Chapter 17

The Allens had now entered on the sixth week of their stay in Bath; and

whether it should be the last was for som e tim e a question, to which Catherine listened with a beating heart. To have her acquaintance with the Tilney s end so soon was an evil which nothing could counterbalance. Her whole happiness seem ed at stake, while the affair was in suspense, and every thing secured when it was determ ined that the lodgings should be taken for another fortnight. What this additional fortnight was to produce to her bey ond the pleasure of som etim es seeing Henry Tilney m ade but a sm all part of Catherine’s speculation. Once or twice indeed, since Jam es’s engagem ent had taught her what could be done, she had got so far as to indulge in a secret “perhaps,” but in general the felicity of being with him for the present bounded her views: the present was now com prised in another three weeks, and her happiness being certain for that period, the rest of her life was at such a distance as to excite but little interest. In the course of the m orning which saw this business arranged, she visited Miss Tilney, and poured forth her j oy ful feelings. It was doom ed to be a day of trial. No sooner had she expressed her delight in Mr. Allen’s lengthened stay than Miss Tilney told her of her father’s having j ust determ ined upon quitting Bath by the end of another week. Here was a blow! The past suspense of the m orning had been ease and quiet to the present disappointm ent. Catherine’s countenance fell, and in a voice of m ost sincere concern she echoed Miss Tilney ’s concluding words, “By the end of another week!”

“Yes, m y father can seldom be prevailed on to give the waters what I

think a fair trial. He has been disappointed of som e friends’ arrival whom he expected to m eet here, and as he is now pretty well, is in a hurry to get hom e.”

“I am very sorry for it,” said Catherine dej ectedly ; “if I had known this

before...”

“Perhaps,” said Miss Tilney in an em barrassed m anner, “y ou would be

so good – it would m ake m e very happy if...”

The entrance of her father put a stop to the civility, which Catherine was

beginning to hope m ight introduce a desire of their corresponding. After addressing her with his usual politeness, he turned to his daughter and said, “Well, Eleanor, m ay I congratulate y ou on being successful in y our application to y our fair friend?”

“I was j ust beginning to m ake the request, sir, as y ou cam e in.”

“Well, proceed by all m eans. I know how m uch y our heart is in it. My

daughter, Miss Morland,” he continued, without leaving his daughter tim e to speak, “has been form ing a very bold wish. We leave Bath, as she has perhaps told y ou, on Saturday se’nnight. A letter from m y steward tells m e that m y presence is wanted at hom e; and being disappointed in m y hope of seeing the Marquis of Longtown and General Courteney here, som e of m y very old friends, there is nothing to detain m e longer in Bath. And could we carry our selfish point with y ou, we should leave it without a single regret. Can y ou, in short, be prevailed on to quit this scene of public trium ph and oblige y our friend Eleanor with y our com pany in Gloucestershire? I am alm ost asham ed to m ake the request, though its presum ption would certainly appear greater to every creature in Bath than y ourself. Modesty such as y ours – but not for the world would I pain it by open praise. If y ou can be induced to honour us with a visit, y ou will m ake us happy bey ond expression. ’Tis true, we can offer y ou nothing like the gaieties of this lively place; we can tem pt y ou neither by am usem ent nor splendour, for our m ode of living, as y ou see, is plain and unpretending; y et no endeavours shall be wanting on our side to m ake Northanger Abbey not wholly disagreeable.”

Northanger Abbey ! These were thrilling words, and wound up

Catherine’s feelings to the highest point of ecstasy. Her grateful and gratified heart could hardly restrain its expressions within the language of tolerable calm ness. To receive so flattering an invitation! To have her com pany so warm ly solicited! Every thing honourable and soothing, every present enj oy m ent, and every future hope was contained in it; and her acceptance, with only the saving clause of Papa and Mam m a’s approbation, was eagerly given. “I will write hom e directly,” said she, “and if they do not obj ect, as I dare say they will not...”

General Tilney was not less sanguine, having already waited on her

excellent friends in Pulteney Street, and obtained their sanction of his wishes. “Since they can consent to part with y ou,” said he, “we m ay expect philosophy from all the world.”

Miss Tilney was earnest, though gentle, in her secondary civilities, and

the affair becam e in a few m inutes as nearly settled as this necessary reference to Fullerton would allow.

The circum stances of the m orning had led Catherine’s feelings through

the varieties of suspense, security, and disappointm ent; but they were now safely lodged in perfect bliss; and with spirits elated to rapture, with Henry at her heart, and Northanger Abbey on her lips, she hurried hom e to write her letter. Mr. and Mrs. Morland, rely ing on the discretion of the friends to whom they had already entrusted their daughter, felt no doubt of the propriety of an acquaintance which had been form ed under their ey e, and sent therefore by return of post their ready consent to her visit in Gloucestershire. This indulgence, though not m ore than Catherine had hoped for, com pleted her conviction of being favoured bey ond every other hum an creature, in friends and fortune, circum stance and chance. Every thing seem ed to cooperate for her advantage. By the kindness of her first friends, the Allens, she had been introduced into scenes where pleasures of every kind had m et her. Her feelings, her preferences, had each known the happiness of a return. Wherever she felt attachm ent, she had been able to create it. The affection of Isabella was to be secured to her in a sister. The Tilney s, they, by whom , above all, she desired to be favourably thought of, outstripped even her wishes in the flattering m easures by which their intim acy was to be continued. She was to be their chosen visitor, she was to be for weeks under the sam e roof with the person whose society she m ostly prized – and, in addition to all the rest, this roof was to be the roof of an abbey ! Her passion for ancient edifices was next in degree to her passion for Henry Tilney – and castles and abbey s m ade usually the charm of those reveries which his im age did not fill. To see and explore either the ram parts and keep of the one, or the cloisters of the other, had been for m any weeks a darling wish, though to be m ore than the visitor of an hour had seem ed too nearly im possible for desire. And y et, this was to happen. With all the chances against her of house, hall, place, park, court, and cottage, Northanger turned up an abbey, and she was to be its inhabitant. Its long, dam p passages, its narrow cells and ruined chapel, were to be within her daily reach, and she could not entirely subdue the hope of som e traditional legends, som e awful m em orials of an inj ured and ill-fated nun.

It was wonderful that her friends should seem so little elated by the

possession of such a hom e, that the consciousness of it should be so m eekly 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 m ore to them than their superiority of person.

Many were the inquiries she was eager to m ake of Miss Tilney ; but so

active were her thoughts, that when these inquiries were answered, she was hardly m ore assured than before, of Northanger Abbey having been a richly endowed convent at the tim e of the Reform ation, of its having fallen into the hands of an ancestor of the Tilney s on its dissolution, of a large portion of the ancient building still m aking a part of the present dwelling although the rest was decay ed, or of its standing low in a valley, sheltered from the north and east by rising woods of oak.