But, suppose he had made her very much in love with
him?”

“But we must first suppose Isabella to have had a heart to
lose—consequently to have been a very different creature; and, in that
case, she would have met with very different treatment.”

“It is very right that you should stand by your brother.”

“And if you would stand by _yours_, you would not be much distressed by
the disappointment of Miss Thorpe. But your mind is warped by an innate
principle of general integrity, and therefore not accessible to the
cool reasonings of family partiality, or a desire of revenge.”

Catherine was complimented out of further bitterness. Frederick could
not be unpardonably guilty, while Henry made himself so agreeable. She
resolved on not answering Isabella’s letter, and tried to think no more
of it. CHAPTER 28


Soon after this, the General found himself obliged to go to London for
a week; and he left Northanger earnestly regretting that any necessity
should rob him even for an hour of Miss Morland’s company, and
anxiously recommending the study of her comfort and amusement to his
children as their chief object in his absence. His departure gave
Catherine the first experimental conviction that a loss may be
sometimes a gain. The happiness with which their time now passed, every
employment voluntary, every laugh indulged, every meal a scene of ease
and good 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 the General’s presence had
imposed, and most thankfully feel their present release from it. Such
ease and such delights made her love the place and the people more and
more every day; and had it not been for a dread of its soon becoming
expedient to leave the one, and an apprehension of not being equally
beloved by the other, she would at each moment of each day have been
perfectly happy; but she was now in the fourth week of her visit;
before the General came home, the fourth week would be turned, and
perhaps it 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 it at once, propose going away, and be guided in her conduct by
the manner in which her proposal might be taken. Aware that if she gave herself much time, she might feel it difficult
to bring forward so unpleasant a subject, she took the first
opportunity of being suddenly alone with Eleanor, and of Eleanor’s
being in 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 much longer time—had been misled (perhaps by her wishes)
to suppose that a much longer visit had been promised—and could not but
think that if Mr. and Mrs. Morland were aware 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 were in
no hurry at all. As long as she was happy, they would always be
satisfied.”

“Then why, might she ask, in such a hurry herself to leave them?”

“Oh! because she had been there so long.”

“Nay, if you can use such a word, I can urge you no farther. If you
think it long—”

“Oh! no, I do not indeed. For my own pleasure, I could stay 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 stay was
determined, were such sweet proofs of her importance with them, as left
her only just so much solicitude as 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 and even 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 of remaining wholly
at Northanger in attendance on the ladies, during his absence in
London, the engagements of his curate at Woodston obliging him to leave
them on Saturday for a couple of nights. His loss was not now what it
had been while the General was at home; it lessened their gaiety, but
did not ruin their comfort; and the two girls agreeing in occupation,
and improving in intimacy, found themselves so well sufficient for the
time to themselves, that it was eleven o’clock, rather a late hour at
the abbey, before they quitted 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 them to judge, that a
carriage was driving up to the door, and the next moment confirmed the
idea by the loud noise of the house-bell. After the first perturbation
of surprise had 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 her mind as well as she
could, to a further acquaintance with Captain Tilney, and comforting
herself under the unpleasant impression his conduct had given her, and
the persuasion of his being by far too fine a gentleman to approve of
her, that at least they should not meet under such circumstances as
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
the part 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 certainly in his favour that Eleanor should be so glad to see him,
and have so much to say, for half an hour was almost gone since his
arrival, and Eleanor did not come up. At that moment Catherine thought she heard her step in the gallery, and
listened for its continuance; but all was silent. Scarcely, however,
had she convicted her fancy of error, when the noise of something
moving close to her door made her start; it seemed as if someone was
touching the very doorway—and in another moment a slight motion of the
lock proved that some hand must be on it. She trembled a little at the
idea of anyone’s approaching so cautiously; but resolving not to be
again overcome by trivial appearances of alarm, or misled by a raised
imagination, she stepped quietly forward, and opened the door. Eleanor,
and only Eleanor, stood there.