In chatting with Miss Tilney before the evening concluded, a new source
of felicity arose to her. She had never taken a country walk since her
arrival in Bath. Miss Tilney, to whom all the commonly frequented
environs were familiar, spoke of them in terms which made her all
eagerness to know them too; and on her openly fearing that she might
find nobody to go with her, it was proposed by the brother and sister
that they should join in a walk, some morning or other. “I shall like
it,” she cried, “beyond anything in the world; and do not let us put it
off—let us go to-morrow.” This was readily agreed to, with only a
proviso of Miss Tilney’s, that it did not rain, which Catherine was
sure it would not. At twelve o’clock, they were to call for her in
Pulteney Street; and “Remember—twelve o’clock,” was her parting speech
to her new friend. Of her other, her older, her more established
friend, Isabella, of whose fidelity and worth she had enjoyed a
fortnight’s experience, she scarcely saw anything during the evening. Yet, though longing to make her acquainted with her happiness, she
cheerfully submitted to the wish of Mr. Allen, which took them rather
early away, and her spirits danced within her, as she danced in her
chair all the way home. CHAPTER 11


The morrow brought a very sober-looking morning, the sun making only a
few efforts to appear, and Catherine augured from it everything most
favourable to her wishes. A bright morning so early in the year, she
allowed, would generally turn to rain, but a cloudy one foretold
improvement as the day advanced. She applied to Mr. Allen for
confirmation of her hopes, but Mr. Allen, not having his own skies and
barometer about him, declined giving any absolute promise of sunshine. She applied to Mrs. Allen, and Mrs. Allen’s opinion was more positive. “She had no doubt in the world of its being a very fine day, if the
clouds would only go off, and the sun keep out.”

At about eleven o’clock, however, a few specks of small rain upon the
windows caught Catherine’s watchful eye, and “Oh! dear, I do believe it
will be wet,” broke from her in a most desponding tone. “I thought how it would be,” said Mrs. Allen. “No walk for me to-day,” sighed Catherine; “but perhaps it may come to
nothing, or it may hold up before twelve.”

“Perhaps it may, but then, my dear, it will be so dirty.”

“Oh! that will not signify; I never mind dirt.”

“No,” replied her friend very placidly, “I know you never mind dirt.”

After a short pause, “It comes on faster and faster!” said Catherine,
as she stood watching at a window. “So it does indeed. If it keeps raining, the streets will be very wet.”

“There are four umbrellas up already. How I hate the sight of an
umbrella!”

“They are disagreeable things to carry. I would much rather take a
chair at any time.”

“It was such a nice-looking morning! i felt so convinced it would be
dry!”

“Anybody would have thought so indeed. There will be very few people in
the pump-room, if it rains all the morning. I hope Mr. Allen will put
on his greatcoat when he goes, but I dare say he will not, for he had
rather do anything in the world than walk out in a greatcoat; I wonder
he should dislike it, it must be so comfortable.”

The rain continued—fast, though not heavy. Catherine went every five
minutes to the clock, threatening on each return that, if it still kept
on raining another five minutes, she would give up the matter as
hopeless. The clock struck twelve, and it still rained. “You will not
be able to go, my dear.”

“I do not quite despair yet. I shall not give it up till a quarter
after twelve. This is just the time of day for it to clear up, and I do
think it looks a little lighter. There, it is twenty minutes after
twelve, and now I _shall_ give it up entirely. Oh! that we had such
weather here as they had at Udolpho, or at least in Tuscany and the
south of France!—the night that poor St. Aubin died!—such beautiful
weather!”

At half past twelve, when Catherine’s anxious attention to the weather
was over and she could no longer claim any merit from its amendment,
the sky began voluntarily to clear. A gleam of sunshine took her quite
by surprise; she looked round; the clouds were parting, and she
instantly returned to the window to watch over and encourage the happy
appearance. Ten minutes more made it certain that a bright afternoon
would succeed, and justified the opinion of Mrs. Allen, who had “always
thought it would clear up.” But whether Catherine might still expect
her friends, whether there had not been too much rain for Miss Tilney
to venture, must yet be a question. It was too dirty for Mrs. Allen to accompany her husband to the
pump-room; he accordingly set off by himself, and Catherine had barely
watched him down the street when her notice was claimed by the approach
of the same two open carriages, containing the same three people that
had surprised her so much a few mornings back. “Isabella, my brother, and Mr. Thorpe, I declare! they are coming for
me perhaps—but I shall not go—I cannot go indeed, for you know Miss
Tilney may still call.” Mrs. Allen agreed to it. John Thorpe was soon
with them, and his voice was with them yet sooner, for on the stairs he
was calling out to Miss Morland to be quick. “Make haste! make haste!”
as he threw open the door. “Put on your hat this moment—there is no
time to be lost—we are going to Bristol. How d’ye do, Mrs. Allen?”

“To Bristol! is not that a great way off? But, however, I cannot go
with you to-day, because I am engaged; I expect some friends every
moment.” This was of course vehemently talked down as no reason at all;
Mrs. Allen was called on to second him, and the two others walked in,
to give their assistance. “My sweetest Catherine, is not this
delightful? We shall have a most heavenly drive. You are to thank your
brother and me for the scheme; it darted into our heads at
breakfast-time, I verily believe at the same instant; and we should
have been off two hours ago if it had not been for this detestable
rain. But it does not signify, the nights are moonlight, and we shall
do delightfully. Oh! i am in such ecstasies at the thoughts of a little
country air and quiet! so much better than going to the Lower Rooms. We
shall drive directly to Clifton and dine there; and, as soon as dinner
is over, if there is time for it, go on to Kingsweston.”

“I doubt our being able to do so much,” said Morland. “You croaking fellow!” cried Thorpe. “We shall be able to do ten times
more. Kingsweston! aye, and Blaize Castle too, and anything else we can
hear of; but here is your sister says she will not go.”

“Blaize Castle!” cried Catherine.