Chapter 30

by Jane Austen

　　Catherine's disposition was not naturally sedentary,nor had her habits been ever very industrious; but whatevermight hitherto have been her defects of that sort, her mothercould not but perceive them now to be greatly increased.She could neither sit still nor employ herself for tenminutes together, walking round the garden and orchardagain and again, as if nothing but motion was voluntary;and it seemed as if she could even walk about the houserather than remain fixed for any time in the parlour.Her loss of spirits was a yet greater alteration. In herrambling and her idleness she might only be a caricatureof herself; but in her silence and sadness she was the veryreverse of all that she had been before.

　　For two days Mrs. Morland allowed it to pass evenwithout a hint; but when a third night's rest had neitherrestored her cheerfulness, improved her in useful activity,nor given her a greater inclination for needlework,she could no longer refrain from the gentle reproof of,"My dear Catherine, I am afraid you are growing quitea fine lady. I do not know when poor Richard's cravatswould be done, if he had no friend but you. Your head runstoo much upon Bath; but there is a time for everything--atime for balls and plays, and a time for work.You have had a long run of amusement, and now you musttry to be useful."

　　Catherine took up her work directly, saying, in adejected voice, that "her head did not run upon Bath--much."

　　"Then you are fretting about General Tilney,and that is very simple of you; for ten to one whether youever see him again. You should never fret about trifles."After a short silence--"I hope, my Catherine, you arenot getting out of humour with home because it is notso grand as Northanger. That would be turning your visitinto an evil indeed. Wherever you are you should alwaysbe contented, but especially at home, because there youmust spend the most of your time. I did not quite like,at breakfast, to hear you talk so much about the Frenchbread at Northanger."

　　"I am sure I do not care about the bread.it is all the same to me what I eat."

　　"There is a very clever essay in one of the booksupstairs upon much such a subject, about young girls thathave been spoilt for home by great acquaintance--The Mirror,I think. I will look it out for you some day or other,because I am sure it will do you good."

　　Catherine said no more, and, with an endeavour to do right,applied to her work; but, after a few minutes, sunk again,without knowing it herself, into languor and listlessness,moving herself in her chair, from the irritationof weariness, much oftener than she moved her needle.Mrs. Morland watched the progress of this relapse;and seeing, in her daughter's absent and dissatisfied look,the full proof of that repining spirit to which shehad now begun to attribute her want of cheerfulness,hastily left the room to fetch the book in question,anxious to lose no time in attacking so dreadful a malady.It was some time before she could find what she looked for;and other family matters occurring to detain her,a quarter of an hour had elapsed ere she returneddownstairs with the volume from which so much was hoped.Her avocations above having shut out all noise but what shecreated herself, she knew not that a visitor had arrivedwithin the last few minutes, till, on entering the room,the first object she beheld was a young man whom shehad never seen before. With a look of much respect,he immediately rose, and being introduced to her by herconscious daughter as "Mr. Henry Tilney," with theembarrassment of real sensibility began to apologizefor his appearance there, acknowledging that afterwhat had passed he had little right to expect a welcomeat Fullerton, and stating his impatience to be assuredof Miss Morland's having reached her home in safety,as the cause of his intrusion. He did not address himselfto an uncandid judge or a resentful heart. Far fromcomprehending him or his sister in their father's misconduct,Mrs. Morland had been always kindly disposed towards each,and instantly, pleased by his appearance, received himwith the simple professions of unaffected benevolence;thanking him for such an attention to her daughter,assuring him that the friends of her children were alwayswelcome there, and entreating him to say not another word ofthe past.

　　He was not ill-inclined to obey this request, for,though his heart was greatly relieved by such unlooked-formildness, it was not just at that moment in his powerto say anything to the purpose. Returning in silenceto his seat, therefore, he remained for some minutes mostcivilly answering all Mrs. Morland's common remarks aboutthe weather and roads. Catherine meanwhile--the anxious,agitated, happy, feverish Catherine--said not a word;but her glowing cheek and brightened eye made her mothertrust that this good-natured visit would at least sether heart at ease for a time, and gladly thereforedid she lay aside the first volume of The Mirror for a future hour.

　　Desirous of Mr. Morland's assistance, as well ingiving encouragement, as in finding conversation forher guest, whose embarrassment on his father's account sheearnestly pitied, Mrs. Morland had very early dispatchedone of the children to summon him; but Mr. Morland was fromhome--and being thus without any support, at the end of aquarter of an hour she had nothing to say. After a coupleof minutes' unbroken silence, Henry, turning to Catherinefor the first time since her mother's entrance, asked her,with sudden alacrity, if Mr. and Mrs. Allen were now atFullerton? And on developing, from amidst all her perplexityof words in reply, the meaning, which one short syllablewould have given, immediately expressed his intentionof paying his respects to them, and, with a rising colour,asked her if she would have the goodness to show himthe way. "You may see the house from this window, sir,"was information on Sarah's side, which produced only a bowof acknowledgment from the gentleman, and a silencing nodfrom her mother; for Mrs. Morland, thinking it probable,as a secondary consideration in his wish of waiting on theirworthy neighbours, that he might have some explanationto give of his father's behaviour, which it must bemore pleasant for him to communicate only to Catherine,would not on any account prevent her accompanying him.They began their walk, and Mrs. Morland was not entirelymistaken in his object in wishing it. Some explanationon his father's account he had to give; but his firstpurpose was to explain himself, and before they reachedMr. Allen's grounds he had done it so well that Catherinedid not think it could ever be repeated too often.She was assured of his affection; and that heart in returnwas solicited, which, perhaps, they pretty equally knewwas already entirely his own; for, though Henry was nowsincerely attached to her, though he felt and delightedin all the excellencies of her character and truly lovedher society, I must confess that his affection originatedin nothing better than gratitude, or, in other words,that a persuasion of her partiality for him had been theonly cause of giving her a serious thought. It is a newcircumstance in romance, I acknowledge, and dreadfullyderogatory of an heroine's dignity; but if it be as newin common life, the credit of a wild imagination willat least be all my own.

　　A very short visit to Mrs. Allen, in which Henry talkedat random, without sense or connection, and Catherine,rapt in the contemplation of her own unutterable happiness,scarcely opened her lips, dismissed them to the ecstasiesof another tete-a-tete; and before it was suffered to close,she was enabled to judge how far he was sanctionedby parental authority in his present application.On his return from Woodston, two days before, he hadbeen met near the abbey by his impatient father,hastily informed in angry terms of Miss Morland's departure,and ordered to think of her no more.

　　Such was the permission upon which he had now offeredher his hand. The affrighted Catherine, amidst all theterrors of expectation, as she listened to this account,could not but rejoice in the kind caution with which Henryhad saved her from the necessity of a conscientious rejection,by engaging her faith before he mentioned the subject;and as he proceeded to give the particulars, and explainthe motives of his father's conduct, her feelings soonhardened into even a triumphant delight. The general hadhad nothing to accuse her of, nothing to lay to her charge,but her being the involuntary, unconscious objectof a deception which his pride could not pardon,and which a better pride would have been ashamed to own.She was guilty only of being less rich than he had supposedher to be. Under a mistaken persuasion of her possessionsand claims, he had courted her acquaintance in Bath,solicited her company at Northanger, and designed herfor his daughter-in-law. On discovering his error, to turnher from the house seemed the best, though to his feelingsan inadequate proof of his resentment towards herself,and his contempt of her family.

　　John Thorpe had first misled him. The general,perceiving his son one night at the theatre to be payingconsiderable attention to Miss Morland, had accidentallyinquired of Thorpe if he knew more of her than her name.Thorpe, most happy to be on speaking terms with a manof General Tilney's importance, had been joyfully andproudly communicative; and being at that time not only in dailyexpectation of Morland's engaging Isabella, but likewisepretty well resolved upon marrying Catherine himself,his vanity induced him to represent the family as yet morewealthy than his vanity and avarice had made him believe them.With whomsoever he was, or was likely to be connected,his own consequence always required that theirs shouldbe great, and as his intimacy with any acquaintance grew,so regularly grew their fortune. The expectations of hisfriend Morland, therefore, from the first overrated,had ever since his introduction to Isabella beengradually increasing; and by merely adding twice as muchfor the grandeur of the moment, by doubling what hechose to think the amount of Mr. Morland's preferment,trebling his private fortune, bestowing a rich aunt,and sinking half the children, he was able to representthe whole family to the general in a most respectable light.For Catherine, however, the peculiar object of the general'scuriosity, and his own speculations, he had yet somethingmore in reserve, and the ten or fifteen thousand poundswhich her father could give her would be a pretty additionto Mr. Allen's estate. Her intimacy there had made himseriously determine on her being handsomely legacied hereafter;and to speak of her therefore as the almost acknowledgedfuture heiress of Fullerton naturally followed.Upon such intelligence the general had proceeded;for never had it occurred to him to doubt its authority.Thorpe's interest in the family, by his sister's approachingconnection with one of its members, and his own viewson another (circumstances of which he boasted with almostequal openness), seemed sufficient vouchers for his truth;and to these were added the absolute facts of the Allensbeing wealthy and childless, of Miss Morland's being undertheir care, and--as soon as his acquaintance allowed himto judge--of their treating her with parental kindness.His resolution was soon formed. Already had he discerneda liking towards Miss Morland in the countenance of his son;and thankful for Mr. Thorpe's communication, he almostinstantly determined to spare no pains in weakeninghis boasted interest and ruining his dearest hopes.Catherine herself could not be more ignorant at the timeof all this, than his own children. Henry and Eleanor,perceiving nothing in her situation likely to engage theirfather's particular respect, had seen with astonishmentthe suddenness, continuance, and extent of his attention;and though latterly, from some hints which had accompaniedan almost positive command to his son of doing everythingin his power to attach her, Henry was convinced of hisfather's believing it to be an advantageous connection,it was not till the late explanation at Northanger that theyhad the smallest idea of the false calculations whichhad hurried him on. That they were false, the generalhad learnt from the very person who had suggested them,from Thorpe himself, whom he had chanced to meet againin town, and who, under the influence of exactlyopposite feelings, irritated by Catherine's refusal,and yet more by the failure of a very recent endeavourto accomplish a reconciliation between Morland and Isabella,convinced that they were separated forever, and spurninga friendship which could be no longer serviceable,hastened to contradict all that he had said before to theadvantage of the Morlands--confessed himself to have beentotally mistaken in his opinion of their circumstancesand character, misled by the rhodomontade of his friendto believe his father a man of substance and credit,whereas the transactions of the two or three last weeksproved him to be neither; for after coming eagerly forwardon the first overture of a marriage between the families,with the most liberal proposals, he had, on beingbrought to the point by the shrewdness of the relator,been constrained to acknowledge himself incapable of givingthe young people even a decent support. They were, in fact,a necessitous family; numerous, too, almost beyond example;by no means respected in their own neighbourhood, as hehad lately had particular opportunities of discovering;aiming at a style of life which their fortune could not warrant;seeking to better themselves by wealthy connections;a forward, bragging, scheming race.

　　The terrified general pronounced the name of Allenwith an inquiring look; and here too Thorpe had learnthis error. The Allens, he believed, had lived near themtoo long, and he knew the young man on whom the Fullertonestate must devolve. The general needed no more.Enraged with almost everybody in the world but himself,he set out the next day for the abbey, where his performanceshave been seen.

　　I leave it to my reader's sagacity to determine howmuch of all this it was possible for Henry to communicateat this time to Catherine, how much of it he could havelearnt from his father, in what points his own conjecturesmight assist him, and what portion must yet remain to betold in a letter from James. I have united for their casewhat they must divide for mine. Catherine, at any rate,heard enough to feel that in suspecting General Tilney ofeither murdering or shutting up his wife, she had scarcelysinned against his character, or magnified his cruelty.

　　Henry, in having such things to relate of his father,was almost as pitiable as in their first avowal to himself.He blushed for the narrow-minded counsel which hewas obliged to expose. The conversation between themat Northanger had been of the most unfriendly kind.Henry's indignation on hearing how Catherine had been treated,on comprehending his father's views, and being orderedto acquiesce in them, had been open and bold. The general,accustomed on every ordinary occasion to give the lawin his family, prepared for no reluctance but of feeling,no opposing desire that should dare to clothe itselfin words, could in brook the opposition of his son,steady as the sanction of reason and the dictate ofconscience could make it. But, in such a cause, his anger,though it must shock, could not intimidate Henry, who wassustained in his purpose by a conviction of its justice.He felt himself bound as much in honour as in affectionto Miss Morland, and believing that heart to be his ownwhich he had been directed to gain, no unworthy retractionof a tacit consent, no reversing decree of unjustifiable anger,could shake his fidelity, or influence the resolutionsit prompted.

　　He steadily refused to accompany his fatherinto Herefordshire, an engagement formed almost at themoment to promote the dismissal of Catherine, and assteadily declared his intention of offering her his hand.The general was furious in his anger, and they partedin dreadful disagreement. Henry, in an agitation of mindwhich many solitary hours were required to compose,had returned almost instantly to Woodston, and, on theafternoon of the following day, had begun his journey to Fullerton.