Chapter 28

by Jane Austen

　　Soon after this, the general found himself obligedto go to London for a week; and he left Northangerearnestly regretting that any necessity should rob himeven for an hour of Miss Morland's company, and anxiouslyrecommending the study of her comfort and amusementto his children as their chief object in his absence.His departure gave Catherine the first experimental convictionthat a loss may be sometimes a gain. The happiness withwhich their time now passed, every employment voluntary,every laugh indulged, every meal a scene of ease andgood humour, walking where they liked and when they liked,their hours, pleasures, and fatigues at their own command,made her thoroughly sensible of the restraint which thegeneral's presence had imposed, and most thankfully feeltheir present release from it. Such ease and such delightsmade her love the place and the people more and moreevery day; and had it not been for a dread of its soonbecoming expedient to leave the one, and an apprehensionof not being equally beloved by the other, she would ateach moment of each day have been perfectly happy; but shewas now in the fourth week of her visit; before the generalcame home, the fourth week would be turned, and perhapsit might seem an intrusion if she stayed much longer.This was a painful consideration whenever it occurred;and eager to get rid of such a weight on her mind,she very soon resolved to speak to Eleanor about itat once, propose going away, and be guided in her conductby the manner in which her proposal might be taken.

　　Aware that if she gave herself much time, she mightfeel it difficult to bring forward so unpleasanta subject, she took the first opportunity of beingsuddenly alone with Eleanor, and of Eleanor's beingin the middle of a speech about something very different,to start forth her obligation of going away very soon.Eleanor looked and declared herself much concerned.She had "hoped for the pleasure of her company for a muchlonger time--had been misled (perhaps by her wishes)to suppose that a much longer visit had been promised--andcould not but think that if Mr. and Mrs. Morland wereaware of the pleasure it was to her to have her there,they would be too generous to hasten her return."Catherine explained: "Oh! As to that, Papa and Mamma werein no hurry at all. As long as she was happy, they wouldalways be satisfied."

　　"Then why, might she ask, in such a hurry herselfto leave them?"

　　"Oh! Because she had been there so long."

　　"Nay, if you can use such a word, I can urge youno farther. If you think it long--"

　　"Oh! No, I do not indeed. For my own pleasure, I couldstay with you as long again." And it was directly settled that,till she had, her leaving them was not even to be thought of.In having this cause of uneasiness so pleasantly removed,the force of the other was likewise weakened. The kindness,the earnestness of Eleanor's manner in pressing her to stay,and Henry's gratified look on being told that her staywas determined, were such sweet proofs of her importancewith them, as left her only just so much solicitudeas the human mind can never do comfortably without.She did--almost always--believe that Henry loved her,and quite always that his father and sister loved andeven wished her to belong to them; and believing so far,her doubts and anxieties were merely sportive irritations.

　　Henry was not able to obey his father's injunction ofremaining wholly at Northanger in attendance on the ladies,during his absence in London, the engagements of his curateat Woodston obliging him to leave them on Saturday for acouple of nights. His loss was not now what it had beenwhile the general was at home; it lessened their gaiety,but did not ruin their comfort; and the two girls agreeingin occupation, and improving in intimacy, found themselvesso well sufficient for the time to themselves, that it waseleven o'clock, rather a late hour at the abbey, before theyquitted the supper-room on the day of Henry's departure.They had just reached the head of the stairs when it seemed,as far as the thickness of the walls would allow themto judge, that a carriage was driving up to the door,and the next moment confirmed the idea by the loud noiseof the house-bell. After the first perturbation of surprisehad passed away, in a "Good heaven! What can be the matter?"it was quickly decided by Eleanor to be her eldest brother,whose arrival was often as sudden, if not quite so unseasonable,and accordingly she hurried down to welcome him.

　　Catherine walked on to her chamber, making up hermind as well as she could, to a further acquaintance withCaptain Tilney, and comforting herself under the unpleasantimpression his conduct had given her, and the persuasionof his being by far too fine a gentleman to approve of her,that at least they should not meet under such circumstancesas would make their meeting materially painful.She trusted he would never speak of Miss Thorpe;and indeed, as he must by this time be ashamed of thepart he had acted, there could be no danger of it;and as long as all mention of Bath scenes were avoided,she thought she could behave to him very civilly.In such considerations time passed away, and it was certainlyin his favour that Eleanor should be so glad to see him,and have so much to say, for half an hour was almostgone since his arrival, and Eleanor did not come up.

　　At that moment Catherine thought she heard herstep in the gallery, and listened for its continuance;but all was silent. Scarcely, however, had she convictedher fancy of error, when the noise of something movingclose to her door made her start; it seemed as if someonewas touching the very doorway--and in another momenta slight motion of the lock proved that some hand mustbe on it. She trembled a little at the idea of anyone'sapproaching so cautiously; but resolving not to be againovercome by trivial appearances of alarm, or misledby a raised imagination, she stepped quietly forward,and opened the door. Eleanor, and only Eleanor, stood there.Catherine's spirits, however, were tranquillized but foran instant, for Eleanor's cheeks were pale, and her mannergreatly agitated. Though evidently intending to come in,it seemed an effort to enter the room, and a stillgreater to speak when there. Catherine, supposing someuneasiness on Captain Tilney's account, could onlyexpress her concern by silent attention, obliged herto be seated, rubbed her temples with lavender-water,and hung over her with affectionate solicitude."My dear Catherine, you must not--you must not indeed--"were Eleanor's first connected words. "I am quite well.This kindness distracts me--I cannot bear it--I cometo you on such an errand!"

　　"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 her friend, she exclaimed,"'Tis a messenger from Woodston!"

　　"You are mistaken, indeed," returned Eleanor, looking ather most compassionately; "it is no one from Woodston.It is my father himself." Her voice faltered, and her eyeswere turned to the ground as she mentioned his name.His unlooked-for return was enough in itself to makeCatherine's heart sink, and for a few moments shehardly supposed there were anything worse to be told.She said nothing; and Eleanor, endeavouring to collectherself and speak with firmness, but with eyes stillcast down, soon went on. "You are too good, I am sure,to think the worse of me for the part I am obligedto perform. I am indeed a most unwilling messenger.After what has so lately passed, so lately beensettled between us--how joyfully, how thankfully on myside!--as to your continuing here as I hoped for many,many weeks longer, how can I tell you that your kindnessis not to be accepted--and that the happiness yourcompany has hitherto given us is to be repaid by-- ButI must not trust myself with words. My dear Catherine,we are to part. My father has recollected an engagementthat takes our whole family away on Monday. We are goingto Lord Longtown's, near Hereford, for a fortnight.Explanation and apology are equally impossible. I cannotattempt either."

　　"My dear Eleanor," cried Catherine, suppressing herfeelings as well as she could, "do not be so distressed.A second engagement must give way to a first. I am very,very sorry we are to part--so soon, and so suddenly 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 cometo me. Can you, when you return from this lord's, cometo Fullerton?"

　　"It will not be in my power, Catherine."

　　"Come when you can, then."

　　Eleanor made no answer; and Catherine's thoughtsrecurring to something more directly interesting,she added, thinkng aloud, "Monday--so soon as Monday;and you all go. Well, I am certain of-- I shall be ableto take leave, however. I need not go till just beforeyou do, you know. Do not be distressed, Eleanor, I cango on Monday very well. My father and mother's havingno notice of it is of very little consequence.The general will send a servant with me, I dare say,half the way--and then I shall soon be at Salisbury,and then I am only nine miles from home."

　　"Ah, Catherine! Were it settled so, it would besomewhat less intolerable, though in such common attentionsyou would have received but half what you ought.But--how can I tell you?--tomorrow morning is fixed for yourleaving us, and not even the hour is left to your choice;the very carriage is ordered, and will be here at seveno'clock, and no servant will be offered you."

　　Catherine sat down, breathless and speechless."I could hardly believe my senses, when I heard it;and no displeasure, no resentment that you can feel atthis moment, however justly great, can be more than Imyself--but I must not talk of what I felt. Oh! That Icould suggest anything in extenuation! Good God! Whatwill your father and mother say! After courting you fromthe protection of real friends to this--almost doubledistance from your home, to have you driven out of the house,without the considerations even of decent civility! Dear,dear Catherine, in being the bearer of such a message,I seem guilty myself of all its insult; yet, I trust youwill acquit me, for you must have been long enough in thishouse to see that I am but a nominal mistress of it,that my real power is nothing."

　　"Have I offended the general?" said Catherinein a faltering voice.

　　"Alas! For my feelings as a daughter, all that I know,all that I answer for, is that you can have given himno just cause of offence. He certainly is greatly,very greatly discomposed; I have seldom seen him more so.His temper is not happy, and something has now occurredto ruffle it in an uncommon degree; some disappointment,some vexation, which just at this moment seems important,but which I can hardly suppose 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 for Eleanor's sake that she attempted it."I am sure," said she, "I am very sorry if I have offended him.It was the last thing I would willingly have done.But do not be unhappy, Eleanor. An engagement, you know,must be kept. I am only sorry it was not recollected sooner,that I might have written home. But it is of verylittle consequence."

　　"I hope, I earnestly hope, that to your real safety itwill be of none; but to everything else it is of the greatestconsequence: 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 hourswould take you there; but a journey of seventy miles,to be taken post by you, at your age, alone, unattended!"

　　"Oh, the journey is nothing. Do not think about that.And if we are to part, a few hours sooner or later,you know, makes no difference. I can be ready by seven.Let me be called in time." Eleanor saw that she wishedto be alone; and believing it better for each that theyshould avoid any further conversation, now left her with,"I shall see you in the morning."

　　Catherine's swelling heart needed relief.In Eleanor's presence friendship and pride had equallyrestrained her tears, but no sooner was she gone thanthey burst forth in torrents. Turned from the house,and in such a way! Without any reason that could justify,any apology that could atone for the abruptness,the rudeness, nay, the insolence of it. Henry at adistance--not able even to bid him farewell. Every hope,every expectation from him suspended, at least, and who couldsay how long? Who could say when they might meet again?And all this by such a man as General Tilney, so polite,so well bred, and heretofore so particularly fond of her! Itwas as incomprehensible as it was mortifying and grievous.From what it could arise, and where it would end,were considerations of equal perplexity and alarm.The manner in which it was done so grossly uncivil,hurrying her away without any reference to her own convenience,or allowing her even the appearance of choice as to the timeor mode of her travelling; of two days, the earliest fixed on,and of that almost the earliest hour, as if resolvedto have her gone before he was stirring in the morning,that he might not be obliged even to see her. What couldall this mean but an intentional affront? By some meansor other she must have had the misfortune to offend him.Eleanor had wished to spare her from so painful a notion,but Catherine could not believe it possible that any injuryor any misfortune could provoke such ill will againsta person not connected, or, at least, not supposed to beconnected with it.

　　Heavily passed the night. Sleep, or repose thatdeserved the name of sleep, was out of the question.That room, in which her disturbed imagination had tormentedher on her first arrival, was again the scene of agitatedspirits and unquiet slumbers. Yet how different now thesource of her inquietude from what it had been then--howmournfully superior in reality and substance! Her anxietyhad foundation in fact, her fears in probability;and with a mind so occupied in the contemplation ofactual and natural evil, the solitude of her situation,the darkness of her chamber, the antiquity of the building,were felt and considered without the smallest emotion;and though the wind was high, and often produced strangeand sudden noises throughout the house, she heard itall as she lay awake, hour after hour, without curiosityor terror.

　　Soon after six Eleanor entered her room, eager to showattention or give assistance where it was possible; but verylittle remained to be done. Catherine had not loitered;she was almost dressed, and her packing almost finished.The possibility of some conciliatory message fromthe general occurred to her as his daughter appeared.What so natural, as that anger should pass away andrepentance succeed it? And she only wanted to know how far,after what had passed, an apology might properly be receivedby her. But the knowledge would have been useless here;it was not called for; neither clemency nor dignitywas put to the trial--Eleanor brought no message.Very little passed between them on meeting; each foundher greatest safety in silence, and few and trivial werethe sentences exchanged while they remained upstairs,Catherine in busy agitation completing her dress,and Eleanor with more goodwill than experience intent uponfilling the trunk. When everything was done they leftthe room, Catherine lingering only half a minute behindher friend to throw a parting glance on every well-known,cherished object, and went down to the breakfast-parlour,where breakfast was prepared. She tried to eat, as wellto save herself from the pain of being urged as to makeher friend comfortable; but she had no appetite, and couldnot swallow many mouthfuls. The contrast between thisand her last breakfast in that room gave her fresh misery,and strengthened her distaste for everything before her.It was not four and twenty hours ago since they hadmet there to the same repast, but in circumstanceshow different! With what cheerful ease, what happy,though false, security, had she then looked around her,enjoying everything present, and fearing little in future,beyond Henry's going to Woodston for a day! Happy,happy breakfast! For Henry had been there; Henry had satby her and helped her. These reflections were longindulged undisturbed by any address from her companion,who sat as deep in thought as herself; and the appearanceof the carriage was the first thing to startle and recallthem to the present moment. Catherine's colour rose at thesight of it; and the indignity with which she was treated,striking at that instant on her mind with peculiar force,made her for a short time sensible only of resentment.Eleanor seemed now impelled into resolution and speech.

　　"You must write to me, Catherine," she cried;"you must let me hear from you as soon as possible.Till I know you to be safe at home, I shall not havean hour's comfort. For one letter, at all risks,all hazards, I must entreat. Let me have the satisfactionof knowing that you are safe at Fullerton, and have foundyour family well, and then, till I can ask for yourcorrespondence as I ought to do, I will not expect more.Direct to me at Lord Longtown's, and, I must ask it,under cover to Alice."

　　"No, Eleanor, if you are not allowed to receivea letter from me, I am sure I had better not write.There can be no doubt of my getting home safe."

　　Eleanor only replied, "I cannot wonder at your feelings.I will not importune you. I will trust to your own kindnessof heart when I am at a distance from you." But this,with the look of sorrow accompanying it, was enough to meltCatherine's pride in a moment, and she instantly said,"Oh, Eleanor, I will write to you indeed."

　　There was yet another point which Miss Tilney was anxiousto settle, though somewhat embarrassed in speaking of.It had occurred to her that after so long an absence from home,Catherine might not be provided with money enough for theexpenses of her journey, and, upon suggesting it to herwith most affectionate offers of accommodation, it provedto be exactly the case. Catherine had never thought onthe subject till that moment, but, upon examining her purse,was convinced that but for this kindness of her friend,she might have been turned from the house without eventhe means of getting home; and the distress in which shemust have been thereby involved filling the minds of both,scarcely another word was said by either during the timeof their remaining together. Short, however, was that time.The carriage was soon announced to be ready; and Catherine,instantly rising, a long and affectionate embrace suppliedthe place of language in bidding each other adieu;and, as they entered the hall, unable to leave the housewithout some mention of one whose name had not yet beenspoken by either, she paused a moment, and with quiveringlips just made it intelligible that she left "her kindremembrance for her absent friend." But with thisapproach to his name ended all possibility of restrainingher feelings; and, hiding her face as well as she couldwith her handkerchief, she darted across the hall,jumped into the chaise, and in a moment was driven from the door.