by Jane Austen
CHAPTER 28
Soon after this, the general found himself obliged to go to London fora week; and he left Northanger earnestly regretting that any necessityshould rob him even for an hour of Miss Morland's company, and anxiouslyrecommending the study of her comfort and amusement to his childrenas their chief object in his absence. His departure gave Catherine thefirst experimental conviction that a loss may be sometimes a gain. Thehappiness with which their time now passed, every employment voluntary,every laugh indulged, every meal a scene of ease and good humour,walking where they liked and when they liked, their hours, pleasures,and fatigues at their own command, made her thoroughly sensible of therestraint which the general's presence had imposed, and most thankfullyfeel their present release from it. Such ease and such delights made herlove the place and the people more and more every day; and had it notbeen for a dread of its soon becoming expedient to leave the one, andan apprehension of not being equally beloved by the other, she would ateach moment of each day have been perfectly happy; but she was now inthe fourth week of her visit; before the general came home, the fourthweek would be turned, and perhaps it might seem an intrusion if shestayed much longer. This was a painful consideration whenever itoccurred; and eager to get rid of such a weight on her mind, she verysoon 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 mightbe taken.
Aware that if she gave herself much time, she might feel it difficult tobring forward so unpleasant a subject, she took the first opportunity ofbeing suddenly alone with Eleanor, and of Eleanor's being in themiddle of a speech about something very different, to start forth herobligation of going away very soon. Eleanor looked and declared herselfmuch concerned. She had "hoped for the pleasure of her company for amuch longer time--had been misled (perhaps by her wishes) to supposethat a much longer visit had been promised--and could not but think thatif Mr. and Mrs. Morland were aware of the pleasure it was to her to haveher there, they would be too generous to hasten her return." Catherineexplained: "Oh! As to that, Papa and Mamma were in no hurry at all. Aslong 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 youthink it long--"
"Oh! No, I do not indeed. For my own pleasure, I could stay with you aslong again." And it was directly settled that, till she had, her leavingthem was not even to be thought of. In having this cause of uneasinessso pleasantly removed, the force of the other was likewise weakened. Thekindness, 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 onlyjust so much solicitude as the human mind can never do comfortablywithout. She did--almost always--believe that Henry loved her, and quitealways that his father and sister loved and even wished her to belongto them; and believing so far, her doubts and anxieties were merelysportive irritations.
Henry was not able to obey his father's injunction of remaining whollyat Northanger in attendance on the ladies, during his absence in London,the engagements of his curate at Woodston obliging him to leave them onSaturday for a couple of nights. His loss was not now what it had beenwhile the general was at home; it lessened their gaiety, but did notruin their comfort; and the two girls agreeing in occupation, andimproving in intimacy, found themselves so well sufficient for the timeto themselves, that it was eleven o'clock, rather a late hour atthe abbey, before they quitted the supper-room on the day of Henry'sdeparture. 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 acarriage was driving up to the door, and the next moment confirmed theidea by the loud noise of the house-bell. After the first perturbationof surprise had passed away, in a "Good heaven! What can be the matter?"it was quickly decided by Eleanor to be her eldest brother, whosearrival was often as sudden, if not quite so unseasonable, andaccordingly she hurried down to welcome him.
Catherine walked on to her chamber, making up her mind as well as shecould, to a further acquaintance with Captain Tilney, and comfortingherself under the unpleasant impression his conduct had given her, andthe persuasion of his being by far too fine a gentleman to approve ofher, that at least they should not meet under such circumstances aswould make their meeting materially painful. She trusted he would neverspeak of Miss Thorpe; and indeed, as he must by this time be ashamed ofthe part he had acted, there could be no danger of it; and as long asall mention of Bath scenes were avoided, she thought she could behaveto him very civilly. In such considerations time passed away, and it wascertainly in his favour that Eleanor should be so glad to see him, andhave 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, andlistened for its continuance; but all was silent. Scarcely, however,had she convicted her fancy of error, when the noise of something movingclose to her door made her start; it seemed as if someone was touchingthe very doorway--and in another moment a slight motion of the lockproved that some hand must be on it. She trembled a little at the ideaof anyone's approaching so cautiously; but resolving not to be againovercome by trivial appearances of alarm, or misled by a raisedimagination, she stepped quietly forward, and opened the door. Eleanor,and only Eleanor, stood there. Catherine's spirits, however, weretranquillized but for an instant, for Eleanor's cheeks were pale, andher manner greatly agitated. Though evidently intending to come in, itseemed an effort to enter the room, and a still greater to speak whenthere. Catherine, supposing some uneasiness on Captain Tilney's account,could only express her concern by silent attention, obliged her to beseated, rubbed her temples with lavender-water, and hung over her withaffectionate solicitude. "My dear Catherine, you must not--you must notindeed--" were Eleanor's first connected words. "I am quite well.This kindness distracts me--I cannot bear it--I come to you on such anerrand!"
"Errand! To me!"
"How shall I tell you! Oh! How shall I tell you!"
A new idea now darted into Catherine's mind, and turning as pale as herfriend, she exclaimed, "'Tis a messenger from Woodston!"
"You are mistaken, indeed," returned Eleanor, looking at her mostcompassionately; "it is no one from Woodston. It is my father himself."Her voice faltered, and her eyes were turned to the ground as shementioned his name. His unlooked-for return was enough in itself to makeCatherine's heart sink, and for a few moments she hardly supposedthere were anything worse to be told. She said nothing; and Eleanor,endeavouring to collect herself and speak with firmness, but with eyesstill cast down, soon went on. "You are too good, I am sure, to thinkthe worse of me for the part I am obliged to perform. I am indeed a mostunwilling messenger. After what has so lately passed, so lately beensettled between us--how joyfully, how thankfully on my side!--as to yourcontinuing here as I hoped for many, many weeks longer, how can I tellyou that your kindness is not to be accepted--and that the happinessyour company has hitherto given us is to be repaid by--But I must nottrust myself with words. My dear Catherine, we are to part. My fatherhas recollected an engagement that takes our whole family away onMonday. We are going to Lord Longtown's, near Hereford, for a fortnight.Explanation and apology are equally impossible. I cannot attempteither."
"My dear Eleanor," cried Catherine, suppressing her feelings as well asshe could, "do not be so distressed. A second engagement must giveway to a first. I am very, very sorry we are to part--so soon, and sosuddenly too; but I am not offended, indeed I am not. I can finish myvisit here, you know, at any time; or I hope you will come to me. Canyou, 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 somet
hingmore directly interesting, she added, thinking aloud, "Monday--so soonas Monday; and you all go. Well, I am certain of--I shall be able totake leave, however. I need not go till just before you do, you know. Donot be distressed, Eleanor, I can go on Monday very well. My fatherand mother's having no notice of it is of very little consequence. Thegeneral will send a servant with me, I dare say, half the way--and thenI shall soon be at Salisbury, and then I am only nine miles from home."
"Ah, Catherine! Were it settled so, it would be somewhat lessintolerable, though in such common attentions you would have receivedbut half what you ought. But--how can I tell you?--tomorrow morning isfixed 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 noservant will be offered you."
Catherine sat down, breathless and speechless. "I could hardly believemy senses, when I heard it; and no displeasure, no resentment thatyou can feel at this moment, however justly great, can be more than Imyself--but I must not talk of what I felt. Oh! That I could suggestanything in extenuation! Good God! What will your father and mother say!After courting you from the protection of real friends to this--almostdouble distance from your home, to have you driven out of the house,without the considerations even of decent civility! Dear, dearCatherine, in being the bearer of such a message, I seem guilty myselfof all its insult; yet, I trust you will acquit me, for you must havebeen long enough in this house to see that I am but a nominal mistressof 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 Ianswer for, is that you can have given him no just cause of offence. Hecertainly is greatly, very greatly discomposed; I have seldom seen himmore so. His temper is not happy, and something has now occurred toruffle it in an uncommon degree; some disappointment, some vexation,which just at this moment seems important, but which I can hardlysuppose 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 forEleanor's sake that she attempted it. "I am sure," said she, "I am verysorry if I have offended him. It was the last thing I would willinglyhave done. But do not be unhappy, Eleanor. An engagement, you know, mustbe kept. I am only sorry it was not recollected sooner, that I mighthave written home. But it is of very little consequence."
"I hope, I earnestly hope, that to your real safety it will be of none;but to everything else it is of the greatest consequence: to comfort,appearance, propriety, to your family, to the world. Were your friends,the Allens, still in Bath, you might go to them with comparative ease;a few hours would take you there; but a journey of seventy miles, to betaken post by you, at your age, alone, unattended!"
"Oh, the journey is nothing. Do not think about that. And if we are topart, a few hours sooner or later, you know, makes no difference. Ican be ready by seven. Let me be called in time." Eleanor saw that shewished to be alone; and believing it better for each that they shouldavoid any further conversation, now left her with, "I shall see you inthe morning."
Catherine's swelling heart needed relief. In Eleanor's presencefriendship and pride had equally restrained her tears, but no sooner wasshe gone than they burst forth in torrents. Turned from the house, andin such a way! Without any reason that could justify, any apology thatcould atone for the abruptness, the rudeness, nay, the insolence ofit. Henry at a distance--not able even to bid him farewell. Every hope,every expectation from him suspended, at least, and who could say howlong? Who could say when they might meet again? And all this by sucha man as General Tilney, so polite, so well bred, and heretoforeso particularly fond of her! It was as incomprehensible as it wasmortifying and grievous. From what it could arise, and where it wouldend, were considerations of equal perplexity and alarm. The manner inwhich it was done so grossly uncivil, hurrying her away without anyreference to her own convenience, or allowing her even the appearanceof choice as to the time or mode of her travelling; of two days, theearliest fixed on, and of that almost the earliest hour, as if resolvedto have her gone before he was stirring in the morning, that hemight not be obliged even to see her. What could all this mean butan intentional affront? By some means or other she must have had themisfortune to offend him. Eleanor had wished to spare her from sopainful a notion, but Catherine could not believe it possible that anyinjury or any misfortune could provoke such ill will against a personnot connected, or, at least, not supposed to be connected with it.
Heavily passed the night. Sleep, or repose that deserved the nameof sleep, was out of the question. That room, in which her disturbedimagination had tormented her on her first arrival, was again the sceneof agitated spirits and unquiet slumbers. Yet how different now thesource of her inquietude from what it had been then--how mournfullysuperior in reality and substance! Her anxiety had foundation infact, her fears in probability; and with a mind so occupied in thecontemplation of actual and natural evil, the solitude of her situation,the darkness of her chamber, the antiquity of the building, were feltand considered without the smallest emotion; and though the wind washigh, and often produced strange and sudden noises throughout the house,she heard it all as she lay awake, hour after hour, without curiosity orterror.
Soon after six Eleanor entered her room, eager to show attention or giveassistance where it was possible; but very little remained to be done.Catherine had not loitered; she was almost dressed, and her packingalmost finished. The possibility of some conciliatory message from thegeneral occurred to her as his daughter appeared. What so natural, asthat anger should pass away and repentance succeed it? And she onlywanted to know how far, after what had passed, an apology might properlybe received by her. But the knowledge would have been useless here;it was not called for; neither clemency nor dignity was put to thetrial--Eleanor brought no message. Very little passed between them onmeeting; each found her greatest safety in silence, and few and trivialwere the sentences exchanged while they remained upstairs, Catherine inbusy agitation completing her dress, and Eleanor with more goodwill thanexperience intent upon filling the trunk. When everything was done theyleft the room, Catherine lingering only half a minute behind her friendto throw a parting glance on every well-known, cherished object, andwent down to the breakfast-parlour, where breakfast was prepared. Shetried to eat, as well to save herself from the pain of being urged asto make her friend comfortable; but she had no appetite, and could notswallow many mouthfuls. The contrast between this and her last breakfastin that room gave her fresh misery, and strengthened her distaste foreverything before her. It was not four and twenty hours ago since theyhad met there to the same repast, but in circumstances how different!With what cheerful ease, what happy, though false, security, had shethen looked around her, enjoying everything present, and fearing littlein future, beyond Henry's going to Woodston for a day! Happy, happybreakfast! For Henry had been there; Henry had sat by her and helpedher. These reflections were long indulged undisturbed by any addressfrom her companion, who sat as deep in thought as herself; and theappearance of the carriage was the first thing to startle and recallthem to the present moment. Catherine's colour rose at the sight of it;and the indignity with which she was treated, striking at that instanton her mind with peculiar force, made her for a short time sensible onlyof resentment. Eleanor seemed now impelled into resolution and speech.
"You must write to me, Catherine," she cried; "you must let me hear fromyou as soon as possible. Till I know you to be safe at home, I shallnot have an hour's comfort. For one letter, at all risks, all hazards, Imust entreat. Let me have the satisfaction of knowing that you are safeat Fullerton, and have found your family well, and then, till I can askfor your correspondence as I ought to do, I will not expect more. Directto 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 amsure I had better not write. There can be no doubt of my getting homesafe."
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nbsp; Eleanor only replied, "I cannot wonder at your feelings. I will notimportune you. I will trust to your own kindness of heart when I am ata distance from you." But this, with the look of sorrow accompanyingit, was enough to melt Catherine's pride in a moment, and she instantlysaid, "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 thatafter so long an absence from home, Catherine might not be provided withmoney enough for the expenses of her journey, and, upon suggesting itto her with most affectionate offers of accommodation, it proved to beexactly the case. Catherine had never thought on the subject till thatmoment, but, upon examining her purse, was convinced that but forthis kindness of her friend, she might have been turned from the housewithout even the means of getting home; and the distress in which shemust have been thereby involved filling the minds of both, scarcelyanother word was said by either during the time of their remainingtogether. Short, however, was that time. The carriage was soon announcedto be ready; and Catherine, instantly rising, a long and affectionateembrace supplied the place of language in bidding each other adieu; and,as they entered the hall, unable to leave the house without some mentionof one whose name had not yet been spoken by either, she paused amoment, and with quivering lips just made it intelligible that she left"her kind remembrance for her absent friend." But with this approach tohis name ended all possibility of restraining her feelings; and, hidingher face as well as she could with her handkerchief, she darted acrossthe hall, jumped into the chaise, and in a moment was driven from thedoor.
