In support of the plausibility of this
conjecture, it further occurred to her that the forbidden gallery, in
which lay the apartments of the unfortunate Mrs. Tilney, must be, as
certainly as her memory could guide her, exactly over this suspected
range of cells, and the staircase by the side of those apartments of
which she had caught a transient glimpse, communicating by some secret
means with those cells, might well have favoured the barbarous
proceedings of her husband. Down that staircase she had perhaps been
conveyed in a state of well-prepared insensibility! Catherine sometimes started at the boldness of her own surmises, and
sometimes hoped or feared that she had gone too far; but they were
supported by such appearances as made their dismissal impossible. The side of the quadrangle, in which she supposed the guilty scene to
be acting, being, according to her belief, just opposite her own, it
struck her that, if judiciously watched, some rays of light from the
General’s lamp might glimmer through the lower windows, as he passed to
the prison of his wife; and, twice before she stepped into bed, she
stole gently from her room to the corresponding window in the gallery,
to see if it appeared; but all abroad was dark, and it must yet be too
early. The various ascending noises convinced her that the servants
must still be up. Till midnight, she supposed it would be in vain to
watch; but then, when the clock had struck twelve, and all was quiet,
she would, if not quite appalled by darkness, steal out and look once
more. The clock struck twelve—and Catherine had been half an hour
asleep. CHAPTER 24


The next day afforded no opportunity for the proposed examination of
the mysterious apartments. It was Sunday, and the whole time between
morning and afternoon service was required by the General in exercise
abroad or eating cold meat at home; and great as was Catherine’s
curiosity, her courage was not equal to a wish of exploring them after
dinner, either by the fading light of the sky between six and seven
o’clock, or by the yet more partial though stronger illumination of a
treacherous lamp. The day was unmarked therefore by anything to
interest her imagination beyond the sight of a very elegant monument to
the memory of Mrs. Tilney, which immediately fronted the family pew. By
that her eye was instantly caught and long retained; and the perusal of
the highly strained epitaph, in which every virtue was ascribed to her
by the inconsolable husband, who must have been in some way or other
her destroyer, affected her even to tears. That the General, having erected such a monument, should be able to
face it, was not perhaps very strange, and yet that he could sit so
boldly collected within its view, maintain so elevated an air, look so
fearlessly around, nay, that he should even enter the church, seemed
wonderful to Catherine. Not, however, that many instances of beings
equally hardened in guilt might not be produced. She could remember
dozens who had persevered in every possible vice, going on from crime
to crime, murdering whomsoever they chose, without any feeling of
humanity or remorse; till a violent death or a religious retirement
closed their black career. The erection of the monument itself could
not in the smallest degree affect her doubts of Mrs. Tilney’s actual
decease. Were she even to descend into the family vault where her ashes
were supposed to slumber, were she to behold the coffin in which they
were said to be enclosed—what could it avail in such a case? Catherine
had read too much not to be perfectly aware of the ease with which a
waxen figure might be introduced, and a supposititious funeral carried
on. The succeeding morning promised something better. The General’s early
walk, ill-timed as it was in every other view, was favourable here; and
when she knew him to be out of the house, she directly proposed to Miss
Tilney the accomplishment of her promise. Eleanor was ready to oblige
her; and Catherine reminding her as they went of another promise, their
first visit in consequence was to the portrait in her bed-chamber. It
represented a very lovely woman, with a mild and pensive countenance,
justifying, so far, the expectations of its new observer; but they were
not in every respect answered, for Catherine had depended upon meeting
with features, hair, complexion, that should be the very counterpart,
the very image, if not of Henry’s, of Eleanor’s—the only portraits of
which she had been in the habit of thinking, bearing always an equal
resemblance of mother and child. A face once taken was taken for
generations. But here she was obliged to look and consider and study
for a likeness. She contemplated it, however, in spite of this
drawback, with much emotion, and, but for a yet stronger interest,
would have left it unwillingly. Her agitation as they entered the great gallery was too much for any
endeavour at discourse; she could only look at her companion. Eleanor’s
countenance was dejected, yet sedate; and its composure spoke her
inured to all the gloomy objects to which they were advancing. Again
she passed through the folding doors, again her hand was upon the
important lock, and Catherine, hardly able to breathe, was turning to
close the former with fearful caution, when the figure, the dreaded
figure of the General himself at the further end of the gallery, stood
before her! the name of “Eleanor” at the same moment, in his loudest
tone, resounded through the building, giving to his daughter the first
intimation of his presence, and to Catherine terror upon terror. An
attempt at concealment had been her first instinctive movement on
perceiving him, yet she could scarcely hope to have escaped his eye;
and when her friend, who with an apologizing look darted hastily by
her, had joined and disappeared with him, she ran for safety to her own
room, and, locking herself in, believed that she should never have
courage to go down again. She remained there at least an hour, in the
greatest agitation, deeply commiserating the state of her poor friend,
and expecting a summons herself from the angry General to attend him in
his own apartment. No summons, however, arrived; and at last, on seeing
a carriage drive up to the abbey, she was emboldened to descend and
meet him under the protection of visitors. The breakfast-room was gay
with company; and she was named to them by the General as the friend of
his daughter, in a complimentary style, which so well concealed his
resentful ire, as to make her feel secure at least of life for the
present. And Eleanor, with a command of countenance which did honour to
her concern for his character, taking an early occasion of saying to
her, “My father only wanted me to answer a note,” she began to hope
that she had either been unseen by the General, or that from some
consideration of policy she should be allowed to suppose herself so.