CHAPTER 17
The Allens had now entered on the sixth week of their stay in Bath; andwhether it should be the last was for some time a question, to whichCatherine listened with a beating heart. To have her acquaintance withthe Tilneys end so soon was an evil which nothing could counterbalance.Her whole happiness seemed at stake, while the affair was in suspense,and everything secured when it was determined that the lodgings shouldbe taken for another fortnight. What this additional fortnight was toproduce to her beyond the pleasure of sometimes seeing Henry Tilney madebut a small part of Catherine's speculation. Once or twice indeed, sinceJames's engagement had taught her what could be done, she had got sofar as to indulge in a secret ”perhaps,” but in general the felicity ofbeing with him for the present bounded her views: the present was nowcomprised in another three weeks, and her happiness being certain forthat period, the rest of her life was at such a distance as to excitebut little interest. In the course of the morning which saw thisbusiness arranged, she visited Miss Tilney, and poured forth herjoyful feelings. It was doomed to be a day of trial. No sooner had sheexpressed her delight in Mr. Allen's lengthened stay than Miss Tilneytold her of her father's having just determined upon quitting Bathby the end of another week. Here was a blow! The past suspense ofthe morning had been ease and quiet to the present disappointment.Catherine's countenance fell, and in a voice of most sincere concern sheechoed Miss Tilney's concluding words, ”By the end of another week!”
”Yes, my father can seldom be prevailed on to give the waters what Ithink a fair trial. He has been disappointed of some friends' arrivalwhom he expected to meet here, and as he is now pretty well, is in ahurry to get home.”
”I am very sorry for it,” said Catherine dejectedly; ”if I had knownthis before--”
”Perhaps,” said Miss Tilney in an embarrassed manner, ”you would be sogood--it would make me very happy if--”
The entrance of her father put a stop to the civility, which Catherinewas beginning to hope might introduce a desire of their corresponding.After addressing her with his usual politeness, he turned to hisdaughter and said, ”Well, Eleanor, may I congratulate you on beingsuccessful in your application to your fair friend?”
”I was just beginning to make the request, sir, as you came in.”
”Well, proceed by all means. I know how much your heart is in it. Mydaughter, Miss Morland,” he continued, without leaving his daughter timeto speak, ”has been forming a very bold wish. We leave Bath, as she hasperhaps told you, on Saturday se'nnight. A letter from my steward tellsme that my presence is wanted at home; and being disappointed in my hopeof seeing the Marquis of Longtown and General Courteney here, some ofmy very old friends, there is nothing to detain me longer in Bath. Andcould we carry our selfish point with you, we should leave it without asingle regret. Can you, in short, be prevailed on to quit this sceneof public triumph and oblige your friend Eleanor with your company inGloucestershire? I am almost ashamed to make the request, though itspresumption would certainly appear greater to every creature in Baththan yourself. Modesty such as yours--but not for the world would I painit by open praise. If you can be induced to honour us with a visit,you will make us happy beyond expression. 'Tis true, we can offer younothing like the gaieties of this lively place; we can tempt you neitherby amusement nor splendour, for our mode of living, as you see, is plainand unpretending; yet no endeavours shall be wanting on our side to makeNorthanger Abbey not wholly disagreeable.”
Northanger Abbey! These were thrilling words, and wound up Catherine'sfeelings to the highest point of ecstasy. Her grateful and gratifiedheart could hardly restrain its expressions within the language oftolerable calmness. To receive so flattering an invitation! To have hercompany so warmly solicited! Everything honourable and soothing, everypresent enjoyment, and every future hope was contained in it; and heracceptance, with only the saving clause of Papa and Mamma's approbation,was eagerly given. ”I will write home directly,” said she, ”and if theydo not object, as I dare say they will not--”
General Tilney was not less sanguine, having already waited on herexcellent friends in Pulteney Street, and obtained their sanction ofhis wishes. ”Since they can consent to part with you,” said he, ”we mayexpect philosophy from all the world.”
Miss Tilney was earnest, though gentle, in her secondary civilities, andthe affair became in a few minutes as nearly settled as this necessaryreference to Fullerton would allow.
The circumstances of the morning had led Catherine's feelings throughthe varieties of suspense, security, and disappointment; but they werenow safely lodged in perfect bliss; and with spirits elated to rapture,with Henry at her heart, and Northanger Abbey on her lips, shehurried home to write her letter. Mr. and Mrs. Morland, relying onthe discretion of the friends to whom they had already entrusted theirdaughter, felt no doubt of the propriety of an acquaintance which hadbeen formed under their eye, and sent therefore by return of post theirready consent to her visit in Gloucestershire. This indulgence, thoughnot more than Catherine had hoped for, completed her conviction of beingfavoured beyond every other human creature, in friends and fortune,circumstance and chance. Everything seemed to cooperate for heradvantage. By the kindness of her first friends, the Allens, she hadbeen introduced into scenes where pleasures of every kind had met her.Her feelings, her preferences, had each known the happiness of a return.Wherever she felt attachment, she had been able to create it. Theaffection of Isabella was to be secured to her in a sister. The Tilneys,they, by whom, above all, she desired to be favourably thought of,outstripped even her wishes in the flattering measures by which theirintimacy was to be continued. She was to be their chosen visitor, shewas to be for weeks under the same roof with the person whose societyshe mostly prized--and, in addition to all the rest, this roof was tobe the roof of an abbey! Her passion for ancient edifices was next indegree to her passion for Henry Tilney--and castles and abbeys madeusually the charm of those reveries which his image did not fill. To seeand explore either the ramparts and keep of the one, or the cloistersof the other, had been for many weeks a darling wish, though to be morethan the visitor of an hour had seemed too nearly impossible for desire.And yet, 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, damp passages, its narrowcells and ruined chapel, were to be within her daily reach, and shecould not entirely subdue the hope of some traditional legends, someawful memorials of an injured and ill-fated nun.
It was wonderful that her friends should seem so little elated by thepossession of such a home, that the consciousness of it should be someekly borne. The power of early habit only could account for it. Adistinction to which they had been born gave no pride. Their superiorityof abode was no more to them than their superiority of person.
Many were the inquiries she was eager to make of Miss Tilney; but soactive were her thoughts, that when these inquiries were answered, shewas hardly more assured than before, of Northanger Abbey having beena richly endowed convent at the time of the Reformation, of its havingfallen into the hands of an ancestor of the Tilneys on its dissolution,of a large portion of the ancient building still making a part of thepresent dwelling although the rest was decayed, or of its standing lowin a valley, sheltered from the north and east by rising woods of oak.