Chapter 29

by Jane Austen

　　Catherine was too wretched to be fearful. The journeyin itself had no terrors for her; and she began it withouteither dreading its length or feeling its solitariness.Leaning back in one comer of the carriage, in a violentburst of tears, she was conveyed some miles beyondthe walls of the abbey before she raised her head;and the highest point of ground within the park was almostclosed from her view before she was capable of turningher eyes towards it. Unfortunately, the road she nowtravelled was the same which only ten days ago she hadso happily passed along in going to and from Woodston;and, for fourteen miles, every bitter feeling was renderedmore severe by the review of objects on which she hadfirst 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 theturning 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 hadbeen one of the happiest of her life. It was there,it was on that day, that the general had made use of suchexpressions with regard to Henry and herself, had so spokenand so looked as to give her the most positive convictionof his actually wishing their marriage. Yes, only tendays ago had he elated her by his pointed regard--had heeven confused her by his too significant reference! Andnow--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 accuseherself had been such as was scarcely possible to reachhis knowledge. Henry and her own heart only were privyto the shocking suspicions which she had so idly entertained;and equally safe did she believe her secret with each.Designedly, at least, Henry could not have betrayed her.If, indeed, by any strange mischance his father should havegained 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 couldnot 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 Northangerand heard of her being gone, was a question of force andinterest to rise over every other, to be never ceasing,alternately irritating and soothing; it sometimes suggestedthe dread of his calm acquiescence, and at others was answeredby 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 abouther?

　　In this unceasing recurrence of doubts and inquiries,on any one article of which her mind was incapable of morethan momentary repose, the hours passed away, and her journeyadvanced much faster than she looked for. The pressinganxieties of thought, which prevented her from noticinganything before her, when once beyond the neighbourhoodof Woodston, saved her at the same time from watchingher progress; and though no object on the road could engagea moment's attention, she found no stage of it tedious.From this, she was preserved too by another cause,by feeling no eagerness for her journey's conclusion;for to return in such a manner to Fullerton was almostto destroy the pleasure of a meeting with those sheloved best, even after an absence such as hers--aneleven weeks' absence. What had she to say that wouldnot humble herself and pain her family, that would notincrease her own grief by the confession of it, extend anuseless resentment, and perhaps involve the innocentwith the guilty in undistinguishing ill will? She couldnever do justice to Henry and Eleanor's merit; she felt ittoo strongly for expression; and should a dislike be takenagainst 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 soughtfor the first view of that well-known spire which wouldannounce her within twenty miles of home. Salisbury shehad known to be her point on leaving Northanger; but afterthe first stage she had been indebted to the post-mastersfor the names of the places which were then to conducther to it; so great had been her ignorance of her route.She met with nothing, however, to distress or frighten her.Her youth, civil manners, and liberal pay procured her allthe attention that a traveller like herself could require;and stopping only to change horses, she travelledon for about eleven hours without accident or alarm,and between six and seven o'clock in the evening foundherself entering Fullerton.

　　A heroine returning, at the close of her career,to her native village, in all the triumph of recoveredreputation, and all the dignity of a countess, with a longtrain 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 contrivermay well delight to dwell; it gives credit to everyconclusion, and the author must share in the glory sheso 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 throughthe 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 whateverthe humiliation of her biographer in relating it,she was preparing enjoyment of no everyday naturefor those to whom she went; first, in the appearanceof her carriage--and secondly, in herself. The chaiseof a traveller being a rare sight in Fullerton, the wholefamily were immediately at the window; and to have itstop at the sweep-gate was a pleasure to brighten everyeye and occupy every fancy--a pleasure quite unlookedfor by all but the two youngest children, a boy and girlof six and four years old, who expected a brother orsister in every carriage. Happy the glance that firstdistinguished Catherine! Happy the voice that proclaimedthe discovery! But whether such happiness were the lawfulproperty 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 affectionateeagerness, was a sight to awaken the best feelingsof Catherine's heart; and in the embrace of each, as shestepped from the carriage, she found herself soothed beyondanything that she had believed possible. So surrounded,so caressed, she was even happy! In the joyfulnessof family love everything for a short time was subdued,and the pleasure of seeing her, leaving them at firstlittle leisure for calm curiosity, they were all seatedround the tea-table, which Mrs. Morland had hurriedfor the comfort of the poor traveller, whose pale andjaded looks soon caught her notice, before any inquiryso direct as to demand a positive answer was addressed to her.

　　Reluctantly, and with much hesitation, did she thenbegin 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 discoverthe cause, or collect the particulars, of her sudden return.They were far from being an irritable race; far fromany 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 firsthalf hour, to be easily pardoned. Without suffering anyromantic alarm, in the consideration of their daughter'slong and lonely journey, Mr. and Mrs. Morland couldnot but feel that it might have been productive of muchunpleasantness to her; that it was what they could neverhave voluntarily suffered; and that, in forcing her on sucha measure, General Tilney had acted neither honourablynor feelingly--neither as a gentleman nor as a parent.Why he had done it, what could have provoked him to sucha breach of hospitality, and so suddenly turned all hispartial regard for their daughter into actual ill will,was a matter which they were at least as far fromdivining as Catherine herself; but it did not oppressthem by any means so long; and, after a due courseof useless conjecture, that "it was a strange business,and that he must be a very strange man," grew enoughfor all their indignation and wonder; though Sarah indeedstill 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 somethingnot at all worth understanding."

　　"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; Catherine 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 an over, perhaps there is no great harm done.It is always good for young people to be put uponexerting 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 hopeit will appear that you have not left anything behind youin any of the pockets."

　　Catherine hoped so too, and tried to feel an interestin her own amendment, 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 earlyto bed. Her parents, seeing nothing in her ill looks andagitation 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 soonslept away; and though, when they all met the next morning,her recovery was not equal to their hopes, they were stillperfectly unsuspicious of there being any deeper evil.They never once thought of her heart, which, for theparents of a young lady of seventeen, just returnedfrom her first excursion from home, was odd enough!

　　As soon as breakfast was over, she sat down to fulfilher promise to Miss Tilney, whose trust in the effectof time and distance on her friend's disposition wasalready justified, for already did Catherine reproachherself with having parted from Eleanor coldly, with havingnever enough valued her merits or kindness, and neverenough commiserated her for what she had been yesterdayleft to endure. The strength of these feelings, however,was far from assisting her pen; and never had it beenharder for her to write than in addressing Eleanor Tilney.To compose a letter which might at once do justiceto her sentiments and her situation, convey gratitudewithout servile regret, be guarded without coldness,and honest without resentment--a letter which Eleanormight not be pained by the perusal of--and, above all,which she might not blush herself, if Henry should chanceto see, was an undertaking to frighten away all her powersof performance; and, after long thought and much perplexity,to be very brief was all that she could determine on with anyconfidence of safety. The money therefore which Eleanor hadadvanced 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 must live and learn; and the nextnew friends you make I hope will be better worth keeping."

　　Catherine coloured as she warmly answered, "No friendcan be better worth keeping than Eleanor."

　　"If so, my dear, I dare say you will meet again sometime or other; do not be uneasy. It is ten to one but youare 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 yearscould only put into Catherine's head what might happenwithin that time to make a meeting dreadful to her.She could never forget Henry Tilney, or think of him withless tenderness than she did at that moment; but he mightforget her; and in that case, to meet--! Her eyes filledwith tears as she pictured her acquaintance so renewed;and her mother, perceiving her comfortable suggestionsto have had no good effect, proposed, as another expedientfor restoring her spirits, that they should call onMrs. Allen.

　　The two houses were only a quarter of a mile apart;and, as they walked, Mrs. Morland quickly dispatched allthat she felt on the score of James's disappointment."We are sorry for him," said she; "but otherwise thereis no harm done in the match going off; for it could notbe a desirable thing to have him engaged to a girl whomwe had not the smallest acquaintance with, and who was soentirely without fortune; and now, after such behaviour,we cannot think at all well of her. Just at present itcomes hard to poor James; but that will not last forever;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 affairas Catherine could listen to; another sentence might haveendangered her complaisance, and made her reply less rational;for soon were all her thinking powers swallowed up inthe reflection of her own change of feelings and spiritssince last she had trodden that well-known road. It wasnot three months ago since, wild with joyful expectation,she had there run backwards and forwards some ten timesa day, with an heart light, gay, and independent;looking forward to pleasures untasted and unalloyed,and free from the apprehension of evil as from the knowledgeof it. Three months ago had seen her all this; and now,how altered a being did she return!

　　She was received by the Allens with all the kindnesswhich her unlooked-for appearance, acting on a steady affection,would naturally call forth; and great was their surprise,and warm their displeasure, on hearing how she had beentreated--though Mrs. Morland's account of it was noinflated 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 knewnothing of coming till Saturday night; for General Tilney,from some odd fancy or other, all of a sudden grew tiredof 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 glad to have her amongst us again! Andit is a great comfort to find that she is not a poorhelpless creature, but can shift very well for herself."

　　Mr. Allen expressed himself on the occasion with thereasonable resentment of a sensible friend; and Mrs. Allenthought his expressions quite good enough to be immediatelymade use of again by herself. His wonder, his conjectures,and his explanations became in succession hers, with theaddition of this single remark--"I really have not patiencewith the general"--to fill up every accidental pause.And, "I really have not patience with the general,"was uttered twice after Mr. Allen left the room,without any relaxation of anger, or any material digressionof thought. A more considerable degree of wanderingattended the third repetition; and, after completingthe fourth, she immediately added, "Only think, my dear,of my having got that frightful great rent in my bestMechlin so charmingly mended, before I left Bath, that onecan hardly see where it was. I must show it you some dayor 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 firstgiven spirit to her existence there.

　　"Very true: we soon met with Mrs. Thorpe, and then wewanted for nothing. My dear, do not you think these silkgloves wear very well? I put them on new the first timeof our going to the Lower Rooms, you know, and I have wornthem a great deal since. Do you remember that evening?"

　　"Do I! Oh! Perfectly."

　　"It was very agreeable, was not it? Mr. Tilney dranktea 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 favouritegown on."

　　Catherine could not answer; and, after a short trialof other subjects, Mrs. Allen again returned to--"I reallyhave not patience with the general! 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 leftthem, Catherine. But no wonder; Milsom Street, you know."

　　As they walked home again, Mrs. Morland endeavouredto impress on her daughter's mind the happiness ofhaving such steady well-wishers as Mr. and Mrs. Allen,and the very little consideration which the neglector unkindness of slight acquaintance like the Tilneysought to have with her, while she could preserve thegood 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 whichgood sense has very little power; and Catherine's feelingscontradicted almost every position her mother advanced.It was upon the behaviour of these very slight acquaintancethat all her present happiness depended; and whileMrs. Morland was successfully confirming her own opinionsby the justness of her own representations, Catherine wassilently reflecting that now Henry must have arrivedat Northanger; now he must have heard of her departure;and now, perhaps, they were all setting off for Hereford.