Upon this trust she dared still to remain in his presence, after the
company left them, and nothing occurred to disturb it. In the course of this morning’s reflections, she came to a resolution
of making her next attempt on the forbidden door alone. It would be
much better in every respect that Eleanor should know nothing of the
matter. To involve her in the danger of a second detection, to court
her into an apartment which must wring her heart, could not be the
office of a friend. The General’s utmost anger could not be to herself
what it might be to a daughter; and, besides, she thought the
examination itself would be more satisfactory if made without any
companion. It would be impossible to explain to Eleanor the suspicions,
from which the other had, in all likelihood, been hitherto happily
exempt; nor could she therefore, in _her_ presence, search for those
proofs of the General’s cruelty, which however they might yet have
escaped discovery, she felt confident of somewhere drawing forth, in
the shape of some fragmented journal, continued to the last gasp. Of
the way to the apartment she was now perfectly mistress; and as she
wished to get it over before Henry’s return, who was expected on the
morrow, there was no time to be lost. The day was bright, her courage
high; at four o’clock, the sun was now two hours above the horizon, and
it would be only her retiring to dress half an hour earlier than usual. It was done; and Catherine found herself alone in the gallery before
the clocks had ceased to strike. It was no time for thought; she
hurried on, slipped with the least possible noise through the folding
doors, and without stopping to look or breathe, rushed forward to the
one in question. The lock yielded to her hand, and, luckily, with no
sullen sound that could alarm a human being. On tiptoe she entered; the
room was before her; but it was some minutes before she could advance
another step. She beheld what fixed her to the spot and agitated every
feature. She saw a large, well-proportioned apartment, an handsome
dimity bed, arranged as unoccupied with an housemaid’s care, a bright
Bath stove, mahogany wardrobes, and neatly painted chairs, on which the
warm beams of a western sun gaily poured through two sash windows! Catherine had expected to have her feelings worked, and worked they
were. Astonishment and doubt first seized them; and a shortly
succeeding ray of common sense added some bitter emotions of shame. She
could not be mistaken as to the room; but how grossly mistaken in
everything else!—in Miss Tilney’s meaning, in her own calculation! this
apartment, to which she had given a date so ancient, a position so
awful, proved to be one end of what the General’s father had built. There were two other doors in the chamber, leading probably into
dressing-closets; but she had no inclination to open either. Would the
veil in which Mrs. Tilney had last walked, or the volume in which she
had last read, remain to tell what nothing else was allowed to whisper? No: whatever might have been the General’s crimes, he had certainly too
much wit to let them sue for detection. She was sick of exploring, and
desired but to be safe in her own room, with her own heart only privy
to its folly; and she was on the point of retreating as softly as she
had entered, when the sound of footsteps, she could hardly tell where,
made her pause and tremble. To be found there, even by a servant, would
be unpleasant; but by the General (and he seemed always at hand when
least wanted), much worse! she listened—the sound had ceased; and
resolving not to lose a moment, she passed through and closed the door. At that instant a door underneath was hastily opened; someone seemed
with swift steps to ascend the stairs, by the head of which she had yet
to pass before she could gain the gallery. She had no power to move. With a feeling of terror not very definable, she fixed her eyes on the
staircase, and in a few moments it gave Henry to her view. “Mr. Tilney!” she exclaimed in a voice of more than common astonishment. He
looked astonished too. “Good God!” she continued, not attending to his
address. “How came you here? How came you up that staircase?”

“How came I up that staircase!” he replied, greatly surprised. “Because
it is my nearest way from the stable-yard to my own chamber; and why
should I not come up it?”

Catherine recollected herself, blushed deeply, and could say no more. He seemed to be looking in her countenance for that explanation which
her lips did not afford. She moved on towards the gallery. “And may I
not, in my turn,” said he, as he pushed back the folding doors, “ask
how _you_ came here? This passage is at least as extraordinary a road
from the breakfast-parlour to your apartment, as that staircase can be
from the stables to mine.”

“I have been,” said Catherine, looking down, “to see your mother’s
room.”

“My mother’s room! is there anything extraordinary to be seen there?”

“No, nothing at all. I thought you did not mean to come back till
to-morrow.”

“I did not expect to be able to return sooner, when I went away; but
three hours ago I had the pleasure of finding nothing to detain me. You
look pale. I am afraid I alarmed you by running so fast up those
stairs. Perhaps you did not know—you were not aware of their leading
from the offices in common use?”

“No, I was not. You have had a very fine day for your ride.”

“Very; and does Eleanor leave you to find your way into all the rooms
in the house by yourself?”

“Oh no! she showed me over the greatest part on Saturday—and we were
coming here to these rooms—but only,” dropping her voice, “your father
was with us.”

“And that prevented you,” said Henry, earnestly regarding her. “Have
you looked into all the rooms in that passage?”

“No, I only wanted to see—Is not it very late? I must go and dress.”

“It is only a quarter past four,” showing his watch; “and you are not now
in Bath. No theatre, no rooms to prepare for. Half an hour at
Northanger must be enough.”

She could not contradict it, and therefore suffered herself to be
detained, though her dread of further questions made her, for the first
time in their acquaintance, wish to leave him. They walked slowly up
the gallery. “Have you had any letter from Bath since I saw you?”

“No, and I am very much surprised. Isabella promised so faithfully to
write directly.”

“Promised so faithfully! a faithful promise! that puzzles me. I have
heard of a faithful performance. But a faithful promise—the fidelity of
promising! it is a power little worth knowing, however, since it can
deceive and pain you. My mother’s room is very commodious, is it not? Large and cheerful-looking, and the dressing-closets so well disposed! It always strikes me as the most comfortable apartment in the house,
and I rather wonder that Eleanor should not take it for her own. She
sent you to look at it, I suppose?”

“No.”

“It has been your own doing entirely?” Catherine said nothing.