Chapter 22

by Jane Austen

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

　　Her greedy eye glanced rapidly over a page.She started at its import. Could it be possible, or didnot her senses play her false? An inventory of linen,in coarse and modern characters, seemed all that was beforeher! If the evidence of sight might be trusted, she helda 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 facedher in each. Two others, penned by the same hand,marked an expenditure scarcely more interesting,in letters, hair-powder, shoe-string, and breeches-ball.And the larger sheet, which had enclosed the rest,seemed by its first cramp line, "To poultice chestnutmare"--a farrier's bill! Such was the collection of papers(left perhaps, as she could then suppose, by the negligenceof a servant in the place whence she had taken them)which had filled her with expectation and alarm, and robbedher of half her night's rest! She felt humbled to the dust.Could not the adventure of the chest have taught herwisdom? A corner of it, catching her eye as she lay,seemed to rise up in judgment against her. Nothing couldnow be clearer than the absurdity of her recent fancies.To suppose that a manuscript of many generations backcould have remained undiscovered in a room such as that,so modern, so habitable!--Or that she should be the firstto possess the skill of unlocking a cabinet, the keyof which was open to all!

　　How could she have so imposed on herself? Heavenforbid that Henry Tilney should ever know her folly! Andit was in a great measure his own doing, for had not thecabinet appeared so exactly to agree with his descriptionof her adventures, she should never have felt the smallestcuriosity 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 possiblein the same shape as before, returned them to the samespot within the cabinet, with a very hearty wish that nountoward accident might ever bring them forward again,to disgrace her even with herself.

　　Why the locks should have been so difficultto open, however, was still something remarkable,for she could now manage them with perfect ease. In thisthere was surely something mysterious, and she indulgedin the flattering suggestion for half a minute, till thepossibility 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 inwhich 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 theevening before. Henry was alone in it; and his immediatehope of her having been undisturbed by the tempest,with an arch reference to the character of the buildingthey inhabited, was rather distressing. For the worldwould she not have her weakness suspected, and yet,unequal to an absolute falsehood, was constrained toacknowledge 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 stormsand sleeplessness are nothing when they are over.What beautiful hyacinths! I have just learnt to lovea hyacinth."

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

　　"Your sister taught me; I cannot tell how. Mrs. Allenused to take pains, year after year, to make me like them;but I never could, till I saw them the other day inMilsom 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 iswell 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 youto 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 timecome to love a rose?"

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

　　"At any rate, however, I am pleased that you havelearnt to love a hyacinth. The mere habit of learningto love is the thing; and a teachableness of dispositionin a young lady is a great blessing. Has my sistera pleasant mode of instruction?"

　　Catherine was saved the embarrassment of attemptingan answer by the entrance of the general, whose smilingcompliments announced a happy state of mind, but whosegentle hint of sympathetic early rising did not advanceher composure.

　　The elegance of the breakfast set forced itselfon Catherine's notice when they were seated at table;and, lucidly, it had been the general's choice. He wasenchanted by her approbation of his taste, confessed itto be neat and simple, thought it right to encouragethe manufacture of his country; and for his part, to hisuncritical palate, the tea was as well flavoured from theclay of Staffordshire, as from that of Dresden or Save.But this was quite an old set, purchased two years ago.The manufacture was much improved since that time;he had seen some beautiful specimens when last in town,and had he not been perfectly without vanity ofthat kind, might have been tempted to order a new set.He trusted, however, that an opportunity might erelong occur of selecting one--though not for himself.Catherine was probably the only one of the party who didnot 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, Catherinewalked to a window in the hope of catching another glimpseof his figure. "This is a somewhat heavy call upon yourbrother's fortitude," observed the general to Eleanor."Woodston will make but a sombre appearance today."

　　"Is it a pretty place?" asked Catherine.

　　"What say you, Eleanor? Speak your opinion,for ladies can best tell the taste of ladies in regardto places as well as men. I think it would be acknowledgedby 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 myselfabout ten years ago, for the benefit of my son. It isa family living, Miss Morland; and the property in theplace being chiefly my own, you may believe I take carethat it shall not be a bad one. Did Henry's income dependsolely 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 himdisengaged from every tie of business. But though I maynot exactly make converts of you young ladies, I am sureyour father, Miss Morland, would agree with me in thinkingit expedient to give every young man some employment.The money is nothing, it is not an object, but employmentis the thing. Even Frederick, my eldest son, you see,who will perhaps inherit as considerable a landed propertyas any private man in the county, has his profession."

　　The imposing effect of this last argument wasequal to his wishes. The silence of the lady provedit to be unanswerable.

　　Something had been said the evening before of herbeing shown over the house, and he now offered himselfas her conductor; and though Catherine had hoped to exploreit accompanied only by his daughter, it was a proposalof too much happiness in itself, under any circumstances,not to be gladly accepted; for she had been alreadyeighteen hours in the abbey, and had seen only a few ofits rooms. The netting-box, just leisurely drawn forth,was closed with joyful haste, and she was ready toattend him in a moment. "And when they had gone overthe house, he promised himself moreover the pleasureof accompanying her into the shrubberies and garden."She curtsied her acquiescence. "But perhaps it might bemore agreeable to her to make those her first object.The weather was at present favourable, and at this timeof 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 herfair friend's wishes? But he thought he could discern.Yes, he certainly read in Miss Morland's eyes a judiciousdesire of making use of the present smiling weather.But when did she judge amiss? The abbey would be alwayssafe and dry. He yielded implicitly, and would fetchhis 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 betaking them out of doors against his own inclination,under a mistaken idea of pleasing her; but she was stoppedby Miss Tilney's saying, with a little confusion, "I believeit will be wisest to take the morning while it is so fine;and do not be uneasy on my father's account; he always walksout at this time of day."

　　Catherine did not exactly know how this wasto be understood. Why was Miss Tilney embarrassed?Could there be any unwillingness on the general's sideto show her over the abbey? The proposal was his own.And was not it odd that he should always take his walkso early? Neither her father nor Mr. Allen did so.It was certainly very provoking. She was all impatienceto see the house, and had scarcely any curiosity aboutthe grounds. If Henry had been with them indeed! But nowshe 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 timefrom 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 shutoff 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 herfeelings of delight were so strong, that without waitingfor any better authority, she boldly burst forth in wonderand praise. The general listened with assenting gratitude;and it seemed as if his own estimation of Northanger hadwaited unfixed till that hour.

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

　　The number of acres contained in this garden wassuch as Catherine could not listen to without dismay,being more than double the extent of all Mr. Allen's,as well her father's, including church-yard 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 herto tell him in words, that she had never seen any gardensat all equal to them before; and he then modestly owned that,"without any ambition of that sort himself--without anysolicitude about it--he did believe them to be unrivalledin the kingdom. If he had a hobby-horse, it was that.He loved a garden. Though careless enough in mostmatters 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 utmostcare 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 wellas himself."

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

　　With a triumphant smile of self-satisfaction,the general wished he could do the same, for he neverentered his, without being vexed in some 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, whichMrs. 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 lookof very happy contempt.

　　Having taken her into every division, and led herunder every wall, till she was heartily weary of seeingand wondering, he suffered the girls at last to seizethe advantage of an outer door, and then expressing hiswish to examine the effect of some recent alterationsabout the tea-house, proposed it as no unpleasantextension of their walk, if Miss Morland were not tired."But where are you going, Eleanor? Why do you choosethat 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 oldScotch firs; and Catherine, struck by its gloomy aspect,and eager to enter it, could not, even by the general'sdisapprobation, be kept from stepping forward. He perceivedher inclination, and having again urged the plea of healthin vain, was too polite to make further opposition.He excused himself, however, from attending them: "Therays of the sun were not too cheerful for him, and hewould meet them by another course." He turned away;and Catherine was shocked to find how much her spiritswere relieved by the separation. The shock, however,being less real than the relief, offered it no injury;and she began to talk with easy gaiety of the delightfulmelancholy 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 inthe family before, and the interest excited by this tenderremembrance 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 endearit 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 oneso 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 arevery affectionate, and Henry is a great deal here,which I am most thankful for, it is impossible for menot to be often solitary."

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

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

　　"Was she a very charming woman? Was she handsome?Was there any picture of her in the abbey? And why hadshe been so partial to that grove? Was it from dejectionof spirits?"--were questions now eagerly poured forth;the first three received a ready affirmative, the twoothers were passed by; and Catherine's interest in thedeceased Mrs. Tilney augmented with every question,whether answered or not. Of her unhappiness in marriage,she felt persuaded. The general certainly had beenan unkind husband. He did not love her walk: could hetherefore have loved her? And besides, handsome as he was,there was a something in the turn of his features whichspoke his not having behaved well to her.

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

　　"No; it was intended for the drawing-room; but my fatherwas dissatisfied with the painting, and for some time ithad no place. Soon after her death I obtained it for my own,and hung it in my bed-chamber--where I shall be happyto show it you; it is very like." Here was another proof.A portrait--very like--of a departed wife, not valuedby the husband! He must have been dreadfully cruel to her!

　　Catherine attempted no longer to hide from herself thenature of the feelings which, in spite of all his attentions,he had previously excited; and what had been terror anddislike before, was now absolute aversion. Yes, aversion! Hiscruelty to such a charming woman made him odious to her.She had often read of such characters, characters whichMr. Allen had been used to call unnatural and overdrawn;but here was proof positive of the contrary.

　　She had just settled this point when the endof the path brought them directly upon the general;and in spite of all her virtuous indignation, she foundherself again obliged to walk with him, listen to him,and even to smile when he smiled. Being no longer able,however, to receive pleasure from the surrounding objects,she soon began to walk with lassitude; the general perceived it,and with a concern for her health, which seemed to reproachher for her opinion of him, was most urgent for returningwith his daughter to the house. He would follow themin a quarter of an hour. Again they parted--but Eleanorwas called back in half a minute to receive a strict chargeagainst taking her friend round the abbey till his return.This second instance of his anxiety to delay what sheso much wished for struck Catherine as very remarkable.