Northanger Abbey

arrival whom he expected to meet here, and as he is now pretty
well, is in a hurry to get home."

"I am very sorry for it," said Catherine dejectedly; "if
I had known this before -- "

"Perhaps," said Miss Tilney in an embarrassed manner, "you
would be so good -- it would make me very happy if -- "

The entrance of her father put a stop to the civility, which
Catherine was beginning to hope might introduce a desire of their
corresponding.  After addressing her with his usual politeness, he
turned to his daughter and said, "Well, Eleanor, may I congratulate
you on being successful 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.  My daughter, Miss Morland," he continued, without leaving his
daughter time to speak, "has been forming a very bold wish.  We
leave Bath, as she has perhaps told you, on Saturday se'nnight.  A
letter from my steward tells me that my presence is wanted at home;
and being disappointed in my hope of seeing the Marquis of Longtown
and General Courteney here, some of my very old friends, there is
nothing to detain me longer in Bath.  And could we carry our selfish
point with you, we should leave it without a single regret.  Can
you, in short, be prevailed on to quit this scene of public triumph
and oblige your friend Eleanor with your company in Gloucestershire?
I am almost ashamed to make the request, though its presumption would
certainly appear greater to every creature in Bath than yourself.
Modesty such as yours -- but not for the world would I pain it 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 you
nothing like the gaieties of this lively place; we can tempt you
neither by amusement nor splendour, for our mode of living, as you
see, is plain and unpretending; yet no endeavours shall be wanting
on our side to make Northanger Abbey not wholly disagreeable."

Northanger Abbey!  These were thrilling words, and wound up
Catherine's feelings to the highest point of ecstasy.  Her grateful
and gratified heart could hardly restrain its expressions within
the language of tolerable calmness.  To receive so flattering an
invitation!  To have her company so warmly solicited!  Everything
honourable and soothing, every present enjoyment, and every future
hope was contained in it; and her acceptance, with only the saving
clause of Papa and Mamma's approbation, was eagerly given.  "I will
write home directly," said she, "and if they do not object,
as I dare say they will not -- "

General Tilney was not less sanguine, having already waited on her
excellent friends in Pulteney Street, and obtained their sanction
of his wishes.  "Since they can consent to part with you," said
he, "we may expect philosophy from all the world."

Miss Tilney was earnest, though gentle, in her secondary civilities,
and the affair became in a few minutes as nearly settled as this
necessary reference to Fullerton would allow.

The circumstances of the morning had led Catherine's feelings through
the varieties of suspense, security, and disappointment; but they
were now safely lodged in perfect bliss; and with spirits elated
to rapture, with Henry at her heart, and Northanger Abbey on her
lips, she hurried home to write her letter.  Mr. and Mrs. Morland,
relying on the discretion of the friends to whom they had already
entrusted their daughter, felt no doubt of the propriety of
an acquaintance which had been formed under their eye, and sent
therefore by return of post their ready consent to her visit in
Gloucestershire.  This indulgence, though not more than Catherine
had hoped for, completed her conviction of being favoured beyond
every other human creature, in friends and fortune, circumstance
and chance.  Everything seemed to cooperate for her advantage.  By
the kindness of her first friends, the Allens, she had been 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.  The affection
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
their intimacy was to be continued.  She was to be their chosen
visitor, she was to be for weeks under the same roof with the
person whose society she mostly prized -- and, in addition to all
the rest, this roof was to be the roof of an abbey!  Her passion
for ancient edifices was next in degree to her passion for Henry
Tilney -- and castles and abbeys made usually the charm of those
reveries which his image did not fill.  To see and explore either
the ramparts and keep of the one, or the cloisters of the other,
had been for many weeks a darling wish, though to be more than 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 narrow cells and ruined chapel, were to be within her
daily reach, and she could not entirely subdue the hope of some
traditional legends, some awful memorials of an injured and ill-fated
nun.

It was wonderful that her friends should seem so little elated by
the possession of such a home, that the consciousness of it should
be so meekly borne.  The power of early habit only could account
for it.  A distinction to which they had been born gave no pride.