Chapter 17

by Jane Austen

　　The Allens had now entered on the sixth week of theirstay in Bath; and whether it should be the last was forsome time a question, to which Catherine listened with abeating heart. To have her acquaintance with the Tilneysend so soon was an evil which nothing could counterbalance.Her whole happiness seemed at stake, while the affair wasin suspense, and everything secured when it was determinedthat the lodgings should be taken for another fortnight.What this additional fortnight was to produce to herbeyond the pleasure of sometimes seeing Henry Tilneymade but a small part of Catherine's speculation.Once or twice indeed, since James's engagement had taughther what could be done, she had got so far as to indulgein a secret "perhaps," but in general the felicity of beingwith him for the present bounded her views: the presentwas now comprised in another three weeks, and her happinessbeing certain for that period, the rest of her life wasat such a distance as to excite but little interest.In the course of the morning which saw this business arranged,she visited Miss Tilney, and poured forth her joyful feelings.It was doomed to be a day of trial. No sooner had sheexpressed her delight in Mr. Allen's lengthened staythan Miss Tilney told her of her father's having justdetermined upon quitting Bath by the end of another week.Here was a blow! The past suspense of the morning hadbeen ease and quiet to the present disappointment.Catherine's countenance fell, and in a voice of mostsincere concern she echoed Miss Tilney's concluding words,"By the end of another week!"

　　"Yes, my father can seldom be prevailed on to give thewaters what I think a fair trial. He has been disappointedof 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 introducea desire of their corresponding. After addressing herwith his usual politeness, he turned to his daughterand said, "Well, Eleanor, may I congratulate you on beingsuccessful in your application to your fair friend?"

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

　　"Well, proceed by all means. I know how muchyour 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. Aletter from my steward tells me that my presence is wantedat home; and being disappointed in my hope of seeingthe Marquis of Longtown and General Courteney here,some of my very old friends, there is nothing to detainme longer in Bath. And could we carry our selfish pointwith you, we should leave it without a single regret.Can you, in short, be prevailed on to quit this sceneof public triumph and oblige your friend Eleanor with yourcompany in Gloucestershire? I am almost ashamed to makethe request, though its presumption would certainlyappear greater to every creature in Bath than yourself.Modesty such as yours--but not for the world would I painit by open praise. If you can be induced to honour uswith a visit, you will make us happy beyond expression.'Tis true, we can offer you nothing like the gaietiesof this lively place; we can tempt you neither by amusementnor splendour, for our mode of living, as you see,is plain and unpretending; yet no endeavours shallbe wanting on our side to make Northanger Abbey notwholly disagreeable."

　　Northanger Abbey! These were thrilling words, and woundup Catherine's feelings to the highest point of ecstasy.Her grateful and gratified heart could hardly restrainits expressions within the language of tolerable calmness.To receive so flattering an invitation! To have her companyso warmly solicited! Everything honourable and soothing,every present enjoyment, and every future hope was containedin it; and her acceptance, with only the saving clauseof Papa and Mamma's approbation, was eagerly given."I will write home directly," said she, and if they donot object, as I dare say they will not--"

　　General Tilney was not less sanguine, having alreadywaited on her excellent friends in Pulteney Street,and obtained their sanction of his wishes. "Since theycan consent to part with you," said he, "we may expectphilosophy from all the world."

　　Miss Tilney was earnest, though gentle, in hersecondary civilities, and the affair became in a fewminutes as nearly settled as this necessary referenceto Fullerton would allow.

　　The circumstances of the morning had led Catherine'sfeelings through the varieties of suspense, security,and disappointment; but they were now safely lodgedin 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 theyhad already entrusted their daughter, felt no doubtof the propriety of an acquaintance which had been formedunder their eye, and sent therefore by return of posttheir ready consent to her visit in Gloucestershire.This indulgence, though not more than Catherine hadhoped for, completed her conviction of being favouredbeyond every other human creature, in friends and fortune,circumstance and chance. Everything seemed to cooperatefor her advantage. By the kindness of her first friends,the Allens, she had been introduced into scenes wherepleasures 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 tocreate it. The affection of Isabella was to be securedto 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 measuresby which their intimacy was to be continued. She wasto be their chosen visitor, she was to be for weeksunder the same roof with the person whose societyshe mostly prized--and, in addition to all the rest,this roof was to be the roof of an abbey! Her passionfor ancient edifices was next in degree to her passionfor Henry Tilney--and castles and abbeys made usuallythe charm of those reveries which his image did not fill.To see and explore either the ramparts and keep of the one,or the cloisters of the other, had been for many weeksa darling wish, though to be more than the visitorof an hour had seemed too nearly impossible for desire.And yet, this was to happen. With all the chances againsther 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 notentirely subdue the hope of some traditional legends,some awful memorials of an injured and ill-fated nun.

　　It was wonderful that her friends should seemso little elated by the possession of such a home,that the consciousness of it should be so meekly borne.The power of early habit only could account for it.A distinction to which they had been born gave no pride.Their superiority of abode was no more to them than theirsuperiority of person.

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