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new observer; but they were not in every respect answered,

for Catherine had depended upon meeting with features,

hair, complexion, that should be the very counterpart,

the very image, if not of Henry`s, of Eleanor`s--the only

portraits of which she had been in the habit of thinking,

bearing always an equal resemblance of mother and child.

A face once taken was taken for generations. But here she

was obliged to look and consider and study for a likeness.

She contemplated it, however, in spite of this drawback,

with much emotion, and, but for a yet stronger interest,

would have left it unwillingly.

Her agitation as they entered the great gallery was too

much for any endeavour at discourse; she could only look

at her companion. Eleanor`s countenance was dejected,

yet sedate; and its composure spoke her inured to all the

gloomy objects to which they were advancing. Again she

passed through the folding doors, again her hand was upon

the important lock, and Catherine, hardly able to breathe,

was turning to close the former with fearful caution,

when the figure, the dreaded figure of the general himself

at the further end of the gallery, stood before her! The

name of " Eleanor" at the same moment, in his loudest tone,

resounded through the building, giving to his daughter

the first intimation of his presence, and to Catherine

terror upon terror. An attempt at concealment had been

her first instinctive movement on perceiving him,

yet she could scarcely hope to have escaped his eye;

and when her friend, who with an apologizing look darted

hastily by her, had joined and disappeared with him,

she ran for safety to her own room, and, locking herself in,

believed that she should never have courage to go

down again. She remained there at least an hour,

in the greatest agitation, deeply commiserating the state

of her poor friend, and expecting a summons herself from

the angry general to attend him in his own apartment.

No summons, however, arrived; and at last, on seeing

a carriage drive up to the abbey, she was emboldened

to descend and meet him under the protection of visitors.

The breakfast-room was gay with company; and she was named

to them by the general as the friend of his daughter, in a

complimentary style, which so well concealed his resentful ire,

as to make her feel secure at least of life for the present.

And Eleanor, with a command of countenance which did

honour to her concern for his character, taking an early

occasion of saying to her, " My father only wanted me

to answer a note, " she began to hope that she had either

been unseen by the general, or that from some consideration

of policy she should be allowed to suppose herself so.

Upon this trust she dared still to remain in his presence,

after the company left them, and nothing occurred to

disturb it.

In the course of this morning`s reflections,

she came to a resolution of making her next attempt on

the forbidden door alone. It would be much better in every

respect that Eleanor should know nothing of the matter.

To involve her in the danger of a second detection,

to court her into an apartment which must wring her heart,

could not be the office of a friend. The general`s

utmost anger could not be to herself what it might be to

a daughter; and, besides, she thought the examination itself

would be more satisfactory if made without any companion.

It would be impossible to explain to Eleanor the suspicions,

from which the other had, in all likelihood, been hitherto

happily exempt; nor could she therefore, in her presence,

search for those proofs of the general`s cruelty,

which however they might yet have escaped discovery,

she felt confident of somewhere drawing forth, in the shape

of some fragmented journal, continued to the last gasp.

Of the way to the apartment she was now perfectly mistress;

and as she wished to get it over before Henry`s return,

who was expected on the morrow, there was no time to be lost,

The day was bright, her courage high; at four o`clock,

the sun was now two hours above the horizon, and it

would be only her retiring to dress half an hour earlier

than usual.

It was done; and Catherine found herself alone

in the gallery before the clocks had ceased to strike.

It was no time for thought; she hurried on, slipped with

the least possible noise through the folding doors,

and without stopping to look or breathe, rushed forward

to the one in question. The lock yielded to her hand,

and, luckily, with no sullen sound that could alarm

a human being. On tiptoe she entered; the room was

before her; but it was some minutes before she could

advance another step. She beheld what fixed her to

the spot and agitated every feature. She saw a large,

well-proportioned apartment, an handsome dimity bed,

arranged as unoccupied with an housemaid`s care, a bright

Bath stove, mahogany wardrobes, and neatly painted chairs,

on which the warm beams of a western sun gaily poured

through two sash windows! Catherine had expected

to have her feelings worked, and worked they were.

Astonishment and doubt first seized them; and a shortly

succeeding ray of common sense added some bitter emotions

of shame. She could not be mistaken as to the room;

but how grossly mistaken in everything else! --in Miss

Tilney`s meaning, in her own calculation! This apartment,

to which she had given a date so ancient, a position so awful,

proved to be one end of what the general`s father had built.

There were two other doors in the chamber, leading probably

into dressing-closets; but she had no inclination to

open either. Would the veil in which Mrs. Tilney had

last walked, or the volume in which she had last read,

remain to tell what nothing else was allowed to whisper?

No: whatever might have been the general`s crimes, he had

certainly too much wit to let them sue for detection.

She was sick of exploring, and desired but to be safe in

her own room, with her own heart only privy to its folly;

and she was on the point of retreating as softly as she

had entered, when the sound of footsteps, she could hardly

tell where, made her pause and tremble. To be found there,

even by a servant, would be unpleasant; but by the general

(and he seemed always at hand when least wanted), much

worse! She listened--the sound had ceased; and resolving not

to lose a moment, she passed through and closed the door.

At that instant a door underneath was hastily opened;

someone seemed with swift steps to ascend the stairs,

by the head of which she had yet to pass before she

could gain the gallery. She bad no power to move.

With a feeling of terror not very definable, she fixed

her eyes on the staircase, and in a few moments it gave

Henry to her view. " Mr. Tilney! " she exclaimed in a voice

of more than common astonishment. He looked astonished too.

" Good God! " she continued, not attending to his address.

" How came you here? How came you up that staircase? "

" How came I up that staircase! " he replied,

greatly surprised. " Because it is my nearest way from the

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 be 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 tomorrow. "

" 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 an the rooms in the house by yourself? "

" Oh! No; she showed me over the greatest part on

Saturday--and we were coming here to these rooms--but

only" --dropping her voice--" your father was with us. "

" And that prevented you, " said Henry, earnestly

regarding her. " Have you looked into all the rooms in

that passage? "

" No, I only wanted to see-- Is not it very late? I

must go and dress. "

" It is only a quarter past four" showing his

watch--" and you are not now in Bath. No theatre, no rooms

to prepare for. Half an hour at Northanger must be enough. "

She could not contradict it, and therefore suffered

herself to be detained, though her dread of further questions

made her, for the first time in their acquaintance,

wish to leave him. They walked slowly up the gallery.

" Have you had any letter from Bath since I saw you? "

" No, and I am very much surprised. Isabella promised

so faithfully to write directly. "

" Promised so faithfully! A faithful promise! That

puzzles me. I have heard of a faithful performance.

But a faithful promise--the fidelity of promising! It

is a power little worth knowing, however, since it can

deceive and pain you. My mother`s room is very commodious,

is it not? Large and cheerful-looking, and the

dressing-closets so well disposed! It always strikes me

as the most comfortable apartment in the house, and I

rather wonder that Eleanor should not take it for her own.

She sent you to look at it, I suppose? "

" No. "

" It has been your own doing entirely? " Catherine said

nothing. After a short silence, during which he had closely

observed her, he added, " As there is nothing in the room

in itself to raise curiosity, this must have proceeded

from a sentiment of respect for my mother`s character,

as described by Eleanor, which does honour to her memory.

The world, I believe, never saw a better woman.

But it is not often that virtue can boast an interest such

as this. The domestic, unpretending merits of a person

never known do not often create that kind of fervent,

venerating tenderness which would prompt a visit

like yours. Eleanor, I suppose, has talked of her a great deal? "

" Yes, a great deal. That is--no, not much,

but what she did say was very interesting. Her dying

so suddenly" (slowly, and with hesitation it was spoken),

" and you--none of you being at home--and your father,

I thought--perhaps had not been very fond of her. "

" And from these circumstances, " he replied (his quick

eye fixed on hers), " you infer perhaps the probability

of some negligence--some" --(involuntarily she shook her

head)--" or it may be--of something still less pardonable. "

She raised her eyes towards him more fully than she had

ever done before. " My mother`s illness, " he continued,

" the seizure which ended in her death, was sudden.

The malady itself, one from which she had often suffered,

a bilious fever--its cause therefore constitutional.

On the third day, in short, as soon as she could be

prevailed on, a physician attended her, a very respectable man,

and one in whom she had always placed great confidence.

Upon his opinion of her danger, two others were called

in the next day, and remained in almost constant attendance

for four and twenty hours. On the fifth day she died.

During the progress of her disorder, Frederick and I (we

were both at home) saw her repeatedly; and from our own

observation can bear witness to her having received

every possible attention which could spring from the

affection of those about her, or which her situation

in life could command. Poor Eleanor was absent, and at

such a distance as to return only to see her mother in

her coffin. "

" But your father, " said Catherine, " was he afflicted? "

" For a time, greatly so. You have erred in supposing

him not attached to her. He loved her, I am persuaded,

as well as it was possible for him to--we have not all,

you know, the same tenderness of disposition--and

I will not pretend to say that while she lived,

she might not often have had much to bear, but though

his temper injured her, his judgment never did.

His value of her was sincere; and, if not permanently,

he was truly afflicted by her death. "

" I am very glad of it, " said Catherine; " it would

have been very shocking! "

" If I understand you rightly, you had formed a

surmise of such horror as I have hardly words to-- Dear

Miss Morland, consider the dreadful nature of the suspicions

you have entertained. What have you been judging from?

Remember the country and the age in which we live.

Remember that we are English, that we are Christians.

Consult your own understanding, your own sense of the probable,

your own observation of what is passing around you.

Does our education prepare us for such atrocities? Do

our laws connive at them? Could they be perpetrated

without being known, in a country like this, where social

and literary intercourse is on such a footing, where every

man is surrounded by a neighbourhood of voluntary spies,

and where roads and newspapers lay everything open? Dearest

Miss Morland, what ideas have you been admitting? "

They had reached the end of the gallery, and with

tears of shame she ran off to her own room.

CHAPTER 25

The visions of romance were over. Catherine was

completely awakened. Henry`s address, short as it had been,

had more thoroughly opened her eyes to the extravagance of her

late fancies than all their several disappointments had done.

Most grievously was she humbled. Most bitterly did she cry.

It was not only with herself that she was sunk--but

with Henry. Her folly, which now seemed even criminal,

was all exposed to him, and he must despise her forever.

The liberty which her imagination had dared to take with

the character of his father--could he ever forgive it? The

absurdity of her curiosity and her fears--could they ever

be forgotten? She hated herself more than she could express.

He had--she thought he had, once or twice before this

fatal morning, shown something like affection for her.

But now--in short, she made herself as miserable as

possible for about half an hour, went down when the clock

struck five, with a broken heart, and could scarcely give

an intelligible answer to Eleanor`s inquiry if she was well.

The formidable Henry soon followed her into the room,

and the only difference in his behaviour to her was

that he paid her rather more attention than usual.

Catherine had never wanted comfort more, and he looked

as if he was aware of it.

The evening wore away with no abatement of this

soothing politeness; and her spirits were gradually raised

to a modest tranquillity. She did not learn either

to forget or defend the past; but she learned to hope

that it would never transpire farther, and that it might

not cost her Henry`s entire regard. Her thoughts being

still chiefly fixed on what she had with such causeless

terror felt and done, nothing could shortly be clearer than

that it had been all a voluntary, self-created delusion,

each trifling circumstance receiving importance from

an imagination resolved on alarm, and everything forced

to bend to one purpose by a mind which, before she

entered the abbey, had been craving to be frightened.

She remembered with what feelings she had prepared for a

knowledge of Northanger. She saw that the infatuation

had been created, the mischief settled, long before her

quitting Bath, and it seemed as if the whole might be traced

to the influence of that sort of reading which she had

there indulged.

Charming as were all Mrs. Radcliffe`s works,

and charming even as were the works of all her imitators,

it was not in them perhaps that human nature, at least

in the Midland counties of England, was to be looked for.

Of the Alps and Pyrenees, with their pine forests and

their vices, they might give a faithful delineation;

and Italy, Switzerland, and the south of France might be

as fruitful in horrors as they were there represented.

Catherine dared not doubt beyond her own country, and even

of that, if hard pressed, would have yielded the northern

and western extremities. But in the central part of

England there was surely some security for the existence

even of a wife not beloved, in the laws of the land,

and the manners of the age. Murder was not tolerated,

servants were not slaves, and neither poison nor sleeping

potions to be procured, like rhubarb, from every druggist.

Among the Alps and Pyrenees, perhaps, there were no

mixed characters. There, such as were not as spotless

as an angel might have the dispositions of a fiend.

But in England it was not so; among the English, she believed,

in their hearts and habits, there was a general though

unequal mixture of good and bad. Upon this conviction,

she would not be surprised if even in Henry and Eleanor

Tilney, some slight imperfection might hereafter appear;

and upon this conviction she need not fear to acknowledge

some actual specks in the character of their father, who,

though cleared from the grossly injurious suspicions which

she must ever blush to have entertained, she did believe,

upon serious consideration, to be not perfectly amiable.

Her mind made up on these several points,

and her resolution formed, of always judging and acting

in future with the greatest good sense, she had nothing

to do but to forgive herself and be happier than ever;

and the lenient hand of time did much for her by

insensible gradations in the course of another day.

Henry`s astonishing generosity and nobleness of conduct,

in never alluding in the slightest way to what had passed,

was of the greatest assistance to her; and sooner than

she could have supposed it possible in the beginning of

her distress, her spirits became absolutely comfortable,

and capable, as heretofore, of continual improvement by

anything he said. There were still some subjects, indeed,

under which she believed they must always tremble--the

mention of a chest or a cabinet, for instance--and she did

not love the sight of japan in any shape: but even she

could allow that an occasional memento of past folly,

however painful, might not be without use.

The anxieties of common life began soon to succeed to

the alarms of romance. Her desire of hearing from Isabella

grew every day greater. She was quite impatient to know

how the Bath world went on, and how the rooms were attended;

and especially was she anxious to be assured of Isabella`s

having matched some fine netting-cotton, on which she

had left her intent; and of her continuing on the best

terms with James. Her only dependence for information

of any kind was on Isabella. James had protested against

writing to her till his return to Oxford; and Mrs. Allen

had given her no hopes of a letter till she had got back

to Fullerton. But Isabella had promised and promised again;

and when she promised a thing, she was so scrupulous

in performing it! This made it so particularly strange!

For nine successive mornings, Catherine wondered

over the repetition of a disappointment, which each

morning became more severe: but, on the tenth, when she

entered the breakfast-room, her first object was a letter,

held out by Henry`s willing hand. She thanked him

as heartily as if he had written it himself. " `Tis only

from James, however, " as she looked at the direction.

She opened it; it was from Oxford; and to this purpose:

" Dear Catherine,

" Though, God knows, with little inclination

for writing, I think it my duty to tell you that

everything is at an end between Miss Thorpe and me.

I left her and Bath yesterday, never to see either

again. I shall not enter into particulars--they

would only pain you more. You will soon hear enough

from another quarter to know where lies the blame;

and I hope will acquit your brother of everything

but the folly of too easily thinking his affection

returned. Thank God! I am undeceived in time! But

it is a heavy blow! After my father`s consent had

been so kindly given--but no more of this. She has

made me miserable forever! Let me soon hear from

you, dear Catherine; you are my only friend; your

love I do build upon. I wish your visit at Northanger

may be over before Captain Tilney makes his engagement

known, or you will be uncomfortably circumstanced.

Poor Thorpe is in town: I dread the sight of him;

his honest heart would feel so much. I have written

to him and my father. Her duplicity hurts me more

than all; till the very last, if I reasoned with

her, she declared herself as much attached to me as

ever, and laughed at my fears. I am ashamed to

think how long I bore with it; but if ever man had

reason to believe himself loved, I was that man.

I cannot understand even now what she would be at,

for there could be no need of my being played off

to make her secure of Tilney. We parted at last by

mutual consent--happy for me had we never met! I

can never expect to know such another woman! Dearest

Catherine, beware how you give your heart.

" Believe me, " & c.

Catherine had not read three lines before her sudden

change of countenance, and short exclamations of sorrowing

wonder, declared her to be receiving unpleasant news;

and Henry, earnestly watching her through the whole letter,

saw plainly that it ended no better than it began.

He was prevented, however, from even looking his surprise

by his father`s entrance. They went to breakfast directly;

but Catherine could hardly eat anything. Tears filled

her eyes, and even ran down her cheeks as she sat.

The letter was one moment in her hand, then in her lap,

and then in her pocket; and she looked as if she knew

not what she did. The general, between his cocoa and

his newspaper, had luckily no leisure for noticing her;

but to the other two her distress was equally visible.

As soon as she dared leave the table she hurried away

to her own room; but the housemaids were busy in it,

and she was obliged to come down again. She turned

into the drawing-room for privacy, but Henry and Eleanor

had likewise retreated thither, and were at that moment

deep in consultation about her. She drew back,

trying to beg their pardon, but was, with gentle violence,

forced to return; and the others withdrew, after Eleanor had

affectionately expressed a wish of being of use or comfort

to her.

After half an hour`s free indulgence of grief and

reflection, Catherine felt equal to encountering her friends;

but whether she should make her distress known to them was

another consideration. Perhaps, if particularly questioned,

she might just give an idea--just distantly hint at

it--but not more. To expose a friend, such a friend

as Isabella had been to her--and then their own brother

so closely concerned in it! She believed she must waive

the subject altogether. Henry and Eleanor were by themselves

in the breakfast-room; and each, as she entered it,

looked at her anxiously. Catherine took her place at

the table, and, after a short silence, Eleanor said, " No bad

news from Fullerton, I hope? Mr. and Mrs. Morland--your

brothers and sisters--I hope they are none of them ill? "

" No, I thank you" (sighing as she spoke); " they are

all very well. My letter was from my brother at Oxford. "

Nothing further was said for a few minutes; and then

speaking through her tears, she added, " I do not think

I shall ever wish for a letter again! "

" I am sorry, " said Henry, closing the book he had

just opened; " if I had suspected the letter of containing

anything unwelcome, I should have given it with very different feelings. "

" It contained something worse than anybody could

suppose! Poor James is so unhappy! You will soon know why. "

" To have so kind-hearted, so affectionate a sister, "

replied Henry warmly, " must be a comfort to him under

any distress. "

" I have one favour to beg, " said Catherine,

shortly afterwards, in an agitated manner, " that, if

your brother should be coming here, you will give

me notice of it, that I may go away. "

" Our brother! Frederick! "

" Yes; I am sure I should be very sorry to leave you

so soon, but something has happened that would make it very

dreadful for me to be in the same house with Captain Tilney. "

Eleanor`s work was suspended while she gazed with

increasing astonishment; but Henry began to suspect the truth,

and something, in which Miss Thorpe`s name was included,

passed his lips.

" How quick you are! " cried Catherine: " you have

guessed it, I declare! And yet, when we talked about

it in Bath, you little thought of its ending so.

Isabella--no wonder now I have not heard from her--Isabella

has deserted my brother, and is to marry yours! Could

you have believed there had been such inconstancy

and fickleness, and everything that is bad in the world? "

" I hope, so far as concerns my brother, you are misinformed.

I hope he has not had any material share in bringing on

Mr. Morland`s disappointment. His marrying Miss Thorpe

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