heaven's sake, waste no more time. There, go, go I insist on it." 

The two friends, with hearts now more united than ever, were in- 
separable for the day; and in schemes of sisterly happiness the hours 
flew along. Mrs. Thorpe and her son, who were acquainted with every- 
thing, 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 for- 
borne 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 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1131 

befoie 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 satis- 
faction. 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 disin- 
terested 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 intended felicities. She saw herself, at the end of a few 
weeks, the gaze and admiration of every new acquaintance at Fullerton, 
the envy of every valued old friend in Putney, with a carriage at her 
command, a new name on her tickets, and a brilliant exhibition of hoop- 
rings on her finger. 

When the contents of the letter were ascertained, John Thorpe, who 
had only waited its arrival to begin his journey to London, prepared to 
set off. "Well, Miss Morland," said he, on finding her alone in the 
parlour, "I am come to bid you good-bye." Catherine wished him a good 
journey. Without appearing to hear her, he walked to the window, fidgeted 
about, hummed a tune, and seemed wholly self-occupied. 

"Shall not you be late at Devizes?" said Catherine. He made no an- 
swer; but after a minute's silence burst out with, "A famous good thing 
this marrying scheme, upon my soul! A clever fancy of Morland's and 
Belle's. What do you think of it, Miss Morland? 7 say it is no bad notion." 

"I am sure I think it a very good one." 

"Do you? That's honest, by heavens! I am glad you are no enemy to 
matrimony, however. Did you ever hear the old song, 'Going to one 
wedding brings on another'? I say, you will come to Belle's wedding, I 
hope." 



n 3 2 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"Yes; I have promised your sister to be with her, if possible." 

"And then you know" twisting himself about, and forcing a foolish 
laugh "I say, then you know, we may try the truth of this same old 
song." 

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

"Nay, but there is no such confounded hurry. Who knows when we 
may be together again ! Not but that I shall be down again by the end of 
a fortnight, and a devilish long fortnight it will appear to me." 

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

"That is kind of you, however; kind and good-natured. I shall not 
forget it in a hurry. But you have more good-nature, and all that, than 
anybody living, I believe. A monstrous deal of good-nature, and it is 
not only good-nature, but you have so much so much of everything; 
and then you have such upon my soul, I do not know anybody like you." 

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

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

"Pray do; my father and mother will be very glad to see you." 

"And I hope I hope, Miss Morland, you will not be sorry to see me." 

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

"That .is just my way of thinking. Give me but a little cheerful com- 
pany, let me only have the company of the people I love, let me only 
be where I like and with whom I like, and the devil take the rest, say I ; 
and I am heartily glad to hear you say the same. But I have a notion, 
Miss Morland, you and I think pretty much alike upon most matters." 

"Perhaps we may; but it is more than I ever thought of. And as to 
most matters, to say the truth, there are not many that I know my own 
mind about." 

"By Jove, no more do I! It is not my way to bother my brains with 
what does not concern me. My notion of things is simple enough. Let me 
only have the girl I like, say I, with a comfortable house over my head, 
and what care I for all the rest? Fortune is nothing. I am sure of a good 
income of my own; and if she had not a penny, why so much the better." 

"Very true. I think like you there. If there is a good fortune on one 
side, there can be no occasion for any on the other. No matter which has 
it, so that there is enough. I hate the idea of one great fortune looking out 
for another; and to marry for money I think the wickedest thing in ex- 
istence. 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 any- 
thing in his nature to urge; and she hurried away, leaving him to the 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1133 

undivided consciousness of his own happy address and her explicit en- 
couragement. 

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 insensibil- 
ity. The disclosure, however, of the great secret of James's going to 
Fullerton the day before did raise some emotion in Mrs. Allen. She could 
not listen to that with perfect calmness, but repeatedly regretted the 
necessity of its concealment, wished she could have known his intention, 
wished she could have seen him before he went, as she should certainly 
have troubled him with her best regards to his father and mother, and 
her kind compliments to all the Skinners. 



Chapter 16 

CATHERINE'S expectations of pleasure from her visit in Milsom Street 
were so very high, that disappointment was inevitable ; and, accordingly, 
though she was most politely received by General Tilney, and kindly 
welcomed by his daughter; though Henry was at home, and no one else 
of the party, she found on her return, without spending many hours in 
the examination of her feelings, that she had gone to her appointment 
preparing for happiness which it had not afforded. Instead of finding 
herself improved in acquaintance with Miss Tilney, from the intercourse 
of the day, she seemed hardly so intimate with her as before. Instead of 
seeing Henry Tilney to greater advantage than ever, in the ease of a 
family party, he had never said so little nor been so little agreeable; and, 
in spite of their father's great civilities to her, in spite of his thanks, invita- 
tions and compliments, it had been a release to get away from him. It 
puzzled her to account for all this. It could not be General Tilney's fault. 
That he was perfectly agreeable and good-natured, and altogether a 
very charming man, did not admit of a doubt, for he was tal! and hand- 
some, 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; in- 
sufferable 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 in her life ! Not to do the honours of 



H34 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

her house with common good breeding! To behave to her guest with such 
superciliousness! Hardly even to speak to her!" 

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

"Oh, don't defend her! And then the brother, he who had appeared 
so attached to you! Good heavens! Well, some people's feelings are in- 
comprehensible. And so he hardly looked once at you the whole day?" 

"I do not say so ; but he did not seem in good spirits." 

"How contemptible! Of all things in the world inconstancy is my 
aversion. Let me entreat you never to think of him again, my deal 
Catherine; indeed, he is unworthy of you." 

"Unworthy! I do not suppose he ever thinks of me." 

"That is exactly what I say; he never thinks of you. Such fickleness! 
Oh, how different to your brother and to mine! I really believe John has 
the most constant heart." 

"But as for General Tilney, I assure you it would be impossible for 
anybody to behave to me with greater civility and attention; it seemed 
to be his only care to entertain and make me happy." 

"Oh! I know no harm of him; I do not suspect him of pride. I believe 
he is a very gentlemanlike man. John thinks very well of him, and John's 
judgment " 

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

"And must I go?" 

"Do not you intend it? I thought it was all settled." 

"Nay, since you make such a point of it, I can refuse you nothing. But 
do not insist upon my being very agreeable, for my heart, you know, will 
be some forty miles off; and as for dancing, do not mention it, I beg; that 
is quite out of the question. Charles Hodges will plague me to death, I 
daresay; but I shall cut him very short. Ten to one but he guesses the 
reason, and that is exactly what I want to avoid ; so I shall insist on his 
keeping his conjecture to himself." 

Isabella's opinion of the Tilneys did not influence her friend ; she was 
sure there had been no insolence in the manners either of brother or sister ; 
and she did not credit there being any pride in their hearts. The evening 
rewarded her confidence; she was met by one with the same kindness, 
and by the other with the same attention as heretofore. Miss Tilney 
took pains to be near her, and Henry asked her to dance. 

Having heard the day before in Milsom Street that their elder brother, 
Captain Tilney, was expected almost every hour, she was at no loss for 
the name of a very fashionable-looking, handsome young man, whom 
she had never seen before, and who now evidently belonged to their party. 
She looked at him with great admiration; and even supposed it possible, 
that some people might think him handsomer than his brother, though, 
in her eyes, his air was more assuming, and his countenance less pre- 
possessing. His taste and manners were, beyond a doubt, decidedly 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1135 

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, what- 
ever 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 great-coats, by whom she will hereafter 
be forced into a travelling chaise and four, which will drive off with 
incredible speed. Catherine, meanwhile, undisturbed by presentiments of 
such an evil, or of any evil at all, except that of having but a short set to 
dance down, enjoyed her usual happiness with Henry Tilney, listening 
with sparkling eyes to everything he said ; and, in finding him irresistible, 
becoming so herself. 

At the end of the first dance, Captain Tilney came towards them 
again, and, much to Catherine's dissatisfaction, pulled his brother away. 
They retired whispering together ; and, though her delicate sensibility did 
not take immediate alarm, and lay it down as fact, that Captain Tilney 
must have heard some malevolent misrepresentation of her, which he 
now hastened to communicate to his brother, in the hope of separating 
them for ever, she could not have her partner conveyed from her sight 
without very uneasy sensations. Her suspense was of full five minutes' 
duration; and she was beginning to think it a very long quarter of an 
hour, when they both returned ; and an explanation was given by Henry's 
requesting to know if she thought her friend Miss Thorpe would have 
any objection to dancing, as his brother would be most happy to be 
introduced to her. Catherine, without hesitation, replied that she was 
very sure Miss Thorpe did not mean to dance at all. The cruel reply was 
passed on to the other, and he immediately walked away. 

"Your brother will not mind it, I know," said she, "because I heard 
him say before that he hated dancing; but it was very good-natured in 
him to think of it. I suppose he saw Isabella sitting down, and fancied 
she might wish for a partner ; but he is quite mistaken, for she would not 
dance upon any account in the world." 

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

"Why? What do you mean?" 

"With you it is not, How is such a one likely to be influenced? What 
is the inducement most likely to act upon such a person's feelings, age, 
situation, and probable habits of life considered? But, How should / 
be influenced; and what would be my inducement in acting so and so?" 

"I do not understand you." 

"Then we are on very unequal terms, for I understand you perfectly 
well." 

"Me? Yes; I cannot speak well enough to be unintelligible." 

"Bravo! An excellent satire on modern language." 

"But pray tell me what you mean." 



n 3 6 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"Shall I, indeed? Do you really desire it? But you are not aware of 
the consequences ; it will involve you in a very cruel embarrassment, and 
certainly bring on a disagreement between us." 
"No, no; it shall not do either; I am not afraid." 

"Well, then, I only meant that your attributing my brother's wish of 
dancing with Miss Thorpe to good nature alone, convinced me of you 
being superior in good nature yourself to all the rest of the world." 

Catherine blushed and disclaimed, and the gentleman's predictions 
were verified. There was a something, however, in his words which repaid 
her for the pain of confusion; and that something occupied her mind 
so much, that she drew back for some time, forgetting to speak or to 
listen, and almost forgetting where she was ; till, roused by the voice of 
Isabella, she looked up and saw her with Captain Tilney preparing to 
give them hands across. 

Isabella shrugged her shoulders and smiled, the only explanation of 
this extraordinary change which could at that time be given ; but as it 
was not quite enough for Catherine's comprehension, she spoke her 
astonishment in very plain terms to her partner. 

"I cannot think how it could happen! Isabella was so determined not 
to dance." 

"And did Isabella never change her mind before?" 

"Oh! but, because And your brother! After what you told him 

from me, how could he think of going to ask her?" 

"I cannot take surprise to myself on that head. You bid me be surprised 
on your friend's account, and therefore I am ; but as for my brother, his 
conduct in the business, I must own, has been no more than I believed 
him perfectly equal to. The fairness of your friend was an open attrac- 
tion; her firmness, you know, could only be understood by yourself." 

"You are laughing; but, I assure you, Isabella is very firm in general." 

"It is as much as should be said of anyone. To be always firm must 
be to be often obstinate. When properly to relax is the trial of judgment; 
and, without reference to my brother, I really think Miss Thorpe has by 
no means chosen ill in fixing on the present hour." 

The friends were not able to get together for any confidential discourse 
till all the dancing was over; but then, as they walked about the room 
arm-in-arm, Isabella thus explained herself: "I do not wonder at your 
surprise; and I am really fatigued to death. He is such a rattle! Amusing 
enough, if my mind had been disengaged; but I would have given the 
world to sit still." 

"Then why did not you?" 

"Oh! my dear, it would have looked so particular; and you know how 
I abhor doing that. I refused him as long as I possibly could, but he would 
take no denial. You have no idea how he pressed me. I begged him to 
excuse me, and get some other partner ; but no, not he ; after aspiring to 
my hand, there was nobody else in the room he could bear to think of; 
and it was not that he wanted merely to dance, he wanted to be with me. 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1137 

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 compli- 
ments ; and so and so then I found there would be no peace if I did not 
stand up. Besides, I thought Mrs. Hughes, who introduced him, might 
take it ill if I did not ; and your dear brother, I am sure he would have 
been miserable if I had sat down the whole evening. I am so glad it 
is over! My spirits are quite jaded with listening to his nonsense; and 
then, being such a smart young fellow, I saw every eye was upon us." 

"He is very handsome, indeed." 

"Handsome! Yes, I suppose he may. I dare say people would admire 
him in general ; but he is not at all in my style of beauty. I hate a florid 
complexion and dark eyes in a man. However, he is very well. Amazingly 
conceited, I am sure. I took him down several times, you know, in my 
way." 

When the young ladies next met, they had a far more interesting 
subject to discuss. James Morland's second letter was then received, and 
the kind intentions of his father fully explained. A living, of which Mr. 
Morland was himself patron and incumbent, of about four hundred 
pounds' yearly value, was to be resigned to his son as soon as he should 
be old enough to take it; no trifling deduction from the family income, 
no niggardly assignment to one of ten children. An estate of at least equal 
value, moreover, was assured as his future inheritance. 

James expressed himself on the occasion with becoming gratitude; and 
the necessity of waiting between two and three years before they could 
marry being, however unwelcome, no more than he had expected, was 
borne by him without discontent. Catherine, whose expectations had been 
as unfixed as her ideas of her father's income, and whose judgment was 
now entirely led by her brother, felt equally well satisfied, and heartily 
congratulated Isabella on having everything so pleasantly settled. 

"It is very charming, indeed," said Isabella, with a grave face. 

"Mr. Morland has behaved vastly handsome, indeed," said the gentle 
Mrs. Thorpe, looking anxiously at her daughter. "I only wish I could do 
as much. One could not expect more from him, you know. If he finds he 
can do more, by the bye, I dare say he will ; for I am sure he must be an 
excellent, good-hearted man. Four hundred is but a small income to 
begin on, indeed; but your wishes, my dear Isabella, are so moderate, 
you do not consider how little you ever want, my dear." 

"It is not on my account I wish for more; but I cannot bear to be 
the means of injuring my dear Morland, making him sit down upon an 
income hardly enough to find one in the common necessaries of life. For 
myself, it is nothing; I never think of myself." 

"I know you never do, my dear; and you will always find your re- 
ward in the affection it makes everybody feel for you. There never was 
a young woman so beloved as you are by everybody that knows you; 
and I dare say when Mr. Morland sees you, my dear child but do not 
let us distress our dear Catherine by talking of snch things. Mr. Morland 



ii38 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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 some- 
thing more; for I am sure he must be a most liberal-minded man." 

"Nobody can think better of Mr. Morland than I do, I am sure. But 
everybody has their failing, you know; and everybody has a right to do 
what they like with their own money." 

Catherine was hurt by these insinuations. "I am very sure," said she, 
"that my father has promised to do as much as he can afford." 

Isabella recollected herself. "As to that, my sweet Catherine, there 
cannot be a doubt, and you know me well enough to be sure that a much 
smaller income would satisfy me. It is not the want of more money that 
makes me just at present a little out of spirits. I hate money; and if our 
union could take place now upon only fifty pounds a year, I should not 
have a wish unsatisfied. Ah! my Catherine, you have found me out. 
There's the sting. The long, long, endless two years and a half that are 
to pass before your brother can hold the living." 

"Yes, yes, my darling Isabella," said Mrs. Thorpe, "we perfectly see 
into your heart. You have no disguise. We perfectly understood the 
present vexation; and everybody must love you the better for such a 
noble, honest affection." 

Catherine's uncomfortable feelings began to lessen. She endeavoured 
to believe that the delay of the marriage was the only source of Isabella's 
regret; and when she saw her at their next interview as cheerful and 
amiable as ever, endeavoured to forget that she had for a minute thought 
otherwise. James soon followed his letter, and was received with the most 
gratifying kindness. 



Chapter 17 

THE Aliens 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 counter- 
balance. Her whole happiness seemed at stake, while the affair was in 
suspense, and everything secured when it was determined that the lodg- 
ings 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 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1139 

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 coun- 
tenance fell; and in a voice of most sincere concern she echoed Miss 
Tilney's concluding words, "By the end of another week!" 

"Yes; my father can seldom be prevailed on to give the waters what 
I think a fair trial. He has been disappointed of some friends' arrival 
whom he expected to meet here, and as he is now pretty well, is in a hurry 
to get home." 

"I am very sorry for it," said Catherine dejectedly; "if I had known 
this before ' 

"Perhaps," said Miss Tilney in an embarrassed manner, "you would 
be so good it would make me very happy if 

The entrance of her father put a stop to the civility which Catherine 
was beginning to hope might introduce a desire of their corresponding. 
After addressing her with his usual politeness, he turned to his daughter, 
and said, "Well, Eleanor, may I congratulate you on being successful in 
your application to your fair friend?" 

"I was just beginning to make the request, sir, as you came in." 

"Well, proceed by all means. I know how much your heart is in it. My 
daughter, Miss Morland," he continued, without leaving his daughter 
time to speak, "has been forming a very bold wish. We leave Bath, as she 
has perhaps told you, on Saturday se'nnight. A letter from my steward 
tells me that my presence is wanted at home ; and being disappointed in 
my hope of seeing the Marquis of Longtown and General Courtenay here, 
some of my very old friends, there is nothing to detain me longer in Bath. 
And could we carry our selfish point with you, we should leave it without 
a single regret. Can you, in short, be prevailed on to quit this scene of 
public triumph, and oblige your friend Eleanor with your company in 
Gloucestershire? I am almost ashamed to make the request, though its 
presumption would certainly appear greater to every creature in Bath 
than yourself. Modesty such as yours but not for the world would I 
pain it by open praise. If you can be induced to honour us with a visit, 
you will make us happy beyond expression. 'Tis true we can offer you 
nothing like the gaieties of this lively place; we can tempt you neither 
by amusement nor splendour, for our mode of living, as you see, is plain 
and unpretending, yet no endeavours shall be wanting on our side to 
make Northanger Abbey not wholly disagreeable." 

Northanger Abbey! These were thrilling words, and wound up 
Catherine's feelings to the highest points 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 



n 4 o THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

present enjoyment and every future hope was contained in it, and her 
acceptance, with only the saving clause of papa and mamma's approba- 
tion, 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 ex- 
cellent friends in Pulteney Street, and obtained their sanction of his wishes. 
"Since they can consent to part with you," said he, "we may expect 
philosophy from all the world." 

Miss Tilney was earnest, though gentle, in her secondary civilities, and 
the affair became in a few minutes as nearly settled as this necessary refer- 
ence to Fullerton would allow. 

The circumstances of the morning had led Catherine's feelings through 
the varieties of suspense, security, and disappointment: but they were 
now safely lodged in perfect bliss; and with spirits elated to rapture, with 
Henry at her heart, and Northanger Abbey on her lips, she hurried home 
to write her letter. Mr. and Mrs. Morland, relying on the discretion of the 
friends to whom they had already entrusted their daughter, felt no doubt 
of the propriety of an acquaintance which had been formed under their 
eye, and sent, therefore, by return of post, their ready consent to her visit 
in Gloucestershire. This indulgence, though not more than Catherine had 
hoped for, completed her conviction of being favoured beyond every other 
human creature, in friends and fortune, circumstances and chance. Every- 
thing seemed to co-operate for her advantage. By the kindness of her 
first friends, the Aliens, she had been introduced into scenes where pleas- 
ures of every kind had met her. Her feelings, her preferences had each 
known the happiness of a return. Wherever she felt attachment, she had 
been able to create it. The affection of Isabella was to be secured to her in 
a sister. The Tilneys, they by whom above all she desired to be favourably 
thought of, outstripped even her wishes in the flattering measures by 
which their intimacy was to be continued. She was to be their chosen 
visitor, she was to be for weeks under the same roof with the person whose 
society she mostly prized; and, in addition to all the rest, this roof was to 
be the roof of an abbey ! Her passion for ancient edifices was next in de- 
gree to her passion for Henry Tilney, and castles and abbeys made usually 
the charm of those reveries which his image did not fill. To see and ex- 
plore either the ramparts and keep of the one, or the cloi. ters of the other, 
had been for many weeks a darling wish, though to be more than the visitor 
of an hour had seemed too nearly impossible for desire ; and yet this was 
to happen. With all the chances against her of house, hall, place, park, 
court and cottage, Northanger turned up an abbey, and she was to be its 
inhabitant. Its long, damp passages, its narrow cells and ruined chapel, 
were to be within her daily reach, and she could not entirely subdue the 
hope of some traditional legends, some awful memorials of an injured and 
ill-fated nun. 

It was wonderful that her friends should seem so little elated by the 
possession of such a home ; that the consciousness of it should be so meekly 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1141 

borne. The power of early habit only could account for it. A distinction to 
which they had been born gave no pride. Their superiority of abode was 
no more to them than their superiority of person. 

Many were the inquiries she was eager to make of Miss Tilney ; but so 
active were her thoughts, that when these inquiries were answered, she 
was hardly more assured than before of Northanger Abbey having been 
a richly endowed convent at the time of the Reformation, of its having 
fallen into the hands of an ancestor of the Tilneys on its dissolution, of a 
large portion of the ancient building still making a part of the present 
dwelling although the rest was decayed, or of its standing low in a valley, 
sheltered from the north and east by rising woods of oak. 



Chapter 18 

WITH a mind thus full of happiness, Catherine was hardly aware that 
two or three days had passed away without her seeing Isabella for more 
than a few minutes together. She began first to be sensible of this, and to 
sigh for her conversation, as she walked along the Pump Room one morn- 
ing, 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 be- 
tween the doors, which commanded a tolerable view of everybody enter- 
ing at either, "it is so out of the way." 

Catherine, observing that Isabella's eyes were continually bent towards 
one door or the other, as in eager expectation, and remembering how often 
she had been falsely accused of being arch, thought the present a fine op- 
portunity for being really so, and therefore gaily said, "Do not be uneasy, 
Isabella. James will soon be here." 

"Psha! my dear creature," she replied, "do not think me such a simple- 
ton as to be always wanting to confine him to my elbow. It would be 
hideous to be always together; we should be the jest of the place. And so 
you are going to Northanger ! I am amazingly glad of it. It is one of the 
finest old places in England, I understand. I shall depend upon a most 
particular description of it." 

"You shall certainly have the best in my power to give. But who are 
you looking for? Are your sisters coming?" 

"I am not looking for anybody. One's eyes must be somewhere, and you 
know what a foolish trick I have of fixing mine, when my thoughts are 
a hundred miles off. I am amazingly absent ; I believe I am the most absent 
creature in the world. Tilney says it is always the case with minds of a 
certain stamp." 

"But I thought, Isabella, you had something in particular to tell me?" 

"Oh, yes! and so I have. But here is a proof of what I was saying. My 



n 4 2 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

poor head! I had quite forgot it. Well, the thing is this: I have just had a 
letter from John. You can guess the contents." 

"No, indeed, I cannot." 

"My sweet love, do not be so abominably affected. What can he write 
about but yourself? You know he is over head and ears in love with you." 

"With me, dear Isabella?" 

"Nay, my sweetest Catherine, this is being quite absurd. Modesty, and 
all that, is very well in its way, but really a little common honesty is some- 
times quite as becoming. I have no idea of being so overstrained. It is 
fishing for compliments. His attentions were such that a child must have 
noticed, and it was but half an hour before he left Bath that you gave him 
the most positive encouragement. He says so in this letter ; says that he 
as good as made you an offer, and that you received his advances in the 
kindest way, and now he wants me to urge his suit, and say all manner of 
pretty things to you. So it is in vain to affect ignorance." 

Catherine, with all the earnestness of truth, expressed her astonishment 
at such a charge, protesting her innocence of every thought of Mr. 
Thorpe's being in love with her, and the consequent impossibility of her 
having ever intended to encourage him. "As to any attentions on his side, 
I do declare, upon my honour, I never was sensible of them for a moment, 
except just his asking me to dance the first day of his coming ; and as to 
making me an offer, or anything like it, there must be some unaccountable 
mistake. I could not have misunderstood a thing of that kind, you know; 
and, as I ever wish to be believed, I solemnly protest that no syllable of 
such a nature ever passed between us. The last half-hour before he went 
away ! It must be all and completely a mistake, for I did not see him once 
that whole morning." 

"But that you certainly did, for you spent the whole morning in Edgar's 
Buildings. It was the day your father's consent came, and I am pretty 
sure that you and John were alone in the parlour some time before you 
left the house." 

"Are you? Well, if you say it, it was so, I dare say; but for the life of 
me I cannot recollect it. I do remember now being with you, and seeing 

him as well as 7 the rest; but that we were 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 "L 
never thought, nor expected, nor wished for anything of the kind from 
him. I am excessively concerned that he should have any regard for me, 
but indeed it has been quite unintentional on my side; I never had the 
smallest idea of it. Pray undeceive him as soon as you can, and tell him 
I beg his pardon ; that is I do not know what I ought to say but make 
him understand what I mean in the properest way. I would not speak dis- 
respectfully of a brother of yours, Isabella, I am sure, but you know very 
well that if I could think of one man more than another, he is not the per- 
son." Isabella was silent. "My dear friend, you must not be angry with 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1143 

me. I cannot suppose your brother cares so very much about me ; and, you 
know, we shall still be sisters." 

"Yes, yes" (with a blush), "there are more way than one of our being 
sisters. But where am I wandering to? Well, my dear Catherine, the case 
seems to be, that you are determined against poor John, is not it so?" 

"I certainly cannot return his affection, and as certainly never meant 
to encourage it." 

"Since that is the case, I am sure I shall not tease you any further. 
John desired me to speak to you on the subject, and therefore I have. 
But I confess, as soon as I read his letter, I thought it a very foolish, 
imprudent business, and not likely to promote the good of either ; for what 
were you to live upon, supposing you came together? You have both of 
you something, to be sure, but it is not a trifle that will support a family 
nowadays; and after all that romancers may say, there is no doing with- 
out money. I only wonder John could think of it; he could not have re- 
ceived my last." 

"You do acquit me then of anything wrong? You are convinced that 
I never meant to deceive your brother, never suspected him of liking me 
till this moment?" 

"Oh! as to that," answered Isabella, laughingly, "I do not pretend to 
determine what your thoughts and designs in time past may have been. 
All that is best known to yourself. A little harmless flirtation or so will 
occur, and one is often drawn on to give more encouragement than one 
wishes to stand by. But you may be assured that I am the last person in 
the world to judge you severely. All those things should be allowed for 
in youth and high spirits. What one means one day, you know, one may 
not mean the next. Circumstances change, opinions alter." 

"But my opinion of your brother never did alter; it was always the 
same. You are describing what never happened." 

"My dearest Catherine," continued the other without at all listening 
to her, "I would not for all the world be the means of hurrying you into 
an engagement before you knew what you were about. I do not think 
anything would justify me in wishing you to sacrifice all your happiness 
merely to oblige my brother, because he is my brother, and who perhaps, 
after all, you know, might be just as happy without you ; for people seldom 
know what they would be at, young men especially, they are so amazingly 
changeable and inconstant. What I say is, why should a brother's happi- 
ness be dearer to me than a friend's? You know I carry my notions of 
friendship pretty high. But, above all things, my dear Catherine, do not 
be in a hurry. Take my word for it, that if you are in too great a hurry, 
you will certainly live to repent it. Tilney says, there is nothing people 
are so often deceived in as the state of their own affections ; and I believe 
he is very right. Ah! here he comes; never mind, he will not see us, I am 
sure." 

Catherine, looking up, perceived Captain Tilney; and Isabella, ear- 
nestly fixing her eye on him as she spoke, soon caught his notice. He ap- 



H44 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

preached immediately, and- took the seat to which her movements invited 
him. His first address made Catherine start. Though spoken low, she could 
distinguish, "What! always to be watched, in person or by proxy! " 

"Psha, nonsense!" was Isabella's answer, in the same half whisper. 
"Why do you put such things into my head? If I could believe it! my 
spirit, you know, is pretty independent." 

"I wish your heart was independent. That would be enough for me." 

"My heart, indeed! What can you have to do with hearts? You men 
have none of you any hearts." 

"If we have not hearts, we have eyes ; and they give us torment enough." 

"Do they? I am sorry for it; I am sorry they find anything so disagree- 
able in me. I will look another way. I hope this pleases you" (turning her 
back on him) ; "I hope your eyes are not tormented now." 

"Never more so : for the edge of a blooming cheek is still in view at 
once too much and too little." 

Catherine heard all this and, quite out of countenance, could listen no 
longer. Amazed that Isabella could endure it, and jealous for her brother, 
she rose up, and saying she should join Mrs. Allen, proposed their walking. 
But for this Isabella showed no inclination. She was so amazingly tired, 
and it was so tedious to parade about the Pump Room; and if she moved 
from her seat, she should miss her sisters ; she was expecting her sisters 
every moment, so that her dearest Catherine must excuse her, and must 
sit quietly down again. But Catherine could be stubborn too ; and Mrs. 
Allen just then coming up to propose their returning home, she joined her 
and walked out of the Pump Room, leaving Isabella still sitting with 
Captain Tilney. With much uneasiness did she thus leave them. It seemed 
to her that Captain Tilney was falling In love with Isabella, and Isabella 
unconsciously encouraging him; unconsciously it must be, for Isabella's 
attachment to James was as certain and well acknowledged as her engage- 
ment. 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! Cath- 
erine longed to give her a hint of it, to put her on her guard, and prevent 
all the pain which her too lively behaviour might otherwise create both for 
him and her brother. 

The compliment of John Thorpe's affection did not make amends for 
this thoughtlessness in his sister. She was almost as far from believing as 
from v/ishing it to be sincere; for she had not forgotten that he could 
mistake; and his assertion of the offer, and of her encouragement, con- 
vinced 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 



NCRTHANGER ABBEY 1145 

hoped had been spoken in haste, and would never be said again ; and upon 
this she was glad to rest altogether for present ease and comfort. 



Chapter 19 

A FEW days passed away, and Catherine, though not allowing herself 
to suspect her friend, could not help watching her closely. The result of 
her observations was not agreeable. Isabella seemed an altered creature. 
When she saw her indeed surrounded only by their immediate friends in 
Edgar's Buildings or Pulteney Street, her change of manners was so tri- 
fling that, had it gone no further, it might have passed unnoticed. A some- 
thing 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 be- 
yond her comprehension. Isabella could not be aware of the pain she wa& 
inflicting; but it was a degree of wilful thoughtlessness which Catherine 
could not but resent. James was the sufferer. She saw him grave and un- 
easy; 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 nov 
please her, his name was a passport to her goodwill, and she thought with 
sincere compassion of his approaching disappointment; for, in spite of 
what she had believed herself to overhear in the Pump Room, his be- 
haviour was so incompatible with a knowledge of Isabella's engagement, 
that she could not, upon reflection, imagine him aware of it. He might be 
jealous of her brother as a rival, but if more had seemed implied, the fault 
must have been in her misapprehension. She wished, by a gentle remon- 
strance, to remind Isabella of her situation, and make her aware of this 
double unkindness ; but for remonstrance, either opportunity or compre- 
hension was always against her. If able to suggest a hint, Isabella could 
never understand it. In this distress, the intended departure of the Tilney 
family became her chief consolation; their journey into Gloucestershire 
was to take place within a few days, and Captain Tilney 's removal would 
at least restore peace to every heart but his own. But Captain Tilney had 
at present no intention of removing; he was not to be of the party to 
Northanger, he was to continue at Bath. When Catherine knew this, her 
resolution was directly made. She spoke to Henry Tilney on the subject, 
regretting his brother's evident partiality for Miss Thorpe, and entreating 
him to make known her prior engagement. 

"My brother does know it," was Henry's answer. 



H46 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"Does he; then why does he stay here?" 

He made no reply, and was beginning to talk of something else ; but she 
eagerly continued: "Why did not you persuade him to go away? The 
longer he stays, the worse it will be for him at last. Pray advise him for his 
own sake, and for everybody's sake, to leave Bath directly. Absence will 
in time make him comfortable again ; but he can have no hope here, and 
it is only staying to be miserable." 

Henry smiled, and said: "I am sure my brother would not wish to do 
that." 

"Then you will persuade him to go away." 

"Persuasion is not at command; but pardon me, if I cannot even en- 
deavour to persuade him. I have myself told him that Miss Thorpe is 
engaged. He knows what he is about, and must be his own master." 

"No, he does not know what he is about," cried Catherine; "he does not 
know the pain he is giving my brother. Not that James has ever told me 
so, but I am sure he is very uncomfortable." 

"And are you sure it is my brother's doing?" 

"Yes, very sure." 

"Is it my brother's attentions to Miss Thorpe, or Miss Thorpe's ad- 
mission of them, that gives the pain?" 

"Is not it the same thing?" 

"I think Mr. Morland would acknowledge a difference. No man is 
offended by another man's admiration of the woman he loves; it is the 
woman only who can make it a torment." 

Catherine blushed for her friend, and said: "Isabella is wrong. But I am 
sure she cannot mean to torment, for she is very much attached to my 
brother. She has been in love with him ever since they first met, and while 
my father's consent was uncertain, she fretted herself almost into a fever. 
You know she must be attached to him.'' 

"I understand: she is in love with James, and flirts with Frederick." 

"Oh no, not flirts! A woman in love with one man cannot flirt with 
another." 

"It is probable that she will neither love so well, nor flirt so well, as she 
might do either singly. The gentlemen must each give up a little." 

After a short pause, Catherine resumed with: "Then you do not believe 
Isabella so very much attached to my brother?" 

"I can have no opinion on that subject." 

"But what can your brother mean? If he knows her engagement, what 
can he mean by his behaviour?" 

"You are a very close questioner." 

"Am I? I only ask what I want to be told." 

"But do you only ask what I can be expected to tell?" 

"Yes, I think so; for you must know your brother's heart." 

"My brother's heart, as you term it, on the present occasion, I assure 
you I can only guess at." 

"Well?" 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1147 

"Well! Nay, if it is to be guess-work, 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 he has known her." 

"Well," said Catherine, after some moments' consideration, "you may 
be able to guess at your brother's intentions from all this; but I am sure 
I cannot. But is not your father uncomfortable about it? Does not he want 
Captain Tilney to go away? Sure, if your father were to speak to him he 
would go." 

"My dear Miss Morland," said Henry, "in this amiable solicitude for 
your brother's comfort, may you not be a little mistaken? Are you not 
carried a little too far? Would he thank you, either on his own account 
or Miss Thorpe's, for supposing that her affection, or at least her good 
behaviour, is only to be secured by her seeing nothing of Captain Tilney? 
Is he safe only in solitude? Or is her heart constant to him only when 
unsolicited by anyone else? He cannot think this, and you may be sure 
that he would not have you think it. I will not say, 'Do not be uneasy,' 
because I know that you are so at this moment; but be as little uneas> 
as you can. You have no doubt of the mutual attachment of your brother 
and your friend ; depend upon it, therefore, that real jealousy never can 
exist between them ; depend upon it that no disagreement between them 
can be of any duration. Their hearts are open to each other, as neither 
heart can be to you ; they know exactly what is required and what can be 
borne ; and you may be certain, that one will never tease the other beyond 
what is known to be pleasant." 

Perceiving her still to look doubtful and grave, he added: "Though 
Frederick does not leave Bath with us he will probably remain but a very 
short time, perhaps only a few days behind us. His leave of absence will 
soon expire, and he must return to his regiment. And what will then be 
their acquaintance? The mess-room will drink Isabella Thorpe for a fort- 
night, and she will laugh with your brother over poor Tilney's passion for 
a month." 

Catherine would contend no longer against comfort. She had resisted 
its approaches during the whole length of a speech, but it now carried 
her captive. Henry Tilney must know best. She blamed herself for the 
extent of her fears, and resolved never to think so seriously on the subject 
again. 

Her resolution was supported by Isabella's behaviour in their parting 
interview. The Thorpes spent the last evening of Catherine's stay in Pul- 
teney Street, and nothing passed between the lovers to excite her uneasi- 
ness, 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 allow- 
able ; and once she gave her lover a flat contradiction, and once she drew 
back her hand, but Catherine remembered Henry's instructions, and 



n 4 8 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

placed it all to judicious affection. The embraces, tears, and promises of 
the parting fair ones may be fancied. 

Chapter 20 

MR. AND MRS. ALLEN were sorry to lose their young friend, whose good 
humour and cheerfulness had made her a valuable companion, and in the 
promotion of whose enjoyment their own had been greatly increased. 
Her happiness in going with Miss Tilney, however, prevented their wish- 
ing 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 at- 
tended her to Milsom Street, where she was to breakfast, and saw her 
seated with the kindest welcome among her new friends ; but so great was 
her agitation in finding herself as one of the family, and so fearful was she 
of not doing exactly what was right, and of not being able to preserve 
their good opinion, that, in the embarrassment of the first five minutes, 
she could almost have wished to return with him to Pulteney Street. 

Miss Tilney's manners, and Henry's smile, soon did away some of her 
unpleasant feelings: but still she was far from being at ease; nor could 
the incessant attentions of the General himself entirely reassure her. Nay, 
perverse as it seemed, she doubted whether she might not have felt less, 
had she been less attended to. His anxiety for her comfort, his continual 
solicitations that she would eat, and his often-expressed fears of her seeing 
nothing to her taste, though never in her life before had she beheld half 
such variety on a breakfast-table, made it impossible for her to forget 
for a moment that she was a visitor. She felt utterly unworthy of such 
respect, and knew not how to reply to it. Her tranquillity was not im- 
proved 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 lec- 
ture ; and that his tardiness was chiefly resented from being disrespectful 
to her. This was placing her in a very uncomfortable situation, and she 
felt great compassion for Captain Tilney, without being able to hope for 
his good will. 

He listened to his father in silence, and attempted not any defence, 
which confirmed her in fearing that the inquietude of his mind, on Isa- 
bella'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 distin- 
guish nothing but these words, in a whisper to Eleanor, "How glad I shall 
be when you are all off! " 



NORTHANGER A B B E \ H49 

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 great-coat, instead of being brought for him to 
put on directly, was spread out in the curricle in which he was to accom- 
pany his son. The middle seat of the chaise was not drawn out, though 
there were three people to go in it, and his daughter's maid had so crowded 
it with parcels that Miss Morland would not have room to sit; and so 
much was he influenced by this apprehension when he handed her in, 
that she had some difficulty in saving her own new writing-desk from be- 
ing 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 hand- 
some, highly-fed four horses of a gentleman usually perform a journey of 
thirty miles: such was the distance of Northanger from Bath, to be now 
divided into two equal stages. Catherine's spirits revived as they drove 
from the door ; for with Miss Tilney she felt no restraint ; and with the 
interest of a road entirely new to her, of an abbey before, and a curricle 
behind, she caught the last view of Bath without any regret and met with 
every milestone before she expected it. The tediousness of a two hours' 
wait at Petty France, in which there was nothing to be done but to eat 
without being hungry, and loiter about without anything to see, next 
followed ; and her admiration of the style in which they travelled, of the 
fashionable chaise and four, postillions 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 chil- 
dren's spirits, and scarcely anything was said but by himself ; the observa- 
tion of which, with his discontent at whatever the inn afforded,- and his 
angry impatience at the waiters, made Catherine grow every moment 
more in awe of him, and appeared to lengthen the two hours into four. 
At last, however, the order of release was given ; and much was Catherine 
then surprised by the General's proposal of her taking his place in his 
son's curricle for the rest of the journey: "The day was fine, and he was 
anxious for her seeing as much of the country as possible." 

The remembrance of Mr. Allen's opinion respecting young men's open 
carriages made her blush at the mention of such a plan, and her first 
thought was to decline it; but her second was of greater deference for 
General Tilney 's judgment: he could not propose anything improper for 
her; and in the course of a few minutes she found herself with Henry in 
the curricle, as happy a being as ever existed. A very short trial con- 
vinced 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 hav- 
ing 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 



ii 5 o THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

the way, they could have passed it with ease in half a minute. But the 
merit of the curricle did not all belong to the horses: Henry drove so 
well, so quietly, without making any disturbance, without parading to 
her, or swearing at them ; so different from the only gentleman-coachman 
whom it was in her power to compare him with ! And then his hat sat so 
well, and the innumerable capes of his great-coat looked so becomingly 
important! To be driven by him, next to being dancing with him, was 
certainly the greatest happiness in the world. In addition to every other 
delight, she had now that of listening to her own praise, of being thanked 
at least, on his sister's account, for her kindness in thus becoming her 
visitor ; of hearing it ranked as real friendship, and described as creating 
real gratitude. His sister, he said, was uncomfortably circumstanced; 
she had no female companion, and in the frequent absence of her father, 
was sometimes without any companion at all. 

"But how can that be?" said Catherine; "are not you with her?" 

"Northanger is not more than half my home; I have an establishment 
at my own house in Woodston, which is nearly twenty miles from my 
father's, and some of my time is necessarily spent there." 

"How sorry you must be for that!" 

"I am always sorry to leave Eleanor." 

"Yes* but besides your affection for her, you must be so fond of the 
Abbey! After being used to such a home as the Abbey, an ordinary 
parsonage house must be very disagreeable." 

He smiled and said: "You have formed a very favourable idea of the 
Abbey." 

"To be sure I have. Is not it a fine old place, just like what one reads 
about?" 

"And are you prepared to encounter all the horrors that a building such 
as 'what one reads about' may produce? Have you a stout heart? Nerves 
fit for sliding panels and tapestry?" 

"Oh! yes, I do not think I should be easily frightened, because there 
would be so many people in the house; and besides, it has never been 
uninhabited and left deserted for years, and then the family come back to 
it unawares without giving any notice, as generally happens." 

"No, certainly. We shall not have to explore our way into a hall dimly 
lighted by the expiring embers of a wood fire, nor be obliged to spread 
our beds on the floor of a room without windows, doors or furniture. But 
you must be aware that when a young lady is (by whatever means) intro- 
duced 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 of kin died in it about twenty years before. 
Can you stand such a ceremony as this? Will not your mind misgive you, 
when you find yourself in this gloomy chamber, too lofty and extensive 
for you, with only the feeble rays of a single lamp to take in its size, its 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1151 

walls hung with tapestry exhibiting figures as large as life, and the bed 
of dark green stuff or purple velvet, presenting even a funereal appear- 
ance. Will not your heart sink within you?" 

"Oh! but this will not happen to me, I am sure." 

"How dreadfully 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 whrich no efforts can open, and over the fire-place the 
portrait of some handsome warrior, whose features will so incompre- 
hensibly 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 
curtseys off: you listen to the sound of her receding footsteps as long as 
the last echo can reach you; and when, with fainting spirits, you attempt 
to fasten your door, you discover, with increased alarm, that it has no 
lock." 

"Oh! Mr. Tilney, how frightful! This is just like a book! But it cannot 
really happen to me. I am sure your housekeeper is not really Dorothy. 
Well, what then?" 

"Nothing further to alarm, perhaps, may occur the first night. After 
surmounting your unconquerable horror of the bed, you will retire to rest, 
and get a few hours' unquiet slumber. But on the second, or at farthest 
the third night after your arrival, you will probably have a violent storm. 
Peals of thunder so loud as to seem to shake the edifice to its foundation 
will roll round the neighbouring mountains; and during the frightful 
gusts of wind which accompany it, you will probably think you discern 
(for your lamp is not extinguished) one part of the hanging more violently 
agitated than the rest. Unable of course to repress your curiosity in so 
favourable a moment for indulging it, you will instantly arise, and throw- 
ing your dressing-gown around you, proceed to examine this mystery. 
After a very short search you will discover a division in the tapestry so 
artfully constructed as to defy the minutest inspection, and on opening 
it a door will immediately appear, which door being only secured by 
massy bars and a padlock, you will, after a few efforts, succeed in opening, 
and with your lamp in your hand, will pass through it into a small vaulted 
room." 

"No, indeed; I should be too much frightened to do any such thing." 

"What! not when Dorothy has given you to understand that there is a 
secret subterraneous communication between your apartment and the 
chapel of St. Anthony, scarcely two miles off? Could you shrink from so 
simple an adventure? No, no; you will proceed into this small vaulted 
room, and through this into several others, without perceiving anything 
very remarkable in either. In one, perhaps, there may be a dag'/er, in 



ii S 2 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

another, a few drops of blood, and in a third the remains of some instru- 
ment of torture; but there being nothing in all this out of the common 
way, and your lamp being nearly exhausted, you will return towards your 
own apartment. In repassing through the small vaulted room, however, 
your eyes will be attracted towards a large, old-fashioned cabinet of 
ebony and gold, which, though narrowly examining the furniture before, 
you had passed unnoticed. Impelled by an irresistible presentiment you 
will eagerly advance to it, unlock its folding doors, and search into every 
drawer ; but for some time without discovering anything of importance ; 
perhaps nothing but a considerable hoard of diamonds. At last, however, 
by touching a secret spring, an inner compartment will open, a roll of 
paper appears, you seize it it contains many sheets of manuscript ; you 
hasten with the precious treasure into your own chamber, but scarcely 
have you been able to decipher, 'Oh, thou, whomsoever thou mayst be, 
into whose hands these memoirs of the wretched Matilda may fall,' when 
your lamp suddenly expires in the socket, and leaves you in total 
darkness." 

"Oh no, no! do not say so. Well, go on." 

But Henry was too much amused by the interest he had raised to be 
able to carry it farther ; he could no longer command solemnity either of 
subject or voice, and was obliged to entreat her to use her own fancy in the 
perusal of Matilda's woes. Catherine, recollecting herself, grew ashamed 
of her eagerness, and began earnestly to assure him that her attention had 
been fixed without the smallest apprehension of really meeting with what 
he related. Miss Tilney, she was sure, would never put her into such a 
chamber as he had described. She was not at all afraid. 

As they drew near the end of their journey, her impatience for a sight of 
the Abbey, for some time suspended by his conversation on subjects very 
different, returned in full force, and every bend in the road was expected, 
with solemn awe, to afford a glimpse of its massy walls of grey stone, 
rising amidst a grove of ancient oaks, with the last beams of the sun 
playing in beautiful splendour on its high Gothic windows. But so low did 
the building stand, that she found herself passing through the great gates 
of the lodge, into the very grounds of Northanger, without having dis- 
cerned even an antique chimney. 

She knew not that she had any right to be surprised, but there was 
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 



NORTHANGER ABBEY HS3 

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 mur- 
derer to her ; it had wafted nothing worse than a thick mizzling rain, and 
having given a good shake to her habit, she was ready to be shown into the 
common drawing-room, and capable of considering where she was. 

An Abbey! Yes, it was delightful to be really in an Abbey! But she 
doubted, as she looked round the room, whether anything within her 
observation would have given her the consciousness. The furniture was in 
all the profusion and elegance of modern taste. The fire-place where she 
had expected the ample and ponderous carving of former times, was 
contracted to a Rumford, with slabs of plain, though handsome, marble, 
and ornaments over it of the prettiest English china. The windows, to 
which she looked with peculiar dependence, from having heard the General 
talk of his preserving them in their Gothic form with reverential care, 
were yet less what her fancy had portrayed. To be sure the pointed arch 
was preserved, the form of them was Gothic, they might be even case- 
ments, but every pane was so large, so clear, so light ! To an imagination 
which had hoped for the smallest divisions and the heaviest stone work, 
for painted glass, dirt, and cobwebs, the difference was very distressing. 

The General, perceiving how her eye was employed, began to talk of the 
smallness of the room and simplicity of the furniture, where everything 
being for daily use, pretended only to comfort, &c., flattering himself, 
however, that there were some apartments in the Abbey not unworthy her 
notice, and was proceeding to mention the costly gilding of one in partic- 
ular, when, taking out his watch, he stopped short, to pronounce it, with 
surprise, within twenty minutes of five! This seemed the word of separa- 
tion and Catherine found herself hurried away by Miss Tilney, in such 
a manner as convinced her that the strictest punctuality to the family 
hours would be expected at Northanger. 

Returning through the large and lofty hall, they ascended a broad 
staircase of shining oak, which, after many flights and many landing- 
places, brought them upon a long wide gallery. On one side it had a range 
of doors, and it was lighted on the other by windows, which Catherine had 
only Hme to discover looked into a quadrangle, before Miss Tilney led the 
way into a chamber, and, scarcely staying to hope she would find it com- 
fortable, left her with an anxious entreaty that she would make as little 
alteration as possible in her dress. 



Chapter 21 

A MOMENT'S glance was enough to satisfy Catherine that her apart- 
ment was very unlike the one which Henry had endeavoured to alarm 
her by the description of. It was by no means unreasonably large, and 



HS4 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

contained neither tapestry nor velvet. The walls were papered, the floor 
was carpeted, the windows were neither less perfect nor more dim than 
those of the drawing-room below; the furniture, though not of the latest 
fashion, was handsome and comfortable, and the air of the room alto- 
gether far from uncheerful. Her heart instantaneously at ease on this 
point, she resolved to lose no time in particular examination of anything, 
as she greatly dreaded disobliging the General by any delay. Her habit 
therefore was thrown off with all possible haste, and she was preparing to 
unpin the linen package, which the chaise-seat had conveyed for her im- 
mediate accommodation, when her eye suddenly fell on a large high chest, 
standing back in a deep recess on one side of the fire-place. The sight of 
it made her start ; and, forgetting everything else, she stood gazing on it 
in motionless wonder, while these thoughts crossed her: 

"This is strange, indeed! I did not expect such a sight as this! An 
immense heavy chest! what can it hold? Why should it be placed here? 
Pushed back, too, as if meant to be out of sight ! I will look into it ; cost me 
what it may, I will look into it, and directly too by daylight. If I stay till 
evening my candle may go out." She advanced and examined it closely; it 
was 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 vio- 
lence; 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 distin- 
guish anything with certainty. She could not, in whatever direction she 
took it, believe the last letter to be a T; and yet that it should be anything 
else in that house was a circumstance to raise no common degree of 
astonishment. If not originally theirs, by what strange events could it 
have fallen into the Tilney family? 

Her fearful curiosity was every moment growing greater ; and seizing, 
with trembling hands, the clasp of the lock, she resolved, at all hazards, to 
satisfy herself at least as to its contents. With difficulty, for something 
seemed to resist her efforts, she raised the lid a few inches; but at that 
moment a sudden knocking at the door of the room made her, starting, 
quit her hold, and the lid closed with alarming violence. This ill-timed 
intruder was Miss Tilney's maid, sent by her mistress to be of use to Miss 
Morland ; and though Catherine immediately dismissed her, it recalled her 
to the sense of what she ought to be doing, and forced her, in spite of her 
anxious desire to penetrate this mystery, to proceed in her dressing with- 
out 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 toilet 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 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1155 

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 lidj 
and gave to her astonished eyes the view of a white cotton counter- 
pane, 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 genera- 
tions 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 despatch. Miss 
Tilney gently hinted her fear of being late ; and in half a minute they tan 
down stairs together, in an alarm not wholly unfounded, for General 
Tilney was pacing the drawing-room, his watch in his hand, and having, 
on the very instant of their entering, pulled the bell with violence, ordered, 
"Dinner to be on table directly!" 

Catherine trembled at the emphasis with which he spoke, and sat pale 
and breathless, in a most humble mood, concerned for his children, and 
detesting old chests; and the General recovering his politeness as he 
looked at her, spent the rest of his time in scolding his daughter for so 
foolishly hurrying her fair friend, who was absolutely out of breath from 
haste, when there was not the least occasion for hurry in the world ; but 
Catherine could not at all get over the double distress of having involved 
her friend in a lecture and been a great simpleton herself, till they were 
happily seated at the dinner-table, when the General's complacent smiles, 
and a good appetite of her own, restored her to peace. The dining-parlour 
was a noble room, suitable in its dimensions to a much larger drawing- 
room than the one in common use, and fitted up in a style of luxury and 
expense which was almost lost on the unpractised eye of Catherine, who 
saw little more than its spaciousness and the number of their attendants. 
Of the former, she spoke aloud her admiration ; and the General, with a 
very gracious countenance, acknowledged that it was by no means an ill- 
sized room ; and further confessed, that, though as careless on such sub- 
jects as most people, he did look upon a tolerably large eating-room as one 
of the necessaries of life; he supposed, however, "that she must have been 
used to much better sized apartments at Mr. Allen's?" 

"No, indeed," was Catherine's honest assurance; "Mr. Allen's dining- 
parlour was not more than half as large ; " and she had never seen so large 
a room as this in her life. The General's good-humour increased. Why, as 



iiS6 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

he had such rooms, he thought it would be simple not to make use of them ; 
but, upon his honour, he believed there might be more comfort in rooms of 
only half their size. Mr. Allen's house, he was sure, must be exactly of the 
true size for rational happiness. 

The evening passed without any further disturbance, and, in the occa- 
sional absence of General Tilney, with much positive cheerfulness. It 
was only in his presence that Catherine felt the smallest fatigue from her 
journey ; and even then, even in moments of languor, or restraint, a sense 
of general happiness preponderated, and she could think of her friends in 
Bath without one wish of being with them. 

The night was stormy ; the wind had been rising at intervals the whole 
afternoon ; and by the time the party broke up, it blew and rained vio- 
lently. Catherine, as she crossed the hall, listened to the tempest with sen- 
sations 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 hum- 
ming 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 



NORTHAJNGER ABBEY; HS7 

not care if she were the last person up in the house. But she would not 
make up her fire: that would seem cowardly, as if she wished for the 
protection of light after she were in bed." The fire, therefore, died away; 
and Catherine, having spent the best part of an hour in her arrangements, 
was beginning to think of stepping into bed, when, on giving a parting 
glance round the room, she was struck by the appearance of a high, old- 
fashioned black cabinet, which though in a situation conspicuous enough, 
had never caught her notice before. Henry's words, the 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 abso- 
lutely 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 in vain, since sleep must be impossible with the con- 
sciousness 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 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 



ii S 8 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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 in- 
describable. 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 acknowl- 
edged 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 mo- 
ments, was motionless with horror. It was done completely ; not a rem- 
nant 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 suspensions 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 impos- 
sible. 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 ac- 
complishing 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 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1159 

attempt of somebody to enter. Hollow murmurs seemed to creep along the 
gallery, and more than once her blood was chilled by the sound of distant 
moans. Hour after hour passed away, and the wearied Catherine had heard 
three proclaimed by all the clocks in the house, before the tempest sub- 
sided, or she unknowingly fell fast asleep. 



Chapter 22 

THE housemaid's folding back her window-shutters at eight o'clock the 
next day was the sound which first roused Catherine; and she opened 
her eyes, wondering that they could ever have been closed, on objects of 
cheerfulness; her fire was already burning, and a bright morning had 
succeeded the tempest of the night. Instantaneously with the conscious- 
ness of existence, returned her recollection of the manuscript ; and spring- 
ing from the bed in the very moment of the maid's going away, she 
eagerly collected every scattered sheet which had burst from the roll on its 
falling to the ground, and flew back to enjoy the luxury of their perusal on 
her pillow. She now plainly saw that she must not expect a manuscript of 
equal length with the generality of what she had shuddered over in books, 
for the roll, seeming to consist entirely of small disjointed sheets, was 
altogether but of trifling size, and much less than she had supposed it to 
be at first. 

Her greedy eye glanced rapidly over a page. She started at its import. 
Could it be possible, or did not her senses play her false? An inventory of 
linen, in coarse and modern characters, seemed all that was before her! If 
the evidence of sight might be trusted, she held a washing-bill in her hand. 
She seized another sheet, and saw the same articles with little variation ; a 
third, a fourth, and a fifth, presented nothing new. Shirts, stockings, 
cravats, and waistcoats, faced her in each. Two others, penned by the 
same hand, marked an expenditure scarcely more interesting, in letters, 
hair-powders, shoe-string, and breeches-ball; and the larger sheet, which 
had enclosed the rest, seemed by its first cramped 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 could 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 great measure his own 



n6o THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

doing, for had not the cabinet appeared so exactly to agree with his 
description of her adventures, she should never have felt the smallest 
curiosity about it. This was the only comfort that occurred. Impatient to 
get rid of those hateful evidences of her folly, those detestable papers then 
scattered over the bed, she rose directly ; and folding them up as nearly as 
possible in the same shape as before, returned them to the same spot 
within the cabinet, with a very hearty wish that no untoward accident 
might ever bring them forward again, to disgrace her even with herself. 

Why the locks should have been so difficult to open, however, was still 
something remarkable, for she could now manage them with perfect ease. 
In this there was surely something mysterious, and she indulged in the 
flattering suggestion for half a minute, till the possibility of the door's 
having been at first unlocked, and of being herself its fastener, darted into 
her head and cost her another blush. 

She got away as soon as she could from a room in which her conduct 
produced such unpleasant reflections, and found her way with all speed to 
the breakfast-parlour, as it had been pointed out to her by Miss Tilney the 
evening before. Henry was alone in it ; and his immediate hope of her hav- 
ing been undisturbed by the tempest, with an arch reference to the char- 
acter of the building they inhabited, was rather distressing. For the world 
would she not have her weakness suspected; and yet, unequal to an 
absolute falsehood, was constrained to acknowledge that the wind had 
kept her awake a little. "But we have a charming morning after it," she 
added, desiring to get rid of the subject; "and storms and sleeplessness are 
nothing when they are over. What beautiful hyacinths! I have just learnt 
to love a hyacinth." 

"And how might you learn? By accident or argument?" 

"Your sister taught me: I cannot tell how. Mrs. Allen used to take pains, 
year after year, to make me like them ; but I never could, till I saw them 
the other day in Milsom Street; I am naturally indifferent about flowers." 

"But now you love a hyacinth. So much the better. You have gained a 
new source of enjoyment, and it is well to have as many holds upon 
happiness as possible. Besides, a taste for flowers is always desirable in 
your sex, as a means of getting you out of doors, and tempting you to 
more frequent exercise than you would otherwise take: and though the 
love of a hyacinth may be rather domestic, who can tell, the sentiment 
once raised, but you may in time come to love a rose?" 

"But I do not want any such pursuit to get me out of doors. The 
pleasure of walking and breathing fresh air is enough for me, and in fine 
weather I am out more than half my time. Mamma says I am never 
within." 

"At any rate, however, I am pleased that you have learnt to love a 
hyacinth. The mere habit of learning to love is the thing ; and a teachable- 
ness of disposition in a young lady is a great blessing. Has my sister a 
pleasant mode of instruction?" 

Catherine was saved the embarrassment of attempting an answer by the 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1161 

entrance of the General, whose smiling compliments announced a happy 
state of mind, but whose gentle hint of sympathetic early rising did not 
advance her composure. 

The elegance of the breakfast-set forced itself on Catherine's notice 
when they were seated at table; and, luckily, it had been the General's 
choice. "He was enchanted by her approbation of his taste, confessed it to 
be neat and simple, thought it right to encourage the manufacture of his 
country; and for his part, to his uncritical palate, the tea was as well 
flavoured from the clay of Staffordshire as from that of Dresden or Sevres. 
But this was quite an old set, purchased two years ago. The manufacture 
was much improved since that time : he had seen some beautiful specimens 
when last in town and, had he not been perfectly without vanity of that 
kind, might have been tempted to order a new set. He trusted, however, 
that an opportunity might ere long occur of selecting one, though not for 
himself." Catherine was probably the only one of the party who did not 
understand him. 

Shortly after breakfast Henry left them for Woodston, where business 
required and would keep him two or three days. They all attended in 
the hall to see him mount his horse, and immediately on re-entering the 
breakfast-room, Catherine walked to a window in the hope of catching 
another glimpse of his figure. "This is a somewhat heavy call upon your 
brother's fortitude," observed the General to Eleanor. "Woodston will 
make but a sombre appearance to-day." 

"Is it a pretty place?" asked Catherine. 

"What say you, Eleanor? Speak your opinion; for ladies can best tell 
the taste of ladies in regard to places as well as men. I think it would be 
acknowledged by the most impartial eye to have many recommendations. 
The house stands among fine meadows facing the south-east, with an 
excellent kitchen-garden in the same aspect ; the walls surrounding which 
I built and stocked myself about ten years ago, for the benefit of my son. 
It is a family living, Miss Morland ; and, the property in the place being 
chiefly my own, you may believe I take care that it shall not be a bad one. 
Did Henry's income depend solely on this living, he would not be ill 
provided for. Perhaps it may seem odd, that with only two younger 
children, I should think any profession necessary for him ; and certainly 
there are moments when we could all wish him disengaged from every tie 
of business. But though I may not exactly make converts of you young 
ladies, I am sure your father, Miss Morland, would agree with me in 
thinking it expedient to give every young man some employment. The 
money is nothing, it is not an object ; but employment is the thing. Even 
Frederick, my eldest son, you see, who will perhaps inherit as considerable 
a landed property as any private man in the county, has his profession." 

The imposing effect of this last argument was equal to his wishes. The 
silence of the lady proved it to be unanswerable. 

Something had been said the evening before of her being shown over the 
house, and he now offered himseif as her conductor; and though Catherine 



n62 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

had hoped to explore it accompanied only by his daughter, it was a pro- 
posal of too much happiness in itself, under any circumstances not to be 
gladly accepted ; for she had been already eighteen hours in the Abbey, 
and had seen only a few of its rooms. The netting-box just leisurely drawn 
forth was closed with joyful haste, and she was ready to attend him in a 
moment. "And when they had gone over the house, he promised himself, 
moreover, the pleasure of accompanying her into the shrubberies and 
garden." She curtsied her acquiescence. "But perhaps it might be more 
agreeable to her to make those her first object. The weather was at present 
favourable, and at this time of year the uncertainty was very great of its 
continuing so. Which would she prefer? He was equally at her service. 
Which did his daughter think would most accord with her fair friend's 
wishes? But he thought he could discern. Yes, he certainly read in Miss 
Morland's eyes a judicious desire of making use of the present smiling 
weather. But when did she judge amiss? The Abbey would be always safe 
and dry. He yielded implicitly and would fetch his hat and attend them in 
a moment." He left the room, and Catherine, with a disappointed anxious 
face, began to speak of her unwillingness that he should be taking them 
out of doors against his own inclination, under a mistaken idea of pleasing 
her ; but she was stopped by Miss Tilney's saying, with a little confusion, 
"I believe it will be wisest to take the morning while it is so fine; and do 
not be uneasy on my father's account: he always walks out at this time 
of day." 

Catherine did not exactly know how this was to be understood. Why was 
Miss Tilney embarrassed? Could there be any unwillingness on the 
General's side to show her over the Abbey? The proposal was his own. 
And was it not 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 awaited unfixed till that hour. 

The kitchen-garden was to be next admired, and he led the way to it 
across a small portion of the park. 

The number of acres contained in this garden was such as Catherine 



NORTH ANGER ABBEY 1163 

could not listen to without dismay, being more than double the extent of 
all Mr. Allen's as well as her father's, including churchyard and orchard. 
The walls seemed countless in number, endless in length; a village of hot- 
houses seemed to arise among them, and a whole parish to be at work 
within the enclosure. The General was flattered by her looks of surprise, 
which told him almost as plainly, as he soon forced her to tell him in 
words, that she had never seen any gardens at all equal to them before ; 
and he then modestly owned that, " without any ambition of that sort 
himself, without any solicitude about it, he did believe them to be un- 
rivalled in the kingdom. If he had a hobby-horse, it was that. He loved a 
garden. Though careless enough in most matters of eating, he loved good 
fruit; or if he did not, his friends and children did. There were great 
vexations, however, attending such a garden as his. The utmost care could 
not always secure the most valuable fruits. The pinery had yielded only 
one hundred in the last year. Mr. Allen, he supposed, must feel these 
inconveniences as well as himself." 

"No, not at all. Mr. Allen did not care about the garden and never went 
into it." 

With a triumphant smile of self-satisfaction, the General wished he 
could do the same, for he never entered his without being vexed in one 
way or other, by its falling short of his plan. 

"How were Mr. Allen's succession-houses worked?" describing the 
nature of his own as they entered them. 

"Mr. Allen had only one small hot-house, which Mrs. Allen had the use 
of for her plants in winter, and there was a fire in it now and then." 

"He is a happy man!" said the General, with a look of very happy 
contempt. 

Having taken her into every division, and led her under every wall, till 
she was heartily weary of seeing and wondering, he suffered the girls at 
last to seize the advantage of an outer door, and then expressing his wish 
to examine the effect of some recent alterations about the tea-house, pro- 
posed it as no unpleasant extension of their walk, if Miss Morland were 
not tired. "But where are you going, Eleanor? Why do you choose that 
cold, damp path to it? Miss Morland will get wet. Our best way is across 
the park." 

"This is so favourite a walk of mine," said Miss Tilney, "that I always 
think it the best and nearest way. But perhaps it may be damp." 

It was a narrow winding path through a thick grove of old Scotch firs ; 
and Catherine, struck by its gloomy aspect, and eager to enter it, could 
not, even by the General's disapprobation, be kept from stepping forward. 
He perceived her inclination, and having again urged the plea of health in 
vain, was too polite to make further opposition. He excused himself, 
however, from attending them : The rays of the sun were not too cheerful 
for him, and he would meet them by another course. He turned away; and 
Catherine was shocked to find how much her spirits were relieved by the 
separation. The shock, however, being less real than the relief, offered it nc 



1x64 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

injury ; and she began to talk with easy gaiety of the delightful melancholy 
which such a grove inspired. 

"I am particularly fond of this spot," said her companion, with a sigh. 
"It was my mother's favourite walk." 

Catherine had never heard Mrs. Tilney mentioned in the family before; 
and the interest excited by this tender remembrance showed itself directly 
in her altered countenance, and in the attentive pause with which she 
waited for something more. 

"I used to walk here so often with her," added Eleanor ; "though I never 
loved it then as I have loved it since. At that time, indeed, I used to 
wonder at her choice. But her memory endears it now." 

"And ought it not," reflected Catherine, "to endear it to her husband? 
Yet the General would not enter it." Miss Tilney continuing silent, she 
ventured to say, "Her death must have been a great affliction.'* 

"A great and increasing one," replied the other, in a low voice. "I was 
only thirteen when it happened; and though I felt my loss perhaps as 
strongly as one so young could feel it, I did not, I could not then know 
what a loss it was." She stopped for a moment, and then added with 
great firmness: "I have no sister, you know; and though Henry though 
my brothers are very affectionate, and Henry is a great deal here, which 
I am most thankful for, it is impossible for me not to be often solitary." 

"To be sure, you must miss him very much." 

"A mother would have been always present; a mother would have been 
a constant friend; her influence would have been beyond all other." 

"Was she a very charming woman? Was she handsome? Was there 
any picture of her in the Abbey? And why had she been so partial to that 
grove? Was it from dejection of spirits?" were questions now eagerly 
poured forth. The first three received a ready affirmative, the two others 
were passed by; and Catherine's interest in the deceased Mrs. Tilney 
augmented with every question, whether answered or not. Of her unhappi- 
ness in marriage she felt persuaded. The General certainly had been an 
unkind husband. He did not love her walk ; could he, therefore, have loved 
her? And besides, handsome as he was, there was a something in the turn 
of his features which spoke his not having behaved well to her. 

"Her picture, I suppose," blushing at the consummate art of her own 
question, "hangs in your father's room?" 

"No; it was intended for the drawing-room; but my father was dis- 
satisfied 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 bedchamber, where 
I shall be happy to show it you: it is very like." Here was another proof. A 
portrait, very like, of a departed wife, not valued by her husband. He must 
have been dreadfully cruel to her. 

Catherine attempted no longer to hide from herself the nature of the 
feelings which, in spite of all his attentions, he had previously excited ; and 
what had been terror and dislike before, was now absolute aversion. Yes, 
aversion ! His cruelty to such a charming woman made him odious to her. 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1165 

She had often read of such characters; characters, which Mr. Allen had 
been used to call unnatural and overdrawn ; but here was proof positive to 
the contrary. 

She had just settled this point, when the end of the path brought them 
directly upon the General ; and in spite of all her virtuous indignation, sho 
found herself again obliged to walk with him, listen to him, and even t& 
smile when he smiled. Being no longer able, however, to receive pleasure 
from the surrounding objects, she soon began to walk with lassitude; the 
General perceived it, and with a concern for her health, which seemed to 
reproach her for her opinion of him, was most urgent for returning with his. 
daughter to the house. He would follow them in a quarter of an hour. 
Again they parted ; but Eleanor was called back in half a minute to receive 
a strict charge against taking her friend round the Abbey till his return, 
This second instance of his anxiety to delay what she so much wished for 
struck Catherine as very remarkable. 



Chapter 23 

AN hour passed away before the General came in, spent, on the part of 
his young guest, in no very favourable consideration of his character. 
"This lengthened absence, these solitary rambles, did not speak a mind at 
ease, or a conscience void of reproach." At length he appeared ; and what- 
ever might have been the gloom of his meditations, he could still smile 
with them. Miss Tilney, understanding, in part, her friend's curiosity to 
see the house, soon revived the subject ; and her father being, contrary to 
Catherine's expectations, unprovided with any pretence for further delay, 
beyond that of stopping five minutes to order refreshments to be in the 
room by their return, was at last ready to escort them. 

They set forward; and, with a grandeur of air, a dignified step, which 
caught the eye, but could not shake the doubts of the well-read Catherine, 
he led the way across the hall through the common drawing-room and one 
useless ante-chamber, into a room magnificent both in size and furniture, 
the real drawing-room, used only with company of consequence. It was 
very noble, very grand, very charming, was all that Catherine had to say, 
for her indiscriminating eye scarcely discerned the colour of the satin ; and 
all minuteness of praise, all praise that had such meaning, was supplied by 
the General: the costliness or elegance of any room's fitting up could be 
nothing to her ; she cared for no furniture of a more modern date than the 
fifteenth century. When the General had satisfied his own curiosity, in a 
close examination of every well-known ornament, they proceeded to the 
library, an apartment, in its way, of equal magnificence, exhibiting a 
collection of books, on which an humble man might have looked with 
pride. Catherine heard, admired, and wondered with more genuine feeling 
than before, gathered all that she could from this storehouse of knowledge 
by running over the titles of half a shelf, and was ready to proceed. But 



n66 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

suites of apartments did not spring up with her wishes. Large as was the 
building, she had already visited the greatest part ; though, on being told 
that, with the addition of the kitchen, the six or seven rooms she had now 
seen surrounded three sides of the court, she could scarcely believe it, or 
overcome the suspicion of there being many chambers secreted. It was 
some relief, however, that they were to return to the rooms in common use 
by passing through a few of less importance, looking into the court, which 
with occasional passages, not wholly unintricate, connected the different 
sides ; and she was further soothed in her progress by being told that she 
was treading what had once been a cloister, having traces of cells pointed 
out, and observing several doors that were neither opened nor explained 
to her ; by finding herself successively in a billiard-room and in the Gen- 
eral's private apartment, without comprehending their connection, or be- 
ing able to turn aright when she left them ; and lastly by passing through 
a dark little room, owning Henry's authority, and strewed with his litter 
of books, guns, and great-coats. 

From the dining-room, of which, though already seen, and always to be 
seen at five o'clock, the General could not forego 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 in- 
vention to facilitate the labour of the cooks had been adopted within this 
their spacious theatre ; and, when the genius of others had failed, his own 
had often produced the perfection wanted. His endowments of this spot 
alone might at any time have placed him high among the benefactors of 
the convent. 

With the walls of the kitchen ended all the antiquity of the Abbey ; the 
fourth side of the quadrangle having, on account of its decaying state, 
been removed by the General's father and the present erected in its place. 
All that was venerable ceased here. The new building was not only new, 
but declared itself to be so ; intended only for offices, and enclosed behind 
by stable-yards, no uniformity of architecture had been thought necessary. 
Catherine could have raved at the hand which had swept away what must 
have been beyond the value of all the rest, for the purpose of mere domes- 
tic 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 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1167 

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 curtsey, or some footman in dishabille sneaked off. Yet 
this was an Abbey! How inexpressibly different in these domestic ar- 
rangements from such as she had read about: from abbeys and castles, in 
which, though certainly larger than Northanger, all the dirty work of the 
house was to be done by two pair of female hands at the utmost. How 
they could get through it all, had often amazed Mrs. Allen; and, when 
Catherine saw what was necessary here, she began to be amazed herself. 

They returned to the hall, that the chief staircase might be ascended, 
and the beauty of its wood and ornaments of rich carving might be pointed 
out : having gained the top, they turned in an opposite direction from the 
gallery in which her room lay, and shortly entered one on the same plan, 
but superior in length and breadth. She was here shown successively into 
three large bed-chambers, with their dressing-rooms, most completely and 
handsomely fitted up : everything that money and taste could do, to give 
comfort and elegance to apartments, had been bestowed on these; and, 
being furnished within the last five years, they were perfect in all that 
would be generally pleasing, and wanting in all that could give pleasure to 
Catherine. As they were surveying the last, the General, after slightly 
naming a few of the distinguished characters by whom they had at times 
been honoured, turned with a smiling countenance to Catherine, and 
ventured to hope that henceforward some of the earliest tenants might be 
"our friends from Fullerton." She felt the unexpected compliment, and 
deeply regretted the impossibility of thinking well of a man so kindly 
disposed towards herself, and so full of civility to all her family. 

The gallery was terminated by folding doors, which Miss Tilney, ad- 
vancing, had thrown open, and passed through, and seemed on the point 
of doing the same by the first door to the left, in another long reach of 
gallery, when the General, coming forwards, called her hastily, and, as 
Catherine thought, rather angrily back, demanding whither she were go- 
ing? 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 examina- 
tion was an additional stimulant. Something was certainly to be concealed : 
her fancy, though it had trespassed lately once or twice, could not mislead 
her here ; and what that something was, a short sentence of Miss Tilney's 
as they followed the General at some distance downstairs, seemed to point 
out: "I was going to take you into what was my mother's room, the 



n68 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

room in which she died " were all her words ; but few as they were, 

they conveyed pages of intelligence to Catherine. It was no wonder that 
the General should shrink from the sight of such objects as that room must 
contain a room, in all probability, never entered by him since the 
dreadful scene had passed which released his suffering wife, and left him 
to the stings of conscience. 

She ventured, when next alone with Eleanor, to express her wish of 
being permitted to see it, as well as all the rest of that side of the house ; 
and Eleanor promised to attend her there, whenever they should have a 
convenient hour. Catherine understood her: the General must be watched 
from home, before that room could be entered. "It remains as it was, I 
suppose?" said she, in a tone of feeling. 

"Yes, entirely." 

"And how long ago may it be that your mother died?" 

"She has been dead these nine years." And nine years, Catherine knew, 
was a trifle of time, compared with what generally elapsed after the death 
of an injured wife, before her room was put to rights. 

"You were with her, I suppose, to the last?" 

"No," said Miss Tilney, sighing: "I was unfortunately from home. Her 
illness was sudden and short; and before I arrived, it was all over." 

Catherine's blood ran cold with the horrid suggestions which naturally 

sprang from these words. Could it be possible? Could Henry's father ? 

And yet how many were the examples to justify even the blackest sus- 
picions! And when she saw him in the evening, while she worked with her 
friend, slowly pacing the drawing-room for an hour together in silent 
thoughtfulness, with downcast eyes and contracted brow, she felt secure 
from all possibility of wronging him. It was the air and attitude of a 
Montoni ! What could more plainly speak the gloomy workings of a mind 
not wholly dead to every sense of humanity, in its fearful review of past 
scenes of guilt! Unhappy man! And the anxiousness of her spirits directed 
her eyes towards his figure so repeatedly, as to catch Miss Tilney's notice. 
"My father," she whispered, "often walks about the room in this way ; it :s 
nothing unusual." 

"So much the worse! " thought Catherine: such ill-timed exercise was of 
a piece with the strange unseasonableness of his morning walks, and boded 
nothing good. 

After an evening, the little variety and seeming length of which made 
her peculiarly sensible of Henry's importance among them, she was 
heartily glad to be dismissed ; though it was a look from the General not 
designed for her observation which sent his daughter to the bell. When the 
butler would have lit his master's candle, however, he was forbidden. The 
latter was not going to retire. "I have many pamphlets to finish," said he 
to Catherine, "before I can close my eyes ; and perhaps may be poring over 
the affairs of the nation for hours after you are asleep. Can either of us be 
more meetly employed ?My eyes will be blinding for the good of others; 
and yours preparing by rest for future mischief." 



N O R T HA NGER ABBEY 1/69 

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 when the household slept ; and the probability that Mrs. Tilney yet 
lived, shut up for causes unknown, and receiving from the pitiless hands of 
her husband a nightly supply of coarse food, was the conclusion which 
necessarily followed. Shocking as was the idea, it was at least better than 
a death unfairly hastened, as in the natural course of things she must ere 
long be released. The suddenness of her reputed illness, the absence of her 
daughter, and probably of her other children, at the time, all favoured the 
supposition of her imprisonment. Its origin jealousy, perhaps, or wanton 
cruelty was yet to be unravelled. 

In revolving these matters while she undressed, it suddenly struck her 
as not unlikely that she might that morning have passed near the very 
spot of this unfortunate woman's confinement; might have been within 
a few paces of the cell in which she languished out her days ; for what part 
of the Abbey could be more fitted for the purpose than that which yet 
bore the traces of monastic division? In the high-arched passage, paved 
with stone, which already she had trodden with peculiar awe, she well re- 
membered the doors of which the General had given no account. To what 
might not these doors lead? In support of the plausibility of this conjec- 
ture, 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 3 
transient glimpse, communicating by some secret means with those cells, 
might well have favoured the barbarous proceedings of her husband. 
Down that staircase she had perhaps been conveyed in a state of well- 
prepared insensibility. 

Catherine sometimes started at the boldness of her own surmises, and 
sometimes hoped or feared that she had gone too far; but they were 
supported by such appearances as made their dismissal impossible. 

The side of the quadrangle, in which she supposed the guilty scene to be 
acting, being, according to her belief, just opposite her own, it struck her 
that, if judiciously watched, some rays of light from the General's lamp 
might glimmer through the lower windows, as he passed to the prison of 
his wife ; and, twice before she stepped into bed, she stole gently from her 
room, to the corresponding window in the gallery, to see if it appeared ; 
but all abroad was dark, and it must yet be too early. The various ascend 
ing 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 appalled by darkness, 
steal out and look once more. The clock struck twelve, and Catherine had 
been half an hour asleep. 



iT 7 o THE WORKS OF JA.NE AUSTEN 

Chapter 24 

THE next day afforded no opportunity for the proposed examination of 
the mysterious apartments. It was Sunday, and the whole time between 
morning and afternoon service was required by the General in exercise 
abroad or eating cold meat at home; and great as was Catherine's curi- 
osity, 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 being 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 religion retirement closed their black career. The 
erection of the monument itself could not in the smallest degree affect her 
doubts of Mrs. Tilney's actual decease. Were she even to descend into the 
family vault where her ashes were supposed to slumber, were she to behold 
the coffin in which they were said to be enclosed, what could it avail in 
such a case? Catherine had read too much not to be perfectly aware of the 
ease with which a waxen figure might be introduced, and a supposititious 
funeral carried on. 

The succeeding morning promised something better. The General'? 
early walk, ill-timed as it was in every other view, was favourable here ; 
and when she knew him to be out of the house, she directly proposed to 
Miss Tilney the accomplishment of her promise. Eleanor was ready to 
oblige her ; and Catherine reminding her as they went of another promise, 
their first visit in consequence was to the portrait in her bed-chamber. It 
represented a very lovely woman, with a mild and pensive countenance, 
justifying so far, the expectations of its new observer ; but they were not 
in every respect answered, for Catherine had depended upon meeting with 
features, air, complexion, that should be the very counterpart, the very 
image, if not of Henry's, of Eleanor's ; the only portraits of which she had 
been in the habit of thinking, bearing always an equal resemblance of 
mother and child. A face once taken was taken for generations. But here 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1171 

she was obliged to look, and consider, and study for a likeness. She con 
templated 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 enured 
to all the gloomy objects to which they were advancing. Again she passed 
through the folding-doors, again her hand was upon the important lock, 
and Catherine, hardly able to breathe, was turning to close the former 
with fearful caution, when the figure, the dreaded figure of the General 
himself at the further end of the gallery stood before her! The name of 
"Eleanor" at the same moment, in his loudest tone, resounded through the 
building, giving to his daughter the first intimation of his presence, and to 
Catherine terror upon terror. An attempt at concealment had been her 
first instinctive movement on perceiving him, yet she could scarcely hope 
to have escaped his eye ; and when her friend, who with an apologizing 
look darted hastily by her, had joined and disappeared with him, she 
ran for safety to her own room, and, locking herself in, believed that she 
should never have courage to go down again. She remained there at least 
an hour, in the greatest agitation, deeply commiserating the state of her 
poor friend, and expecting a summons herself from the angry General, to 
attend him in his own apartment. No summons, however, arrived; and 
at last on seeing a carriage drive up to the Abbey, she was emboldened to 
descend and meet him under the protection of visitors. The breakfast- 
room was gay with company ; and she was named to them by the General 
as the friend of his daughter, in a complimentary style, which so well con- 
cealed his resentful ire, as to make her feel secure at least of life for the 
present. And Eleanor, with a command of countenance which did honour 
to her concern for his character, taking an early occasion of saying to her, 
"My father only wanted me to answer a note," she began to hope that 
she had either been unseen by the General, or that from some consideration 
of policy she should be allowed to suppose herself so. Upon this trust she 
dared still to remain in his presence after the company left them, and 
nothing occurred to disturb it. 

In the course of this morning's reflections, she came to a resolution of 
making her next attempt on the forbidden door alone. It would be much 
better in every respect that Eleanor should know nothing of the matter. 
To involve her in the danger of a second detection, to court her into an 
apartment which must wring her heart, could not be the office of a friend. 
The General's utmost anger could not be to herself what it might be to a 
daughter, and besides, she thought the examination itself would be more 
satisfactory if made without any companion. It would be impossible to 
explain to Eleanor the suspicions, from which the other had in all like- 
lihood been hitherto happily exempt ; nor could she therefore, in her pres- 
ence, search for those proofs of the General's cruelty, which however they 
might yet have escaped discovery, she felt confident of somewhere draw- 



ii 7 2 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

ing forth, in the shape of some fragmented journal, continued to the last 
gasp. Of the way to the apartment she was now perfectly mistress, and as 
she wished to get it over before Henry's return, who was expected on the 
morrow, there was no time to be lost. The day was bright, her courage 
high; at four o'clock the sun was now two hours above the horizon, and it 
would be only her retiring to dress half an hour earlier than usual. 

It was done ; and Catherine found herself alone in the gallery before the 
clocks had ceased to strike. It was no time for thought: she hurried on, 
slipped with the least possible noise through the folding doors, and with- 
out stopping to look or breathe, rushed forward to the one in question. 
The lock yielded to her hand, and luckily with no sullen sound that could 
alarm a human being. On tiptoe she entered: the room was before her: but 
it was some minutes before she could advance another step. She beheld 
what fixed her to the spot, and agitated every feature. She saw a large, 
well-proportioned apartment, a handsome dimity bed, arranged as un- 
occupied, with a housemaid's care, a bright Bath stove, mahogany ward- 
robes and neatly-painted chairs, on which the warm beams of a western 
sun gaily poured through two sash windows. Catherine had expected to 
have her feelings worked, and worked they were. Astonishment and doubt 
first seized them, and a shortly succeeding ray of common sense added 
some bitter emotions of shame. She could not be mistaken as to the room ; 
but how grossly mistaken in everything else, in Miss Tilney's meaning, in 
her own calculation! This apartment, to which she had given a date so 
ancient, a position so awful, proved to be one end of what the General's 
father had built. There were two other doors in the chamber, leading 
probably into dressing-closets, but she had no inclination to open either. 
Would the veil in which Mrs. Tilney had last walked, or the volume in 
which she had last read, remain to tell what nothing else was allowed to 
whisper? No; whatever might have been the General's crimes, he had 
certainly too much wit to let them sue for detection. She was sick of ex- 
ploring, and desired but to be safe in her own room, with her own heart 
only privy to its folly, and she was on the point of retreating as softly as 
she had entered, when the sound of footsteps, she could hardly tell where, 
made her pause and tremble. To be found there, even by a servant, would 
be unpleasant, but by the General (and he seemed always at hand when 
least wanted) much worse. She listened, the sound had ceased, and resolv- 
ing not to lose a moment she passed through and closed the door. At that 
instant a door underneath was hastily opened, some one seemed with 
swift steps to ascend the stairs, by the head of which she had yet to pass 
before she could gain the gallery. She had no power to move. With a feeling 
of terror not very definable, she fixed her eyes on the staircase, and in a 
few moments it gave Henry to her view. "Mr. Tilney?" she exclaimed, 
in a voice of more than common astonishment. He looked astonished too. 
"Good God! " she continued, not attending to his address, "how came you 
here? How came you up that staircase?" 

"How came I up that staircase?" he replied, greatly surprised. "Because 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1173 

it is my nearest way from the stable-yard to my own chamber ; and why 
should I not come up it?" 

Catherine recollected herself, blushed deeply, and could say no more. 
He seemed to be looking in her countenance for that explanation which 
her lips did not afford. She moved on towards the gallery. "And may I not, 
in my turn," said he, as he pushed back the folding doors, "ask how you 
came here? This passage is at least as extraordinary a road from the 
breakfast-parlour to your apartment, as that staircase can be from the 
stables to mine." 

"I have been," said Catherine, looking down, "to see your mother's 
room." 

"My mother's room! Is there anything extraordinary to be seen 
there?" 

"No, nothing at all. I thought you did not mean to come back till to- 
morrow." 

"I did not expect to be able to return sooner, when I went away; but 
three hours ago I had the pleasure of finding nothing to detain me. You 
look pale. I am afraid I alarmed you by running so fast up those stairs. 
Perhaps you did not know you were not aware of their leading from the 
offices in common use?" 

"No, I was not. You have had a very fine day for your ride?" 

"Very; and does Eleanor leave you to find your way into all the rooms 
in the house by yourself?" 

"Oh, no! she showed me over the greatest part on Saturday, and we 
were coming here to these rooms, but only" (dropping her voice), "your 
father was with us." 

"And that prevented you," said Henry, earnestly regarding her. "Have 
you looked into all the rooms in that passage?" 

"No ; I only wanted to see Is not it very late? I must go and dress." 

"It is only a quarter past four" (showing his watch) ; "and you are not 
now in Bath. No theatre, no Rooms to prepare for. Half an hour at 
Northanger must be enough." 

She could not contradict it, and therefore suffered herself j be detained, 
though her dread of further questions made her, for the fnst lime in their 
acquaintance, wish to leave him. They walked slowly up the gallery. 
"Have you had any letter from Bath since I saw you?" 

"No, and I am very much surprised. Isabella promised so faithfully to 
write directly." 

"Promised so faithfully! A faithful promise! That puzzles me. I have 
heard of a faithful performance; but a faithful promise the fidelity of 
promising! It is a power little worth knowing, however, since it can de- 
ceive and pain you. My mother's room is very commodious, is it not? 
Large and cheerful looking, and the dressing-closets so well disposed. It 
always strikes me as the most comfortable apartment in the house ; and I 
rather wonder that Eleanor should not take it for her own. She sent you 
to look at it, I suppose?" 



ii 74 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"No." 

"It has been your own doing entirely?" Catherine said nothing. After a 
short silence during which he had closely observed her, he added: "As 
there is nothing in the room in itself to raise curiosity, this must have 
proceeded from a sentiment of respect for my mother's character, as de- 
scribed by Eleanor, which does honour to her memory. The world, I be- 
lieve, 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 tender- 
ness which would prompt a visit like yours. Eleanor, I suppose, has talked 
of her a great deal?" 

"Yes, a great deal. That is no, not much, but what she did say, was 
very interesting. Her dying so suddenly" (slowly, and with hesitation it 
was spoken), "and you none of you being at home; and your father, I 
thought, perhaps, had not been very fond of her." 

"And from these circumstances," he replied (his quick eye fixed on 
hers), "you infer, perhaps, the probability of some negligence some " 
(involuntarily she shook her head), "or it may be, of something still less 
pardonable." She raised her eyes towards him more fully than she had 
ever done before. "My mother's illness," he continued, "the seizure which 
ended in her death, was sudden. The malady itself one from which she had 
often suffered: a bilious fever: its cause therefore constitutional. On the 
third day, in short, as soon as she could be prevailed on, a physician at- 
tended her; a very respectable man, and one in whom she had always 
placed great confidence. Upon his opinion of her danger, two others were 
called in the next day, and remained in almost constant attendance for 
four-and-twenty hours. On the fifth day she died. During the progress of 
her disorder, Frederick and I (we were both at home) saw her repeatedly; 
and from our own observation can bear witness to her having received 
every possible attention which could spring from the affection of those 
about her, or which her situation in life could command. Poor Eleanor 
was absent, and at such a distance as to return only to see her mother in 
her coffin." 

"But your father/' said Catherine, "was he afflicted?" 

"For a time, greatly so. You have erred in supposing him not attached 
to her. He loved her, I am persuaded, as well as it was possible for him 

to We have not all, you know, the same tenderness of disposition ; 

and I will not pretend to say that while she lived, she might not often 
have had much to bear; but though his temper injured her, his judgment 
never did. His value of her was sincere ; and, if not permanently, he was 
truly afflicted by her death." 

"I am very glad of it," said Catherine; "it would have been very 
shocking " 

"If I understand you rightly, you had formed a surmise of such horror 

as I have hardly wards to Dear Miss Morland, consider the dreadful 

nature of the suspicions you have entertained. What have you been 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1175 

judging from? Remember the country and the age in which we live. Re- 
member 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 atroci- 
ties? Do our laws connive at them? Could they be perpetrated without 
being known in a country like this, where social and literary intercourse 
is on such a footing, where every man is surrounded by a neighbourhood 
of voluntary spies, and where roads and newspapers lay everything open? 
Dearest Miss Morland, what ideas have you been admitting?" 

They had reached the end of the gallery ; and with tears of shame she 
ran off to her own room. 



Chapter 25 

THE visions of romance were over. Catherine was completely awakened. 
Henry's address, short as it had been, had more thoroughly opened her 
eyes to the extravagance of her late fancies than all their several disap- 
pointments had done. Most grievously was she humbled. Most bitterly 
did she cry. It was not only with herself that she was sunk, but with 
Henry. Her folly, which now seemed even criminal, was all exposed to him, 
and he must despise her for ever. The liberty which her imagination had 
dared to take with the character of his father, could he ever forgive it? 
The absurdity of her curiosity and her fears, could they ever be forgot- 
ten? She hated herself more than she could express. He had, she thought 
he had, once or twice before this fatal morning, shown something like 
affection for her. But now in short, she made herself as miserable as pos- 
sible 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 com- 
fort 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 further, and that it might not cost her Henry's 
entire regard. Her thoughts being still chiefly fixed on what she had with 
such causeless terror felt and done, nothing could shortly be clearer, than 
that it had been all a voluntary, self-created delusion, each trifling circum- 
stance 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 be 



[176 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

fore her quitting Bath, and it seemed as if the whole might be traced to 
the influence of that sort of reading which she had there indulged. 

Charming as were all Mrs. Radcliffe's works, and charming even as were 
the works of all her imitators, it was not in them perhaps that human 
nature, at least in the midland counties of England was to be looked for. 
Of the Alps and Pyrenees, with their pine forests and their vices, they 
might give a faithful delineation ; and Italy, Switzerland, and the South 
of France, might be as fruitful in horrors as they were there represented. 
Catherine dared not doubt beyond her own country, and even of that, if 
hard pressed, would have yielded the northern and western extremities. 
But in the central part of England there was surely some security for the 
existence even of a wife not beloved, in the laws of the land, and the 
manners of the age. Murder was not tolerated, servants were not slaves, 
and neither poison nor sleeping potions to be procured, like rhubarb, from 
every druggist. Among the Alps and Pyrenees, perhaps, there were no 
mixed characters. There, such as were not as spotless as an angel, might 
have the dispositions of a fiend. But in England it was not so; among the 
English, she believed, in their hearts and habits, there was a general 
r.hough unequal mixture of good and bad. Upon this conviction, she would 
not be surprised if even in Henry and Eleanor Tilney some slight imper- 
fection might hereafter appear ; and upon this conviction she need not fear 
to acknowledge some actual specks in the character of their father, who, 
though cleared from the grossly injurious suspicions which she must ever 
blush to have entertained, she did believe, upon serious consideration, to 
be not perfectly amiable. 

Her mind made up on these several points, and her resolution formed, 
of always judging and acting in future with the greatest good sense, she 
had nothing to do but to forgive herself and be happier than ever ; and 
the lenient hand of time did much for her by insensible gradations in the 
course of another day. Henry's astonishing generosity and nobleness of 
conduct, in never alluding in the slightest way to what had passed, was 
of the greatest assistance to her ; and sooner than she could have supposed 
it possible, in the beginning of her distress, her spirits became absolutely 
comfortable, and capable, as heretofore, of continual improvement by 
anything he said. There were still some subjects, indeed, under which she 
believed they must always tremble; the mention of a chest or a cabinet, 
for instance, and she did not love the sight of japan in any shape; but 
even she could allow that an occasional memento of past folly, however 
painful, might not be without use. 

The anxieties of common life began soon to succeed to the alarms of 
romance. Her desire of hearing from Isabella grew every day greater. She 
was quite impatient to know how the Bath world went on, and how the 
Rooms were attended; and especially was she anxious to be assured of 
Isabella's having matched some fine netting cotton, on which she had 
left her intent; and of her continuing on the best terms with James. Her 
only dependence for information of any kind was on Isabella. James had 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1177 

protested against writing to her till his return to Oxford; and Mrs. Allen 
had given her no hopes of a letter till she had got back to Fullerton. But 
Isabella had promised and promised again ; and when she promised a thing 
she was so scrupulous in performing it; this made it so particularly 
strange ! 

For nine successive mornings Catherine wondered over the repetition 
of a disappointment which each morning became more severe; but on the 
tenth, when she entered the breakfast-room, her first object was a letter, 
held out by Henry's willing hand. She thanked him as heartily as if he 
had written it himself. " Tis only from James, however," as she looked 
at the direction. She opened it: it was from Oxford, and to this purpose: 

"DEAR CATHERINE, Though, God knows, with little inclination for 
writing, I think it my duty to tell you, that everything is at an end be- 
tween Miss Thorpe and me. I left her and Bath yesterday, never to see 
either again. I shall not enter into particulars, they would only pain you 
more. You will soon hear enough from another quarter to know where 
lies the blame ; and I hope will acquit your brother of everything but the 
folly of too easily thinking his affection returned. Thank God! I am un- 
deceived in time! But it is a heavy blow! After my father's consent had 
been so kindly given but no more of this. She has made me miserable 
for ever! 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 rea- 
soned with her", she declared herself as much attached to me as ever, and 
laughed at my fears. I am ashamed to think how long I bore with it; but 
if ever man had reason to believe himself loved, I was that man. I cannot 
understand, even now, what she would be at, for there could be no need 
of my being played off to make her secure of Tilney. We parted at last 
by mutual consent. Happy for me had we never met ! I can never expect 
to know such another woman! Dearest Catherine, beware how you give 
your heart. Believe me, etc." 

Catherine had not read three lines before her sudden change of coun- 
tenance, 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 in 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 



ii;8 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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 house- 
maids were busy in it, and she was obliged to come down again. She turned 
into the drawing-room for privacy, but Henry and Eleanor had likewise 
retreated thither, and were at that moment deep in consultation about 
her. She drew back, trying to beg their pardon, but was, with gentle vio- 
lence, forced to return ; and the others withdrew, after Eleanor had affec- 
tionately expressed a wish of being of use or comfort to her. 

After half an hour's free indulgence of grief and reflection, Catherine 
felt equal to encountering her friends ; but whether she should make her 
distress known to them was another consideration. Perhaps, if particularly 
questioned, she might just give an idea just distantly hint at it but 
not more. To expose a friend, such a friend as Isabella had been to her ; 
and then their own brother so closely concerned in it! She believed she 
must waive the subject altogether. Henry and Eleanor were by themselves 
in the breakfast-room ; and each, as she entered it, looked at her anxiously. 
Catherine took her place at the table, and after a short silence, Eleanor 
said: "No bad news from Fullerton, I hope? Mr. and Mrs. Morland, your 
brothers and sisters, I hope they are none of them ill?" 

"No, I thank you" (sighing as she spoke) ; "they are all very well. My 
letter was from my brother at Oxford." 

Nothing further was said for a few minutes ; and then, speaking through 
her tears, she added: "I do not think I shall ever wish for a letter again! " 

"I am sorry," said Henry, closing the book he had just opened; "if I 
had suspected the letter containing anything unwelcome, I should have 
given it with very different feelings." 

"It contained something worse than anybody could suppose! Poor 
James is so unhappy! You will soon know why." 

"To have so kind-hearted, so affectionate a sister," replied Henry, 
warmly, "must be a comfort to him under any distress." 

"I have one favour to beg," said Catherine, shortly afterwards, in an 
agitated manner, "that, if your brother should be coming here, you will 
$ive me notice of it, that I may go away." 

"Our brother! Frederick!" 

"Yes; I am sure I should be very sorry to leave you so soon, but some- 
thing has happened that would make it very dreadful for me to be in the 
same house with Captain Tilney." 

Eleanor's work was suspended while she gazed with increasing astonish- 
ment; but Henry began to suspect the truth, and something in which Miss 
Thorpe's name was included, passed his lips. 

"How quick you are ! " cried Catherine ; "you have guessed it, I declare ! 
And yet, when we talked about it in Bath, you little thought of its ending 
so. Isabella no wonder now I have not heard from her Isabella has 
deserted my brother, and is to marry yours ! Could you have believed there 
had been such inconstancy, and fickleness, and everything that is bad in 
the world?" 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 

"I hope, so far as concerns my brother, you are misinformed. I hope hi. 
has not had any material share in bringing on Mr. Morland's disappoint- 
ment. His marrying Miss Thorpe is not probable. I think you must be 
deceived so far. I am very sorry for Mr. Morland ; sorry that anyone you 
love should be unhappy ; but my surprise would be greater at Frederick's 
marrying her, than at any other part of the story." 

"It is very true, however; you shall read James's letter yourself. Stay, 
there is one part" recollecting, with a blush, the last line. 

"Will you take the trouble of reading to us the passages which concern 
my brother?" 

"No, read it yourself," cried Catherine, whose second thoughts were 
clearer. "I do not know what I was thinking of" (blushing again that she 
had blushed before). "James only means to give me good advice." 

He gladly received the letter; and, having read it through with close 
attention, returned it, saying, "Well, if it is to be so, I can only say that 
I am sorry for it. Frederick will not be the first man who has chosen a wife 
with less sense than his family expected. I do not envy his situation, either 
as a lover or a son." 

Miss Tilney, at Catherine's invitation, now read the letter likewise; 
and, having expressed also her concern and surprise, began to inquire intc 
Miss Thorpe's connections and fortune. 

"Her mother is a very good sort of woman," was Catherine's answer. 

"What was her father?" 

"A lawyer, I believe. They live at Putney." 

"Are they a wealthy family?" 

"No, not very. I do not believe Isabella has any fortune at all; but that 
will not signify in your family. Your father is so very liberal! He told me 
the other day that he only valued money as it allowed him to promote the 
happiness of his children." 

The brother and sister looked at each other. "But," said Eleanor, after 
a short pause, "would it be to promote his happiness to enable him to 
marry such a girl? She must be an unprincipled one, or she could not have 
used your brother so. And how strange an infatuation on Frederick's side! 
A girl who, before his eyes, is violating an engagement voluntarily entered 
into with another man! Is not it inconceivable, Henry? Frederick, too, 
who always wore his heart so proudly! Who found no woman good enough 
to be loved." 

"That is the most unpromising circumstance, the strongest presumption 
against him. When I think of his past declarations, I give him up. More- 
over, I have too good an opinion of Miss Thorpe's prudence, to suppose 
that she would part with one gentleman before the other was secured. 
It is all over with Frederick, indeed! He is a deceased man; defunct in 
understanding. Prepare for your sister-in-law, Eleanor ; and such a sister- 
in-law as you must delight in. Open, candid, artless, guileless, with affec- 
tions strong, but simple, forming no pretensions, and knowing no disguise." 



u8o THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"Such a sister-in-law, Henry, I should delight in," said Eleanor, with 
a smile. 

"But, perhaps," observed Catherine, "though she has behaved so ill 
by our family, she may behave better by yours. Now she has really got 
the man she likes, she may be constant." 

"Indeed, I am afraid she will," replied Henry; "I am afraid she will be 
very constant, unless a baronet should come in her way ; that is Frederick's 
only chance. I will get the Bath paper, and look over the arrivals." 

"You think it is all for ambition, then? And upon my word, there are 
some things that seem very like it. I cannot forget that, when she first 
knew what my father would do for them, she seemed quite disappointed 
that it was not more. I never was so deceived in anyone's character in my 
iife before." 

"Among all the great variety that you have known and studied." 

"My own disappointment and loss in her is very great ; but, as for poor 
James, I suppose he will hardly ever recover it." 

"Your brother is certainly very much to be pitied at present; but we 
must not, in our concern for his sufferings, undervalue yours. You feel, 
I suppose, that in losing Isabella you lose half yourself ; you feel a void 
in your heart which nothing else can occupy. Society is becoming irksome ; 
and as for the amusements in which you were wont to share at Bath, the 
very idea of them without her is abhorrent. You would not, for instance, 
now go to a ball for the world. You feel that you have no longer any friend 
to whom you can speak with unreserve; on whose regard you can place 
dependence; or whose counsel, in any difficulty, you c^uld rely on. You 
feel all this?" 

"No," said Catherine, after a few moments' reflection, "I do not ought 
I? To say the truth, though I am hurt and grieved that I cannot still love 
her, that I am never to hear from her, perhaps never to see her again, I 
do not feel so very much afflicted as one would have thought." 

"You feel, as you always do, what is most to the credit of human 
nature. Such feelings ought to be investigated, that they may know them- 
selves." 

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 pro- 
duced it. 

Chapter 26 

FROM this time the subject was frequently canvassed by the three young 
people; and Catherine found, with some surprise, that her two young 
friends were perfectly agreed in considering Isabella's want of conse- 
quence 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 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1181 

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 re- 
peatedly 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 appli- 
cation, would give his father any just idea of Isabella's conduct, it oc- 
curred 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 confes-. 
sion of folly need not be forestalled. He must tell his own story." 

"But he will only tell half of it." 

"A quarter would be enough." 

A day of 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 engage- 
ment, 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 North- 
anger pass pleasantly. He often expressed his uneasiness on this head, 
"feared the sameness of every day's society and employment would dis- 
gust her with the place, wished the Lady Frasers had been in the country," 
talked every now and then of having a large party to dinner, and once or 
twice began even to calculate the number of young dancing people in the 
neighbourhood. "But then it was such a dead time of year, no wild-fowl, 
no game, and the Lady Frasers were not in the country." And it all ended, 
at last, in his telling Henry, one morning, that when he next went to 
Woodston, they would take him by surprise there some day or other, and 
eat their mutton with him. Henry was greatly honoured and very happy, 
and Catherine was quite delighted with the scheme. "And when do you 



n82 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

think, sir, I may look forward to this pleasure? I must be at Woodston on 
Monday to attend the parish meeting, and shall probably be obliged to 
stay two or three days." 

"Well, well, we will take our chance some one of those days. There is no 
need to fix. You are not to put yourself at all out of your way. Whatever 
you may happen to have in the house will be enough. I think I can answer 
for the young ladies making allowance for a bachelor's table. Let me see; 
Monday will be a busy day with you ; we will not come on Monday ; and 
Tuesday will be a busy one with me. I expect my surveyor from Brockham 
with his report in the morning ; and afterwards I cannot, in decency, fail 
attending the club. I really could not face my acquaintance if I stayed 
away now; for, as I am known to be in the country, it would be taken 
exceedingly amiss ; and it is a rule with me, Miss Mordand, never to give 
offence to any of my neighbours if a small sacrifice of time and attention 
can prevent it. They are a set of very worthy men. They have half a buck 
from Northanger twice a year; and I dine with them whenever I can. 
Tuesday, therefore, we may say, is out of the question But on Wednesday, 
I think, Henry, you may expect us ; and we shall be with you early, that 
we may have time to look about us. Two hours and three-quarters will 
carry us to Woodston, I suppose; we shall be in the carriage by ten; 
so, about a quarter before one on Wednesday, you may look for us." 

A ball itself could not have been more welcome to Catherine than this 
little excursion, so strong was her desire to be acquainted with Woodston; 
and her heart was still bounding with joy, when Henry, about an hour 
afterwards came booted and great-coated into the room where she and 
Eleanor were sitting, and said, "I am come, young ladies, in a very 
moralising strain, to observe that our pleasures in this world are always 
to be paid for, and that we often purchase them at a great disadvantage, 
giving ready-monied, actual happiness for a draft on the future that may 
not be honoured. Witness myself at this present hour. Because I am to 
hope for the satisfaction of seeing you at Woodston on ( Wednesray, which 
bad weather, or twenty other causes may prevent, I must go away directly, 
two days before I intended it." 

"Go away," said Catherine, with a very long face, "and why?" 

"Why! How can you ask the question? Because no time is to be lost 
in frightening my old housekeeper out of her wits ; because I must go and 
prepare a dinner for you, to be sure." 

"Oh! not seriously!" 

"Aye, and sadly too ; for I had much rather stay." 

"But how can you think of such a thing after what the General said? 
When he so particularly desired you not to give yourself any trouble, 
because anything would do." 

Henry only smiled. "I am sure it is quite unnecessary upon your sister's 
account, and mine. You must know it to be so ; and the General made such 
a point of your providing nothing extraordinary; besides, if he had not 
said half so much as he did, he has always such an axcellent dinner at 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 118,* 

home, that sitting down to a middling one for one day could not signify." 

"I wish I could reason like you, for his sake and my own Good-bye. 
As to-morrow is Sunday, Eleanor, I shall not return." 

He went; and it being at any time a much simpler operation to Cath- 
erine 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 unaccount- 
able! How were people, at that rate, to be understood? Who but Henry 
could have been aware of what his father was at? 

From Saturday to Wednesday, however, they were now to be without 
Henry. This was the sad finale of every reflection ; and Captain Tilney's 
letter would certainly come in his absence, and Wednesday, she was very 
sure, would be wet. The past, present and future were all equally in gloom. 
Her brother so unhappy, and her loss in Isabella so great ; and Eleanor's 
spirits always affected by Henry's absence! What was there to interest 
or amuse her? She was tired of the woods and the shrubberies, always so 
smooth and so dry ; and the Abbey in itself was no more to her now than 
any other house. The painful remembrance of the folly it had helped to 
nourish and perfect was the only emotion which could spring from a con- 
sideration of the building. What a revolution in her ideas! She, who had 
so longed to be in an Abbey. No\v, there was nothing so charming to her 
imagination as^ the unpretending comfort of a well-connected parsonage, 
something like* Fullerton but better. Fullerton had its faults, but Wood- 
ston probably had none. If Wednesday should ever come! 

It did come, and exactly when it might be reasonably looked for. It 
came; it was fine, and Catherine trod on air. By ten o'clock the chaise- 
and-four conveyed the two from the Abbey, and after an agreeable drive 
of almost twenty miles they entered W T 6odston, 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 neces- 
sary 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 parson- 
age, a new-built substantial stone house, with its semi-circular sweep 
and green gates; and as they drove up to the door, Henry, with the friends 
of his solitude, a large Newfoundland puppy and two or three terriers, 
was ready to receive and make much of them. 

Catherine's mind was too full, as she entered the house, for her either 
to observe or to say a great deal ; and, till called on by the General for 
her opinion of it, she had very little idea of the room in which she was 
sitting. Upon looking round it then, she perceived in a moment that it 



n84 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

was the most comfortable room in the world ; but she was too guarded to 
say so, and the coldness of her praise disappointed him. 

"We are not calling it a good house," said he. "We are not comparing 
it with Fullerton and Northanger. We are considering it as a mere par- 
sonage, 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 any- 
thing in reason a bow thrown out, perhaps; though, between ourselves, 
if there is one thing more than another my aversion, it is a patched-on 
bow." 

Catherine did not hear enough of this speech to understand or be pained 
by it ; and other subjects being studiously brought forward and supported 
by Henry, at the same time that a tray full of refreshments was introduced 
by his servant, the General was shortly restored to his complacency, and 
Catherine to all her usual ease of spirits. 

The room in question was of a commodious, well-proportioned size, 
and handsomely fitted up as a dining parlour ; and on their quitting it to 
walk round the grounds, she was shown, first into a smaller apartment 
belonging peculiarly to the master of the house, and made unusually tidy 
on the occasion; and afterwards into what was to be the drawing-room, 
with the appearance of which, though unfurnished, Catherine was de- 
lighted enough even to satisfy the General. It was prettily-shaped room, 
the windows reaching to the ground, and a view from them pleasant, 
though over only green meadows; and she expressed her^admiration at 
the moment with all the honest simplicity with which she felt it. "Oh! why 
do not you fit up this room, Mr. Tilney? What a pity not to have it fitted 
up! It is the prettiest room I ever saw; it is the prettiest room in the 
world!" 

"I trust," said the General, with a most satisfied smile, "that it will 
very speedily be furnished: it waits only for a lady's taste." 

"Well, if it was my house, I should never sit anywhere else. Oh, what a 
sweet little cottage there is among the trees; apple-trees too! It is the 
prettiest cottage " 

"You like it: you approve it as an object; it is enough. Henry, remem- 
ber that Robinson is spoken to about it. The cottage remains." 

Such a compliment recalled all Catherine's consciousness, and silenced 
her directly; and, though pointedly applied to by the General for her 
choice of the prevailing colour of the paper and hangings, nothing like an 
opinion on the subject could be drawn from her. The influence of fresh 
objects and fresh air, however, was of great use in dissipating these em- 
barrassing associations; and, having reached the ornamental part of the 
premises, consisting of a walk round two sides of a meadow, on which 
Henry's genius had begun to act about half a year ago, she was sufficiently 
recovered to think it prettier than any pleasure-ground she had ever been 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1185 

in before, though there was not a shrub in it higher than the green bench 
in the corner. 

A saunter into other meadows, and through part of the village, with a 
visit to the stables to examine some improvements, and a charming game 
of play with a litter of puppies just able to roll about, brought them to 
four o'clock, when Catherine scarcely thought it could be three. At four 
they were to dine, and at six to set off on their return. Never had any day 
passed so quickly ! 

She could not but observe that the abundance of the dinner did not 
seem to create the smallest astonishment in the General, nay, that he was 
even looking at the side-table for cold meat which was not there. His son 
and daughter's observations were of a different kind. They had seldom 
seen him eat so heartily at any table but his own ; and never before known 
him so little disconcerted by the melted butter's being oiled. 

At six o'clock, the General having taken his coffee, the carriage again 
received them; and so gratifying had been the tenor of his conduct 
throughout the whole visit, so well assured was her mind on the subject 
of his expectations, that, could she have felt equally confident of the 
wishes of his son, Catherine would have quitted Woodston with little 
anxiety as to the How or the When she might return to it. 



Chapter 27 

THE NEXT morning brought the following very unexpected letter from 
Isabella: 

"Bath, April 

"MY DEAREST CATHERINE I received your two kind letters with the 
greatest delight, and have a thousand apologies to make for not answering 
them sooner. I really am quite ashamed of my idleness ; but in this horrid 
place one can find time for nothing. I have had my pen in my hand 
to begin a letter to you almost every day since you left Bath, but have 
always been prevented by some silly trifle or other. Pray write to me soon, 
and direct to my own home. Thank God! we leave this vile place to- 
morrow. Since you went away I have had no pleasure in it ; the dust is 
beyond anything ; and everybody one cares for is gone. I believe if I could 
see you I should not mind the rest, for you are dearer to me than anybody 
can conceive. I am quite uneasy about your dear brother, not having 
heard from him since he went to Oxford; and am fearful of some mis- 
understanding. Your kind offices will set all right: he is the only man I 
ever did or could love, and I trust you will convince him of it. The spring 
fashions are partly down, and the hats the most frightful you can imagine. 
I hope you spend your time pleasantly, but am afraid you never think of 
me. I will not say all that I could of the family you are with, because I 
would not be ungenerous, or set you against those you esteem ; but it is 
very difficult to know whom to trust, and young men never know their 



Ii86 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

minds two days together. I rejoice to say that the young man whom, o! 
all others, I particularly abhor, has left Bath. You will know, from this 
description, I must mean Captain Tilney, who, as you may remember, 
was amazingly disposed to follow and tease me, before you went away. 
Afterwards he got worse, and became quite my shadow. Many girls might 
have been taken in, for never were such attentions; but I knew the fickle 
sex too well. He went away to his regiment two days ago, and I trust I 
shall never be plagued with him again. He is the greatest coxcomb I ever 
saw, and amazingly disagreeable. The last two days he was always by 
the side of Charlotte Davis: I pitied his taste, but took no notice of him. 
The last time we met was in Bath Street, and I turned directly into a shop 
that he might not speak to me: I would not even look at him. He went 
into the Pump Room afterwards, but I would not have followed him for 
all the world. Such a contrast between him and your brother! Pray send 
me some news of the latter ; I am quite unhappy about him, he seemed 
so uncomfortable when he went away, with a cold, or something that 
affected his spirits. I would write to him myself, but have mislaid his 
direction, and, as I hinted above, am afraid he took something in my 
conduct amiss. Pray explain everything to his satisfaction; or, if he still 
harbours any doubt, a line from himself to me, or a call at Putney when 
next in town, might set all to rights. I have not been to the Rooms this 
age, nor to the Play, except going in last night with the Hodges's, for a 
frolic, at half-price: they teased me into it; and I was determined they 
should not say I shut myself up because Tilney was gone. We happened 
to sit by the Mitchells, and they pretended to be quite surprised to see me 
out. I knew their spite: at one time they could not be civil to me, but now 
they are all friendship ;. but I am not such a fool as to be taken in by them. 
You know I have a pretty good spirit of my own. Anne Mitchell had tried 
to put on a turban like mine, as I wore it the week before at the Concert, 
but made wretched work of it. It happened to become my odd face, I 
believe, at least Tilney told me so at the time, and said every eye was upon 
me ; but he is the last man whose word I would take. I wear nothing but 
purple now: I know I look hideous in it, but no matter; it is your dear 
brother's favourite colour. Lose no time, my dearest, sweetest Catherine, 
in writing to him and to me. Who ever am, &c." 

Such a strain of shallow artifice could not impose even upon Catherine. 
Its inconsistencies, contradictions, and falsehood, struck her from the 
very first. She was ashamed of Isabella, and ashamed of having ever loved 
her. Her professions of attachment were now as disgusting as her excuses 
were empty, and her demands impudent. "Write to James on her behalf! 
No! James should never hear Isabella's name mentioned by her again." 

On Henry's arrival from Woodston she made known to him and Eleanor 
their brother's safety, congratulating them with sincerity on it, and read- 
ing aloud the most material passages of her letter with strong indignation. 
When she had finished it: "So much for Isabella," she cried, "and for 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1187 

all our intimacy! She must think me an idiot, or she could not have 
written so; but perhaps this has served to make her character better 
known to me than mine is to her. I see what she has been about. She is 
a vain coquette, and her tricks have not answered. I do not believe she 
had ever any regard either for James or for me, and I wish I had never 
known her." 

"It will soon be as if you never had," said Henry. 
"There is but one thing that I cannot understand. I see that she has had 
designs on Captain Tilney which have not succeeded ; but I do not under- 
stand 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 him- 
self. If the effect of his behaviour does not justify him with you, we had 
better not seek after the cause." 

"Then you do not suppose he ever really cared about her?" 
"I am persuaded that he never did." 
"And only made believe to do so for mischief's sake?" 
Henry bowed his assent. 

"Well then, I must say that I do not like him at all. Though it has 
turned out so well for us, I do not like him at all. As it happens, there is no 
great harm done, because I do not think Isabella has any heart to lose. 
But suppose he had made her very much in love with him?" 

"But we must first suppose Isabella to have had a heart to lose, con- 
sequently to have been a very different creature; and, in that case, she 
would have met with very different treatment." 

"It is very right that you should stand by your brother." 
"And if you would stand by yours, you would not be much distressed by 
the disappointment of Miss Thorpe. But your mind is warped by an innate 
principle of general integrity, and, therefore, not accessible to the cool 
reasonings of family partiality, or a desire of revenge." 

Catherine was complimented out of further bitterness. Frederick could 
not be unpardonably guilty while Henry made himself so agreeable. She 
resolved on not answering Isabella's letter, and tried to think no more of it. 



Chapter 28 

SOON after this, the General found himself obliged to go to London for 
a week ; and he left Northanger, earnestly regretting that any necessity 
should rob him, even for an hour, of Miss Morland's company, and anx- 
iously recommending the study of her comfort and amusement to his 
children, as their chief object in his absence. His departure gave Cath- 
erine the first experimental conviction that a loss may be sometimes a 



n88 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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, pleas- 
ures, and fatigues at their own command, made her thoroughly sensible 
of the restraint which the General's presence had imposed, and most 
thankfully feel their present release from it. Such ease and such delights 
made her love the place and the people more and more every day ; and had 
it not been for a dread of its soon becoming expedient to leave the one, 
and an apprehension of not being equally beloved by the other, she would 
at each moment of each day have been perfectly happy ; but she was now 
in the fourth week of her visit ; before the General came home, the fourth 
week would be turned, and perhaps it might seem an intrusion if she stayed 
much longer. This was a painful consideration whenever it occurred ; and 
eager to get rid of such a weight on her mind, she very soon resolved to 
speak to Eleanor about it at once, propose going away, and be guided in 
her conduct by the manner in which her proposal might be taken. 

Aware that if she gave herself much time, she might feel it difficult to 
bring forward so unpleasant a subject, she took the first opportunity of 
being suddenly alone with Eleanor, and of Eleanor's being in the middle 
of a speech about something very different, to start forth her obligation of 
going away very soon. Eleanor looked and declared herself much con- 
cerned. She had "hoped for the pleasure of her company for a much longer 
time had been misled (perhaps by her wishes) to suppose that a much 
longer visit had been promised, and could not but think that if Mr. and 
Mrs. Morland were aware of the pleasure it was to have her there, they 
would be too generous to hasten her return." Catherine explained. "Oh! as 
to that, papa and mamma were in no hurry at all. As long as she was 
happy, they would always be satisfied." 

"Then why, might she ask, in such a hurry herself to leave them?'' 

"Oh! because she had been there so long." 

"Nay, if you can use such a word, I can urge you no farther. If you think 
it long " 

"Oh no ! I do not, indeed. For my own pleasure, I could stay with you as 
long again." And it was directly settled that, till she had, her leaving them 
was not even to be thought of. In having this cause of uneasiness so 
pleasantly removed, the force of the other was likewise weakened. The 
kindness, the earnestness of Eleanor's manner in pressing her to stay, 
and Henry's gratified look on being told that her stay was determined, 
were such sweet proofs of her importance with them, as left her only just 
so much solicitude as the human mind can never do comfortably with- 
out. She did, almost always, believe that Henry loved he"r, and quite al- 
ways that his father and sister loved and even wished her to belong to 
them ; and believing so far, her doubts and anxieties were merely sportive 
irritations. 

Henry was not able to obey his father's injunction of remaining wholly 
at Northanger, in attendance on the ladies, during his absence in London; 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1189 

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 comforts ; and the two girls, agreeing in occupation, and improving 
in intimacy, found themselves so well-sufficient for the time to themselves, 
that it was eleven o'clock, rather a late hour at the Abbey, before they 
quitted the supper-room on the day of Henry's departure. They had just 
reached the head of the stairs, when it seemed, as far as the thickness of 
the walls would allow them to judge, that a carriage was driving up to the 
door, and the next moment confirmed the idea by the loud noise of the 
house-bell. After the first perturbation of surprise had passed away, in a 
"Good Heaven! what can be the matter?" it was quickly decided by 
Eleanor to be her eldest brother, whose arrival was often as sudden, if not 
quite so unseasonable, and accordingly she hurried down to welcome him. 

Catherine walked on to her chamber, making up her mind, as well as she 
could, to a further acquaintance with Captain Tilney, and comforting 
herself under the unpleasant impression his conduct had given her, and 
the persuasion of his being by far too fine a gentleman to approve of her, 
that at least they should not meet under such circumstances as would 
make their meeting materially painful. She trusted he would never speak 
of Miss Thorpe, and, indeed, as he must by this time be ashamed of the 
part he had acted, there could be no danger of it ; and as long as all men- 
tion of Bath scenes were avoided, she thought she could behave to him 
very civilly. In such considerations time passed away, and it was certainly 
in his favour that Eleanor should be so glad to see him, and have so much 
to say, for half an hour was almost gone since his arrival, and Eleanor did 
not come up. 

At that moment Catherine thought she heard her step in the gallery, 
and listened for its continuance, but all was silent. Scarcely, however, had 
she convicted her fancy of error, when the noise of something moving close 
to her door made her start ; it seemed as if someone was touching the very 
doorway, and in another moment a slight motion of the lock proved that 
some hand must be on it. She trembled a little at the idea of anyone's 
approaching so cautionsly, 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 tranquillised but for an 
instant, for Eleanor's cheeks were pale, and her manner greatly agitated. 
Though evidently intending to come in, it seemed an effort to enter the 
room, and a still greater to speak when there. Catherine, supposing some 
uneasiness on Captain Tilney's account, could only express her concern 
by silent attention, obliged her to be seated, rubbed her temples with 
lavender water, and hung over her with affectionate solicitude. "My dear 
Catherine, you must not, you must not, indeed " were Eleanor's first 
connected words. "I am quite well. This kindness distracts me. I cannot 
bear it. I come to you on such an errand." 



H90 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

"Errand! tome!" 

"How shall I tell you? Oh! how shall I tell you?' 7 

A new idea now darted into Catherine's mind, and turning as pale as her 
friend, she exclaimed, " Tis a messenger from Woodston!" 

"You are mistaken, indeed," returned Eleanor, looking at her most 
compassionately, "it is no one from Woodston. It is my father himself." 
Her voice faltered, and her eyes were turned to the ground as she men- 
tioned his name. His unlooked-for return was enough in itself to make 
Catherine's heart sink, and for a few moments she hardly supposed there 
were anything worse to be told. 

She said nothing; and Eleanor, endeavouring to collect herself and 
speak with firmness, but with eyes still cast down, soon went on. "You are 
too good, I am sure, to think the worse of me for the part I am obliged to 
perform. I am, indeed, a most unwilling messenger. After what has so 
lately passed, so lately been settled between us, how joyfully, how thank- 
fully, on my side ! as to your continuing here, as I hoped, for many weeks 
longer, how can I tell you that your kindness is not to be accepted, and 
that the happiness your company has hitherto given us is to be repaid by 

but I must not trust myself with words. My dear Catherine, we are to 

part. My father has recollected an engagement that takes our whole 
family away on Monday ; we are going to Lord Longtown's, near Hereford, 
for a fortnight. Explanation and apology are equally impossible. I cannot 
attempt either." 

"My dear Eleanor," cried Catherine, suppressing her feelings as well as 
she could, "do not be so distressed. A second engagement must give way 
to a first. I am very, very sorry we are to part so soon, and so suddenly 
too, but I am not offended, indeed I am not. I can finish my visit here, you 
know, at any time ; or I hope you will come to me. Can you, when you 
return from this lord's, come to Fullerton?" 

"It will not be in my power, Catherine." 

"Come when you can, then." 

Eleanor made no answer ; and Catherine's thoughts recurring to some- 
thing more directly interesting, she added, thinking aloud, "Monday; so 

soon as Monday; and you all go ! Well, I am certain of 1 shall be able 

to take leave, however ; I need not go till just before you do, you know. Do 
not be distressed, Eleanor ; I can go on Monday very well. My father and 
mother's having no notice of it is of very little consequence. The General 
will send a servant with me, I dare say, half the way ; and then I shall soon 
be at Salisbury, and then I am only nine miles from home." 

"Ah, Catherine ! were it settled so, it would be somewhat less intolerable ; 
though in such common attentions, you would have received but half 
what you ought. But, how can I tell you? To-morrow morning is fixed for 
your leaving us, and not even the hour is left to your choice; the very 
carriage is ordered, and will be here at seven o'clock/and no servant will 
be offered you." 

Catherine sat down breathless and speechless. "I could hardly believe 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1191 

my senses when I heard it ; and no displeasure, no resentment that you 
can feel at this moment, however justly great, can be more than I myself 

- but I must not talk of what I felt. Oh, that I could suggest anything 
in extenuation! Good God! what will your father and mother say? After 
courting you from the protection of real friends to this, almost double 
distance from your home, to have you driven out of the house, without the 
considerations even of decent civility! Dear, dear Catherine, in being the 
bearer of such a message, I seem guilty myself of all its insult ; yet I trust 
you will acquit me, for you must have been long enough in this house to 
see that I am but a nominal mistress of it, that my real power is nothing." 

"Have I offended the General?" said Catherine, in a faltering voice. 

"Alas! for my feelings as a daughter, all that I know, all that I answer 
for is, that you can have given him no just cause of offence. He certainly 
is greatly, very greatly discomposed ; I have seldom seen him more so. His 
temper is not happy, and something has now occurred to ruffle it in an 
uncommon degree ; some disappointment, some vexation, which just at 
this moment seems important ; but which I can hardly suppose you to have 
any concern in; for how is it possible?" 

It was with pain that Catherine could speak at all ; and it was only for 
Eleanor's sake that she attempted it. "I am sure," said she, "I am very 
sorry if I have offended him. It was the last thing I would willingly have 
done. But do not be unhappy, Eleanor. An engagement, you know, must 
be kept. I am only sorry it was not recollected sooner, that I might have 
written home. But it is of very little consequence." 

"I hope, I earnestly hope that to your real safety it will be of none ; but 
to everything else it is of the greatest consequence; to comfort, appearance, 
propriety, to your family, to the world. Were your friends, the Aliens, still 
m Bath, you might go to them with comparative ease; a few hours would 
take you there ; but a journey of seventy miles, to be taken post by you, at 
your age, alone, unattended!" 

''Oh! the journey is nothing. Do not think about that. And if we are to 
part, a few hours sooner or later, you know, makes no difference. I can be 
r eady by seven. Let me be called in time." Eleanor saw that she wished to 
be alone; and believing it better for each that they should avoid any 
further conversation, now left her with, "I shall see you in the morning." 

Catherine's swelling heart needed relief. In Eleanor's presence friend- 
ship and pride had equally restrained her tears, but no sooner was she 
gone than they burst forth in torrents. Turned from the house, and in 
such a way! Without any reason that could justify, any apology that could 
atone for the abruptness, the rudeness, nay, the insolence of it. Henry at 
a distance; not able even to bid him farewell. Every hope, every expecta- 
tion 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 



ii92 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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 
.norning, that he might not be obliged even to see her. What could all this 
mean but an intentional affront? By some means or other she must have 
had the misfortune to offend him. Eleanor had wished to spare her from 
so painful a notion, but Catherine could not believe it possible that any 
injury or any misfortune could provoke such ill-will against a person not 
connected, or, at least, not supposed to be connected with it. 

Heavily passed the night. Sleep, or repose that deserved the name of 
sleep, was out of the question. That room, in which her disturbed imagina- 
tion had tormented her on her first arrival, was again the scene of agitated 
spirits and unquiet slumbers. Yet how different now the source of her 
inquietude from what it had been then ; how mournfully superior in reality 
and substance ! Her anxiety had foundation in fact, her fears in probabil- 
ity; and with a mind so occupied in the contemplation of actual and 
natural evil, the solitude of her situation, the darkness of her chamber, the 
antiquity of the building, were felt and considered without the smallest 
emotion ; and though the wind was high, and often produced strange and 
sudden noises throughout the house, she heard it all as she lay awake, 
hour after hour, without curiosity or terror. 

Soon after six Eleanor entered her room, eager to show attention, or give 
assistance where it was possible; but very little remained to be done. 
Catherine had not loitered; she was almost dressed, and her packing 
almost finished. The possibility of some conciliatory message from the 
General occurred to her as his daughter appeared. What so natural, as that 
anger should pass away and repentance succeed it? and she only wanted 
to know how far, after what had passed, an apology might properly be 
received by her. But the knowledge would have been useless here, it was 
not called for; neither clemency nor dignity was put to the trial; Eleanor 
brought no message. Very little passed between them on meeting: each 
found her greatest safety in silence ; and few and trivial were the sentences 
exchanged while they remained upstairs; Catherine in busy agitation 
completing her dress, and Eleanor, with more good-will than experience, 
intent upon filling the trunk. When everything was done, they left the 
room, Catherine lingering only half a minute behind her friend to throw a 
parting glance on every well-known cherished object, and went down to 
the breakfast-parlour, where breakfast was prepared. She tried to eat, as 
well to save herself from the pain of being urged as to make her friend 
comfortable ; but she had no appetite, and could not swallow many mouth- 
fuls. 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, 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 

what happy, though false security, had she then looked around her, enjoy- 
ing everything present, and fearing little in future, beyond Henry's going 
to Woodston for a day! Happy, happy breakfast! for Henry had been 
there ; Henry had sat by her and helped her. These reflections were long 
indulged undisturbed by any address from her companion, who sat as 
deep in thought as herself; and the appearance of the carriage was the 
first thing to startle and recall them to the present moment. Catherine's 
colour rose at the sight of it ; and the indignity with which she was treated 
striking, at that instant, on her mind with peculiar force, made her for a 
short time sensible only of resentment. Eleanor seemed now impelled into 
resolution and speech. 

"You must write to me, Catherine," she cried; "y u must let me hear 
from you as soon as possible. Till I know you to be safe at home, I shall 
not have an hour's comfort. For one letter, at all risks, all hazards, I must 
entreat. Let me have the satisfaction of knowing that you are safe at 
Fullerton, and have found your family well ; and then, till I can ask for 
your correspondence as I ought to do, I will not expect more. Direct to me 
at Lord Longtown's, and, I must ask it, under cover to Alice." 

"No, Eleanor, if you are not allowed to receive a letter from me, I am 
sure I had better not write. There can be no doubt of my getting home 
safe." 

Eleanor only replied, "I cannot wonder at your feelings. I will not 
importune you. I will trust to your own kindness of heart when I am at a 
distance from you." But this, with the look of sorrow accompanying it, 
was enough to melt Catherine's pride in a moment, and she instantly 
said, "Oh! Eleanor, I will write to you, indeed! " 

There was yet another point which Miss Tilney was anxious to settle, 
though somewhat embarrassed in speaking of. It had occurred to her, that 
after so long an absence from home, Catherine might not be provided with 
money enough for the expenses of her journey, and, upon suggesting it to 
her with most affectionate offers of accommodation, it proved to be exactly 
the case. Catherine had never thought on the subject till that moment; 
but, upon examining her purse, was convinced that but for this kindness 
of her friend, she might have been turned from the house without even the 
means of getting home; and the distress in which she must have been 
thereby involved filling the minds of both, scarcely another word was said 
by either during the time of their remaining together. Short, however, was 
that time. The carriage was soon announced to be ready ; and Catherine 
instantly rising, a long and affectionate embrace supplied the place of 
language in bidding each other adieu ; and, as they entered the hall, unable 
to leave the house without some mention of one whose name had not yet 
been spoken by either, she paused a moment, and with quivering lips just 
made it intelligible that she left "her kind remembrance for her absent 
friend." But with this approach to his name ended all possibility of 
restraining her feelings ; and, hiding her face as well as she could with her 



"94 



THE WORKS OF JANE A-USTEN 



handkerchief, she darted across the hall, jumped into the chaise, and in 
a moment was driven from the door. 



Chapter 29 

CATHERINE was too wretched to be fearful. The journey in itself had 
no terrors for her ; and she began it without either dreading its length or 
feeling its solitariness. Leaning back in one corner of the carriage, in a 
violent burst of tears, she was conveyed some miles beyond the walls of 
the Abbey before she raised her head ; and the highest point of ground 
within the park was almost closed from her view before she was capable 
of turning her eyes towards it. Unfortunately, the road she now travelled 
was the same which only ten days ago she had so happily passed along 
in going to and from Woodston ; and, for fourteen miles, every bitter feel- 
ing was rendered more severe by the review of objects on which she had 
first looked under impressions so different. Every mile, as it brought her 
nearer Woodston, added to her sufferings ; and when within the distance 
of five she passed the turning which led to it, and thought of Henry, so 
near, yet so unconscious, her grief and agitation were excessive. 

The day which she had spent at that place had been one of the happiest 
of her life. It was there, it was on that day that the General had made use 
of such expressions with regard to Henry and herself, had so spoken and 
so looked as to give her the most positive conviction of his actually 
wishing their marriage. Yes, only ten days ago had he elated her by his 
pointed regard had he even confused her by his too significant reference ! 
And now, what had she done, or what had she omitted to do, to merit such 
a change? 

The only offence against him, of which she could accuse herself, had 
been such as was scarcely possible to reach his knowledge. Henry and her 
own heart only were privy to the shocking suspicions which she had so 
idly entertained; and equally safe did she believe her secret with each. De- 
signedly, at least, Henry could not have betrayed her. If, indeed, by any 
strange mischance his father should have gained intelligence of what she 
had dared to think and look for, of her causeless fancies and injurious 
examinations, she could not wonder at any degree of his indignation. If 
aware of her having viewed him as a murderer, she could not wonder at his 
even turning her from his house. But a justification so full of torture to 
herself she trusted would not be in his power. 

Anxious as were all her conjectures on this point, it was not, however, 
the one on which she dwelt most. There was a thought yet nearer ; a more 
prevailing, more impetuous concern; how Henry would think, and feel, 
and look, when he returned on the morrow to Northanger, and heard of her 
being gone, was a question of force and interest to rise over every other, 
to be never-ceasing, alternately irritating and soothing: it sometimes 
suggested the dread of his calm acquiescence, and at others was answered 



N O R T H A N G-E R ABBEY 1195 

by the sweetest confidence in his regret and resentment. To the General, 
of course, he would not dare to speak; but to Eleanor, what might he not 
say to Eleanor about her? 

In this unceasing recurrence of doubts and inquiries, on any one article 
of which her mind was incapable of more than momentary repose, the 
hours passed away, and her journey advanced much faster than she looked 
for. The pressing anxieties of thought which prevented her from noticing 
anything before her, when once beyond the neighbourhood of Woodston, 
saved her at the same time from watching her progress; and though no 
object on the road could engage a moment's attention, she found no stage 
of it tedious. From this she was preserved, too, by another cause: by feel- 
ing no eagerness for her journey's conclusion; for to return in such a 
manner to Fullerton was almost to destroy the pleasure of a meeting with 
those she loved best, even after an absence such as hers : an eleven weeks' 
absence. What had she to say that would not humble herself and pain her 
^amily; that would not increase her own grief by the confession of it; 
extend a useless resentment, and perhaps Evolve the innocent with the 
guilty in undistinguishing ill-will? She could never do justice to Henry 
and Eleanor's merit: she felt it too strongly for expression, and should 
a dislike be taken against them, should they be thought of unfavourably 
on their father's account, it would cut her to the heart. 

With these feelings, she rather dreaded than sought for the first view 
of that well-known spire which would announce her within twenty miles 
of home. Salisbury she had known to be her point on leaving Northanger, 
but after the first stage she had been indebted to the 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 manner, 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 Fulleton. 

A heroine returning at the close of her career, to her native village, in all 
the triumph of recovered reputation, and all the dignity of a countess, 
with a long train of noble relations in their several phaetons, and three 
waiting-maids in a travelling chaise-and-four behind her, is an event on 
which the pen of the contriver may well delight to dwell ; it gives credit to 
every conclusion, and the author must share in the glory she so liberally 
bestows. But my affair is widely different; I bring back my heroine to her 
home in solitude and disgrace, and no sweet elation of spirits can lead me 
into minuteness. A heroine in a hack post-chaise is such a blow upon 
sentiment as no attempt at grandeur or pathos can withstand. Swiftly, 
therefore, shall her post-boy drive through the village, amid the gaze of 
Sunday groups, and speedyshall 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 



n 9 6 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

biographer in relating it, she was preparing enjoyment of no every-day 
nature for those to whom she went ; first, in the appearance of her carriage, 
and secondly, in herself. The chaise of a traveller being a rare sight in 
Fullerton, the whole family were immediately at the window ; and to have 
it stop at the sweep-gate was a pleasure to brighten every eye, and occupy 
every fancy; a pleasure quite unlocked for by all but the two youngest 
children, a boy and girl of six and four years old, who expected a brother 
or sister in every carriage. Happy the glance that first distinguished 
Catherine! Happy the voice that proclaimed the discovery! but whether 
such happiness were the lawful property of George or Harriet, could never 
be exactly understood. 

Her father, mother, Sarah, George, and Harriet, all assembled at the 
door, to welcome her with affectionate eagerness, was a sight to awaken 
the best feelings of Catherine's heart ; and in the embrace of each, as she 
stepped from the carriage, she found herself soothed beyond anything 
she had believed possible. So surrounded, so caressed, she was even 
happy! In the joyfulness of family love, everything, for a short time, was 
subdued; and the pleasure of seeing her, leaving them at first little leisure 
for calm curiosity, they were all seated round the tea-table, which Mrs. 
Morland had hurried for the comfort of the poor traveller, whose pale and 
jaded looks soon caught her notice, before any inquiry so direct as to 
demand a positive answer was addressed to her. 

Reluctantly, and with much hesitation, did she then begin what might, 
perhaps, at the end of half an hour, be termed by the courtesy of her 
hearers an explanation ; but scarcely, within that time, could they at all 
discover the cause, or collect the particulars of her sudden return. They 
were far from being an irritable race; far from any quickness in catching, 
or bitterness in resenting affronts ; but here, when the whole was unfolded, 
was an insult not to be overlooked, nor, for the first half-hour, to be easily 
pardoned. Without suffering any romantic alarm in the consideration of 
their daughter's long and lonely journey, Mr. and Mrs. Morland could not 
but feel that it might have been productive of much unpleasantness to her ; 
that it was what they could never have voluntarily suffered ; and that, in 
forcing her on such a measure, General Tilney had acted neither honour- 
ably nor feelingly, neither as a gentleman nor as a parent. Why he had 
done it, what could have provoked him to such a breach of hospitality, 
and so suddenly turned all his partial regard for their daughter into actual 
ill-will, was a matter which they were at least as far from divining as 
Catherine herself : but it did not oppress them by any means so long ; and, 
after a due course of useless conjecture, that "it was a strange business, 
and that he must be a very strange man," grew enough for all their indig- 
nation and wonder ; though Sarah, indeed, still indulged in the sweets of 
incomprehensibility, exclaiming and conjecturing with youthful ardour 
"My dear, you give yourself a great deal of 'needless trouble," said her 
mother at last; "depend upon it, it is something not at all worth under- 
standing." 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1197 

"I can allow for his wishing Catherine away when he recollected this 
engagement," said Sarah; "but why not do it civilly?" 

"I am sorry for the young people," returned Mrs. Morland; "they must 
have a sad time of it; but as for anything else, it is no matter now: Cather- 
ine is safe at home, and our comfort does not depend upon General 
Tilney." Catherine sighed. "Well," continued her philosophic mother, "I 
am glad I did not know of your journey at the time; but now it is all over, 
perhaps there is no great harm done. It is always good for young people 
to be put upon exerting themselves ; and you know, my dear Catherine, 
you always were a sad little shatter-brained creature: but now you must 
have been forced to have your wits about you, with so much changing 
of chaises and so forth ; and I hope it will appear that you have not left 
anything behind you in any of the pockets." 

Catherine hoped so too, and tried to feel an interest in her own amend- 
ment, but her spirits were quite worn down ; and to be silent and alone 
becoming soon her only wish, she readily agreed to her mother's next 
counsel of going early to bed. Her parents seeing nothing in her ill-looks 
and agitation but the natural consequence of mortified feelings, and of the 
unusual exertion and fatigue of such a journey, parted from her without 
any doubt of their being soon slept away ; and though when they all met 
the next morning, her recovery was not equal to their hopes, they were 
still perfectly unsuspicious of there being any deeper evil. They never once 
thought of her heart, which for the parents of a young lady of seventeen, 
just returned from her first excursion from home, was odd enough! 

As soon as breakfast was over she sat down to fulfil her promise to Miss 
Tilney, whose trust in the effect of time and distance on her friend's 
disposition was already justified, for already did Catherine reproach her- 
self with having parted from Eleanor coldly; with having never enough 
valued her merits or kindness; and never enough commiserated her for 
what she had been yesterday left to endure. The strength of these feelings, 
however, was far from assisting her pen ; and never had it been harder for 
her to write than in addressing Eleanor Tilney. To compose a letter which 
might at once do justice to her sentiments and her situation, convey 
gratitude without servile regret, be guarded without coldness, and honest 
without resentment ; a letter which Eleanor might not be pained by the 
perusal of; and, above all, which she might not blush herself, if Henry 
should chance to see, was an undertaking to frighten away all her powers 
of performance; and, after long thought and much perplexity, to be very 
brief was all that she could determine on with any confidence of safety. 
The money, therefore, which Eleanor had advanced was enclosed with 
little more than grateful thanks, and the thousand good wishes of a most 
affectionate heart. 

"This has been a strange acquaintance," observed Mrs. Morland, as the 
letter was finished; "soon made and soon ended. I am sorry it happens so, 
for Mrs. Allen thought them very pretty kind of young people; and you 
were sadly out of luck, too, in your Isabella. Ah, poor James! Well, we 



n 9 8 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

must Kve and learn; and the next new friends you make I hope will be 
better worth keeping." 

Catherine coloured as she warmly answered, "No friend can be better 
worth keeping than Eleanor." 

"If so, my dear, I dare say you will meet again some time or other ; do 
not be uneasy. It is ten to one but you are thrown together again in the 
course of a few years; and then, what a pleasure it will be! " 

Mrs. Morland was not happy in her attempt at consolation. The hope of 
meeting again in the course of a few years could only put into Catherine's 
head what might happen within that time to make a meeting dreadful to 
her. She could never forget Henry Tilney, or think of him with less tender- 
ness 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 acquaint- 
ance 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 despatched 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 desir- 
able 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 for ever ; 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 swal- 
lowed up in the reflection of her own change of feelings and spirits since 
last she had trodden that well-known road. It was not three months ago 
since, wild with joyful expectations, she had there run backward and for- 
wards some ten times a day, with a heart light, gay, and independent; 
looking forward to pleasures untasted and unalloyed, and free from the 
apprehension of evil as from the knowledge of it. Three months ago had 
seen her all this, and now, how altered a being did she return ! 

She was received by the Aliens with all the kindness which her un- 
looked-for appearance, acting on a steady affection, would naturally call 
forth ; and great was their surprise, and warm their displeasure, on hear- 
ing how she had been treated, though Mrs. Morland's account of it was 
no inflated representation, no studied appeal to their passions. "Catherine 
took us quite by surprise yesterday evening," said she. "She travelled all 
the way post by herself, and knew nothing of coming till Saturday night; 
for General Tilney, from some odd fancy or other, all of a sudden grew 
tired of having her there, and almost turned her out of the house. Very 
unfriendly, certainly; and he must be a very odd man; but we are so 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1199 

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 resent- 
ment of a sensible friend; and Mrs. Allen thought his expression 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 Gen- 
eral," to fill up every accidental pause; and "I really have not patience 
with the General," was uttered twice after Mr. Allen left the room, with- 
out any relaxation of anger, or any material digression of thought. A more 
considerable degree of wandering attended the third repetition; and, after 
completing the fourth, she immediately added, "Only think, my dear, of 
my having got that frightful great rent in my best Mechlin so charmingly 
mended, before I left Bath, that one can hardly see where it was. I must 
show it you some day or other. Bath is a nice place, Catherine, after all 
I assure you I did not above half like coming away. Mrs. Thorpe's being 
there was such a comfort to us, was not it? You know, you and I were quite 
forlorn at first." 

" Yes, but that did not last long," said Catherine, her eyes brightening at 
the recollection of what had first given spirit to her existence. 

"Very true: we soon met with Mrs. Thorpe, and then we wanted for 

lothing. My dear, do not you think these silk gloves wear very well? I put 

them on nevv the first time of our going to the Lower Rooms, you know, 

and I have worn them a great deal since. Do you remember that evening?" 

"Do I! Oh, perfectly." 

"It was very agreeable, was not it? Mr. Tilney drank tea with us, and I 
always thought him a great addition; he is so very agreeable. I have a 
notion you danced with him, but am not quite sure. I remember I had my 
favourite gown on." 

Catherine could not answer; and, after a short trial of other subjects, 
Mrs. Allen again returned to "I really have not patience with the Gen- 
eral ! Such an agreeable worthy man as he seemed to be ! I do not suppose, 
Mrs. Morland, you ever saw a better-bred man in your life. His lodgings 
were taken the very day after he left them, Catherine. But no wonder; 
Milsom Street, you know." 

As they walked home again, Mrs. Morland endeavoured to impress on 
her daughter's mind the happiness of having such steady well-wishers as 
Mr. and Mrs. Allen, and the very little consideration which the neglect or 
unkindness of slight acquaintance like the Tilneys ought to have with 
her, while she could preserve the good opinion and affection of her earliest 
friends. There was a great deal of good sense in all this; but there are 
some situations of the human mind in which good sense has very little 
power; and Catherine's feelings contradicted almost every position her 
mother advanced. It was upon the behaviour of these very slight acquaint- 
ance that all her present happiness depended ; and while Mrs. Morland 
was successfully confirming her own opinions by the justness of her own 



i2oo THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

representations, Catherine was silently reflecting that now Henry must 
have arrived at Northanger; now he must have heard of her departure; 
and now, perhaps, they were all setting off for Hereford. 



Chapter 30 

CATHERINE'S disposition was not naturally sedentary, nor had her 
habits been ever very industrious; but, whatever might hitherto have 
been her defects of that sort, her mother could not but perceive them now 
to be greatly increased. She could neither sit still nor employ herself for 
ten minutes together; walking round the garden and orchard again and 
again, as if nothing but motion was voluntary; and it seemed as if she 
could even walk about the house rather than remain fixed for any time in 
the parlour. Her loss of spirits was a yet greater alteration. In her ram- 
bling and her idleness, she might only be a caricature of herself ; but in her 
silence and sadness, she was the very reverse of all that she had been 
before. 

For two days Mrs. Morland allowed it to pass even without a hint ; but 
when a third night's rest had neither restored her cheerfulness, improved 
her in useful activity, nor given her a greater inclination for needlework, 
she could no longer refrain from the gentle reproof of, "My dear Catherine, 
I am afraid you are growing quite a fine lady. I do not know when poor 
Richard's cravats would be done, if he had no friend but you. Your head 
runs too much upon Bath ; but there is a time for everything a time for 
balls and plays, and a time for work. You have had a long run of amuse- 
ment, and now you must try to be useful.' 7 

Catherine took up her work directly, saying, in a dejected voice, that 
"her head did not run upon Bath much." 

"Then you are fretting about General Tilney, and that is very simple of 
you; for ten to one whether you ever see him again. You should never 
fret about trifles." After a short silence: "I hope, my Catherine, you are 
not getting out of humour with home, because it is not so grand as North- 
anger. 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 break- 
fast, to hear you talk so much about the French bread at Northanger." 

"I am sure I do not care about the bread. It is all the same to me what 
I eat." 

"There is a very clever essay in one of the books upstairs upon much 
such a subject, about young girls who have been spoilt for home by 
great acquaintance: The Mirror, I think. I will look it out for you some 
day or other, because I am sure it will do you good." 

Catherine said no more; and, with an endeavour to do right, applied to 
her work ; but, after a few minutes, sunk again, without knowing it herself, 
into languor and listlessness ; moving herself in her chair, from the irrita- 



NORTHANGER ABBEY izor 

lion 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 
irrinutes, 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 apologise for his appearance there, acknowledging that after what had 
passed he had little right to expect a welcome at Fullerton, and stating 
his impatience to be assured of Miss Morland's having reached her home 
in safety, as the cause of his intrusion. He did not address himself to an 
uncandid judge or a resentful heart. Far from comprehending him or his 
sister in their father's misconduct, Mrs. Morland had been always kindly 
disposed towards each ; and instantly, pleased by his appearance, received 
him with the simple professions of unaffected benevolence ; thanking him 
for such an attention to her daughter; assuring him that the friends of her 
children were always welcome there, and intreated him to say not another 
word of the past. 

He was not ill inclined to obey this request ; for though his heart was 
greatly relieved by such unlooked-for mildness, it was not, just at that 
moment, in his power to say anything to the purpose. Returning in silence 
to his seat, therefore, he remained for some minutes most civilly answering 
all Mrs. Morland's common remarks about the weather and roads. 
Catherine, meanwhile, the anxious, agitated, happy, feverish Catherine, 
said not a word: but her glowing cheek and brightened eye made hei 
mother trust that this good-natured visit would, at least, set her heart at 
ease for a time; and gladly, therefore, did she lay aside the first volume 
of The Mirror for a future hour. 

Desirous of Mr. Morland's assistance, as well in giving encouragement 
as in finding conversation for her guest, whose embarrassment on hii 
father's account she earnestly pitied, Mrs. Morland had very early de- 
spatched one of the children to summon him; but Mr. Morland was from 
home, and being thus without any support, at the end of a quarter of an 
hour she had nothing to say. After a couple ot 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 Fuller- 
ton? and on developing, from amidst all her perplexity of words in reply, 
the meaning, which one short syllable would have given, immediately ex- 
pressed his intention of paying his respects to them, and with a rising 



1202 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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. Mc~land 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 him- 
self; and before they reached Mr. Allen's grounds he had done it so well 
that Catherine did not think it could ever be repeated too often. She was 
assured of his affection; and that heart in return was solicited, which, 
perhaps, they pretty equally knew was already entirely his own; for, 
though Henry was now sincerely attached to her though he felt and 
delighted in all the excellencies of her character, and truly loved her 
society I must confess that his affection originated in nothing better 
than gratitude ; or, in other words, that a persuasion of her partiality for 
him had been the only cause of giving her a serious thought. It is a new 
circumstance in romance, I acknowledge, and dreadfully derogatory of an 
heroine's dignity; but if it be as new in common life, the credit of a wild 
imagination will at least be all my own. 

A very short visit to Mrs. Allen, in which Henry talked at random, 
without sense or connection, and Catherine, wrapt in the contemplation 
of her own unutterable happiness, scarcely opened her lips, dismissed 
them to the ecstasies of another tete-a-tete; and before it was suffered to 
close, she was enabled to judge how far he was sanctioned by parental 
authority in his present application. On his return from Woodston, two 
days before, he had been met near the Abbey by his impatient father, 
hastily informed in angry terms of Miss Morland's departure, and ordered 
to think of her no more. 

Such was the permission upon which he had now offered her his hand. 
The affrighted Catherine, amidst all the terrors of expectation, as she 
listened to this account, could not but rejoice in the kind caution with 
which Henry had saved her from the necessity of a conscientious rejection, 
by engaging her faith before he mentioned the subject ; and as he pro- 
ceeded 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 sup- 
posed her to be. Under a mistaken persuasion of her possessions and claims 
he had courted her acquaintance in Bath, solicited her company at North- 
anger, and designed her for his daughter-in-law. On discovering his error, 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1203 

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 Moland, therefore, from the first over-rated, 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 while family to the General in a most respectable 
light. For Catherine, however, the peculiar object of the General's curi- 
osity 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 determined on her being handsomely legacied hereafter; 
and to speak of her, therefore, as the most 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 Aliens 
being wealthy and childless, of Miss Morland's being under their care, 
and, as soon as his acquaintance allowed him to judge, of their treating 
her with parental kindness. His resolution was soon formed. Already had 
he discerned a liking towards Miss Morland in the countenance of his son ; 
and thankful for Mr. Thorpe's communication, he almost instantly 
determined to spare no pains in weakening his boasted interest, and 
ruining his dearest hopes. Catherine herself could not be more ignorant at 
the time of all this than his own children. Henry and Eleanor, perceiving 
nothing in her situation likely to engage their father's particular respect, 
had seen with astonishment the suddenness, continuance, and extent of 
his attention; and though latterly, from some hints which had accom- 
panied 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 b* 



1204 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN 

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 learned 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 for 
ever, and spurning a friendship which could be no longer serviceable, 
hastened to contradict all that he had said before to the advantage of the 
Morlands : confessed himself to have been totally mistaken in his opinion 
of their circumstances and character, misled by the rodomontade 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 acknowl- 
edge 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 particulor opportunities of discovering; aiming at a style of life 
which their fortune could not warrant; seeking to better themselves by 
wealthy connections ; a forward, bragging, scheming race. 

The terrified General pronounced the name of Allen with an inquiring 
look, and here, too, Thorpe had learnt his error. The Aliens, 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 day next for the 
Abbey, where his performances have been seen. 

I leave it to my reader's sagacity to determine how much of all this it 
was possible for Henry to communicate at this time to Catherine; how 
much of it he could have learnt from his father, in what points his own 
conjectures might assist him, and what portion must yet remain to be told 
in a letter from James. I have united for their ease what they must divide 
for mine. Catherine, at any rate heard enough to feel, that, in suspecting 
General Tilney of either murdering or shutting up his wife, she had 
scarcely sinned against his character or magnified his cruelty. 

Henry, in having such things to relate of his father, was almost a* 
pitiable as in their first avowal to himself. He blushed for the narrow- 
minded counsel which he was obliged to expose. The conversation between 
them at Northanger had been of the most unfriendly kind. Henry's indig- 
nation on hearing how Catherine had been treated on comprehending 
his father's views, and being ordered to acquiesce in them, had been open 
and bold. The General, accustomed on every ordinary occasion to give the 
law in his family, prepared for no reluctance but of feeling, no opposing 
desire that should dare to clothe itself in words, could ill brook the 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1205 

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 in- 
fluence the resolutions it prompted. 

He steadily refused to accompany his father into Herefordshire, an 
engagement formed almost at the moment, to promote the dismiss*!, 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 dis- 
agreement. Henry, in an agitation of mind which many solitary hours 
were required to compose, had returned almost instantly to Woodston; 
and on the afternoon of the following day had begun his journey to 
Fullerton. 

Chapter 3 z 

MR. AND MRS. MORLAND'S suprise 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 con- 
cerned, had not a single objection to start. His pleasing manners and 
good sense were self-evident recommendations ; and having never heard 
evil of him, it was not their way to suppose any evil could be told. Good- 
will supplying the place of experience, his character needed no attestation. 
"Catherine would make a sad, heedless young housekeeper, to be sure," 
was her mother's foreboding remark; but quick was the consolation of 
there being nothing like practice. 

There was but one obstacle, in short, to be mentioned ; but till that one 
was removed it must be impossible for them to sanction the engagement. 
Their tempers were mild, but their principles were steady ; and while his 
parent so expressly 'orbade the connection, they could not allow them- 
selves 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 appear- 
ance of consent must be yielded, and that once obtained, and their own 
hearts made them trust that it could not be very long denied, their willing 
approbation was instantly to follow. His consent was all that they wished 
for. They were no more inclined than entitled to demand his money. Of a 
very considerable fortune, his son was, by marriage settlements, eventually 
secure ; his present income was an income of independence and comfort. 



1206 THE WORKS OFJANE AUSTEN" 

and under every pecuniary view it was a match beyond the claims of their 
daughter. 

The young people could not be surprised at a decision like this. They 
felt and they deplored, but they could not resent it ; and they parted, en- 
deavouring 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 did ; they had been too kind to exact any promise, and 
whenever Catherine received a letter, as at that time happened pretty 
often, they always looked another way. 

The anxiety which in this state of their attachment must be the portion 
of Henry and Catherine, and of all who loved either, as to its final event, 
can hardly extend, I fear, to the bosom of my readers, who will see in the 
tell-tale compression of the pages before them, that we are all hastening 
together to perfect felicity. The means by which their early marriage was 
effected can be the only doubt: what probable circumstance could work 
upon a temper like the General's? The circumstance which chiefly availed 
was the marriage of his daughter with a man of fortune and consequence, 
which took place in the course of the summer : an accession of dignity that 
threw him into a fit of good humour, from which he did not recover till 
after Eleanor had obtained his forgiveness of Henry, and his permission 
for him "to be a fool if he liked it." 

The marriage of Eleanor Tilney, her removal from all the evils of such a 
home as Northanger had been made by Henry's banishment, to the home 
of her choice and the man of her choice, is an event which I expect to give 
general satisfaction among all her acquaintance. My own joy on the 
occasion is very sincere. I know no one more entitled by unpretending 
merit, or better prepared by habitual suffering, to receive and enjoy 
felicity. Her partiality for this gentleman was not of recent origin, and he 
had been long withheld only by inferiority of situation from addressing 
her. His unexpected accession to title and fortune had removed all his 
difficulties ; and never had the General loved his daughter so well in all 
her hours of companionship, utility, and patient endurance, as when he 
first hailed her, "Your Ladyship!" Her husband was really deserving of 
her, independent of his peerage, his wealth, and his attachment, being to a 
precision the most charming young man in the world. Any further defini- 
tion of his merits must be unnecessary: the most charming young man 
in the world is instantly before the imagination of us all. Concerning 
the one in question, therefore, I have only to add (aware that the rules of 
composition forbid the introduction of a character not connected with my 
fable) that this was the very gentleman whose negligent servant left 
behind him that collection of washing-bills, resulting from a long visit at 



NORTHANGER ABBEY 1207 

Northanger, by which my heroine was involved in one of her most alarm- 
ing adventures. 

The influence of the Viscount and Viscountess in their brother's behalf 
was assisted by that right understanding of Mr. Morland's circumstances, 
which, as soon as the General would allow himself to be informed, they 
were qualified to give. It taught him that he had been scarcely more 
misled by Thorpe's first boast of the family wealth than by his subsequent 
malicious overthrow of it ; that in no sense of the word were they neces- 
sitous 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 pro- 
cure, that the Fullerton estate, being entirely at the disposal of its present 
proprietor, was consequently open to every greedy speculation. 

On the strength of this the General, soon after Eleanor's marriage, 
permitted his son to return to Northanger, and thence made him the bearer 
of his consent, very courteously worded in a page full of empty profes- 
sions, to Mr. Morland. The event which it authorised soon followed: 
Henry and Catherine were married, the bells rang and everybody smiled ; 
and, as this took place within a twelvemonth from the first day of their 
meeting, it will not appear, after all the dreadful delays occasioned by the 
General's cruelty, that they were essentially hurt by it. To begin perfect 
happiness at the respective ages of twenty-six and eighteen is to do pretty 
well; and professing myself, moreover, convinced that the General's 
unjust interference, so far from being really injurious to their felicity, was 
perhaps rather conducive to it, by improving their knowledge of each 
other, and adding strength to their attachment, I leave it to be settled by 
whomsoever it may concern, whether the tendency of this work be 
altogether to recommend parental tyranny or reward filial disobedience. 



THE END