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I
'STEM'S NOVELS.
3r's Edition.
id .Sensibility,
field Park,
nd Prejudice,
ilmma.
lasion, and
nger Abbey.
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my sympathies pas-
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Sir Walter Scott and
Whately, in the earlier
he Quarterly Review,
tention of the public
jassing excellence."—
view, Jan., 1870.
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Marietta.
By THOMAS A. TROLLOPE.
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by the author of
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3
Lindisfarn Chase.
By THOMAS A. TROLLOPE.
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YOL. IV.
NORTHANGER ABBEY
AND
PERSUASION.
NOBTHAKGEB ABBEY:
JANE AUSTEN,
AUTHOR OF
"SENSE AND SENSIBILITY,"
"PRIDE AND PREJUDICE,"
"MANSFIELD PARK,"
" PERSUASION,"
" EMMA,"
LONDON:
WARD, LOCK AND CO., Warwick House,
Salisbury Square, E.C.
1882.
BY
NEW EDITION.
NOItTIiANGER ABBEY.
VOLUME THE EIRST.
CHAPTER I.
No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her
infancy, would have supposed her horn to be a heroine.
Her situation in life, the character of her father and
mother, her own person and disposition, were all equally
against her. Her father was a clergyman, without being
neglected, or poor, and a very respectable man, though his
name was Richard—and he had never been handsome.
He had a considerable independence, besides two good
livings—and he was not in the least addicted to locking
up his daughters. Her mother was a woman of useful
plain sense, with a good temper, and, what is more
remarkable, with a good constitution. She had three sons
before Catherine was born; and, instead of dying in
bringing the latter into the world, as any body might
expect, she still lived on —lived to have six children more
— to see them growing up around her, and to enjoy ex¬
cellent health herself. A family of ten children will be
always called a fine family, where there are heads and
arms and legs enough for the number ; but the Morlands
had little other right to the word, for they were in general-
very plain, and Catherine, for many years of her life, as
plain as any. She had a thin awkward figure, a sallow
skin without colour, dark lank hair, and strong features;—
so much for her person;—and not less unpropitious for
heroism seemed her mind. She was fond of all boys'
plays, and greatly preferred cricket, not merely to dolls, but
B
2
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
to the more heroic enjoyments of infancy, nursing a dor¬
mouse, feeding a canary-bird, or watering a rose-hush.
Indeed she had no taste for a garden : and if she gathered
flowers at all, it was chiefly for the pleasure of' mischief—
at least so it was conjectured from her always preferring
those which she was forbidden to take. — Such were her
propensities—her abilities were quite as extraordinary. She
never could learn or understand any thing before she was
taught; and sometimes not even then, for she was often
inattentive, and occasionally stupid. Her mother was
three months in teaching her only to repeat the " Beggar's
Petition ;" and after all, her next sister, Sally, could say it
better than she did. Not that Catherine was always stupid,
—by no means; she learnt the fable of " The Hare and
many Friends," as quickly as any girl in England. Her
mother wished her to learn music: and Catherine was sure
she should like it, for she was very fond of tinkling the
keys of the old forlorn spinnet; so, at eight years old, she
began. She learnt a year and could not hear it; and Mrs.
Morland, who did not insist on her daughters being accom¬
plished in spite of incapacity or distaste, allowed her to
leave off*. The day which dismissed the music-master was
one of the happiest of Catherine's life. Her taste for
drawing was not superior; though whenever she could
obtain the outside of a letter from her mother, or seize
upon any other odd piece of paper, she did what she could
in that way, by drawing houses and trees, hens and chick¬
ens, all very much like one another.—Writing and accounts
she was taught by her father; French by her mother :
her proficiency in either was not remarkable, and she
shirked her lessons in both whenever she could. What a
strange, unaccountable character! — for with all these
symptoms of profligacy at ten years old, she had neither a
bad heart nor a bad temper; was seldom stubborn, scarcely
ever quarrelsome, and very kind to the little ones, with
few interruptions of tyranny ; she was moreover noisy
and wild, hated confinement and cleanliness, and loved no¬
thing so well in the world as rolling down the green slope
&t the hack of the house.
Such was Catherine Morland at ten, At fifteen, ap-
NOBTHANGEIt ABBEY.
pearances were mending; she began to curl her hair and
long for balls ; her complexion improved, her features were
softened by plumpness and colour, her eyes gained more
animation, and her figure more consequence. Her love of
dirt gave way to an inclination for finery, and she grew
clean as she grew smart; she had now the pleasure of
sometimes hearing her father and mother remark on her
personal improvement. " Catherine grows quite a good-
looking girl, — she is almost pretty to-day," were words
which caught her ears now and then; and how welcome
were the sounds ! To look almost pretty is an acquisition
of higher delight to a girl who has been looking plain the
first fifteen years of her life, than a beauty from her cradle
can ever receive.
Mrs. Morland was a very good woman, and wished to
see her children every thing they ought to be; but her
time was so much occupied in lying-in and teaching the
little ones, that her elder daughters were inevitably left to
shift for themselves; and it was not very wonderful that
Catherine, who had Try nature nothing heroic about her,
should prefer cricket, base ball, riding on horseback, and
running about the country at the age of fourteen, to books
— or at least, books of information — for, provided that
nothing like useful knowledge could be gained from them,
provided they were all story and no reflection, she had
never any objection to books at all. But from fifteen to
seventeen she was in training for a heroine; she read all
such works as heroines must read to supply their memories
with those quotations which are so serviceable and so
soothing in the vicissitudes of their eventful lives.
From Pope, she learnt to censure those who
—— " bear about the mockery of woe.
From Gray, that
" Many a flower is born to blush Uhseen
" And waste its fragrance on the desert at!.'
From Thomson, that
" It is a delightful task
" To teach the young idea how to shoo*.'*
B 2
4
NORTHANGER ABBElf.
And from Shakspeare she gained a great store of in¬
formation — amongst the rest, that
— " Trifles light as air,
'' Are, to the jealous, confirmation strong,
" As proofs of Holy Writ."
That
" The poor beetle, which we tread upon,
" In corporal sufferance feels a pang as great
" As when a giant dies."
And that a young woman in love always looks
" like Patience on a monument
" Smiling at Grief.",
So far her improvement was sufficient — and in many
other points she came on exceedingly well; for though
she could not write sonnets, she brought herself to read
them ; and though there seemed no chance of her throw¬
ing a whole party into raptures by a prelude on the piano¬
forte, of her own composition, she could listen to other
people's performance with very little fatigue. Her greatest
deficiency was in the pencil — she had no notion of draw¬
ing — not enough even to attempt a sketch of her lover's
profile, that she might be detected in the design. There
she fell miserably short of the true heroic height. At pre¬
sent she did not know her own poverty, for she had no
lover to portray. She had reached the age of seventeen,
without having seen one amiable youth who could call
forth her sensibility ; without having inspired one real
passion, and without having excited even any admiration
but what was very moderate and very transient. .This was
strange indeed! But strange things may be generally ac¬
counted for if their cause be fairly searched out. There
was not one lord in the neighbourhood; no — not even a
baronet. There was not one family among their acquaintance
who had reared and supported a boy accidentally found at
their door — not one young man whose origin was un¬
known. Her father had no ward, and the squire of the
parish no children.
But when a young lady is to be a heroine, the perverse-
ness of forty surrounding families cannot prevent her.
northanger abbey.
5
Something must and will happen to throw a hero in her
way.
Mr. Allen, who owned the chief of the property about
Fullerton, the village in Wiltshire where the Morlands
lived, was ordered to Bath for the benefit of a gouty con¬
stitution ; — and his lady, a good-humoured woman, fond
of Miss Morland, and probably aware that, if adven¬
tures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she
must seek them abroad, invited her to go with them. Mr.
and Mrs. Morland were all compliance, and Catherine all
happiness.
CHAPTER II.
In addition to what has been already said of Catherine
Morland's personal and mental endowments, when about
to be launched into all the difficulties and dangers of a
six weeks' residence in Bath, it may be stated, for the
reader's more certain information, lest the following pages
should otherwise fail of giving any idea of what her cha¬
racter is meant to be; that her heart was affectionate, her
disposition cheerful and open, without conceit or affect¬
ation of any kind — her manners just removed from the
awkwardness and shyness of a girl - her person pleasing,
and, when in good looks, pretty—and her mind about as
ignorant and uninformed as the female mind at seventeen
usually is.
When the hour of departure drew near, the maternal
anxiety of Mrs. Morland will be naturally supposed to be
most severe. A thousand alarming presentiments of evil
to her beloved Catherine from this terrific separation must
oppress her heart with sadness, and drown her in tears for
the last day or two of their being together ; and advice of
the most important and applicable nature must of course
flow from her wise lips in their parting conference in her
closet. Cautions against the violence of such noblemen
b 3
6
NORTHANGER ABBEY
and baronets as delight m forcing young ladies away to
some remote farm-house, must, at such a moment, relieve
the fulness of her heart. Who would not think so ? But
Mrs. Morland knew so little of lords and baronets, that she
entertained no notion of their general mischievousness, and
was wholly unsuspicious of danger to her daughter from
their machinations. Her cautions were confined to the
following points, " I beg, Catherine, you will always wrap
yourself up very warm about the throat, when you come
from the Rooms at night; and I wish you would try to
keep some account of the money you spend; — I will give
you this little book on purpose."
Sally, or rather Sarah, (for what young lady of common
gentility will reach the age of sixteen without altering her
name as far as she can ?) must from situation be at this
time the intimate friend and confidante of her sister. It
is remarkable, however, that she neither insisted on Ca¬
therine's writing by every post, nor exacted her promise of
transmitting the character of every new acquaintance, nor
a detail of every interesting conversation that Bath might
produce. Every thing indeed relative to this important
journey was done on the part of the Morlands with a
degree of moderation and composure, which seemed rather
consistent with the common feelings of common life, than
with refined susceptibilities, the tender emotions which the
first separation of a heroine from her family ought always
to excite. Her father, instead of giving her an unlimited
order on his banker, or even putting an hundred pounds
bank-bill into her hands, gave her only ten guineas, and
promised her more when she wanted it.
Under these unpromising auspices, the parting took
place, and the journey began. It was performed with
suitable quietness and uneventful safety. Neither robbers
nor tempests befriended them, nor one lucky overturn to
introduce them to the hero. Nothing more alarming oc¬
curred than a fear, on Mrs. Allen's side, of having once
left her clogs behind her at an inn, and that fortunately
proved to be groundless.
They arrived at Bath. Catherine was all eager delight •
—her eyes were here, there, every where, as they ap-
northanger abbey.
7
proached its fine and striking environs, and afterwards
drove through those streets which conducted them to the
hotel. She was come to he happy, and she felt happy
already.
They were soon settled in comfortable lodgings in Pul-
teney-street.
It is now expedient to give some description of Mrs.
Allen, that the reader may be able to judge, in what man¬
ner her actions will hereafter tend to promote the general
distress of the work, and how she will probably contribute
to reduce poor Catherine to all the desperate wretchedness
of which a last volume is capable — whether by her im¬
prudence, vulgarity, or jealousy — whether by intercepting
her letters, ruining her character, or turning her out of
doors.
Mrs. Allen was one of that numerous class of females,
whose society can raise no other emotion than surprise at
there being any men in the world who could like them
well enough to marry them. She had neither beauty, ge¬
nius, accomplishment, nor manner. The air of a gentle¬
woman, a great deal of quiet, inactive good temper, and a
trifling turn of mind, were all that could account for her
being the choice of a sensible, intelligent man, like Mr.
Allen. In one respect she was admirably fitted to intro¬
duce a young lady into public, being as fond of going every
where and seeing every thing herself, as any young lady
could be. Dress was her passion. She had a most harm¬
less delight in being fine; and our heroine's entree into
life could not take place till after three or four days had
been spent in learning what was mostly worn, and her
chaperon was provided with a dress of the newest fashion.
Catherine, too, made some purchases herself; and when all
these matters were arranged, the important evening came
which was to usher her into the Upper Rooms. Her hair
was cut and dressed by the best hand, her clothes put on
with care, and both Mrs. Allen and her maid declared she
looked quite as she should do. With such encouragement,
Catherine hoped at least to pass uncensured through the
crowd. As for admiration, it was always very welcome
when it came, but she did not depend on it.
b 4
8
NOKTHANGER ABBEY.
Mrs. Allen was so long in dressing, that they did not
enter the hall-room till late. The season was full, the
room crowded, and the two ladies squeezed »n as well as
they could. As for Mr. Allen, he repaired directly to the
card-room, and left them to enjoy a mob by themselves.
With more care for the safety of her new gown than for
the comfort of her protegee, Mrs. Allen made her way
through the throng of men by the door, as swiftly as the
necessary caution would allow; Catherine, however, kept
close at her side, and linked her arm too firmly within her
friend's to be torn asunder by any common effort of a
struggling assembly. But, to her utter amazement, she
found, that to proceed along the room was by no means the
way to disengage themselves from the crowd ; it seemed
rather to increase as they went on; whereas she had ima¬
gined that, when once fairly within the door, they should
easily find seats, and be able to watch the dances with
perfect convenience. But this was far from being the
case; and though by unwearied diligence they gained even
the top of the room, their situation was just the same :
they saw nothing of the dancers, hut the high feathers of
some of the ladies. Still they moved on — s®mething
better was yet in view; and by a continued exertion of
strength and ingenuity they found themselves at last in the
passage behind the highest bench. Here there was some¬
thing less of crowd than below ; and hence Miss Morland
had a comprehensive view of all the company beneath her,
and of all the dangers of her late passage through them.
It was a splendid sight; and she began, for the first time
that evening, to feel herself at a ball: she longed to dance,
but she had not an acquaintance in the room. Mrs. Allen
did all that she could do in such a case, by saying very pla¬
cidly every now and then, " I wish you could dance, my dear
— I wish you could get a partner." For some time her
young friend felt obliged to her for these wishes ; but they
were repeated so often, and proved so totally ineffectual,
that, Catherine grew tired at last, and would thank her no
more.
They were not long able, however, to enjoy the repose
of the eminence they had so laboriously gained,—JSvery
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
9
body was shortly in motion for tea, and they must squeeze
out like the rest. Catherine began to feel something of
disappointment—she was tired of being continually pressed
against by people, the generality of whose faces possessed
nothing to interest, and with all of whom she was so wholly
unacquainted, that she could not relieve the irksomeness of
imprisonment by the exchange of a syllable with any of
her fellow-captives; and when at last arrived in the tea.
room, she felt yet more the awkwardness of having no
party to join, no acquaintance to claim, no gentleman to
assist them. — They saw nothing of Mr. Allen; and, after
looking about them in vain for a more eligible situation,
were obliged to sit down at the end of a table, at which a
large party were already placed, without having any thing
to do there, or any body to speak to, except each other.
Mrs. Allen congratulated herself, as soon as they were
seated, on having preserved her gown from injury. "It
would have been very shocking to have it torn," said she,
" would not it? — It is such a delicate muslin.—For my
part, I have not seen any thing I like so well in the whole
room, I assure you."
e< How uncomfortable it is," whispered Catherine, " not
to have a single acquaintance here !"
<e Yes, my dear," replied Mrs. Allen, with perfect se¬
renity, " it is very uncomfortable indeed."
" What shall we do? — The gentlemen and ladies at
this table look as if they wondered why we came here —
we seem forcing ourselves into their party."
" Ay, so we do. — That is very disagreeable. I wish
we had a large acquaintance here."
" I wish we had any j — it would be somebody to
go to."
"Very true, my dear; and if we knew any body, we
would join them directly. The Skinners were here last
year— I wish they were here now."
" Had not we better go away as it is ? — Here are no
tea-things for us, you see."
" No, more there are, indeed. — How very provoking !
Hut I think we had better sit still, for one gets so tumbled
10
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
in such a crowd ! How is my head, my dear? — Somebody
gave me a push that has hurt it I am afraid."
" No, indeed^ it looks very niqe.—But; dear Mrs. Al¬
len; are you sure there is nobody you know in all this
multitude of people ? I think you must know some¬
body."
" I don't; upon my word—I wish I did. I wish I had
a large acquaintance here with all my heart; and then I
should get you a partner. I should be so glad to have you
dance There goes a strange-looking woman ! What an
odd gown she has got on ! — How old-fashioned it is!
Look at the back."
After some time they received an offer of tea from one
of their neighbours; it was thankfully accepted; and this
introduced a light conversation with the gentleman who
offered it; which was the only time that any body spoke to
them during the evening, till they were discovered and
joined by Mr. Allen when the dance was over.
" Well, Miss Morland," said he, directly, " I hope
you have had an agreeable ball."
" Very agreeable, indeed," she replied, vainly endeavour¬
ing to hide a great yawn.
" I wish she had been able to dance," said his wife,
" I wish we could have got a partner for her. — I have
been saying how glad I should be if the Skinners were
here this winter instead of last; or if the Parrys had come,
as they talked of once, she might have danced with George
Parry. I am so sorry she has not had a partner !"
" We shall do better another evening, I hope," was Mr.
Allen's consolation.
The company began to disperse when the dancing was
over — enough to leave space for the remainder to walk
about in some comfort; and now was the time for a heroine,
who had not yet played a very distinguished part in the
events of the evening, to be noticed and admired. Every
five minutes, by removing some of the crowd, gave greater
openings for her charms. She was now seen by many
young men who had not been near her before. Not one,
however, started with rapturous wonder on beholding her,
no whisper of eager enquiry ran round the room, nor was
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
11
she once called a divinity by any body. Yet Catherine
was in very good looks, and, had the company only seen
her three years before, they would now have thought her
exceedingly handsome.
She was looked at, however,, and with some admiration ;
for, in her own hearing, two gentlemen pronounced her to
be a pretty girl. Such words had their due effect; she
immediately thought the evening pleasanter than she had
found it before—her humble vanity was contented— she
felt more obliged to the two young men for this simple
praise, than a true quality heroine would have been for
fifteen sonnets in celebration of her charms, and went to
her chair in good humour with every body, and perfectly
satisfied with her share of public attention.
CHAPTER III.
Every morning now brought its regular duties ; — shops
were to be visited ; some new part of the town to be looked
at; and the Pump-room to be attended, where they
paraded up and down for an hour, looking at every body
and speaking to no one. The wish of a numerous acquaint¬
ance in Bath was still uppermost with Mrs. Allen, and she
repeated it after every fresh proof, which every morning
brought, of her knowing nobody at all.
They made their appearance in the Lower Rooms; and
here fortune was more favourable to our heroine. The
master of the ceremonies introduced to her a very gentle¬
manlike young man as a partner; — his name was Tilney.
He seemed to be about four or five and twenty was rather
tall, had a pleasing countenance, a very intelligent and
lively eye, and, if not quite handsome, was very near it.
His address was good, and Catherine felt herself in high
luck. There was little leisure for speaking while they
danced ; but when they were seated at tea, she found him
as agreeable as she had already given him credit for being.
He talked with fluency and spirit—and there was an
12
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
archness and pleasantry in his manner which interested,
though it was hardly understood by her. After chatting
some time on such matters as naturally arose from the
objects around them, he suddenly addressed her with —
ee I have hitherto been very remiss, madam, in the proper
attentions of a partner here; I have not yet asked you
how long you have been in Bath; whether you were ever
here before ; whether you have been at the Upper Rooms,
the theatre, and the concert; and how you like- the place
altogether. I have been very negligent — but are you now
at leisure to satisfy me in these particulars ? If you are, I
will begin directly."
" You need not give yourself that trouble, sir."
" No trouble, I assure you, madam." Then, forming
his features into a set smile, and affectedly softening his
voice, he added, with a simpering air, (c Have you been
long in Bath, madam?"
" About a week, sir," replied Catherine, trying not to
laugh.
" Really !" with affected astonishment.
" Why should you be surprised, Sir ? "
" Why, indeed !" said he, in his natural tone; ec but
some emotion must appear to be raised by your reply, and
surprise is more easily assumed, and not less reasonable
than any other.—Now let us go on. Were you never
here, before, madam ? "
" Never, sir."
u Indeed ! Have you yet honoured the Upper Rooms? "
" Yes, sir ; I was there last Monday."
" Have you been to the theatre ? "
" Yes, sir; I was at the play on Tuesday."
" To the concert?"
" Yes sir; on Wednesday."
" And are you altogether pleased with Bath ? "
fr Yes — I like it very well."
" Now I must give one smirk, and then we may be
rational again."
Catherine turned away her head, not knowing whether
si might venture to laugh.
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
13
" I see what you think of me/' said he, gravely : " I
shall make but a poor figure in your journal to-morrow."
" My journal!"
" Yes; I know exactly what you will say : — Friday
went to the Lower Rooms; wore my sprigged muslin
robe with blue trimmings—plain black shoes—appeared
to much advantage; but was strangely harassed by a
queer, half-witted man, who would make me dance with
him, and distressed me by his nonsense."
" Indeed I shall say no such thing."
" Shall I tell you what you ought to say ? "
" If you please."
" I danced with a very agreeable young man, intro¬
duced by Mr. King; had a great- deal of conversation
with him—seems a most extraordinary genius—hope I
may know more of him. That, madam, is what I wish
you to say."
" But, perhaps, I keep no journal.'
<c Perhaps you are not sitting in this room, and I am
not sitting by you. These are points in which a doubt is
equally possible. Not keep a journal! How are your
absent cousins to understand the tenour of your life in Bath
without one ? How are the civilities and compliments of
every day to be related as they ought to be, unless noted
down every evening in a journal ? How are your various
dresses to be remembered, and the particular state of your
complexion, and curl of your hair to be described, in all
their diversities, without having constant recourse to a
journal ? — My dear madam, I am not so ignorant of young
ladies' ways as you wish to believe me. It is this delight¬
ful habit of journalising which largely contributes to form
the easy style of writing for which ladies are so generally
celebrated. Every body allows that the talent of writ¬
ing agreeable letters is peculiarly female. Nature may
have done something, but I am sure it must be essentially
assisted by the practice of keeping a journal."
" I have sometimes thought," said Catherine, doubt-
ingly, " whether ladies do write so much better letters than
gentlemen. That is—I should not think the superiority
was always on our side."
14
NOttTH ANGER ABBEY.
" As far as I have had opportunity of judging, it ap¬
pears to me that the usual style of letter-writing among
women is faultless, except in three particulars."
" And what are they ? "
" A general deficiency of subject, a total inattention to
stops, and a very frequent ignorance of grammar."
" Upon my word ! I need not have been afraid of dis¬
claiming the compliment. You do not think too highly of
us in that way."
" I should no more lay it down as a general rule that wo¬
men write better letters than men, than that they sing better
duets, or draw better landscapes. In every power, of
which taste is the foundation, excellence is pretty fairly
divided between the sexes."
They were interrupted by Mrs. Allen. —ee My dear Ca¬
therine," said she, " do take this pin out of my sleeve. I
am afraid it has torn a hole already. I shall be quite sorry
if it has, for this is a favourite gown, though it cost but
nine shillings a yard."
" That is exactly what I should have guessed it, ma¬
dam," said Mr. Tilney, looking at the muslin.
" Do you understand muslins, sir ? "
" Particularly well; I always buy my own cravats, and
am allowed to be an excellent judge; and my sister nas
often trusted me in the choice of a gown. I bought one
for her the other day, and it was pronounced to be a pro¬
digious bargain by every lady who saw it. I gave but five
shillings a yard for it, and a true Indian muslin."
Mrs. Allen was quite struck by his genius. " Men
commonly take so little notice of those things," said she.
" I can never get Mr. Allen to know one of my gowns
from another. You must be a great comfort to your sis¬
ter, sir."
" I hope I am, madam."
" And pray, sir, what do you think of Miss Morland's
gown ? "
" It is very pretty, madam," said he, gravely examin¬
ing it; " but I do not think it will wash well: I am
afraid it will fray."
" How can you," said Catherine, laughing (< be
so she had almost said strange.
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
15
" I am quite of your opinion, sir," replied Mrs.
Allen; " and so I told Miss Morland when she bought
it."
" But then you know, madam, muslin always turns to
some account or other; Miss Morland will get enough out
of it for a handkerchief, or a cap, or a cloak. Muslin
can never he said to be wasted. I have heard my sister
say so forty times, when she has been extravagant in
buying more than she wanted, or careless in cutting it to
pieces."
" Bath is a charming place, sir; there are so many good
shops here. We are sadly off in the country; not but what
we have very good shops in Salisbury, but it is so far to go;
eight miles is a long way; Mr. Allen says it is nine, mea¬
sured nine; but I am sure it cannot be more than eight;
and it is such a fag — I come back tired to death. Now,
here one can step out of doors, and get a thing in five
minutes."
Mr. Tilney was polite enough to seem interested in what
she said j and she kept him on the subject of muslins till
the dancing recommenced. Catherine feared, as she lis¬
tened to their discourse, that he indulged himself a little
too much with the foibles of others. " What are you
thinking of so earnestly ?" said he, as they walked back
to the ball-room; — " not of your partner, I hope, for
by that shake of the head, your meditations are not satis¬
factory."
Catherine coloured, and said, " I was not thinking of
any thing."
" That is artful and deep, to be sure; but I had rather
be told at once that you will not tell me."
" Well, then, I will not."
" Thank you; for now we shall soon be acquainted, as
I am authorised to tease you on this subject whenever we
meet, and nothing in the world advances intimacy so
much."
They danced again; and, when the assembly closed,
parted, on the lady's side at least, with a strong inclin¬
ation for continuing the acquaintance. Whether she
thought of him so much, while she drank her warm wine
16
northangeb abbey.
and water, and prepared herself for bed, as to dream of
him when there, cannot he ascertained; but I hope it was
no more than in a slight slumber, or a morning doze at
most; for if it he true, as a celebrated writer has main¬
tained, that no young lady can be justified in falling in love
before the gentleman's love is declared *, it must he very
improper that a young lady should dream of a gentleman
before the gentleman is first known to have dreamt of her.
How proper Mr. Tilney might be as a dreamer or a lover,
had not yet, perhaps, entered Mr. Allen's head, hut that he
was not objectionable as a common acquaintance for his
young charge, he was on enquiry satisfied ; for he had
early in the evening taken pains to know lyho her partner
was, and had been assured of Mr. Tilney's being a clergy¬
man, and of a very respectable family in Gloucestershire.
CHAPTER IV,
With more than usual eagerness did Catherine hasten to
the Pump-room the next day, secure within herself of see¬
ing Mr. Tilney there before the morning was over, and
ready to meet him with a smile: but no smile was de¬
manded — Mr. Tilney did not appear. Every creature in
Bath, except himself, was to be seen in the room at differ¬
ent periods of the fashionable hours; crowds of people were
every moment passing in and out, up the steps and down ;
people whom nobody cared about, and nobody wanted to
see ; and he only was absent. " What a delightful place
Bath is," said Mrs. Allen, as they sat down near the great
clock, after parading the room till they were tired; " and
how pleasant it would he if we had any acquaintance
here."
This sentiment had been uttered so often in vain, that
Mrs. Allen had no particular reason to hope it would be
followed with more advantage now; but we are t-old to
* Vide a letter from Mr. Richardson, No. 97. vol, ii. Rambler.
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
17
u despair of nothing we would attain/' as u unwearied di¬
ligence,our point would gain/' and the unwearied dili¬
gence with which she had every day wished for the same
thing was at length to have its just reward; for hardly had
she been seated ten minutes, before a lady of about her own
age, who was sitting by her, and had been looking at her
attentively for several minutes, addressed her with great
complaisance in these words: —" I think, madam, I can¬
not be mistaken : it is a long time since I had the plea¬
sure of seeing you, but is not your name Allen ? " This
question answered, as it readily was, the stranger pro¬
nounced hers to be Thorpe; and Mrs. Allen immediately
recognised the features of a former schoolfellow and inti¬
mate, whom she had seen only once since their respective
marriages, and that many years ago. Their joy on this
meeting .was very great, as well it might, since they had
been contented to know nothing of each other for the last
fifteen years. Compliments on good looks now passed ;
and, after observing how time had slipped away since they
were last together, how little they had thought of meeting
in Bath, and what a pleasure it was to see an old friend
they proceeded to make enquiries and give intelligence as to
their families, sisters, and cousins, talking both together,
far more ready to give than to receive information, and
each hearing very little of what the other said. Mrs.
Thorpe, however, had one great advantage as a talker^
over Mrs. Allen, in a family of children; and when she
expatiated on the talents of her sons, and the beauty of hei
daughters, — when she related their different situations and
views,—that John was at Oxford, Edward at Merchant
Taylors', and William at sea,—and all of them more be
loved and respected in their different station than any other
three beings ever were, Mrs. Allen had no similar inform¬
ation to give, no similar triumphs to press on the unwilling
and unbelieving ear of her friend; and was forced to sit
and appear to listen to all these maternal effusions, con¬
soling herself, however, with the discovery, which her
keen eyes soon made, that the lace on Mrs. Thorpe's pe„
lisse was not half go handsome as that on her own.
" Here come my dear girls," cried Mis. Thorpe, point*
C
28
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
ing at three smart-looking females, who, arm in arm, were
then moving towards her. " My dear Mrs. Alien, I long
to introduce them; they will be so delighted to see you:
the tallest is Isabella, my eldest; is not she a fine young
woman ? The others are very much admired too, but I
believe Isabella is the handsomest."
The Miss Thorpes were introduced; and Miss Morland,
who had been for a short time forgotten, was introduced
likewise. The name seemed to strike them all; and, after
speaking to her with great civility, the eldest young lady
observed aloud to the rest, " How excessively like her
brother Miss Morland is !"
'' The very picture of him indeed !" cried the mother;
and " I should have known her any where for his sister!"
was repeated by them all, two or three times over. For a
moment Catherine was surprised; but Mrs. Thorpe and
her daughters had scarcely begun the history of their ac¬
quaintance with Mr. James Morland, before she remem¬
bered that her eldest brother had lately formed an intimacy
with a young man of his own college, of the name of
Thorpe ; and that he had spent the last week of the
Christmas vacation with his family, near London.
The whole being explained, many obliging things were
said by the Miss Thorpes of their wish of being better ac¬
quainted with her; of being considered as already friends,
through the friendship of their brothers, &e., which Cathe¬
rine heard with pleasure, and answered with all the pretty
expressions she could command; and, as the first proof of
amity, she was soon invited to accept an arm of the eldest
Miss Thorpe, and take a turn with her about the room.
Catherine was delighted with this extension of her Bath
acquaintance, and almost forgot Mr. Tilney while she
talked to Miss Thorpe. Friendship is certainly the finest
balm for the pangs of disappointed love.
Their conversation turned upon those subjects of which
the free discussion has generally much to do in perfecting
a sudden intimacy between two young ladies; such as
dress, balls, flirtations, and quizzes. Miss Thorpe, how¬
ever, being four years older than Miss Morland, and at
least four years better informed, had a very decided ad¬
vantage in discussing such points; she could compare the
NORTHANGER AHfcEV.
19
balls of Bath with those of Tunbridge; its fashions with
the fashions of London; could rectify the opinions of her
new friend in many articles of tasteful attire; could dis¬
cover a flirtation between any gentleman and lady who
only smiled on each other; and point out a quiz through
the thickness of a crowd. These powers received due ad¬
miration from Catherine, to whom they were entirely new;
and the respect which they naturally inspired might have
been too great for familiarity, had not the easy gaiety of
Miss Thorpe's manners, and her frequent expressions of
delight on this acquaintance with her, softened down every
feeling of awe, and left nothing but tender affection. Their
increasing attachment was not to be satisfied with half a
dozen turns in the Pump-room, but required, when they
all quitted it together, that Miss Thorpe should accom¬
pany Miss Morland to the very door of Mr. Allen's house ;
and that they should there part with a most affectionate
and lengthened shake of hands, after learning, to their
mutual relief, that they should see each other across the
theatre at night, and say their prayers in the same chapel
the next morning. Catherine then ran directly up stairs,
and watched Miss Thorpe's progress down the street from
the drawing-room window; admired the graceful spirit of
her walk, the fashionable air of her figure and dress, and
felt grateful, as well she might, for the chance which had
procured her such a friend.
Mrs. Thorpe was a widow, and not a very rich one ;
she was a good-humoured, well-meaning woman, and a
very indulgent mother. Her eldest daughter had great
personal beauty; and the younger ones, by pretending
to be as handsome as their sister, imitating her air, and
dressing in the same style, did very well.
This brief account of the family is intended to super¬
sede the necessity of a long and minute detail from
Mrs. Thorpe herself, of her past adventures and suffer¬
ings, which might otherwise be expected to occupy the
three or four following chapters—in which the worth-
lessness of lords and attornies might be set forth ; and
conversations, which had passed twenty years before, be
minutely repeated.
c 2
20
NOftTHANGER ABBEY
CHAPTER V,
Catherine was not so much engaged at the theatre, that
evening, in returning the nods and smiles of Miss Thorpe,
though they certainly claimed much of her leisure, as to
forget to look with an enquiring eye for Mr. Tilney in
every box which her eye could reach; but she looked in
vain. Mr. Tilney was no fonder of the play than the
Pump-room. She hoped to be more fortunate the next
day; and when her wishes for fine weather were answered
by seeing a beautiful morning, she hardly felt a doubt of
it; for a fine Sunday in Bath empties every house of its
inhabitants, and all the world appears, on such an occa¬
sion, to walk about and tell their acquaintance what a
charming day it is.
As soon as divine service was over, the Thorpes and
Aliens eagerly joined each other; and, after staying long
enough in the pump-room to discover that the crowd was
insupportable, and that there was not a genteel face to be
seen, which every body discovers every Sunday throughout
the season, they hastened away to the Crescent, to breathe
the fresh air of better company. Here Catherine and Isa¬
bella, arm in arm, again tasted the sweets of friendship in
an unreserved conversation ;—they talked much, and with
much enjoyment; hut again was Catherine disappointed
in her hope of re-seeing her partner. He was nowhere
to be met with; every search for him was equally unsuc¬
cessful, in morning lounges or evening assemblies; neither
at the upper nor lower rooms, at dressed or undressed
balls, was he perceivable; nor among the walkers, the
horsemen, or the curricle-drivers of the morning. His
name was not in the Pump-room book, and curiosity could
do no more. He must be gone from Bath: yet he had
not mentioned that his stay would be so short! This sort
of mysteriousness, which is always so becoming in a hero,
threw a fresh grace, in Catherine's imagination, around his
NORTHANGER ABBEY,
21
persou and manners, and increased her anxiety to know
more of him. From the Thorpes she could learn nothing,
for they had been only two days in Bath before they met
with Mrs. Allen. It was a subject, however, in which
she often indulged with her fair friend, from whom she
received every possible encouragement to continue to think
of him ; and his impression on her fancy was not suffered
therefore to weaken. Isabella was very sure that he must
be a charming young man ; and was equally sure that he
must have been delighted with her dear Catherine, and
would therefore shortly return. She liked him the better
for being a clergyman, " for she must confess herself very
partial to the professionand something like a sigh
escaped her as she said it. Perhaps Catherine was wrong
in not demanding the cause of that gentle emotion—but
she was not experienced enough in the finesse of love, or
the duties of friendship, to know when delicate raillery
was properly called for, or when a confidence should be
forced.
Mrs. Allen was now quite happy— quite satisfied with
Bath. She had found some acquaintance; had been so
lucky, too, as to find in them the family of a most worthy
old friend; and, as the completion of good fortune, had
found these friends by no means so expensively dressed as
herself. Her daily expressions were no longer, " I wish
we had some acquaintance in Bath \ " They were changed
into, ce How glad I am we have met with Mrs. Thorpe !"
and she was as eager in promoting the intercourse of the two
families, as her young charge and Isabella themselves could
be ; never satisfied with the day unless she spent the chief
of it by the side of Mrs. Thorpe, in what they called con¬
versation ; but in which there was scarcely ever any ex¬
change of opinion, and not often any resemblance cf
subject, for Mrs. Thorpe talked chiefly of her children,
and Mrs. Allen of her gowns.
The progress of the friendship between Catherine and
Isabella was quick as its beginning had been warm ; and
they passed so rapidly through every gradation of increas¬
ing tenderness, that there was shortly no fresh proof of it
to be given to their friends or therngv They called
c 3
22
NORTHAVGER ABBEY.
each other by their Christian name,, were always arm in arm
when they walked, pinned up each other's train for the dance,
and were not to be divided in the set; and, if a rainy
morning deprived them of other enjoyments, they were
still resolute in meeting, in defiance of wet and dirt, and
shut themselves up to read novels together. Yes, novels ;
for I will not adopt that ungenerous and impolitic custom,
so common with novel writers, of degrading, by their con¬
temptuous censure, the very performances to the number of
which they are themselves adding: joining with their
greatest enemies in bestowing the harshest epithets on such
works, and scarcely ever permitting them to be read by
their own heroine, who, if she accidentally take up a novel,
is sure to turn over its insipid pages with disgust. Alas !
if the heroine of one novel be not patronised by the heroine
of another, from whom can she expect protection and re¬
gard? I cannot approve of it. Let us leave it to the
reviewers to abuse such effusions of fancy at their leisure,
and over every new novel to talk in threadbare strains of
the trash with which the press now groans. Let us not
desert one another — we are an injured body. Although
our productions have afforded more extensive and unaffected
pleasure than those of any other literary corporation in the
world, no species of composition has been so much de¬
cried. From pride, ignorance, or fashion, our foes are
almost as many as our readers ; and while the abilities of
the nine-hundredth abridger of the History of England,
or of the man who collects and publishes in a volume
some dozen lines of Milton, Pope, and Prior, with a paper
from the Spectator, and a chapter from Sterne, are eulo¬
gised by a thousand pens,—there seems almost a general
wish of decrying the capacity and undervaluing the la¬
bour of the novelist, and of slighting the performances
which have only genius, wit, and taste to recommend
them. " I am no novel reader—I seldom look into no¬
vels— Do not imagine that I often read novels—It is
really very well for a novel." Such is the common
cant. " And Avhat are you reading, Miss ? " " Oh !
it is only a novel!" replies the young lady; while she
lays down her book with affected indifference, or moment™
northAnger abbey.
23
ary shame. " It is only Cecilia, or Camilla, or Belinda;"
or, in short, only some work in which the greatest powers
of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough
knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of
its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are
conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language. Now,
had the same young lady been engaged with a volume of
the Spectator, instead of such a work, how proudly would
she have produced the book, and told its name ! though
the chances must be against her being occupied by any
part of that voluminous publication, of which either the
matter or manner would not disgust a young person of
taste ; the substance of its papers so often consisting in the
statement of improbable circumstances, unnatural charac¬
ters, and topics of conversation, which no longer concern
any one living; and their language, too, frequently so
coarse as to give no very favourable idea of the age that
could endure it.
CHAPTER VI.
The following conversation, which took place between the
two friends in the Pump-room one morning, after an ac¬
quaintance of'eight or nine days, is given as a specimen of
their very warm attachment, and of the delicacy, discre¬
tion, originality of thought, and literary taste which marked
the reasonableness of that attachment.
They met by appointment; and as Isabella had arrived
nearly five minutes before her friend, her first address na¬
turally was—" My dearest creature, what can have made
you so late ? I have been waiting for you at least this'
age!"
" Have you, indeed ! I am very sorry for it, but really
I thought I was in very good time. It is but just one.
I hope you have not been here long ? "
" Oh ! these ten ages, at least. I am sure I have beeu
c 4
24
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
here this half hour. But now, let us go and sit down at
the other end of the room, and enjoy ourselves. I have
a hundred things to say to you. In the first place, I was
so afraid it would rain this morning, just as I wanted to
set off; it looked very showery, and that would have
thrown me into agonies ! Do you know, I saw the pret¬
tiest hat you can imagine, in a shop-window in Milsom-
street just now—very like yours, only with coquelicot
ribands instead of green ; I quite longed for it. But, my
dearest Catherine, what have you been doing with your¬
self all this morning ? Have you gone on with Udolpho ? "
" Yes, I have been reading it ever since I woke; and
I am got to the black veil."
" Are you, indeed ? How delightful! Oh ! I would
not tell you what is behind the black veil for the world!
Are not you wild to know ? "
"Oh! yes, quite; what can it he?—But do not tell
me—I would not he told upon any account. I know it
must be a skeleton, I am sure it is Laurentina's skeleton.
Oh ! I am delighted with the hook! I should like to
spend my whole life in reading it, I assure you; if it had
not been to meet you, I would not have come away from
it for all the world."
" Dear creature ! how much I am obliged to you; and
when you have finished Udolpho, we will read the Italian
together; and I have made out a list of ten or twelve
more of the same kind for you."
" Have you, indeed! How glad I am!—What are
they all?""'
" I will read you their names directly ; here they are, in
my pocket-hook. Castle of Wolfenbach, Clermont, Mys¬
terious Warnings, Necromancer of the Black Forest, Mid¬
night Bell, Orphan of the Rhine, and Horrid Mysteries.
Those will last us some time."
" Yes; pretty well; but are they all horrid? are yon
sure they are all horrid ? "
" Yes, quite sure ; for a particular friend of mine,—a
Miss Andrews,—a sweet girl, one of the sweetest crea¬
tures in the world, has read every one of them. I wish
y.i krnr Miss Andrews, you would be delighted with
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
25
tier. She is netting herself the sweetest cloak you can
conceive. I think her as beautiful as an angel., and I am
so vexed with the men for not admiring her! — I scold
them all amazingly about it "
" Scold them ! Do you scold them for not admiring
her ? "
" Yes, that I do. There is nothing I would not do for
those who are really my friends. I have no notion of
loving people by halves, it is not my nature. My attach¬
ments are always excessively strong. I told Captain Hunt
at one of our assemblies this winter, that if he was to tease
me all night, I would not dance with him, unless he would
allow Miss Andrews to he as beautiful as an angel. The
men think us incapable of real friendship, you know; and
I am determined to show them the difference. Now, if I
were to hear any body speak slightingly of you, I should
fire up in a moment:—but that is not at all likely, for
you are just the kind of girl to be a great favourite with
the men."
" Oh! dear," cried Catherine, colouring, " how can
you say so ? "
" I know you very well; you have so much animation,
which is exactly what Miss Andrews wants; for I must con¬
fess there is something amazingly insipid about her. Oh !
I must tell you, that, just after we parted yesterday, I saw a
young man looking at you so earnestly — I am sure he is
in love with you." Catherine coloured, and disclaimed
again. Isabella laughed. " It is very true, upon my
honour; but I see how it is: you are indifferent to every
body's admiration, except that of one gentleman, who shall
be nameless. Nay, I cannot blame you, — (speaking more
seriously,)-—your feelings are easily understood. Where
the heart is really attached, I know very well how little
one can be pleased with the attention of any body else.
Every thing is so insipid, so uninteresting, that does not
relate to the beloved object! I can perfectly comprehend
your feelings."
" But you should not persuade me that I think so very
much about Mr. Tilney; for perhaps I rr iy i ever see him
^tain."
26
NORTHANGEB ABBEY.
" Not see him again ! My dearest creature, do not
talk of it. I am sure you would be miserable if you
thought so."
cc No, indeed; I should not. I do not pretend to say
that I was not very much pleased with him ; but while I
have Udolpho to read, I feel as if nobody could make me
miserable. Oh ! the dreadful black veil! My dear Isa¬
bella, I am sure there must be Laurentina's skeleton be¬
hind it."
" It is so odd to me, that you should never have read
Udolpho before; but I suppose Mrs. Morland objects to
novels."
" No, she does not. She very often reads Sir Charles
Grandison herself; but new books do not fall in our way."
et Sir Charles Grandison ! That is an amazing horrid
book, is it not?—I remember Miss Andrews could not get
through the first volume."
" It is not like Udolpho at all; but yet I think it is
very entertaining."
" Do you indeed !—you surprise me; I thought it had
not been readable. But, my dearest Catherine, have you
settled what to wear on your head to-night ? I am deter¬
mined, at all events, to be dressed exactly like you. The
men take notice of that sometimes, you know."
f But it does not signify, if they do," said Catherine,
very innocently.
" Signify ! O heavens ! I make it a rule never to mind
what they say. They are very often amazingly impertinent,
if you do not treat them with spirit, and make them keep
their distance."
<e Are they ? Well, I never observed that. They always
behave very well to me."
" Oh! they give themselves such airs. They are the
most conceited creatures in the world, and think themselves
of so much importance! By the by, though I have
thought of it a hundred times, I have always forgot to ask
you what is your favourite complexion in a man. Do you
like them best dark or fair ? "
" I hardly know. I never much thought about it.
Something between both, I think : brown — not fair, and
not very dark."
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
27
<f Very well, Catherine. That is exactly he. I have
not forgot your description of Mr. Tilney : — 'a brown
skin, with dark eyes, and rather dark hair.' Well, my
taste is different. I prefer light eyes; and as to com¬
plexion — do you know — I like a sallow better than any
other. You must not betray me, if you should ever meet
with one of your acquaintance answering that descrip¬
tion."
" Betray you ! What do you mean ? "
<c Nay, do not distress me. I believe I have said too
much. Let us drop the subject."
Catherine, in some amazement, complied; and, after
remaining a few moments silent, was on the point of re¬
verting to what interested her at that time rather more than
any thing else in the world, Laurentina's skeleton; when
her friend prevented her, by saying, —" For Heaven's
sake ! let us move away from this end of the room. Ho
you know, there are two odious young men who have been
staring at me this half hour. They really put me quite
out of countenance. Let us go and look at the arrivals.
They will hardly follow us there."
Away they walked to the book ; and while Isabella exa¬
mined the names, it was Catherine's employment to watch
the proceedings of these alarming young men.
" They are not coming this way, are they ? I hope
they are not so impertinent as to follow us. Pray let me
know if they are coming. I am determined I will not
look up."
In a few moments Catherine, with unaffected pleasure,
assured her that she need not be longer uneasy, as the gen¬
tlemen had just left the Pump-room.
" And which way are they gone?" said Isabella, turn¬
ing hastily round. " One was a very good-looking young
man."
" They went towards the churchyard."
" Well, I am amazingly glad I have got rid of them!
And now, what say you to going to Edgar's Buildings with
ine, and looking at my new hat ? You said you should
like to see it."
18
northanger abbey.
Catherine readily agreed. " Only/' she added, " per¬
haps we may overtake the two young men."
" Oh! never mind that. If we make haste, we shall
pass by them presently, and I am dying to show you
my hat."
<c But if we only wait a few minutes, there will be no
danger of our seeing them at all."
" I shall not pay them any such compliment, I assure
you. I have no notion of treating men with such respect.
That is the way to spoil them."
Catherine had nothing to oppose against such reasoning;
and therefore, to show the independence of Miss Thorpe,
and her resolution of humbling the sex, they set off im¬
mediately as fast as they could walk, in pursuit of the two
young men.
CHAPTER VII.
Half a minute conducted them through the Pump-yard to
the archway, opposite Union Passage ; but here they were
stopped. Every body acquainted with Bath may remem¬
ber the difficulties of crossing Cheap Street at this point;
it is indeed a street of so impertinent a nature, so unfortu¬
nately connected with the great London and Oxford roads,
and the principal inn of the city, that a day never passes
in which parties of ladies, however important their busi¬
ness, whether in quest of pastry, millinery, or even (as in
the present case) of young men, are not detained on one
side or other by carriages, horsemen, or carts. This evil
had been felt and lamented, at least three times a day, by
Isabella since her residence in Bath ; and she was now fated
to feel and lament it once more ; for at the very moment of
coming opposite to Union Passage, and within view of the
two gentlemen who were proceeding through the crowds,
and threading the gutters of that interesting alley, they
were prevented crossing by the approach of a gig, driven
northamger abbey.
29
along on bad pavement by a most knowing-looking coach¬
man, with all the vehemence that could most fitly endan¬
ger the lives of himself, his companion, and his horse.
e< Oh, these odious gigs!" said Isabella, looking up,
" how I detest them !" But this detestation, though so
just, was of short duration, for she looked again, and ex¬
claimed, " Delightful! Mr. Morland and my brother !"
" Good heaven ! 'tis James !" was uttered at the same-
moment by Catherine ; and, on catching the young men's
eyes, the horse was immediately checked with a violence
which almost threw him on his haunches, and, the servant
having now scampered up, the gentlemen jumped out, and
the equipage was delivered to his care.
Catherine, by whom this meeting was wholly unexpected,
received her brother with the liveliest pleasure; and he,
being of a very amiable disposition, and sincerely attached
to her, gave every proof on his side of equal satisfaction,
which he could have leisure to do, while the bright eyes of
Miss Thorpe were incessantly challenging his notice; and
to her his devoirs were speedily paid, with a mixture of
joy and embarrassment which might have informed Cathe¬
rine, had she been more expert in the developement of
other people's feelings, and less simply engrossed by her
own, that her brother thought her friend quite as pretty as
she could do herself.
John Thorpe, who, in the meantime, had been giving
orders about the horses, soon joined them, and from him
she directly received the amends which were her due; for
while he slightly and carelessly touched the hand of
Isabella, on her he bestowed a whole scrape and half a
short bow. He was a stout young man, of middling height,
who, with a plain face and ungraceful form, seemed fear¬
ful of being too handsome, unless he wore the dress of a
groom, and too much like a gentleman unless he were easy
where he ought to be civil, and impudent where he might
be allowed to be easy. He took out his watch: c< How
long do you think we have been running it from Tetbury,
Miss Morland?"
" I do not know the distance." Her brother told her
that it was twenty-three miles.
30
NOBTHANGER ABBEY.
" Three and twenty!" cried Thorpe ; " five and twenty
if it is an inch." Morland remonstrated, pleaded the
authority of road-hooks, innkeepers, and milestones ; but
his friend disregarded them all; he had a surer test of
distance. " I know it must be five and twenty," said he,
" by the time we have been doing it. It is now half after
one; we drove out of the inn-yard at Tetbury as the town-
clock struck eleven; and I defy any man in England to
make my horse go less than ten miles an hour in harness;
that makes it exactly twenty-five."
" You have lost an hour," said Morland; " it was only
ten o'clock when we came from Tetbury."
" Ten o'clock! it was eleven, upon my soul! I counted
every stroke. This brother of yours would persuade me
out of my senses, Miss Morland ; do but look at my horse;
did you ever see an animal so made for speed in your life ? "
(The servant had just mounted the carriage, and was driving
off.) " Such true blood ! Three hours and a half, indeed,
coming only three and twenty miles! look at that crea¬
ture, and suppose it possible, if you can."
ce He does look very hot, to be sure."
" Hot! he had not turned a hair till we came to Wall
cot church : hut look at his forehand; look at his loins ;
only see how he moves; that horse cannot go less than
ten miles an hour : tie his legs, and he will get on. What
do you think of my gig, Miss Morland ? a neat one, is not
it? Well hung; town built: I have not had it a month.
It was built for a Christ-church man, a friend of mine, a
very good sort of fellow; he ran it a few weeks, till, I
believe, it was/convenient to have done with it. I hap¬
pened just then to be looking out for some light thing of
the kind, though I had pretty well determined on a cur¬
ricle too ; hut I chanced to meet him on Magdalen Bridge,
as he was driving into Oxford, last term: f Ah ! Thorpe,'
said he, f do you happen to want such a little thing as
this ? it is a capital one of the kind, but I am cursed tired
of it.' f O ! d ,' said I, f I am your man; what do
you ask?' And how much do you think he did, Miss
Morland ? "
" I am sure, I cannot guess, at all.'
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
31
" Curricle-hung, you see; seat, trunk, sword-case,
splashing-board, lamps, silver moulding, all, you see, com¬
plete ; the iron-work as good as new, or better. He asked
fifty guineas : I closed with him directly, threw down the
money, and the carriage was mine."
" And I am sure," said Catherine, " I know so little
of such things, that I cannot judge whether it was cheap or
dear."
ce Neither one nor t'other; I might have got it for less, I
dare say ; hut I hate haggling, and poor Freeman wanted
cash."
" That was very good-natured of you," said Catherine,
quite pleased.
" Oh! d it, when one has the means of doing a
kind thing by a friend, I hate to be pitiful."
An enquiry now took place into the intended move¬
ments of the young ladies; and, on finding whither they
were going, it was decided that the gentlemen should ac¬
company them to Edgar's Buildings, and pay their respects
to Mrs. Thorpe. James and Isabella led the way; and
so well satisfied was the latter with her lot, so contentedly
was she endeavouring to ensure a pleasant walk to him who
brought the double recommendation of being her brother's
iriend and her friend's brother, so pure and uncoquettish
were her feelings, that, though they overtook and passed
the two offending young men in Milsom Street, she was so
far from seeking to attract their notice, that she looked
hack at them only three times.
John Thorpe kept of course with Catherine, and, after
a few minutes' silence, renewed the conversation about his
gig —" You will find, however, Miss Morland, it would
be reckoned a cheap thing by some people, for I might
have sold it for ten guineas more the next day; Jackson,
of Oriel, bid me sixty at once; Morland was with me at
the time."
" Yes," said Morland, who overheard this ; "but you
forget that your horse was included."
" My horse ! oh, d it! I would not sell my horse
for a hundred. Are you fond of an open carriage, Miss
Morland ? "
32
NOttTHANGEK ApfiEV
'Yes, very; I have hardly ever an opportunity of
being in one ; hut I am particularly fond of it."
" I am glad of it; I will drive you out in mine every
day."
" Thank you/' said Catherine, in some distress, from a
doubt of the propriety of accepting such an offer.
" I will drive you up Lansdown Hill to-morrow."
" Thank you; but will not your horse want rest?"
" Rest ! he has only come three and twenty miles to¬
day ; all nonsense; nothing ruins horses so much as rest ■
nothing knocks them up so soon. No, no ; I shall ex¬
ercise mine at the average of four hours every day while I
am here."
"Shall you indeed!" said Catherine, very seriously,
" that will be forty miles a day."
"Forty! ay, fifty, for what I care. Well, I will
drive you up Lansdown to-morrow ; mind, I am engaged."
" How delightful that will be !" cried Isabella, turning
round : " my dearest Catherine, I quite envy you ; hut I
am afraid, brother, you will not have room for a third."
" A third, indeed ! no, no; I did not come to Bath to
drive my sisters about; that would be a good joke, faith '
Morland must take care of you."
This brought on a dialogue of civilities between tne
other two ; but Catherine heard neither the particulars nor
the result. Her companion's discourse now sunk from its
hitherto animated pitch, to nothing more than a short de¬
cisive sentence of praise or condemnation on the face of
every woman they met; and Catherine, after listening and
agreeing as long as she could, with all the civility and in¬
ference of the youthful female mind, fearful of hazarding
an opinion of its own in opposition to that of a self-assured
man, especially where the beauty of her own sex is con¬
cerned, ventured at length to vary the subject by a question
•which had been long uppermost in her thoughts ; it was,
" Have you ever read Udolpho, Mr. Thorpe ? "
" Udolpho ! Oh, Lord ! not I; I never read novels ; I
have something else to do."
Catherine, humbled and ashamed, was going to apologise
for her question; hut he prevented her by saying, " Novels
northAnger ab^ey.
33
are all so full of nonsense and stuff; there has not been a
tolerably decent one come out since Tom Jones, except the
Monk; I read that t'other day; hut as for all the others,
they are the stupidest things in creation."
" I think you must like Udolpho, if you were to read
it; it is so very interesting."
" Not I, faith ! No, if I read any, it shall he Mrs.
RadclifFe's ; her novels are amusing enough; they are
worth reading ; some fun and nature in them."
"Udolpho was written by Mrs. Radcliffe," said Catherine,
with some hesitation, from the fear of mortifying him.
"No, sure ; was it ? Ay, I remember, so it was; I was
thinking of that other stupid book, written by that woman
they made such a fuss about, she who married the French
emigrant."
" I suppose you mean Camilla ?"
"Yes, that's the hook; such unnatural stuff!—An old
man playing at see-saw ; I took up the first volume once,
and looked it over, hut I soon found it would not do ;
indeed, I guessed what sort of stuff it must be before I saw
it: as soon as I heard she had married an emigrant, I was
sure I should never be able to get through it."
" I have never read it."
"You had no loss, I assure you; it is the horridest non¬
sense you can imagine; there is nothing.in the world in it
but an old man's playing at see-saw and learning Latin ;
upon my soul, there is not."
This critique, the justness of which was unfortunately
lost on poor Catherine, brought them to the door of Mrs.
Thorpe's lodgings, and the feelings of the discerning and
unprejudiced reader of Camilla gave way to the feelings of
the dutiful and affectionate son, as they met Mrs. Thorpe,
who had descried them from above, in the passage. " Ah,
mother ! how do you do ?" said he, giving her a hearty
shake of the hand: "where did you get that quiz of a hat?
it makes you look like an old witch. Here is Morland and
I come to stay a few days with you; so you must look out for
a couple of good beds somewhere near." And this address
seemed to satisfy all the fondest wishes of the mother's
heart, for she received him with the most delighted and
D
84
NORTHANGEK ABBEY.
exulting affection. On his two younger sisters he then
bestowed an equal portion of his fraternal tenderness, for
he asked each of them how they did, and observed that
they both looked very ugly.
These manners did not please Catherine ; but he was
James's friend and Isabella's brother; and her judgment
was further bought off by Isabella's assuring her, when
they withdrew to see the new hat, that John thought her
the most charming girl in the world, and by John's en¬
gaging her before they parted to dance with him that
evening. Had she been older or vainer, such attacks
might have done little; but, where youth and diffidence
are united, it requires uncommon steadiness of reason to
resist the attraction of being called the most charming girl
in the world, and of being so very early engaged as a partner;
and the consequence was, that, when the two Morlands,
after sitting an hour with the Thorpes, set off to walk to¬
gether to Mr. Allen's, and James, as the door was closed on
them, said, " Well, Catherine, how do you like my friend
Thorpe?" instead of answering, as she probably would
have done, had there been no friendship and no flattery in
the case, " I do not like him at all;" she directly replied,
f I like him very much; he seems very agreeable."
" He is as good-natured a fellow as ever lived; a little
of a rattle; but that will recommend him to your sex, I
believe: and how do you like the rest of the family ?"
" Very, very much indeed: Isabella particularly."
" I am very glad to hear you say so; she is just the
kind of young woman I could wish to see you attached to;
she has so much good sense, and is so thoroughly un¬
affected and amiable; I always wanted you to know her;
and she seems very fond of you. She said the highest
things in your praise that could possibly be; and the
praise of such a girl as Miss Thorpe even you, Catherine,"
taking her hand with affection, " may be proud of."
te Indeed I am," she replied ; e< I love her exceedingly,
and am delighted to find that you like her too. You
hardly mentioned any thing of her, when you wrote to me
after your visit there."
" Because I thought I should soon see you myself. I
NORtHANGER ABBEY.
85
hope you will be a great deal together while you are in
Bath. She is a most amiable girl; such a superior un¬
derstanding ! How fond all the family are of her; she is
evidently the general favourite; and how much she must
he admired in such a place as this—is not she ?"
" Yes, very much indeed, I fancy; Mr. Allen thinks
her the prettiest girl in Bath."
" I dare say he does; and I do not know any man who
is a better judge of beauty than Mr. Allen. I need not
ask you whether you are happy here, my dear Catherine ;
with such a companion and friend as Isabella Thorpe, it
would be impossible for you to be otherwise; and the
Aliens, I am sure, are very kind to you."
" Yes, very kind; I never was so happy before; and
now you are come, it will be more delightful than ever:
how good it is of you to come so far on purpose to see
me."
James accepted this tribute of gratitude, and qualified
his conscience for accepting it too, by saying with perfect
sincerity, cc Indeed, Catherine, I love you dearly."
Enquiries and communications concerning brothers and
sisters, the situation of some, the growth of the rest, and
other family matters, now passed between them, and con¬
tinued, with only one small digression on James's part, in
praise of Miss Thorpe, till they reached Pulteney Street,
where he was welcomed with great kindness by Mr. and
Mrs. Allen, invited by the former to dine with them, and
summoned by the latter to guess the price and weigh the
merits of a new muff and tippet. A pre-engagement in
Edgar's Buildings prevented his accepting the invitation of
one friend, and obliged him to hurry away as soon as he
had satisfied the demands of the other. The time of the
two parties' uniting in the octagon room being correctly
adjusted, Catherine was then left to the luxury of a raised,
restless, and frightened imagination over the pages of
Udolpho, lost from all worldly concerns of dressing and
dinner, incapable of soothing Mrs. Allen's fears on the
delay of an expected dressmaker, and having only one
minute in sixty to bestow even on the reflection of her own
felicity, in being already engaged for the evening.
v 2
TS
NORTH ANGER ABBEY-
CHAPTER VIII.
In spite of Udolpho and the dressmaker, however, the
party from Pulteney-street reached the upper rooms in
very good time. The Thorpes and James Morland were
there only two minutes before them; and Isabella having
gone through the usual ceremonial of meeting her friend
with the most smiling and affectionate haste, of admiring
the set of her gown, and envying the curl of her hair, they
followed their chaperons, arm in arm, into the ball-room,
whispering to each other whenever a thought occurred, and
supplying the place of many ideas by a squeeze of the
hand or a smile of affection.
The -dancing began within a few minutes after they
were seated; and James, who had been engaged quite as
long as his sister, was very importunate with Isabella to
stand up; but John was gone into the card-room to speak
to a friend, and nothing, she declared, should induce her
to join the set before her dear Catherine could join it too.
" I assure you," said she, " I would not stand up without
your dear sister, for all the world; for if I did, we should
certainly be separated the whole evening." Catherine ac¬
cepted this kindness with gratitude, and they continued as
they were for three minutes longer, when Isabella, who
had been talking to James on the other side of her, turned
again to his sister and whispered, " My dear creature, I
am afraid I must leave you, your brother is so amazingly
impatient to begin; I know you will not mind my going
away, and I dare say John will be back in a moment, and
then you may easily find me out." Catherine, though a
little disappointed, had too much good nature to make any
opposition, and, the others rising up, Isabella had only
time to press her friend's hand and say, Good bye, my
dear love," before they hurried off. The younger Miss
Thorpes being also dancing, Catherine was left to the
mercy of Mrs. Thorpe and Mrs. Allen, between whom she
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
37
now remained. She could not help being vexed at the
non-appearance of Mr. Thorpe; for she not only longed to
be dancing, but was likewise aware that, as the real dignity
of her situation could not be known, she was sharing with
the scores of other young ladies still sitting down all the
discredit of wanting a partner. To be disgraced in the
eye of the world, to wear the appearance of infamy while
her heart is all purity, her actions all innocence, and the
misconduct of another the true source of her debasement,
is one of those circumstances which peculiarly belong to
the heroine's life, and her fortitude under it what par¬
ticularly dignifies her character. Catherine had fortitude
too; she suffered, but no murmur passed her lips.
From this state of humiliation she was roused, at the
end of ten minutes, to a pleasanter feeling, by seeing, not
Mr. Thorpe, but Mr. Tilney, within three yards of the
place where they sat: he seemed to be moving that way,
but he did not see her, and, therefore, the smil#and the
blush, which his sudden reappearance raised in Catherine,
passed away without sullying her heroic importance. He
looked as handsome and as lively as ever, and was talking
with interest to a fashionable and pleasing-looking young
woman, who leant on his arm, and whom Catherine im¬
mediately guessed to be his sister; thus unthinkingly
throwing away a fair opportunity of considering him lost
to her for ever, by being married already. But, guided
only by what was simple and probable, it had never en¬
tered her head that Mr. Tilney could be married; he had
not behaved, he had not talked, like the married men to
whom she had been used; he had never mentioned a wife,
and he had acknowledged a sister. From these circum¬
stances sprang the instant conclusion of his sister's now
being by his side; and, therefore, instead of turning of a
deathlike paleness, and falling in a fit on Mrs. Allen's
bosom, Catherine sat erect, in the perfect use of her senses,
and with cheeks only a little redder than usual.
Mr. Tilney and his companion, who continued, though
slowly, to approach, were immediately preceded by a lady,
an acquaintance of Mrs. Thorpe; and this lady stopping
to speak to her, they, as belonging to her, stopped likewise,
d 3
38
N0RTHANGER ABBEY.
and Catherine, catching Mr. Tilney's eye, instantly re¬
ceived from him the smiling tribute of recognition. She
returned it with pleasure, and then advancing still nearer,
he spoke both to her and Mrs. Allen, by whom he was
very civilly acknowledged. " I arn very happy to see you
again, sir, indeed; I was afraid you had left Bath." He
thanked her for her fears, and said that he had quitted it
for a week, on the very morning after his having had the
pleasure of seeing her.
" Well, sir, and I dare say you are not sorry to be back
again, for it is just the place for young people; and, in¬
deed, for every body else too. I tell Mr. Allen, when he
talks of being sick of it, that I am sure he should not com¬
plain, for it is so very agreeable a place, that it is much
better to be here than at home at this dull time of year.
I tell him he is quite in luck to be sent here for his
health."
" And I hope, madam, that Mr. Allen will be obliged
to like the place, from finding it of service to him."
" Thank you, sir. I have no doubt that he will. A
neighbour of ours, Dr. Skinner, was here for his health
last winter, and came away quite stout."
" That circumstance must give great encouragement."
" Yes, sir; and Dr. Skinner and his family were here
three months: so I tell Mr. Allen he must not be in a
hurry to get away."
Here they were interrupted by a request from Mrs.
Thorpe to Mrs. Allen, that she would move a little to ac¬
commodate Mrs. Hughes and Miss Tilney with seats, as
they had agreed to join their party. This was accordingly
done, Mr. Tilney still continuing standing before them;
and, after a few minutes' consideration, he asked Catherine
to dance with him. This compliment, delightful as it
was, produced severe mortification to the lady; and, in
giving her denial, she expressed her sorrow on the occasion
so very much as if she really felt it, that had Thorpe, who
joined her just afterwards, been half a minute earlier, he
might have thought her sufferings rather too acute. The
very easy manner in which he then told her that he had
kept her waiting, did not by any means reconcile her more
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
39
to her lot; nor did the particulars which he entered into
while they were standing up, of the horses and dogs of the
friend whom he had just left, and of a proposed exchange
of terriers between them, interest her so much as to pre¬
vent her looking very often towards that part of the room
where she had left Mr. Tilney. Of her dear Isabella, to
whom she particularly longed to point out that gentleman,
she could see nothing. They were in different sets. She was
separated from all her party, and away from all her ac¬
quaintance: one mortification succeeded another; and from
the whole she deduced this useful lesson, that to go pre¬
viously engaged to a ball does not necessarily ~ crease
either the dignity or enjoyment of a young lad "SYom
such a moralising strain as this she was suddenly sed
by a touch on the shoulder; and, turning round, perceived
Mrs. Hughes directly behind her, attended by Miss Tilney
and a gentleman. " I beg your pardon, Miss Morland,"
said she, " for this liberty, but I cannot any how get to
Miss Thorpe; and Mrs. Thorpe said she was sure you
would not have the least objection to letting in this young
lady by you." Mrs. Hughes could not have applied to
any creature in the room more happy to oblige her than
Catherine. The young ladies were introduced to each
other, Miss Tilney expressing a proper sense of such good¬
ness ; Miss Morland, with the real delicacy of a generous
mind, making light of the obligation; and Mrs. Hughes,
satisfied with having so respectably settled her young charge,
returned to her party.
Miss Tilney had a good figure, a pretty face, and a very
agreeable countenance ; and her air, though it had not all
the decided pretension, the resolute stylishness, of Miss
Thorpe's, had more real elegance. Her manners showed
good sense and good breeding; they were neither shy, nor
affectedly open; and she seemed capable of being young,
attractive, and at a ball, without wanting to fix the at¬
tention of every man near her, and without exaggerated
feelings of ecstatic delight or inconceivable vexation on
every little trifling occurrence. Catherine, interested at
once by her appearance and her relationship to Mr. Tilney,
*0
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
was desirous of being acquainted with her, and readily
talked, therefore, whenever she could think of any thing to
say, and had courage and leisure for saying it. But the
hindrance thrown in the way of a very speedy intimacy,
by the frequent want of one or more of these requisites,
prevented their doing more than going through the first
rudiments of an acquaintance, by informing themselves
how well the other liked Bath, how much she admired its
buildings and surrounding country; whether she drew, or
played, or sang, and whether she was fond of riding on
horseback.
The two dances were scarcely concluded, before Catherine
found her arm gently seized by her faithful Isabella, who
in great spirits exclaimed, " At last I have got you. My
dearest creature, I have been looking for you this hour.
What could induce you to come into this set, when you
knew I was in the other ? I have been quite wretched
without you."
" My dear Isabella, how was it possible for me to get
at you ? I could not even see where you were."
IC So I told your brother all the time, but he would not
believe me. Do go and see for her, Mr. Morland, said I;
hut all in vain, he would not stir an inch. Was not it so,
Mr. Morland ? But you men are all so immoderately lazy!
I have been scolding him to such a degree, my dear
Catherine, you would be quite amazed. You know I never
stand upon ceremony with such people."
" Look at that young lady with the white beads round
her head," whispered Catherine, detaching her friend from
James : " it is Mr. Tilney's sister."
" O heavens ! you don't say so ! Let me look at her
this moment. What a delightful girl! I never saw any
thing half so beautiful! But where is her all-conquering
brother ? Is he in the room ? Point him out to me this
instant, if he is ; I die to see him. Mr. Morland, you are
,not to listen; we are not talking about you.''
" But what is all this whispering about ? What is
going on ? "
£i There now, I knew how it would be. You men have
such restless curiosity. Talk of the curiosity of women,
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
41
indeed ! — 'tis nothing. But be satisfied ; for you are no*
to know any thing at all of the matter."
" And is that likely to satisfy me, do you think ? "
" Well, I declare, I never knew any thing like you.
What can it signify to you, what we are talking of ? Per¬
haps we are talking about you; therefore I would advise
you not to listen, or you may happen to hear something not
very agreeable."
In this common-place chatter, which lasted some time,
the original subject seemed entirely forgotten; and though
Catherine was very well pleased to have it dropped for a
while, she could not avoid a little suspicion at the total
suspension of all Isabella's impatient desire to see Mr.
Tilney. When the orchestra struck up a fresh dance,
James would have led his fair partner away, but she re¬
sisted. " I tell you, Mr. Morland," she cried, " I would
not do such a thing for all the world. How can you be so
teasing! Only conceive, my dear Catherine, what your
brother wants me to do ? He wants me to dance with him
again, though I tell him that it is a most improper thing,
and entirely against the rules. It would make us the talk
of the place, if we were not to change partners."
" Upon my honour," said James, " in these public as¬
semblies it is as often done as not."
ef Nonsense, how can you say so ? But when you men
have a point to carry, you never stick at any thing. My
sweet Catherine, do support me ; persuade your brother
how impossible it is. Tell him, that it would quite shock
you to see me do such a thing ; now would not it ? "
" No, not at all; but if you think it wrong, you had
much better change."
" There," cried Isabella, " you hear what your sister
says, and yet you will not mind her. Well, remember that
it is not my fault, if we set all the old ladies in Bath in a
bustle. Come along, my dearest Catherine, for heaven's
sake, and stand by me." And off they went to regain their
former place. John Thorpe, in the meanwhile, had walked
away; and Catherine, ever willing to give Mr. Tilney an
opportunity of repeating the agreeable request which had
already flattered her once, made her way to Mrs. Allen, and
42
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
Mrs. Thorpe as fast as she could, in the hope of finding
him still with them,— a hope which, when it proved to be
fruitless, she felt to have been highly unreasonable. "Well,
my dear," said Mrs. Thorpe, impatient for praise of her
son, " I hope you have had an agreeable partner."
" Very agreeable, madam."
" I am glad of it. John has charming spirits has not
he ? "
" Did you meet Mr.Tilney, my dear ?" said Mrs. Allen.
" No: where is he ? "
" He was with us just now, and said he was so tired of
lounging about, that he was resolved to go and dance; so
I thought perhaps he would ask you, if he met with you."
" Where can he be ? " said Catherine, looking round;
but she had not looked round long, before she saw him
leading a young lady to the dance.
" Ah ! he has got a partner: I wish he had asked you,"
said Mrs. Allen ; and after a short silence, she added, " he
is a very agreeable young man."
" Indeed he is, Mrs. Allen," said Mrs. Thorpe, smiling
complacently; " I must say it, though I am his mother, that
there is not a more agreeable young man in the world "
This inapplicable answer might have been too much for
the comprehension of many; but it did not puzzle Mrs.
Allen; for, after only a moment's consideration, she said, in
a whisper, to Catherine, " I dare say, she thought I was
speaking of her son."
Catherine was disappointed and vexed. She seemed to
have missed, by so little, the very object she had had in
view; and this persuasion did not incline her to a very
gracious reply, when John Thorpe came up to her soon
afterwards, and said, " Well, Miss Morland, I suppose you
and I are to stand up and jig it together again ? "
" Oh, no; I am much obliged to you, our two dances
are over; and, besides, I am tired, and do not mean to
dance any more."
" Do not you ? — then let us walk about and quiz people.
Come along with me, and I will show you the four greatest
quizzers in the room ; my two younger sisters and their
partners. I have been laughing at them this half hour."
northanger abbey.
43
Again Catherine excused herself; and at last he walked
off to quiz his sisters by himself. The rest of the evening
she found very dull; Mr. Tilney was drawn away from
their party at tea to attend that of his partner; Miss Til¬
ney, though belonging to it, did not sit near her; and
James and Isabella were so much engaged in conversing
together, that the latter had no leisure to bestow more on
her friend than one smile, one squeeze, and one " dearest
Catherine."
CHAPTER IX.
The progress of Catherine's unhappiness from the events
of the evening was as follows. It appeared first in a
general dissatisfaction with every body about her, while
she remained in the rooms, which speedily brought on
considerable weariness and a violent desire to go home.
This, on arriving in Pulteney Street, took the direction of
extraordinary hunger, and when that was appeased, changed
into an earnest longing to be in bed: such was the ex¬
treme point of her distress ; for when there, she immedi¬
ately fell into a sound sleep, which lasted nine hours, and
from which she awoke perfectly revived, in excellent spirits,
with fresh hopes and fresh schemes. The first wish of
her heart was to improve her acquaintance with Miss Til¬
ney, and almost her first resolution to seek her for that
purpose in the Pump Room at noon. In the Pump
Room one so newly arrived in Bath must be met with ;
and that building she had already found so favourable for
the discovery of female excellence, and the completion
of female intimacy, so admirably adapted for secret dis¬
courses and unlimited confidence, that she was most rea¬
sonably encouraged to expect another friend from within
its walls. Her plan for the morning thus settled, she
sat quietly down to her book after breakfast, resolving
to remain in the same place and the same employment till
44
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
tlie clock struck one ; and from habitude very little incom¬
moded by the remarks and ejaculations of Mrs. Allen,
whose vacancy of mind and incapacity for thinking were
such, that as she never talked a great deal, so she could
never he entirely silent; and, therefore, while she sac
at her work, if she lost her needle or broke her thread,
if she heard a carriage in the street, or saw a speck
upon her gown, she must observe it aloud, whether
there were any one at leisure to answer her or not. At
about half past twelve, a remarkably loud rap drew her in
haste to the window, and scarcely had she time to inform
Catherine of there being two open carriages at the door, in
the first only a servant, her brother driving Miss Thorpe
m the second, before John Thorpe came running up stairs,
calling out, " Well, Miss Morland, here I am. Have you
been waiting long ? We could not come before; the old
devil of a coachmaker was such an eternity finding out a
thing fit to be got into, and now it is ten thousand to one
but they break down before we are out of the street. How
do you do, Mrs. Allen ? a famous ball last night, was not
it ? Come, Miss Morland, be quick, for the others are in
a confounded hurry to be off. They want to get their
tumble over."
" What do you mean ?" said Catherine, " where are
you all going to ? "
ce Going to ! Why, you have not forgot our engage¬
ment? Did not we agree together to take a drive this
morning ? What a head you have ! We are going up
Claverton Down."
" Something was said about it, I remember," said Ca¬
therine, looking at Mrs. Allen for her opinion; " but really
I did not expect you."
" Not expect me! that's a good one ! And what a dust
you would have made, if I had not come !"
Catherine's silent appeal to her friend, meanwhile, was
entirely thrown away; for Mrs. Allen, not being at all in
the habit of conveying any expression herself by a look,
was not aware of its being ever intended by any body else;
and Catherine, whose desire of seeing Miss Tilney again
could at that moment bear a short delay in favour of a
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
45
drive, and who thought there could he no impropriety in
her going with Mr. Thorpe, as Isabella was going at the
same time with James, was therefore obliged to speak
plainer. " Well, ma'am, what do you say to it? Can
you spare me for an hour or two ? shall I go ? "
" Do just as you please, my dear," replied Mrs. Allen,
with the most placid indifference. Catherine took the ad¬
vice, and ran off to get ready. In a very few minutes she
re-appeared, having scarcely allowed the two others time
enough to get through a few short sentences in her praise,
after Thorpe had procured Mrs. Allen's admiration of his
gig ; and then, receiving her friend's parting good wishes,
they both hurried down stairs. " My dearest creature,"
cried Isabella, to whom the duty of friendship immediately
called her before she could get into the carriage, " you
have been at least three hours getting ready : I was afraid
you were ill. What a delightful ball we had last night! I
have a thousand things to say to you ; but make haste and
get in, for I long to be off."
Catherine followed her orders and turned away, but not
too soon to hear her friend exclaim aloud to James, " What
a sweet girl she is ! I quite dote on her."
cc You will not be frightened, Miss Morland," said
Thorpe, as he handed her in, " if my horse should dance
about a little at first setting off. He will, most likely, give
a plunge or two, and perhaps take the rest for a minute;
but he will soon know his master. He is full of spirits,
playful as can be, but there is no vice in him."
Catherine did not think the portrait a very inviting one,
but it was too late to retreat, and she was too young to
own herself frightened; so, resigning herself to her fate,
and trusting to the animal's boasted knowledge of its
owner, she sat peaceably down, and saw Thorpe sit down
by her. Every thing being then arranged, the servant
who stood at the horse's head was bid in an important
voice " to let him go," and off they went in the quietest
manner imaginable, without a plunge or a caper, or any
thing like one. Catherine, delighted at so happy an escape,
spoke her pleasure aloud with grateful surprise; and her
companion immediately made the matter perfectly simple
46
NORTHANGER ABBEV.
"by assuring her that it was entirely owing to the peculiarly
judicious manner in which he had then held the reins, and
the singular discernment and dexterity with which he had
directed his whip. Catherine, though she could not help
wondering that, with such perfect command of his horse,
he should think it necessary to alarm her with a relation of
its tricks, congratulated herself sincerely on being under
the care of so excellent a coachman ; and perceiving that
the animal continued to go on in the same quiet manner,
without showing the smallest propensity towards any un¬
pleasant vivacity, and (considering its inevitable pace was
ten miles an hour) by no means alarmingly fast, gave her¬
self up to all the enjoyment of air and exercise of the most
invigorating kind in a fine mild day of February, with the
consciousness of safety. A silence of several minutes suc¬
ceeded their first short dialogue; — it was broken by
Thorpe's saying very abruptly, " Old Allen is as rich as a
Jew, is not he?" Catherine did not understand him —
and he repeated his question, adding, in explanation, " Old
Allen, the man you are with."
<c Oh! Mr. Allen, you mean. Yes, I believe he is very
rich."
<e And no children at all ? " .
<c No — not any."
<( A famous thing for his next heirs. He is your god¬
father, is not he ? "
" My godfather — no."
" But you are always very much With them."
<c Yes, very much."
" Ay, that is what I meant. He seems a good kind of
old fellow etiough, and has lived very well in his time, I
dare say; he is not gouty for nothing. Does he drink his
bottle a day now ? "
" His bottle a day ! — no. Why should you think of
such a thing ? He is a very temperate man, and you could
not fancy him in liquor last night ?"
" Lord help you! —You women are always thinking of
men's being in liquor. Why you do not suppose a man is
overset by a bottle ? I am sure of this — that if every
body was to drink their bottle a day, there would not he
NOBTHANGEIt ABBEY.
47
half the disorders in the world there are now. It would
be a famous good thing for us all."
ec I cannot believe it."
" Oh ! lord; it would be the saving of thousands. There
is not the hundredth part of the wine consumed in this
kingdom that there ought to be. Our foggy climate wants
help."
" And yet I have heard that there is a great deal of
wine drank in Oxford."
" Oxford ! There is no drinking at Oxford now, I
assure you. Nobody drinks there. You would hardly
meet with a man who goes beyond his four pints at the
utmost. Now. for instance, it was reckoned a remarkable
thing at the last party in my rooms, that upon an average
we cleared about five pints a head. It was looked upon
as something out of the common way. Mine is famous
good stuff, to be sure. You would not often meet with any
thing like it in Oxford — and that may account for it. But
this will just give you a notion of the general rate of
drinking there."
" Yes, it does give a notion," said Catherine, warmly,
" and that is, that you all drink a great deal more wine
than I thought you did. However, I am sure James does
not drink so much."
This declaration brought on a loud and overpowering
reply, of which no part was very distinct, except the fre¬
quent exclamations, amounting almost to oaths, which
adorned it, and Catherine was left, when it ended, with
rather a strengthened belief of there being a great deal of
wine drank in Oxford, and the same happy conviction of
her brother's comparative sobriety.
Thorpe's ideas then all reverted to the merits of his own
equipage, and she was called on to admire the spirit and
freedom with which his horse moved along, and the ease
which his paces as well as the excellence of the springs
gave the motion of the carriage. She followed him in all
his admiration as well as she could. To go before, or be¬
yond him, was impossible. His knowledge and her igno¬
rance of the subject, his rapidity of expression, and her
diffidence of herself, put that out of her power ; she could
strike out nothing new in commendation, but she readily
48
NORTJIANGER ABBEY.
echoed whatever he chose to assert, and it was finally set¬
tled between them, without any difficulty, that his equipage
was altogether the most complete of its kind in England,
his carriage the neatest, his horse the best goer, and him¬
self the best coachman. " You do not really think, Mr.
Thorpe," said Catherine, venturing after some time to
consider the matter as entirely decided, and to offer some
little variation on the subject, " that James's gig will break
down ? "
" Break down ! Oh, lord ! Did you ever see such a
little tittuppy thing in your life ? There is not a sound
piece of iron about it. The wheels have been fairly worn
out these ten years at least — and as for the body ! Upon
my soul, you might shake it to pieces yourself with a touch.
It is the most devilish little rickety business I ever beheld!
—Thank God! we have got a better. I would not be
bound to go two miles in it for fifty thousand pounds."
" Good heavens!" cried Catherine, quite frightened,
" then pray let us turn back; they will certainly meet
with an accident if we go on. Do let us turn back, Mr.
Thorpe; stop and speak to my brother, and tell him how
▼ery unsafe it is."
" Unsafe ! oh, lord! what is there in that ? they will
only get a roll if it does break down ; and there is plenty
of dirt, it will be excellent falling. Oh, curse it! the car¬
riage is safe enough if a man knows how to drive it; a
thing of that sort in good hands will last above twenty
years after it is fairly worn out. Lord bless you ! I would
undertake for five pounds to drive it to York and back
again without losing a nail."
Catherine listened with astonishment; she knew not how
to reconcile two such very different accounts of the same
thing; for she had not been brought up to understand the
propensities of a rattle, nor to know to how many idle as¬
sertions and impudent falsehoods the excess of vanity will
lead. Her whole family were plain matter-of-fact people,
who seldom aimed at wit of any kind; her father at the
utmost being contented with a pun, and her mother with a
proverb: they were not in the habit, therefore, of telling
lies to increase their importance, or of asserting at one
moment what they would contradict the next. She re-
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
49
fleeted on the affair for some time in much perplexity, and
"was more than once on the point of requesting from Mr.
Thorpe a clearer insight into his real opinion on the sub¬
ject ; but she checked herself, because it appeared to her
that he did not excel in giving those clearer insights, in
making those things plain which he had before made am¬
biguous ; and, joining to this the consideration that he
would not really suffer his sister and his friend to be ex¬
posed to a danger from which he might easily preserve
them, she concluded at last that he must know the carriage
to be in fact perfectly safe, and therefore would alarm her¬
self no longer. By him the whole matter seemed entirely
forgotten ; and all the rest of his conversation, or rather
talk, began and ended with himself and his own concerns.
He told her of horses which he had bought for a trifle and
sold for incredible sums; of racing matches, in which his
judgment had infallibly foretold the winner; of shooting
parties, in which he had killed more birds (though without
having one good shot) than all his companions together ;
and described to her some famous day's sport, with the
fox-hounds, in which his foresight and skill in directing
the dogs had repaired the mistakes of the most experienced
huntsman, and in which the boldness of his riding, though
it had never endangered his own life for a moment, had
been constantly leading others into difficulties, which he
calmly concluded had broken the necks of many.
Little as Catherine was in the habit of judging for her¬
self, and unfixed as were her general notions of what men
ought to be, she could not entirely repress a doubt, while
she bore with the effusions of his endless conceit, of his
being altogether completely agreeable. It was a bold sur¬
mise, for he was Isabella's brother ; and she had been as¬
sured by James that his manners would recommend him
to all her sex; but in spite of this, the extreme weariness
of his company, which crept over her before they had been
out an hour, and which continued unceasingly to increase
till they stopped in Pulteney Street again, induced her, in
some small degree, to resist such high authority, and to dis¬
trust his powers of giving universal pleasure.
When they arrived at Mrs. Allen's door, the astonish.
E
50
NORTHANOER ABBEY.
ment of Isabella was hardly to be expressed, on finding
that it was too late in the day for them to attend her friend
into the house : —ec Past three o'clock !" it was inconceiv¬
able, incredible, impossible ! and she would neither helieve
her own watch, nor her brother's, nor the servant's ; she
would believe no assurance of it founded on reason or
reality, till Morland produced his watch, and ascertained
the fact; to have doubted a moment longer then, would
have been equally inconceivable, incredible, and impossible;
and she could only protest, over and over again, that no
two hours and a half had ever gone off so swiftly before,
as Catherine was called on to confirm; Catherine could
not tell a falsehood even to please Isabella; but the latter
was spared the misery of her friend's dissenting voice, by
not waiting for her answer. Her own feelings entirely
engrossed her; her wretchedness was most acute on finding
herself obliged to go directly home. It was ages since she
had had a moment's conversation with her dearest Cathe¬
rine ; and, though she had such thousands of things to say
to her, it appeared as if they were never to be together
again; so, with smiles of most exquisite misery, and the
laughing eye of utter despondency, she bade her friend
adieu and went on.
Catherine found Mrs. Allen just returned from all the
busy idleness of the morning, and was immediately greeted
with, " Well, my dear, here you are;" a truth which she
had no greater inclination than power to dispute; " and I
hope you have had a pleasant airing ? "
" Yes, ma'am, I thank you; we could not have had a
nicer day ? "
" So Mrs. Thorpe said; she was vastly pleased at your
all going."
" You have seen Mrs.Thorpe, then?"
" Yes, I went to the Pump-room as soon as you were
gone, and there I met her, and we had a great deal of talk
together. She says there was hardly any veal to be got at
market this morning, it is so uncommonly scarce,"
" Did you see any body else of our acquaintance ? "
ec Yes; we agreed to take a turn in the Crescent, and
there we met Mrs. Hughes, and Mr. and Miss Tilney
walking with her."
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
51
<c Did you, indeed! and did they speak to you ? "
" Yes, we walked along the Crescent together for half
an hour. They seem very agreeable people. Miss Tilney
was in a very pretty spotted muslin, and I fancy, hy what
I can learn, that she always dresses very handsomely.
Mrs. Hughes talked to me a great deal about the family."
" And what did she tell you of them ? "
" Oh, a vast deal, indeed; she hardly talked of any thing else."
"Did she tell you what part of Gloucestershire they
come from ? "
" Yes, she did; but I cannot recollect now. But they
are very good kind of people, and very rich. Mrs. Tilney
was a Miss Drummond, and she and Mrs. Hughes were
school-fellows; and Miss Drummond had a very large
fortune; and, when she married, her father gave her
twenty thousand pounds, and five hundred to buy wedding
clothes. Mrs. Hughes saw all the clothes after they came
from the warehouse."
" And are Mr. and Mrs. Tilney in Bath ? "
" Yes, I fancy they are, but I am not quite certain.
Upon recollection, however, I have a notion they are both
dead; at least the mother is; yes, I am sure Mrs. Tilney
is dead, because Mrs. Hughes told me there was a very
beautiful set of pearls that Mr. Drummond gave his
daughter on her wedding-day and that Miss Tilney has got
now, for they were put by for her when her mother died."
" And is Mr. Tilney, my partner, the only son ? "
" I cannot be quite positive about that, my dear; I
have some idea he is; but, however, he is a very fine
young man, Mrs. Hughes says, and likely to do very well."
Catherine enquired no further; she had heard enough
to feel that Mrs. Allen had no real intelligence to give, and
that she was most particularly unfortunate herself in having
missed such a meeting with both brother and sister. Could
she have foreseen such a circumstance, nothing should
have persuaded her to go out with the others ; and, as it
was, she could only lament her ill-luck, and think over
what she had lost, till it was clear to her, that the drive
had by no means been very pleasant, and that John Thorpe
himself was quite disagreeable.
e 2
nofttilanffelt abbey.
CHAPTER X.
The Aliens, Thorpes, and Morlands, all met in the even¬
ing at the theatre; and, as Catherine and Isabella sat
together, there was then an opportunity for the latter to
utter some few of the many thousand things which had
been collecting within her for communication, in the im¬
measurable length of time which had divided them.—
'' Oh, heavens ! my beloved Catherine, have I got you at
last ? " was her address on Catherine's entering the box and
sitting by her. " Now, Mr. Morland," for he was close to
her on the other side, " I shall not speak another word to
you all the rest of the evening; so I charge you not to
expect it. My sweetest Catherine, how have you been
this long age ? but I need not ask you, for you look de¬
lightfully. You really have done your hair in a more
heavenly style than ever: you mischievous creature, do
you want to attract every body ? I assure you, my brother
is quite in love with you already; and as for Mr Tilney
—but that is a settled thing—even your modesty cannot
doubt his attachment now ; his coming back to Bath makes
it too plain. Oh, what would not I give to see him ! I
really am quite wild with impatience. My mother says he
is the most delightful young man in the world; she saw
him this morning, you know: you must introduce hirn to
me. Is he in the house now ?—Look about, for heaven's
sake! I assure you, I can hardly exist till I see him."
" No," said Catherine, cc he is not here; I cannot see
him any where."
" Oh, horrid ! am I never to be acquainted with him ?
How do you like my gown ? I think it does not look
amiss; the sleeves were entirely my own thought. Do
you know I get so immoderately sick of Bath; your brother
and I were agreeing this morning, that, though it is vastly
well to be here for a few weeks, we would not live here for
millions. We soon found out that our tastes were exactly
alike in preferring the country to every other place; really
our opinions were so exactly the same, it was quite ridicu¬
lous ! There was not a single point in which we differed;
northanger abbey
53
I would not have had you by for the world; you are such
a sly thing, I am sure you would have made some droll
remark or other about it."
" No, indeed, I should not."
" Oh, yes, you would, indeed; I know you better than
you know yourself. You would have told us that we
seemed born for each other, or some nonsense of that kind,
which would have distressed me beyond conception; my
cheeks would have been as red as your roses; I would not
have had you by for the world."
te Indeed you do me injustice • I would not have made
so improper a remark upon any account; and besides, I
am sure it would never have entered my head."
Isabella smiled incredulously, and talked the rest of the
evening to James.
Catherine's resolution of endeavouring to meet Miss Til-
ney again continued in full force the next morning; and till
the usual moment of going to the Pump-room, she felt
some alarm from the dread of a second prevention. But no¬
thing of that kind occurred, no visiters appeared to delay
them, and they all three set off in good time for the
Pump-room, where the ordinary course of events and con¬
versation took place: Mr. Allen, after drinking his glass
of water, joined some gentlemen to talk over the politics
of the day and compare the accounts of their newspapers;
and the ladies walked about together, noticing every new face,
and almost every new bonnet in the room. The female
part of the Thorpe family, attended by James Morland,
appeared among the crowd in less than a quarter of an
hour, and Catherine immediately took her usual place by
the side of her friend. James, who was now in constant
attendance, maintained a similar position, and separating
themselves from the rest of their party, they walked in
that manner for some time, till Catherine began to doubt
the happiness of a situation which, confining her entirely
to her friend and brother, gave her very little share in the
notice of either. They were always engaged in some sen¬
timental- discussion or lively dispute, but their sentiment
was conveyed in such whispering voices, and their vivacity
attended with so much laughter, that though Catherine's
e 3
54,
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
supporting opinion was not unfrequently called for by-one
or the other, she was never able to give any, from not
having heard a word of the subject. At length, however,
she was empowered to disengage herself from her friend,
by the avowed necessity of speaking to Miss Tilney,
whom she most joyfully saw just entering the room with
Mrs. Hughes, and whom she instantly joined, with a
firmer determination to be acquainted, than she might
have had courage to command, had she not been urged by
the disappointment of the day before. Miss Tilney met
her with great civility, returned her advances with equal
good will, and they continued talking together as long as
both parties remained in the room; and though in all pro¬
bability not an observation was made, nor an expression
used by either which had not been made and used some
thousands of times before, under that roof, in every Bath
season, yet the merit of their being spoken with simplicity
and truth, and without personal conceit, might be some¬
thing uncommon.
" How well your brother dances!" was an artless
exclamation of Catherine's towards the close of their con¬
versation, which at once surprised and amused her com¬
panion.
" Henry!" she replied with a smile. " Yes, he does
dance very well."
" He must have thought it very odd to hear me say I
was engaged the other evening, when he saw me sitting
down. But I really had been engaged the whole day to
Mr. Thorpe." Miss Tilney could only bow. (< You
cannot think," added Catherine, after a moment's silence,
" how surprised I was to see hira again, I felt so sure of
his being quite gone away."
" When Henry had the pleasure of seeing you before,
he was in Bath but for a couple of days. He came only
to engage lodgings for us."
<c That never occurred to me ; and of course, not seeing
him any where, I thought he must be gone. Was not
the young lady he danced with on Monday a Miss Smith r "
" Yes; an acquaintance of Mrs. Hughes."
" I dare say she was very glad to dance. Do you think
her pretty ? "
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
55
" Not very."
te He never comes to the Pump-room, 1 suppose ? "
" Yes, sometimes ; but he has rid out this morning
with my father."
Mrs. Hughes now joined them, and asked Miss Tilney
if she was ready to go. " I hope I shall have the pleasure
of seeing you again soon," said Catherine. " Shall you
be at the cotillion ball to-morrow ?"
" Perhaps we — yes, I think we certainly shall."
"I am glad of it, for we shall all be there." This
civility was duly returned, and they parted: on Miss
Tilney's side with some knowledge of her new acquaint¬
ance's feelings, and on Catherine's, without the smallest
consciousness of having explained them.
She went home very happy. The morning had answered
all her hopes, and the evening of the following day was
now the object of expectation, the future good. What
gown and what head-dress she should wear on the occasion
became her chief concern. She cannot he justified in it.
Dress is at all times a frivolous distinction, and excessive
solicitude about it often destroys its own aim. Catherine
knew all this very well; her great aunt had read her a
lecture on the subject only the Christmas before; and yet
she lay awake ten minutes on Wednesday night debating
between her spotted and her tamboured muslin, and no¬
thing but the shortness of the time prevented her buying
a new one for the evening. This would have been an
error in judgment, great though not uncommon, from
which one of the other sex rather than her own, a brother
rather than a great aunt, might have warned her ; for man
only can he aware of the insensibility of man towards a
new gown. It would be mortifying to the feelings of
many ladies could they be made to understand how little
the heart of man is affected by what is costly or new in
their attire ; how little it is biassed by the texture of their
muslin, and how unsusceptible of peculiar tenderness
towards the spotted, the sprigged, the mull or the jackonet.
Woman is fine for her own satisfaction alone. No man
will admire her the more, no woman will like her the
better for it. Neatness and fashion are enough for the
E 4
m
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
former, and a something of shabbiness or impropriety will
be most endearing to the latter. But not one of these
grave reflections troubled the tranquillity of Catherine.
She entered the rooms on Thursday evening with feel¬
ings very different from what had attended her thither the
Monday before. She had then been exulting in her en¬
gagement to Thorpe, and was now chiefly anxious to
avoid his sight, lest he should engage her again; for
though she could not, dared not expect that Mr. Tilney
should ask her a third time to dance, her wishes, hopes,
and plans, all centred in nothing less. Every young
lady may feel for my heroine in this critical moment, for
every young lady has at some time or other known the
same agitation. All have been, or at least all have be¬
lieved themselves to be, in danger from the pursuit of
some one whom they wished to avoid : and all have been
anxious for the attentions of some one whom they wished
to please. As soon as they were joined by the Thorpes,
Catherine's agony began ; she fidgeted about if John
Thorpe came towards her, hid herself as much as possible
from his view, and when he spoke to her pretended not to
hear him. The cotillions were over, the country-dancing
beginning, and she saw nothing of the Tilneys. " Do
not he frightened, my dear Catherine," whispered Isabella,
" but I am really going to dance with your brother again.
I declare positively it is quite shocking. I tell him he
ought to be ashamed of himself, but you and John must
keep us in countenance. Make haste, my dear creature,
and come to us. John is just walked off, but he will be
back in a moment."
Catherine had neither time nor inclination to answer.
The others walked away, John Thorpe was till in view, and
she gave herself up for lost. That she might not appear,
however, to observe or expect him, she kept her eyes in¬
tently fixed on her fan ; and a self-condemnation for her
folly, in supposing that among such a crowd they should
even meet with the Tilneys in any reasonable time, had
just passed through her mind, when she suddenly found
herself addressed and again solicited to dance, by Mr.
Tilney himself. With what sparkling eyes and ready
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
57
motion she granted his request, and with how pleasing a
flutter of heart she went with him to the set, may be
easily imagined. To escape, and, as she believed, so
narrowly escape John Thorpe, and to be ashed, so imme¬
diately on his joining her, asked by Mr. Tilney, as if he
had sought her on purpose ! — it did not appear to her
that life could supply any greater felicity.
Scarcely had they worked themselves into the quiet pos¬
session of a place, however, when her attention was claimed
by John Thorpe, who stood behind her. " Heyday, Miss
Morland ! " said he, "what is the meaning of this ? — I
thought you and I were to dance together."
" I wonder you should think so, for you never asked me."
" That is a good one, by Jove ! — I asked you as soon
as I came into the room, and I was just going to ask
you again, but when I turned round, you were gone ! —
This is a cursed shabby trick! I only came for the sake
of dancing with you, and I firmly believe you were en¬
gaged to me ever since Monday. Yes ; I remember, I
asked you while you were waiting in the lobby for your
cloak. And here have 1 been telling all my acquaintance
that I was going to dance with the prettiest girl in the
room ; and when they see you standing up with somebody
else, they will quiz me famously."
" Oh, no; they will never think of me, after such a
description as that."
" By heavens, if they do not, I will kick them out of
the room for blockheads. What chap have you there ? "
Catherine satisfied his curiosity. " Tilney," he repeated :
" hum — I do not know him. A good figure of a man;
well put together. — Does he want a horse ? — Here is a
friend of mine, Sam Fletcher, has got one to sell that
would suit any body. A famous clever animal for the
road — only forty guineas. I had fifty minds to buy it
myself, for it is one of my maxims always to buy a
good horse when I meet with one; but it would not
answer my purpose, it would not do for the field. I
would give any money for a real good hunter. I have
three now, the best that ever were backed. I would not
t^ke eight hundred guineas for therp, Fletcher and I
58
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
mean to get a house in Leicestershire against the next
season. It is so d d uncomfortable living at an inn.'
This was the last sentence by which he could weary Ca¬
therine's attention, for he was just then borne off by the
resistless pressure of a long string of passing ladies. Her
partner now drew near, and said, " That gentleman
would have put me out of patience, had he staid with you
half a minute longer. He has no business to withdraw
the attention of my partner from me. We have entered
into a contract of mutual agreeableness for the space of an
evening, all our agreeableness belongs solely to each
other for that time. Nobody can fasten themselves on the
notice of one, without injuring the rights of the other. I
consider a country-dance as an emblem of marriage. Fi¬
delity and complaisance are the principal duties of both ;
and those men who do not choose to dance or marry them¬
selves, have no business with the partners or wives of their
neighbours."
" But they are such very different things! "
" That you think they cannot be compared together."
" To be sure not. People that marry can never part
but must go and keep house together. People that dance
only stand opposite to each other in a long room for half
an hour."
" And such is your definition of matrimony and dancing.
Taken in that light certainly, their resemblance is not
striking; but I think I could place them in such a view-
— You will allow that in both man has the advantage of
choice, woman only the power of refusal; that in both it
is an engagement between man and woman, formed for
the advantage of each; and that when once entered into,
they belong exclusively to each other till the moment of
its dissolution ; that it is their duty each to endeavour to
give the other no cause for wishing that he or she had be¬
stowed themselves elsewhere, and their best interest to
keep their own imaginations from wandering towards the
perfections of their neighbours, or fancying that they
should have been better off with any one else. You will
allow all this ? "
" Yes, to be sure, as you state it, all this sounds very
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
59
well; but still they are so very different. I cannot look
upon them at all in the same light, nor think the same
duties belong to them."
" In one respect, there certainly is a difference. In
marriage, the man is supposed to provide for the support
of the woman; the woman to make the home agreeable to
the man; he is to purvey, and she is to smile. But in
dancing, their duties are exactly changed; the agreeableness,
the compliance are expected from him, while she furnishes
the fan and the lavender water. That, I suppose, was the
difference of duties which struck you, as rendering the
conditions incapable of comparison."
" No, indeed, I never thought of that."
" Then I am quite at a loss. One thing, however,
I must observe. This disposition on your side is rather
alarming. You totally disallow any similarity in the obli¬
gations ; and may I not thence infer, that your notions of
the duties of the dancing state are not so strict as your
partner might wish ? Have I not reason to fear, that if
the gentleman who spoke to you just now were to return,
or if any other gentleman were to address you, there would
be nothing to restrain you from conversing with him as
long as you chose ? "
" Mr. Thorpe is such a very particular friend of my
brother's, that if he talks to me, I must talk to him again;
but there are hardly three young men in the room besides
him that I have any acquaintance with."
" And is that to be my only security? alas, alas !"
<c Nay, I am sure you cannot have a better; for if I do
not know any body, it is impossible for me to talk to them ;
and, besides, I do not want to talk to any body."
" Now you have given me a security worth having; and
I shall proceed with courage. Do you find Bath as agree¬
able as when I had the honour of making the enquiry
before ? "
" Yes, quite—more so, indeed."
" More so ! — Take care, or you will forget to be tired
of it at the proper time. You ought to he tired at the end
of six weeks."
" I do not think I should be tired, if I were to stay
here six months."
60
NORTH ANGER ABBEY.
" Bath, compared with London, has little variety, and
so every body finds out every year. c For six weeks, I
allow Bath is pleasant enough; but beyond that, it is the
most tiresome place in the world.' You would be told so
by people of all descriptions, who come regularly every
winter, lengthen their six weeks into ten or twelve, and go
away at last because they can afford to stay no longer." •
" Well, other people must judge for themselves, and
those who go to London may think nothing of Bath. But
I, who live in a small retired village in the country, can
never find greater sameness in such a place as this, than in
my own home; for here are a variety of amusements, a
variety of things to be seen and done all day long, which I
can know nothing of there."
cc You are not fond of the country."
" Yes, I am. I have always lived there, and always
heen very happy. But certainly there is much more same¬
ness in a country life than in a Bath life. One day in the
country is exactly like another."
" But then you spend your time so much more rationally
in the country."
" Do I?"
f Do you not ? "
" I do not believe there is much difference."
" Here you are in pursuit only of amusement all day
long."
" And so I am at home—only I do not find so much of
it. I walk about here, and so I do there;—but here I
see a variety of people in every street, and there I can only
go and call on Mrs. Allen."
Mr. Tilney was very much amused. " Only go and call
on Mrs. Allen !" he repeated. " What a picture of intel¬
lectual poverty ! However, when you sink into this abyss
again, you will have more to say. You will be able to talk
of Bath, and of all that you did here."
" Oh yes. I shall never be in want of something to
talk of again to Mrs. Allen, or any body else. I really be¬
lieve I shall always be talking of Bath, when I am at home
again—I do like it so very much. If I could but have
papa and mamma, and the rest of them here, I suppose 1
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
61
should be too happy ! James's coming (my eldest brother)
is quite delightful; and especially as it turns out, that the
very family we are just got so intimate with are his in¬
timate friends already. Oh, who can ever be tired of
Bath ? "
" Not those who bring such fresh feelings of every sort
to it as you do. But papas and mammas, and brothers
and intimate friends, are a good deal gone by, to most of
the frequenters of Bath ; and the honest relish of balls and
plays, and every-day sights, is past with them."
Here their conversation closed; the demands of the dance
becoming now too importunate for a divided attention.
Soon after their reaching the bottom of the set, Cathe¬
rine perceived herself to be earnestly regarded by a gentle¬
man who stood among the lookers-on, immediately behind
her partner. He was a very handsome man, of a com¬
manding aspect, past the bloom, but not past the vigour of
life; and with his eye still directed towards her, she saw
him presently address Mr. Tilney in a familiar whisper.
Confused by his notice, and blushing from the fear of its
being excited by something wrong in her appearance, she
turned away her head. But while she did so, the gentle¬
man retreated, and her partner coming nearer, said, " I see
that you guess what I have just been asked. That gentle¬
man knows your name, and you have a right to know his.
It is General Tilney, my father."
Catherine's answer was only " Oh!" but it was an
" Oh !" expressing every thing needful; attention to his
words, and perfect reliance on their truth. With real in¬
terest and strong admiration did her eye now follow the
General, as he moved through the crowd, and " How
handsome a family they are !" was her secret remark.
In chatting with Miss Tilney before the evening con¬
cluded, 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
62
northanger abbey.
some morning or other. " I shall like it," she cried,
ee beyond any thing 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 " re¬
member— 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 en¬
joyed a fortnight's experience, she scarcely saw any thing
during the evening. Yet, though longing to make her ac¬
quainted 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 XI.
The morrow brought a very sober-looking morning; the
sun making only a few efforts to appear; and Catherine
augured from it every thing 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 improve¬
ment 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
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
63
perhaps it may come to nothing, or it may hold up before
twelve."
(C 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."
ee It was such a nice-looking morning! I felt so con¬
vinced it would be dry !"
'' Any body 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 great coat
when he goes, but I dare say he will not, for he had rather
do any thing in the world than walk out in a great coat;
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:
64
northanoeb abbey.
she looked round, the clouds were parting, and she in¬
stantly returned to the window to watch over and en¬
courage 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 hus¬
band to the Pump-room : he accordingly set off by him¬
self, 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 he 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 en¬
gaged ; 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 Ca¬
therine, 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 detest¬
able rain. But it does not signify, the nights are moon¬
light, and we shall do delightfully. Oh, I am in such
ecstasies at the thoughts of a little country air and quiet
NORTHANGER ABBEV.
65
— 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 Kings-
weston."
iC I doubt our being able to do so much," said Morland.
" You croaking fellow I" cried Thorpe, " we shall be
able to do ten times more. Kingsweston ! ay, and Blaize
Castle too, and any thing else we can hear of; but here
is your sister says she will not go."
" Blaize Castle !" cried Catherine; " what is that ? "
" The finest place in England, — worth going fifty
miles at any time to see."
" What, is it really a castle, an old castle ? "
" The oldest in the kingdom."
" But is it like what one reads of?"
" Exactly, — the very same."
" But now, really, are there towers and long galleries ? "
" By dozens."
" Then I should like to see it; but I cannot, — I
cannot go."
" Not go! — my beloved creature, what do you
mean ? "
" I cannot go, because (looking down as she spoke,
fearful of Isabella's smile) I expect Miss Tilney and her
brother to call on me to take a country walk. They pro¬
mised to come at twelve, only it rained ; but now, as it
is so fine, I dare say they will be here soon."
" Not they, indeed," cried Thorpe ; " for, as we turned
into Broad Street, I saw tliem. Does he not drive a
phaeton with bright chestnuts ? "
I do not know, indeed."
" Yes, 1 know he does ; I saw him. You are talking
of the man you danced with last night, are not you ? "
" Yes."
" Well, I saw him at that moment turn up the Lans-
down Road, driving a smart-looking girl."
" Did you, indeed ?"
" Did, upon my soul; knew him again directly; and he
seemed to have got some very pretty cattle too."
v
66
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
" It is very cdd! but I suppose they thought it would
he too dirty for a walk."
" And well they might, for I never saw so much dirt
in my life. Walk! you could no more walk than you
could fly ! it has not been so dirty the whole winter ; it is
ankle-deep every where."
Isabella corroborated it: —ce My dearest Catherine, you
cannot form an idea of the dirt; come, you must go; you
cannot refuse going now."
" I should like to see the castle; but may we go all
over it ? may we go up every staircase, and into every
suite of rooms ? "
" Yes, yes; every hole and corner."
<e But then,—if they should only be gone out for an
hour till it is drier, and call by and by ? "
" Make yourself easy, there is no danger of that; for
I heard Tilney hallooing to a man who was just passing
by on horseback, that they were going as far as Wick
Bocks."
:c Then I will. Shall I go, Mrs. Allen?"
iC Just as you please, my dear."
" Mrs. Allen, you must persuade her to go," was the
general cry. Mrs. Allen was not inattentive to it: —
" Well, my dear," said she, " suppose you go."—And in
two minutes they were off.
Catherine's feelings, as she got into the carriage, were
in a very unsettled state; divided between regret for the
loss of one great pleasure, and the hope of soon enjoying
another, almost its equal in degree, however unlike in
kind. She could not think the Tilneys had acted quite
well by her, in so readily giving up their engagement,
without sending her any message of excuse. It was now
but an hour later than the time fixed on for the beginning
of their walk; and, in spite of what she had beard of the
prodigious accumulation of dirt in the course of that hour,
she could not, from her own observation, help thinking,
that they might have gone with very little inconvenience.
To feel herself slighted by them was very painful. On
the other hand, the delight of exploring an edifice like
Udolpho, as her fancy represented Blaize Castle to be, was
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
67
such a counterpoise of good, as might console her for al¬
most any thing.
They passed briskly down Pulteney Street, and through
Laura Place, without the exchange of many words. Thorpe
talked to his horse, and she meditated, by turns, on broken
promises and broken arches, phaetons and false hangings,
Tilneys and trap-doors. As they entered Argyle Build¬
ings, however, she was roused by this address from her
companion, —" Who is that girl who looked at you so
hard as she went by ? "
" Who ?—where ?"
" On the right-hand pavement—she must be almost
out of sight now." Catherine looked round, and saw Miss
Tilney leaning on her brother's arm, walking slowly down
the street. She saw them both looking back at her.
ec Stop, stop, Mr. Thorpe," she impatiently cried, " it is
Miss Tilney; it is indeed. How could you tell me they
were gone? — Stop, stop, I will get out this moment and
go to them." But to what purpose did she speak? —
Thorpe only lashed his horse into a brisker trot; the
Tilneys, who had soon ceased to look after her, were in a
moment out of sight round the corner of Laura Place, and
in another moment she was herself whisked into the Mar¬
ket Place. Still, however, and during the length of an¬
other street, she entreated him to stop. " Pray, pray stop,
Mr. Thorpe. I cannot go on—I will not go on ; I must
go back to Miss Tilney." But Mr. Thorpe only laughed,
smacked his whip, encouraged his horse, made odd noises,
and drove on; and Catherine, angry and vexed as she was,
having no power of getting away, was obliged to give up
the point and submit. Her reproaches, however, were not
spared. " How could you deceive me so, Mr. Thorpe ?
How could you say that you saw them driving up the
Lansdown Road ? I would not have had it happen so for
the world. They must think it so strange, so rude of me,
to go by them, too, without saying a word! You do not
know how vexed I am. . I shall have no pleasure at Clif¬
ton, nor in any thing else. I had rather, ten thousand
times rather, get out now, and walk back to them. How
could you say, you saw them driving out in a phaeton ? "
f 2
68
NORTHANGER ABBE'S.
Thorpe defended himself very stoutly, declared he had
never seen two men- so much alike in his life, and would
hardly give up the point of its having been Tilney him¬
self.
Their drive, even when this subject was over, was not
likely to be very agreeable. Catherine's complaisance was
no longer what it had been in their former airing. She
listened reluctantly, and her replies were short. Blaize
Castle remained her only comfort; towards that, she still
looked at intervals with pleasure; though rather than be
disappointed of the promised walk, and especially rather
than be thought ill of by the Tilneys, she would willingly
have given up all the happiness which its walls could sup¬
ply—the happiness of a progress through a long suite of
lofty rooms, exhibiting the remains of magnificent furni¬
ture, though now for many years deserted—the happiness
of being stopped in. their way along narrow, winding
vaults, by a low, grated door; or even of having their
lamp, their only lamp, extinguished by a sudden gust of
wind, and of being left in total darkness. In the mean
while, they proceeded on their journey without any mis¬
chance ; and were within view of the town of Keynsham,
when a halloo from Morland, who was behind them, made
his friend pull up, to know what was the matter. The
others then came close enough for conversation; and Mor¬
land said, "We had better go" hack, Thorpe; it is too late
to go on to-day; your sister thinks so as well as I. We
have been exactly an hour coming from Pulteney Street,
very little more than seven miles; and, I suppose, we
have at least eight more to go. It will never do. We set
out a great deal too late. We had much better put it off
till another day, and turn round."
" It is all one to me," replied Thorpe, rather angrily;
and instantly turning his horse, they were on their way
hack to Bath.
" If your brother had not got such a d- d beast to
drive," said he soon afterwards, " we might have done it
very well. My horse would have trotted to Clifton within
the hour, if left to himself, and I have almost broke my
arm with pulling him in to that cursed broken-winded
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
6*9
jade's pace. Morland is a fool for not keeping a horse
and gig of his own."
" No, he is not/' said Catherine warmly; e< for I am
sure he could not afford it."
" And why cannot he afford it ? "
" Because he has not money enough."
" And whose fault is that ? "
" Nobody's, that I know of." Thorpe then said some¬
thing in the loud, incoherent way to which he had often
recourse, about its being a d d thing to be miserly ;
and that if people who rolled in money could not afford
things, he did not know who could; which Catherine did
not even endeavour to understand. Disappointed of what
was to have been the consolation for her first disappoint¬
ment, she was less and less disposed either to be agreeable
herself, or to find her companion so; and they returned
to Pulteney Street without her speaking twenty words.
As she entered the house, the footman told her, that a
gentleman and lady had called and enquired for her a few
minutes after her setting off; that, when he told them she
was gone out with Mr. Thorpe, the lady had asked whe¬
ther any message had been left for her ; and on his saying
no, had felt for a card, but said she had none about her,
and went away. Pondering over these heart-rending tid¬
ings, Catherine walked slowly up stairs. At the head of
them she was met by Mr. Allen, who, on hearing the rea¬
son of their speedy return, said, " I am glad your brother
had so much sense ; I am glad you are come back. It was
a strange, wild scheme."
They all spent the evening together at Thorpe's. Ca¬
therine was disturbed and out of spirits; but Isabella
seemed to find a pool of commerce, in the fate of which
she shared, by private partnership with Morland, a very
good equivalent for the quiet and country air of an inn at
Clifton. Her satisfaction, too, in not being at the Lower
Rooms, was spoken more than once. " How I pity the
poor creatures that are going there ! How glad I am that
I am not amongst them ! I wonder whether it will be a full
ball or not! They have not begun dancing yet. I would
not be there for all the world. It is so delightful to hav^
F 3
70
northanger abbey.
an evening now and then to one's self. I dare say it will not
be a very good ball. I know the Mitchells will not be
there. I am sure I pity every body that is. But I dare
say, Mr. Morland, you long to be at it, do not you ? I am
sure you do. Well, pray do not let any body here be a
restraint on you. I dare say we could do very well with¬
out you; but you men think yourselves of such con¬
sequence."
Catherine could almost have accused Isabella of being
wanting in tenderness towards herself and her sorrows; so
very little did they appear to dwell on her mind, and so
very inadequate was the comfort she offered. " Do not
he so dull, my dearest creature," she whispered. " You
will quite break my heart. It was amazingly shocking, to
be sure; but the Tilneys were entirely to blame. Why
were not they more punctual ? It was dirty, indeed, but
what did that signify ? I am sure John and I should not
have minded it. I never mind going through any thing,
where a friend is concerned; that is my disposition, and
John is just the same; he has amazing strong feelings.
Good heavens! what a delightful hand you have got!
Kings, I vow ! I never was so happy in my life ! I would
fifty times rather you should have them than myself."
And now I may dismiss my heroine to the sleepless
couch, which is the true heroine's portion; to a pillow
strewed with thorns and wet with tears. And lucky may
she think herself, if she get another good night's rest in the
course of the next three months.
CHAPTER XII.
" Mrs. Allen," said Catherine, the next morning, " will
there be any harm in my calling on Miss Tilney to-day ?
I shall not be easy till I have explained every thing."
"Go, by all means, my dear; only put on a white
gown. Miss Tilney always wears white."
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
71
Catherine cheerfully complied; and being properly
equipped, was more impatient than ever to be at the Pump-
room, that she might inform herself of General Tilney's
lodgings ; for though she believed they were in Milsom
Street, she was not certain of the house; and Mrs. Allen's
wavering convictions only made it more doubtful. To
Milsom Street she was directed; and having made herself
perfect in the number, hastened away with eager steps and
a beating heart to pay her visit, explain her conduct, and
be forgiven: tripping lightly through the churchyard,
and resolutely turning away her eyes, that she might not
be obliged to see her beloved Isabella, and her dear family,
who, she had reason to believe, were in a shop hard by,
she reached the house without any impediment, looked at
the number, knocked at the door, and enquired for Miss
Tilney. The man believed Miss Tilney to be at home,
but was not quite certain. Would she be pleased to send
up her name ? She gave her card. In a few minutes the
servant returned, and, with a look which did not quite con¬
firm his words, said he had been mistaken, for that Miss
Tilney was walked out. Catherine, with a blush of mor¬
tification, left the house. She felt almost persuaded that
Miss Tilney was at home, and too much offended to admit
her; and, as she retired down the street, could not with¬
hold one glance at the drawing-room windows, in expect¬
ation of seeing her there—but no one appeared at them.
At the bottom of the street, however, she looked back
again—and then, not at a window, but issuing from the
door, she saw Miss Tilney herself: she was followed by a
gentleman, whom Catherine believed to be her father, and
they turned up towards Edgar's Buildings. Catherine, in
deep mortification, proceeded on her way. She could
almost be angry herself at k jch angry incivility; but she
checked the resentful sens&uon; she remembered her own
ignorance. She knew not how such an offence as hers
might be classed by the laws of worldly politeness—to
what a degree of unforgiveness it might with propriety
lead—nor to what rigours of rudeness in return it might
justly make her amenable. Dejected and humbled, she
f 4
72
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
had even some thoughts of not going with the others to the
theatre that night; but it must be confessed that they were
not of long continuance: for she soon recollected, in the
first place, that she was without any excuse for staying at
home; and, in the second, that it was a play she wanted
very much to see. To the theatre accordingly they all
went; no Tilneys appeared, to plague or please her; she
feared that, amongst the many perfections of the family, a
fondness for plays was not to be ranked; but perhaps it
was because they were habituated to the finer performances
of the London stage, which she knew, on Isabella's au¬
thority, rendered every thing else of the kind ec quite
horrid." She was not deceived in her own expectation of
pleasure: the comedy so well suspended her care, that no
one, observing her during the first four acts, would have
supposed she had any wretchedness about her. On the
beginning of the fifth, however, the sudden view of Mr.
Henry Tilney and his father joinings party in the oppo¬
site box recalled her to anxiety and distress. The stage
could no longer excite genuine merriment—no longer
keep her whole attention. Every other look upon an
average was directed towards the opposite box; and for
the space of two entire scenes did she thus watch Henry
Tilney, without being once able to catch his eye. No
longer could he be suspected of indifference for a play; his
notice was never withdrawn from the stage during two
whole scenes. At length, however, he did look towards
her, and he bowed—but such a bow ! no smile, no
continued observance attended it;—his eyes were imme¬
diately returned to their former direction. Catherine was
restlessly miserable; she could almost have run round to
the box in which he sat, and forced him to hear her ex¬
planation. Feelings rather natural than heroic possessed
her; instead of considering her own dignity injured by
this ready condemnation—instead of proudly resolving, in
conscious innocence, to show her resentment towards him
who could harbour a doubt of it, to leave to him all the
trouble of seeking an explanation, and to enlighten him on
the past only by avoiding his sight, or flirting with some¬
body else, sh° took to herself all the shame of misconduct,
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
73
or, at least, of its appearance, and was only eager for an
opportunity of explaining its cause.
The play concluded—the curtain fell; Henry Tilney
was no longer to be seen where he had hitherto sat, but his
father remained, and perhaps he might be now coming
round to their box. She was right: in a few minutes he
appeared, and, making his way through the then thinning
rows, spoke with like calm politeness to Mrs. Allen and her
friend. Not with such calmness was he answered by the
latter. " Oh, Mr. Tilney, I have been quite wild to
speak to you, and'make my apologies. You must have
thought me so rude; but indeed it was not my own fault,
—was it, Mrs. Allen ? Did not they tell me that Mr.
Tilney and his sister were gone out in a phaeton together ?
and then what could I do ? But I had ten thousand times
rather have been with you. Now had not I, Mrs. Allen ?"
" My dear, you tumble my gown," was Mrs. Allen's
reply.
Her assurance, however, standing sole as it did, was not
thrown away ; it brought a more cordial, more natural
smile into his countenance, and he replied in a tone which
retained only a little affected reserve, "We were much
obliged to you, at any rate, for wishing us a pleasant walk
after our passing you in Argyle Street. You were so kind
as to look back on purpose."
" But, indeed, I did not wish you a pleasant walk — I
never thought of such a thing; but I begged Mr. Thorpe
so earnestly to stop ; I called out to him as soon as ever I
saw you. Now, Mrs. Allen, did not Oh! you were
not there. But, indeed, I did ; and, if Mr. Thorpe would
only have stopped, I would have jumped out and run after
you."
Is there a Henry in the world who could be insensible
to such a declaration ? Henry Tilney, at least, was not.
With a yet sweeter smile, he said every thing that need
be said of his sister's concern, regret, and dependence on
Catherine's honour. " Oh, do not say Miss Tilney was
not angry," cried Catherine, " because I know she was ;
for she would not see me this morning when I called : I
saw her walk out of the house the next minute after my
"4
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
leaving it. I was hurt, but I was not affronted. Perhaps
you did not know I had been there."
a I was not within at the time ; but I heard of it from
Eleanor, and she has been wishing ever since to see you, to
explain the reason of such incivility; but, perhaps, I can do
it as well. It was nothing more than that my father
they were just preparing to walk out, and he being hurried
for time, and not caring to have it put off, made a point of
her being denied. That was all, I do assure you. She
was very much vexed, and meant to make her apology as
soon as possible."
Catherine's mind was greatly eased by this information,
yet a something of solicitude remained, from which sprang
the following question, thoroughly artless in itself, though
rather distressing to the gentleman : —" But, Mr. Tilney,
why were you less generous than your sister ? If she felt
such confidence in my good intentions, and could suppose
it to be only a mistake, why should you he so ready to take
offence ? "
" Me ! — I take offence !"
" Nay, I am sure by your look, when you came into
the box, you were angry."
" I. angry ! I could have no right."
" Well, nobody would have thought you had no right
tvho saw your face."
He replied by asking her to make room for him, and
talking of the play.
He remained with them some time, and was only too
agreeable for Catherine to be contented when he went
away. Before they parted, however, it was agreed that
the projected walk should be taken as soon as possible ;
and, setting aside the misery of his quitting their box, she
was, upon the whole, left one of the happiest creatures in
the world.
While talking to each other, she had observed, with
some surprise, that John Thorpe, who was never in the
same part of the house for ten minutes together, was en¬
gaged in conversation with General Tilney; and she felt
something more than surprise, when she thought she could
perceive herself the object of their attention and discourse.
K0BTHAN6ER ABfiEY.
75
What could they have to say of her ? She feared General
Tilney did not like her appearance. She found it was im¬
plied in his preventing her admittance to his daughter,
rather than postpone his own walk a few minutes. " How
came Mr. Thorpe to know your father?" was her anxious
.enquiry, as she pointed them out to her companion. He
knew nothing about it; hut his father, like every military
man, had a very large acquaintance.
When the entertainment was over, Thorpe came to
assist them in getting out. Catherine was the immediate
object of his gallantry; and, while they waited in the
lobby for a chair, he prevented the -enquiry which had tra¬
velled from her heart almost to the tip of her tongue, by
asking, in a consequential manner, whether she had seen
, him talking with General Tilney. " He is a fine old fel¬
low, upon my soul! — stout, active—looks as young as his
Son. I have a great regard for him, I assure you. A
gentleman-like, good sort of fellow as ever lived."
" But how came you to know him ? "
" Know him ! There are few people much about town
that I do not know. I have met him for ever at the Bedford;
and I knew his face again to-day the moment he came into
the billiard-room. One of the best players we have, by
the by; and we had a little touch together, though I was
almost afraid of him at first. The odds were five to four
against me; and, if I had not made one of the cleanest
strokes that perhaps ever was made in this world — I
took his hall exactly—but I could not make you un¬
derstand it without a table : however, I did beat him. A
very fine fellow ; as rich as a Jew. I should like to dine
with him ; I dare say he gives famous dinners. But what
do you think we have been talking of? You. Yes, by
heavens! and the General thinks you the finest girl in
Bath."
Oh, nonsense ! how can you say so ? "
" And what do you think I said ?" (lowering his voice)
" Well done, General, said I, I am quite of your mind."
Here Catherine, who was much less gratified by his
admiration than by General Tilney's, was not sorry to be
called away by Mr. Allen. Thorpe, however, would see
76
northanger abbey.
her to her chair, and, till she entered it, continued the same
kind of delicate flattery, in spite of her entreating him to
have done.
That General Tilney, instead of disliking, should admire
her, was very delightful; and she joyfully thought that
there was not one of the family whom she need now fear to
meet. The evening had done more, much more, for her,
than could have been expected.
CHAPTER XIII.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and
Saturday have now passed in review before the reader; the
events of each day, its hopes and fears, mortifications
and pleasures, have been separately stated, and the pangs
of Sunday only now remain to he described, and close the
week. The Clifton scheme had been deferred, not relin¬
quished ; and on the afternoon's Crescent of this day it was
brought forward again. In a private consultation between
Isabella and James, the former of whom had particularly
set her heart upon going, and the latter no less anxiously
placed his upon pleasing her, it was agreed that, provided
the weather were fair, the party should take place on the
following morning ; and they were to set off very early, in
order to be at home in good time. The affair thus deter¬
mined, and Thorpe's approbation secured, Catherine only
remained to be apprised of it. She had left them for a few
minutes to speak to Miss Tilney. In that interval the
plan was completed, and as soon as she came again, her
agreement was demanded; but instead of the gay acqui¬
escence expected by Isabella, Catherine looked grave, was
very sorry, but could not go. The engagement which
ought to have kept her from joining in the former attempt
would make it impossible for her to accompany them now.
site had that moment settled with Miss Tilney to take
NOttTH ANGER ABBEY.
77
their promised walk to-morrow; it was quite determined
and she would not, upon any account, retract. But that
she must and should retract was instantly the eager cry of
both the Thorpes; they must go to Clifton to-morrow,
they would not go without her; it would be nothing to put
off a mere walk for one day longer, and they would not hear
of a refusal. Catherine was distressed, but not subdued.
" Do not urge me, Isabella. I am engaged to Miss Til-
ney. I cannot go." This availed nothing. The same
arguments assailed her-again ; she must go, she should go,
and they would not hear of a refusal. "It would be so
easy to tell Miss Tilney that you had just been reminded
of a prior engagement, and must only beg to put off the
walk till Tuesday."
" No, it would not be easy. I could not do it. There
has been no prior engagement." But Isabella became only
more and more urgent; calling on her in the most affec¬
tionate manner; addressing her by the most endearing
names. She was sure her dearest, sweetest Catherine
would not seriously refuse such a trifling request to a friend
who loved her so dearly. She knew her beloved Cathe¬
rine to have so feeling a heart, so sweet a temper, to be so
easily persuaded by those she loved. But all in vain ; Ca¬
therine felt herself to be in the right, and though pained
by such tender, such flattering supplication, could not allow
it to influence her. Isabella then tried another method.
She reproached her with having more affection for Miss
Tilney, though she had known her so little a while, than
for her best and oldest friends; with being grown cold
and indifferent, in short, towards herself. " I cannot help
being jealous, Catherine, when I see myself slighted for
Strangers—I, who love you so excessively ! When once
my affections are placed, it is not in the power of any
thing to change them. But I believe my feelings are
stronger than any body's; I am sure they are too strong
for my own peace; and to see myself supplanted in your
friendship by strangers does cut me to the quick, I own.
These Tilneys seem to swallow up every thing else."
Catherine thought this reproach equally strange and un
kind. Was it the part of a friend thus to expose her feel-
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
Ings to the notice of others? Isabella appeared to her
ungenerous and selfish, regardless of every thing but her
own gratification. These painful ideas crossed her mind,
though she said nothing. Isabella, in the mean while, had
applied her handkerchief to her eyes; and Morland, mi¬
serable at such a sight, could not help saying, ee Nay, Cathe¬
rine, I think you cannot stand out any longer now. The
sacrifice is not much; and to oblige such a friend, I shall
think you quite unkind if you still refuse."
This was the first time of her brother's openly siding
against her; and anxious to avoid his displeasure, she pro¬
posed a compromise. If they would only put off their
scheme till Tuesday, which they might easily do, as it de¬
pended only on themselves, she could go with them, and
every body might then be satisfied. But " No, no, no !"
was the immediate answer; " that could not be, for
Thorpe did not know that he might not go to town on
Tuesday." Catherine was sorry, but could do no more;
and a short silence ensued, which was broken by Isabella;
who, in a voice of cold resentment, said, " Very well, then
there is an end of the party. If Catherine does not go, I
cannot. I cannot be the only woman. I would not, upon
any account in the world, do so improper a thing."
" Catherine, you must go," said James.
" But why cannot Mr. Thorpe drive one of his other
sisters ? I dare say either of them would like to go."'
" Thank ye," cried Thorpe ; ec but I did not come to
Bath to drive my sisters about, and look like a fool. No,
if you do not go, d— me if I do. I only go for the sake cf
driving you."
" That is a compliment which gives me no pleasure."
But her words were lost on Thorpe, who had turned ab¬
ruptly away.
The three others still continued together, walking in a
most uncomfortable manner to poor Catherine; sometimes
not a word was said, sometimes she was again attacked with
supplications or reproaches, and her arm was still linked
within Isabella's, though their hearts were at war. At one
moment she was softened, at another irritated; always dis¬
tressed, but always steady.
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
79
<e I did not think you had been so obstinate, Catherine,"
said James; "you were not used to be so hard to per¬
suade ; you once were the kindest, best-tempered of my
sisters."
" I hope I am not less so now," she replied, very feel¬
ingly ; " but indeed I cannot go. If I am wrong, I am
doing what I believe to be right."
ee I suspect," said Isabella, in a low voice, " there is no
great struggle."
Catherine's heart swelled ; she drew away her arm, and
Isabella made no opposition. Thus passed a long ten
minutes, till they were again joined by Thorpe, who, com¬
ing to them with a gayer look, said, " Well, I have settled
the matter, and now we may all go to-morrow with a safe
conscience. I have been to Miss Tilney, and made your
excuses."
" You have not!" cried Catherine.
" I have, upon my soul. Left her this moment. Told
her you had sent me to say, that having just recollected a
prior engagement of going to Clifton with us to-morrow^
you could not have the pleasure of walking with her till
Tuesday. She said very well, Tuesday was just as conve¬
nient to her; so there is an end of all our difficulties. — A
pretty good thought of mine—hey ?"
Isabella's countenance was once more all smiles and
good-humour, and James too looked happy again.
"A most heavenly thought, indeed! Now, mv sweet
Catherine, all our distresses are over; you are honourably
acquitted, and we shall have a most delightful party."
" This will not do," said Catherine; " I cannot submit
to this. I must run after Miss Tilney directly and set her
right."
Isabella, however, caught hold of one hand, Thorpe of
the other; and remonstrances poured in from all three.
Even James was quite angry. When every thing was
settled, when Miss Tilney herself said that Tuesday would
suit her as well, it was quite ridiculous, quite absurd, to
make any further objection.
,v I do not care. Mr. Thorpe had no business to invept
any such message. If I had thought it right to put jt off I
80
NOttTH ANGER ABBEY.
could have spoken to Miss Tiiney myself. This is only doing
it in a ruder way ; and how do I know that Mr. Thorpe
has—he may be mistaken again, perhaps : he led me into
one act of rudeness by his mistake on Friday. Let me
go, Mr. Thorpe ; Isabella, do not hold me."
Thorpe told her it would he in vain to go after the Til-
neys : they were turning the corner into Brock Street,
when he had overtaken them, and were at home by this time.
" Then I will go after them," said Catherine; " where-
ever they are, I will go after them. It does not signify
talking. If I could not be persuaded into doing what I
thought wrong, I never will be tricked into it." And with
these words she broke away and hurried off. Thorpe would
have darted after her, but Morland withheld him. " Let
her go, let her go, if she will go. She is as obstinate
as "
Thorpe never finished the simile, for it could hardly
have been a proper one.
Away walked Catherine in great agitation, as fast as the
crowd would permit her, fearful of being pursued, yet de¬
termined to persevere. As she walked, she reflected on
what had passed. It was painful to her to disappoint and
displease them, particularly to displease her brother; but
she could not repent her resistance. Setting her own in¬
clination apart, to have failed a second time in her engage¬
ment to Miss Tiiney, to have retracted a promise voluntarily
made only five minutes before, and on a false pretence too,
must have been wrong. She had not been withstanding
them on selfish principles alone, she had not consulted
merely her own gratification ; that might have been en¬
sured in some degree by the excursion itself, by seeing
Blaize Castle; no, she had attended to what was due to
others, and to her own character in their opinion. Her
conviction of being right, however, was not enough to re¬
store her composure: till she had spoken to Miss Tiiney,
she could not be at ease; and quickening her pace when
she got clear of the Crescent, she almost ran over the re¬
maining ground till she gained the top of Milsom Street.
So rapid had been her movements, that, in spite of the
Tilneys' advantage in the outset, they were but just turning
NORTBANGER ARSE*.
81
into their lodgings as she came within view of them ; and
the servant still remaining at the open door, she used only
the ceremony of saying that she must speak with Miss
Tilney that moment, and hurrying by him proceeded up
stairs. Then, opening the first door before her, which
happened to be the right, she immediately found herself in
the drawing-room with General Tilney, his son and daugh¬
ter. Her explanation, defective only in being—from her
irritation of nerves and shortness of breath—no explanation
at all, was instantly given. " I am come in a great hurry
—it was all a mistake — I never promised to go — I told
them from the first I could not go—I ran away in a great
hurry to explain it—I did not care what you thought of
me—I would not stay for the servant."
The business, however, though not perfectly elucidated
by this speech, soon ceased to be a puzzle. Catherine
found that John Thorpe had given the message; and Miss
Tilney had no scruple in owning herself greatly surprised
by it. But whether her brother had still exceeded her in
resentment, Catherine, though she instinctively addressed
herself as much to one as to the other in her vindication,
had no means of knowing. Whatever might have been
felt before her arrival, her eager declarations immediately
made every look and sentence as friendly as she could
desire.
The affair thus happily settled, slio was introduced by
Miss Tilney to her father, and received by him with such
ready, such solicitous politeness, as recalled Thorpe's inform¬
ation to her mind, and made her think with pleasure thai
he might be sometimes depended on. To such anxious atten¬
tion was the General's civility carried, that, not aware of hei
extraordinary swiftness in entering the house, he was quite
angry with the servant whose neglect had reduced her to
open the door of the apartment herself. " What did William
mean by it ? He should make a point of enquiring into the
matter." And if Catherine had not most warmly asserted
his innocence, it seemed likely that William would lose
the favour of his master for ever, if not his place, by her
rapidity.
After sitting with them a quarter of an hour, she rose to
a
82
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
take leave, and was then most agreeably surprised by Gei
neral Tilney's asking her if she would do his daughter the
honour of dining and spending the rest of the day with her.
Miss Tilney added her own wishes. Catherine was greatly
obliged; hut it was quite out of her power. Mr. and Mrs.
Allen would expect her back every moment. The General
declared he could say no more : the claims of Mr. and
Mrs. Allen were not to he superseded ; hut on some other
day, he trusted, when longer notice could he given, they
would not refuse to spare her to her friend. " Oh, no;
Catherine was sure they would not have the least objec¬
tion, and she should have great pleasure in coming." The
General attended her himself to the street-door, saying
every thing gallant as they went down stairs, admiring the
elasticity of her walk, which corresponded exactly with the
spirit of her dancing, and making her one of the most
graceful bows she had ever beheld when they parted.
Catherine, delighted by all that had passed, proceeded
gaily to Pulteney Street; walking, as she concluded, with
great elasticity, though she had never thought of it before.
She reached home without seeing any thing more of the
offended party; and now that she had been triumphant
throughout, had carried her point, and was secure of her
walk, she began (as the flutter of her spirits subsided) to
doubt whether she had been perfectly right. A sacrifice
was always noble; and if she had given way to their
entreaties, she should have been spared the distressing idea
of a friend displeased, a brother angry, and a scheme of
great happiness to both destroyed, perhaps through her
means. To ease her mind, and ascertain by the opinion
of an unprejudiced person what her own conduct had really
been, she took occasion to mention before Mr. Allen the
half-settled scheme of her brother and the Thorpes for the
following day. Mr. Allen caught at it directly. " Well,"
said he, " and do you think of going too ? "
" No; I had just engaged myself to walk with Miss
Tilney before they told me of it; and therefore, you know,
I could not go with them, could I ? "
" No, certainly not; and I am glad you do not think of
it. These schemes are not at all the thing. Young men
NOftTHAttGfiR ABBEY.
83
and women driving about the country in open carriages !
Now and then it is very well; but going to inns and public
places together! It is not right; and I wonder Mrs.
Thorpe should allow it. I am glad you do not think of
going ; I am sure Mrs. Morland would not be pleased.
Mrs. Allen, are not you of my way of thinking ? Do not
you think these kind of projects objectionable ? "
(C Yes, very much so, indeed. Open carriages are nasty
things. A clean gown is not five minutes' wear in them.
You are splashed getting in and getting out; and the wind
takes your hair and your bonnet in every direction. I hate
an open carriage myself."
" I know you do; but that is not the question. Do
not you think it has an odd appearance, if young ladies are
frequently driven about in them by young men, to whom
they are not even related ? "
" Yes, my dear, a very odd appearance^ indeed. I can¬
not bear to see it."
" Dear madam," cried Catherine, " then why did not
you tell me so before ? I am sure if I had known it to
be improper I would not have gone with Mr. Thorpe at
all; but I always hoped you would tell me, if you thought
I was doing wrong."
(e And so I should, my dear, you may depend on it;
for, as I told Mrs. Morland at parting, I would always do
the best for you in my power. But one must not be over
particular. Young people will be young people, as your
good mother says herself. You know I wanted you, when
we first came, not to buy that sprigged muslin, but you
would. Young people do not like to be always thwarted."
" But this was something of real consequence ; and I
do not think you would have found me hard to persuade."
" As far as it has gone hitherto, there is no harm
done," said Mr. Allen; " and I would only advise you
my dear, not to go out with Mr. Thorpe any more."
" That is just what I was going to say," added his
wife.
Catherine, relieved for herself, felt uneasy for Isabella ;
and after a moment's thought, asked Mr. Allen whether it
would not be both proper and kind in her to write to Miss
g 2
84
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
Thorpe, and explain the indecorum of which she must be
as insensible as herself; for she considered that Isabella
might otherwise perhaps be going to Clifton the next day,
in spite of what had passed. Mr. Allen, however, dis¬
couraged her from doing any such thing. " You had
better leave her alone, my dear, she is old enough to know
what she is about; and if not, has a mother to advise her.
Mrs. Thorpe is too indulgent beyond a doubt; but, how¬
ever, you had better not interfere. She and your brother
choose to go, and you will be only getting ill-will."
Catherine submitted; and though sorry to think that
Isabella should be doing wrong, felt greatly relieved by
Mr. Allen's approbation of her own conduct, and truly re¬
joiced to be preserved by his advice from the danger of
falling into such an error herself. Her escape from being
one of the party to Clifton was now an escape indeed; for
what would the Tilneys have thought of her, if she had
broken her promise to them in order to do what was
wrong in itself — if she had been guilty of one breach of
propriety, only to enable her to be guilty of another?
CHAPTER XIV.
The next morning was fair, and Catherine almost ex¬
pected another attack from the assembled party. With
Mr. Allen to support her, she felt no dread of the event:
but she would gladly be spared a contest, where victory
itself was painful; and was heartily rejoiced, therefore, at
neither seeing nor hearing any thing of them. The Tilneys
called for her at the appointed time; and no new difficulty
arising—no sudden recollection—no unexpected summons
—no impertinent intrusion, to disconcert their measures,
my heroine was most unnaturally able to fulfil her engage¬
ment, though it was made with the hero himself. They
determined on walking round Beechen Cliff, that noble
hill, whose beautiful verdure and hanging coppice render
it so striking an object from almost every opening in Bath.
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
85
e< I never look at it," said Catherine, as they walked
along the side of the river, " without thinking of the
south of France."
" You have been abroad, then?" said Henry, a little
surprised.
"Oh no, I only mean what I have read about. It
always puts me in mind of the country that Emily and her
father travelled through, in the ' Mysteries of Udolpho.'
But you never read novels, I dare say ?"
" Why not ?"
"Because they are not clever enough for you — gentle¬
men read better books."
"The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not
pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid. I
have read all Mrs. RadclifFe's works, and most of them
with great pleasure. The ' Mysteries of Udolpho,' when
i had once begun it, I could not lay down again; — I
remember finishing it in two- days — my hair standing on
end the whole time."
"Yes," added Miss Tilney, " and I remember that
you undertook to read it aloud to me; and that when I
was called away for only five minutes, to answer a note,
instead of waiting for me, you took the volume into the
Hermitage Walk, and I was obliged to stay till you had
finished it."
" Thank you, Eleanor; — a most honourable testimony.
You see, Miss Morland, the injustice of your suspicions.
Here was I, in my eagerness to get on, refusing to wait
only five minutes for my sister ; breaking the promise I
had made of reading it aloud, and keeping her in suspense
at a most interesting part, by running away with the
volume, which, you are to observe, was her own—par¬
ticularly her own. I am proud when I reflect on it, and
I think it must establish me in your good opinion."
" I am very glad to hear it, indeed; and now I shall
never be ashamed of liking Udolpho myself. But I really
thought before, young men despised novels amazingly."
" It is amusingly ; it may well suggest amusement if
they do — for they read nearly as many as women,
jnyself, have read hundreds and hundreds. Do not
86
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
gine that you can cope with me in a knowledge of Julias
and Louisas. If we proceed to particulars, and engage in
the never-ceasing enquiry of c Have you read this ?' and
f Have you read that?' I shall soon leave you as far be¬
hind me as—what shall I say ? — I want an appropriate
simile;—as far as your friend Emily herself left poor
Valancourt when she went with her aunt into Italy. Con¬
sider how many years I have had the start of you. I
had entered on my studies at Oxford, while you were a
good little girl working your sampler at home !"
" Not very good, I am afraid. But now, really, do not
you think Udolpho the nicest book in the world ?"
" The nicest;—by which I suppose you mean the
neatest. That must depend upon the binding."
<c Henry," said Miss Tilney, " you are very imperti¬
nent. Miss Moriand, he is treating you exactly as he does
his sister. Pie is for ever finding fault with me for some
incorrectness of language, and now he is taking the same
liberty with you. The word c nicest,' as you used it, "did
not suit him; and you had better change it as soon as you
can. or we shall be overpowered with Johnson and Blair
all the rest of the way."
" I am sure," cried Catherine, u I did not mean to say
any thing wrong; but it is a nice hook, and why should
not I call it so ?"
" Very true," said Henry, a and this is a very nice day ;
and we are taking a very nice walk ; and you are two very
nice young ladies. Oh, it is a very nice word, indeed !—
it does for every thing. Originally, perhaps, it was applied
only to express neatness, propriety, delicacy, or refine¬
ment;— people were nice in their dress, in their senti¬
ments, or their choice. But now every commendation on
every subject is comprised in that one word."
" While, in fact," cried his sister, " it ought only to
be applied to you, without any commendation at all. You
are more nice than wise. Come, Miss Moriand, let us
leave him to meditate over our faults in the utmost pro
priety of diction, while we praise Udolpho in whatever
terms we like best. It is a most interesting work. You
are fond of that kind of reading ?"
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
87
" To say the truth, I do not much like any other."
<e Indeed!"
C( That is, I can read poetry and plays, and things of
that sort, and do not dislike travels. But history, real
solemn history, I cannot be interested in. Can you?"
" Yes, I am fond of history."
" I wish I were too. I read it a little as a duty, hut it
tells me nothing that does not either vex or weary me.
The quarrels of popes and kings, with wars or pesti¬
lences, in every page ; the men all so good for nothing,
and hardly any women at all — it is very tiresome; and
yet I often think it odd that it should be so dull, for a
great deal of it must be invention. The speeches that are
put into the heroes' mouths, their thoughts and designs —
the chief of all this must be invention, and invention is
what delights me in other books."
" Historians, you think," said Miss Tilney, " are not
happy in their flights of fancy. They display imagination
without raising interest. I am fond of history — and am
very well contented to take the false with the true. In
the principal facts they have sources of intelligence in
former histories and records, which may be as much de¬
pended on, I conclude, as any thing that does not actually
pass under one's own observation; and as for the little
embellishments you speak of, they are embellishments, and
I like them as such. If a speech be well drawn up, I
read it with pleasure, by whomsoever it may be made —
and probably with much greater, if the production of Mr.
II nine or Dr. Robertson, than if the genuine words of
Caractacus, Agricola, or Alfred the Great."
" You are fond of history ! — and so are Mr. Allen and
my father; and I have two brothers who do not dislike
i;. So many instances within my small circle of friends
is remarkable 1 At this rate, I shall not pity the writers
of history any longer. If people like to read their books,
it is all very well; but to be at so much trouble in filling
great volumes, which, as I used to think, nobody would
willingly ever look into, to be labouring only for the tor¬
ment of little boys and girls, always struck me as a hard
fate ; and though I know it is all very right and necessary
g 4
48
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
I have often wondei-ed at the person's courage that could
sit down on purpose to do it."
" That little boys and girls should be tormented," said
Henry, " is what no one at all acquainted with human
nature in a civilised state can deny; but in behalf of our
most distinguished historians, I must observe, that they
might well be offended at being supposed to have no
higher aim ; and that by their method and style they are
perfectly well qualified to torment readers of the most
advanced reason and mature time of life. I use the verb
' to torment,' as I observed to be your own method, in¬
stead of f to instruct,' supposing them to be now admitted
as synonymous."
" You think me foolish to call instruction a torment ;
but if you had been as much used as myself to hear poor
little children first learning their letters, and then learning
to spell,—if you had ever seen how stupid they can be for
a whole morning together, and how tired my poor mother
is at the end of it, as I am in the habit of seeing almost
every day of my life at home,—you would allow, that to
torment and to instruct might sometimes be used as
synonymous words."
" Very probably. But historians are not accountable
for the difficulty of learning to read ; and even you your¬
self, who do not altogether seem particularly friendly to
very severe, very intense application, may perhaps be
brought to acknowledge that it is very well worth while to
be tormented for two or three years of one's life, for the
sake of being able to read all the rest of it. Consider— if
reading had not been taught, Mrs. Radcliffe would have
written in vain, or, perhaps, might not have written
at all."
Catherine assented ; and a very warm panegyric from
her on that lady's merits closed the subject. The Tilneys
were soon engaged in another, on which she had nothing
to say. They were viewing the country with the eyes of
persons accustomed to drawing; and decided on its capa¬
bility of being formed into pictures, with all the eagerness
of real taste. Here Catherine was quite lost. She knew
nothing of drawing—nothing of taste; and she listened
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
89
to them with an attention which brought her little profit,
for they talked in phrases which conveyed scarcely any
idea to her. The little which she could understand, how¬
ever, appeared to contradict the very few notions she had
entertained on the matter before. It seemed as if a good
view were no longer to be taken from the top of a high
hill, and that a clear blue sky was no longer a proof of a
fine day. She was heartily ashamed of her ignorance—a
misplaced shame. Where people wish to attach, they
should always be ignorant. To come with a well-informed
mind, is to come with an inability of administering to the
vanity of others, which a sensible person would always
wish to avoid. A woman, especially, if she have the mis¬
fortune of knowing any thing, should conceal it as well as
she can.
The advantages of natural folly in a beautiful girl have
been already set forth by the capital pen of a sister author ;
and to her treatment of the subject I will only add, in jus¬
tice to men, that though, to the larger and more trifling
part of the sex, imbecility in females is a great enhance¬
ment of their personal charms, there is a portion of them
too reasonable, and too well informed themselves, to desire
any thing more in woman than ignorance. But Catherine
did not know her own advantages—did not know that a
good-looking girl, with an affectionate heart, and a very
ignorant mind, cannot fail of attracting a clever young
man, unless circumstances are particularly untoward. In
the present instance, she confessed and lamented her want
of knowledge; declared that she would give any thing in
the world to be able to draw; and a lecture on the pic¬
turesque immediately followed, in which his instructions
were so clear that she soon began to see beauty in every
thing admired by him; and her attention was so earnest,
that he became perfectly satisfied of her having a great
deal of natural taste. He talked of fore-grounds, dis¬
tances, and second distances; side-screens and perspec¬
tives ; lights and shades; — and Catherine was so hopeful a
scholar, that when they gained the top of Beechen Cliff,
she voluntarily rejected the whole city of Bath, as un¬
worthy to make part of a landscape. Delighted with her
90
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
progress, and fearful of wearying her with too much wis¬
dom at once, Henry suffered the subject to decline, and,
by an easy transition from a piece of rocky fragment, and
the withered oak which he had placed near its summit, to
oaks in general,—to forests, the enclosure of them, waste
lands, crown lands and government,—he shortly found him¬
self arrived at politics; and from politics, it was an easy
step to silence. The general pause which succeeded his
short disquisition on the state of the nation was put an
end to by Catherine, who, in rather a solemn tone of voice,
uttered these words, " I have heard that something very
shocking indeed will soon come out in London."
Miss Tilney, to whom this was chiefly addressed, was
startled, and hastily replied, " Indeed !—and of what na¬
ture ? "
" That I do not know, nor who is the author. I have
only heard that it is to be more horrible than any thing
we have met with yet."
" Good heaven ! Where could you hear of such a
thing ? "
" A particular friend of mine had an account of it in a
letter from London yesterday. It is to be uncommonly
dreadful. I shall expect murder and every thing of the
kind."
" You speak with astonishing composure ! But I hope
your friend's accounts have been exaggerated ; and if such
a design is known beforehand, proper measures will un¬
doubtedly be taken by government to prevent its coming
to effect."
" Government," said Henry, endeavouring not to smile,
" neither desires nor dares to interfere in such matters.
There must be murder j and government cares not how
much."
The ladies stared. He laughed, and added, cc Come,
shall I make you understand each other, or leave you to
puzzle out an explanation as you can ? No; I will be
noble. I will prove myself a man, no less by the gene¬
rosity of my soul than the clearness of my head. I have
no patience with such of my sex as disdain to let them¬
selves sometimes down to the comprehension of yours.
NORTHANGER ABBEY
91
Perhaps the abilities of women are neither sound no* acute,
neither vigorous nor keen. Perhaps they may want ob¬
servation, discernment, judgment, fire, genius, and wit."
" Miss Morland, do not mind what he says; but have
the goodness to satisfy me as to this dreadful riot."
"■ Riot!—what riot ? "
" My dear Eleanor, the riot is only in your own brain.
The confusion there is scandalous. Miss Morland has
been talking of nothing more dreadful than a new pub¬
lication which is shortly to come out, in three duodecimo
volumes, two hundred and seventy-six pages in each, with
a frontispiece to the-first, of two tombstones and a lantern
—do you understand?—And you, Miss Morland—my
stupid sister has mistaken all your clearest expressions.
You talked of expected horrors in London ; and instead of
instantly conceiving, as any rational creature would have
done, that such words could relate only to a circulating
library, she immediately pictured to herself a mob of three
thousand men assembling in St. George's Fields; the Bank
attacked, the Tower threatened, the streets of London
flowing with blood, a detachment of the 12th Light Dra¬
goons (the hopes of the nation) called up from North¬
ampton to quell the insurgents, and the gallant Captain
Frederick Tilney, in the moment of charging at the head
of his troop, knocked off his horse by a brickbat from ar
upper window. Forgive her stupidity. The fears of the
sister have added to the weakness of the woman; but she
is by no means a simpleton in general."
Catherine looked grave. " And now, Henry," said Miss
Tilney, " that you have made us understand each other,
you may as well make Miss Morland understand yourself
— unless you mean to have her think you intolerably
rude to your sister, and a great brute in your opinion of
women in general. Miss Morland is not used to your odd
ways."
" I shall be most happy to make her better acquainted
with them."
" No doubt; but that is no explanation of the present."
" What am I to do ?"
f You know what you ought to do. Clear your cha-
92
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
racter handsomely before her. Tell her that you think
very highly of the understanding of -women."
" Miss Morland, I think very highly of the understand¬
ing of all the women in the world—especially of those—
whoever they may be — with whom I happen to be in
company."
" That is not enough. Be more serious."
" Miss M or land ^ no one can think more highly of the
understanding of women than I do. In my opinion, na¬
ture has given them so much, that they never find it neces¬
sary to use more than half."
<c We shall get nothing more serious from him now,
Miss Morland. He is not in a sober mood. But I do
assure you that he must be entirely misunderstood, if he
can ever appear to say an unjust thing of any woman at
all, or an unkind one of me."
It was no effort to Catherine to believe that Henry
Tilney could never be wrong. His manner might some¬
times surprise, but his meaning must always be just; and
what she did not understand, she was almost as ready to
admire, as what she did. The whole walk was delightful,
and though it ended too soon, its conclusion was delight¬
ful too. Her friends attended her into the house, and
Miss Tilney, before they parted, addressing herself with
respectful form, as much to Mrs. Allen as to Catherine,
petitioned for the pleasure of her company to dinner on
the day after the next. No difficulty was made on Mrs.
Allen's side, and the only difficulty on Catherine's was in
concealing the excess of her pleasure.
The morning had passed away so charmingly as to ba¬
nish all her friendship and natural affection; for no thought
of Isabella or James had crossed her during their walk.
When the Tilneys were gone, she became amiable again,
but she was amiable for some time to little effect; Mrs.
Allen had no intelligence to give that could relieve her
anxiety, she had heard nothing of any of them. Towards
the end of the morning, however, Catherine having occa¬
sion for some indispensable yard of riband, which must
be bought without a moment's delay, walked out into the
town, and in Bond Street overtook the second Miss Thorpe,
northanger abbey.
as she was loitering towards Edgar's Buildings between
two of the sweetest girls in the world, who had been her
dear friends all the morning. From her, she soon learned
that the party to Clifton had taken place. " They set off
at eight this morning," said Miss Anne, " and I am sure
I do not envy them their drive. I think you and I are
very well off to be out of the scrape. It must be the
dullest thing in the world, for there is not a soul at Clifton
at this time of year. Belle went with your brother, and
John drove Maria."
Catherine spoke the pleasure she really felt on hearing
this part of the arrangement.
" Oh yes," rejoined the other, "Maria is gone. She
was quite wild to go. She thought it would be something
very fine. I cannot say I admire her taste; and, for my
part, I was determined from the first not to go, if they
pressed me ever so much."
Catherine, a little doubtful of this, could not help an¬
swering, " I wish you could have gone too. It is a pity
you could not all go."
" Thank you ; but it is quite a matter of indifference to
me. Indeed, I would not have gone on any account. I
was saying so to Emily and Sophia, when you overtook
us."
Catherine was still unconvinced; but glad that Anne
should have the friendship of an Emily and a Sophia to
console her, she bade her adieu without much uneasiness,
and returned home, pleased that the party had not been
prevented by her refusing to join it, and very heartily
wishing that it might be too pleasant to allow either
James or Isabella to resent her resistance any longer.
CHAPTER XV.
Early the next day, a note from Isabella, speaking peace
and tenderness in every line, and entreating the immediate
presence of her friend on a matter of the utmost import-
94
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
ance, hastened Catherine, in the happiest state of con¬
fidence and curiosity, to Edgar's Buildings. The two
youngest Miss Thorpes were by themselves in the parlour;
and, on Anne's quitting it to call her sister, Catherine
took the opportunity of asking the other for some parti¬
culars of their yesterday's party. Maria desired no greater
pleasure than to speak of it; and Catherine immediately
learnt that it had been altogether the most delightful
scheme in the world; that nobody could imagine how
charming it had been, and that it had been more delight¬
ful than any body could conceive. Such was the inform¬
ation of the first five minutes; the second unfolded thus
much in detail, — that they had driven directly to the
York hotel, ate some soup, and bespoke an early dinner,
walked down to the Pump-room, tasted the water, and laid
out some shillings in purses and spars; thence adjoined to
eat ice at a pastry-cook's, and hurrying hack to the hotel,
swallowed their dinner in haste, to prevent being in the
dark; and then had a delightful drive hack, only the moon
was not up, and it rained a little, and Mr. Morland's horse
was so tired he could hardly get it along.
Catherine listened with heartfelt satisfaction. It ap¬
peared that Blaize Castle had never been thought of; and,
as for all the rest, there was nothing to regret for half an
instant. Maria's intelligence concluded with a tender ef¬
fusion of pity for her sister Anne, whom she represented
as insupportably cross, from being excluded the party.
" She will never forgive me, I am sure ; hut, you know,
how could I help it ? John would have me go, for he
vowed he would not drive her, because she had such thick
ankles. I dare say she will not he in good humour again
this month; hut I am determined I will not be cross; it
is not a little matter that puts me out of temper."
Isabella now entered the room with so eager a step, and
a look of such happy importance, as engaged all her friend's
notice. Maria was without ceremony sent away, and Isa¬
bella, embracing Catherine, thus began : —" Yes, my dear
Catherine, it is so, indeed; your penetration has not de¬
ceived you. Oh, that arch eye of yours ! — it sees through
every thing."
NORTHANGRft ABBEY.
95
Catherine replied only by a look of wondering ignor¬
ance.
" Nay, my beloved, sweetest friend," continued the
other, " compose yourself. I am amazingly agitated, as
you perceive. Let us sit down and talk in comfort. Well
and so you guessed it the moment you had my note ? —
Sly creature! — Oh, my dear Catherine, you alone who
know my heart can judge of my present happiness. Your
brother is the most charming of men. I only wish I were
more worthy of him. But what will your excellent father
and mother say ? Oh, heavens ! when I think of them,
I am so agitated !"
Catherine's understanding began to awake : an idea of
the truth suddenly darted into her mind; and, with the
natural blush of so new an emotion, she cried out, " Good
heaven !—my dear Isabella, what do you mean ? Can you
— can you really be in love with James ? "
This bold surmise, however, she soon learnt compre¬
hended but half the fact. The anxious affection, which
she was accused of having continually watched in Isabella's
every look and action, had, in the course of their yester¬
day's party, received the delightful confession of an equal
love. Her heart and faith were alike engaged to Jame\s
Never had Catherine listened to any thing so full of interest,
wonder, and joy. Her brother and her friend engaged !
—New to such circumstances, the importance of it ap¬
peared unspeakably great, and she contemplated it as one
of those grand events, of which tfye ordinary course of life
can hardly afford a return. The strength of her feelings
she could not express ; the nature of them, however, con¬
tented her friend. The happiness of having such a sister
was their first effusion, and the fair ladies mingled in em¬
braces and tears of joy.
Delighting, however, as Catherine sincerely did, in the
prospect of the connection, it must be acknowledged that
Isabella far surpassed her in tender anticipations. " You
will be so infinitely dearer to me, my Catherine, than either
Anne or Maria : I feel that I shall be so much more at¬
tached to my dear Morland's family than to my own.'
This was a pitch of friendship beyond Catherine
t)G
NOftTfiAfrefctt ABSENT
" You are so like your dear brother," continued Isabella,
" that I quite doted on you the first moment I saw you.
But so it always is with me; the first moment settles every
thing. The very first day that Morland came to us last
Christmas — the very first moment I heheld him—my
heart was irrecoverably gone. I remember I wore my
yellow gown, with my hair done up in braids ; and when
I came into the drawing-room, and John introduced him,
I thought I never saw any body so handsome before."
Here Catherine secretly acknowledged the power of love;
for, though exceedingly fond of her brother, and partial
to all his endowments, she had never in her life thought
him handsome.
I remember, too, Miss Andrews drank tea with us that
evening, and wore her puce-coloured sarsenet; and she
.ooked so heavenly, that I thought your brother must cer-
Jainly fall in love with her; I could not sleep a wink all
night for thinking of it. Oh, Catherine, the many sleep¬
less nights I have had on your brother's account! I
would not have you suffer half what I have done ! I am
grown wretchedly thin, I know ; but I will not pain you
by describing my anxiety ; you have seen enough of it. I
feel that I have betrayed myself perpetually ; — so un¬
guarded in speaking of my partiality for the church ! —
But my secret I was always sure would be safe with you."
Catherine felt that nothing could have been safer ; but
ashamed of an ignorance little expected, she dared no longer
contest the point, nor refuse to have been as full of arch
penetration and affectionate sympathy as Isabella chose to
consider her. Her brother, she found, was preparing to set
off with all speed to Fullerton, to make known his situation
and ask consent; and here was a source of some real agi¬
tation to the mind of Isabella. Catherine endeavoured to
persuade her, as she was herself persuaded, that her father
and mother would never oppose their son's wishes. " It
is impossible," said she, " for parents to be more kind, or
more desirous of their children's happiness ; I have no
doubt of their consenting immediately."
" Morland says exactly the same," replied Isabella;
" and yet I dare not expect it; myfortune will be so small;
NOftTHANGEIR ABBEY.
97
they never can consent to it. Your brother, who might
marry any body !"
Here Catherine again discerned the force of love.
" Indeed, Isabella, you are too humble. The difference
of fortune can be nothing to signify."
" Oh, my sweet Catherine, in your generous heart I
know it would signify nothing; but we must not expect
such disinterestedness in many. As for myself, I am sure
I only wish our situations were reversed. Had I the com¬
mand of millions, were I mistress of the whole world, your
brother would be my only choice."
This charming sentiment, recommended as much by
sense as novelty, gave Catherine a most pleasing remem¬
brance of all the heroines of her acquaintance ; and she
thought her friend never looked more lovely than in ut¬
tering the grand idea. —" I am sure they will consent,"
was her frequent declaration ; "I am sure they will be
delighted with you."
" For my own part," said Isabella, "my wishes are so
moderate, that the smallest income in nature would be
enough for me. Where people are really attached, poverty
itself is wealth : grandeur I detest: I would not settle in
London for the universe, A cottage in some retired village
would be ecstasy. There are some charming little villas
about Richmond."
"Richmond!" cried Catherine. "You must settle
near Fullerton. You must be near us."
" I am sure I shall be miserable if we do not. If I can
but be near you, I shall be satisfied. But this is idle
talking ! I will not allow myself to think of such things
till we have your father's answer. Morland says that by
sending it to-night to Salisbury, we may have it to-morrow.
To-morrow ? I know I shall never have courage to open
the letter. I know it will be the death of me."
A reverie succeeded this conviction — and when Isabella
spoke again, it was to resolve on the quality of her wedding-
gown.
Their conference was put an end to by the anxious
young lover himself, who came to breathe his parting sigh
before he set off for Wiltshire. Catherine wished to
u
08
NORTtlANGER ABBEY.
congratulate him, but knew not what to say, and her elo¬
quence was only in her eyes. From them, however, the
eight parts of speech shone out most expressively, and
James could combine them with ease. Impatient for the
realisation of all that he hoped at home, his adieus were
not long ; and they would have been yet shorter, had he
not been frequently detained by the urgent entreaties of
his fair one that he would go. Twice was he called almost
from the door by her eagerness to have him gone. " Indeed,
Morland, I must drive you away. Consider how far you
have to ride. I cannot bear to see you linger so. For
Heaven's sake, waste no more time. There, go, go—I
insist on it."
The two friends, with hearts now more united than ever,
were inseparable for the day; and in schemes of sisterly
happiness the hours flew along. Mrs. Thorpe and her
son, who were acquainted with every thing, and who
seemed only to want Mr. Morland's consent to consider
Isabella's engagement as the most fortunate circumstance
imaginable for their family, were allowed to join their
counsels, and add their quota of significant looks and mys¬
terious expressions, to fill up the measure of curiosity to be
raised in the unprivileged younger sisters. To Catherine's
simple feelings, this odd sort of reserve seemed neither
kindly meant, nor consistently supported; and its un_
kindness she would hardly have forborn pointing out, had
its inconsistency been less their friend; but Anne and
Maria soon set her heart at ease by the sagacity of their
<c I know what;" and the evening was spent in a sort of
war of wit, a display of family ingenuity; on one side in
the mystery of an affected secret, on the other of undefined
discovery, all equally acute.
Catherine was with her friend again the next day, en¬
deavouring to support her spirits, and while away the
many tedious hours before the delivery of the letters,—a
needful exertion; for as the time of reasonable expects
ation drew near, Isabella became more and more despond¬
ing, and before the letter arrived, had worked herself into a
state of real distress. But when it did come, where could
distress be found ? " I have had no difficulty in gaining
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
99
the consent of my kind parents, and am promised that
every thing in their power shall be done to forward my
happiness," were the first three lines, and in one moment
all was joyful security. The brightest glow was instantly
spread over Isabella's features,—all care and anxiety seemed
removed, her spirits became almost too high for control,
and she called herself without scruple ■ the happiest of
mortals.
Mrs. Thorpe, with tears of joy, embraced her daughter,
her son, her visiter, and could have embraced half the
inhabitants of Bath with satisfaction. Pier heart was
overflowing with tenderness. It was " dear John," and
" dear Catherine," at every word; — " dear Anne and dear
Maria" must immediately be made sharers in their felicity :
and two " dears" at once before the name of Isabella were
not more than that beloved child had now well earned.
John himself was no skulker in joy. He not only be¬
stowed on Mr. Morland the high commendation of being
one of the finest fellows in the world, but swore off many
sentences in his praise.
The letter, whence sprang all this felicity, was short,
containing little more than this assurance of success; and
every particular was deferred till James could write again.
But for particulars Isabella could well afford to wait. The
needful was comprised in Mr. Morland's promise: his
honour was pledged to make every thing easy; and by
what means their income was to be formed, whether landed
property were to be resigned, or funded money made over,
was a matter in which her disinterested spirit took no con¬
cern. She knew enough to feel secure of an honourable
and speedy establishment, and her imagination took a
rapid flight over its attendant felicities. She saw herself,
at the end of a few weeks, the gaze and admiration of
every new acquaintance at Fullerton, the envy of every
valued old friend in Putney, with a carriage at her com¬
mand, a new name on her tickets, and a brilliant exhibition
of hoop rings on her finger.
When the contents of the letter were ascertained, John
Thorpe, who had only waited its arrival to begin his
h 2
100
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
journey to London, prepared to set off. " Well, Miss
Morland," said he, on finding her alone in the parlour, " I
am come to hid you good-by." Catherine wished him a
good journey. Without appearing to hear her, he walked
to the window, fidgeted about, hummed a tune, and seemed
wholly self-occupied.
" Shall not you be late at Devizes ? " said Catherine.
He made no answer; but after a minute's silence burst out
with, " A famous good thing this marrying scheme, upon
my soul! A clever fancy of Morland's and Belle's. What
do you think of it, Miss Morland ? I say it is no bad
notion."
" I am sure I think it a very good one."
" Do you?—that's honest, by heavens ! I am glad you
are no enemy to matrimony, however. Did you ever hear
the old song, ' Going to one wedding brings on another ?'
I say, you will come to Belle's wedding, I hope."
"Yes; I have promised your sister to be with her, if
possible."
"And then you know"—twisting himself about, and
forcing a foolish laugh—" I say, then you know, we may
try the truth of this same old song."
" May we ? —but I never sing. Well, I wish you a
good journey. I dine with Miss Tilney to-day, and must
now be going home."
" Nay, but there is no such confounded hurry. Who
knows when we may be together again ? Not but that I
shall be down again by the end of a fortnight, and a devilish
long fortnight it will appear to me."
" Then why do you stay away so long?" replied
Catherine—finding that he waited for an answer.
" That is kind of you, however,—kind and good-na¬
tured. I shall not forget it in a hurry. But you have
more good-nature and all that than any body living, I be¬
lieve. A monstrous deal of good-nature, and it is not
only good-nature, but you have so much, so much of every
thing; and then you have such—upon my soul, I do not
know any body like you."
" Oh dear, there are a great many people like me I
dare say, only a great deal better. Good morning to you."
f*ORTHANGER ABBEY.
101
lf But I say, Miss Morland, I shall come and pay my
respects at Fullerton before it is long, if not disagreeable."
" Pray do—my father and mother will be very glad to
see you."
"And I hope—I hope, Miss Morland, you will not be
sorry to see me."
" Oh dear, not at all. There are very few people I
am sorry to see. Company is always cheerful."
" That is just my way of thinking. Give me but a
little cheerful company, let me only have the company of
the people I love, let me only be where I like and with
whom 1 like, and the devil take the rest, say I. And I
am heartily glad to hear you say the same. But I have a
notion, Miss Morland, you and I think pretty much alike
upon most matters."
" Perhaps we may; but it is more than I ever thought
of. And as to most matters, to say the truth, there are
not many that I know my own mind about."
" By Jove, no more do I. It is not my way to bother
my brains with what does not concern me. My notion of
things is simple enough. Let me only have the girl I like,
say I, with a comfortable house over my head, and what
care I for all the rest? Fortune is nothing. I am sure
of a good income of my own ; and if she had not a penny,
why so much the better."
" Very true. I think like you there. If there is a
good fortune on one side, there can be no occasion for any
on the other. No matter which has it, so that there is
enough. I hate the idea of one great fortune looking out
for another. Anci to marry for money, 1 tmnk the wicked¬
est thing in existence. Good day. We shall be very
glad to see you at Fullerton, whenever it is convenient."
And away she went. It was not in the power of all his
gallantry to detain her longer. With such news to com¬
municate, and such a visit to prepare for, her departure was
not to be delayed by any thing in his nature to urge; and
she hurried away, leaving him to the undivided conscious¬
ness of his own happy address, and her explicit encourage¬
ment.
The agitation which she had herself experienced on first
H 3
102
northanger abbey.
learning her brother's engagement made her expect to
raise no inconsiderable emotion in Mr. and Mrs. Allen, by
the communication of the wonderful event. How great
was her disappointment! The important affair, which many
words of preparation ushered in, had been foreseen by
them both ever since her brother's arrival ; and all that
they felt on the occasion was comprehended in a wish for
the young people's happiness, with a remark, on the gen¬
tleman's side, in favour of Isabella's beauty, and on the
lady's, of her great good luck. It was to Catherine the
most surprising insensibility. The disclosure, however, of
the great secret of James's going to Fullerton the day be¬
fore did raise some emotion in Mrs. Allen. She could
not listen to that with perfect calmness; but repeatedly
regretted the necessity of its concealment, wished she could
have known his intention, wished she could have seen him
before he went, as she should certainly have troubled him
with her best regards to his father and mother, and her kind
compliments to all the Skinners.
end of the first volume.
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
103
VOLUME THE SECOND.
CHAPTER I.
Catherine's expectations of pleasure from her visit in
Milsom Street were so very high, that disappointment was
inevitable; and, accordingly, though she was most politely
received by General Tilney, and kindly welcomed by his
daughter,— though Henry was at home, and no one else of
the party,—she found on her return, without spending many
hours in the examination of her feelings, that she had gone
to her appointment preparing for happiness which it had
not afforded. Instead of finding herself improved in ac¬
quaintance with Miss Tilney, froin the intercourse of the
day, she seemed hardly so intimate with her as before.
Instead of seeing Henry Tilney to greater advantage than
ever, in the ease of a family party, he had never said so
little, nor been so little agreeable ; and, in spite of their
father's great civilities to her, — in spite of his thanks,
invitations, and compliments,—it had been a release to get
away from him. It puzzled her to account for all this.
It could not be General Tilney's fault. That he was per¬
fectly agreeable and good-natured, and altogether a very
charming man, did not admit of a doubt, for he was tall
and handsome, and Henry's father. He could not be ac¬
countable for his children's want of spirits, or for her want
of enjoyment in his company. The former, she hoped at
last, might have been accidental, and the latter she could
only attribute to her own stupidity. Isabella, on hearing
the particulars of the visit, gave a different explanation.
(C It was all pride, pride ; insufferable haughtiness and
pride ! She had long suspected the family to be very high,
$nd this made it certain. Such insolence of behaviour a,s
R $
104
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
Miss Tilney's she had never heard of in her life! Not to
do the honours of her house with common good breeding !
To behave to her guest with such superciliousness ! Hardly
even to speak to her !"
" But it was not so bad as that, Isabella; there was no
superciliousness ; she was very civil."
" Oh, don't defend her ! And then the brother, he,
who had appeared so attached to you ! Good heavens !
well, some people's feelings are incomprehensible. And so
he hardly looked once at you the whole day ? "
" I dq not say so ; but he did not seem in good spirits."
" How contemptible ! Of all things in the world in¬
constancy is my aversion. Let me entreat you never to
think of him again, my dear Catherine ; indeed he is un¬
worthy of you."
" Unworthy ! I do not suppose he ever thinks of me."
" That is exactly what I say; he never thinks of you.
Such fickleness ! Oh, how different to your brother and
to mine! I really believe John has the most constant
heart."
" But as for General Tilney, I assure you it would be
impossible for any body to behave to me with greater ci¬
vility and attention; it seemed to be his only care to en¬
tertain and make me happy."
" Oh, I know no harm of him ; I do not suspect him
of pride. I believe he is a very gentleman-like man. John
thinks very well of him, and John's judgment "
" Well, I shall see how they behave tome this evening;
we shall meet them at the rooms."
" And must I go ? "
" Do not you intend it ? I thought it was all settled."
" Nay, since you make such a point of it, I can refuse
you nothing. But do not insist upon my being very agree¬
able, for my heart, you know, will be some forty miles off.
And as foj dancing, do not mention it, I beg; that is quite
out of the question. Charles Hodges will plague me to
death, I dare say; but I shall cut him very short. Ten to
one but he guesses the reason, and that is exactly what I
want to avoid; so I shall insist on his keeping his conjecture
to himself."
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
105
Isabella's opinion of the Tilneys did not influence her
friend : she was sure there had been no insolence in the
manners either of brother or sister; and she did not credit
there being any pride in their hearts. The evening re¬
warded her confidence ; she was met by one with the same
kindness, and by the other with the same attention, as here¬
tofore : Miss Tilney took pains to be near her, and Henry
asked her to dance.
Having heard the day before in Milsom Street that
their elder brother, Captain Tilney, was expected almost
every hour, she was at no loss for the name of a very
fashionable-looking, handsome young man, whom she had
never seen before, and who now evidently belonged to their
party. She looked at him with great admiration; and even
supposed it possible, that some people might think him
handsomer than his brother, though, in her eyes, his air
was more assuming, and his countenance less prepossessing.
His taste and manners were, beyond a doubt, decidedly
inferior ; for, within her hearing, he not only protested
against every thought of dancing himself, but even laughed
openly at Henry for finding it possible. From the latter
circumstance it may be presumed, that, whatever might be
our heroine's opinion of him, his admiration of her was
not of a very dangerous kind ; not likely to produce ani¬
mosities between the brothers, nor persecutions to the lady.
He cannot be the instigator of the three villains in horse¬
men's great coats, by whom she will hereafter be forced
into a travelling chaise and four, which will drive off with
incredible speed. Catherine, meanwhile, undisturbed by
presentiments of such an evil, or of any evil at all, except
that of having but a short set to dance down, enjoyed her
usual happiness with Henry Tilney, listening with spark¬
ling eyes to every thing he said; and, in finding him irre¬
sistible, becoming so herself.
At the end of the first dance, Captain Tilney came to¬
wards them again, and, much to Catherine's dissatisfaction,
pulled his brother away. They retired whispering to¬
gether ; and, though her delicate sensibility did not take
immediate alarm, and lay it down as fact, that Captain
Tihrey must have heard some malevolent misrepresentation
lOd
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
of her, which he now hastened to communicate to his
brother, in the hope of separating them for ever, she could
not have her partner conveyed from her sight without very-
uneasy sensations. Her suspense was of full five minutes'
duration ; and she was beginning to think it a very long
quarter of an hour, when they both returned; and an ex¬
planation was given, by Henry's requesting to know, if
she thought her friend Miss Thorpe would have any ob¬
jection to dancing, as his brother would be most happy to
be introduced to her. Catherine, without hesitation, re¬
plied, that she was very sure Miss Thorpe did not mean to
dance at all. The cruel reply was passed on to the other,
and lie immediately walked away.
" Your brother will not mind it, I know," said she,
f' because I heard him say before that he hated dancing ;
but it was very good-natured in him to think of it. I
suppose he saw Isabella sitting down, and fancied she might
wish for a partner; but he is quite mistaken, for she would
not dance upon any account in the world."
Henry smiled, and said, " How very little trouble it can
give you to understand the motive of other people's ac¬
tions."
" Why ? — What do you mean ? "
" With you, it is not, How is such a one likely to be
influenced ? What is the inducement most likely to act
upon such a person's feelings, age, situation, and probable
habits of life considered ? But, how should I be influ¬
enced ; what would he my inducement in acting so and so?"
" I do not understand you."
" Then we are on very unequal terms, for I understand
you perfectly well."
" Me ? — yes; I cannot speak well enough to be un¬
intelligible."
" Bravo ! — an excellent satire on modern language."
" But pray tell me what you mean."
" Shall I, indeed ? Do you really desire it ? But you
are not aware of the consequences ; it will involve you in a
very cruel embarrassment, and certainly bring on a dis¬
agreement between us."
" No, no ■ it shall not do either • I am not afraid."
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
107
ec Well, then," I only meant that your attributing my
brother's wish of dancing with Miss Thorpe to good-nature
alone, convinced me of your being superior in good-nature
yourself to all the rest of the world."
Catherine blushed and disclaimed, and the gentleman's
predictions were verified. There was a something, however,
in his words which repaid her for the pain of confusion ;
and that something occupied her mind so much, that she
drew back for some time, forgetting to speak or to listen,
and almost forgetting where she was ; till, roused by the
voice of Isabella, she looked up and saw her with Captain
Tilney preparing to give them hands across.
Isabella shrugged her shoulders and smiled, the only ex¬
planation of this extraordinary change which could at that
time be given; but as it was not quite enough for Ca¬
therine's comprehension, she spoke her astonishment in
very plain terms to her partner.
<c I cannot think how it could happen ! Isabella was so
determined not to dance."
" And did Isabella never change her mind before?"
" Oh ! but, because^ and your brother ! After
what you told him from me, how could he think of going
to ask her ? "
" I cannot take surprise to myself on that head. You
bid me be surprised on your friend's account, and, there¬
fore, I am; but as for my brother, his conduct in the
business, I must own, has been no more than I believed
him perfectly equal to. The fairness of your friend was
an open attraction; her firmness, you know, could only be
understood by yourself."
" You are laughing; but, I assure you, Isabella is very
firm in general."
cc It is as much as should be said of any one. To be
always firm must be to be often obstinate. When properly
to relax is the trial of judgment; and, without reference
to iny brother, I really think Miss Thorpe has by no
means chosen ill in fixing on the present hour."
The friends were not able to get together for any con¬
fidential discourse till all the dancing was over; but then,
as they walked about the room arm in arm, Isabella thus
108
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
explained herself: —" I do not wonder at your surprise;
and I am really fatigued to death. He is such a rattle !—
Amusing enough, if my mind had been disengaged ; but I
would have given the world to sit still."
" Then why did not you ? "
" Olr, my dear; it would have looked so particular;
and you know how I abhor doing that. I refused him as
long as I possibly could, but he would take no denial.
You have no idea how he pressed me. I begged him to
excuse me, and get some other partner—but no, not he;
after aspiring to my hand, there was nobody else in the
room he could bear to think of; and it was not that he
wanted merely to dance, he wanted to be with me. Oh,
such nonsense ! I told him he had taken a very unlikely
way to prevail upon me; for, of all things in the world, I
hated fine speeches and compliments; — and so — and
so then I found there would be no peace if I did not stand
up. Besides, I thought Mrs. Hughes, who introduced
him, might take it ill if I did not; and your dear brother,
I am sure he would have been miserable if I had sat down
the whole evening. I am so glad it is over ! My spirits are
quite jaded with listening to his nonsense ; and then, being
such a smart young fellow, I saw every eye was upon us."
" He is very handsome, indeed."
Cf Handsome! Yes, I suppose he jnay. I dare say
people would admire him in general; but he is not at all
in my style of beauty. I hate a florid complexion and
dark eyes in a man. However, he is very well. Amaz¬
ingly conceited, I am sure. I took him down several
times, you know, in my way."
When the young ladies next met, they had a far more
interesting subject to discuss. James Morland's second
letter was then received, and the kind intentions of his
father fully explained. A living, of which Mr. Morland
was himself patron and incumbent, of about four hundred
pounds yearly value, was to be resigned to his son as soon
as he should be old enough to take it; no trifling deduction
from, the family income, no niggardly assignment to one of
ten children. An estate of at least equal value, moreover,
was assured as Ins future inheritance.
TTORTHANRER ABBEV.
109
James expressed himself on the occasion with becoming
gratitude; and the necessity of waiting between two and
three years before they could marry being, however un¬
welcome, no more than he had expected, was borne by him
without discontent. Catherine, whose expectations had
been as unfixed as her ideas of her father's income, and
whose judgment was now entirely led by her brother, felt
equally well satisfied, and heartily congratulated Isabella
on having every thing so pleasantly settled.
" It is very charming, indeed," said Isabella, with a
grave face.
" Mr. Morland has behaved vastly handsome, indeed,"
said the gentle Mrs. Thorpe, looking anxiously at her
daughter. c: I only wish I could do as mucb. One
could not expect more from him, you know. If he finds
he can do more, by and by, I dare say he will; for I am
sure he must be an excellent, good-hearted man. Four
hundred is but a small income to begin on, indeed; but
your wishes, my dear Isabella, are so moderate, you do not
consider how little you ever want, my dear."
" It is not on my own account I wish for more; but I
cannot bear to be the means of injuring my dear Morland,
making him sit down upon an income hardly enough to
find one in the common necessaries of life. For myself,
it is nothing; I never think of myself."
" I know you never do, my dear; and you will always
find your reward in the affection it makes every body feel
for you. There never was a young woman so beloved as
you are by every body that knows you ; and I dare say
when Mr. Morland sees you, my dear child—but do not
let us distress our dear Catherine by talking of such things.
Mr. Morland has behaved so very handsome, you know.
1 always heard he was a most excellent man ; and you
know, my dear, we are not to suppose but what, if you had
had a suitable fortune, he would have come down with
something more; for I am sure he must be a most liberal-
minded man."
" Nobody can think better of Mr. Morland than I do,
I am sure. But every body has their failing, you know;
and every body has a right to do what they like with their
own money."
110
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
Catherine was hurt by these insinuations. " 1 am very
sure/' said she, tf that my father has promised to do as
much as he can afford."
Isabella recollected herself. " As to that, my sweet
Catherine, there cannot be a doubt, and you know me well
enough to be sure that a much smaller income would satisfy
me. It is not the want of more money that makes me
just at present a little out of spirits: I hate money; and
if our union could take place now upon only fifty pounds
a year, I should not have a wish unsatisfied. Ah, my
Catherine, you have found me out. There's the sting.
The long, long, endless two years and a half that are to pass
before your brother can hold the living."
" Yes, yes, my darling Isabella," said Mrs. Thorpe,
" we perfectly see into your heart. You have no disguise.
"We perfectly understand the present vexation; and every
body must love you the better for such a noble, honest
affection."
Catherine's uncomfortable feelings began to lessen. She
endeavoured to believe that the delay of the marriage was
the only source of Isabella's regret; and when she saw her
at their next interview as cheerful and amiable as ever,
endeavoured to forget that she had for a minute thought
otherwise. James soon followed his letter, and was re
ceived with the most gratifying kindness.
CHAPTER It.
The Aliens had now entered on the sixth week of their
stay in Bath ; and whether it should be the last, was for
some time a question, to which Catherine listened with a
beating heart. To have her acquaintance with the Tilneys
end so soon, was an evil which nothing could counter¬
balance. Her whole happiness seemed at stake, while the
affair was in suspense, and every thing secured when it
fcOBTHANGER ABBEY.
Ill
Bras determined that the lodgings should be taken for an¬
other fortnight. What this additional fortnight was to
produce to her beyond the pleasure of sometimes seeing
Henry Tilney, made but a small part of Catherine's spe¬
culation. Once or twice, indeed, since James's engagement
had taught her what could be done, she had got so far as
to indulge in a secret "■ perhaps," but in general the felicity
of being with him for the present bounded her views: the
present was now comprised in another three weeks, and her
happiness being certain for that period, the rest of her life
was at such a distance as to excite but little interest. In
the course of the morning which saw this business arranged,
she visited Miss Tilney, and poured forth her joyful feel¬
ings. It was doomed to be a day of trial. No sooner had
she expressed her delight in Mr. Allen's lengthened stay,
than Miss Tilney told her of her father's having just de¬
termined upon quitting Bath by the end of another week.
Here was a blow ! The past suspense of the morning had
been ease and quiet to the present disappointment. Ca¬
therine's countenance fell; and in a voice of most sincere
concern she echoed Miss Tilney's concluding words, ec By
the end of another week !"
" Yes, my father can seldom be prevailed on to give the
waters what I think a fair trial. He has been disappointed
of some friends' arrival whom he expected to meet here,
and as he is now pretty well, is in a hurry to get home."
<c I am very sorry for it," said Catherine, dejectedly;
" if I had known this before "
" Perhaps," said Miss Tilney in an embarrassed man¬
ner, 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,
e: Well, Eleanor, may I congratulate you on being suc¬
cessful in your application to your fair friend ? "
" I was just beginning to make the request, sir, as you
came in."
S( Well, proceed by all means. I know how much your
112
NORTHAN&ER AfiBEY.
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 Hath, 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 pre¬
sumption 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. 'T is 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 en¬
deavours 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 ! Every thing 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. —cc I will write home directly," said she,
te 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 phi¬
losophy from all the world."
Miss Tilney was earnest, though gentle, in her second-
NORTHANGER, ABBEY.
113
ary 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: hut they were now safely lodged in per¬
fect bliss; and with spirits elated to rapture, with Henry
at her heart, and Northanger Abbey on her lips, she hur¬
ried home to write her letter. Mr. and Mrs. Morland,
relying on the discretion of the friends to whom they had
already intrusted their daughter, felt no doubt of the pro¬
priety 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 chancer
Every thing seemed to co-operate for her advantage. By
the kindness of her first friends, the Aliens, 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 visiter, 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 visiter 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
114
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
to be its inhabitant. Its long, damp passages, its narroit
cells and ruined chapel, were to be within her daily reach,
and she could not entirely subdue the hope of some tradi¬
tional 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 con¬
sciousness of it should be so meekly born. The power of
early habit only could account for it. A distinction to
which they had been born gave no pride. Their superiority
of abode was no more to them than their superiority of
person.
Many were the enquiries she was eager to make of Miss
Tilney; but so active were her thoughts, that when these
enquiries were answered, she was hardly more assured than
before of Northanger Abbey having been a richly en¬
dowed convent at the time of the Reformation, of its having
fallen into the hands of an ancestor of the Tilneys on its
dissolution, of a large portion of the ancient building still
making a part of the present dwelling although the rest
was decayed, or of its standing low in a valley, sheltered
from the north and east by rising woods of oak.
CHAPTER III.
With a mind thus full of happiness, Catherine was hardly
aware that two or three days had passed away, without her
seeing Isabella for more than a few minutes together. She
began first to be sensible of this, and to sigh for her con¬
versation, as she walked along the Pump-room one morn¬
ing, by Mrs. Allen's side, without any thing to say or to
hear; and scarcely had she felt a five minutes' longing of
friendship, before the object of it appeared, and, inviting
her to a secret conference, led the way to a seat. " This
is my favourite place," said she, as they sat down on a
bench between the doors, which commanded a tolerable
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
115
view of every body entering at either, " it is so out of the
way."
Catherine, observing that Isabella's eyes were continually
bent towards one door or the other, as in eager expectation,
and remembering how often she had been falsely accused
of being arch, thought the present a fine opportunity for
being really so; and, therefore, gaily said, " Do not be
uneasy, Isabella. James will soon be here."
" Psha! my dear creature," she replied, " do not think
me such a simpleton as to be always wanting to confine him
to my elbow. It would be hideous to be always together ;
we should be the jest of the place. And so you are going
to Northanger ! I am amazingly glad of it. It is one of
the finest old places in England, I understand. I shall
depend upon a most particular description of it."
" You shall certainly have the best in my power to give.
But who are you looking for ? Are your sisters coming ? "
" I am not looking for any body. One's eyes must be
somewhere, and you know what a foolish trick I have of
fixing mine, when my thoughts are a hundred miles off.
I am amazingly absent; I believe I am the most absent
creature in the world. Tilney says it is always the case
with minds of a certain stamp."
" But I thought, Isabella, you had something in particular
to tell me ? "
" Oh yes, and so I have. But here is a proof of what
I was saying. My poor head ! I had quite forgot it.
Well, the thing is this—I have just had a letter from John ;
you can guess the contents."
" No, indeed, I cannot."
" My sweet love, do not be so abominably affected.
What can he write about but yourself ? You know he is
over head and ears in love with you."
" With me, dear Isabella!"
" Nay, my sweetest Catherine, this is being quite absurd!
Modesty, and all that, is very well in its way, but really a
little common honesty is sometimes quite as becoming. I
have no idea of being so overstrained ! It is fishing for com¬
pliments. His attentions were suah as a child must have
noticed. And it was hut half an hour before he left Bath,
i 2
116
NORTHANGEIi ABBEY.
that vcu gave him the most positive encouragement. He
says so in this letter: says that he as good as made you an
offer, and that you received his advances in the kindest
way ; and now he wants me to urge his suit, and say all
manner of pretty things to you. So it is in vain to affect
ignorance."
Catherine, with all the earnestness of truth, expressed
her astonishment at such a charge, protesting her innocence
of every thought of Mr. Thorpe's being in love with her,
and the consequent impossibility of her having ever in¬
tended to encourage him. " As to any attentions on his
side, I do declare, upon my honour, I never was sensible
of them for a moment—except just his asking me to dance
the first day of his coming. And as to making me an
offer, or any thing like it, there must be some unaccountable
mistake. I could not have misunderstood a thing of that
kind, you know! — and, as I ever wish to he believed, I
solemnly protest that no syllable of such a nature ever
passed between us. The last half hour before he went
away ! It must he all and completely a mistake — for I
did not see him once that whole morning."
" But that you certainly did, for you spent the whole
morning in Edgar's Buildings—it was the day your fa¬
ther's consent came—and I am pretty sure that you and
John were alone in the parlour, some time before you left
the house."
" Are you ? Well, if you say it, it was so, I dare say;
but for the life of me, I cannot recollect it. I do re¬
member now being with you, and seeing him as well as the
rest; but that we were ever alone for five minutes — How¬
ever, it is not worth arguing about; for whatever might
pass on his side, you must be convinced, by my having no
recollection of it, that I never thought, nor expected, nor
wished for any thing of the kind from him. I am ex¬
cessively concerned that he should have any regard forme;
but indeed it has been quite unintentional on my side : I
never had the smallest idea of it. Pray undeceive him as
soon as you can, and tell him 1 beg his pardon ; that is — I
do not know what I ought to say—but make him under¬
stand what I mean, in the properest way. I would not
HORTHANGER ABBEY.
117
Speak disrespectfully of a brother of yours, Isabella, I am
sure; but you know very well that if I could think of one
man more than another, he is not the person." Isabella was
silent. " My dear friend, you must not be angry with me.
I cannot suppose your brother cares so very much about
me. And, you know, we shall still be sisters."
" Yes, yes " (with a blush), " there are more ways than
one of our being sisters. But where am I wandering to ?
Well, my dear Catherine, the case seems to be, that you
are determined against poor John—is not it so ? "
" I certainly cannot return his affection, and as certainly
never meant to encourage it."
" Since that is the case, I am sure I shall not tease you
any further. John desired me to speak to you on the sub¬
ject, and therefore I have. But I confess, as soon as I read
his letter, I thought it a very foolish, imprudent business,
and not likely to promote the good of either; for what were
you to live upon, supposing you came together ? You have
both of you something, to be sure, but it is not a trifle that
will support a family now-a-days; and after all that ro¬
mancers may say, there is no doing without money. I only
wonder John could think of it; he could not have received
my last."
" You do acquit me then of any thing wrong? You
are convinced that I never meant to deceive your brother,
never suspected him of liking me till this moment?"
" Oh, as to that," answered Isabella, laughingly, " I
do not pretend to determine what your thoughts and de¬
signs in time past may have been. All that is best known
to yourself. A little harmless flirtation or so will occur,
and one is often drawn on to give more encouragement than
one wishes to stand by. But you may be assured that I
am the last person in the world to judge you severely. All
those things should be allowed for in youth and high spirits.
What one means one day, you know, one may not mean
the next. Circumstances change, opinions alter."
" But my opinion of your brother never did alter; it
was always the same. You are describing what never
happened."
'< My dearest Catherine," continued the other without
j 3
N8
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
at all listening to her, " I would not for all the world he
the means of hurrying you into an engagement before you
knew what you were about. I do not think any thing
would justify me in wishing y6u to sacrifice all your hap¬
piness merely to oblige my brother, because he is my bro¬
ther, and who, perhaps, after all, you know, might be just
as happy without you; for people seldom know what they
would be at, young men especially, they are so amazingly
changeable and inconstant. What I say is, why should a
brother's happiness be dearer to me than a friend's? You
know I carry my notions of friendship pretty high. But,
above all things, my dear Catherine, do not be in a hurry.
Take my word for it, that if you are in too great a hurry,
you will certainly live to repent it. Tilney says, there is
nothing people are so often deceived in as the state of their
own affections ; and I believe he is very right. Ah ! here
he comes; never mind, he will not see us, I am sure."
Catherine, looking up, perceived Captain Tilney; and
Isabella, earnestly fixing her eye on him as she spoke, soon
caught his notice. He approached immediately, and took
the seat to which her movements invited him. His first
address made Catherine start. Though spoken low, she
could distinguish, " What! always to be watched, in per¬
son or by proxy ! "
" Psha, nonsense!" was Isabella's answer, in the same
half whisper. ce Why do you put such things into my
head ? If I could believe it — my spirit, you know, is
pretty independent."
" I wish your heart were independent. That would be
enough for me."
" My heart, indeed ! What can you have to do with
hearts ? You men have none of you any hearts."
" If we have not hearts, we have eyes; and they give
us torment enough." .
" Do they ? I am sorry for it; I am sorry they find
any thing so disagreeable in me. I will look another way.
I hope this pleases you (turning her back on him); I hope
your eyes are not tormented now."
" Never more so ; for the edge of a blooming cheek is
still in view— at once too much and too little."
Catherine heard all this, and, quite out of countenance,
NORTHANGEE ABBEY.
H9
could listen no longer. Amazed that Isabella could endure
it, and jealous for her brother, she rose up, and saying she
should join Mrs. Allen, proposed their walking. But for
this Isabella showed no inclination. She was so amazingly
tired, and it was so odious to parade about the Pump-room;
and if she moved from her seat, she should miss her sisters :
she was expecting her sisters every moment; so that her
dearest Catherine must excuse her, and must sit quietly
down again. But Catherine could be stubborn too; and
Mrs. Allen just then coming up to propose their returning
home, she joined her and walked out of the Pump-room,
leaving Isabella still sitting with Captain Tilney. With
much uneasiness did she thus leave them. It seemed to her
that Captain Tilney was falling in love with Isabella, and
Isabella unconsciously encouraging him ; unconsciously it
must be, for Isabella's attachment to James was as certain
and well acknowledged as her engagement. To doubt her
truth or good intentions was impossible; and yet, during
the whole of their conversation, her manner had been odd.
She wished Isabella had talked more like her usual self, and
not so much about money; and had not looked so well
pleased at the sight of Captain Tilney. How strange that
she should not perceive his admiration ! Catherine longed
to give her a hint of it, to put her on her guard, and pre¬
vent all the pain which her too lively behaviour might
otherwise create both for him and her brother.
The compliment of John Thorpe's affection did not make
amends for this thoughtlessness in his sister. She was al¬
most as far from believing as from wishing it to be sincere ;
for she had not forgotten that he could mistake; and his
assertion of the offer, and of her encouragement, convinced
her that his mistakes could sometimes he very egregious.
In vanity, therefore, she gained but little; her chief profit
was in wonder. That he should think it worth his while
to fancy himself in love with her was a matter of lively
astonishment. Isabella talked of his attentions ; she had
never been sensible of any; hut Isabella had said many
things which she hoped had been spoken ift haste, and
would never be said again; and upon this she was glad to
rest altogether for present ease and comfort.
J 20
northanger abbey.
CHAPTER IV.
A few days passed away, and Catherine, though not
allowing herself to suspect her friend, could not help
watching her closely. The result of her observations was
not agreeable. Isabella seemed an altered creature. When
she saw her indeed surrounded only by their immediate
friends in Edgar's Buildings or Pulteney Street, her change
of manners was so trifling that, had it gone no farther, it
might have passed unnoticed. A something of languid
indifference, or of that boasted absence of mind which
Catherine had never heard of before, would occasionally
come across her; but had nothing worse appeared, that
might only have spread a new grace and inspired a warmer
interest. But when Catherine saw her in public, admit¬
ting Captain Tilney's attentions as readily as they were
offered, and allowing him almost an equal share with
James in her notice and smiles, the alteration became too
positive to be past over. What could be meant by such
unsteady conduct, what her friend could be at, was be¬
yond her comprehension. Isabella could not he aware
of the pain she was inflicting; but it was a degree of
wilful thoughtlessness which Catherine could not but re¬
sent. James was the sufferer. She saw him grave and
uneasy; and however careless of his present comfort the
woman might be who had given him her heart, to her it
was always an object. For poor Captain Tilney too she
was greatly concerned. Though his looks did not please
her, his name was a passport to her good will, and she
thought with sincere compassion of his approaching dis¬
appointment ; for, in spite of what she had believed her¬
self to overhear in the Pump-room, his behaviour was so
incompatible with a knowledge of Isabella's engagement,
that she could not, upon reflection, imagine him aware of
it. He might be jealous of her brother as a rival, but if
more had seemed implied, the fault must have been in
her misapprehension. She wished, by a gentle remon-
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
121
Etrance, to remind Isabella of her situation, and make her
aware of this double unkindness; but for remonstrance,
either opportunity or comprehension was always against
her. If able to suggest a hint, Isabella could never un¬
derstand it. In this distress, the intended departure of
the Tilney family became her chief consolation; their
journey into Gloucestershire was to take place within a
few days, and Captain Tilney s removal would at least
restore peace to every heart but his own. But Captain
Tilney had at present no intention of removing; he was
not to be of the party to Northanger, he was to continue
at Bath. When Catherine knew this, her resolution was
directly made. She spoke to Henry Tilney on the subject,
regretting his brother's evident partiality for Miss Thorpe,
and entreating him to make known her prior engagement.
" My brother does know it," was Henry's answer.
" Does he ? — then why does he stay here ? "
He made no reply, and was beginning to talk of some¬
thing else; but she eagerly continued, " Why do not you
persuade him to go away ? The longer he stays, the
worse it will be for him at last. Pray advise him for his
own sake, and for every body's sake, to leave Bath directly.
Absence will in time make him comfortable again ; but he
can have no hope here, and it is only staying to be miser¬
able." Henry smiled, and said, " I am sure my brother
would not wish to do that."
" Then you will persuade him to go away ? "
ec Persuasion is not at command; but pardon me, if 1
cannot even endeavour to persuade him. I have myself
told him that Miss Thorpe is engaged. He knows what
he is about, and must be his own master."
" No, he does not know what he is about," cried Ca¬
therine ; " he does not know the pain he is giving my
brother. Not that James has ever told me so, but I am
sure he is very uncomfortable."
" And are you sure it is my brother's doing ? "
" Yes, very sure."
" Is it my brother's attentions to Miss Thorpe, or Miss
Thorpe's admission of them, that gives the pain?"
(t Is not it the same thing ?"
122
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
« I think Mr. Morland would acknowledge a difference.
No man is offended by another man's admiration of the
woman he loves; it is the woman only who can make it
a torment."
Catherine blushed for her friend, and said, " Isabella
is wrong. But I am sure she cannot mean to torment,
for she is very much attached to my brother. She has
been in love with him ever since they first met, and while
my father's consent was uncertain, she fretted herself
almost into a fever. You know she must be attached
to him."
" I understand: she is in love with James, and flirts
with Frederick."
" Oh no, not flirts. A woman in love with one man
cannot flirt with another."
"It is probable that she will neither love so well, nor
flirt so well, as she might do either singly. The gentlemen
must each give up a little."
After a short pause, Catherine resumed with " Then
you do not believe Isabella so very much attached to my
brother ? "
" I can have no opinion on that subject."
" But what can your brother mean ? If he knows her
engagement, what can he mean by his behaviour ? "
" You are a very close questioner."
" Am I ? — I only ask what I want to be told."
" But do you only ask what I can be expected to tell ? "
" Yes, I think so; for you must know your brother's
heart."
" My brother's heart, as you term it, on the present
occasion, 1 assure you I can only guess at."
" Well?"
" Well! Nay, if it is to be guess-work, let us all
guess for ourselves. To be guided by second-hand con¬
jecture is pitiful. The premises are before you. My
brother is a lively, and perhaps sometimes a thoughtless,
young man; he has had about a week's acquaintance with
your friend, and he has known her engagement almost as
long as he has known her."
" Well," said Catherine, after some moments' consider-
XORTHANGER ABBEY.
ation, " you may be able to guess at your brother's inten¬
tions from all this; but I am sure I cannot. But is not
your father uncomfortable about it ? Does not he want
Captain Tilney to go away ? Sure, if your father were to
speak to him., he would go."
te My dear Miss Morland," said Henry, " in this amiable
solicitude for your brother's comfort, may you not be a
little mistaken ? Are you not carried a little too far ?
Would he thank you, either on his own account or Miss
Thorpe's, for supposing that her affection, or at least her
good behaviour, is only to be secured by her seeing nothing
of Captain Tilney ? Is he safe only in solitude ? or, is
her heart constant to him only when unsolicited by any one
else? He cannot think this—and you may be sure that
he would not have you think it. I will not say, f Do not
be uneasy,' because I know that you are so, at this moment;
but be as little uneasy as you can. You have no douht of
the mutual attachment of your brother and your friend ;
depend upon it, therefore, that real jealousy never can exist
between them; depend upon it that no disagreement be¬
tween them can be of any duration. Their hearts are open
to each other, as neither heart can be to you: they know-
exactly what is required and what can be borne; and you
may be certain, that one will never tease the other beyond
what is known to be pleasant."
Perceiving her still to look doubtful and grave, he added,
cc Though Frederick does not leave Bath with us, he will
probably remain but a very short time, perhaps only a few
days behind us. His leave of absence will soon expire, and
he must return to his regiment. And what will then be
their acquaintance ? The mess-room will drink Isabella
Thorpe for a fortnight, and she will laugh with your bro¬
ther over poor Tilney's passion for a month."
Catherine would contend no longer against comfort.
She had resisted its approaches during the whole length of
a speech, but it now carried her captive. Henry Tilney
must know best. She blamed herself for the extent of her
fears, and resolved never to think so seriously on the sub¬
ject again.
Her resolution was supported by Isabella's behaviour ill
124
northanger abbey.
their parting interview. The Thorpes spent the last even¬
ing of Catherine's stay in Pulteney Street, and nothing
passed between the lovers to excite her uneasiness, or make
her quit them in apprehension. James was in excellent
spirits, and Isabella most engagingly placid. Her tender¬
ness for her friend seemed rather the first feeling of her
heart; but that at such a moment was allowable; and
once she gave her lover a flat, contradiction, and once she
drew back her hand; but Catherine remembered Henry's
instructions, and placed it all to judicious affection. The
embraces, tears, and promises of the parting fair ones may
be fancied.
CHAPTER V.
Mr. and Mrs. Allen were sorry to lose their young friend,
whose good humour and cheerfulness had made her a
valuable companion, and in the promotion of whose enjoy¬
ment their own had been gently increased. Her happiness
in going with Miss Tilney, however, prevented their wish¬
ing it otherwise; and, as they were to remain only one
more week in Bath themselves, her quitting them now
would not long be felt. Mr. Allen attended her to Milsom
Street, where she was to breakfast, and saw her seated with
the kindest welcome among her new friends ; but so great
was her agitation in finding herself as one of the family,
and so fearful was she of not doing exactly what was right,
and of not heing able to preserve their good opinion, that,
in the embarrassment of the first five minutes, she could
almost have wished to return with him to Pulteney Street.
Miss Tilney's manners, and Henry's smile, soon did
away some of'her unpleasant feelings: but still she was far
from being at ease; nor could the incessant attentions of
the General himself entirely re-assure her. Nay, perverse
as it seemed, she doubted whether she might not have felt
less, had she been less attended to. His anxiety for her
NORTHANGEtt ABBEY.
com fort ^ his continual solicitations that she would eat, and
his often-expressed fears of her seeing nothing to her taste,
though never in her life before had she beheld half such
variety on a breakfast-table, made it impossible for her
to forget for a moment that she was a visiter. She felt
utterly unworthy of such respect, and knew not how to
reply to it. Her tranquillity was not improved by the
General's impatience for the appearance of his eldest son,
nor by the displeasure he expressed at his laziness when.
Captain Tilney at last came down. She was quite pained
by the severity of his father's reproof, which seemed dis¬
proportionate to the offence; and much was her concern
increased, when she found herself the principal cause of
the lecture; and that his tardiness was chiefly resented
from being disrespectful to her. This was placing her in
a very uncomfortable situation, and she felt great compas¬
sion for Captain Tilney, without being able to hope for his
good will.
He listened to his father in silence, and attempted not
any defence, which confirmed her in fearing, that the in¬
quietude of his mind, on Isabella's account, might, by
keeping him long sleepless, have been the real cause of his
rising late. It was the first time of her being decidedly in
his company, and she had hoped to be now able to form
her opinion of him : but she scarcely heard his voice while
his father remained in the room; and even afterwards, so
much were his spirits affected, she could distinguish nothing
but these words, in a whisper to Eleanor, " How glad I
shall be when you are all off."
The bustle of going was not pleasant. The clock struck
ten while the trunks were carrying down, and the General
had fixed to be out of Milsom Street by that hour. Hia
great coat, instead of being brought for him to put on
directly, was spread out in the curricle in which he was to
accompany his son. The middle seat of the chaise was not
drawn out, though there were three people to go in it, and
his daughter's maid had so crowded it with parcels, that
Miss Morland would not have room to sit; and, so much
was he influenced by this apprehension when he handed
her in, that she had some difficulty in saving her own new
126
NOBTfiANGEB, ABBEV.
Writing-desk from being thrown out into the street. At
last, however, the door was closed upon the three females,
and they set off at the sober pace in which the handsome,
highly-fed four horses of a gentleman usually perform a
journey of thirty miles: such was the distance of North-
anger from Bath, to be now divided into two equal stages.
Catherine's spirits revived as they drove from the door; for
with Miss Tilney she felt no restraint; and, with the in¬
terest of a road entirely new to her, of an abbey before,
and a curricle behind, she caught the last view of Bath
without any regret, and met with every milestone before
she expected it. The tediousness of a two hours' bait at
Petty France, in which there was nothing to be done but
to eat without being hungry, and loiter about without any
thing to see, next followed ; and her admiration of the style
in which they travelled, of the fashionable chaise and four,
postilions handsomely liveried, rising so regularly in their
stirrups, and numerous out-riders properly mounted, sunk
a little under this consequent inconvenience. Had their
party been perfectly agreeable, the delay would have been
nothing; but General Tilney, though so charming a man,
seemed always a check upon his children's spirits, and
scarcely any thing was said but by himself; the observ¬
ation of which, with his discontent at whatever the inn
afforded, and his angry impatience at the waiters, made
Catherine grow every moment more in awe of him, and
appeared to lengthen the two hours into four. At last,
however, the order of release was given; and much was
Catherine then surprised by the General's proposal of her
taking his place in his son's curricle for the rest of the
journey: —iC the day was fine, and he was anxious for her
seeing as much of the country as possible."
The remembrance of Mr. Allen's opinion, respecting
young men's open carriages, made her blush at the men¬
tion of such a plan, and her first thought was to decline
it; but her second was of greater deference for General
Tilney's judgment: he could not propose any thing im¬
proper for her; and, in the course of a few minutes, she
found herself with Henry in the curricle, as happy a being
as ever existed. A very short trial convinced her that a
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
127
curricle was the prettiest equipage in the world; the chaise
and four wheeled off with some grandeur, to he sure, tut
it was a heavy and troublesome business, and she could
not easily forget its having stopped two hours at Petty
France. Half the time would have been enough for the
curricle ; and so nimbly were the light horses disposed to
move, that, had not the General chosen to have his own
carriage lead the way, they could have passed it with ease
in half a minute. But the merit of the curricle did not
all belong to the horses : Henry drove so well, — so quietly,
—without making any disturbance, without parading to
her, or swearing at them; so different from the only
gentleman-coachman whom it was in her power to com¬
pare him with ! And then his hat sat so well, and the
innumerable capes of his great coat looked so becomingly
important! To be driven by him, next to being dancing
with him, was certainly the greatest happiness in the
world. In addition to every other delight, she had now
that of listening to her own praise ; of being thanked at
least, on his sister's account, for her kindness in thus be¬
coming her visiter ; of hearing it ranked as real friendship,
and described as creating real gratitude. His sister, he
said, was uncomfortably circumstanced ; she had no female
companion, and, in the frequent absence of her father, was
sometimes without any companion at all.
" iftrt how can that be ?" said Catherine; " are not you
with her ? "
" Northanger is not more than half my home; I have
an establishment at my own house in Woodston, which is
nearly twenty miles from my father's, and some of my
time is necessarily spent there."
" How sorry you must be for that!"
" I am always sorry to leave Eleanor."
"Yes; but besides your affection for her, you must
be so fond of the Abbey ? After being used to such a
home as the Abbey, an ordinary parsonage-house must be
very disagreeable."
He smiled, and said, " You have formed a very favour¬
able idea of the Abbey."
" To be sure I have. Is not it a fine old place, just
like what one reads about ? "
128
NOttTHANOER. ABBEY.
And are you prepared to encounter all the horrors
that a building such as f what one reads about ' may pro¬
duce ? Have you a stout heart ? Nerves fit for sliding
panels and tapestry ? "
" Oh yes, I do not think I should he easily frightened,
because there would be so many people in the house ; and
besides, it has never been uninhabited and left deserted
for years, and then the family come back to it unawares,
without giving any notice, as generally happens."
" No, certainly. We shall not have to explore our way
into a hall dimly lighted by the expiring embers of a
wood fire, nor be obliged to spread our beds on the floor
of a room without windows, doors, or furniture. But you
must be aware that when a young lady is (by whatever
means) introduced into a dwelling of this kind, she is
always lodged apart from the rest of the family. While
they snugly repair to their own end of the house, she is
formally conducted Ly Dorothy the ancient housekeeper up
a different staircase, and along many gloomy passages, into
an apartment never used since some cousin or kin died in
it about twenty years before. Can you stand such a cere¬
mony as this ? Will not your mind misgive you, when
you find yourself in this gloomy chamber, too lofty and
extensive for you, with only the feeble rays of a single
lamp to take in its size, its walls hung with tapestry ex¬
hibiting figures as large as life, and the bed, of dark green
stuff or purple velvet, presenting even a funereal appear¬
ance. Will not your heart sink within you ? "
cc Oh, but this will not happen to me, I am sure."
" How fearfully will you examine the furniture of your
apartment! And what will you discern ? Not tables,
toilettes, wardrobes, or drawers, but on one side perhaps the
remains of a broken lute, on the other a ponderous chest
which no efforts can open, and over the fire-place the por¬
trait of some handsome warrior, whose features will so
incomprehensibly strike you, that you will not be able to
withdraw your eyes from it. Dorothy, meanwhile, no less
struck by your appearance, gazes on you in great agitation,
and drops a few unintelligible hints. To raise your spirits,
moreover, she gives you reason to suppose that the part of
N0RTHANGER ABBEY.' 12 9
the abbey you inhabit is undoubtedly haunted, and informs
you that you will not have a single domestic within call.
With this parting cordial, she courtesies off: you listen to
the sound of her receding footsteps as long as the last
echo can reach you; and when, with fainting spirits, you
attempt to fasten your door, you discover, with increased
alarm, that it has no lock."
" Oh, Mr. Tilney, how frightful. This is just like &
book ! But it cannot really happen to me. I am sure
your housekeeper is not really Dorothy. Well, what
then ? "
" Nothing further to alarm, perhaps, may occur the
first night. After surmounting your unconquerable horror
of the bed, you will retire to rest, and get a few hours'
unquiet slumber. But on the second, or at farthest the
third night after your arrival, you will probably have a
violent storm. Peals of thunder so loud as to seem to
shake the edifice to its foundation will roll round the
neighbouring mountains; and during the frightful gusts of
wind which accompany it, you will probably think you
discern (for your lamp is not extinguished) one part of the
hanging more violently agitated than the rest. Unable of
course to repress your curiosity in so favourable a moment
for indulging it, you will instantly arise, and, throwing
your dressing-gown around you, proceed to examine this
mystery.' After a very short search, you will discover a
division in the tapestry so artfully constructed as to defy
the minutest inspection, and on opening it, a door will
immediately appear, which door being only secured by
massy bars and a padlock, you will, after a few efforts,
succeed in opening, and, with your lamp in your hand
will pass through it into a small vaulted room."
" No, indeed; I should be too much frightened to do
any such thing."
iC What! not when Dorothy has given you to under¬
stand that there is a secret subterraneous communication
between your apartment and the chapel of St. Anthony,
scarcely two miles off. Could you shrink from so snnpie
an adventure ? No, 110 ; you will proceed into this small
vaulted room, and through this into sevcia! o'hers, wutioar
130
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
perceiving any tiling very remarkable in either. In one,
perhaps, there may be a dagger, in another a few drops of
blood, and in a third the remains of some instrument of
torture ; but there being nothing in all this out of the
common way, and your lamp being nearly exhausted, you
will return towards your own apartment. In repassing
through the small vaulted room, however, your eyes will
be attracted towards a large, old-fashioned cabinet of ebony
and gold, which, though narrowly examining the furniture
before, you had passed unnoticed. Impelled by an irre¬
sistible presentiment, you will eagerly advance to it, un¬
lock its folding doors, and search into every drawer ; but
for some time without discovering any thing of import¬
ance—perhaps nothing but a considerable hoard of dia¬
monds. At last, however, by touching a secret spring, an
inner compartment will open, a roll of paper appears, you
seize it,—it contains many sheets of manuscript, — you
hasten with the precious treasure into your own chamber ;
but scarcely have you been able to decipher, e Oh thou,
whomsoever thou mayst be, into whose hands these me¬
moirs of the wretched Matilda may fall,' — when your
lamp suddenly expires in the socket, and leaves you in
total darkness."
" Oh no, no ; do not say so. Well, go on."
But Henry was too much amused by the interest he had
raised, to be able to carry it farther: he could no longer
command solemnity either of subject or voice, and was
obliged to entreat her to use her own fancy in the perusal
of Matilda's woes. Catherine, recollecting herself, grew
ashamed of her eagerness, and began earnestly to assure
him that her attention had been fixed without the smallest
apprehension of really meeting with what he related.
" Miss Tilney, she was sure, would never put her into
such a chamber as he had described. She was not at all
afraid."
As they drew near the end of their journey, her im¬
patience for a sight of the abbey, — for some time sus¬
pended by his conversation on subjects very different, —
returned in full force, and every bend in the road was
expected, with solemn awe, to afford a glimpse of its massy
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
l3l
Walls of grey stone, rising amidst a grove of ancient
oaks, with the last beams of the sun playing in beautiful
splendour on its high Gothic windows. But so low did
the building stand, that she found herself passing through
the great gates of the lodge, into the very grounds of
Northanger, without having discerned even an antique
chimney.
See knew not that she had any right to be surprised,
but there was a something in this mode of approach which
she certainly had not expected. To pass between lodges
of a modern appearance, to find herself with such ease in
the very precincts of the Abbey, and driven so rapidly
along a smooth, level road of fine gravel, without obstacle,
alarm, or solemnity of any kind, struck her as odd and
inconsistent. She was not long at leisure, however, for
such considerations. A sudden scud of rain driving full
in her face, made it impossible for her to observe any thing
further, and fixed all her thoughts on the welfare of her
new straw bonnet: and she was actually under the Abbey
walls, was springing, with Henry's assistance, from the
carriage, was beneath the shelter of the old porch, and had
even passed on to the hall, where her friend and the General
were waiting to welcome her, without feeling one awful
foreboding of future misery to herself, or one moment's
suspicion of any past scenes of horror being acted within
the solemn edifice. The breeze had not seemed to waft
the sighs of the murdered to her; it had wafted nothing
worse than a thick mizzling rain ; and having given a good
shake to her habit, she was ready to be shown into the
common drawing-room, and capable of considering where
she was.
An abbey! Yes, it was delightful to be really in an
abbey I But she doubted, as she looked round the room,
whether any thing within her observation would have given
her the consciousness. The furniture was in all the pro¬
fusion and elegance of modern taste. The fire-place,
where she had expected the ample width and ponderous
carving of former times, was contracted to a Rumford,
with slabs of plain, though handsome,' marble, and orna¬
ments aver it of the prettiest English china. The win*
132
northanger abbey.
dows, to which she looked with peculiar dependence, from
having heard the General talk of his preserving them in
their Gothic form with reverential care, were yet less what
her fancy had portrayed. To be sure, the pointed arch
was preserved — the form of them was Gothic — they
might he even casements ; but every pane was so large, so
clear, so light! To an imagination which had hoped for
the smallest divisions, and the heaviest stone work, for
painted glass, dirt, and cobwebs, the difference was very
distressing.
The General, perceiving how her eye was employed, be¬
gan to talk of the smallness of the room and simplicity of
the furniture, where every thing being for daily use, pre¬
tended only to comfort, &c. ; flattering himself, however,
that there were some apartments in the abbey not unworthy
her notice, and was proceeding to mention the costly gild¬
ing of one in particular, when, taking out his watch, he
stopped short, to pronounce it, with surprise, within twenty
minutes of five ! This seemed the word of separation ; and
Catherine found herself hurried away by Miss Tilney, in
such a manner as convinced her that the strictest punctu¬
ality to the family hours would be expected at Northanger.
Returning through the large and lofty hall, they as¬
cended a broad staircase of shining oak, which, after many
flights and many landing-places, brought them upon along
wide gallery. On one side it had a range of doors, and it
was lighted on the other by windows, which Catherine had
only time to discover looked into a quadrangle, before Miss
Tilney led the way into a chamber, and, scarcely staying to
hope she would find it comfortable, left her with an anxious
entreaty that she would make as little alteration as possible
in her dress.
CHAPTER VI.
A momeni's glance was enough to satisfy Catherine that
her apartment was very unlike the one which Henry had
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
135
endeavoured to alarm her by the description of. It was
by no means unreasonably large, and contained neither
tapestry nor velvet. The walls were papered, the floor was
carpeted ; the windows were neither less perfect, nor more
dim than those of the drawing-room below ; the furniture,
though not of the latest fashion, was handsome and com¬
fortable, and the air of the room altogether far from
uncheerful. Her heart instantaneously at ease on this
point, she resolved to lose no time in particular examin¬
ation of any thing, as she greatly dreaded disobliging the
General by any delay. Her habit therefore was thrown
off with all possible haste, and she was preparing to unpin
the linen package, which the chaise-seat had conveyed for
her immediate accommodation, when her eye suddenly fell
on a large high chest, standing back in a deep recess on
one side of the fire-place. The sight of it made her start;
and, forgetting every thing else, she stood gazing on it in
motionless wonder, while these thoughts crossed her: —
" This is strange, indeed! I did not expect such a
sight as this! An immense heavy chest! What can it
hold? Why should it be placed here? Pushed back
too, as if meant to be out of sight! I will look into it—■
cost me what it may, I will look into it—and directly too
— by daylight. If I stay till evening my candle may go
out." She advanced and examined it closely: it was of
cedar, curiously inlaid with some darker wood, and raised,
about a foot from the ground, on a carved stand of the
same. The lock was silver, though tarnished from age;
at each end were the imperfect remains of handles also of
silver, broken perhaps prematurely by some strange vio¬
lence ; and, on the centre of the lid, was a mysterious
cipher, in the same metal. Catherine bent over it in¬
tently, but without being able to distinguish any thing
with certainty. She could not, in whatever direction she
took it, believe the last letter to be a T; and yet that it
should be any thing else in that house was a circumstance
to raise no common degree of astonishment. If not ori¬
ginally theirs, by what strange events could it have fallen
into the Tilney family ?
Her fearful curiosity was every moment growing greater »
k 3
134
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
and seizing, with trembling hands, the hasp of the lock, she
resolved, at all hazards, to satisfy herself at least as to its
contents. With difficulty, for something seemed to resist
her efforts, she raised the lid a few inches ; but at that
moment a sudden knocking at the door of the room made
her, starting, quit her hold, and the lid closed with alarm¬
ing violence. This ill-timed intruder was Miss Tilney's
maid, sent by her mistress to be of use to Miss Morland ;
and though Catherine immediately dismissed her, it re¬
called her to the sense of what she ought to be doing, and
forced her, in spite of her anxious desire to penetrate this
mystery, to proceed in her dressing without further delay.
Her progress was not quick, for her thoughts and her
eyes were still bent on the object so well calculated to
interest and alarm; and though she dared not waste a
moment upon a second attempt, she could not remain
many paces from the chest. At length, however, having
slipped one arm into her gown, her toilette seemed so
nearly finished, that the impatience of her curiosity might
safely he indulged. One moment surely might be spared;
and so desperate should he the exertion of her strength,
that, unless secured by supernatural means, the lid in one
moment should be thrown back. With this spirit she
sprang forward, and her confidence did not deceive her.
Her resolute effort threw back the lid, and gave to her
astonished eyes the view of a white cotton counterpane,
properly folded, reposing at one end of the chest in undis¬
puted possession !
She was gazing on it with the first blush of surprise,
when Miss Tilney, anxious for her friend's being ready,
entered the room, and to the rising shame of having har¬
boured for some minutes an absurd expectation, was then
added the shame of being caught in so idle a search.
That is a curious old chest, is not it ? " said Miss Tilney,
as Catherine hastily closed it and turned away to the
glass. " It is impossible to say how many generations it
has been here. How it came to be first put in this room
I know not, but I have not had it moved, because I
thought it might sometimes be of use in holding hats and
bonnets. The worst of it is that its weight makes it diffi-
NORTHANGER ABBEV-.
135
cult to open. In that corner, however, it is at least out
of the way."
Catherine had no leisure for speech, being at once
blushing, tying her gown, and forming wise resolutions
with the most violent despatch. Miss Tilney gently hinted
her fear of being late; and in half a minute they ran
down stairs together, in an alarm not wholly unfounded,
for General Tilney was pacing the drawing-room, his
watch in his hand, and having, on the very instant of
their entering, pulled the bell with violence, ordered " Din¬
ner to be on table directly ! "
Catherine trembled at the emphasis with which he
spoke, and sat pale and breathless, in a most humble
mood, concerned for his children, and detesting old chests;
and the General recovering his politeness as he looked at
her, spent the rest of his time in scolding his daughter,
for so foolishly hurrying her fair friend, who was ab¬
solutely out of breath from haste, when there was not the
least occasion for hurry in the world; but Catherine could
not at all get over the double distress of having involved
her friend in a lecture and been a great simpleton herself,
till they were happily seated at the dinner-table, when the
General's complacent smiles, and a good appetite of her
own, restored her to peace. The dining-parlour was a
noble room, suitable in its dimensions to a much larger
drawing-room than the one in common use, and fitted up
in a style of luxury and expense which was almost lost
on the unpractised eye of Catherine, who saw little more
than its spaciousness and the number of their attendants.
Of the former, she spoke aloud her admiration; and the
General, with a very gracious countenance, acknowledged
that it was by no means an ill-sized room; and further
confessed, that, though as careless on such subjects as
most people, he did look upon a tolerably large eating-
room as one of the necessaries of life; he supposed, how¬
ever, " that she must have been used to much better sized
apartments at Mr. Allen's ? "
'f No, indeed," was Catherine's honest assurance; " Mr.
Allen's dining-parlour was not more than half as large:"
and she had never seen so large a room as this in her life.
k 4
ISO'
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
The General's good-humour increased. Why, as he had
such rooms, he thought it would be simple not to make
use of them; but, upon his honour, he believed there
might be more comfort in rooms of only half their size.
Mr. Allen's house, he was sure, must be exactly of the
true size for rational happiness.
The evening passed without any further disturbance,
and, in the occasional absence of General Tilney, with
much positive cheerfulness. It was only in his presence
that Catherine felt the smallest fatigue from her journey;
.and even then, even in moments of languor or restraint, a
sense of general happiness preponderated, and she could
think of her friends in Bath without one wish of being
with them.
The night was stormy; the wind had been rising at in¬
tervals the whole afternoon ,• and by the time the party
broke up, it blew and rained violently. Catherine, as she
crossed the hall, listened to the tempest with sensations of
awe; and when she heard it rage round a corner of the
ancient building, and close with sudden fury a distant door,
felt for the first time that she was really in an abbey.
Yes, these were characteristic sounds: they brought to her.
recollection a countless variety of dreadful situations and
horrid scenes, which such buildings had witnessed, and
such storms ushered in; and most heartily did she rejoice
in the happier circumstances attending her entrance within
walls so solemn ! She had nothing to dread from midnight
assassins or drunken gallants. Henry had certainly been
only in jest in what he had told her that morning. In a
house so furnished, and so guarded, she could have nothing
to explore or to suffer; and might go to her bed-room as
securely as if it had been her own chamber at Fullerton.
Thus wisely fortifying her mind, as she proceeded up stairs,
she was enabled, especially on perceiving that Miss Tilney
slept only two doors from her, to enter her room with a
tolerably stout heart; and her spirits were immediately
assisted by the cheerful blaze of a wood fire. " How
much better is this," said she, as she walked to the fender;
" how much better to find a fire ready lit, than to have to
Wait shivering in the cold, till all the family are in bed, as
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
137
so many poor girls have been obliged to do, and then to
have a faithful old servant frightening one by coming in
with a faggot! How glad I am that Northanger is what it
is ! If it had been like some other places, I do not know that,
in such a night as this, I could have answered for my
courage; but now, to be sure, there is nothing to alarm one."
She looked round the room. The window curtains
seemed in motion. It could be nothing but the violence
of the wind penetrating through the divisions of the
shutters; and she stept boldly forward, carelessly humming
a tune, to assure herself of its being so, peeped cou¬
rageously behind e4,jh curtain, saw nothing on either low
window seat to scare her, and on placing a hand against
the shutter, felt the strongest conviction of the wind's force.
A glance at the old chest, as she turned away from this
examination, was not without its use; she scorned the
causeless fears of an idle fancy,' and began with a most
happy indifference to prepare herself for bed. " She
should take her time; she should not hurry herself; she
did not care if she were the last person up in the house.
But she would not make up her fire; that would seem
cowardly, as if she wished for the protection of light after
she were in bed." The fire therefore died away; and
Catherine, having spent the best part of an hour in her
arrangements, was beginning to think of stepping into bed,
when, on giving a parting glance round the room, she was
struck by the appearance of a high, old fashioned black
cabinet, which, though in a situation conspicuous enough,
had never caught her notice before. Henry's words, his
description of the ebony cabinet which was to escape her
observation at first, immediately rushed across her; and
though there could be nothing really in it, there was some¬
thing whimsical, it was certainly a very remarkable coin¬
cidence ! She took her candle and looked closely at the
cabinet. It was not absolutely ebony and gold; but it was
Japan, black and yellow Japan of the handsomest kind;
and as she held her candle, the yellow had very much the
effect of gold. The key was in the door, and she had a
strange fancy to look into it; not however with the smallest
expectation of finding any thing, but it was so very oddj
138
NORTH ANGER ABBEY.
after what Henry had said. In short, she could not sleep
till she had examined it. So, placing the candle with great
caution on a chair, she seized the key with a very tremu¬
lous hand and tried to turn it; but it resisted her utmost
strength. Alarmed, but not discouraged, she tried it an¬
other way; a bolt flew, and she believed herself successful;
but how strangely mysterious!—the door was still im¬
movable. She paused a moment in breathless wonder.
The wind roared down the chimney, the rain beat in tor¬
rents against the windows, and every thing seemed to speak
the awfulness of her situation. To retire to bed, however,
unsatisfied on such a point, would he vain, since sleep must
be impossible with the consciousness of a cabinet so myste¬
riously closed in her immediate vicinity. Again, therefore,
she applied herself to the key, and after moving it in every
possible way for some instants with the determined celerity
of hope's last effort, the door suddenly yielded to her hand:
her heart leaped with exultation at such a victory, and
having thrown open each folding door, the second being
secured only by bolts of less wonderful construction than
the lock, though in that her eye could not discern any
thing unusual, a double range of small drawers appeared in
view, with some larger drawers above and below them;
and in the centre, a small door, closed also with a lock and
key, secured in all probability a cavity of importance.
Catherine's heart beat quick, but her courage did not
fail her. With a cheek flushed by hope, and an eye strain¬
ing with curiosity, her fingers grasped the handle of a
drawer and drew it forth. It was entirely empty. With
less alarm and greater eagerness she seized a second, a
third, a fourth,—each was equally empty. Not one was left
unsearched, and in not one was any thing found. Well
read in the art of concealing a treasure, the possibility of
false linings to the drawers did not escape her, and she felt
round each with anxious acuteness in vain. The place in
the middle alone remained now unexplored; and though
she had " never from the first had the smallest idea of
finding any thing in any part of the cabinet, and was not
in the least disappointed at her ill success thus far, it would
be foolish not to examine it thoroughly while she was
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
m
about it." It was some time, however, before she could
unfasten the door, the same difficulty occurring in the
management of this inner lock as of the outer; hut at
length it did open; and not vain, as hitherto, was her
search; her quick eyes directly fell on a roll of paper
pushed back into the further part of the cavity, apparently
for concealment, and her feelings at that moment were in¬
describable. Her heart fluttered, her knees trembled, and
her cheeks grew pale. She seized, with an unsteady hand,
the precious manuscript, for half a glance sufficed to ascer¬
tain written characters; and while she acknowledged with
awful sensations this striking exemplification of what Henry
had foretold, resolved instantly to peruse every line before
she attempted to rest.
The dimness of the light her candle emitted made her
turn to it with alarm ; but there was no danger of its sudden
extinction, it had yet some hours to burn ; and that she
might not have any greater difficulty in distinguishing the
writing than what its ancient date might occasion, she
hastily snuffed it. Alas ! it was snuffed and extinguished
in one. A lamp could not have expired with more awful
effect. Catherine, for a few moments, was motionless with
horror. It was done completely ; not a remnant of light
in the wick could give hope to the rekindling breath.
Darkness impenetrable and immovable filled the room. A
violent gust of wind, rising with sudden fury, added fresh
horror to the moment. Catherine trembled from head to foot.
In the pause which succeeded, a sound like receding foot¬
steps and the closing of a distant door struck on her affrighted
ear. Human nature could support no more. A cold sweat
stood on her forehead, the manuscript fell from her hand,
and groping her way to the bed, she jumped hastily in, and
sought some suspension of agony by creeping far under¬
neath the clothes. To close her eyes in sleep that night
she felt must be entirely out of the question. With a cu¬
riosity so justly awakened, and feelings in every way so
agitated, repose must be absolutely impossible. The storm,
too, abroad so dreadful! She had not been used to feel
alarm from wind, but now every blast seemed fraught with,
awful intelligence. The manuscript so wonderfully found.
140
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
so wonderfully accomplishing the morning's prediction, how
was it to be accounted for ? What could it contain ? to
whom could it relate ? by what means could it have been
so long concealed? and how singularly strange that it
should fall to her lot to discover it ! Till she had made
herself mistress of its contents, however, she could have
neither repose nor comfort; and with the sun's first rays
she was determined to peruse it. But many were the
tedious hours which must yet intervene. She shuddered,
tossed about in her bed, and envied every quiet sleeper.
The storm still raged, and various were the noises, more
terrific even than the wind, which struck at intervals on
her startled ear. The very curtains of her bed seemed at
one moment in motion, and at another the lock of her door
was agitated, as if by the attempt of somebody to enter.
Hollow murmurs seemed to creep along the gallery; and
more than once her blood was chilled by the sound of dis¬
tant moans. Hour after hour passed away, and the wearied
Catherine had heard three proclaimed by all the clocks in
the house, before the tempest subsided, or she unknowingly
fell fast asleep.
CHAPTER VII.
The housemaid's folding back her window-shutters at eight
o'clock the next day was the sound which first roused
Catherine; and she opened her eyes, wondering that they
could ever have been closed, on objects of cheerfulness; her
fire was already burning, and a bright morning had suc¬
ceeded the tempest of the night. Instantaneously with
the consciousness of existence, returned her recollection of
the manuscript ; and springing from the bed in the very
moment of the maid's going away, she eagerly collected
every scattered sheet which had burst from the roll on its
falling to the ground, and flew back to enjoy the luxury of
their perusal on her pillow. She now plainly saw that she
must not expect a manuscript of equal length with the
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
141
generality of what she had shuddered over in books; foi
the roll; seeming to consist entirely of small disjointed
sheets, was altogether but of trifling size, and much less
than she had supposed it to be at first.
Her greedy eye glanced rapidly over a page. She started
at its import. Could it be possible, or did not her senses
play her false ? An inventory of linen, in coarse and mo¬
dern characters, seemed all that was before her ! If the
evidence of sight might be trusted, she held a washing-bill
in her hand. She seized another sheet, and saw the same
articles with little variation; a third, a fourth, and a fifth
presented nothing new. Shirts, stockings, cravats, and
waistcoats faced her in each. Two others, penned by the
same hand, marked an expenditure scarcely more interest¬
ing, in letters, hair-powder, shoe-string, and breeches-ball.
And the larger sheet, which had enclosed the rest, seemed
by its first cramp line, " To poultice chestnut mare," a
farrier's bill! Such was the collection of papers (left,
perhaps, as she could then suppose, by the negligence of a
servant in the place whence she had taken them,) which
had filled her with expectation and alarm, and robbed her
of half her night's rest! She felt humbled to the dust.
Could not the adventure of the chest have taught her wis¬
dom ? A corner of it catching her eye as she lay, seemed
to rise up in judgment against her. Nothing could now
be clearer than the absurdity of her recent fancies. To
suppose that a manuscript of many generations back could
have remained undiscovered in a room such as that, so
modern, so habitable ! or that she should be the first to
possess the skill of unlocking a cabinet, the key of which
was open to all !
How could she have so imposed on herself ? Heaven
forbid that Henry Tilney should ever know her folly! And
it was in a great measure his own doing, for had not the
cabinet appeared so exactly to agree with his description of
her adventures, she should never have felt the smallest cu¬
riosity about it. This was the only comfort that occurred.
Impatient to get rid of those hateful evidences of her folly,
those detestable papers then scattered over the bed, she rose
directly; and folding them up as nearly as possible in the
142
NORTHANGER ABBE"?.
same shape as before, returned them to the same spot within
the cabinet, with a very hearty wish that no untoward ac¬
cident might ever bring them forward again, to disgrace
her even with herself.
Why the locks should have been so difficult to open,
however, was still something remarkable, for she could
now manage them with perfect ease. In this there was
surely something mysterious, and she indulged in the flat¬
tering suggestion for half a minute, till the possibility of
the door's having been at first unlocked, and of being her¬
self its fastener, darted into her head and cost her another
blush.
She got away as soon as she could from a room in
which her conduct produced such unpleasant reflections,
and found her way with all speed to the breakfast-parlour,
as it had been pointed out to her by Miss Tilney the even¬
ing before. Henry was alone in it; and his immediate
hope of her having been undisturbed by the tempest, with
an arch reference to the character of the building they
inhabited, was rather distressing. For the world would
she not have her weakness suspected ; and yet, unequal to
an absolute falsehood, was constrained to acknowledge that
the wind had kept her awake a little. " But we have a
charming morning after it," she added, desiring to get
rid of the subject; cf and storms and sleeplessness are
nothing when they are over. What beautiful hyacinths!
I have just learnt to love a hyacinth."
" And how might you learn ? By accident or argu¬
ment ? "
" Your sister taught me: I cannot tell how. Mrs.
Allen used to take pains, year after year, to make me like
them; hut I never could, till I saw them the other day in
Milsom Street; I am naturally indifferent about flowers."
" But now you love a hyacinth. So much the better.
You have gained a new source of enjoyment, and it is well
to have as many holds upon happiness as possible. Besides,
a taste for flowers is always desirable in your sex, as a
means of getting you out of doors, and tempting you to
more frequent exercise than you would otherwise take:
and though the love of a hyacinth may be rather domestic,
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
US
who can tell, the sentiment once raised, but you may in
time come to love a rose ? "
" But I do not want any such pursuit to get me out of
doors. The pleasure of walking and breathing fresh air
is enough for me, and in fine weather I am out more than
half my time. Mamma says, I am never within."
" At any fate, however, I am pleased that you have
learnt to love a hyacinth. The mere habit of learning to
love is the thing; and a teachableness of disposition in a
young lady is a great blessing. Has my sister a pleasant
mode of instruction ? "
Catherine was saved the embarrassment of attempting
an answer, by the entrance of the General, whose smiling
compliments announced a happy state of mind, but whose
gentle hint of sympathetic early rising did not advance her
composure.
The elegance of the breakfast set forced itself on Cathe¬
rine's notice when they were seated at table; and, luckilyA
it had been the General's choice. He was enchanted by
her approbation of his taste, confessed it to be neat and
simple, thought it right to encourage the manufacture of
his country; and for his part, to his uncritical palate, the
tea was as well flavoured from the clay of Staffordshire as
from that of Dresden or Seve. But this was quite an old
set, purchased two years ago. The manufacture was much
improved since that time: he had seen some beautiful spe¬
cimens when last in town, and had he not been perfectly
without vanity of that kind, might have been tempted to
order a new set. He trusted, however, that an opportunity
might ere long occur of selecting one, though, not for him¬
self. Catherine was probably the only one of the party
who did not understand him.
Shortly after breakfast Henry left them for Woodston,
where business required and would keep him two or three
days. They all attended in the hall to see him mount his
horse, and immediately on re-entering the breakfast-room,
Catherine walked to a window in the hope of catching an¬
other glimpse of his figure. " This is a somewhat heavy
call upon your brother's fortitude," observed the General
144-
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
to Eleanor. " Woodston will make but a sombre appoal-
ance to-day."
" Is it a pretty place ? " asked Catherine.
" What say you, Eleanor ? Speak your opinion ; for
ladies can best tell the taste of ladies in regard to places as
well as men. I think it would be acknowledged by the
most impartial eye to have many recommendations. The
house stands among fine meadows facing the south-east,
with an excellent kitchen-garden in the same aspect; the
walls surrounding which I built and stocked myself about
ten years ago, for the benefit of my son. It is a family
living, Miss Morland; and the property in the place being
chiefly my own, you may believe I take care that it shall
not be a bad one. Did Henry's income depend solely on
this living, he would not be ill provided for. Perhaps it
may seem odd, that with only two younger children, I
should think any profession necessary for him ; and cer¬
tainly there are moments when we could all wish him dis¬
engaged from every tie of business. But though I may
not exactly make converts of you young ladies, I am sure
your father, Miss Morland, would agree with me in
thinking it expedient to give every young man some em¬
ployment. The money is nothing, it is not an object ;
but employment is the thing. Even Frederick my eldest
son, you see, who will perhaps inherit as considerable a
landed property as any private man in the county, has his
profession."
The imposing effect of this last argument was equal to
his wishes. The silence of the lady proved it to he un¬
answerable.
Something had been said the evening before of her be¬
ing shown over the house, and he now offered himself as
her conductor; and though Catherine had hoped to explore
it accompanied only by his daughter, it was a proposal of
too much happiness in itself, under any circumstances, not
to be gladly accepted; for she had been already eighteen
hours in the Abbey, and had seen only a few of its rooms.
The netting-box just leisurely drawn forth, was closed with
joyful haste, and she was ready to attend him in a mo-
northangejr Abbey.
145
ment. ee And when they had gone over the house, he
promised himself, moreover, the pleasure of accompanying
her into the shrubberies and garden." She courtesied her
acquiescence. " But perhaps it might be more agreeable
to her to make those her first object. The weather was at
present favourable, and at this time of year the uncer¬
tainty was very great of its continuing so. Which would
she prefer ? He was equally at her service. Which did
his daughter think would most accord with her fair friend's
wishes ? But he thought he could discern. Yes, he cer¬
tainly read in Miss Morland's eyes a judicious desire of
making use of the present smiling weather. But when
did she judge amiss ? The Abbey would be always safe
and dry. He yielded implicitly, and would fetch his hat
and attend them in a moment." He left the room, and
Catherine, with a disappointed, anxious face, began to
speak of her unwillingness that he should be taking them
out of doors against his own inclination, under a mistaken
idea of pleasing her; but she was stopt by Miss Tilney's
saying, with a little confusion, " I believe it will be wisest
to take the morning while it is so fine; and do not be un¬
easy on my father's account, he always walks out at this
time of day."
Catherine did not exactly know how this was to be un¬
derstood. Why was Miss Tilney embarrassed ? Could
there be any unwillingness on the General's side to show
her over the Abbey ? The proposal was his own. And
was not it odd that he should always take his walk so
early ? Neither her father nor Mr. Allen did so. It was
certainly very provoking. She was all impatience to see
the house, and had scarcely any curiosity about the
grounds. If Henry had been with them, indeed! but
now she should not know what was picturesque when
she saw it. Such were her thoughts ; but she kept them
to herself, and put on her bonnet in patient discontent.
She was struck, however, beyond her expectation, by the
grandeur of the Abbey, as she saw it, for the first time,
from the lawn. The whole building enclosed a large
court; ard two sides of the quadrangle, rich in Gothic
L
146
NOItTHANCER ABfiEV.
ornaments, stood forward for admiration. The remainder
was shut off by knolls of old trees, or luxuriant plantations,
and the steep woody hills rising behind to give it shelter
were beautiful even in the leafless month of March. Ca¬
therine had seen nothing to compare with it; and her
feelings of delight were so strong, that, without waiting
for any better authority, she boldly burst forth in wonder
and praise. The General listened with assenting gratitude,
and it seemed as if his otyn estimation of Northanger had
waited unfixed till that hour.
The kitchen-garden was to be next admired, and he led
the way to it across a small portion of the park.
The number of acres contained in this garden was such
as Catherine could not listen to without dismay, being
more than double the extent of all Mr. Allen's, as well as
her father's, including churchyard and orchard. The
walls seemed countless in number, endless in length; a
village of hot-houses seemed to arise among them, and a
whole parish to be at work within the enclosure. The
General was flattered by her looks of surprise, which told
him almost as plainly, as he soon forced her to tell him in
words, that she had never seen any gardens at all equal to
them before; and he then modestly owned that, " with¬
out any ambition of that sort himself, without any soli¬
citude about it, he did believe them to be unrivalled in the
kingdom. If he had a hobby-horse, it was that. He
loved a garden. Though careless enough in most matters
of eating, he loved good fruit—or if he did not, his
friends and children did. There were great vexations,
however, attending such a garden as his. The utmost
care could not always secure the most valuable fruits.
The pinery had yielded only one hundred in the last year.
Mr. Allen, he supposed, must feel these inconveniences as
well as himself."
" No, not at all. Mr. Allen did not care about the
garden, and never went into it."
With a triumphant smile of self-satisfaction, the Ge¬
neral wished he could do the same, for he never entered
his without being vexed in some way or other, by its fail¬
ing short of his plan.
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
247
ec How were Mr. Allen's succession-houses worked ? "
describing the nature of his own as they entered them.
" Mr. Allen had only one small hot-house, which Mrs.
Allen had the use of for her plants in winter, and there was
a fire in it now and then."
" He is a happy man!" said the General, with a look
of very happy contempt.
Having taken her into every division, and led her under
every wall, till she was heartily yreary of seeing and won¬
dering, he suffered the girls at last to seize the advantage
of an outer door, and then expressing his wish to examine
the effect of some recent alterations about the tea-house,
proposed it as no unpleasant extension of their walk, if
Miss Morland were not tired. " But where are you going,
Eleanor ? Why do you choose that cold, damp path to
it ? Miss Morland will get wet. Our best way is across
the park."
" This is so favourite a walk of mine," said Miss Til-
ney, " that I always think it the best and nearest way.
But perhaps it may be damp."
It was a narrow winding path through a thick grove of
old Scotch firs; and Catherine, struck by its gloomy aspect,
and eager to enter it, could not, even by the General's dis¬
approbation, be kept from stepping forward. He per¬
ceived her inclination, and having again urged the plea of
health in vain, was too polite to make further opposition.
He excused himself, however, from attending them: —
ee The rays of the sun were not too cheerful for him, and
he would meet them by another course." He turned
away ; and Catherine was shocked to find how much her
spirits were relieved by the separation. The shock, how¬
ever, being less real than the relief, offered it no injury;
and she began to talk with easy gaiety of the delightful
melancholy which such a grove inspired.
" I am particularly fond of this spot," said her com¬
panion, with a sigh. " It was my mother's favourite
walk."
Catherine had never heard Mrs. Tilney mentioned in
the family before; and the interest excited by this tender
remembrance showed itself directly in her altered coun-
l 2
148
tfOttTHANGER ABBEY.
tenance, and in the attentive pause with which she waited
for something more.
" I used to walk here so often with her/' added
Eleanor; " though I never loved it then as I have loved
it since. At that time, indeed, I used to wonder at her
choice. But her memory endears it now."
" And ought it not," reflected Catherine, " to endear it
to her husband? Yet the General would not enter it."
Miss Tilney continuing silent, she ventured to say, " Her
death must have been a great affliction!"
" A great and increasing one," replied the other, in a
low voice. " I was only thirteen when it happened ; and,
though 1 felt my loss perhaps as strongly as one so young
could feel it, I did not, I could not then know what a loss
it was." She stopped for a moment, and then added, with
great firmness, " I have no sister, you know—and though
Henry—though my brothers are very affectionate, and
Henry is a great deal here, which I am most thankful for,
it is impossible for me not to be often solitary."
" To he sure you must miss him very much."
" A mother would have been always present; a mother
would have been a constant friend; her influence would
have been beyond all other."
" Was she a very charming woman ? Was she hand¬
some ? Was there any picture of her in the Abbey? And
why had she been so partial to that grove? Was it from
dejection of spirits ? "—were questions now eagerly poured
forth: — the first three received a ready affirmative, the
two others were passed by; and Catherine's interest in the
deceased Mrs. Tilney augmented with every question,
whether answered or not. Of her unhappiness in mar¬
riage, she felt persuaded. The General certainly had been
an unkind husband. He did not love her walk : — could
he, therefore, have loved her ? And besides, handsome as
he was, there was a something in the turn of his features
which spoke his not having behaved well to her.
" Her picture, I suppose," blushing at the consum¬
mate art of her own question, " hangs in your father's
room ? "
/' No; it was intended for the drawing-room ; but my
northanger abbey.
149
father was dissatisfied with the painting, and for some time
it had no place. Soon after her death I obtained it for
my own, and hung it in my bedchamber, where 1 shall be
happy to show it you: it is very like." Here was another
proof. A portrait — very like — of a departed wife, not
valued by the husband! He must have been dreadfully
cruel to her!
Catherine attempted no longer to hide from herself the
nature of the feelings which, in spite of all his attentions,
he had previously excited ; and what had been terror and
dislike before was now absolute aversion. Yes, aversion !
His cruelty to such a charming woman made him odious
to her. She had often read of such characters; charac¬
ters, which Mr. Allen had been used to call unnatural and
overdrawn; but here was proof positive of the contrary.
She had just settled this point, when the end of the path
brought them directly upon the General; and in spite of
all her virtuous indignation, she found herself again obliged
to walk with him, listen to him, and even to smile when
he smiled. Being no longer able, however, to receive
pleasure from the surrounding objects, she soon began to
walk with lassitude: the General perceived it, and with a
concern for her health, which seemed to reproach her for
her opinion of him, was most urgent for returning with his
daughter to the house. He would follow them in a quarter
of an hour. Again they parted; but Eleanor was called
back in half a minute to receive a strict charge against tak¬
ing her friend round the Abbey till his return. This
second instance of his anxiety to delay what she so mucl7
wished for struck Catherine as very remarkable.
CHAPTER VIII.
An hour passed away before the General came in, spent
on the part of his young guest, in no very favourable con,
n 3
150
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
sideration of his character. " This lengthened absence,
these solitary rambles, did not speak a mind at ease, or a
conscience void of reproach." At length he appeared •
and, whatever might have been the gloom of his medita¬
tions, he could still smile with them. Miss Tilney, under¬
standing in part her friend's curiosity to see the house, soon
revived the subject; and her father being, contrary to
Catherine's expectations, unprovided with any pretence for
further delay, beyond that of stopping five minutes to order
refreshments to be in the room by their return, was at last
ready to escort them.
They set forward; and, with a grandeur of air, a digni¬
fied step, which caught the eye, but could not shake the
doubts of the well-read Catherine, he led the way across
the hall, through the common drawing-room and one use¬
less antechamber, into a room magnificent both in size
and furniture — the real drawing-room, used only with
company of consequence. It was very noble — very grand
—very charming! was all that Catherine had to say, for
her indiscriminating eye scarcely discerned the colour of the
satin; and all minuteness of praise, all praise that had
much meaning, was supplied by the General: the costliness
or elegance of any room's fitting_up could he nothing to
her; she cared for no furniture of a more modern date
than the fifteenth century. When the General had satis¬
fied his own curiosity, in a close examination of every well-
known ornament, they proceeded into the library, — an
apartment, in its way, of equal magnificence, exhibiting a
collection of books, on which an humble man might have
looked with pride. Catherine heard, admired, and won¬
dered with more genuine feeling than before, gathered all
that she could from this storehouse of knowledge, by run¬
ning over the titles of half a shelf, and was ready to pro¬
ceed. But suites of apartments did not spring up with her
wishes. Large as was the building, she had already visited
the greatest part; though, on being told that, with the
addition of the kitchen, the six or seven rooms she had
now seen surrounded three sides of the court, she could
scarcely believe it, or overcome the suspicion of there being
many chambers secreted. It was some relief, however.
NORTH ANGER ABBEY-.
151
that they were to return to the rooms in common use, by
passing through a few of less importance, looking into
the court, which, with occasional passages, not wholly un-
intricate, connected the different sides; and she was fur¬
ther soothed in her progress, by being told, that she was
treading what had once been a cloister, having traces of
cells pointed out, and observing several doors that were
neither opened nor explained to her; by finding herself
successively in a billiard-room, and in the General's pri¬
vate apartment, without comprehending their connection,
or being able to turn aright when she left them; and, lastly,
by passing through a dark little room, owning Henry's au¬
thority, and strewed with his litter of books, guns, and
great coats.
From the dining-room, of which, though already seen,
and always to be seen at five o'clock, the General could not
forego the pleasure of pacing out the length, for the more
certain information of Miss Morland, as to what she neither
doubted nor cared for, they proceeded by quick communi¬
cation to the kitchen—the ancient kitchen of the convent,
rich in the massy walls and smoke of former days, and in
the stoves and hot closets of the present. The General's
improving hand had not loitered here : every modern in¬
vention to facilitate the labour of the cooks had been
adopted within this their spacious theatre ; and, when the
genius of others had failed, his own had often produced
the perfection wanted. His endowments of this spot
alone might at any time have placed him high among the
benefactors of the convent.
With the walls of the kitchen ended all the antiquity of
the Abbey ; the fourth side of the quadrangle having, on
account of its decaying state, been removed by the Ge¬
neral's father, and the present erected in its place. All
that was venerable ceased here. The new building was
not only new but declared itself to be so ; intended only
for offices, and enclosed behind by stable-yards, no uni¬
formity of architecture had been thought necessary. Ca¬
therine could have raved at the hand which had swept away
what must have been beyond the value of all the rest, for
the purposes of mere domestic economy j and would will
h 4
152
NORTHANGER ABBEY-,
ingly have been spared the mortification of a walk through
scenes so fallen, had the General allowed it: but if he had
a vanity, it was in the arrangement of his offices ; and as
he was convinced, that, to a mind like Miss Morland's, a
view of the accommodations and comforts by which the
labours of her inferiors were softened, must always be gra¬
tifying, he should make no apology for leading her on
They took a slight survey of all; and Catherine was im¬
pressed, beyond her expectation, by their multiplicity and
their convenience. The purposes for which a few shape¬
less pantries, and a comfortless scullery, were deemed suf¬
ficient at Fullerton, were here carried on in appropriate
divisions, commodious and roomy. The number of ser¬
vants continually appearing, did not strike her less than
the number of their offices. Wherever they went, some
pattened girl stopped to courtesy, or some footman in disha¬
bille sneaked off. Yet this was an abbey ! How in¬
expressibly different in these domestic arrangements from
such as she had read about—from abbeys and castles, in
which, though certainly larger than Northanger, all the
dirty work of the house was to be done by two pair of
female hands at the utmost. How they could get through
it all, had often amazed Mrs. Allen; and, when Catherine
saw what was necessary here, she began to be amazed
herself.
They returned to the hall, that the chief staircase
might be ascended, and the beauty of its wood and orna¬
ments of rich carving might be pointed out: having gained
the top, they turned in an opposite direction from the gal¬
lery in which her room lay, and shortly entered one on the
same plan, but superior in length and breadth. She was
here shown successively into three large bedchambers,
with their dressing-rooms, most completely and hand¬
somely fitted up : every thing that money and taste could
do, to give comfort and elegance to apartments, had been
bestowed on these; and, being furnished within the last
five years, they were perfect in all that would be generally
pleasing, and wanting in all that could give pleasure to
Catherine. As they were surveying the last, the General,
after slightly naming a few of the distinguished characters
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
153
by whom they had at times been honoured, turned with a
smiling countenance to Catherine, and ventured to hope
that henceforward some of their earliest tenants might be
" our friends from Fullerton." She felt the unexpected
compliment, and deeply regretted the impossibility of
thinking well of a man so kindly disposed towards herself,
and so full of civility to all her family.
The gallery was terminated by folding doors, which
Miss Tilney, advancing, had thrown open, and passed
through, and seemed on the point of doing the same by the
first door to the left, in another long reach of gallery,
when the General, coming forwards, called her hastily,
and, as Catherine thought, rather angrily back, demanding
whither she were going ? And what was there more to be
seen ? Had not Miss Morland already seen all that could
be worth her notice ? And did she not suppose her friend
might be glad of some refreshment after so much exercise ?
Miss Tilney drew back directly, and the heavy doors were
closed upon the mortified Catherine, who, having seen, in
a momentary glance beyond them, a narrower passage, more
numerous openings, and symptoms of a winding staircase,
believed herself at last within the reach of something worth
her notice; and felt, as she unwillingly paced back the
gallery, that she would rather be allowed to examine that
end of the house than see all the finery of all the rest. The
General's evident desire of preventing such an examination
was an additional stimulant. Something was certainly to
be concealed: her fancy, though it had trespassed lately
once or twice, could not mislead her here; and what that
something was, a short sentence of Miss Tilney's, as they
followed the General at some distance down stairs, seemed
to point out: — " I was going to take you into what was my
mother's room—the room in which she died " were
all her words ; but few as they were, they conveyed pages
of intelligence to Catherine. It was no wonder that the
General should shrink from the sight of such objects as
that room must contain,—a room, in all probability, never
entered by him since the dreadful scene had passed which
released his suffering wife, and left him to the stings of
conscience.
154
N0RTHANGER ABBEY.
She ventured, when next alone with Eleanor, to express
her wish of being permitted to see it, as well as all the rest
of that side of the house; and Eleanor promised to attend
her there, whenever they should have a convenient hour
Catherine understood her : — the General must he watched
from home, before that room could be entered. " It
remains as it was, I suppose ?" said she, in a tone of
feeling.
"Yes, entirely."
" And how long ago may it be that your mother died ? "
" She has been dead these nine years." And nine years,
Catherine knew, was a trifle of time, compared with what
generally elapsed after the death of an injured wife, before
her room was put to rights.
" You were with her, I suppose, to the last ?"
■" No," said Miss Tilney, sighing ; " I was unfortunately
from home. Her illness was sudden and short; and before
I arrived, it was all over."
Catherine's blood ran cold with the horrid suggestions
which naturally sprang from these words. Could it be
possible ? Could Henry's father ? And yet how many
were the examples to justify even the blackest suspicions !
—And when she saw him in the evening, while she
worked with her friend, slowly pacing the drawing-room
for an hour together in silent thoughtfulness, with down¬
cast eyes and contracted brow, she felt secure from all pos¬
sibility of wronging him. It was the air and attitude of a
Montoni! What could more plainly speak the gloomy
workings of a mind not wholly dead to every sense of hu-
manity, in its fearful review of past scenes of guilt ? Un-
happy man ! And the anxiousness of her spirits directed
her eyes towards his figure so repeatedly, as to catch Miss
Ti-lney's notice. " My father," she whispered, " often
walks about the room in this way ; it is nothing unusual.'
" So much the worse !" thought Catherine ; such ill-
timed exercise was of a piece with the strange unseasonable,
ness of his morning walks, and boded nothing good.
After an evening, the little variety and seeming length
of which made her peculiarly sensible of Henry's import¬
ance among them, she was heartily glad to he dismissed;
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
155
though it was a look from the General not designed for her
observation which sent his daughter to the hell. When
the butler would have lit his master's candle, however, he
was forbidden. The latter was not going to retire. " I
have many pamphlets to finish," said he to Catherine,
" before I can close my eyes ; and perhaps may be poring
over the affairs of the nation for hours after you are asleep.
Can either of us be more meetly employed ? My eyes will
be blinding for the good of others; and yours preparing
by rest for future mischief."
But neither the business alleged, nor the magnificent
compliment, could win Catherine from thinking, that some
very different object must occasion so serious a delay of
proper repose. To be kept up for hours, after the family
were in bed, by stupid pamphlets, was not very likely.
There must be some deeper cause: something was to be
done which could be done only while the household slept;
and the probability that Mrs. Tilney yet lived, shut up for
causes unknown, and receiving from the pitiless hands of
her husband a nightly supply of coarse food, was the con¬
clusion which necessarily followed. Shocking as was the
idea, it was at least better than a death unfairly hastened,
as, in the natural course of things, she must ere long be
released. The suddenness of her reputed illness ; the ab¬
sence of her daughter, and probably of her other children,
at the time — all favoured the supposition of her imprison¬
ment. Its origin—jealousy, perhaps, or wanton cruelty
—was yet to be unravelled.
In revolving these matters, while she undressed, it sud¬
denly struck her as not unlikely, that she might that morn¬
ing have passed near the very spot of this unfortunate
woman's confinement — might have been within a few
paces of the cell in which she languished out her days; for
what part of the Abbey could be more fitted for the pur¬
pose than that which yet bore the traces of monastic divi¬
sion ? In the high-arched passage, paved with stone, which
already she had trodden with peculiar awe, she well re¬
membered the doors of which the General had given no
account. To what might not those doors lead ? In support
of the plausibility of this conjecture, it further occurred to
156*
northanger abbey.
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 con¬
veyed 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,
juso 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 stept into bed,
she stole, gently from her room to the corresponding window
in the galley, 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—rand
Catherine had been half an hour asleep.
CHAPTER IX.
The next day afforded no opportunity for the proposed
examination of the mysterious apartments. It was Sun¬
day, and the whole time between morning and afternoon
service was required by the General in exercise abroad or
northanger abbey.
157
catmg 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 any thing 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 pos¬
sible vice, going on from crime to crime, murdering whom¬
soever 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 Til¬
ney 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
158
NORTHANGER ABBEY
was to the portrait in her bedchamber. 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 Cathe¬
rine had depended upon meeting with features, air, com¬
plexion, that should be the very counterpart, the very
image, if not of Henry's, of Eleanor's; — the only por¬
traits 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 like¬
ness. She contemplated it, however, in spite of this draw¬
back, with much emotion; and, hut for a yet stronger in¬
terest, 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 apologising 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 agita¬
tion, 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, how¬
ever, arrived; and at last, on seeing a carriage drive up to
the Abbey, she was emboldened to descend and meet him
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
159
uuder the protection of visiters. 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
iftyle, which so well concealed his resentful ire, as to make
her feel secure at least of life for the present. And Elea¬
nor, 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.
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 reflection^, 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 satisfac¬
tory if made without any companion. It would be im¬
possible 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 frag¬
mented 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
160
NOttfHANGEft ABBEY.
possible noise through the folding-doors, and without stop¬
ping to look or breathe, rushed forward to the one in ques¬
tion. The lock yielded to her hand, and, luckily, with nd
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 be¬
held what fixed her to the spot and agitated every feature.
She saw a large, well-proportioned apartment, a hand¬
some dimity bed, arranged as unoccupied with a house¬
maid'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 every thing
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 Ge¬
neral'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 al¬
lowed 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 un¬
derneath was hastily opened; some one 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 np
NORTHANGEIt AEBEV.
l6l
power to move. With a feeling of terror not very de¬
finable, 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 extra¬
ordinary a road from the breakfast-parlour to your apart¬
ment, 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 any thing 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 find¬
ing 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 ? "
if 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 re¬
st
NORTHANGER ABBEV.
garding her. " Have you looked into all the rooms in
that passage ? "
" No ; I only wanted to see Is not it very lata?
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 her¬
self to he 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 pro¬
mised 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 de¬
ceive and pain you. My mother's room is very commo¬
dious, 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. After a short silence, during which he had
closely observed her, he added, — " As there is nothing
in the room in itself to raise curiosity, this must have pro¬
ceeded from a sentiment of respect for my mother's cha¬
racter, as described by Eleanor, which does honour to her
memory. The world, I believe, never saw a better woman.
But it is not often that virtue can boast an interest such as
this. The domestic, unpretending merits of a person
never known, do not often create that kind of fervent,
venerating tenderness which would prompt a visit like
yours. Eleanor, I suppose, has talked of her a great
deal?"
Yes, a great deal. That is — no, not much, but
koKthanger abbey.
163
what she did say, was very interesting. Her dying so
suddenly," slowly, and with hesitation it was spoken,
" and you — none of you being at home; — and your fa¬
ther, I thought, perhaps had not been very fond of her."
" And from these circumstances," he replied, his quick
eye fixed on hers, " you infer, perhaps, the probability of
some negligence — some — " (involuntarily she shook her
head), " or it may be, of something still less pardonable."
She raised her eyes towards him more fully than she had
ever done before. " My mother's illness," he continued,
" the seizure which ended in her death, was sudden. The
malady itself one from which she had often suffered — a
bilious fever:— its cause therefore constitutional. On the
third day, in short as soon as she could be prevailed on, a
physician attended her ; a very respectable man, and one
in whom she had always placed great confidence. Upon
his opinion of her danger, two others were called in the
next day, and remained in almost constant attendance for
four-and-twenty hours. On the fifth day she died. Dur¬
ing the progress of her disorder, Frederick and I (we
were both at home) saw her repeatedly; and from our
own observation can bear witness to her having received
every possible attention which could spring from the affec¬
tion of those about her, or which her situation in life
could command. Poor Eleanor was absent, and at such a
distance as to return only to see her mother in her coffin."
" But your father," said Catherine, " was he afflicted ? "
" For a time, greatly so. You have erred in supposing
him not attached to her. He loved her, I am persuaded, as
well as it was possible for him to We have not all, you
know, the same tenderness of disposition ; and I will not
pretend to say that while she lived, she might not often
have had much to bear; but though his temper injured
her, his judgment never did. His value of her was sin¬
cere ; and, if not permanently, he was truly afflicted by
her death."
" I am very glad of it," said Catherine: " it would
have been very shocking "
" If I understand you rightly, you had formed a sur¬
mise of such horror as I have hardly words to —— Dear
m 2
164
NORTHANGER. ABBEY.
Miss Morland, consider the dreadful nature of the sus¬
picions you have entertained. What have you been judg¬
ing from ? Remember the country and the age in which
we live. Remember that we are English, that we are
Christians. Consult your own understanding, your own
sense of the probable, your own observation of what is
passing around you. Does our education prepare us for
such atrocities ? Do our laws connive at them ? Could
they he perpetrated without being known, in a country like
this, where social and literary intercourse is on such a foot¬
ing ; where every man is surrounded by a neighbourhood
of voluntary spies; and where roads and newspapers lay
every thing open ? Dearest Miss Morland, what ideas
have you been admitting ? "
They had reached the end of the gallery; and with
tears of shame she ran off to her own room.
CHAPTER X.
The visions of romance were over. Catherine was com¬
pletely awakened. Henry's address, short as it had
been, had more thoroughly opened her eyes to the extra¬
vagance of her late fancies than all their several disappoint¬
ments had done. Most grievously was she humbled.
Most bitterly did she cry. It was not only with herself
that she was sunk, hut with Henry. Her folly, which
now seemed even criminal, was all exposed to him, and he
must despise her for ever. The liberty which her imagin¬
ation had dared to take with the character of his father,
could he ever forgive it ? The absurdity of her curiosity
and her fears, could they ever he forgotten ? She hated
herself more than she could express. He had — she
thought he had, once or twice before this fatal morning,
shown something like affection for her. But now — in
short, she made herself as miserable as possible for about
half an hour, went down when the clock struck five, with
a broken heart, and could scarcely give an intelligible
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
65
answer to Eleanor's enquiry if she was well. The formi¬
dable Henry soon followed her into the room, and the only
difference in his behaviour to her was, that he paid her
rather more attention than usual. Catherine had never
wanted comfort more, and he looked as if he was aware
of it.
The evening wore away with no abatement of this
soothing politeness ; and her spirits were gradually raised
to a modest tranquillity. She did not learn either to for¬
get or defend the past; hut she learned to hope that it
would never transpire farther, and that it might not cost
her Henry's entire regard. Her thoughts being still chiefly
fixed on what she had with such causeless terror felt and
done, nothing could shortly be clearer, than that it had
been all a voluntary, self-created delusion, each trifling cir¬
cumstance receiving importance from an imagination re¬
solved on alarm, and every thing forced to bend to one
purpose by a mind which, before she entered the Abbey,
had been craving to he frightened. She remembered
with what feelings she had prepared for a knowledge of
Northanger. She saw that the infatuation had been
created, the mischief settled long before her quitting Bath,
and it seemed as if the whole might be traced to the in¬
fluence of that sort of reading which she had there in¬
dulged.
Charming as were all Mrs. Radcliffe's works, and charm¬
ing even as were the works of all her imitators, it was not
in them perhaps that human nature, at least in the midland
counties of England, was to be looked for. Of the Alps
and Pyrenees, with their pine forests and their vices, they
might give a faithful delineation; and Italy, Switzerland,
and the South of France, might be as fruitful in horrors as
they were there represented. Catherine dared not doubt
beyond her own country, and even of that, if hard pressed,
would have yielded the northern and western extremities.
But in the central part of England there was surely some
security for the existence even of a wife not beloved, in the
laws of the land, and the manners of the age. Murder
was not tolerated, servants were not slaves, and neither
poison nor sleeping potions to be procured^ like rhubarb^
M 3
166
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
from every druggist. Among the Alps and Pyrenees, per¬
haps, there were no mixed characters. There, such as
were not as spotless as an angel, might have the dispositions
of a fiend. But in England it was not so ; among the
English, she believed, in their hearts and habits, there was
a general though unequal mixture of good and bad. Upon
this conviction, she would not be surprised if even in
Henry and Eleanor Tilney some slight imperfection might
hereafter appear; and upon this conviction she need not
fear to acknowledge some actual specks in the character of
their father, who, though cleared from the grossly injurious
suspicions which she must ever blush to have entertained,
she did believe, upon serious consideration, to he not per¬
fectly amiable.
Her mind made up on these several points, and her re¬
solution formed, of always judging and acting in future
with the greatest good sense, she had nothing to do but to
forgive herself and be happier than ever; and the lenient
hand of time did much for her by insensible gradations in
the course of another day. Henry's astonishing generosity
and nobleness of conduct, in never alluding in the slightest
way to what had passed, was of the greatest assistance to
her ; and sooner than she could have supposed it possible
in the beginning of her distress, her spirit§ became abso¬
lutely comfortable, and capable, as heretofore, of continual
improvement by any thing he said. There were still
some subjects, indeed, under which she believed they must
always tremble; — the mention of a chest or a cabinet, for
instance — and she did not love the sight of japan in any
shape : but even she could allow that an occasional me¬
mento of past folly, however painful, might not he without
use.
The anxieties of common life began soon to succeed to
the alarms of romance. Her desire of hearing from Isa¬
bella grew every day greater. She was quite impatient to
know how the Bath world went on and how the Booms
were attended ; and especially ww tr.xious to i ^ as¬
sured of Isabella's having matched some fine netting c>tton,
on which she had left her intent; and of her continuing
on the best terms with James. Her only dependence for <
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
107
information of any kind was on Isabella. James had pro¬
tested against writing to her till his return to Oxford; and
Mrs. Allen had given her no hopes of a letter till she had
got back to Fullerton. But Isabella had promised and pro¬
mised again ; and when she promised a thing, she was so
scrupulous in performing it! this made it so particularly
strange !
For nine successive mornings Catherine wondered over
the repetition of a disappointment which each morning be¬
came more severe; but on the tenth, when she entered
the breakfast-room, her first object was a letter, held out
by Henry's willing hand. She thanked him as heartily as
if he had written it himself. " 'Tis only from James,
however," as she looked at the direction. She opened it:
it was from Oxford; and to this purpose : —
" Dear Catherine,
" Though, God knows, with little inclination for writ¬
ing, I think it my duty to tell you, that every thing is at
an end between Miss Thorpe and me. I left her and Bath
yesterday, never to see either again. I shall not enter into
particulars, they would only pain you more. You will
soon hear enough from another quarter to know where lies
the blame; and I hope will acquit your brother of every
thing but the folly of too easily thinking his affection re¬
turned. Thank God ! I am undeceived in time ! But it
is a heavy blow ! After my father's consent had been so
kindly giverv — but no more of this. She has made me
miserable for ever ! Let me soon hear from you, dear
Catherine ; you are my only friend; your love I do build
upon. I wish your visit at Northanger may be over before
Captain Tilney makes his engagement known, or you will
be uncomfortably circumstanced. Poor Thorpe is in
town : I dread the sight of him ; liis honest heart would
feel so much. I have written to him and my father.
Her duplicity hurts me more than all; till the very last, if
1 reasoned with her, she declared herself as much attached
to me as ever and laughed at my fears. I am ashamed to
think how long I bore with it; but if ever man had reason
to believe himself loved, I was that man. I cannot under-
m 4
16'8
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
stands even now, what she would be at, for ther^ could be
no need of my being played off to make her secure of Til-
ney. We parted at last by mutual consent — happy for
me had we never met ! I can never expect to know
such another woman ! Dearest Catherine, beware how
you give your heart.
" Believe me, &c."
Catherine had not read three lines before her sudden
change of countenance, and short exclamations of sorrow¬
ing wonder, declared her to be receiving unpleasant news;
and Henry, earnestly watching her through the whole
letter, saw plainly that it ended 110 better than it began.
He was prevented, however, from even looking his surprise
by his father's entrance. They went to breakfast directly;
but Catherine could hardly eat any thing. Tears filled her
eyes, and even ran down her cheeks as she sat. The let¬
ter was one moment in her hand, then in her lap, and then
in her pocket; and she looked as if she knew not what she
did. The General, between his cocoa and his newspaper,
had luckily no leisure for noticing her; but to the other
two her distress was equally visible. As soon as she
dared leave the table, she hurried away to her own room ;
but the housemaids were busy in it, and she was obliged
to come down again. She turned into the drawing-room
for privacy, but Henry and Eleanor had likewise retreated
thither, and were at that moment deep in consultation
about her. She drew back, trying to beg their pardon, but
was, with gentle violence, forced to return; and the others
withdrew, after Eleanor had affectionately expressed a wish
of being of use or comfort to her.
After half an hour's free indulgence of grief and reflec¬
tion, Catherine felt equal to encountering her friends; but
whether she should make her distress known to them was
another consideration. Perhaps, if particularly questioned,
she might just give an idea—just distantly hint at it—
but not more. To expose a friend, such a friend as Isa¬
bella had been to her—and then their own brother so
closely concerned in it! She believed she must wave the
subject altogether. Henry and Eleanor were by themselves
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
169
in the breakfast-room ; and each, as she entered it, looked
at her anxiously. Catherine took her place at the table,
and, after a short silence, Eleanor said, " No bad news
from Fullerton, I hope? Mr. and Mrs. Morland—your
brothers and sisters—I hope they are none of them ill?"
" No, I thank you," sighing as she spoke, " they are
all very well. My letter was from my brother at Oxford."
Nothing further was said for a few minutes; and then,
speaking through her tears, she added, " I do not think I
shall ever wish for a letter again !"
" I am sorry," said Henry, closing the book he had just
opened; " if I had suspected the letter of containing any
thing unwelcome, I should have given it with very different
feelings."
" It contained something worse than any body could
suppose! Poor James is so unhappy ! You will soon know
why."
" To have so kind-hearted, so affectionate a sister," re¬
plied Henry, warmly, " must he a comfort to him under
any distress."
" I have one favour to beg," said Catherine, shortly
afterwards, in an agitated manner, " that, if your brother
should be coming here, you will give me notice of it, that
I may go away."
" Our brother ! Frederick !"
" Yes; I am sure I should be very sorry to leave you so
soon, but something has happened that would make it very
dreadful for me to be in the same house with Captain
Tilney."
Eleanor's work was suspended while she gazed with in¬
creasing astonishment; but Henry began to suspect the
truth, and something, in which Miss Thorpe's name was
included, passed his lips.
" How quick you are !" cried Catherine: " you have
guessed it, I declare ! And yet, when we talked about it
in Bath, you little thought of its ending so. Isabella—no
wonder now I have not heard from her—Isabella has de¬
serted my brother, and is to marry yours ! Could you have
believed there had been such inconstancy, and fickleness,
and every thing that is bad in the world ?"
170
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
" I hope, so far as concerns my brother, jjpu are mis¬
informed. I hope he has not had any material share in
bringing on Mr. Morland's disappointment. His marry¬
ing Miss Thorpe is not probable. I think you must be
deceived so far. I am very sorry for Mr. Morland—
sorry that any one you love should be unhappy; but my
surprise would be greater at Frederick's marrying her, than
at any other part of the story."
" It is very true, however ; you shall read James's letter
yourself. Stay—there is one part " recollecting, with
a blush, the last line.
" Will you take the trouble of reading to us the passages
which concern my brother ? "
" No, read it yourself," cried Catherine, whose second
thoughts were clearer. " I do not know what I was think¬
ing of," blushing again that she had blushed before,
" James only means to give me good advice."
He gladly received the letter; and, having read it
through, with close attention, returned it, saying, " Well,
if it is to be so, I can only say that I am sorry for it.
Frederick will not be the first man who has chosen a wife
with less sense than his family expected. I do not envy
his situation, either as a lover or a son."
Miss Tilney, at Catherine's invitation, now read the
letter likewise; and, having expressed also her concern and
surprise, began to enquire into Miss Thorpe's connections
and fortune.
" Her mother is a very good sort of woman," was Ca¬
therine's answer.
" What was her father ? "
" A lawyer, I believe. They live at Putney,"
" Are they a wealthy family ? "
" No, not very. I do not believe Isabella has any for¬
tune at all; but that will not signify in your family. Your
father is so very liberal! He told me the other day, that
he only valued money as it allowed him to promote the
happiness of his children." The brother and sister looked
at each other. But," said Eleanor, after a short pause,
" would it be to promote his happiness to enable him to
marry such a girl ? She must be an unprincipled one, qr
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
171
she could fiot have used your brother so. And how strange
an infatuation on Frederick's side ! A girl who, before his
eyes, is violating an engagement voluntarily entered into
with another man ! Is not it inconceivable, Henry ? Fre¬
derick, too, who always wore his heart so proudly! who
found no woman good enough to be loved !"
" That is the most unpromising circumstance, the
strongest presumption against him. When I think of his
past declarations, I give him up. Moreover, I have too good
an opinion of Miss Thorpe's prudence, to suppose that she
would part with one gentleman before the other was secured.
It is all over with Frederick, indeed! He is a deceased
man—defunct in understanding. Prepare for your sister-
in-law, Eleanor, and such a sister-in-law as you must de¬
light in ! Open, candid, artless, guileless, with affections
strong hut simple, forming no pretensions, and knowing no
disguise."
" Such a sister-in-law, Henry, I should delight in," said
Eleanor, with a smile.
" But, perhaps," observed Catherine, " though she has
behaved so ill by our family, she may behave better by
yours. Now she has really got the man she likes, she may
be constant."
" Indeed, I am afraid she will," replied Henry; " I
am afraid she will be very constant, unless a baronet should
come in her way ; that is Frederick's only chance. I will
get the Bath paper, and look over the arrivals."
" You think it is all for ambition, then? And, upon
my word, there are some things that seem very like it. I
cannot forget that, when she first knew what my father
would do for them, she seemed quite disappointed that it
was not more. I never was so deceived in any one's cha¬
racter in my life before."
'' Among all the great variety that you have known and
studied."
" My own disappointment and loss in her is very great;
but, as for poor James, I suppose he will hardly ever re¬
cover it."
" Your brother is certainly very much to be pitied at
present; but we must not, in our concern for his sufferings,
172
northanger abbey.
undervalue yours. You feel, I suppose, that, in losing Isa.
bella, you lose half yourself: you feel a void in your hear!
which nothing else can occupy. Society is becoming irk¬
some ; and as for the amusements in which you were wont
to share at Bath, the very idea of them without her is ab¬
horrent. You would not, for instance, now go to a ball for
the world. You feel that you have no longer any friend to
whom you can speak with unreserve ; on whose regard you
can place dependence ; or whose counsel, in any difficulty,
you could rely on. You feel all this?"
" No," said Catherine, after a few moments' reflection,
" I do not—ought I ? To say the truth, though I am
hurt and grieved that I cannot still love her, that I am
never to hear from her, perhaps never to see her again, I
do not feel so very, very much afflicted as one would have
thought."
" You feel, as you always do, what is most to the credit
of human nature. Such feelings ought to be investigated,
that they may know themselves."
Catherine, by some chance or other, found her spirits so
very much relieved by this conversation, that she could not
regret her being led on, though so unaccountably, to men¬
tion the circumstance which had produced it.
CHAPTER XI.
From this time, the subject was frequently canvassed by the
three young people; and Catherine found, with some sur¬
prise, that her two young friends were perfectly agreed in
considering Isabella's want of consequence and fortune as
likely to throw great difficulties in the way of her marrying
their brother. Their persuasion that the General would,
upon this ground alone, independent of the objection that
might be raised against her character, oppose the connec¬
tion, turned her feelings moreover with some alarm towards
herself. She was as insignificant, and perhaps as portion¬
less, as Isabella; and if the heir qf the Tilney property had
Northanger abbey.
173
not grandeur and wealth enough in himself, at what point
of interest were the demands of his younger brother to rest ?
The very painful reflections to which this thought led
could only he dispersed by a dependence on the effect of
that particular partiality which, as she was given to under¬
stand by his words as well as his actions, she had from the
first been so fortunate as to excite in the General; and by
a recollection of some most generous and disinterested sen¬
timents on the subject of money, which she had more than
once heard him utter, and which tempted her to think his
disposition in such matters misunderstood by his children.
They were so fully convinced, however, that their bro¬
ther would not have the courage to apply in person for his
father's consent, and so repeatedly assured her that he had
never in his life been less likely to come to Northanger than
at the present time, that she suffered her mind to be at ease
as to the necessity of any sudden removal of her own. But
as it was not to be supposed that Captain Tilney, whenever
he made his application, would give his father any just idea
of Isabella's conduct, it occurred to her as highly expedient
that Henry should lay the whole business before him as it
really was, enabling the General by that means to form a
cool and impartial opinion, and prepare his objections on a
fairer ground than inequality of situations. She proposed
it to him accordingly; but he did not catch at the mea¬
sure so eagerly as she had expected. ee No," said he; " my
father's hands need not be strengthened, and Frederick's
confession of folly need not be forestalled. He must tell
his own story."
" But he will tell only half of it."
" A quarter would be enough."
A day or two passed away and brought no tidings of
Captain Tilney. His brother and sister knew not what to
think. Sometimes it appeared to them as if his silence
would be the natural result of the suspected engagement,
and at others that it was wholly incompatible with it. The
General, meanwhile, though offended every morning by
Frederick's remissness in writing, was free from any real
anxiety about him; and had no more pressing solicitude
than that of making Miss Morland's time at Northanger
174
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
pass pleasantly. He often expressed his uneasiness on this
head, feared the sameness of every day's society and em¬
ployments would disgust her with the place, wished the
Lady Frasers had been in the country, talked every now and
then of having a large party to dinner, and once or twice
began even to calculate the number of young dancing people
in the neighbourhood. But then it was such a dead time
of year, no wild-fowl, no game, and the Lady Frasers were
not in the country. And it all ended, at last, in his tell¬
ing Henry, one morning, that when he next went to Wood-
ston, they would take him by surprise there some day or
other, and eat their mutton with him. Henry was greatly
honoured and very happy, and Catherine was quite delighted
with the scheme. " And when do you think, sir, I may
look forward to this pleasure ? I must he at Woodston on
Monday to attend the parish meeting, and shall probably be
obliged to stay two or three days."
" Well, well, we will take our chance some one of those
days. There is no need to fix. You are not to put your¬
self at all out of your way. Whatever you may happen to
have in the house will be enough. I think I can answer
for the young ladies making allowance for a bachelor's
table. Let me see; Monday will be a busy day with you,
we will not come on Monday; and Tuesday will be a busy
one with me. I expect my surveyor from Brockham with
his report in the morning ; and afterwards I cannot, in de¬
cency, fail attending the club. I really could not face my
acquaintance if I staid away now; for, as I am known to
be in the country, it would be taken exceedingly amiss; and
it is a rule with me, Miss Morland, never to give offence to
any of my neighbours, if a small sacrifice of time and at¬
tention can prevent it. They are a set of very worthy men.
They have half a buck from Northanger twice a year; and
I dine with them whenever I can. Tuesday, therefore,
we may say, is out of the question. But on Wednesday, I
think, Henry, you may expect us; and we shall be with
you early, that we may have time to look about us. Two
hours and three quarters will carry us to Woodston, I sup¬
pose : we shall be in the carriage by ten; so, about a quar¬
ter before one on Wednesday, yo? *>ay look for us."
NOBTHANGEK, ABBEY.
175
A ball itself could not have been more welcome to Ca¬
therine than this little excursion, so strong was her desire
to he acquainted with Woodston; and her heart was still
bounding with joy, when Henry, about an hour afterwards,
came booted and great coated into the room where she and
Eleanor was sitting, and said, " I am come, young ladies,
in a very moralising strain, to observe that our pleasures
in this world are always to be paid for, and that we often
purchase them at a great disadvantage, giving ready-mo-
nied actual happiness for a draft on the future that may
not be honoured. Witness myself at this present hour.
Because I am to hope for the satisfaction of seeing you at
Woodston on Wednesday, which bad weather, or twenty
other causes, may prevent, I must go away directly, two
days before I intended it."
" Go away !" said Catherine, with a very long face;
l( and why ? "
" Why! How can you ask the question ? Because
no time is to be lost in frightening my old housekeeper
out of her wits, because I must go and prepare a dinner for
you to be sure."
<c Oh ! not seriously !"
" Ay, and sadly too — for I had much rather stay."
" But how can you think of such a thing after what the
General said ? when he so particularly desired you not to
give yourself any trouble, because any thing would do."
Henry only smiled. " I am sure it is quite unnecessary
upon your sister's account and mine. You must know
it to be so; and the General made such a point of your
providing nothing extraordinary : besides, if he had not
said half so much as he did, he has always such an excel¬
lent dinner at home, that sitting down to a middling one
for one day could not signify."
<e I wish I could reason like you, for his sake and my
own. Good-by. As to-morrow is Sunday, Eleanor, I
shall not return."
He went; and, it being at any time a much simpler
operation to Catherine to doubt her own judgment
than Henry's, she was very soon obliged to give him
credit for being right, however disagreeable to her hia
176
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
going. But the inexplicability of the General's conduct
dwelt much on her thoughts. That he was very particular
in his eating, she had, by her own unassisted observation,
already discovered; hut why he should say one thing so
positively, and mean another all the while, was most unac¬
countable ! How were people, at that rate, to be under¬
stood ? Who but Henry could have been aware of what
his father was at ?
From Saturday to Wednesday, however, they were now
to be without Henry. This was the sad finale of every
reflection: and Captain Tilney's letter would certainly
come in his absence; and Wednesday, she was very sure,
would be wet. The past, present, and future, were all
equally in gloom. Her brother so unhappy, and her loss
in Isabella so great; and Eleanor's spirits always affected
by Henry's absence! What was there to interest or
amuse her ? She was tired of the woods and the shrub¬
beries — always so smooth and so dry; and the Abbey in
itself was no more to her now than any other house. The
painful remembrance of the folly it had helped to nourish
and perfect was the only emotion which could spring
from a consideration of the building. What a revolution
in her ideas ! she, who had so longed to be in an abbey !
Now, there was nothing so charming to her imagination as
the unpretending comfort of a well-connected parsonage,
something like Fuller ton, but better: Fuller ton had its
faults, but Woodston probably had none. If Wednesday
should ever come!
It did come, and exactly when it might be reasonably
looked for. It came — it was fine — and Catherine trod
on air. By ten o'clock the chaise-and-four conveyed the
two from the Abbey; and, after an agreeable drive of
almost twenty miles, they entered Woodston, a large and
populous village, in a situation not unpleasant. Catherine
was ashamed to say how pretty she thought it, as the
General seemed to think an apology necessary for the flat¬
ness of the country, and the size of the village; but in her
heart she preferred it to any place she had ever been at,
and looked with great admiration at every neat house
above the rank of a cottage, and at all the little chandler's
N0ttTHAN6ER ABBEY.
177
shops which they passed. At the further end of the vil¬
lage, and tolerably disengaged from the rest of it, stood the
Parsonage, a new-built substantial stone house, with its
semicircular sweep and green gates; and, as they drove
up to the door, Henry, with the friends of his solitude, a
large Newfoundland puppy and two or three terriers* was
ready to receive and make much of them.
Catherine's mind was too full, as she entered the house,
for her either to observe or to say a great deal; and, till
called on by the General for her opinion of it, she had
very little idea of the room in which she was sitting.
Upon looking round it then, she perceived in a moment
that it was the most comfortable room in the world; hut
she was too guarded to say so, and the coldness of her
praise disappointed him.
" We are not calling it a good house," said he. " We
are not comparing it with Fullerton and Northanger. We
are considering it as a mere parsonage, small and confined
we allow, but decent, perhaps, and habitable; and altogether
not inferior to the generality; or, in other words, I be¬
lieve there are few country parsonages in England half so
good. It may admit of improvement, however. Far be
it from me to say otherwise; and any thing in reason —
a bow thrown out, perhaps — though, between ourselves,
if there is one thing more than another my aversion, it is
a patched-on bow."
Catherine did not hear enough of this speech to under¬
stand or be pained by it; and other subjects being studi¬
ously brought forward and supported by Henry, at the
same time that a tray full of refreshments was introduced by
his servant, the General was shortly restored to his com¬
placency, and Catherine to all her usual ease of spirits.
The room in question was of a commodious, well-pro¬
portioned size, and handsomely fitted up as a dining par¬
lour ; and on their quitting it to walk round the grounds,
she was shown, first into a smaller apartment, belonging
peculiarly to the master of the house, and made unusually
tidy on the occasion; and afterwards into what was to be
the drawing-room, with the appearance of which, though
unfurnished, Catherine was delighted enough even to
N
178
TtOftTHANGER ABBEY.
satisfy trie General. It was a prettily-shaped room, the
windows reaching to the ground, and the view from them
pleasant, though only over green meadows; and she
expressed her admiration at the moment with all the honest
simplicity with which she felt it. " Oh, why do not you
fit up this room, Mr. Tilney ? What a pity not to have
it fitted up ! It is the prettiest room I ever saw; — it is
the prettiest room in the world !"
" I trust," said the General, with a most satisfied smile,
" that it will very speedily he furnished: it waits only for
a lady's taste."
" Well, if it was my house, I should never sit any
where else. Oh, what a sweet little cottage there is
among the trees—apple trees too! It is the prettiest
cottage "
" You like it—you approve it as an object;—it is
enough. Henry, remember that Robinson is spoken to
about it. The cottage remains."
Such a compliment recalled all Catherine's conscious¬
ness, and silenced her directly; and, though pointedly
applied to by the General for her choice of the prevailing
colour of the paper and hangings, nothing like an opinion
on the subject could be drawn from her. The influence
of fresh objects and fresh air, however, was of great use in
dissipating these embarrassing associations; and, having
reached the ornamental part of the premises, consisting of
a walk round two sides of a meadow, on which Henry's
genius had begun to act about half a year ago, she was
sufficiently recovered to think it prettier than any pleasure-
ground she had ever been in before, though there was not
a shrub in it higher than the green bench in the corner.
A saunter into other meadows, and through part of the
village, with a visit to the stables to examine some im¬
provements, and a charming game of play with a litter of
puppies just able to roll about, brought them to four o'clock,
when Catherine scarcely thought it could be three. At
four they were to dine, and at six to set-off" on their re¬
turn. Never had any day passed so quickly !
She could not but observe that the abundance of the
dinner did not seem to create the smallest astonishment in
northanger abbey.
179
the General; nay, tliat he was even looking at the side-
table for cold meat which was not there. His son and
daughter's observations were of a different kind. They
had seldom seen him eat so heartily at any table but his
own; and never before known him so little disconcerted
by the melted butter's being oiled.
At six o'clock, the General having taken his coffee, the
carriage again received them; and so gratifying had been
the tenor of his conduct throughout the whole visit, so
well assured was her mind on the subject of his expect¬
ations, that, could she have felt equally confident of the
wishes of his son, Catherine would have quitted Woodston
with little anxiety as to the how or the when she might
return to it.
CHAPTER XII.
The next morning brought the following very unexpected
letter from Isabella: —
" Bath, April
" My dearest Catherine,
" I received your two kind letters with the greatest
delight, and have a thousand apologies to make for not
answering them sooner. I really am quite ashamed of my
idleness; but in this horrid place one can find time for
nothing. I have had my pen in my hand to begin a letter
to you almost every day since you left Bath, but have al¬
ways been prevented by some silly trifler or other. Pray
write to me soon, and direct to my own home.' Thank
God ! we leave this vile place to-morrow. Since you went
away, I have had no pleasure in it—the dust is beyond
any thing; and every body one cares for is gone. I be¬
lieve if I could see you I should not mind the rest, for
you are dearer to me than any body can conceive. I am
quite uneasy about your dear brother, not having heard
from him since he went to Oxford; and am fearful of
some misunderstanding. Your kind offices will set all
n 2
NORTHANGEft. ABBEtf.
right: he is the only man I ever did or Could love, and
I trust you will convince him of it. The spring fashions
are partly down, and the hats the most frightful you can
imagine. I hope you spend your time pleasantly, but am
afraid you never think of me. I will not say all that I
could of the family you are with, because I would not he
ungenerous, or set you against those you esteem ; but it is
very difficult to know whom to trust, and young men never
know their minds two days together. I rejoice to say, that
the young man whom, of all others, I particularly abhor,
has left Bath. You will know, from this description, I
must mean Captain Tilney, who, as you may remember,
was amazingly disposed to follow and tease me, before you
went away. Afterwards he got worse, and became quite
my shadow. Many girls might have been taken in, for
never were such attentions; but I knew the fickle sex too
well. He went away to his regiment two days ago, and I
trust I shall never be plagued with him again. He is the
greatest coxcomb I ever saw, and amazingly disagreeable.
The last two days he was always by the side of Charlotte
Davis : I pitied his taste, but took no notice of him. The
last time we met was in Bath Street, and I turned directly
into a shop that he might not speak to me; — I would not
even look at him. He went into the Pump-room after¬
wards, but I would not have followed him for all the
world. Such a contrast between him and your brother !
Pray send me some news of the latter: I am quite un¬
happy about him, he seemed so uncomfortable when he
went away, with a cold, or something that affected his
spirits. I would write to him myself, but have mislaid his
direction ; and, as I hinted above, am afraid he took some¬
thing in my conduct amiss. Pray explain every thing to
his satisfaction; or, if he still harbours any doubt, a line
from himself to me, or a call at Putney when next in town,
might set all to rights. I have not been to the Rooms this
age, nor to the play, except going in last night with the
Hodges's, for a frolic, at half-price: they teased me into
it; and I was determined they should not say I shut my¬
self up because Tilney was gone. We happened to sit by
the Mitchells, and they pretended to be quite surprised to
northanger abbey.
181
Bee me out. I knew their spite: at one time they could
not be civil to me, but now they are all friendship; but
I am not such a fool as to be taken in by them. You
know I have a pretty good spirit of my own. Anne Mit¬
chell had tried to put on a turban like mine, as I wore it
the week before at the Concert, but made wretched work
of it. It happened to become my odd face I believe, at
least Tilney told me so at the time, and said ev.ery eye was
upon me; but he is the last man whose word I would
take. I wear nothing but purple now: I know I look
hideous in it, but no matter—it is your dear brother's fa¬
vourite colour. Lose no time, my dearest, sweetest Ca¬
therine, in writing to him and to me,
Who ever am, &c."
Such a strain of shallow artifice could not impose even
upon Catherine. Its inconsistencies, contradictions, and
falsehood, struck her from the very first. She was ashamed
of Isabella, and ashamed of having ever loved her. Her
professions of attachment were now as disgusting as her
excuses were empty, and her demands impudent. " Write
to James on her behalf! No, James should never hear
Isabella's name mentioned by her again."
On Henry's arrival from Woodston she made known to
him and Eleanor their brother's safety, congratulating them
with sincerity on it, and reading aloud the most material
passages of her letter with strong indignation. When she
had finished it, — " So much for Isabella," she cried, " and
for all our intimacy ! She must think me an idiot, or she
could not have written so ; but perhaps this has served to
make her character better known to me than mine is to
her. I see what she has been about. She is a vain co¬
quette, and her tricks have not answered. I do not believe
she had ever any regard either for James or for me, and I
wish I had never known her."
" It will soon be as if you never had," said Henry.
" There is but one thing that I cannot understand. I
see that she has had designs on Captain Tilney which
have not succeeded; but I do not understand what Captain
Tilney has been about all this time. Why should he pay
n 3
182
NOilTHANGER ABBEY.
her such attentions as to make her quarrel with my brother,
and then fly off himself? "
<{ I have very little to say for Frederick's motives, such
as I believe them to have been. He has his vanities as
well as Miss Thorpe, and the chief difference is, that, hav¬
ing a stronger head, they have not yet injured himself. If
the effect of his behaviour does not justify him with you,
we had better not seek after the cause."
" Then you do not suppose he ever really cared about
her ? "
" I am persuaded that he never did."
" And only made believe to do so for mischief's sake ? "
Henry bowed his assent.
" Well, then, I must say that I do not like him at all.
Though it has turned out so well for us, I do not like him
at all. As it happens, there is no great harm done, be¬
cause I do not think Isabella has any heart to lose. 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 he
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 reason¬
ings of family partiality, or a desire of revenge."
Catherine was complimented out of further bitterness.
Frederick could not he unpardonably guilty, while Henry
made himself so agreeable. She resolved on not answering
Isabella's letter; and tried to think no more of it.
northanger abbey.
183
CHAPTER XIII.
Soon after this, the General found himself obliged to go to
London for a week ; and he left Northanger, earnestly re¬
gretting that any necessity should rob him, even for an
hour, of Miss Morland's company, and anxiously recom¬
mending the study of her comfort and amusement to his
children, as their chief object in his absence. His de¬
parture gave Catherine the first experimental conviction
that a loss may be sometimes a gain. The happiness with
which their time now passed — every employment volun¬
tary, 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 staid
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 obliga¬
tion of going away very soon. Eleanor looked and declared
herself much concerned. She had " hoped for the plea-
n -i
184
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
sure 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 plea¬
santly removed, the force of the other was likewise weak¬
ened. 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 douhts and anxieties were merely sportive irri¬
tations.
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 Satur¬
day 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
northanger abbey.
185
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 unplea¬
sant impression his conduct had given her, and the per¬
suasion of his being by far too fine a gentleman to ap¬
prove of her, that at least they should not meet under such
circumstances as would make their meeting materially pain¬
ful. 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 some one was touch¬
ing 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 any one's approaching
so cautiously; but resolving not to be again overcome by
trivial appearances of alarm, or misled by a raised imagin¬
ation, she stepped quietly forward, and opened the door.
Eleanor, and only Eleanor, stood there. Catherine's spi¬
rits, however, were tranquillised but for an instant, for
FJejmor'i cheeks were pale, and her manner greatly agi-
186
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
tated. Though evidently intending to come in, it seemed
an effort to enter the room, and a still greater to speak when
there. Catherine, supposing some uneasiness on Captain
Tilney's account, could only express her concern by silent
attention; obliged her to he seated, rubbed her temples
with lavender water, and hung over her with affectionate
solicitude. " My dear Catherine, you must not — you
must not indeed " were Eleanor's first connected words.
" I am quite well. This kindness distracts me — I cannot
bear it—I come to you on such an errand!"
" Errand! — to me !"
" How shall I tell you ! Oh, how shall I tell you !"
A new idea now darted into Catherine's mind, and turn¬
ing as pale as her friend, she exclaimed, " 'T is a messenger
from Woodston!"
" You are mistaken, indeed," returned Eleanor, look¬
ing at her most compassionately, — " it is no one f'ron
Woodston. It is my father himself." Her voice faltered
and her eyes were turned to the ground as she mentioned
his name. His unlooked-for return was enough in itself
to make Catherine's heart sink, and for a few moments she
hardly supposed there were any thing worse to he told.
She said nothing; and Eleanor, endeavouring to collect
herself and speak with firmness, hut with eyes still cast
down, soon went on. You are too good, I am sure, to
think the worse of me for the part I am obliged to per¬
form. I am, indeed, a most unwilling messenger. After
what has so lately passed, so lately been settled between
us — how joyfully, how thankfully on my side ! — as to
your continuing here as I hoped for many, many weeks
7onger, how can 1 tell you that your kindness is not to be
iccepted, and that the happiness your company has hitherto
.given us is to be repaid by —— but I must not trust myself
with words. My dear Catherine, we are to part. My
father has recollected an engagement that takes our whole
family away on Monday. We are going to Lord Long-
town's, near Hereford, for a fortnight. Explanation
and apology are equally impossible. I cannot attempt
either."
" My dear Eleanor," cried Catherine, suppressing her
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
!87
feelings as well as she could, " do not be so distressed. A
second engagement must give way to a first. I am very
very sorry we are to part, so soon, and so suddenly too ;
but I am not offended, indeed I am not. I can finish my
visit here, you know, at any time; or I hope you will come
to me. Can you, when you return from this lord's, come
to Fullerton ? "
" It will not be in my power, Catherine."
<c Come when you can, then."
Eleanor made no answer; and Catherine's thoughts re¬
curring to something more directly interesting, she added,
thinking aloud, " Monday—so soon as Monday; and
you all go. Well, I am certain of I shall be able to
take leave, however. I need not go till just before you do,
you know. Do not be distressed, Eleanor; I can go on
Monday very well. My father and mother's having no
notice of it is of very little consequence. The General will
send a servant with me, I dare say, half the way—and
then I shall soon be at Salisbury, and then I am only nine
miles from home."
" Ah, Catherine ! were it settled so, it would be some¬
what less intolerable; though in such common attentions
you would have received but half what you ought. But
—how can I tell you?—to-morrow morning is fixed for
your leaving us, and not even the hour is left to your
choice; the very carriage is ordered, and will be here
at seven o'clock, and no servant will be offered you."
Catherine sat down, breathless and speechless. " I could
hardly believe my senses when I heard it; and no dis¬
pleasure, no resentment that you can feel at this moment,
however justly great, can be more than I myself—but
J must not talk of what I felt. Oh that I could suggest
any thing in extenuation ! Good God! what will your
father and mother say ? After courting you from the pro¬
tection of real friends to this—almost double distance from
your home—to have you driven out of the house, without
the considerations even of decent civility ! Dear, dear Ca¬
therine, in being the bearer of such a message, I seem
guilty myself of all its insult; yet, I trust you will acquit
me for you must have been long enough in this house to
188
northangeh abbey.
see that I am but a nominal mistress of it, that my real
power is nothing."
" Have I offended the General ? " said Catherine in a
faltering voice.
" Alas! for my feelings as a daughter, all that I know,
all that I answer for is, that you can have given him
no just cause of offence. He certainly is greatly, very
greatly, discomposed ; I have seldom seen him more so.
His temper is not happy, and something has now occurred
to ruffle it in an uncommon degree ; some disappointment,
some vexation, which just at this moment seems important;
but which I can hardly suppose you to have any concern
in ; for how is it possible ? "
It was with pain that Catherine could speak at all; and
it was only for Eleanor's sake that she attempted it. " I
am sure," said she, " I am very sorry if I have offended
him. It was the last thing I would willingly have done.
But do not be unhappy, Eleanor. An engagement, you
know, must he kept. I am only sorry it was not recollected
sooner, that I might have written home. But it is of
very little consequence."
" I hope, I earnestly hope that to your real safety it will
be of none; hut to every thing else it is of the greatest
consequence ; to comfort, appearance, propriety, to your
family, to the world. Were your friends, the Aliens, still
in Bath, you might go to them with comparative ease; a
few hours would take you there; but a journey of seventy
miles, to be taken post by you, at your age, alone, un¬
attended !"
" Oh, the journey is nothing. Do not think about that.
And if we are to part, a few hours sooner or later, you
know, makes no difference. I can be ready by seven. Let
me be called in time." Eleanor saw that she wished to be
alone; and believing it better for each that they should
avoid any further conversation, now left her with " I shall
see you in the morning."
Catherine's swelling heart needed relief. In Eleanor's
presence friendship and pride had equally restrained her
tears, but no sooner was she gone than they burst forth in
torrents, Turned from the house, and in such a way !
NORTHANGEft ABBEY.
189
Without any reason that could justify, any apology that
could atone for the abruptness, the rudeness, nay, the in¬
solence of it. Henry at a distance — not able even to bid
him farewell. Every hope, every expectation from him
suspended, at least, and who could say how long ? Who
could say when they might meet again ? And all this by
such a man as General Tilney, so polite, so well-bred, and
heretofore so particularly fond of her ! It was as incom¬
prehensible as it was mortifying and grievous. From what
it could arise, and where it would end, were considerations
of equal perplexity and alarm. The manner in which it
was done so grossly uncivil: hurrying her away without
any reference to her own convenience, or allowing her even
the appearance of choice as to the time or mode of her tra¬
velling ; of two days, the earliest fixed on, and of that al¬
most the earliest hour, as if resolved to have her gone
before he was stirring in the morning, that he might not
be obliged even to see her. What could all this mean but
an intentional affront ? By some means or other she must
have had the misfortune to offend him. Eleanor had
wished to spare her from so painful a notion, but Catherine
could not believe it possible that any injury or any misfor¬
tune could provoke such ill-will against a person not con¬
nected, or, at least, not supposed to be connected with it.
Heavily passed the night. Sleep, or repose that deserved
the name of sleep, was out of the question. That room, in
which her disturbed imagination had tormented her on her
first arrival, was again the scene of agitated spirits and
unquiet slumbers. Yet how different now the source of
her inquietude from what it had been then—how mourn¬
fully superior in reality and substance ! Her anxiety had
foundation in fact, her fears in probability ; and with a
mind so occupied in the contemplation of actual and natu¬
ral evil, the solitude of her situation, the darkness of her
chamber, the antiquity of the building, were felt and con¬
sidered without the smallest emotion; and though the wind
was high, and often produced strange and sudden noises
throughout the house, she heard it all as she lay awake,
hour after hour, without curiosity or terror.
Soon after six Eleanor entered her room, eager to show
190
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
attention, or give assistance where it was possible; but
very little remained to be done. Catherine had not loitered;
she was almost dressed, and her packing almost finished.
The possibility of some conciliatory message from the Ge¬
neral occurred to her as his daughter appeared. What so
natural, as that anger should pass away and repentance
succeed it ? and she only wanted to know how far, after
what had passed, an apology might properly be received by
her. But the knowledge would have been useless here, it
was not called for ; neither clemency nor dignity was put
to the trial — Eleanor brought no message. Very little
passed between them on meeting: each found her greatest
safety in silence; and few and trivial were the sentences
exchanged while they remained up stairs, Catherine in
busy agitation completing her dress, and Eleanor, with more
good-will than experience, intent upon filling the trunk.
When every thing was done, they left the room, Catherine
lingering only half a minute behind her friend to throw a
parting glance on every well-known cherished object, and
went down to the breakfast-parlour, where breakfast was
prepared. She tried to eat, as well to save herself from
the pain of being urged, as to make her friend comfortable ;
but she had no appetite, and could not swallow many
mouthfuls. The contrast between this and her last break¬
fast in that room gave her fresh misery, and strengthened
her distaste for every thing before her. It was not four-
and-twenty hours ago since they had met there to the same
repast, but in circumstances how different! With what
cheerful ease, what happy, though false security, had she
then looked around her, enjoying every thing present, and
fearing little in future, beyond Henry's going to Woodston
for a day ! Happy, happy breakfast! for Henry had
been there, — Henry had sat by her and helped her.
These reflections were long indulged undisturbed by any
address from her companion, who sat as deep in thought
as herself; and the appearance of the carriage was the first
thing to startle and recall them to the present moment.
Catherine's colour rose at the sight of it; and the indignity
with which she was treated striking, at that instant, on her
mind with peculiar force, made her for a short time sensible
RORTHANGER ABBKV.
191
only of resentment. Eleanor seemed now impelled into
resolution and speech.
" You must write to me, Catherine/' she cried; " you
must let me hear from you as soon as possible. Till I
know you to be safe at home, I shall not have an hour's
comfort. For one letter, at all risks, all hazards, I must
entreat. Let me have the satisfaction of knowing that you
are safe at Fullerton, and have found your family well;
and then, till I can ask for your correspondence as I ought
to do, I will not expect more. Direct to me at Lord
Longtown's, and, I must ask it, under cover to Alice."
" No, Eleanor, if you are not allowed to receive a letter
from me, I am sure I had better not write. There can be
no doubt of my getting home safe."
Eleanor only replied, " I cannot wonder at your feelings.
I will not importune you. I will trust to your own kind¬
ness of heart when I am at a distance from you." But
this, with the look of sorrow accompanying it, was enough
to melt Catherine's pride in a moment, and she instantly
said, " Oh, Eleanor, I will write to you, indeed."
There was yet another point which Miss Tilney was
anxious to settle, though somewhat embarrassed in speaking
of. It had occurred to her, that after so long an absence
from home, Catherine might not he provided with money
enough for the expenses of her journey, and, upon suggest¬
ing it to her with most affectionate offers of accommodation,
it proved to be exactly the case. Catherine had never
thought on the subject till that moment; but, upon ex¬
amining her purse, was convinced that but for this kind¬
ness of her friend, she might have been turned from the
house without even the means of getting home ; and the
distress in which she must have been thereby involved
filling the minds of both, scarcely another word was said
by either during the time of their remaining together.
Short, however, was that time. The carriage was soon
announced to be ready; and Catherine instantly rising, a
ong and affectionate embrace supplied the place of lan¬
guage in bidding each other adieu; and, as they entered
the hall, unable to leave the house without some mention
of one whose name had not yet been spoken by either, she
192
nortttanger abbey.
paused a moment, and with quivering lips just made it in
telligible that she left "her kind remembrance for her
absent friend." But with this approach to his name ended
ill possibility of restraining her feelings; and, hiding her
face as well as she could with her handkerchief, she darted
across the hall, jumped into the chaise, and in a moment
was driven from the door.
CHAPTER XIV.
Catherine was too wretched to be fearful. The journey
in itself had no terrors for her; and she began it without
either dreading its length, or feeling its solitariness. Lean¬
ing back in one corner of the carriage, in a violent burst
of tears, she was conveyed some miles beyond the walls of
the Abbey before she raised her head; and the highest
point of ground within the park was almost closed from
her view before she was capable of turning her eyes towards
it. Unfortunately, the road she now travelled was the
same which only ten days ago she had so happily passed
along in going to and from Woodston ; and, for fourteen
miles, every bitter feeling was rendered more severe by the
review of objects on which she had first looked under im¬
pressions so different. Every mile, as it brought her
nearer Woodston, added to her sufferings; and when within
the distance of five, she passed the turning which led to it,
and thought of Henry, so near, yet so unconscious, her
grief and agitation were excessive.
The day which she had spent at that place had been one
of the happiest of her life. It was there, it was on that
day that the General had made u^e of such expressions
with regard to Henry and herself, had so spoken and so
looked as to give her the most positive conviction of his
actually wishing their marriage. Yes, only ten days ago
had he elated her by his pointed regard—had he even
confused her by his too significant reference ! And now—
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
193
what had she done, or what had she omitted to do, to
merit such a change ?
The only offence against him, of which she could accuse
herself, had been such as was scarcely possible to reach his
knowledge. Henry and her own heart only were privy to
the shocking suspicions which she had so idly entertained ;
and equally safe did she believe her secret with each.
Designedly, at least, Henry could not have betrayed her.
If, indeed, by any strange mischance his father should have
gained intelligence of what she had dared to think and look
for, of her causeless fancies and injurious examinations,
she could not wonder at any degree of his indignation.
If aware of her having viewed him as a murderer, she
could not wonder at his even turning her from his house.
But a justification so full of torture to herself she trusted
would not be in his power.
Anxious as were all her conjectures on this point, it was
not, however, the one on which she dwelt most. There
was a thought yet nearer — a more prevailing, more im¬
petuous concern:—how Henry would think, and feel,
and look, when he returned on the morrow to Northanger,
and heard of her being gone, was a question of force and
interest to rise over every other, to be never-ceasing,
alternately irritating and soothing : it sometimes suggested
the dread of his calm acquiescence; and at others was
answered by the sweetest confidence in his regret and re¬
sentment. To the General, of course, he would not dare
to speak; but to Eleanor,—what might he not say to
Eleanor about her ?
In this unceasing recurrence of doubts and enquiries, on
any one article of which her mind was incapable of more
than momentary repose, the hours passed away, and her
journey advanced much faster than she looked for. The
pressing anxieties of thought, which prevented her from
noticing any thing before her, when once beyond the
neighbourhood of Woodston, saved her, at the same time,
from watching her progress; and, though no object on the
road could engage a moment's attention, she found no
stage of it tedious. From this she was preserved, too, by
another cause—by feeling no eagerness for her journey's
o
194
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
conclusion; for to return in such a manner to Fullerton
was almost to destroy the pleasure of a meeting with those
she loved best, even after an absence such as hers—an
eleven weeks' absence. What had she to say that would
not humble herself and pain her family; that would not
increase her own grief by the confession of it; extend an
useless resentment, and perhaps involve the innocent with
the guilty in undistinguishing iJl-will ? She could never
do justice to Henry and Eleanor's merit: she felt' it too
strongly for expression; and should a dislike be taken
against them, should they be thought of unfavourably, on
their father's account, it would cut her to the heart.
With these feelings, she rather dreaded than sought for
the first view of that well-known spire which would an¬
nounce her within twenty miles of home. Salisbury she
had known to be her point on leaving Northanger; but,
after the first stage, she had been indebted to the post¬
masters for the names of the places which were then to
conduct her to it; so great had been her ignorance of her
route. She met with nothing, however, to distress or
frighten her. Her youth, civil manners, and liberal pay,
procured her all the attention that a traveller like herself
could require; and stopping only to change horses, she
travelled on for about eleven hours without accident or
alarm, and between six and seven o'clock in the evening
found herself entering Fullerton.
A heroine returning, at the close of her career, to her
native village, in all the triumph of recovered reputation,
and all the dignity of a countess, with a long train of noble
relations in their several phaetons, and three waiting-maids
in a travelling chaise-and-four behind her, is an event on
which the pen of the contriver may well delight to dwell ;
it gives credit to every conclusion, and the author must
share in the glory she so liberally bestows. But my affair
is widely different: I bring back my heroine to her home
in solitude and disgrace; and no sweet elation of spirits
can lead me into minuteness. A heroine in a hack post-
chaise is such a blow upon sentiment as no attempt at
grandeur or pathos can withstand. Swiftly, therefore,
shall her post-boy drive through the village, amid the gaze
of Sunday groups ; and speedy shall be her descent from it.
NOfeTHANOBR ABBEY.
i 95
But whatever might he the distress of Catherine's mind
as she thus advanced towards the Parsonage, and whatever
the humiliation of her biographer in relating it, she was
preparing enjoyment of no every-day nature for those to
whom she went; — first, in the appearance of her carriage,
and, secondly, in herself. The chaise of a traveller being
a rare sight in Fullerton, the whole family were imme¬
diately at the window; and to have it stop at the sweep-
gate was a pleasure to brighten every eye, and occupy
every fancy—a pleasure quite unlooked for by all but the
two youngest children, a boy and girl of six and four
years old, who expected a brother or sister in every car¬
riage. Happy the glance that first distinguished Cathe¬
rine ! Happy the voice that proclaimed the discovery!
But whether such happiness were the lawful property of
George or Harriet, could never be exactly understood.
Her father, mother, Sarah, George, and Harriet, all
assembled at the door, to welcome her with affectionate
eagerness, was a sight to awaken the best feelings of
Catherine's heart; and in the embrace of each, as she
stepped from the carriage, she found herself soothed
beyond any thing that she had believed possible. So sur¬
rounded, so caressed, she was even happy! In the joy-
fulness of family love, every thing, for a short time, was
subdued; and the pleasure of seeing her, leaving them at
first little leisure for calm curiosity, they were all seated
round the tea-table, which Mrs. Morland had hurried for
the comfort of the poor traveller, whose pale and jaded
looks soon caught her notice, before any enquiry so direct
as to demand a positive answer was addressed to her.
Reluctantly, and with much hesitation, did she then be¬
gin what might, perhaps, at the end of half an hour, be
termed by the courtesy of her hearers an explanation; but
scarcely, within that time, could they at all discover the
cause, or collect the particulars of her sudden return. They
were far from being an irritable race; far from any quick¬
ness in catching, or bitterness in resenting affronts; but
here, when the whole was unfolded, was an insult not to be
overlooked, nor, for the first half hour, to be easily par¬
doned. Without suffering any romantic alarm in the
196
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
consideration of their daughter's long and lonely journey.
Mr. and Mrs. Morland could not but feel that it might
have been productive of much unpleasantness to her; that
it was what they could never have voluntarily suffered; and
that, in forcing her on such a measure, General Tilney had
acted neither honourably nor feelingly, neither as a gentle,
man nor as a parent. Why he had done it, what could
have provoked him to such a breach of hospitality, and so
suddenly turned all his partial regard for their daughter
into actual ill-will, was a matter which they were at least
as far from divining as Catherine herself: but it did not
oppress them by any means so long ; and, after a due
course of useless conjecture, that " it was a strange busi¬
ness, and that he must be a very strange man," grew
enough for all their indignation and wonder ; though Sarah,
indeed, still indulged in the sweets of incomprehensibility,
exclaiming and conjecturing with youthful ardour. " My
dear, you give yourself a great deal of needless trouble," said
her mother at last; " depend upon it, it is something not
at all worth understanding."
<( I can allow for his wishing Catherine away when he
recollected this engagement," said Sarah ; " but why not
do it civilly ? "
" I am sorry for the young people," returned Mrs.
Morland; " they must have a sad time of it; but as for
any thing else, it is no matter now: Catherine is safe a
home, and our comfort does not depend upon Genera..
Tilney." Catherine sighed. Well," continued her phi¬
losophic mother, <c I am glad I did not know of your
journey at the time; but now it is all over, perhaps there
is no great harm done. It is always good for young
people to be put upon exerting themselves ; and you know,
my dear Catherine, you always were a sad little shatter-
brained creature: but now you must have been forced to
have your wits about you, with so much changing of chaises
and so forth ; and I hope it will appear that you have
not left any thing behind you in any of the pockets."
Catherine hoped so too, and tried to feel an interest in
her own amendment, but her spirits were quite worn down;
and to be silent and alone becoming soon her only wish,
she readily agreed to her mother's next counsel of going
northanger abbey.
197
early to bed. Her parents seeing nothing in her ill-looks
and agitation but the natural consequence of mortified
feelings, and of the unusual exertion and fatigue of
such a journey, parted from her without any douht of
their being soon slept away; and though, when they all
met the next morning, her recovery was not equal to their
hopes, they were still perfectly unsuspicious of there being
any deeper evil. They never once thought of her heart,
which, for the parents of a young lady of seventeen, just re¬
turned from her first excursion from home, was odd enough!
As soon as breakfast was over, she sat down to fulfil her
promise to Miss Tilney, whose trust in the effect of time
and distance on her friend's disposition was already justi¬
fied, for already did Catherine reproach herself with having
parted from Eleanor coldly; with having never enough
valued her merits or kindness ; and never enough com¬
miserated her for what she had been yesterday left to en¬
dure. The strength of these feelings, however, was far
from assisting her pen; and never had it been harder for
her to write than in addressing Eleanor Tilney, To com¬
pose a letter which might at once do justice to her senti¬
ments and her situation, convey gratitude without servile
regret, be guarded without coldness, and honest without
resentment — a letter which Eleanor might not be pained
by the perusal of — and, above all, which she might not
blush herself, if Henry should chance to see, was an un¬
dertaking to frighten away all her powers of performance;
and, after long thought and much perplexity, to be very
brief was all that she could determine on with any con¬
fidence of safety. The money, therefore, which Eleanor
had advanced was enclosed with little more than grateful
thanks, and the thousand good wishes of a most affection¬
ate heart.
" This has been a strange acquaintance," observed Mrs.
Morland, as the letter was finished; " soon made and soon
ended. I am sorry it happens so, for Mrs. Allen thought
them very pretty kind of young people ; and you were
sadly out of luck, too, in your Isabella. Ah, poor James !
Well, we must live and learn ; and the next new friend?
you make I hope will be better worth keeping."
o 3
398
NORTHANGER ABBEV.
Catherine coloured as she warmly answered, " No friend
can he better worth keeping than Eleanor.'"
" If so, my dear, I dare say you will meet again some
time or other; do not he uneasy. It is ten to one but you
are thrown together again in the course of a few years;
and then what a pleasure it will he !"
Mrs. Morland was not happy in her attempt at consola¬
tion. The hope of meeting again in the course of a few
years could only put into Catherine's head what might hap¬
pen within that time to make a meeting dreadful to her.
She could never forget Henry Tilney, or think of him with
less tenderness than she did at that moment: but he might
forget her; and in that case to meet! Her eyes filled
with tears as she pictured her acquaintance so renewed;
and her mother, perceiving her comfortable suggestions to
have had no good effect, proposed, as another expedient
for restoring her spirits, that they should call on Mrs.
Allen.
The two houses were only a quarter of a mile apart;
and, as they walked, Mrs. Morland quickly despatched all
that she felt on the score of James's disappointment. "We
are sorry for him," said she ; " but otherwise there is no
harm done in the match going off; for it could not he
a desirable thing to have him engaged to a girl whom we
had not the smallest acquaintance with, and who was so en¬
tirely without fortune ; and now, after such behaviour, we
cannot think at all well of her. Just at present it comes
hard to poor James: hut that will not last for ever ; and
I dare say he will be a discreeter man all his life, for the
foolishness of his first choice."
This was just such a summary view of the affair as Ca¬
therine could listen to : another sentence might have en¬
dangered her complaisance, and made her reply less rational;
for soon were all her thinking powers swallowed up in the
reflection of her own change of feelings and spirits since last
she had trodden that well-known road. It was not three
months ago since, wild with joyful expectation, she had
there run backwards and forwards some ten times a-day,
with a heart light, gay, and independent; looking forward
to pleasures untasted and unalloyed, and free from the ap-
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
199
prehension of evil as from the knowledge of it. Three
months ago had seen her all this ; and now, how altered a
being did she return !
She was received by the Aliens with all the kindness
which her unlooked-for appearance, acting on a steady
affection, would naturally call forth; and great was their
surprise, and warm their displeasure, on hearing how she
had been treated,—though Mrs. Morland's account of it
was no inflated representation, no studied appeal to their
passions. " Catherine took us quite by surprise yesterday
evening," said she. " She travelled all the way post by
herself, and knew nothing of coming till Saturday night;
for General Tilney, from some odd fancy or other, all of a
sudden grew tired of having her there, and almost turned
her out of the house. Very unfriendly, certainly; and
he must be a very odd man: but we are so glad to have
her amongst us again ! And it is a great comfort to find
that she is not a poor helpless creature, but can shift very
well for herself."
Mr. Allen expressed himself on the occasion with the
reasonable resentment of a sensible friend; and Mrs. Allen
thought his expressions quite good enough to be immedi¬
ately made use of again by herself. His wonder, his con¬
jectures, and his explanations, became in succession hers,
with the addition of this single remark—(< I really have
not patience with the General" — to fill up every acci¬
dental pause. And " I really have not patience with the
General" was uttered twice after Mr. Allen left the room,
without any relaxation of anger, or any material digression
of thought. A more considerable degree of wandering at¬
tended the third repetition ; and, after completing the
fourth, she immediately added, " Only think, my dear, of
my having got that frightful great rent in my best Mechlin
so charmingly mended, before I left Bath, that one can
hardly see where it was. 1 must show it you some day or
other. Bath is a nice place, Catherine, after all. I assure
you I did not above half like coming away. Mrs. Thorpe's
being there was such a comfort to us, was not it? You
know, you and I were quite forlorn at first."
" Yes, but that did not last long," said Catherine, her
o 4
200
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
eyes brightening at the recollection of what had first given
spirit to her existence there.
" Very true : we soon met with Mrs. Thorpe, and then
we wanted for nothing. My dear, do not you think these
silk gloves wear very well ? I put them on new the firpt
time of our going to the Lower Rooms, you know, and I
have worn them a great deal since. Do you remember
that evening ? "
" Do I i Oh, perfectly."
" It was very agreeable, was not it ? Mr. Tilney drank
tea with us, and I always thought him a great addition,
he is so very agreeable. I have a notion you danced with
him, but am not quite sure. I remember I had my fa¬
vourite gown on."
Catherine could not answer ; and, after a short trial of
other subjects, Mrs. Allen again returned to —" I really
have not patience with the General! Such an agreeable,
worthy man as he seemed to be ! I do not suppose, Mrs.
Morland, you ever saw a better-bred man in your life.
His lodgings were taken the very day after he left them,
Catherine. But no wonder ; Milsom Street, you know."
As they walked home again, Mrs. Morland endeavoured
to impress on her daughter's mind the happiness of having
such steady well-wishers as Mr. and Mrs. Allen, and the
very little consideration which the neglect or unkindness of
slight acquaintance like the Tilneys ought to have with
her, while she could preserve the good opinion and affec¬
tion of her earliest friends. There was a great deal of
good sense in all this: but there are some situations of the
human mind in which good sense has very little power;
and Catherine's feelings contradicted almost every position
her mother advanced. It was upon the behaviour of these
very slight acquaintance that all her present happiness
depended ; and while Mrs. Morland was successfully con¬
firming her own opinions by the justness of her own re¬
presentations, Catherine was silently reflecting that now
Henry must have arrived at Northanger; now he must
have heard of her departure ; and now, perhaps, they were
all setting off for Hereford.
norl'hanger abbey.
201
CHAPTER XV.
Catherine's disposition was not naturally sedentary, nor
had her habits been ever very industrious; but, whatever
might hitherto have been her defects of that sort, her
mother could not but perceive them now to be greatly
increased. She could neither sit still, nor employ herself
for ten minutes together; walking round the garden and
orchard again and again, as if nothing but motion was
voluntary; and it seemed as if she could even walk about
the house rather than remain fixed for any time in the
parlour. Her loss of spirits was a yet greater alteration.
In her rambling and her idleness, she might only be a
caricature of herself; hut in her silence and sadness, she
was the very reverse of all that she had been before.
For two days Mrs. Morland allowed it to pass even
without a hint; but when a third night's rest had neither
restored her cheerfulness, improved her in useful activity,
nor given her a greater inclination for needle-work, she
could no longer refrain from the gentle reproof of, " My
dear Catherine, I am afraid you are growing quite a fine
lady. I do not know when poor Richard's cravats would
he done, if he had no friend but you. Your head runs too
much upon Bath; but there is a time for every thing — a
time for balls and plays, and a time for work. You have
had a long run of amusement, and now you must try to
be useful."
Catherine took up her work directly, saying, in a de¬
jected voice, that "her head did not run upon Bath—
much."
" Then you are fretting about General Tilney, and that
is very simple of you; for ten to one whether you ever
see him again. You should never fret about trifles."
After a short silence — "I hope, my Catherine, you are
not getting out of humour with home because it is not so
grand as Northanger ; that would be turning your visit
202
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
into an evil, indeed. Wherever you are, you should always
be contented; but especially at home, because there you
must spend the most of your time. I did not quite like,
at breakfast, to hear you talk so much about the French
bread at Northanger."
" I am sure I do not care about the bread. It is all
the same to me what I eat."
" There is a very clever essay in one of the books up
stairs upon much such a subject, about young girls that
have been spoilt for home by great acquaintance—' The
Mirror,' I think. I will look it out for you some day or
other, because I am sure it will do you good."
Catherine said no more; and, with an endeavour to do
right, applied to her work: but, after a few minutes, sunk
again, without knowing it herself, into languor and list-
lessness; moving herself in her chair, from the irritation
of weariness, much oftener than she moved her needle.
Mrs. Morland watched the progress of this relapse; and
seeing, in her daughter's absent and dissatisfied look, the
full proof of that repining spirit to which she had now
begun to attribute her want of cheerfulness, hastily left the
room to fetch the book in question, anxious to lose no
time in attacking so dreadful a malady. It was some time
before she could find what she looked for ; and, other
family matters occurring to detain her, a quarter of an
hour had elapsed ere she returned down stairs with the
volume from which so much was hoped. Her avocations
above having shut out all noise but what she created her¬
self, she knew not that a visiter had arrived within the
last few minutes, till, on entering the room, the first object
she beheld was a young man whom she had never seen
before. With a look of much respect, he immediately
rose; and being introduced to her by her conscious daugh¬
ter as " Mr. Henry Tilney," with the embarrassment of
real sensibility began to apologise for his appearance there,
acknowledging that after what had passed he had little
right to expect a welcome at Fullerton, and stating his im¬
patience to be assured of Miss Morland's having reached
her home in safety, as the cause of his intrusion. He did
not address himself to an uncandid judge or a resentful
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
203
heart. Far from comprehending him or his sister in their
father's misconduct, Mrs. Morland had been always kindly
disposed towards each; and instantly, pleased by his ap¬
pearance, received him with the simple professions of
unaffected benevolence; thanking him for such an atten¬
tion to her daughter; assuring him that the friends of her
children were always welcome there; and entreating him
to say not another word of the past.
He was not ill inclined to obey this request; for, though
his heart was greatly relieved by such unlooked-for mild¬
ness, it was not, just at that moment, in his power to say
any thing to the purpose. Returning in silence to his
seat, therefore, he remained for some minutes most civilly
answering all Mrs. Morland's common remarks about the
weather and roads. Catherine, meanwhile, — the anxious,
agitated, happy, feverish Catherine, — said not a word:
bjut her glowing cheek and brightened eye made her
mother trust that this good-natured visit would, at least,
set her heart at ease for a time; and gladly, therefore,
did she lay aside the first volume of " The Mirror" for a
future hour.
Desirous of Mr. Morland's assistance, as well in giving
encouragement, as in finding conversation for her guest,
whose embarrassment on his father's account she earnestly
pitied, Mrs. Morland had very early despatched one of the
children to summon him ; but Mr. Morland was from
home—and being thus without any support, at the end
of a quarter of an hour she had nothing to say. After a
couple of minutes' unbroken silence, Henry, turning to
Catherine for the first time since her mother's entrance,
asked her, with sudden alacrity, if Mr. and Mrs. Allen
were now at Fulierton ? and on developing, from amidst
all her perplexity of words in reply, the meaning, which
one short syllable would have given, immediately expressed
his intention of paying his respects to them ; and, with a
rising colour, asked her if she would have the goodness to
show him the way. "You may see the house from this
window, sir," was information, on Sarah's side, which
produced only a bow of acknowledgment from the gentle¬
man, and a silencing nod from her mother; for Mrs.
204
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
Morland, thinking it probable, as a secondary consideration
in his wish of waiting on their worthy neighbours, that he
might have some explanation to give of his father's be¬
haviour, which it must be more pleasant for him to com¬
municate only to Catherine, would not, on any account,
prevent her accompanying him. They began their walk,
and Mrs. Morland was not entirely mistaken in his object
in wishing it. Some explanation on his father's account
he had to give : but his first purpose was to explain him¬
self ; and before they reached Mr. Allen's grounds he had
done it so well, that Catherine did not think it could ever
be repeated too often. She was assured of his affection ;
and that heart in return was solicited, which, perhaps,
they pretty equally knew was already entirely his own
for, though Henry was now sincerely attached to her, —
though he felt and delighted in all the excellencies of her
character, and truly loved her society,— I must confess that
his affection originated in nothing better than gratitude;
or, in other words, that a persuasion of her partiality for
him had been the only cause of giving her a serious
thought. It is a new circumstance in romance, I acknow¬
ledge, and dreadfully derogatory of a heroine's dignity;
but if it be as new in common life, the credit of a wild
imagination will at least be all my own.
A very short visit to Mrs. Allen, in which Henry talked
at random, without sense or connection, and Catherine,
wrapt in the contemplation of her own unutterable happi¬
ness, scarcely opened her lips, dismissed them to the ec¬
stasies of another tete-a-tete ,• and before it was suffered to
close, she was enabled to judge how far he was sanctioned
by parental authority in his present application. On his
return from Woods ton, two days before, he had been met
near the Abbey by his impatient father, hastily informed
in angry terms of Miss Morland's departure, and ordered
to think of her no more.
Such was the permission upon which he had now offered
her his hand. The affrighted Catherine, amidst all the
terrors of expectation, as she listened to this account,
could not but rejoice in the kind caution with which Henry
had saved her from the necessity of a conscientious rejec-
NOftTHANGEft ABBEY.
205"
tion, by engaging her faith before he mentioned the sub¬
ject ; and as he proceeded to give the particulars, and ex¬
plain the motives of his father's conduct, her feelings soon
hardened into even a triumphant delight. The General had
had nothing to accuse her of, nothing to lay to her charge, but
her being the involuntary, unconscious object of a deception
which his pride could not pardon, and which a better pride
would have been ashamed to own. She was guilty only of
being less rich than he had supposed her to be. Under a
mistaken persuasion of her possessions and claims, he had
courted her acquaintance in Bath, solicited her company at
Northanger, and designed her for his daughter-in-law. On
discovering his error, to turn her from the house seemed
the best, though to his feelings an inadequate proof of his
resentment towards herself, and his contempt of her fa¬
mily.
John Thorpe had first misled him. The General, per¬
ceiving his son one night at the theatre to be paying
considerable attention to Miss Morland, had accidentally
enquired of Thorpe if he knew more of her than her name.
Thorpe, most happy to be on speaking terms with a man
of General Tilney's importance, had been joyfully and
proudly communicative; and being at that time not only
in daily expectation of Morland's engaging Isabella, but
likewise pretty well resolved upon marrying Catherine
himself, his vanity induced him to represent the family as
yet more wealthy than his vanity and avarice had made
him believe them. With whomsoever he was, or was
likely to be connected, his own consequence always required
that theirs should be great; and as his intimacy with any
acquaintance grew, so regularly grew their fortune. The
expectations of his friend Morland, therefore, from the
first over-rated, had, ever since his introduction to Isabella,
been gradually increasing; and by merely adding twice as
much for the grandeur of the moment, by doubling what he
chose to think the amount of Mr. Morland's preferment,
trebling his private fortune, bestowing a rich aunt, and
sinking half the children, he was able to represent the
whole family to the General in a most respectable light.
For Catherine, however, the peculiar object of the Gene-
206
NOHTHANGER ABiJEt
ral's curiosity and his own speculations, h; had yet some¬
thing more in reserve, and the ten or fifteen thousand
pounds which her father could give her would be a pretty
addition to Mr. Allen's estate. Her intimacy there had
made him seriously determine on her being handsomely
legacied hereafter; and to speak of her therefore as the
almost acknowledged future heiress of Fullerton naturally
followed. Upon such intelligence the General had pro¬
ceeded j for never had it occurred to him to doubt its au¬
thority. Thorpe's interest in the family, by his sister's
approaching connection with one of its members, and his
own views on another (circumstances of which he boasted
with almost equal openness), seemed sufficient vouchers
for his truth; and to these were added the absolute facts
of the Aliens being wealthy and childless, of Miss Mor-
land's being under their care, and—as soon as his acquaint¬
ance allowed him to judge—of their treating her with
parental kindness. His resolution was soon formed. Al¬
ready had he discerned a liking towards Miss Morland in
the countenance of his son; and, thankful for Mr. Thorpe's
communication, he almost instantly determined to spare no
pains in weakening his boasted interest, and ruining his
dearest hopes. Catherine herself could not be more igno¬
rant at the time of all this than his own children. Henry
and Eleanor, perceiving nothing in her situation likely to
engage their father's particular respect, had seen with as¬
tonishment the suddenness, continuance, and extent of his
attention; and though latterly, from some hints which had
accompanied an almost positive command to his son of
doing every thing in his power to attach her, Henry was
convinced of his father's believing it to be an advantageous
connection, it was not till the late explanation at North-
anger that they had the smallest idea of the false calcu¬
lations which had hurried him on. That they were false,
the General had learnt from the very person who had sug¬
gested them, from Thorpe himself, whom he had chanced
to meet again in town, and who, under the influence of
exactly opposite feelings, irritated by Catherine's refusal,
and yet more by the failure of a very recent endeavour to
accomplish a reconciliation between Morland and Isabella,
northanger abbey.
207
convinced that they were separated for ever, and spurning
a friendship which could he no longer serviceable, hastened
to contradict all that he had said before to the advantage
of the Morlands ;—confessed hiirself to have been totally
mistaken in his opinion of their circumstances and charac¬
ter, misled by the rhodomontade of his friend to believe
his father a man of substance and credit, whereas the
transactions of the two or three last weeks proved him to
he neither; for after coming eagerly forward on the first
overture of a marriage between the families, with the most
liberal proposals, he had, on being brought to the point
by the shrewdness of the relator, been constrained to ac¬
knowledge himself incapable of giving the young people
even a decent support. They were, in fact, a necessitous
family; numerous, too, almost beyond example; by no
means respected in their own neighbourhood, as he had
lately had particular opportunities of discovering ; aiming
at a style of life which their fortune could not warrant ,*
seeking to better themselves by wealthy connections; a
forward, bragging, scheming race.
The terrified General pronounced the name of Allen with
an enquiring look; and here too Thorpe had learnt his
error. The Aliens, he believed, had lived near them too
long, and he knew the young man on whom the Fullerton
estate must devolve. The General needed no more. En¬
raged with almost every body in the world but himself, he
set out the next day for the Abbey, where his performances
have been seen.
I leave it to my reader's sagacity to determine how much
of all this it was possible for Henry to communicate at this
time to Catherine, how much of it he could have learnt
from his father, in what points his own conjectures might
assist him, and what portion must yet remain to be told in
a letter from James. I have united for their ease what they
must divide for mine. Catherine, at any rate, heard enough
to feel, that, in suspecting General Tilney of either mur¬
dering or shutting up his wife, she had scarcely sinned
against his character, or magnified his cruelty.
Henry, in having such things to relate of his father,
was almost as pitiable as in their first avowal-to himself.
208
NORTHANGER ABBEY.
He blushed for the narrow-minded counsel which he was
obliged to expose. The conversation between them at
Northanger had been of the most unfriendly kind. Henry'®
indignation on hearing how Catherine had been treated, on
comprehending his father's views, and being ordered to
acquiesce in them, had been open and bold. The General,
accustomed on every ordinary occasion to give the law in
his family, prepared for no reluctance but of feeling, no
opposing desire that should dare to clothe itself in words,
could ill brook the opposition of his son, steady as the
sanction of reason and the dictate of conscience could make
it. But, in such a cause, his anger, though it must shock,
could not intimidate Henry, who was sustained in his pur¬
pose by a conviction of its justice. He felt himself bound
as much in honour as in affection to Miss Morland, and
believing that heart to be his own which he had been di¬
rected to gain, no unworthy retraction of a tacit consent,
no reversing decree of unjustifiable anger, could shake his
fidelity, or influence the resolutions it prompted.
He steadily refused to accompany his father into Here¬
fordshire, an engagement formed almost at the moment, to
promote the dismissal of Catherine, and as steadily declared
his intention of offering her his hand. The General was
furious in his anger, and they parted in dreadful disagree¬
ment. Henry, in an agitation of mind which many solitary
hours were required to compose, had returned almost in¬
stantly to Woodston; and on the afternoon of the follow¬
ing day had begun his journey to Fullerton.
CHAPTER XVI,
Mr. and Mrs. Morband's surprise on being applied to by
Mr. Tilney, for their consent to his marrying their daughter,
was, for a few minutes, considerable ; it having never en¬
tered their heads to suspect an attachment on either side;
but as nothing, after all, could be more natural than Ca-
N01tTHANGfc.lt ABCEV
therine's being beloved, they soon learnt to consider it with
only the happy agitation of gratified pride, and, as far as
they alone were concerned, had not a single objection to
start. His pleasing manners and good sense were self-
evident recommendations; and having never heard evil of
him, it was not their way to suppose any evil could be told.
Good-will supplying the place of experience, his character
needed no attestation. " Catherine would make a sad
heedless young housekeeper, to be sure," was her mother's
foreboding remark; but quick was the consolation of there
being nothing like practice.
There was but one obstacle, in short, to he mentioned;
but till that one was removed, it must be impossible for
them to sanction the engagement. Their tempers were
mild, hut their principles were steady; and while his pa¬
rent so expressly forbad the connection, they could not
allow themselves to encourage it. That the General should
come forward to solicit the alliance, or that he should even
very heartily approve it, they were not refined enough to
make any parading stipulation; hut the decent appearance
of consent must be yielded, and that once obtained — ani.
their own hearts made them trust that it could not be verj
long denied — their willing approbation was instantly
follow. His consent was all that they wished for. They
were no more inclined than entitled to demand his money.
Of a very considerable fortune, his son was, by marriage
settlements, eventually secure ; his present income was an
income of independence and comfort; and under every pe¬
cuniary view, it was a match beyond the claims of their
daughter.
The young people could not be surprised at a decision
like this. They felt and they deplored; but they could
not resent it; and they parted, endeavouring to hope that
such a change in the General, as each believed almost im¬
possible, might speedily take place, to unite them again in
the fulness of privileged affection. Henry returned to
what was now his only home, to watch over his young
plantations, and extend his improvements for her sake, to
whose share in them he looked anxiordy forward; and
P
201
NORTHANGER ABBEV.
Catherine remained at Fallerton to cry. Whether the tor¬
ments of absence were softened by a clandestine correspond¬
ence^ let us not enquire. Mr. and Mrs. Morland never
did — they had been too kind to exact any promise ; and
whenever Catherine received a letter, as, at that time, hap¬
pened pretty often, they always looked another way.
The anxiety, which in this state of their attachment
must be the portion of Henry and Catherine, and of all who
loved either, as to its final event, can hardly extend, I fear,
to the bosom of my readers, who will see in the tell-tale
compression of the pages before them, that we are all
hastening together to perfect felicity. The means by which
their early marriage was effected can be the only doubt:
what probable circumstance could work upon a temper like
the General's ? The circumstance which chiefly- availed,
was the marriage of his daughter with a man of fortune
and consequence, which took place in the course of the
summer — an accession of dignity that threw him into a fit
of good-lvamour, from which he did not recover till after
Eleanor had obtained his forgiveness of Henry, and his
permission for him " to be a fool if he liked it! "
The marriage of Eleanor Tilney, her removal from all
the evils of such a home as Northanger had been made by
Henry's banishment, to the home of her choice and the man
of her choice, is an event which I expect to give general
satisfaction among all her acquaintance. My own joy on
the occasion is very sincere. I know no one more entitled,
by unpretending merit, or better prepared by habitual suf¬
fering, to receive and enjoy felicity. Her partiality for this
gentleman was not of recent origin; and he had been long
withheld only by inferiority of situation from addressing
her. His unexpected accession to title and fortune had
removed all his difficulties; and never had the General
loved his daughter so well in all her hours of companion¬
ship, utility, and patient endurance, as when he first hailed
her, " Your Ladyship ! " Her husband was really de¬
serving of her; independent of his peerage, his wealth,
and his attachment, being to a precision the most charming
young man in the world. Any further definition of his
northanger abbey.
211
merits must be unnecessary; the most charming young
man in the world is instantly before the imagination of us
all. Concerning the one in question, therefore, I have only
to add (aware that the rules of composition forbid the
introduction of a character not connected with my fable),
that this was the very gentleman whose negligent servant
leri behind him that collection of washing-bills, resulting
from a long visit at Northanger, by which my heroine was
involved in one of her most alarming adventures.
The influence of the Viscount and Viscountess in their
brother's behalf was assisted by that right understanding of
Mr. Morland's circumstances, which, as soon as the General
would allow himself to be informed, they were qualified to
give. It taught him that he had been scarcely more misled
by Thorpe's first boast of the family wealth than by his sub¬
sequent malicious overthrow of it; that in no sense of the
word were they necessitous or poor, and that Catherine
would have three thousand pounds. This was so material
an amendment of his late expectations, that it greatly con¬
tributed to smooth the descent of his pride; and by no means
without its effect was the private intelligence, which he was
at some pains to procure, that the Fullerton estate, being
entirely at the disposal of its present proprietor, was con¬
sequently open to every greedy speculation.
On the strength of this, the General, soon after Eleanor's
marriage, permitted his son to return to Northanger, and
thence made him the bearer of his consent, very courteously
worded in a page full of empty professions, to Mr. Morland.
The event which it authorised soon followed : Henry and
Catherine were married, the bells rang, and every body
■miled ; and, as this took place within a twelvemonth from
the first day of their meeting, it will not appear, after all
the dreadful delays occasioned by the General's cruelty,
that they were essentially hurt by it. To begin perfect
happiness at the respective ages of twenty-six and eighteen
is to do pretty well; and professing myself, moreover, con¬
vinced that the General's unjust interference, so far from
being really injurious to their felicity, was perhaps rather
conducive to it, by improving their knowledge of each other,
P 2
212
NOaTtiANGEft ABBEV.
and adding strength to their attachment, I leave it to be
settled by whomsoever it may concern, whether the ten¬
dency of this work be altogether to recommend parental
tyranny, or reward filial disobedience.
PERSUASION.
by
JANE AUSTEN,
AUTHOR OP
"sense and sensibility,"
"pride and prejudice,"
"northangkr abbey,"
"manseikld park,"
" emma."
NEW EDITION.
LONDON:
WARD, LOCK & CO., Warwick House,
Salisbury Square, E.C.
2-
PERSUASION.
VOLUME THE FIRST.
CHAPTER I.
Sir Walter Elliot of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire,
was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up
any book but the Baronetage; there he found occupation
for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; there
his faculties were roused into admiration and respect, by
contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents ;
there any unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic
affairs, changed naturally into pity and contempt. As hi
turned over the almost endless creations of the last cen¬
tury— and there, if every other leaf were powerless, he
could read his own history with an interest which never
failed — this was the page at which the favourite volume
always opened : —
"elliot of kellynch iiall.
" Walter Elliot, born March 1. 1760, married, July
15. 1784, Elizabeth, daughter of James Stevenson, Esq.
of South Park, in the county of Gloucester; by which
lady (who died 1800) he has issue, Elizabeth, born June 1.
1785 ; Anne, born August 9- 1787 ; a still-born son, No¬
vember 5. 1789 ; Mary, born November 20. 1791-"
Precisely such had the paragraph originally stood from
the printer's hands; but Sir Walter had improved it by
adding, for the information of himself and his family,
these words, after the date of Mary's birth, - -" Married,
p 4
216
PERSUASION.
December 16. 1810, Charles, son and heir of Charles
Musgrove, Esq. of Uppercross, in the county of Somer¬
set," and by inserting most accurately the day of the
month on which he had lost his wife.
Then followed the history and rise of the ancient and
respectable family, in the usual terms : how it had been
first settled in Cheshire, how mentioned in Dugdale, serv¬
ing the office of high sheriff, representing a borough in
three successive parliaments, exertions of loyalty, and dig¬
nity of baronet, in the first year of Charles II,, with all
the Marys and Elizabeths they had married; forming al¬
together two handsome duodecimo pages, and concluding
with the arms and motto,— "Principal seat, KellynchHall,
in the county of Somerset," and Sir Walter's handwriting
again in this finale, —
" Heir presumptive, William Walter Elliot, Esq. great
grandson of the second Sir Walter."
Vanity was the beginning and the end of Sir Walter Elliot's
character — vanity of person and of situation. He had
been remarkably handsome in his youth, and, at fifty-
four, was still a very fine man. Few women could think
more of their personal appearance than he did, nor could
the valet of any new made lord be more delighted with
the place he held in society. He considered the blessing
of beauty as inferior only to the blessing of a baronetcy;
and the Sir Walter Elliot, who united these gifts, was the
constant object of his warmest respect and devotion.
His good looks and his rank had one fair claim on his
attachment; since to them he must have owed a wife of
very superior character to any thing deserved by his own.
Lady Elliot had been an excellent woman, sensible and
amiable, whose judgment and conduct, if they might be
pardoned the youthful infatuation which made her Lady
Elliot, had never required indulgence afterwards. She
had humoured, or softened, or concealed his failings, and
promoted his real respectability for seventeen years; and
though not the very happiest being in the world herself,
had found enough in her duties, her friends, and her
children, to attach her to life, and make it no matter of
indifference to her when she was called on to quit them
PERSUASION.
217
Three girls,, the two eldest sixteen and fourteen, was an
awful legacy for a mother to bequeath ; an awful charge
rather to confide to the authority and guidance of a con¬
ceited, silly father. She had, however, one very intimate
friend, a sensible, deserving woman, who had been
brought, by strong attachment to herself, to settle close by
her, in the village of Kellynch ; and on her kindness and
advice Lady Elliot mainly relied for the best help and
maintenance of the good principles and instruction which
she had been anxiously giving her daughters.
This friend and Sir Walter did not marry, whatever
might have been anticipated on that head by their acquaint¬
ance. Thirteen years had passed away since Lady Elliot's
death, and they were still near neighbours and intimate
friends; and one remained a widower, the other a widow.
That Lady Russell, of steady age and character, and
extremely well provided for, should have no thought of a
second marriage, needs no apology to the public, which is
rather apt to be unreasonably discontented when a wo¬
man does marry again, than when she does not j but
Sir Walter's continuing in singleness requires explana¬
tion. Be it known, then, that Sir Walter, like a good
father (having met with one or two private disappoint¬
ments in very unreasonable applications), prided himself
on remaining single for his dear daughter's sake. For one
daughter, his eldest, he would really have given up any
thing, which he had not been very much tempted to do.
Elizabeth had succeeded, at sixteen, to all that was possi¬
ble of her mother's rights and consequence ; and being
very handsome, and very like himself, her influence had
always been great, and they had gone on together most
happily. His two other children were of very inferior
value. Mary had acquired a little artificial importance,
by becoming Mrs. Charles Musgrove ; but Anne, with an
elegance of mind and sweetness of character, which must
have placed her high with any people of real understand¬
ing, was nobody with either father or sister; her word had
no weight; her convenience was always to give way — she
was only Anne.
To Lady Russell, indeed, she was a most dear and
218
l'EJISUASION.
highly valued god-daughter, favourite, and friend. Lady
Russell loved them all; but it was only in Anne that she
could fancy the mother to revive again.
A few years before, Anne Elliot had been a very pretty
girl, but her bloom had vanished early; and as, even in
its height, her father had found little to admire in her (so
totally different were her delicate features and mild dark
eyes from his own), there could be nothing in them, now
that she was faded and thin, to excite his esteem. He
had never indulged much hope, he had now none, of ever
reading her name in any other page of his favourite work.
All equality of alliance must rest with Elizabeth; for
Mary had merely connected herself with an old country
family of respectability and large fortune, and had, there¬
fore, given all the honour, and received none : Elizabeth
would, one day or other, marry suitably.
It sometimes happens, that a woman is handsomer at
twenty-nine than she was ten years before; and, generally
speaking, if there has been neither ill health nor anxiety,
it is a time of life at which scarcely any charm is lost.
It was so with Elizabeth — still the same handsome Miss
Elliot that she had begun to be thirteen years ago ; and Sir
Walter might be excused, therefore, in forgetting her age,
cr, at least, be deemed only half a fool, for thinking him¬
self and Elizabeth as blooming as ever, amidst the wreck
of the good looks of every body else; for he could
plainly see how old all the rest of his family and acquaint¬
ance were growing. Anne haggard, Mary coarse, every
face in the neighbourhood worsting; and the rapid increase
of the crow's foot about Lady Russell's temples had long
been a distress to him.
Elizabeth did not quite equal her father in personal con¬
tentment. Thirteen years had seen her mistress of Kel-
lynch Hall, presiding and directing with a self-possession
and decision which could never have given the idea of her
being younger than she was. For thirteen years had she
been doing the honours, and laying down the domestic
law at home, and leading the way to the chaise and four,
and walking immediately after lady Russell out of all the
drawing-rooms and dining-rooms in the country. Thir-
PERSUASION.
teen winters' revolving frosts had seen her opening every
hall of credit which a scanty neighbourhood afforded; and
thirteen springs shown their blossoms, as she travelled up
to London with her father, for a few weeks'annual enjoy¬
ment of the great world. She had the remembrance of all
this ; she had the consciousness of being nine-and-twenty,
to give her some regrets and some apprehensions ; she
was fully satisfied of being still quite as handsome as ever;
hut she felt her approach to the years of danger, and would
have rejoiced to be certain of being properly solicited by
baronet-blood within the next twelvemonth or two. Then
might she again take up the book of books with as much
enjoyment as in her early youth ; but now she liked it
not. Always to be presented with the date of her own
birth, and see no marriage follow but that of a youngest
sister, made the book an evil; and more than once, when
her father had left it open on the table near her, had she
closed it, with averted eyes, and pushed it away.
She had had a disappointment, moreover, which that
book, and especially the history of her own family, must
ever present the remembrance of. The heir presumptive,
the very William Walter Elliot, Esq. whose rights had been
so generously supported by her father, had disappointed
her.
She had, while a very young girl, as soon as she had
known him to be, in the event of her having no brother,
the future baronet, meant to marry him ; and her father
had always meant that she should. He had not been
known to them as a boy ; but soon after Lady Elliot's
death, Sir Walter had sought the acquaintance; and though
his overtures had not been met with any warmth, he had
persevered in seeking it, making allowance for the modest
drawing back of youth ; and, in one of their spring ex¬
cursions to London, when Elizabeth was in her first bloom,
Mr. Elliot had been forced into the introduction.
He was at that time a very young man, just engaged in
the study of the law; and Elizabeth found him extremely
agreeable, and every plan in his favour was confirmed.
He was invited to Kellynch Hall: he was talked of and
expected all the rest ef the year; but he never came.
220
PERSUASION.
The following spring he was seen again in town, found
equally agreeable, again encouraged, invited, and expected,
and again he did not come; and the next tidings were
that he was married. Instead of pushing his fortune in
the line marked out for the heir of the house of Elliot, he
had purchased independence by uniting himself to a rich
woman of inferior birth.
Sir Walter had resented it. As the head of the house,
he felt that he ought to have been consulted, especially
after taking the young man so publicly by the hand : " For
they must have been seen together," he observed, " once
at Tattersal's, and twice in the lobby of the House of
Commons." His disapprobation was expressed, but appa¬
rently very little regarded. Mr. Elliot had attempted no
apology, and shown himself as unsolicitous of being longer
noticed by the family, as Sir Walter considered him un¬
worthy of it: all acquaintance between them had ceased.
This very awkward history of Mr. Elliot was stilly after
an interval of several years, felt with anger by Elizabeth,
who had liked the man for himself, and still more for
being her father's heir, and whose strong family pride
could see only in him a proper match for Sir Walter
Elliot's eldest daughter. There was not a baronet from
A to Z whom her feelings could have so willingly acknow¬
ledged as an equal. Yet so miserably had he conducted
himself, that though she was at this present time (the
summer of 1814) wearing black ribands for his wife, she
could not admit him to be worth thinking of again. The
disgrace of his first marriage might, perhaps, as there was
no reason to suppose it perpetuated by offspring, have been
got over, had he not done worse; but he had, as by the
accustomary intervention of kind friends, they had been
informed, spoken most disrespectfully of them all, most
slightingly and contemptuously of the very blood he be¬
longed to, and the honours which were hereafter to be his
own. This could not be pardoned.
Such were Elizabeth Elliot's sentiments and sensations ;
such the cares to alloy, the agitations to vary, the sameness
and the elegance, the prosperity and the nothingness, of
her scene of life—such the feelings to give interest to a
PERSt/ASiON-.
221
long;, uneventful residence in one country circle,, to fill the
vacancies which there were no habits of utility abroad, no
talents or accomplishments for home, to occupy.
But now, another occupation and solicitude of mind was
beginning to be added to these. Her father was growing
distressed for money. She knew, that when he now took
up the baronetage, it was to drive the heavy bills of his
tradespeople, and the unwelcome hints of Mr. Shepherd,
his agent, from his thoughts. The Kellynch property was
good, but not equal to Sir Walter's apprehension of the-
state required in its possessor. While Lady Elliot lived,
there had been method, moderation, and economy, which
had just kept him within his income; but with her had
died all such right-mindedness, and from that period he
had been constantly exceeding it. It had not been possible
for him to spend less: he had done nothing but what Sir
Walter Elliot was imperiously called on to do; but blame¬
less as he was, he was not only growing dreadfully in debt,
but was hearing of it so often, that it became vain to
attempt concealing it longer, even partially, from his
daughter. He had given her some hints of it the last
spring in town; he had gone so far even as to say, " Can
we retrench ? does it occur to you that there is any one
article in which we can retrench ?" — and Elizabeth, to do
her justice, had, in the first ardour of female alarm, set
seriously to think what could be done, and had finally pro¬
posed these two branches of economy,—to cut off some
unnecessary charities, and to refrain from new furnishing
the drawing-room ; to which expedients she afterwards
added the happy thought of their taking no present down
to Anne, as had been the usual yearly custom. But these
measures, however good in themselves, were insufficient for
the real extent of the evil, the whole of which Sir Walter
found himself obliged to confess to her soon afterwards.
Elizabeth had nothing to propose of deeper efficacy. She
felt herself ill-used and unfortunate, as did her father; and
they were neither of them able to devise any means of
lessening their expenses without compromising their dignity,
or relinquishing their comforts in a way not to be borne.
There was only a small part of his estate that Sir Walter
222
Persuasion.
could dispose of; but had every acre been alienable, it
would have made no difference. He had condescended to
mortgage as far as he had the power, but he would never
condescend to sell. No; he would never disgrace his name
so far. The Kellynch estate should be transmitted whole
and entire, as he had received it.
Their two confidential friends, Mr. Shepherd, who lived
in the neighbouring market town, and Lady Russell, were
called on to advise them; and both father and daughter
seemed to expect that something should be struck out by
one or the other to remove their embarrassments and re¬
duce their expenditure, without involving the loss of any
indulgence of taste or pride.
CHAPTER II.
Mr. Shepherd, a civil, cautious lawyer, who, whatever
might he his hold or his views on Sir Walter, would rather
have the disagreeable prompted hy any body else, excused
himself from offering the slightest hint, and only begged
leave to recommend an implicit reference to the excellent
judgment of Lady Russell, from whose known good sense
he fully expected to have just such resolute measures ad¬
vised as he meant to see finally adopted.
Lady Russell was most anxiously zealous on the subject,
and gave it much serious consideration. She was a woman
rather of sound than of quick abilities, whose difficulties
in coming to any decision in this instance were great,
from the opposition of two leading principles. She was of
strict integrity herself, with a delicate sense of honour;
but she was as desirous of saving Sir Walter's feelings, as
solicitous for the credit of the family, as aristocratic in her
ideas of what was due to them, as any body of sense and
honesty could well be. She was a benevolent, charitable
good woman, and capable of strong attachments, most
correct in her conduct, strict in her notions of decorum^ and
PERSUASION.
with manners that were held a standard of good-breeding.
She had a cultivated mind, and was, generally speaking,
rational and consistent; but she had prejudices on the
side of ancestry; she had a value for rank and conse¬
quence, which blinded her a little to the faults of those
who possessed them. Herself the widow of only a knight,
she gave the dignity of a baronet all its due; and Sir
Walter, independent of his claims as an old acquaintance,
an attentive neighbour, an obliging landlord, the husband
of her very dear friend, the father of Anne and her sisters,
was, as being Sir Walter, in her apprehension entitled to a
great deal of compassion and consideration under his pre¬
sent difficulties.
They must retrench; that did not admit of a doubt.
But she was very anxious to have it done with the least
possible pain to him and Elizabeth. She drew up plans
of economy, she made exact calculations, and she did,
what nobody else thought of doing, she consulted Anne,
who never seemed considered by the others as having any
interest in the question. She consulted, and in a degree
was influenced by her, in marking out the scheme of re¬
trenchment, which was at last submitted to Sir Walter.
Every emendation of Anne's had been on the side of
honesty against importance. She wanted more vigorous
measures, a more complete reformation, a quicker release
from debt, a much higher tone of indifference for every
thing but justice and equity.
" If we can persuade your father to all this," said Lady
Russell, looking over her paper, " much may be done. If
he will adopt these regulations, in seven years he will be
clear; and I hope we may be able ts. "anvince him and
Elizabeth that Kellynch Hall has a respectability in
itself which cannot be affected by these reductions; and
that the true dignity of Sir Walter Elliot will be very far
from lessened, in the eyes of sensible people, by his acting
like a man of principle. What will he be doing, in fact,
but what very many of our first families have done, or
ought to do? There will be nothing singular in his case;
and it is singularity which often makes the worst part of
our suffering, as it always does of our conduct. I have great
224
PfeRStJA&tON.
hope of our prevailing. We must be serious and. decided;
for, after all, the person who has contracted debts must
pay them; and though a great deal is due to the feelings
of the gentleman, and the head of a house, like your
father, there is still more due to the character of an honest
man."
This was the principle on which Anne wanted her father
to be proceeding, his friends to be urging him. She con¬
sidered it as an act of indispensable duty to clear away the
claims of creditors, with all the expedition which the most
comprehensive retrenchments could secure, and saw no
dignity in any thing short of it. She wanted it to be
prescribed, and felt as a duty. She rated Lady Russell's
influence highly ; and as to the severe degree of self-denial,
which her own conscience prompted, she believed there
might be little more difficulty in persuading them to a
complete, than to half a reformation. Her knowledge of
her father and Elizabeth inclined her to think that the
sacrifice of one pair of horses would be hardly less painful
than of both, and so on, through the whole list of Lady
Russell's too gentle reductions.
How Anne's more rigid requisitions might have been
taken is of little consequence. Lady Russell's had no
success at all — could not be put up with—were not to be
borne. " What! every comfort of life knocked off!
Journeys, London, servants, horses, table,— contractions
and restrictions every where. To live no longer with the
decencies even of a private gentleman ! No, he would sooner
quit Kellynch Hall at once, than remain in it on such
disgraceful terms."
" Quit Kellynch Hall." The hint was immediately
taken up by Mr. Shepherd, whose interest was involved in
the reality of Sir Walter's retrenching, and who was per¬
fectly persuaded that nothing would be done without a
change of abode. " Since the idea had been started in
the very quarter which ought to dictate, he had no scruple,"
he said, " in confessing his judgment to be entirely on
that side. It did not appear to him that Sir Walter could
materially alter his style of living in a house which had
such a character of hospitality and ancient dignity to sup-
PEttSUAslOW.
225
port. In any other place Sir Walter might judge for
himself; and would be looked up to, as regulating the
modes of life, in whatever way he might choose to model
his household."
Sir Walter would quit Kellynch Hall; and after a very
few days more of doubt and indecision, the great question
of whither he should go was settled, and the first outline
of this important change made out.
There had been three alternatives, London, Bath, or
another house in the country. All Anne's wishes had
been for the latter. A small house in their own neigh¬
bourhood, where they might still have Lady Russell's
society, still be near Mary, and still have the pleasure of
sometimes seeing the lawns and groves of Kellynch, was
the object of her ambition. But the usual fate of Anne
attended her, in having something very opposite from her
inclination fixed on. She disliked Bath, and did not think
it agreed with her; and Bath was to be her home.
Sir Walter had at first thought more of London; but
Mr. Shepherd felt that he could not be trusted in London,
and had been skilful enough to dissuade him from it, and
make Bath preferred. It was a much safer place for a gen¬
tleman in his predicament • he might there be important
at comparatively little expense. Two material advantages
of Bath over London had of course been given all their
weight, its more convenient distance from .Kellynch. only
fifty miles, and Lady Russell's spending some part of
every winter there; and to the very great satisfaction of
Lady Russell, whose first views on the projected change
had been for Bath, Sir Walter and Elizabeth were induced
to believe that they should lose neither consequence nor
enjoyment by settling there.
Lady Russell felt obliged to oppose her dear Anne's
known wishes. It would be too much to expect Sir Walter
to descend into a small house in his own neighbourhood.
Anne herself would have found the mortifications of it
more than she foresaw, and to Sir Walter's feelings they
must have been dreadful. And with regard to Anne's
dislike of Bath, she considered it as a prejudice and mis¬
take, arising, first, from the circumstance of her having
Q
226
PERSUASION*.
been three years at school there, after her mother's death,
and, secondly, from her happening to be not in perfectly
good spirits the only winter which she had afterwards
spent there with herself.
Lady Russell was fond of Bath, in short, and disposed
to think it must suit them all; and as to her young friend's
health, by passing all the warm months with her at Kel-
lynch Lodge, every danger would be avoided; and it was,
in fact, a change which must do both health and spirits
good. Anne had been too little from home, too little seen.
Her spirits were not high. A larger society would im¬
prove them. She wanted her to be more known.
The undesirableness of any other house in the same
neighbourhood for Sir Walter was certainly much strength¬
ened by one part, and a very material part of the scheme,
which had been happily engrafted on the beginning. He
was not only to quit his home, but to see it in the hands
of others; a trial of fortitude which stronger heads than
Sir Walter's have found too much. Kellynch Hall was to
be let. This, however, was a profound secret; not to be
breathed beyond their own circle.
Sir YY^alter could not have borne the degradation of being
known to design letting his house. Mr. Shepherd had
once mentioned the word " advertisebut never dared
approach it again : Sir Walter spurned the idea of its being
offered in any manner; forbad the slightest hint being
dropped of his having such an intention; and it was only
on the supposition of his being spontaneously solicited by
some most unexceptionable applicant, on his own terms,
and as a great favour, that he would let it at all.
How quick come the reasons for approving what we
like ! Lady Russell had another excellent one at hand,
for being extremely glad thi»t Sir Walter and his family
were to remove from the country. Elizabeth had been lately
forming an intimacy, which she wished to see interrupted.
It was with a daughter of Mr. Shepherd, who had re¬
turned, after an unprosperous marriage, to her father's
house, with the additional burden of two children. She
was a clever young woman, who understood the art of
pleasing; the art of pleasing, at least, at Kellynch Hall;
persuasion.
22'
and who had made herself so acceptable to Miss Elliot, as
to have been already staying there more than once, in spite
of all that Lady Russell, who thought it a friendship quite
out of place, could hint of caution and reserve.
Lady Russell, indeed, had scarcely any influence with
Elizabeth, and seemed to love her, rather because she would
love her, than because Elizabeth deserved it. She had ne¬
ver received from her more than outward attention, nothing
beyond the observances of complaisance; had never succeeded
in any point which she wanted to carry, against previous
inclination. She had been repeatedly very earnest in trying
to get Anne included in the visit to London, sensibly open
to all the injustice and all the discredit of the selfish ar¬
rangements which shut her out, and on many lesser oc¬
casions had endeavoured to give Elizabeth the advantage of
her own better judgment and experience—but always in
vain: Elizabeth would go her own way ; and never had she
pursued it in more decided opposition to Lady Russell than
in this selection of Mrs. Clay ; turning from the society of
so deserving a sister, to bestow her affection and confidence
on one who ought to have been nothing to her but the ob¬
ject of distant civility.
From situation, Mrs. Clay was, in Lady Russell's esti¬
mate, a very unequal, and in her character, she believed, a
very dangerous companion ; and a removal that would leave
Mrs. Clay behind, and bring a choice of more suitable
intimates within Miss Elliot's reach, was therefore an object
of first-rate importance.
CHAPTER III.
" I must take leave to observe, Sir Walter," said Mt.
Shepherd one morning at Kellynch Hall, as he laid down
the newspaper, " that the present juncture is much in our
favour. This peace will be turning all our rich naval officers
Q 2
228
PfiRStTASIOi*.
ashore. They will be all wanting a home. Could not be
a better time, Sir Walter, for having a choice of tenants,
very responsible tenants. Many a noble fortune has been
made during the war. If a rich admiral were to come in
our way, Sir Walter "
£f He would be a very lucky man, Shepherd," replied Sir
Walter ; " that's all I have to remark. A prize, indeed,
would Kellynch Hall be to him ; rather the greatest prize
of all, let him have taken ever so many before — hey,
Shepherd ? "
Mr. Shepherd laughed, as he knew he must, at this wit,
^nd then added,—
" I presume to observe, Sir Walter, that, in the way of
business, gentlemen of the navy are well to deal with. I
have had a little knowledge of their methods of doing bu¬
siness ; and I am free to confess that they have very liberal
notions, and are as likely to make desirable tenants as any
set of people one should meet with. Therefore, Sir Walter,
what I would take leave to suggest is, that if in consequence
of any rumours getting abroad of your intention—which
must be contemplated as a possible thing, because we know
how difficult it is to keep the actions and designs of one
part of the world from the notice and curiosity of the other,
— consequence has its tax—I, John Shepherd, might
conceal any family-matters that I chose, for nobody would
think it worth their while to observe me; but Sir Walter
Elliot has eyes upon him which it may be very difficult to
elude ; and, therefore, thus much I venture upon, that it
will not greatly surprise me if, with all our caution, some
rumour of the truth should get abroad; in the supposition
of which, as I was going to observe, since applications will
unquestionably follow, I should think any from our wealthy
naval commanders particularly worth attending to — and
beg leave to add, that two hours will bring me over at any
time, to save you the trouble of replying."
Sir Walter only nodded. But soon afterwards, rising
and pacing the room, he observed sarcastically,—
" There are few among the gentlemen of the navy, I
imagine, who would not be surprised to find themselves in
& house of this description."
PERSUASION.
229
" Tliey would look around them, no doubt, and bless
their good fortune," said Mrs. Clay, for Mrs. Clay was pre¬
sent : her father had driven her over, nothing being of so
much use to Mrs. Clay's health as a drive to Kellynch
" but I quite ■ agree with my father in thinking a sailor
might be a very desirable tenant. I have known a good
deal of the profession ; and besides their liberality, they
are so neat and careful in all their ways ! These valuable
pictures of yours, Sir Walter, if you chose to leave them,
would be perfectly safe. Every thing in and about the
house would be taken such excellent care of ! The gardens
and shrubberies would be kept in almost as high order as
they are now. You need not be afraid, Miss Elliot, of
your own sweet flower-garden's being neglected."
" As to all that," rejoined Sir Walter coolly, " sup¬
posing I were induced to let my house, I have by no means
made up my mind as to the privileges to be annexed to it.
I am not particularly disposed to favour a tenant. The
park would be open to him of course, and few navy officers,
or men of any other description, can have had such a range;
but what restrictions I might impose on the use of the
pleasure grounds is another thing. I am not fond of the
idea of my shrubberies being always approachable; and I
should recommend Miss Elliot to be on her guard with
respect to her flower-garden. I am very little disposed to
grant a tenant of Kellynch Hall any extraordinary favour,
I assure you, be he sailor or soldier."
After a short pause, Mr. Shepherd presumed to say,—
" In all these cases there are established usages which
make every thing plain and easy between landlord and
tenant. Your interest, Sir Walter, is in pretty safe hands.
Depend upon me for taking care that no tenant has more
than his just rights. I venture to hint, that Sir Walter
Elliot cannot be half so jealous for his own, as John Shep¬
herd will be for him."
Here Anne spoke,—
" The navy, I think, who have done so much for us,
nave at least an equal claim with any other set of men, for
al1 the comforts and all the privileges which any home can
Q 3
230
PERSUASION.
give. Sailors work hard enough for their comforts, we
must all allow."
" Very true, very true. What Miss Anne says is verj
true," was Mr. Shepherd's rejoinder, and " Oh, certainly,
was his daughter's; but Sir Walter's remark was, soon
afterwards,—
" The profession has its utility, but I should be sorry
to see any friend of mine belonging to it."
" Indeed ! " was the reply, and with a look of surprise.
" Yes; it is in two points offensive to me ; I have two
strong grounds of objection to it. First, as being the
means of bringing persons of obscure birth into undue dis¬
tinction, and raising men to honours which their fathers
and grandfathers never dreamt of; and, secondly, as it cuts
up a man's youth and vigour most horribly; a sailor grows
old sooner than any other man ; I have observed it all my
life. A man is in greater danger in the navy of being in¬
sulted by the rise of one whose father his father might
have disdained to speak to, and of becoming prematurely
an object of disgust himself, than in any other line. One
day last spring, in town, I was in company with two men,
striking instances of what I am talking of,—Lord St. Ives,
whose father we all know to have been a country curate,
without bread to eat: I was to give place to Lord St. Ives,
and a certain Admiral Baldwin, the most deplorable-looking
personage you can imagine ; his face the colour of ma¬
hogany, rough and rugged to the last degree, all lines and
wrinkles, nine grey hairs of a side, and nothing but a dab
of powder at top. — 'In the name of heaven, who is thai
old fellow ?' said I to a friend of mine who was standing
near (Sir Basil Morley).—'Old fellow!' cried Sir Basil,
' it is Admiral Baldwin. What do you take his age to be ?
■—' Sixty,' said I, 'or perhaps sixty-two.'—'Forty,' replied
Sir Basil, ' forty, and no more.' Picture to yourselves my
amazement: I shall not easily forget Admiral Baldwin
I never saw quite so wretched an example of what a sea¬
faring life can do ; hut to a degree, I know it is the same
with them all: they are all knocked about, and exposed to
every climate, and every weather, till they are not fit to be
PERSUASION.
231
■een. It is a pity they are not knocked on the head at
once, before they reach Admiral Baldwin's age."
" Nay, Sir Walter," cried Mrs. Clay, " this is being
severe indeed. Have a little mercy on the poor men. We
are not all born to be handsome. The sea is no beautifier,
certainly; sailors do grow old betimes ; I have often oh-
served it; they soon lose the look of youth. But then, is
not it the same with many other professions, perhaps most
other ? Soldiers, in active service, are not at all better off;
and even in the quieter professions, there is a toil and a
labour of the mind, if not of the body, which seldom leaves
a man's looks to the natural effect of time. The lawyer
plods, quite care-worn : the physician is up at all hours,
and travelling in all weather ; and even the clergyman—"
she stopt a moment to consider what might do for the cler¬
gyman —cc and even the clergyman, you know, is obliged
to go into infected rooms, and expose his health and looks
to all the injury of a poisonous atmosphere. In fact, as I
have long been convinced, though every profession is ne¬
cessary and honourable in its turn, it is only the lot of those
who are not obliged to follow any, who can live in a re¬
gular way, in the country, choosing their own hours,
following their own pursuits, and living on their own pro¬
perty, without the torment of trying for more ; it is only
their lot, I say, to hold the blessings of health and a good
appearance to the utmost: I know no other set of men
but what lose something of their personableness when they
cease to be quite young."
11 seemed as if Mr. Shepherd, in this anxiety to bespeak
Sir Walter's good will towards a naval officer as tenant,
had been gifted with foresight; for the very first appli¬
cation for the house was from an Admiral Croft, with
whom he shortly afterwards fell into company in attend¬
ing the quarter sessions at Taunton ; and, indeed, he had
received a hint of the Admiral from a London correspond¬
ent. By the report which he hastened over to Kellynch
to make, Admiral Croft was a native of Somersetshire,
who having acquired a very handsome fortune, was wish¬
ing to settle in his own country, and had come down to
Taunton in order to look at some advertised places in that
9 4
232
PERSUASION.
immediate neighbourhood, which, however, had not suited
him ; that accidentally hearing — (it was just as he had
foretold, Mr. Shepherd observed, Sir Walter's concerns
could not be kept a secret,) — accidentally hearing of the
possibility of Kellynch Hall being to let, and understanding
his (Mr. Shepherd's) connection with the owner, he had
introduced himself to him in order to make particular
enquiries, and had, in the course of a pretty long confer¬
ence, expressed as strong an inclination for the place as a
man who knew it only by description could feel; and
given Mr. Shepherd, in his explicit account of himself,
every proof of his being a most responsible, eligible tenant.
C£ And who is Admiral Croft? " was Sir Walter's cold,
suspicious enquiry.
Mr. Shepherd answered for his being of a gentleman's
family, and mentioned a place ; and Anne, after the little
pause which followed, added, —
" He is rear-admiral of the white. He was in the
Trafalgar action, and has been in the East Indies since ;
he has been stationed there, I believe, several years."
" Then I take it for granted," observed Sir Walter,
c: that his face is about as orange as the cuffs and capes of
my livery."
Mr. Shepherd hastened to assure him, that Admiral
Croft was a very hale, hearty, well-looking man, a little
weather-beaten, to be sure, hut not much, and quite the
gentleman in all his notions and behaviour, — not likely
to make the smallest difficulty about terms, — only wanted
a comfortable home, and to get into it as soon as possible,
— knew he must pay for his convenience, — knew what
rent a ready-furnished house of that consequence might
fetch, — should not have been surprised if Sir Walter had
asked more,—had enquired about the manor,—would be
glad of the deputation, certainly, but made no great point
of it,—said he sometimes took out a gun, hut never killed,
— quite the gentleman.
Mr. Shepherd was eloquent on the subject, pointing out
all the circumstances of the Admiral's family, which made
him peculiarly desirable as a tenant. He was a married
man, and without children ; the very state to he wished
PERSUASION.
233
for. A house was never taken good care of, Mr. Shepherd
observed, without a lady: he did not know whether fur¬
niture might not be in danger of suffering as much where
there was no lady, as where there were many children. A
lady, without a family, was the very best preserver of fur¬
niture in the world. He had seen Mrs. Croft, too; she
was at Taunton with the Admiral, and had been present
almost all the time they were talking the matter over.
" And a very well-spoken, genteel, shrewd lady, she
seemed to be," continued he; " asked more questions
about the house, and terms, and taxes, than the Admiral
himself, and seemed more conversant with business : and,
moreover, Sir Walter, I found she was not quite uncon¬
nected in this country, any more than her husband; that
is to say, she is sister to a gentleman who did live amongst
us once ; she told me so herself: — sister to the gentleman
who lived a few years back at Monkford. Bless me !
what was his name ? At this moment I cannot recollect
his name, though I have heard it so lately. Penelope,
my dear, can you help me to the name of the gentleman
who lived at Monkford, — Mrs. Croft's brother ?"
But Mrs. Clay was talking so eagerly with Miss Elliot
that she did not hear the appeal.
" I have no conception whom you can mean, Shepherd;
I remember no gentleman resident at Monkford since the
tirhe of old Governor Trent."
B1 ess me! how very odd! I shall forget my own
name soon, I suppose. A name that I am so very well
acquainted with; knew the gentleman so well by sight;
seen him a hundred times ; came to consult me once, I
remember, about a trespass of one of his neighbours;
farmer's man breaking into his orchard, — wall torn down,
— apples stolen,—caught in the fact; and afterwards,
contrary to my judgment, submitted to an amicable com-
Dromise. Very odd, indeed ! "
After waiting another moment, —
" You mean Mr. Wentworth, I suppose said Anne.
Mr. Shepherd was all gratitude.
" Wentworth was the very name! Mr. Wentworth
was the very man. He had the curacy of Monkfprd, you
234
PERSUASION.
know, iir Walter, some time back, for two or three years.
Came there about the year —5, I take it. You remember
him, I am sure."
" Wentworth'' Oh ay, Mr. Wentworth, the curate
of Monkford. You misled me by the term gentleman. I
thought you were speaking of some man of property :
Mr. Wentworth was nobody, I remember; quite uncon¬
nected ; nothing to do with the Strafford family. One
wonders how the names of many of our nobility become
so common."
As Mr. Shepherd perceived that this connection of thf
Crofts did them no service with Sir Walter, he mentioned
it no more; returning, with all his zeal, to dwell on the
circumstances more indisputably in their favour; their
age, and number, and fortune; the high idea they had
formed of Kellynch Hall, and extreme solicitude for the
advantage of renting it; making it appear as if they
ranked nothing beyond the happiness of being the tenants
of Sir Walter Elliot: an extraordinary taste, certainly,
could they have been supposed in the secret of Sir Walter's
estimate of the dues of a tenant.
It succeeded, however; and though Sir Walter must
ever look with an evil eye on any one intending to inhabit
that house, and think them infinitely too well off in being
permitted to rent it on the highest terms, he was talked
into allowing Mr. Shepherd to proceed in the treaty, and
authorising him to wait on Admiral Croft, who still re¬
mained at Taunton, and fix a day for the house being
seen.
Sir Walter was not very wise ; but still he had expe¬
rience enough of the world to feel, that a more unobjec¬
tionable tenant, in all essentials, than Admiral Croft bid
fair to be, could hardly offer. So far went his understand¬
ing ; and his vanity supplied a little additional soothing,
in the Admiral's situation in life, which was just high
enough, and not too high. " I have let my house to
Admiral Croft," would sound extremely well; very much
better than to any mere Mr. ; a Mr. (save, perhaps,
some half dozen in the nation,) always needs a note of
explanation. An admiral speaks his own consequence,
PERSUASION.
235
and; at the same time, can never make a baronet look small.
In all their dealings and intercourse, Sir Walter Elliot
must ever have the precedence.
Nothing could be done without a reference to Elizabeth :
but her inclination was growing so strong for a removal,
that she was happy to have it fixed and expedited by a
tenant at hand; and not a word to suspend decision was
uttered by her.
Mr. Shepherd was completely empowered to act; and
no sooner had such an end been reached, than Anne, who
had been a most attentive listener to the whole, left the
room, to seek the comfort of cool air for her flushed
cheeks ; and as she walked along a favourite grove, said,
with a gentle sigh, ce A few months more, and he, perhaps,
may be walking here."
CHAPTER IV.
He was not Mr. Wentworth, the former curate of Monk-
ford, however suspicious appearances may be, but a Cap¬
tain Frederick Wentworth, his brother, who being made
commander in consequence of the action off St. Domingo,
and not immediately employed, had come into Somerset¬
shire, in the summer of 1806; and having no parent
living, found a home for half a year at Monkford. He
was, at that time, a remarkably fine young man, with a
great deal of intelligence, spirit, and brilliancy; and Anne
an extremely pretty girl, with gentleness, modesty, taste,
and feeling. Half the sum of attraction, on either side,
might have been enough, for he had nothing to do, and she
had hardly any body to love; but the encounter of such
lavish recommendations could not fail. They were gradually
acquainted, and when acquainted, rapidly and deeply in
love. It would be difficult to say which had seen highest
perfection in the other, or which had been the happiest;
2 36
PERSUASION.
she, in receiving his declarations and proposals, or he in
having them accepted.
A short period of exquisite felicity followed, and but a
short one. Troubles soon arose. Sir Walter, on being-
applied to, without actually withholding his consent, or
saying it should never be, gave it all the negative of great
astonishment, great coldness, great silence, and a professed
resolution of doing nothing for his daughter. He thought
it a very degrading alliance; and Lady Russell, though
with more tempered and pardonable pride, received it as a
most unfortunate one.
Anne Elliot, with all her claims of birth, beauty, and
mind, to throw herself away at nineteen ; involve herself at
nineteen in an engagement with a young man, who had
nothing but himself to recommend him, and no hopes of
attaining affluence, but in the chances of a most uncertain
profession, and no connections to secure even his farther
rise in that profession, would be, indeed, a throwing away,
which she grieved to think of! Anne Elliot, so young ;
known to so few, to be snatched off by a stranger without
alliance or fortune ; or rather sunk by him into a state of
most wearing, anxious, youth-killing dependence ! It must
not be, if by any fair interference of friendship, any repre¬
sentations from one who had almost a mother's love, and
mother's rights, it would be prevented.
Captain Wentworth had no fortune. He had been
lucky in his profession; but spending freely what had
come freely, had realised nothing. But he was confident
that he should soon be rich : full of life and ardour, he
knew that he should soon have a ship, and soon be on a
station that would lead to every thing he wanted. He had
always been lucky; he knew he should be so still. Such
confidence, powerful in its own warmth, and bewitching in
the wit which often expressed it, must have been enough for
Anne; but Lady Russell saw it very differently. His
sanguine temper, and fearlessness of mind, operated very
differently on her. She saw in it but an aggravation of the
evil. It only added a dangerous character to himself. He
was brilliant, he was headstrong. Lady Russell had little
PERStJASIOtf.
237
taste for wit; and of any thing approaching to imprudence
a horror. She deprecated the connection in every light.
Such opposition, as these feelings produced, was more
than Anne could combat. Young and gentle as she was, it
might yet have been possible to withstand her father's ill
will, though unsoftened by one kind word or look on the
part of her sister ; but Lady Russell, whom she had always
loved and relied on, could not, with such steadiness of
opinion, and such tenderness of manner, be continually
advising her in vain. She was persuaded to believe the
engagement a wrong thing; indiscreet, improper, hardly
capable of success, and not deserving it. But it was not a
merely selfish caution, under which she acted, in putting
an end to it. Had she not imagined herself consulting his
good, even more than her own, she could hardly have given
him up. The belief of being prudent and self-denying,
principally for his advantage, was her chief consolation
under the misery of a parting—a final parting; and every
consolation was required, for she had to encounter all the
additional pain of opinions, on his side, totally unconvinced
and unbending, and of his feeling himself ill used by so
forced a relinquishment. He had left the country in
consequence.
A few months had seen the beginning and the end of
their acquaintance; but not with a few months ended
Anne's share of suffering from it. Her attachment and
regrets had, for a long time, clouded every enjoyment of
youth; and an early loss of bloom and spirits had been
their lasting effect.
More than seven years were gone since-this little history
of sorrowful interest had reached its close; and time had
softened down much, perhaps nearly all of peculiar attach¬
ment to him, but she had been too dependent on time
alone; no aid had been given in change of place (except
in one visit to Bath soon after the rupture), or in any
novelty or enlargement of society. No one had ever come
within the Kellynch circle, who could bear a comparison
with Frederick Wentworth, as he stood in her memory.
No second attachment, the only thoroughly natural, happy
and sufficient cure, at her time of life, had been possible to
PKJiStf A.SION.
the nice tone of her mind, the fastidiousness of her taste,
in the small limits of the society around them. She had
been solicited, when about two-and-twenty, to change her
name by the young man who not long afterwards found
a more willing mind in her younger sister; and Lady
Russell had lamented her refusal; for Charles Musgrove
was the eldest son of a man, whose landed property and
general importance were second, in that country, only to
Sir Walter's, and of good character and appearance; and
however Lady Russell might have asked yet for something
more while Anne was nineteen, she would have rejoiced to
see her at twenty-two so respectably removed from the
partialities and injustice of her father's house, and settled
so permanently near herself. But in this case Anne had
left nothing for advice to do; and though Lady Russell, as
satisfied as ever with her own discretion, never wished the
past undone, she began now to have the anxiety which
borders on hopelessness for Anne's being tempted, by some
man of talents and independence, to enter a state for which
she held her to be peculiarly fitted by her warm affections
and domestic habits.
They knew not each other's opinion, either its constancy
or its change, on the one leading point of Anne's conduct,
for the subject was never alluded to; but Anne, at seven-
and-twenty, thought very differently from what she had
been made to think at nineteen. She did not blame Lady
Russell, she did not blame herself for having been guided
by her; but she felt that were any young person in similar
circumstances to apply to her for counsel, they would
never receive any of such certain immediate wretchedness,
such uncertain future good. She was persuaded, that under
every disadvantage of disapprobation at home, and every
anxiety attending his profession, all their probable fears,
delays, and disappointments, she should yet have been a
happier woman in maintaining the engagement, than she
had been in the sacrifice of it; and this, she fully believed,
had the usual share, had even more than an usual share of
all such solicitudes and suspense been theirs, without refer¬
ence to the actual results of their case, which, as it hap¬
pened, would have bestowed earlier prosperity than could
fcEftStJASION.
239
be reasonably calculated on. All his sanguine expectations,
all liis confidence, had been justified. His genius and
ardour had seemed to foresee and to command his pro¬
sperous path. He had, very soon after their engagement
ceased, got employ; and all that he had told her would
follow had taken place. He had distinguished himself,
and early gained the other step in rank, and must now,
by successive captures, have made a handsome fortune.
She had only navy lists and newspapers for her authority,
but she could not doubt his being rich; and, in favour of
his constancy, she had no reason to believe him married.
How eloquent could Anne Elliot have been! how elo¬
quent, at least, were her wishes on the side of early warm
attachment, and a cheerful confidence in futurity, against
that over-anxious caution which seems to insult exertion
and distrust providence! She had been forced into pru¬
dence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older,
— the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning.
With all these circumstances, recollections, and feelings,
she could not hear that Captain Wentworth's sister was
likely to live at Kellynch without a revival of former
pain; and many a stroll and many a sigh were necessary
to dispel the agitation of the idea. She often told herself
it was folly, before she could harden her nerves sufficiently
to feel the continual discussion of the Crofts and their
business no evil. She was assisted, however, by that per¬
fect indifference and apparent unconsciousness, among the
only three of her own friends in the secret of the past,
which seemed almost to deny any recollection of it. She
could do justice to the superiority of Lady Russell's mo¬
tives in this, over those of her father and Elizabeth; she
could honour all the better feelings of her calmness; but
the general air of oblivion among them was highly im¬
portant from whatever it sprung; and in the event of
Admiral Croft's really taking Kellynch Hall, she rejoiced
anew over the conviction which had always been most
grateful to her, of the past being known to those three
only among her connections, by whom no syllable, she
believed, would ever be whispered, and in the trust that
among his, the brother only with whom he had been
240
persuasion.
residing had received any information of their short-lived
engagement. That brother had been long removed from
the country; and being a sensible man, and, moreover, a
single man at the time, she had a fond dependence on no
human creature's having heard of it from him.
The sister, Mrs. Croft, had then been out of England,
accompanying her husband on a foreign station, and her
own sister, Mary, had been at school while it all occurred;
and never admitted by the pride of some, and the delicacy
of others, to the smallest knowledge of it afterwards.
With these supports, she hoped that the acquaintance
between herself and the Crofts, which, with Lady Russell,
still resident in Kellynch, and Mary fixed only three miles
off, must be anticipated, need not involve any particular
awkwardness.
CHAPTER V.
On the morning appointed for Admiral and Mrs. Croft's
seeing Kellynch Hall, Anne found it most natural to take
her almost daily walk to Lady Russell's, and keep out of
the way till all was over; when she found it most natural
to he sorry that she had missed the opportunity of seeing
them.
This meeting of the two parties proved highly satisfac¬
tory, and decided the whole business at once. Each lady
was previously well disposed for an agreement, and saw
nothing, therefore, but good manners in the other; and,
with regard to the gentlemen, there was such a hearty
good humour, such an open, trusting liberality on the
Admiral's side, as could not but influence Sir Walter, who
had besides been flattered into his very best and most
polished behaviour by Mr. Shepherd's assurances of his
being known, by report, to the Admiral, as a model of
good breeding.
The house and grounds, and furniture, were approved,
PERSUASION.
241
the Crofts were approved, terms, time, every thing, and
every body, was right; and Mr. Shepherd's clerks were set
to work, without there having been a single preliminary
difference to modify of all that " This indenture showeth."
Sir Walter, without hesitation, declared the Admiral to
be the best-looking sailor he had ever met with, and went
so far as to say, that, if his own man might have had
the arranging of his hair, he should not be ashamed of
being seen with him any where; and the Admiral, with
sympathetic cordiality, observed to his wife as they drove
back through the Park, " I thought we should soon come
to a deal, my dear, in spite of what they told us at
Taunton. The Baronet will never set the Thames on
fire, but there seems no harm in him—reciprocal com¬
pliments, which would have been esteemed about equal.
The Crofts were to have possession at Michaelmas; and
as Sir Walter proposed removing to Bath in the course of
the preceding month, there was no time to be lost in
making every dependent arrangement.
Lady Russell, convinced that Anne would not be allowed
to be of any use, or any importance, in the choice of
the house which they were going to secure, was very
unwilling to have her hurried away so soon, and wanted
tA make it possible for her to stay behind, till she might
convey her to Bath herself after Christmas: but having
engagements of her own, which must take her from Kel-
lynch for several weeks, she was unable to give the full
invitation she wished; and Anne, though dreading the
possible heats of September in all the white glare of Bath,
and grieving to forego all the influence so sweet and so sad
of the autumnal months in the country, did not. think
that, every thing considered, she wished to remain. It
would be most right, and most wise, and therefore must
involve least suffering, to go with the others.
Something occurred, however, to give her a different
duty. Mary, often a little unwell, and always thinking a
great deal of her own complaints, and always in the habit
of claiming Anne when any thing was the matter, was
indisposed; and foreseeing that she should not have a
day's health all the autumn, entreated, or rather required
R
242
PERSUASION.
her, for it was hardly entreaty, to come to Upper cros„
Cottage, and bear her company as long as she should want
her, instead of going to Bath.
" I cannot possibly do without Anne," was Mary's rea¬
soning ; and Elizabeth's reply was, " Then I am sure
Anne had better stay, for nobody will want her in Bath."
To be claimed as a good, though in an improper style,
is at least better than being rejected as no good at all;
and Anne, glad to be thought of some use, glad to have
any thing marked out as a duty, and certainly not sorry
to have the scene of it in the country, and her own dear
country, readily agreed to stay.
This invitation of Mary's removed all Lady Russell's
difficulties, and it was consequently soon settled that Anne
should not go to Bath till Lady Russell took her, and that
all the intervening time should be divided between Upper-
cross Cottage and Kellynch Lodge.
So far all was perfectly right; but Lady Russell was
almost startled by the wrong of one pan of the Kellynch
Hall plan, when it burst on her, which vas, Mrs. Clay's
being engaged to go to Bath with Sir Wavter and Eliza¬
beth, as a most important and valuable assistant to the
latter in all the business before her. Lady Russell was
extremely sorry that such a measure should have been
resorted to at all — wondered, grieved, and feared ; — and
the affront it contained to Anne, in Mrs. Clay's bfc'ng of
so much use, while Anne could be of none, was a very sjwe
aggravation.
Anne herself was become hardened to such affronts ; but
she felt the imprudence of the arrangement quite as keenly
as Lady Russell. With a great deal of quiet observation,
and a knowledge, which she often wished less, of her
father's character, she was sensible that results the most
serious to his family from the intimacy were more than
possible. She did not imagine that her father had at pre¬
sent an idea of the kind. Mrs. Clay had freckles, and a
projecting tooth, and a clumsy wrist, which he was conti¬
nually making severe remarks upon, in her absence; but
she was young, and certainly altogether well-looking, and
possessed, in an acute mind and assiduous pleasing man¬
ners, infinitely more dangerous attractions than any merely
persuasion,
243
ersonal might have been. Anne was so impressed by the
flegree of their danger, that she could not excuse herself
from trying to make it perceptible to her sister. She had
little hope of success; but Elizabeth, who in the event of
such a reverse would he so much more to he pitied than
herself, should never, she thought, have reason to reproach
her for giving no warning.
She spoke, and seemed only to offend. Elizabeth could
not conceive how such an absurd suspicion should occur to
her, and indignantly answered for each party's perfectly
knowing their situation.
" Mrs. Clay," said she, warmly, " never forgets who
she is; and as I am rather better acquainted with her
sentiments than you can be, I can assure you, that upon
the subject of marriage they are particularly nice; and
that she reprobates all inequality of condition and rank
more strongly than most people. And as to my father, I
really should not have thought that he, who has kept him
self single so long for our sakes, need be suspected now
If Mrs. Clay were a very beautiful woman, I grant you
it might be wrong to have her so much with me : not that
any thing in the world, I am sure, would induce my fa¬
ther to make a degrading match; but he might be rendered
unhappy. But poor Mrs. Clay—who, with all her merits,
can never have been reckoned tolerably pretty—I really
think poor Mrs. Clay may be staying here in perfect
safety. One would imagine you had never heard my fa¬
ther speak of her personal misfortunes, though I know you
must fifty times. That tooth of hers, and those freckles !
Freckles do not disgust me so very much as they do him.
I have known a face not materially disfigured by a few,
but he abominates them. You must have heard him no¬
tice Mrs. Clay's freckles."
" There is hardly any personal defect," replied Anne,
" which an agreeable manner might not gradually reconcile
one to."
" I think very differently," answered Elizabeth, shortly;
,fan agreeable manner may set off handsome features, but
can never alter plain ones. However, at any rate, as I
have a great deal more at stake on this point than any
r 2
214
PEftSTJ ASION'.
body else can have, I think it rather unnecessary in you
to be advising me."
Anne had done — glad that it was over, and not abso-
lutely hopeless of doing good. Elizabeth, though resent¬
ing the suspicion, might yet be made observant by it.
The last office of the four carriage horses was to draw
Sir Walter, Miss Elliot, and Mrs. Clay to Bath. The
party drove off in very good spirits: Sir Walter prepared
with condescending bows for all the afflicted tenantry and
cottagers who might have had a hint to show themselves ;
and Anne walked up, at the same time, in a sort of deso¬
late tranquillity, to the Lodge, where she was to spend the
first week.
Her friend was not in better spirits than herself. Lady
Russell felt this break-up of the family exceedingly. Their
respectability was as dear to her as her own, and a daily
intercourse had become precious by habit. It was painful
to look upon their deserted grounds, and still worse to an¬
ticipate the new hands they were to fall into ; and to
escape the solitariness and the melancholy of so altered a
village, and be out of the way when Admiral and Mrs.
Croft first arrived, she had determined to make her own
absence from home begin when she must give up Anne.
Accordingly, their removal was made together, and Anne
was set down at Uppercross Cottage, in the first stage of
Lady Russell's journey.
Uppercross was a moderate-sized village, which a few
years back had been completely in the old English style ;
containing only two houses superior in appearance to
those of the yeomen and labourers,—the mansion of the
squire, with its high walls, great gates, and old trees, sub¬
stantial andunmodernised; andthe compact, tight parsonage,
enclosed in its own neat garden, with a vine and a pear-
tree trained round its casements : but upon the marriage of
the young squire, it had received the improvement of a
farm-house elevated into a cottage for his residence ; and
Uppercross Cottage, with its viranda, French windows,
and other prettinesses, was quite as likely to catch the tra¬
veller's eye, as the more consistent and considerable aspect
and premises of the Great House, about a quarter of a
mile farther on.
PERSUASION.
245
Here Anne had often been staying. She knew the ways
of Upper Cross as well as those of Kellynch. The two
families were so continually meeting, so much in the habit
of running in and out of each other's house at all hours,
that it was rather a surprise to her to find Mary alone;
but being alone, her being unwell and out of spirits was
almost a matter of course. Though better endowed than
the elder sister, Mary had not Anne's understanding or
temper. While well, and happy, and properly attended
to,she had great good humour and excellent spirits; but any
indisposition sunk her completely. She had no resources
for solitude; and, inheriting a considerable share of the
Elliot self-importance, was very prone to add to every other
distress that of fancying herself neglected and ill-used.
In person, she was inferior to both sisters, and had, even
in her bloom, only reached the dignity of being " a fine
girl." She was now lying on the faded sofa of the pretty
little drawing-room, the once elegant furniture of which
had been gradually growing shabby, under the influence of
four summers and two children ; and, on Anne's appear¬
ing, greeted her with —
" So you are come at last! I began to think I should
never see you. I am so ill I can hardly speak. I have
not seen a creature the whole morning !"
" I am sorry to find you unwell," replied Anne. "You
sent me such a good account of yourself on Thursday."
" Yes, I made the best of it— I always do : but I was
very far from well at the time; and I do not think I ever
was so ill in my life as I have been all this morning — very
unfit to be left alone, I am sure. Suppose I were to be
seized of a sudden in some dreadful way, and not able to
ring the bell! So Lady Russell would not get out. I do not
think she has been in this house three times this summer."
Anne said what was proper, and enquired after her hus¬
band. " Oh, Charles is out shooting. I have not seen
him since seven o'clock. He would go, though I told him
how ill I was. He said he should not stay out long ; but
he has never come back, and now it is almost one. I as¬
sure you I have not seen a soul this whole long morning."
" You have had your little boys with you ?"
r 3
246
PERSUASION.
" Yes, as long as I could bear their noise ; but they
are so unmanageable that they do me more harm than
good. Little Charles does not mind a word I say, and
Walter is growing quite as bad."
" Well, you will soon be better now," replied Anne,
cheerfully. " You know I always cure you when I come.
How are your neighbours at the Great House ?"
" I can give you no account of them. I have not seen
one of them to-day, except Mr. Musgrove, who just
stopped and spoke through the window, but without get¬
ting off his horse; and though I told him how ill I was,
not one of them have been near me. It did not happen to
suit the Miss Musgroves, I suppose, and they never put
themselves out of their way."
" You will see them yet, perhaps, before the morning
is gone. It is early."
" I never want them, I assure you. They talk and
laugh a great deal too much for me. Oh Anne, I am
so very unwell! It was quite unkind of you not to come
on Thursday."
" My dear Mary, recollect what a comfortable account
you sent me of yourself! You wrote in the cheerfullest
manner, and said you were perfectly well, and in no
hurry for me; and that being the case, you must be
aware that my wish would he to remain with Lady Russell
to the last: and besides what I felt on her account, I have
really been so busy, have had so much to do, that I could
not very conveniently have left Kellynch sooner."
" Dear me ! what can you possibly have to do ?''
" A great many things, I assure you. More than I can
recollect in a moment; but I can tell you some. I have
been making a duplicate of the catalogue of my father's
books and pictures. I have been several times in the gar¬
den with Mackenzie, trying to understand, and make him
understand, which of Elizabeth's plants are for Lady
Russell. I have had all my own little concerns to
arrange, hooks and music to divide, and all my trunks to
repack, from not having understood in time what was
intended as to the waggons : and one thing I have had to do,
Mary, of a more trying nature ; going to almost every house
FERSUASION.
24<7
in the parish, as a sort of take-leave. I was told that
they wished it; but all these things took up a great deal
of time."
" Oh, well; " and after a moment's pause, " hut you
have never asked me one word about our dinner at the
Pooles yesterday."
" Did you go then ? I have made no enquiries, he-
cause I concluded you must have been obliged to give up
the party."
" Oh yes, I went. I was very well yesterday ; no¬
thing at all the matter with me till this morning. It
would have been strange if I had not gone."
" I am very glad you were well enough, and I hope
you had a pleasant party."
" Nothing remarkable. One always knows beforehand
what the dinner will be, and who will be there; and it is
so very uncomfortable, not having a carriage of one's own.
Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove took me, and we were so crowded!
They are both so very large, and take up so much room ;
and Mr. Musgrove always sits forward. So, there was I,
crowded into the back seat with Henrietta and Louisa ;
and I think it very likely that my illness to-day may be
owing to it."
A little farther perseverance in patience and forced
cheerfulness on Anne's side produced nearly a cure on
Mary's. She could soon sit upright on the sofa, and be¬
gan to hope she might be able to leave it by dinner-time.
Then, forgetting to think of it, she was -at the other end
of the room, beautifying a nosegay : then she ate her
cold meat; and then she was well enough to propose a
little walk.
" Where shall we go ? " said she, when they were ready.
" I suppose you will not like to call at the Great House
before they have been to see you ? "
" I have not the smallest objection on that account,"
replied Anne. " I should never think of standing on such
ceremony with people I know so well as Mrs, and the
Miss Musgroves."
" Oh, but they ought to call upon you as soon as
possible. They ought to feel what is due to you as my
n 4
248
PERSUASION.
sister. However, we may as well go and sit with them a
little while, and when we have got that over, we can enjoy
our walk."
Anne had always thought such a style of intercourse
highly imprudent; hut she had ceased to endeavour to
check it, from believing that, though there were on each
side continual subjects of offence, neither family could now
do without it. To the Great House accordingly they
went, to sit the full half hour in the old-fashioned square
parlour, with a small carpet and shining floor, to which
the present daughters of the house were gradually giving
the proper air of confusion by a grand piano-forte and a
harp, flower-stands and little tables placed in every direc¬
tion. Oh, could the originals of the portraits against the
wainscot, could the gentlemen in brown velvet and the
ladies in blue satin have seen what was going on, have
been conscious of such an overthrow of all order and
neatness! The portraits themselves seemed to be staring
in astonishment.
The Musgroves, like their houses, were in a state of
alteration, perhaps of improvement. The father and mo¬
ther were in the old English style, and the young people
in the new. Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove were a very good
sort of people; friendly and hospitable, not much edu¬
cated, and not at all elegant. Their children had more
modern minds and manners. There was a numerous fa¬
mily ; but the only two grown up, excepting Charles, were
Henrietta and Louisa, young ladies of nineteen and twenty,
who had brought from a school at Exeter all the usual
stock of accomplishments, and were now, like thousands of
other young ladies, living to be fashionable, happy, and
merry. Their dress had every advantage, their faces were
rather pretty, their spirits extremely good, their manners
unembarrassed and pleasant; they were of consequence at
home, and favourites abroad. Anne always contemplated
them as some of the happiest creatures of her acquaint¬
ance : but still, saved as we all are by some comfortable
feeling of superiority from wishing for the possibility of
exchange, she would not have given up her own more ele¬
gant and cultivated mind for all their enjoyments ; and en-
persuasion.
249
vied them nothing but that seemingly perfect good under¬
standing and agreement together, that good-humoured
mutual affection, of which she had known so little herself
with either of her sisters.
They were received with great cordiality. Nothing
seemed amiss on the side of the Great House family,
which was generally, as Anne vety well knew, the least to
blame. The half hour was chatted away pleasantly
enough; and she was not at all surprised, at the end of
it, to have their walking party joined by both the Miss
Musgroves, at Mary's particular invitation.
CHAPTER VI.
Anne had not wanted this visit to Uppercross to learn
that a removal from one set of people to another, though at
a distance of only three miles, will often include a total
change of conversation, opinion, and idea. She had never
been staying there before, without being struck by it, or
without wishing that other Elliots could have her advan¬
tage in seeing how unknown, or unconsidered there, were
the affairs which at Kellynch Hall were treated as of such
general publicity and pervading .interest; yet, with all this
experience, she believed she must now submit to feel that
another lesson, in the art of knowing our own nothingness
beyond our own circle, was become necessary for her ; — for
certainly, coming as she did, with a heart full of the sub¬
ject which had been completely occupying both houses in
Kellynch for many weeks, she had expected rather more
curiosity and sympathy than she found in the separate, but
very similar remark of Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove : — " So,
Miss Anne, Sir Walter and your sister are gone; and what
part of Bath do you think they will settle in ? " And this,
without much waiting for an answer; — or in the young
ladies addition of— " I hope we shall be in Bath in the
Winter ; but remember, papa, if we do go, we must be in
250
PERSUASION.
a good situation — none of your Queen Squares for us !"
or in the anxious supplement from Mary, of — " Upon my
word, I shall be pretty well off, when you are all gone away
to be happy at Bath !"
She could only resolve to avoid such self-delusion in fu¬
ture, and think with heightened gratitude of the extraor¬
dinary blessing of having one such truly sympathising
friend as Lady Russell.
The Mr. Musgroves had their own game to guard and
to destroy : their own horses, dogs, and newspapers to en¬
gage them; and the females were fully occupied in all
the other common subjects of housekeeping, neighbours,
dress, dancing, and music. She acknowledged it to be
very fitting, that every little social commonwealth should
dictate its own matters of discourse; and hoped, ere long,
to become a not unworthy member of the one she was now
transplanted into. With the prospect of spending at least
two months at Uppercross, it was highly incumbent on her
to clothe her imagination, her memory, and all her ideas in
as much of Uppercross as possible.
She had no dread of these two months. Mary was not
so repulsive and unsisterly as Elizabeth, nor so inaccessible
to all influence of hers; neither was there any thing
among the other component parts of the cottage inimical
to comfort. She was always on friendly terms with her
brother-in-law; and in the children, who loved her nearly
as well, and respected her a great deal more than their mo¬
ther, she had an object of interest, amusement, and whole¬
some exertion.
Charles Musgrove was civil and agreeable; in sense and
temper he was undoubtedly superior to his wife; but not
of powers, or conversation, or grace, to make the past,
as they were connected together, at all a dangerous con¬
templation ; though, at the same time, Anne could believe,
with Lady Russell, that a more equal match might have
greatly improved him; and that a woman of real under¬
standing might have given more consequence to his cha¬
racter, and more usefulness, rationality, and elegance to his
habits and pursuits. As it was, he did nothing with much
zeal, but sport; and his time was otherwise trifled away,
PERSUASION.
251
without benefit from books., or any thing else. He had
very good spirits, which never seemed much affected by his
wife's occasional lowness ; bore with her unreasonableness
sometimes to Anne's admiration; and, upon the whole,
though there was very often a little disagreement, (in
which she had sometimes more share than she wished,
being appealed to by both parties,) they might pass for a
happy couple. They were always perfectly agreed in the
want of more money, and a strong inclination for a hand¬
some present from his father •, but here, as on most topics,
he had the superiority, for while Mary thought it a great
shame that such a present was not made, he always con¬
tended for his father's having many other uses for his
money, and a right to spend it as he liked.
As to the management of their children, his theory was
much better than his wife's, and his practice not so bad.
" I could manage them very well, if it were not for Mary's
interference," was what Anne often heard him say, and
had a good deal of faith in ; but when listening in turn
to Mary's reproach of ee Charles spoils the children so that
I cannot get them into any order," she never had the small¬
est temptation to say, " Very true."
One of the least agreeable circumstances of her residence
there was her being treated with too much confidence by
all parties, and being too much in the secret of the com¬
plaints of each house. Known to have some influence
with her sister, she was continually requested, or at least
receiving hints to exert it, beyond what was practicable.
" I wish you could persuade Mary not to be always fan¬
cying herself ill," was Charles's language ; and, in an un
happy mood, thus spoke Mary : —" 1 do believe if Charles
were to see me dying, he would not think there was any
thing the matter with me. I am sure, Anne, if you would,
you might persuade him that I really am very ill — a great
deal worse than I ever own.'
Mary's declaration was, " I hate sending the children
to the Great House, though their grandmamma is always
wanting to see them, for she humours and indulges them
to such a degree, and gives them so much trash and sweet
things, that they are sure to come back sick and cross for
252
PERSUASION.
the rest of the day." And Mrs. Musgrove ti.ok the first op¬
portunity of being alone with Anne, to say, " Oh, Miss
Anne, I cannot help wishing Mrs. Charles had a little of
your method with those children. They are quite different
creatures with you ! But to be sure, in general, they are so
spoiled ! It is a pity you cannot put your sister in the way
of managing them. They are as fine healthy children as
ever were seen, poor little dears, without partiality ; hut
Mrs. Charles knows no more how they should be treated !
Bless me, how troublesome they are sometimes ! I assure
you, Miss Anne, it prevents my wishing to see them at
our house so often as I otherwise should. I Believe Mrs.
Charles is not quite pleased with my not inviting them
oftener ; but you know it is very bad to have children
with one, that one is obliged to be checking every moment;
f don't do this,' and ' don't do that;' or that one can only
keep in tolerable order by more cake than is good for
them."
She had this communication, moreover, from Mary.
" Mrs. Musgrove thinks all her servants so steady, that it
would be high treason to call it in question; but I am
sure, without exaggeration, that her upper house-maid and
laundry-maid, instead of being in their business, are gad¬
ding about the village all day long. I meet them wherever
I go ; and, I declare, I never go twice into my nursery with¬
out seeing something of them. If Jemima were not the
trustiest, steadiest creature in the world, it would be
enough to spoil her; for she tells me they are always
tempting her to take a walk with them." And on Mrs.
Musgrove's side it was, " I make a rule of never inter¬
fering in any of my daughter-in-law's concerns, for I
know it would not do; but I shall tell you, Miss Anne,
because you may be able to set things to rights, that I have
no very good opinion of Mrs. Charles's nursery-maid: I
hear strange stories of her; she is always upon the gad;
and from my own knowledge, I can declare, she is such a
fine-dressing lady, that she is enough to ruin any servants
she comes near. Mrs. Charles quite swears by her, I
know ; but I just give you this hint, that you may be
PERSUASION.
253
upon the watch; because, if you see any thing amiss, you
need not be afraid of mentioning it."
Again; it was Mary's complaint, that Mrs. Musgrove
was very apt not to give her the precedence that was her
due, when they dined at the Great House with other fami¬
lies ; and she did not see any reason why she was to he con¬
sidered so much at home as to lose her place. And one
day, when Anne was walking with only the Miss Mus-
groves, one of them, after talking of rank, people of rank,
and jealousy of rank, said, " I have no scruple of observ¬
ing to you, how nonsensical some persons are about their
place, because all the world knows how easy and indifferent
you are about it: but I wish any body could give Mary a
hint that it would be a great deal better if she were not so
very tenacious; especially, if she would not be always
putting herself forward to take place of mamma. Nobody
doubts her right to have precedence of mamma, but it
would be more becoming in her not to be always insisting on
t. It is not that mamma cares about it the least in the
world, but I kno it is taken notice of by many persons."
How was Anne to set a11 these matters to rights ? She
could do little more than listen patiently, soften every griev¬
ance, and excuse each to the other ; give them all hints of
the forbearance necessary between such near neighbours,
and make those hints broadest which were meant for her
sister's benefit.
In all other respects, her visit began and proceeded very
well. Her own spirits improved by change of place and
subject, by being removed three miles from Kellynch :
Mary's ailments lessened by having a constant companion ;
and their daily intercourse with the other family, since
there was neither superior affection, confidence, nor em¬
ployment in the cottage to be interrupted by it, was rather
an advantage. It was certainly carried nearly as far as
possible, for they met every morning, and hardly ever
spent an evening asunder; but she believed they should
not have done so well without the sight of Mr. and Mrs.
Musgrove's respectable forms in the usual places, or without
the talking, laughing, and singing of their daughters.
She played a great deal better than either of the Miss Mus-
254
PEftstjAslorr.
groves; but having no voice, no knowledge of the harp
and no fond parents to sit by and fancy themselves de¬
lighted, her performance was little thought of, only out of
civility, or to refresh the others, as she was well aware.
She knew that when she played she was giving pleasure
only to herself; but this was no new sensation : excepting
one short period of her life, she had never, since the age
of fourteen, never since the loss of her dear mother, known
the happiness of being listened to, or encouraged by any
just appreciation or real taste. In music she had been
always used to feel alone in the world; and Mr. and Mrs.
Musgrove's fond partiality for their own daughters' per¬
formance, and total indifference to any other person's,
gave her much more pleasure for their sakes than mortifi¬
cation for her own.
The party at the Great House was sometimes increased
by other company. The neighbourhood was not large,
but the Musgroves were visited by every body, and had
more dinner parties, and more callers, more visiters by
invitation and by chance, than any other family They
were more completely popular.
The girls were wild for dancing; and the evenings
ended, occasionally, in an unpremeditated little ball.
There was a family of cousins within a walk of Upper
Cross, in less affluent circumstances, who depended on the
Musgroves for all their pleasures: they would come at any
time, and help play at any thing, or dance any where ; and
Anne, very much preferring the office of musician to a
more active post, played country dances to them by the
hour together; a kindness which always recommended her
musical powers to the notice of Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove
more than any thing else, and often drew this compli¬
ment,— " Well done, Miss Anne ! very well done, indeed !
Lord bless me! how those little fingers of yours fly
about!"
So passed the first three weeks. Michaelmas came ;
and now Anne's heart must be in Kellynch again. A be¬
loved home made over to others; all the precious rooms
and furniture, groves and prospects, beginning to own
other eyes and other limbs ! She could not think of
PERSUASION.
255
much else on the 29th of September; and she' had this
sympathetic touch in the evening from Mary, who, on
having occasion to note down the day of the month,
exclaimed, " Dear me ! is not this the day the Crofts
were to come to Kellynch ? I am glad I did not think of
it before. How low it makes me !"
The Crofts took possession with true naval alertness, and
were to be visited. Mary deplored the necessity for her¬
self. u Nobody knew how much she should suffer. She
should put it off as long as she could." But was not easy
till she had talked Charles into driving her over on an
early day ; and was in a very animated, comfortable state
of imaginary agitation when she came back. Anne had
very sincerely rejoiced in there being no means of her
going. She wished, however, to see the Crofts, and was
glad to be within when the visit was returned. They
came : the master of the house was not at home, but the
two sisters were together; and as it chanced that Mrs.
Croft fell to the share of Anne, while the Admiral sat by
Mary, and made himself very agreeable by his good-hu¬
moured notice of her little boys, she was well able to
watch for a likeness, and if it failed her in the features, to
catch it in the voice, or the turn of sentiment and ex¬
pression.
Mrs. Croft, though neither tall nor fat, had a square¬
ness, uprightness, and vigour of form, which gave import¬
ance to her person. She had bright dark eyes, good teeth,
and altogether an agreeable face ; though her reddened and
weather-beaten complexion, the consequence of her having
been almost as much at sea as her husband, made her
seem to have lived some years longer in the world than her
real eight-and-thirty. Her manners were open, easy, and
decided, like one who had no distrust of herself, and no
doubts of what to do; without any approach to coarseness,
however, or any want of good humour. Anne gave her
credit, indeed, for feelings of great consideration towards
herself, in all that related to Kellynch ; and it pleased her :
especially, as she had satisfied herself in the very first half
minute, in the instant even of introduction, that there was
not the smallest symptom of any knowledge or suspicion on
256
PERSUASION.
Mrs. Croft's side to give a bias of any sort. She was
quite easy on that head, and consequently full of strength
nd courage, till for a moment electrified by Mrs. Croft's
ddenly saying,—
" It was you, and not your sister, I find, that my bro-
her had the pleasure of being acquainted with, when he
was in this country."
Anne hoped she had outlived the age of blushing; but
the age of emotion she certainly had not.
" Perhaps you may not have heard that he is married? "
added Mrs. Croft.
She could now answer as she ought; and was happy to
feel, when Mrs. Croft's next words explained it to be Mr.
Wentworth of whom she spoke, that she had said nothing
which might not do for either brother. She immediately
felt how reasonable it was, that Mrs. Croft should be think¬
ing and speaking of Edward, and not of Frederick; and
with shame at her own forgetfulness, applied herself to the
knowledge of their former neighbour's present state with
proper interest.
The rest was all tranquillity; till, just as they were mov¬
ing, she heard the Admiral say to Mary,—
iC We are expecting a brother of Mrs. Croft's here soon ;
I dare say you know him by name."
Pie was cut short by the eager attacks of the little boys,
clinging to him like an old friend, and declaring he should
not go; and being too much engrossed by proposals of car¬
rying them away in his coat pocket, &c. to have another
moment for finishing or recollecting what he had begun,
Anne was left to persuade herself, as well as she could,
that the same brother must still be in question. She could
not, however, reach such a degree of certainty as not to be
anxious to hear whether any thing had been said on the
subject at the other house, where the Crofts had previously
been calling.
The folks of Great House were to spend the evening of
this day at the Cottage; and it being now too late in the
year for such visits to be made on foot, the coach was be¬
ginning to he listened for, when the youngest Miss Mus-
£Tove walked in. That she was coming to apologise, and
PERSUASION
257
that they should have to spend the evening by themselves,
was the first black idea; and Mary was quite ready to be
affronted, when Louisa made all right by saying, that she
only came on foot, to leave more room for the harp, which
was bringing in the carriage.
" And I will tell you our reason," she added, " and all
about it. I am come on to give you notice, that papa and
mamma are out of spirits this evening, especially mamma ;
she is thinking so much of poor Richard! And we agreed
it would be best to have the harp, for it seems to amuse her
more than the piano-forte. I will tell you why she is out
of spirits. "When the Crofts called this morning, (they
called here afterwards, did not they?) they happened to
say, that her brother, Captain Wentworth, is just returned
to England, or paid off, or something, and is coming to see
them almost directly; and most unluckily it came into
mamma's head, when they were gone, that Wentworth, or
something very like it, was the name of poor Richard's
captain, at one time—I do not know when or where, but a
great while before he died, poor fellow ! And upon look¬
ing over his letters and things, she found it was so; and
is perfectly sure that this must be the very man, and her
head is quite full of it, and of poor Richard ! So we must
all be as merry as we can, that she may not be dwelling
upon such gloomy things."
The real circumstances of this pathetic piece of family
history were, that the Musgroves had had the ill fortune of
a very troublesome, hopeless son, and the good fortune to
lose him before he reached his twentieth year; that he had
been sent to sea, because he was stupid and unmanageable
on shore ; that he had been very little cared for at any time
by his family, though quite as much as he deserved; sel¬
dom heard of, and scarcely at all regretted, when the intel¬
ligence of his death abroad had worked its way to Upper-
cross, two years before.
He had, in fact, though his sisters were now doing all they
could for him, by calling him. poor Richard," been no¬
thing better than a thick-headed, unfeeling, unprofitable
Dick Musgrove, who had never done any thing to entitle
a
25 8
I'EllSUASIOX.
liimself to more than the abbreviation of his name, living
or dead.
He had been several years at sea, and had, in the course
of those removals to which all midshipmen are liable, and
especially such midshipmen as every captain wishes to get
rid of, been six months on hoard Captain Frederick Went-
worth's frigate, the Laconia; and from the Laconia he had,
under the influence of his captain, written the only two
letters which his father and mother had ever received from
him during the whole of his absence; that is to say, the
only two disinterested letters,—all the rest had been mere
applications for money.
In each letter he had spoken well of his captain; but yet,
so little were they in the habit of attending to such matters,
so unobservant and incurious were they as to the names of
men or ships, that it had made scarcely any impression at
the time; and that Mrs. Musgrove should have been sud¬
denly struck, this very day, with a recollection of the name
of Wentworth, as connected with her son, seemed one of
those extraordinary bursts of mind which do sometimes
occur.
She had gone to her letters, and found it all as she sup¬
posed ; and the re-perusal of these letters, after so long an
interval, her poor son gone for ever, and all the strength of
his faults forgotten, had affected her spirits exceedingly,
and thrown her into greater grief for him than she had
known on first hearing of his death. Mr. Musgrove was,
in a lesser degree, affected likewise; and when they reached
the cottage, they were evidently in want, first, of being
listened to anew on this subject, and afterwards, of all the
relief which cheerful companions could give.
To hear them talking so much of Captain Wentworth,
repeating his name so often, puzzling over past years, and
at last ascertaining that it might, that it probably would,
turn out to be the very same Captain Wentworth whom
they recollected meeting, once or twice, after their coming
back from Clifton;—a very fine young man; but they
could not say whether it was seven or eight years ago,—
was a new sort of trial to Anne's nerves. She found, how-
persuasion.
259
ever, that it was one to which she must inure herself.
Since he actually was expected in the country, she must
teach herself to be insensible on such points. And not only
did it appear that he was expected, and speedily, but the
Musgroves, in their warm gratitude for the kindness he
had shown poor Dick, and very high respect for his cha¬
racter, stamped as it was by poor Dick's having been six
months under his care, and mentioning him in strong,
though not perfectly well-spelt praise, as " a fine dashing
felow, only two perticular about the schoolmaster," were
bent on introducing themselves, and seeking his acquaint¬
ance, as soon as they could hear of his arrival.
The resolution of doing so helped to form the comfort of
their evening.
CHAPTER VII.
A very few days more, and Captain Wentworth was known
to be at Kellynch, and Mr. Musgrove had called on him,
and come back warm in his praise, and he was engaged
with the Crofts to dine at Uppercross by the end of another
week. It had been a great disappointment to Mr. Mus¬
grove, to find that no earlier day could be fixed, so impa¬
tient was he to show his gratitude, by seeing Captain Went*
worth under his own roof, and welcoming him to all that
was strongest and best in his cellars. But a week must
pass ; only a week, in Anne's reckoning, and then, she sup*
posed, they must meet; and soon she began to wish that
she could feel secure even for a week.
Captain Wentworth made a very early return to Mr
Musgrove's civility, and she was all but calling there ill
the same half hour! She and Mary were actually setting
forward for the Great House, where, as she afterwards
learned, they must inevitably have found him, when
tliey were stopped by the eldest boy's being at that mo¬
ment brought home in consequence of a bad fall. The
child's situation put the visit entirely aside; but she could
s 2
260
j»E£BUASTOfr.
not hear of her escape with indifference, even in the midst
of the serious anxiety which they afterwards felt on his
account.
His collar-bone was found to be dislocated, and such in¬
jury received in the back, as roused the most alarming
ideas. It was an afternoon of distress, and Anne had every
thing to do at once — the apothecary to send for—the fa¬
ther to have pursued and informed—the mother to support
and keep from hysterics — the servants to control—the
youngest child to banish, and the poor suffering one to
attend and soothe; —besides sending, as soon as she recol¬
lected it, proper notice to the other house, which brought
her an accession rather of frightened enquiring companions,
than of very useful assistants.
Her brother's return was the first comfort—he could
take best care of his wife, and the second blessing was the
arrival of the apothecary. Till he came and had examined
the child, their apprehensions were the worse for being
vague; they suspected great injury, but knew not where ;
but now the collar-bone was soon replaced, and though Mr.
Robinson felt and felt, and rubbed, and looked grave, and
spoke law words both to the father and the aunt, still they
were all to hope the best, and to be able to part and eat
their dinner in tolerable ease of mind; and then it was,
just before they parted, that the two young aunts were able
so far to digress from their nephew's state, as to give the
information of Captain Wentworth's visit; staying five mi¬
nutes behind their father and mother, to endeavour to express
how perfectly delighted they were with him, how much hand¬
somer, how infinitely more agreeable they thought him than
any individual among their male acquaintance, who had been
at all a favourite before—how glad they had been to hear
papa invite him to stay dinner—how sorry when he said it
was quite out of his power—and how glad again, when he
had promised to reply to papa and mamma's farther pressing
in vitations to come and dine with them on the morrow, actually
on the morrow ! And he had promised it in so pleasant a
manner, as if he felt all the motive of their attention just,
as he ought! And, in short, he had looked and said every
thing with such exquisite grace, that they could assure them
PERSUASION.
261
all, their heads were both turned by him ! And off they
ran, quite as full of glee as of love, and apparently more full
of Captain Wentworth than of little Charles.
The same story and the same raptures were repeated,
when the two girls came with their father, through the
gloom of the evening, to make enquiries ; and Mr. Mus-
grove, no longer under the first uneasiness about his heir,
could add his confirmation and praise, and hope there
would be now no occasion for putting Captain Wentworth
off, and only be sorry to think that the cottage party, pro¬
bably, would not like to leave the little boy, to give him
the meeting. " Oh no ; as to leaving the little boy,"
both father and mother were in much too strong and re¬
cent alarm to bear the thought; and Anne, in the joy of
the escape, could not help adding her warm protestations to
theirs.
Charles Musgrove, indeed, afterwards showed more of
inclination; " the child was going on so well — and he
wished so much to be introduced to Captain Wentworth,
that, perhaps, he might join them in the evening; he
would not dine from home, but he might walk in for half
an hour." But in this he was eagerly opposed by his wife,
with " Oh no, indeed, Charles, I cannot bear to have you
go away. Only think, if any thing should happen."
The child had a good night, and was going on well the
next day. It must be a work of time to ascertain that no
injury had been done to the spine; but Mr. Robinson found
nothing to increase alarm, and Charles Musgrove began
consequently to feel no necessity for longer confinement.
The child was to be kept in bed, and amused as quietly as
possible; but what was there for a father to do ? This
was quite a female case, and it would be highly absurd in
him, who could be of no use at home, to shut himself up.
His father very much wished him to meet Captain Went¬
worth, and there being no sufficient reason against it, he
ought to go ; and it ended in his making a bold public de¬
claration, when he came in from shooting, of his meaning
to dress directly, and dine at the other house.
c( Nothing can be going on better than the child," said
g 3
262
PERSUASION.
he; " so I told my father just now that I would come, and
he thought me quite right. Your sister being with you,
my love, I have no scruple at all. You would not like to
leave him yourself, but you see I can be of no use. Anne
will send for me if any thing is the matter."
Husbands and wives generally understand when oppo¬
sition will be vain. Mary knew, from Charles's manner of
speaking, that he was quite determined on going, and that
it would be of no use to tease him. She said nothing,
therefore, till he was out of the room; but as soon as there -
was only Anne to hear, —
" So, you and I are to be left to shift by ourselves, with
this poor sick child — and not a creature coming near us
all the evening ! I knew how it would be. This is always
my luck. If there is any thing disagreeable going on,
men are always sure to get out of it, and Charles is as bad
as any of them. Very unfeeling ! I must say it is very
unfeeling of him, to be running away from his poor little
boy; talks of his being going on so well. How does he
know that he is going on well, or that there may not be a
sudden change half an hour hence ? I did not think
Charles would have been so unfeeling. So, here he is to
go away and enjoy himself, and because I am the poor
mother, I am not to be allowed to stir; and yet, I am
sure, I am more unfit than any body else to be about the
child. My being the mother is the very reason why my
feelings should not be tried. I am not at all equal to it.
You saw how hysterical I was yesterday."
" But that was only the effect of the suddenness of your
alarm — of the shock. You will not be hysterical again. I
dare say we shall have nothing to distress us. I perfectly
understand Mr. Robinson's directions, and have no fears ;
and indeed, Mary, I cannot wonder at your husband.
Nursing does not belong to a man, it is not his province,
A sick child is always the mother's property, her own feel¬
ings generally make it so."
" I hope I am as fond of my child as any mother, but
I do no know that I am of any more use in the sick room
than Charles, for I cannot be always scolding and teasing
a poor child when it is ill ■ and you saw, this morning,
PERSUASION.
263
that if I told him to keep quiet, he was sure to begin kick¬
ing about, 1 have not nerves for the sort of thing."
" But could you be comfortable yourself, to be spending
the whole evening away from the poor boy ? "
" Yes; you see his papa can, and why should not I?
Jemima is so careful. And she could send us word every
hour how he was. I really think Charles might as well
have told his father we would all come. I am not more
alarmed about little Charles now than he is. I was dread¬
fully alarmed yesterday, but the case is very different
to-day."
" Well, if you do not think it too late to give notice for
yourself, suppose you were to go, as well as your husband.
Leave little Charles to my care. Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove
cannot think it wrong, while I remain with him."
" Are you serious ? " cried Mary, her eyes brightening.
" Dear me! that's a very good thought, very good, in¬
deed. To be sure, I may just as well go as not, for I am of
no use at home — am I ? and it only harasses me. You,
who have not a mother's feelings, are a great deal the pro-
perest person. You can make little Charles do any thing;
he always minds you at a word. It will be a great deal
better than leaving him with only Jemima. Oh, I will cer¬
tainly go; I am sure I ought if I can, quite as much as
Charles, for they want me excessively to he acquainted
with Captain Wentworth, and I know you do not mind
being left alone. An excellent thought of yours, indeed,
Anne ! I will go and tell Charles, and get ready directly.
You can send for us, you know, at a moment's notice, if
any thing is the matter; hut I dare say there will he no¬
thing to alarm you. I should not go, you may be sure, if
I did not feel quite at ease about my dear child."
The next moment she was tapping at her husband's
dressing-room door; and as Anne followed her up stairs,
she was in time for the whole conversation, which began
with Mary's saying, in a tone of great exultation, —
" I mean to go with you, Charles, for I am of no more
use at home than you are. If I were to shut myself up
for ever with the child, I should not be able to persuade
him to do any thing he did not like. Anne will stay;
s 4
264
PERSUASION.
Anne undertakes to stay at home and take care of him. It
is Anne's own proposal, and so I shall go with you, which
will be a great deal better, for I have not dined at the
other house since Tuesday."
" This is very kind of Anne," was her husband's an¬
swer, " and I should be very glad to have you go; but it
seems rather hard that she should be left at home by her¬
self, to nurse our sick child."
Anne was now at hand to take up her own cause; and
the sincerity of her manner being soon sufficient to convince
l\im, where conviction was at least very agreeable, he had
no farther scruples as to her being left to dine alone,
though he still wanted her to join them in the evening,
when the child might be at rest for the night, and kindly
urged her to let him come and fetch her; hut she was
quite unpersuadable; and this being the case, she had ere
long the pleasure of seeing them set off together in high
spirits. They were gone, she hoped, to be happy, how¬
ever oddly constructed such happiness might seeem ; as for
herself, she was left with as many sensations of comfort as
were, perhaps, ever likely to be hers. She knew herself to
be of the first utility to the child ; and what was it to her
if Frederick Wentworth were only half a mile distant,
making himself agreeable to others !
She would have liked to know how he felt as to a
meeting. Perhaps indifferent, if indifference could exist
under such circumstances. He must be either indifferent
or unwilling. Had he wished ever to see her again, he
need not have waited till this time; he would have done
what she could not hut believe that in his place she should
have done long ago, when events had been early giving
him the independence which alone had been wanting.
Her brother and sister came back delighted with their
new acquaintance, and their visit in general. There had
been music, singing, talking, laughing, all that was most
agreeable ; charming manners in Captain Wentworth, no
shyness or reserve ; they seemed all to know each other
perfectly, and lie was coming the very next morning to
shoot with Charles. He was to come to breakfast, but
not at the Cottage, though +hat had been proposed at first;
PERSUASION.
2 65
but then he had been pressed to come to the Great House
instead, and he seemed afraid of being in Mrs. Charles
Musgrove's way, on account of the child ; and therefore,
somehow, they hardly knew how^ it ended in Charles's
being to meet him to breakfast at his father's.
Anne understood it. He wished to avoid seeing her
He had enquired after her, she found, slightly, as might
suit a former slight acquaintance, seeming to acknowledge
such as she had acknowledged, actuated, perhaps, by the
same view of escaping introduction when they were to
meet.
The morning hours of the Cottage were always later
than those of the other house; and on the morrow, the
difference was so great, that Mary and Anne were not
more than beginning breakfast when Charles came in to say
that they were just setting off, that he was come for his
dogs, that his sisters were following with Captain Went-
worth, his sisters meaning to visit Mary and the child, and
Captain Wentworth proposing also to wait on her for a few
minutes, if not inconvenient; and though Charles had an¬
swered for the child's being in no such state as could make
it inconvenient, Captain Wentworth would not be satisfied
without his running on to give notice.
Mary, very much gratified by this attention, was de_
lighted to receive him j while a thousand feelings rushed
on Anne, of which this was the most consoling, that it
would soon be over. And it was soon over. In two mi¬
nutes after Charles's preparation, the others appeared ;
they were in the drawing-room. Her eye half met Captain
Wentworth's ; a bow, a courtesy passed ; she heard his
voice — he talked to Mary ; said all that was right; said
something to the Miss Musgroves, enough to mark an easy
footing : the room seemed full full of persons and voices
— but a few minutes ended it. Charles showed himself at
the window, all was ready, their visiter had bowed and
was gone ; the Miss Musgroves were gone too; suddenly
resolving to walk to the end of the village with the sports¬
men : the room was cleared, and Anne might finish her
breakfast as she could.'
266
PERSUASION.
" It is over ! it is over !" she repeated to herself again
and again, in nervous gratitude. " The worst is over !"
Mary talked, but she could not attend. She had seen him.
They had met. They had been once more in the same
room.
Soon, however, she began to reason with herself, and
try to be feeling less. Eight years, almost eight years
had passed, since all had been given up. How absurd to
he resuming the agitation which such an interval had ba¬
nished into distance and indistinctness ! What might not
eight years do ? Events of every description, changes,
alienations, removals, — all, all must be comprised in it;
and oblivion of the past — how natural, how certain too !
It included nearly a third part of her own life.
Alas ! with all her reasonings, she found, that to
retentive feelings eight years may be little more than no¬
thing.
Now, how were his sentiments to be read ? Was this
like wishing to avoid her ? And the next moment she was
hating herself for the folly which asked the question.
On one other question, which perhaps her utmost wis¬
dom might not have prevented, she was soon spared all
suspense ; for after the Miss Musgroves had returned and
finished their visit at the Cottage, she had this spontaneous
information from Mary: —
" Captain Wentworth is not very gallant by you, Anne,
though he was so attentive to me. Henrietta asked him
what he thought of you, when they went away; and he
said, f You were so altered he should not have known you
again.'"
Mary had no feelings to make her respect her sister s in
a common way; hut she was perfectly unsuspicious of be¬
ing inflicting any peculiar wound.
" Altered beyond his knowledge ! " Anne fully sub¬
mitted, in silent, deep mortification. Doubtless it was so;
and she could take no revenge, for he was not altered, or
not for the worse. She had already acknowledged it to
herself, and she could not think differently, let him think
of her as he would. No ; the years which had destroyed
her youth and bloom had only given him a more glowing,
PERSUASION.
267
manly, open look, in no respect lessening his personal ad¬
vantages. She had seen the same Frederick Wentworth.
te So altered that he should not have known her again!"
These were words which could not but dwell with her.
Yet she soon began to rejoice that she had heard them.
They were of sobering tendency; they allayed agitation;
they composed, and consequently must make her happier.
Frederick Wentworth had used such words, or something
like them, but without an idea that they would he carried
round to her. He had thought her wretchedly altered, and,
in the first moment of appeal, had spoken as he felt. He
had not forgiven Anne Elliot. She had used him ill; de¬
serted and disappointed him ; and worse, she had shown a
feebleness of character in doing so, which his own decided,
confident temper could not endure. She had given him up
to oblige others. It had been the effect of over-persuasion.
It had been weakness and timidity.
He had been most warmly attached to her, and had ne¬
ver seen a woman since whom he thought her equal; but,
except from some natural sensation of curiosity, he had no
desire of meeting her again. Her power with him was
gone for ever.
It was now his object to marry. He was rich, and being
turned on shore, fully intended to settle as soon as he could
be properly tempted ; actually looking round, ready to fall
in love with all the speed which a clear head and quick taste
could allow. He had a heart for either of the Miss Mus-
groves, if they could catch it; a heart, in short, for any
pleasing young woman who came in his way, excepting Anne
Elliot. This was his only secret exception, when he said to
his sister, in answer to her suppositions,—
" Yes, here I am, Sophia, quite ready to make a foolish
match. Any body between fifteen and thirty may have me
for asking. A little beauty, and a few smiles, and a few
compliments to the navy, and I am a lost man. Should
not this be enough for a sailor, who has had no society
among women to make him nice ?"
He said it, she knew, to be contradicted. His bright,
proud eye spoke the happy conviction that he was nice; and
Anne Elliot was not out of his thoughts, when he more
persuasion.
seriously described the woman he should wish to meet with.
" A strong mind, with sweetness of manner," made the first
and the last of the description.
" This is the woman I want," said he. " Something a little
inferior I shall of course put up with, but it must not be
much. If I am a fool, I shall be a fool indeed, for I have
thought on the subject more than most men."
CHAPTER VIII.
From this time Captain Wentworth and Anne Elliot were
repeatedly in the same circle. They were soon dining in
company together at Mr. Musgrove's, for the little hoy's
state could no longer supply his aunt with a pretence for
absenting herself; and this was but the beginning of other
dinings and other meetings.
Whether former feelings were to be renewed must be
brought to the proof; former times must undoubtedly he
brought to the recollection of each ; they could not but
he reverted to ; the year of their engagement could not but
be named by him, in the little narratives or descriptions
which conversation called forth. His profession qualified
him, his disposition led him, to talk; and " That was in
the year six ;" " That happened before I went to sea, in
the year six," occurred in the course of the first evening
they spent together: and though his voice did not falter,
and though she had no reason to suppose his eye wandering
towards her while he spoke, Anne felt the utter impossi¬
bility, from her knowledge of his mind, that he could be
unvisited by remembrance any more than herself. There
must be the same immediate association of thought, though
she was very far from conceiving it to be of equal pain.
They had no conversation together, no intercourse hut
what the commonest civility required. Once so much to
each other ! Now nothing ! There had been a time, when
PERSUASION.
269
of all the large party now filling the drawing-room at Up-
percross, they would have found it most difficult to cease to
speak to one another. With the exception, perhaps, of
Admiral and Mrs. Croft, who seemed particularly attached
and happy, (Anne could allow no other exception, even
among the married couples,) there could have been no two
hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison,
no countenances so beloved. Now they were as strangers;
nay, worse than strangers, for they could never become ac¬
quainted. It was a perpetual estrangement.
When he talked, she heard the same voice, and dis¬
cerned the same mind. There was a very general ignorance
of all naval matters throughout the party; and he was very
much questioned, and especially by the two Miss Mus-
groves, who seemed hardly to have any eyes but for him,
as to the manner of living on board, daily regulations, food,
hours, &c.; and their surprise at his accounts, at learning
the degree of accommodation and arrangement which was
practicable, drew from him some pleasant ridicule, which,
reminded Anne of the early days when she too had been
ignorant, and she too had been accused of supposing sailors
to be living on board without any thing to eat, or any cook
to dress it if there were, or any servant to wait, or any
knife and fork to use.
From thus listening and thinking, she was roused by a
whisper o.f Mrs. Musgrove's, who, overcome by fond re¬
grets, could not help saying,—
" Ah ! Miss Anne, if it had pleased Heaven to spare my
poor, son, I dare say he would have been just such another
by this time."
Anne suppressed a smile, and listened kindly, while Mrs.
Musgrove relieved her heart a little more; and for a few
minutes, therefore, could not keep pace with the conversation
of the others. When she could let her attention take
its natural course again, she found the Miss Musgroves just
fetching the navy list— (their own navy list, the first that
had ever been at Uppercross) — and sitting down together
to pore over it, with the professed view of finding out the
ships which Captain Wentworth had commanded.
270
PERSUASIOtf.
" Your first was the Asp, I remember; we will look foi
ihe Asp."
" You will not find her there. Quite worn out and
broken up. I was the last man who commanded her.
Hardly fit for service then. Reported fit for home service
for a year or two,— and so I was sent off to the Wes
Indies." ,
The girls looked all amazement.
c: The Admiralty," he continued, " entertain themselves,
now and then, with sending a few hundred men to sea in
a ship not fit to be employed. But they have a great many
to provide for; and among the thousands that may just as
well go to the bottom as not, it is impossible for them to
distinguish the very set who may be least missed."
" Phoo ! phoo i " cried the Admiral, ec what stuff these
young fellows talk! Never was a better sloop than the
Asp in her day. For an old built sloop, you would not
see her equal. Lucky fellow to get her ! He knows there
must have been twenty better men than himself applying
for her at the same time. Lucky fellow to get any thing
so soon, with no more interest than his."
" I felt my luck, Admiral, I assure you," replied Cap¬
tain Wentworth, seriously. " I was as well satisfied with
my appointment as you can desire. It was a great object
with me, at that time, to be at sea, — a very great object.
I wanted to be doing something."
" To be sure, you did. What should a young fellow,
like you, do ashore, for half a year together ? If a man
has not a wife, he soon wants to be afloat again."
" But, Captain Wentworth," cried Louisa, " how vexed
you must have been when you came to the Asp, to see what
an old thing they had given you."
" I knew pretty well what she was before that day,"
said he, smiling. " I had no more discoveries to make
than you would have as to the fashion and strength of any
old pelisse, which you had seen lent about among half your
acquaintance ever since you could remember, and which,
at last, on some very wet day, is lent to yourself. Ah !
she was a dear old Asp to me. She did all that I wanted.
I knew she would. I knew that we should either go to
PERSUASION.
271
the bottom together, or that she would he the making of
me; and I never had two days of foul weather all the time
I was at sea in her; and after taking privateers enough to
be very entertaining. I had the good luck, in my passage
home the next autumn, to fall in with the very French
frigate I wanted. I brought her into Plymouth ; and here
was another instance of luck. We had not been six hours
in the Sound, when a gale came on, which lasted four days
and nights, and which would have done for poor old Asp,
in half the time; our touch, with the Great Nation not
having much improved our condition. Four-and-twenty
hours later, and I should only have been a galla.it. t 'aptain
Wentworth, in a small paragraph at one corner of the news¬
papers ; and being lost in only a sloop, nobody would have
thought about me."
Anne's shudderings were to herself alone; but the Miss
Musgroves could be as open as they were sincere, in their
exclamations of pity and horror.
" And so then, I suppose," said Mrs. Musgrove, in a
low voice, as if thinking aloud,—" so then he went away
to the Laconia, and there he met with our poor boy.—
Charles, my dear," beckoning him to her, " do ask Cap¬
tain Wentworth where it was he first met with your poor
brother. I always forget."
" It was at Gibraltar, mother, I know. Dick had been left
ill at Gibraltar, with a recommendation from his former
captain to Captain Wentworth."
" Oh! but, Charles, tell Captain Wentworth, he need
not be afraid of mentioning poor Dick before me, for it
would be rather a pleasure to hear him talked of, by such
a good friend."
Charles being somewhat more mindful of the probabi¬
lities of the case, only nodded in reply, and walked away.
The girls were now hunting for the Laconia; and Cap¬
tain Wentworth could not deny himself the pleasure of
taking the precious volume into his own hands to save
them the trouble, and once more read aloud the little state¬
ment of her name and rate, and present non-commissioned
class, observing over it that she too had been one of the
best friends man ever had.
272 PJERSUAStOK.
" Ah, those were pleasant days when I had the Laconic f
How fast I made money in her. A friend of mine and I
had such a lovely cruise together off the Western Islands.
— Poor Harville, sister ! You know how much he wanted
money — worse than myself. He had a wife. Excellent
fellow ! I shall never forget his happiness. He felt it all,
so much for her sake. I wished for him again the next
summer, when I had still the same luck in the Mediter¬
ranean."
" And I am sure, sir," said Mrs. Musgrove, " it was a
lucky day for us, when you were put captain into that
ship. We shall never forget what you did."
Her feelings made her speak low; and Captain Went-
worth, hearing only in part, and probably not having Dick
Musgrove at all near his thoughts, looked rather in suspense,
and as if waiting for more.
" My brother," whispered one of the girls ; " mamma
is thinking of poor Richard."
u Poor dear fellow !" continued Mrs. Musgrove; " he
was grown so steady, and such an excellent correspondent,
while he was under your care ! Ah, it would have been a
happy thing, if he had never left you. I assure you, Cap¬
tain Wentworth, we are very sorry he ever left you."
There was a momentary expression in Captain Went-
worth's face at this speech, a certain glance of his bright
eye, and curl of his handsome mouth, which convinced
Anne, that instead of sharing in Mrs. Musgrove's kind
wishes, as to her son, he had probably been at some pains
to get rid of him; but it was too transient an indulgence
of self-amusement to be detected by any who under¬
stood him less than herself; in another moment he was
perfectly collected and serious; and almost instantly after¬
wards coming up to the sofa, on which she and Mrs. Mus¬
grove were sitting, took a place by the latter, and entered
into conversation with her, in a low voice, about her son,
doing it with so much sympathy and natural grace, as
showed the kindest consideration for all that was real and
unabsurd in the parent's feelings.
They were actually on the same sofa, for Mrs. Musgrove
had most readily made room for him, — they were divided
PERSUASION. 273
only by Mrs. Musgrove. It was no insignificant barrier
indeed. Mrs. Musgrove was of a comfortable substantial
size, infinitely more fitted by nature to express good cheer
and good humour than tenderness and sentiment; and
while the agitations of Anne's slender form, and pensive
•face, may be considered as very completely screened,
Captain Wentworth should be allowed some credit for the
self-command with which he attended to her large fat
sighings over the destiny of a son, whom alive nobody had
cared for.
Personal size and mental sorrow have certainly no neces¬
sary proportions. A large bulky figure has as good a right
to be in deep affliction as the most graceful set of limbs in
the world. But, fair or not fair, there are unbecoming
conjunctions, which reason will patronise in vain,—which
taste cannot tolerate, — which ridicule will seize.
The Admiral, after taking two or three refreshing turns
about the room with his hands behind him, being called to
order by his wife, now came up to Captain Wentworth,
and without any observation of what he might be inter¬
rupting, thinking only of his own thoughts, began with,—
" If you had been a week later at Lisbon, last spring,
Frederick, you would have been asked to give a passage to
Lady Mary Grierson and her daughters."
" Should I ? I am glad I was not a week later then ? "
The Admiral abused him for his want of gallantry. He
defended himself; though professing that he would never
willingly admit any ladies on board a ship of his, excepting
for a ball, or a visit, which a few hours might comprehend.
" But, if I know myself," said he, ff this is from no
want of gallantry towards them. It is rather from feeling
how impossible it is, with all one s efforts, and all one s
sacrifices, to make the accommodations on board such as
women ought to have. There can be no want of gallantry,
Admiral, in rating the claims of women to every personal
comfort high—and this is what I do. I hate to hear of
women on board, or to see them on board; and no ship,
under my command, shall every convey a family of ladies
any where, if I can
This brought his sister upon him.
T
274
PERSUASION.
" Oh, Frederick ! But I cannot believe it of you. All
idle refinement! Women may be as comfortable on board
as in the best house in England. I believe I have lived
as much on board as most women, and I know nothing
superior to the accommodations of a man of war. I de¬
clare I have not a comfort or an indulgence about me, even
at Kellynch Hall," with a kind bow to Anne, " beyond
what I always had in most of the ships I have lived in ;
and they have been five altogether."
" Nothing to the purpose," replied her brother. " You
were living with yeur husband; and were the only woman
on board."
" But you, yourself, brought Mrs. Harville, her sister,
her cousin, and the three children, round from Portsmouth
to Plymouth. Where was this superfine, extraordinary
sort of gallantry of yours, then ? "
" All merged in my friendship, Sophia. I would assist
any brother officer's wife that I could, and I would bring any
thing of Harville's from the world's end, if he wanted it.
But do not imagine that I did not feel it an evil in itself."
" Depend upon it, they were all perfectly comfortable."
" I might not like them the better for that, perhaps.
Such a number of women and children have no right to be
comfortable on board."
" My dear Frederick, you are talking quite idly. Pray,
what would become of us poor sailors' wives, who often
want to be conveyed to one port or another, after our hus¬
bands, if every body had your feelings ? "
My feelings, you see, did not prevent my taking
Mrs. Harville, and all her family, to Plymouth."
" But I hate to hear you talking so, like a fine gentle¬
man, and as if women were all fine ladies, instead of rational
creatures. We none of us expect to be in smooth water
all our days."
" Ah, my dear," said the Admiral, " when he has got
a wife, he will sing a different tune. When he is married,
if we have the good luck to live to another war, w'e shall
see him do as you and I, and a great many others, have
done. We shall have him very thankful to any body that
will bring him his wife."
PERSUASION.
275
" Ay, that we shall."
" Now I have done," cried Captain Wentworth. "When
once married people begin to attack me with—' Oh, you
will think very differently when you are married,' I can
only say, ( No, I shall not;' and then they say again,
' Yes, you will,' and there is an end of it."
He got up and moved away.
" What a great traveller you must have oeen, ma'am!"
said Mrs. Musgrove to Mrs. Croft.
" Pretty well, ma'am, in the fifteen years of my marriage
though many women have done more. I have crossed the
Atlantic four times, and have been once to the East Indies,
and back again, and only once; besides being in different
places about home—Cork, and Lisbon, and Gibraltar. But
I never went beyond the Streights, and never was in the
West Indies. We do not call Bermuda or Bahama, you
know, the West Indies."
Mrs. Musgrove had not a word to say in dissent; she
could not accuse herself of having ever called them any
thing in the whole course of her life.
" And I do assure you, ma'am," pursued Mrs. Croft,
" that nothing can exceed the accommodations of a man
of war; I speak, you know, of the higher rates. When
you come to a frigate, of course, you are more confined;
though any reasonable woman may be perfectly happy in
one of them; and I can safely say, that the happiest part
of my life has been spent on board a ship. While we
were together, you know, there was nothing to be feared.
Thank God! I have always been blessed with excellent
health, and no climate disagrees with me. A little dis¬
ordered always the first twenty-four hours of going to sea,
but never knew what sickness was afterwards. The only
time that I ever really suffered in body or mind, the only
time that I ever fancied myself unwell, or had any ideas of
danger, was the winter that I passed by myself at Deal,
when the Admiral (Captain Croft then) was in the North
Seas. I lived in perpetual fright at that time, and had all
manner of imaginary complaints from not knowing what
to do with myself, or when I should hear from him next;
v 2
276
PERSUASION
but as long as we could be together, nothing ever ailed me,
and I never met with the smallest inconvenience."
" Ay, to be sure. Yes, indeed, oh yes, I am quite of
your opinion, Mrs. Croft," was Mrs. Musgrove's hearty
answer. " There is nothing so had as a separation. I am
quite of your opinion. I know what it is, for Mr. Mus-
grove always attends the assizes, and I am so glad when
they are over, and he is safe back again."
The evening ended with dancing. On its being pro¬
posed, Anne offered her services, as usual; and though her
eyes would sometimes fill with tears as she sat at the in¬
strument, she was extremely glad to he employed, and
desired nothing in return but to be unobserved.
It was a merry, joyous party, and no one seemed in
higher spirits than Captain Wentworth. She felt that he
had every thing to elevate him, which general attention
and deference, and especially the attention of all the young
women, could do. The Miss Hayters, the females of the
family of cousins already mentioned, were apparently ad¬
mitted to the honour of being in love with him; and as for
Henrietta and Louisa, they both seemed so entirely occu¬
pied by him, that nothing but the continued appearance of
the most perfect good-will between themselves could have
made it credible that they were not decided rivals. If he
were a little spoilt by such universal, such eager admiration,
who could wonder ?
These were some of the thoughts which occupied Anne,
while her fingers were mechanically at work, proceeding
for half an hour together, equally without error, and with¬
out consciousness. Once she felt that he was looking at
herself, — observing her altered features, perhaps trying to
trace in them the ruins of the face which had once charmed
him ; and once she knew that he must have spoken of her;
—she was hardly aware of it till she heard the answer;
but then she was sure of his having asked his partner
whether Miss Elliot never danced? The answer was,
" Oh no, never; she has quite given up dancing. She had
rather play. She is never tired of playing." Once, too, he
spoke to her. She had left the instrument on the dancing
being over, and he had sat down to try to make out an air
PERSUASION.
277
which he wished to give the Miss Musgroves an idea of.
Unintentionally she returned to that part of the room; he saw
her, and instantly rising, said, with studied politeness, —
" I beg your pardon, madam, this is your seat;" and
though she immediately drew back with a decided negative,
he was not to be induced to sit down again.
Anne did not wish for more of such looks and speeches.
His cold politeness, his ceremonious grace, were worse than
any thing.
CHAPTER IX.
Captain Wentworth was come to Kellynch as to a
home, to stay as long as he liked, being as thoroughly the
object of the Admiral's fraternal kindness as of his wife's.
He had intended, on first arriving, to proceed very soon
into Shropshire, and visit the brother settled in that county,
but the attractions of Uppercross induced him to put this
off. There was so much of friendliness, and of flattery,
and of every thing most bewitching in his reception there;
the old were so hospitable, the young so agreeable, that he
could not but resolve to remain where he was, and take all
the charms and perfections of Edward's wife upon credit a
little longer.
It was soon Uppercross with him almost every day.
The Musgroves could hardly be more ready to invite than
he to come, particularly in the morning, when he had no
companion at home ; for the Admiral and Mrs. Croft were
generally out of doors together, interesting themselves in
their new possessions, their grass, and their sheep, and
dawdling about in a way not endurable to a third person,
or driving out in a gig, lately added to their establishment.
Hitherto there had been but one opinion of Captain
Wentworth among the Musgroves and their dependencies.
It was unvarying, warm admiration every whei'e; but
this intimate footing was not more than established, when
a certain Charles Hayter returned among them, to he a
T 3
278
PERSUASION.
good deal disturbed by it, and to think Captain Wentwortn
very much in the way.
Charles Hayter was the eldest of all the cousins, and a
very amiable, pleasing young man, between whom and
Henrietta there had been a considerable appearance of
attachment previous to Captain Wentworth's introduction.
He was in orders; and having a curacy in the neighbour¬
hood, where residence was not required, lived at his father's
house, only two miles from Uppercross. A short absence
from home had left his fair one unguarded by his atten¬
tions at this critical period, and when he came back he
had the pain of finding very altered manners, and of seeing
Captain Wentworth.
Mrs. Musgrove and Mrs. Hayter were sisters. They
had each had money, but their marriages had made a
material difference in their degree of consequence. Mr.
Hayter had some property of his own, but it was insignifi¬
cant compared with Mr. Musgrove's; and while the Mus-
groves were in the first class of society in the country,
the young Hayters would, from their parents' inferior,
retired, and unpolished way of living, and their own de¬
fective education, have been hardly in any class at all, but
for their connection with Uppercross, this eldest son of
course excepted, who had chosen to be a scholar and a
gentleman, and who was very superior in cultivation and
manners to all the rest.
The two families had always been on excellent terms,
there being no pride on one side, and no envy on the other,
and only such a consciousness of superiority in the Miss
Musgroves, as made them pleased to improve their cousins.
Charles's attentions to Henrietta had been observed by her
father and mother without any disapprobation. " It
would not be a great match for her; but if Henrietta
liked him, — and Henrietta did seem to like him."
Henrietta fully thought so herself, before Captain
Wentworth came ; but from that time Cousin Charles had
been very much forgotten.
Which of the two sisters was preferred by Captain
Wentworth was as yet quite doubtful, as far as Anne's
observation reached. Henrietta was perhaps the prettiest,
PERSUASION.
279
Louisa had the higher spirits; and she knew not now,
whether the more gentle or the more lively character were
most likely to attract him.
Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove, either from seeing little, or
from an entire confidence in the discretion of both their
daughters, and of all the young men who came near them,
seemed to leave every thing to take its chance. There was
not the smallest appearance of solicitude or remark ahout
them in the Mansion-house; but it was different at the
Cottage : the young couple there were more disposed to
speculate and wonder; and Captain Wentworth had not
been above four or five times in the Miss Musgroves' com¬
pany, and Charles Hayter had but just re-appeared, when
Anne had to listen to the opinions of her brother and sister,
as to which was the one liked best. Charles gave it for
Louisa, Mary for Henrietta, but quite agreeing that to
have him marry either would be extremely delightful.
Charles " had never seen a pleasanter man in his life ;
and from what he had once heard Captain Wentworth
himself say, was very sure that he had not made less than
twenty thousand pounds by the war. Here was a fortune
at once; besides which, there would be the chance of
what might be done in any future war ; and he was sure
Captain Wentworth was as likely a man to distinguish
himself as any officer in the navy. Oh, it would be a
capital match for either of his sisters."
" Upon my word it would," replied Mary. " Dear
me ! If he should rise to any very great honours ! If he
should ever be made a Baronet! ' Lady Wentworth'
sounds very well. That would be a noble thing, indeed,
for Henrietta! She would take place of me then, and
Henrietta would not dislike that. Sir Frederick and Lady
Wentworth! It would be but a new creation, however,
and I never think much of your new creations."
It suited Mary best to think Henrietta the one pre¬
ferred on the very account of Charles Hayter, whose pre¬
tensions she wished to see put an end to. She looked down
very decidedly upon the Hayters, and thought would be
quite a misfortune to have the existing connection between
t 4
280
PERSUASION.
the families renewed — very sad for herself and he*
children.
" You know," said she, " I cannot think him at all a
fit match for Henrietta; and considering the alliances
which the Musgroves have made, she has no right to
throw herself away. I do not think any young woman
has a right to make a choice that may be disagreeable and
inconvenient to the principal part of her family, and be
giving bad connections to those who have not been used to
them. And, pray, who is Charles Hayter ? Nothing hut
a country curate. A most improper match for Miss Mus-
grove of Uppercross."
Her husband, however, would not agree with her here ;
for besides having a regard for his cousin, Charles Hayter
was an eldest son, and he saw things as an eldest son
himself.
Ci Now you are talking nonsense, Mary," was therefore
his answer. " It would not be a great match for Hen¬
rietta, but Charles has a very fair chance, through the
Spicers, of getting something from the Bishop in the
course of a year or two ; and you will please to remember,
that he is the eldest son; whenever my uncle dies, he
steps into very pretty property. The estate at Winthrop is
not less than two hundred and fifty acres, besides the farm
near Taunton, which is some of the best land in the
country. I grant you, that any of them but Charles
would be a very shocking match for Henrietta, and in¬
deed it could not be; he is the only one that could be
possible ; but he is a very good-natured, good sort of a
fellow; and whenever Winthrop comes into his hands, he
will make a different sort of place of it, and live in a very
different sort of way; and with that property he will
never be a contemptible man,— good freehold property.
No, no : Henrietta might do worse than marry Charles
Hayter; and if she has him, and Louisa can get Captain
Wentworth, I shall be very well satisfied."
" Charles may say what he pleases," cried Mary to
Anne, as soon as he was out of the room, " but it would
be shocking to have Henrietta marry Charles Hayter :
a very had thing for her, and still worse for me; and
PERSUASION.
281
therefore it is very much to be wished that Captain Went-
worth may soon put him quite out of her head, and I have
very little doubt that he has. She took hardly any notice
of Charles Hayter yesterday. I wish you had been there
to see her behaviour. And as to Captain Wentworth's
liking Louisa as well as Henrietta, it is nonsense to say
so; for he certainly does like Henrietta a great deal the
best. But Charles is so positive ! I wish you had been
with us yesterday, for then yon might have decided be¬
tween us; and I am sure you would have thought as I
did, unless you had been determined to give it against me."
A dinner at Mr. Musgrove's had been the occasion
when all these things should have been seen by Anne ;
but she had staid at home, under the mixed plea of a head-
ach of her own, and some return of indisposition in little
Charles. She had thought only of avoiding Captain Went-
worth; but an escape from being appealed to as umpire
was now added to the advantages of a quiet evening.
As to Captain Wentworth's views, she deemed it of
more consequence that he should know his own mind early
enough not to be endangering the happiness of either sis¬
ter, or impeaching his own honour, than that he should
prefer Henrietta to Louisa, or Louisa to Henrietta. Either
of them would, in all probability, make him an affection¬
ate, good-humoured wife. With regard to Charles Hayter,
she had delicacy which must be pained by any lightness
of conduct in a well-meaning young woman, and a heart
to sympathise in any of the sufferings it occasioned; but
if Henrietta found herself mistaken in the nature of her
feelings, the alteration could not be understood too soon.
Charles Hayter had met with much to disquiet and
mortify him in his cousin's behaviour. She had too old
a regard for hirn to be so wholly estranged, as might in
two meetings extinguish every past hope, and leave him
nothing to do but to keep away from Uppercross; but
there was such a change as became very alarming, when
such a man as Captain Wentworth was to be regarded as
the probable cause. He had been absent only two Sun¬
days ; and when they parted, had left her interested, even
to the height of his wishes, in his prospect of soon quit-
282
PERSUASION.
ting his present curacy, and obtaining that of Uppercross
instead. It had then seemed the object nearest her heart,
that Dr. Shirley, the rector, who for more than forty years
had been zealously discharging all the duties of his office,
but was now growing too infirm for many of them, should
he quite fixed on engaging a curate; should make his
curacy quite as good as he could afford, and should give
Charles Hayter the promise of it. The advantage of his
having to come only to Uppercross, instead of going six
miles another way; of his having, in every respect, a bet¬
ter curacy ; of his belonging to their dear Dr. Shirley ;
and of dear, good Dr. Shirley's being relieved from the
duty which he could no longer get through without most
injurious fatigue, had been a great deal, even to Louisa,
but had been almost every thing to Henrietta. When he
came back, alas! the zeal of the business was gone by.
Louisa could not listen at all to his account of a convers¬
ation which he had just held with Dr. Shirley : she was
at the window, looking out for Captain Wentworth ; and
even Henrietta had at best only a divided attention to give,
and seemed to have forgotten all the former doubt and so¬
licitude of the negotiation.
" Well, I am very glad, indeed; but I always thought
you would have it — I always thought you sure. It did
not appear to me that—In short, you know, Dr. Shirley
must have a curate, and you had secured his promise. Is
he coming, Louisa ? "
One morning, very soon after the dinner at the Mus_
groves, at which Anne had not been present, Captain
Wentworth walked into the drawing-room at the Cottage,
where were only herself and the little invalid Charles, who
was lying on the sofa.
The surprise of finding himself almost alone with Anne
Elliot deprived his manners of their usual composure :
he started, and could only say, " I thought the Miss Mus-
groves had been here: Mrs. Musgrove told me I should
find them here,"—before he walked to the window to re¬
collect himself, and feel how he ought to behave.
" They are up stairs with my sister: they will be down
in a few moments, I dare say," had been Anne's re-
PERSUASION.
283
ply, in all the confusion that was natural; and if the
child had not called her to come and do something for
him, she would have been out of the room the next mo¬
ment, and released Captain Wentworth as well as herself.
He continued at tne window ; and after calmly and po¬
litely saying, " I hone the little boy is better," was silent
She was obliged to kneel down by the sofa, and remain
there to satisfy her patient; and thus they continued a few
minutes, when, to her very great satisfaction, she heard
some other person crossing the little vestibule. She hoped,
on turning her head, to see the master of the house; but
it proved to be one much less calculated for making mat¬
ters easy — Charles Hayter, probably not at all better
pleased by the sight of Captain Wentworth, than Captain
Wentworth had been by the sight of Anne.
She only attempted to say, <e How do you do ? Will
not you sit down ? The others will be here presently."
Captain Wentworth, however, came from his window,
apparently not ill-disposed for conversation; but Charles
Hayter soon put an end to his attempts, by seating himself
near the table, and taking up the newspaper; and Captain
Wentworth returned to his window.
Another minute brought another addition. The younger
boy, a remarkably stout, forward child, of two years old,
having got the door opened for him by some one without,
made his determined appearance among them, and went
straight to the sofa to see what was going on, and put in
his claim to any thing good that might be giving away.
There being nothing to eat, he could only have some
play ; and as his aunt would not let him tease his sick
brother, he began to fasten himself upon her, as she knelt,
in such a way that, busy as she was about Charles, she
could not shake him off. She spoke to him, ordered, en¬
treated, and insisted in vain. Once she did contrive to
push him away, but the boy had the greater pleasure in
getting upon her back again directly.
" Walter," said she, " get down this moment. You
are extremely troublesome. I am very angry with you."
re Walter," cried Charles Hayter, " why do you not do
«84
PERSUASION.
as you are bid ? Do not you hear your aunt speak ? Come
to me, Walter; come to cousin Charles."
But not a bit did Walter stir.
In another moment, however, she found herself in the
state of being released from him; some one was taking
him from her, though he had bent down her head so much,
that his little sturdy hands were unfastened from around
her neck, and he was resolutely borne away, before she
knew that Captain Wentworth had done it.
Her sensations on the discovery made her perfectly
speechless. She could not even thank him. She could
only ha'ug over little Charles, with most disordered feelings.
His kindness in stepping forward to her relief, the man¬
ner, the silence in which it had passed, the little particu¬
lars of the circumstance, with the conviction soon forced
on her, by the noise he was studiously making with the
child, that he meant to avoid hearing her thanks, and
rather sought to testify that her conversation was the last
of his wants, produced such a confusion of varying, but
very painful, agitation, as she could not recover from, till
enabled, by the entrance of Mary and the Miss Musgroves,
to make over her little patient to their cares, and leave the
room. She could not stay. It might have been an oppor¬
tunity of watching the loves and jealousies of the four —
they were now altogether; but she could stay for none
of it. It was evident that Charles Hayter was not well
inclined towards Captain Wentworth. She had a strong
impression of his having said, in a vexed tone of voior.
after Captain Wentworth's interference, "You ought to
have minded me, Walter; I told you not to tease your
aunt;" and coidd comprehend his regretting that Captain
Wentworth should do what he ought to have done himself.
But neither Charles Hayter's feelings, nor any body's
feelings, could interest her, till she had a little better ar¬
ranged her own. She was ashamed of herself, quite
ashamed of being so nervous, so overcome by such a trifle;
but so it was, and it required a long application of solitude
and reflection to recover her.
PERSUASION.
285
CHAPTER X.
Other opportunities of making her observations could not
fail to occur. Anne had soon been in company with all
the four together often enough to have an opinion, though
too wise to acknowledge as much at home, where she
knew it would have satisfied neither husband nor wife;
for while she considered Louisa to be rather the favourite,
she could not but think, as far as she might dare to judge
from memory and experience, that Captain Wentworth
was not in love with either. They were more in love
with him ; yet there it was not love. It was a little fever
of admiration; but it might, probably must, end in love
with some. Charles Hayter seemed aware of being
slighted, and yet Henrietta had sometimes the air of being
divided between them. Anne longed for the power of
representing to them all what they were about, and of
pointing out some of the evils they were exposing them¬
selves to. She did not attribute guile to any. It was the
highest satisfaction to her, to believe Captain Wentworth
not in the least aware of the pain he was occasioning.
There was no triumph, no pitiful triumph, in his manner.
He had, probably, never heard, and never thought of any
claims of Charles Hayter. He was only wrong in accept¬
ing the attentions (for accepting must be the word) of
two young women at once.
After a short struggle, however, Charles Hayter seemed
to quit the field. Three days had passed without his
coming once to Uppercross ; a most decided change. Pie
had even refused one regular invitation to dinner ; and
having been found on the occasion by Mr. Musgrove with
some large books before him, Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove were
sure all could not be right, and talked, with grave faces,
of his studying himself to death. It was Mary's hope and
belief, that he had received a positive dismissal from Hen¬
rietta, and her husband lived under the constant depend-
286
PERSUASION.
ence of seeing him to-morrow. Anne could only feel that
Charles Hayter was wise.
One mornings about this time, Charles Musgrove and
Captain Wentworth being gone a shooting together, as the
sisters in the Cottage were sitting quietly at work, they
were visited at the window by the sisters from the Mansion-
house.
It was a very &ne November day, and the Miss Mus-
groves came through the little grounds, and stopped for no
other purpose than to say, that they were going to take a
long walk, and, therefore, concluded Mary could not like
to go with them; and when Mary immediately replied,
with some jealousy, at not being supposed a good walker,
" Oh yes, I should like to join you very much, I am
very fond of a long walk," Anne felt persuaded, by the
looks of the two girls, that it was precisely what they did
not wish, and admired again the sort of necessity which
the family-habits seemed to produce, of every thing being
to be communicated, and every thing being to he done
together, however undesired and inconvenient. She tried
to dissuade Mary from going, hut in vain ; and that being
the case, thought it best to accept the Miss Musgroves1
much more cordial invitation to herself to go likewise, as
she might he useful in turning back with her sister, and
lessening the interference in any plan of their own.
" I cannot imagine why they should suppose I should
not like a long walk!" said Mary, as she went up stairs.
" Every body is always supposing that I am not a good
walker! And yet they would not have been pleased, if
we had refused to join them. When people come in thh
manner on purpose to ask us, how can one say no ? "
Just as they were setting off, the gentlemen returned.
They had taken out a young dog, which had spoilt their
sport, and sent them back early. Their time, and strength,
and spirits, were, therefore, exactly ready for this walk,
and they entered into it with pleasure. Could Anne have
foreseen such a junction, she would have staid at home;
but, from some feelings of interest and curiosity, she
fancied now that it was too late to retract, and the whole
six set forward together in the direction chosen fcy the
PERSUASION
287
Miss Musgroves, who evidently considered the walk as
under their guidance.
AnneVobject was, not to be in the way of any body;
and where the narrow paths across the fields made many
separations necessary, to keep with her brother and sister.
Her pleasure in the walk must arise from the exercise and
the day, from the view of the last smiles of the year upon
the tawny leaves and withered hedges, and from repeating
to herself some few of the thousand poetical descriptions
extant of autumn, that season of peculiar and inexhaustible
influence on the mind of taste and tenderness, that season
which has drawn from every poet, worthy of being read,
some attempt at description, or some lines of feeling. She
occupied her mind as much as possible in such like musings
and quotations; but it was not possible, that when within
reach of Captain Wentworth's conversation with either of
the Miss Musgroves, she should not try to hear it; yet
she caught little very remarkable. It was mere lively
chat, such as any young persons, on an intimate footing,
might fall into. He was more engaged with Louisa than
with Henrietta. Louisa certainly put more forward for
his notice than her sister. This distinction appeared to
increase, and there was one speech of Louisa's which
struck her. After one of the many praises of the day,
which were continually bursting forth, Captain Wentworth
added, —
" What glorious weather for the Admiral and my
sister ! They meant to take a long drive this morning;
perhaps we may hail them from some of these hills. They
talked of coming into this side of the country. I wonder
whereabouts they will upset to-day. Oh, it does happen
very often, I assure you; but my sister makes nothing of
it: she would as lieve be tossed out as not."
Ah, you make the most of it, I know," cried Louisa ;
se but if it were really so, I should do just the same in her
place. If I loved a man as she loves the Admiral, I
would be always with him, nothing should ever separate
us, and I would rather be overturned by him, than driven
safely by any body else."
it was spoken with enthusiasm
PERSUASION*.
" Had you ?" cried he, catching the same tone; " 1
honour you !" And there was silence between them for
a little while.
Anne could not immediately fall into a quotation again.
The sweet scenes of autumn were for a while put by,
unless some render sonnet, fraught with the apt analogy of
the declining year, with declining happiness, and the
images of youth, and hope, and spring, all gone together,
blessed her memory. She roused herself to say, as they
struck by order into another path, " Is not this one of the
ways to Winthrop ? " But nobody heard, or, at least, no¬
body answered her.
Winthrop, however, or its environs — for young men
are, sometimes, to be met with, strolling about near home —
was their destination; and after another half mile, of gra¬
dual ascent through large enclosures, where the ploughs
at work, and the fresh_made path, spoke the farmer coun¬
teracting the sweets of poetical despondence, and meaning
to have spring again, they gained the summit of the most
considerable hill, which parted Uppercross and Winthrop,
and soon commanded a full view of the latter, at the foot
of the hill on the other side.
Winthrop, without beauty and without dignity, was
stretched before them ; an indifferent house, standing low,
and hemmed in by the barns and buildings of a farm¬
yard.
Mary exclaimed, " Bless me ! here is Winthrop ; I de¬
clare I had no idea! Well, now I think we had better
turn back; I am excessively tired."
Henrietta, conscious and ashamed, and seeing no cousin
Charles walking along any path, or leaning against any
gate, was ready to do as Mary wished; but " No," said
Charles Musgrove, and " No, no," cried Louisa, mors
eagerly, and taking her sister aside, seemed to be arguing
the matter warmly.
Charles, in the meanwhile, was very decidedly declaring
his resolution of calling on his aunt, now that he was so
near; and very evidently, though more fearfully, trying
to induce his wife to go too. But this was one of the
points on which the lady showed her strength; and whep
PERSUASlOK.
2§9
he recommended the advantage of resting herself a quarter
of an hour at Winthrop, as she felt so tired, she resolutely
answered, " Oh, no, indeed! — walking up that hill again
would do her more harm than any sitting down could do
her good;" and, in short, her look and manner declared,
that go she would not.
After a little succession of these sort of debates and
consultations, it was settled between Charles and his two
sisters, that he and Henrietta should just run down for a
few minutes, to see their aunt and cousins, while the rest
of the party waited for them at the top of the hill. Louisa
seemed the principal arranger of the plan; and, as she
went a little way with them down the hill, still talking to
Henrietta, Mary took the opportunity of looking scorn¬
fully around her, and saying to Captain Wentworth,—
" It is very unpleasant having such connections ! But,
I assure you, I have never been in the house above twice
in my life."
She received no other answer than an artificial, assenting
smile, followed by a contemptuous glance, as he turned
away, which Anne perfectly knew the meaning of.
The brow of the hill, where they remained, was a
cheerful spot: Louisa returned; and Mary, finding a
comfortable seat for herself, on the step of a stile, was
very well satisfied so long as the others all stood about
her; but when Louisa drew Captain Wentworth away, to
try for a gleaning of nuts in an adjoining hedge-row, and
they were gone by degrees quite out of sight and sound,
Mary was happy no longer: she quarrelled with her own
seat, — was sure Louisa had got a much better somewhere,
—and nothing could prevent her from going to look for a
better also. She turned through the same gate, but could
not see them. Anne found a nice seat for her, on a dry
sunny bank, under the hedge-row, in which she had no
doubt of their still being, in some spot or other. Mary
sat down for a moment, but it would not do; she was
sure Louisa had found a better seat somewhere else, and
she would go on till she overtook her.
Anne, really tired herself, was glad to sit down ; and
she very soon heard Captain Wentworth and Louisa in the
V
290
PERStTASIOf.%
hedge-row, behind her, as if making their way back, along thfe
rough, wild sort of channel, down the centre. They were
speaking as they drew near. Louisa's voice was the first
distinguished. She seemed to be in the middle of some
eager speech. What Anne first heard was,—
" And so, I made her go. I could not bear that she
should be frightened from the visit by such nonsense.
What! would I be turned back from doing a thing that I
had determined to do, and that I knew to he right, by the
airs and interference of such a person, or of any person, I
may say ? No, I have no idea of being so easily per¬
suaded. When I have made up my mind, I have made
it. And Henrietta seemed entirely to have made up hers
to call at Winthrop to-day; and yet, she was as near
giving it up, out of nonsensical complaisance !"
" She would have turned back, then, but for you ? "
" She would, indeed. I am almost ashamed to say it."
" Happy for her, to have such a mind as yours at
hand ! After the hints you gave just now, which did but
confirm my own observations, the last time I was in com¬
pany with him, I need not affect to have no comprehension
of what is going on. I see that more than a mere dutiful
morning visit to your aunt was in question ; and wo be¬
tide him, and her too, when it comes to things of conse¬
quence, when they are placed in circumstances requiring
fortitude and strength of mind, if she have not resolution
enough to resist idle interference in such a trifle as this.
Your sister is an amiable creature; but yours is the cha¬
racter of decision and firmness, I see. If you value her
conduct or happiness, infuse as much of your own spirit
into her as you can. But this, no doubt, you have been
always doing. It is the worst evil of too yielding and indeci¬
sive a character, that no influence over it can be depended On.
You are never sure of a good impression being durable;
every body may sway it. Let those who would be happy
be firm. Here is a nut," said he, catching one down from
an upper bough, " to exemplify: a beautiful glossy nut,
which, blessed with original strength, has outlived all the
storms of autumn. Not a puncture, not a weak spot any
where This nut," he continued, with playful solemnity.
PEUSUASION.
291
" wliile so many of its brethren have fallen and been trod¬
den under foot, is still in possession of all the happiness
that a hazel nut can he supposed capable of." Then, re¬
turning to his former earnest tone,—"My first wish for
all, whom I am interested in, is that they should he firm.
If Louisa Musgrove would be beautiful and happy in her
November of life, she will cherish all her present powers
of mind."
He had done, and was unanswered. It would have
surprised Anne, if Louisa could have readily answered
such a speech — words of such interest, spoken with
such serious warmth ! She could imagine what Louisa
was feeling. For herself, she feared to move, lest she
should be seen. While she remained, a bush of low
rambling holly protected her, and they were moving on.
Before they were beyond her hearing, however, Louisa
spoke again.
" Mary is good-natured enough, in many respects," said
she ; " but she does sometimes provoke me excessively, by
her nonsense and her pride — the Elliot pride. She has
a great deal too much of the Elliot pride. We do so wish
that Charles had married Anne instead. I suppose you
know he wanted to marry Anne ? "
After a moment's pause, Captain Wentworth said,—
" Do you mean that she refused him ? "
" Oh yes; certainly."
" When did that happen ?"
" I do not exactly know, for Henrietta and I were at
school at the time ; but I believe about a year before he
married Mary. I wish she had accepted him. We
should all have liked her a great deal better ; and papa and
mamma always think it was her great friend Lady Rus¬
sell's doing, that she did not. They think Charles might
not be learned and bookish enough to please Lady Russell,
and that, therefore, she persuaded Anne to refuse him."
The sounds were retreating, and Anne distinguished no
more. Her own emotions still kept her fixed. She had
much to recover from, before she could move. The lis¬
tener's proverbial fate was not absolutely hers—she had
heard no evil of herself; but she had heard a great deal of
u 2
292
PERSUASION.
very painful import. She saw how her own character was
considered by Captain Wentworth ; and there had been
just that degree of feeling and curiosity about her in his
mannerj which must give her extreme agitation.
As soon as she eould, she went after Mary, and having
found, and walked back with her to their former station,
by the stile, felt some comfort in their whole party being
immediately afterwards collected, and once more in motion
together. Her spirits wanted the solitude and silence
which only numbers could give.
Charles and Henrietta returned, bringing, as may be
conjectured, Charles Hayter with them. The minutiae of
the business Anne could not attempt to understand — even
Captain Wentworth did not seem admitted to perfect con¬
fidence here ; hut that there had been a withdrawing on
the gentleman's side, and a relenting on the lady's, and
that they were now very glad to be together again, did not
admit a doubt. Henrietta looked a little ashamed, but
very well pleased; Charles Hayter exceedingly happy ;
and they were devoted to each other almost from the first
instant of their all setting forward for Uppercross.
Every thing now marked out Louisa for Captain Went¬
worth : nothing could be plainer; and where many divi¬
sions were necessary, or even where they were not, they
walked side by side, nearly as much as the other two. In
a long strip of meadow land, where there was ample space
for all, they were thus divided, forming three distinct
parties ; and to that party of the three which boasted least
animation, and least complaisance, Anne necessarily be¬
longed. She joined Charles and Mary, and was tired
enough to be very glad of Charles's other arm; but
Charles, though in very good humour with her, was out
of temper with his wife. Mary had shown herself dis¬
obliging to him, and was now to reap the consequence —
which consequence was his dropping her arm almost every
moment, to cut off the heads of some nettles in the hedge
with his switch ; and when Mary began to complain of it,
and lament her being ill used, according to custom, in being
on the hedge side, while Anne was never incommoded on
the other, he dropped the arms of both, to hunt after a
PERSUASION.
293
weasel which he had a momentary glance of, and they
could hardly get him along at all.
This long meadow bordered a lane, which their foot¬
path, at the end of it, was to cross ; and when the party
had all reached the gate of exit, the carriage advancing in
the same direction, which had been some time heard, was
just coming up, and proved to be Admiral Croft's gig.
He and his wife had taken their intended drive, and were
returning home. Upon hearing how long a walk the young
people had engaged in, they kindly offered a seat to any
lady who might be particularly tired; it would save her
full a mile, and they were going through Uppercross. The
invitation was general, and generally declined. The Miss
Musgroves were not at all tired, and Mary was either of¬
fended, by not being asked before any of the others, or,
what Louisa called the Elliot pride, could not endure to
make a third in a one-horse chaise.
The walking party had crossed the lane, and were sur¬
mounting an opposite stile; and the Admiral was putting
his horse into motion again, when Captain Wentworth
cleared the hedge in a moment, to say something to his
sister. The something might be guessed by its effects.
" Miss Elliot, I am sure you are tired," cried Mrs.
Croft. " Do let us have the pleasure of taking you home.
Here is excellent room for three, I assure you. If we
were all like you, I believe we might sit four. You must,
indeed, you must."
Anne was still in the lane ; and though instinctively be¬
ginning to decline, she was not allowed to proceed. The
Admiral's kind urgency came in support of his wife's :
they would not be refused ; they compressed themselves
into the smallest possible space to leave her a corner ; and
Captain Wentworth, without saying a word, turned to her,
and quietly obliged her to be assisted into the carriage.
Yes — he had done it. She was in the carriage, and
felt that he had placed her there, that his will and his
hands had done it, that she owed it to his perception of
her fatigue, and his resolution to give her rest. She was
very much affected by the view of his disposition towards
her, which all these things made apparent. This little cir-
v 3
PERSUASION
cumstance seemed the completion of all that had gone be
fore. She understood him. He could not forgive her
but he could not be unfeeling. Though condemning her
for the past, and considering it with high and unjust resent¬
ment, though perfectly careless of her, and though be¬
coming attached to another, still he could not see her suffer,
without the desire of giving her relief. It was a remainder
of former sentiment; it was an impulse of pure, though
unacknowledged, friendship ; it was a proof of his own
warm and amiable heart, which she could not contemplate
without emotions so compounded of pleasure and pain,
that she knew not which prevailed.
Her answers to the kindness and the remarks of ' ,;r
companions were at first unconsciously given. They nad
travelled half their way along the rough lane before she
was quite awake to what they said. She then found them
talking of " Frederick."
" He certainly means to have one or other of those two
girls, Sophy," said the Admiral; <c but there is no saying
which. He has been running after them, too, long enough,
one would think, to make up his mind. Ay, this comes of
the peace. If it were war, now, he would have settled it
long ago. We sailors, Miss Elliot, cannot afford to make
long courtships in time of war. How many days was it,
my dear, between the first time of my seeing you and our
sitting down together in our lodgings at North Yar¬
mouth ? **
" We had better not talk about it, my dear," replied
Mrs. Croft, pleasantly ; " for if Miss Elliot were to hear
how soon we came to an understanding, she would never
be persuaded that we could be happy together. I had
known you by character, however, long before."
" Well, and I had heard of you as a very pretty girl ;
and what were we to wait for besides ? I do not like
having such things so long in hand. I wish Frederick
would spread a little more canvass, and bring us home one
of these young ladies to Kellynch. Then there would
always be company for them. And very nice young ladies
they both are; I hardly know one from the other."
" Very good humoured, unaffected girls, indeed " said
persuasion.
2.95
Mrs. Croft, in a tone of calmer praise, sueh as made Anne
suspect that her keener powers might not consider either
of them as quite worthy of her brother ; " and a very re¬
spectable family. One could not be connected with better
people. My dear Admiral, that post! — we shall certainly
take that post."
But by coolly giving the reins a better direction herself,
they happily passed the danger; and by once afterwards
judiciously putting out her hand, they neither fell into
a rut, nor ran foul of a dung-cart; and Anne, with some
amusement at their style of driving, which she imagined
no bad representation of the general guidance of their
affairs, found herself safely deposited by them at the Cot¬
tage.
CHAPTER XI.
The time now approached for Lady Russell's return : the
day was even fixed; and Anne, being engaged to join her
as soon as she was resettled, was looking forward to an
early removal to Kellynch, and beginning to think how her
own comfort was likely to be affected by it.
It would place her in the same village with Captain
Wentworth, within half a mile of him; they would have
to frequent the same church, and there must be intercourse
between the two families. This was against her; hut, on
the other hand, he spent so much of his time at Upper-
cross, that in removing thence she might he considered
rather as leaving him behind, than as going towards him ;
and, upon the whole, she believed she must, on this inte¬
resting question, be the gainer, almost as certainly as in her
change of domestic society, in leaving poor Mary for Lady
Russell.
She wished it might be possible for her to avoid ever
seeing Captain Wentworth at the hall: those rooms had
witnessed former meetings which would be brought too
painfully before her; but she was yet more anxious for the
v 4
persuasion.
possibility of Ladv Russell and Captain Wentworth never
meeting any where. They did not like each other, and no
renewal of acquaintance now could do any good ; and were
Lady Russell to see them together, she might think that he
had too much self-possession, and she too little.
These points formed her chief solicitude in anticipating
her removal from Uppercross, where she felt she had been
stationed quite long enough. Her usefulness to little
Charles would always give some sweetness to the memory
of her two months' visit there ; hut he was gaining strength
apace, and she had nothing else to stay for.
The conclusion of her visit, however, was diversified in
a way which she had not at all imagined. Captain Went¬
worth, after being unseen and unheard of at Uppercross for
two whole days, appeared again among them to justify him¬
self by a relation of what had kept him away.
A letter from his friend, Captain Harville, having found
him out at last, had brought intelligence of Captain Har-
ville's being settled with his family at Lyme for the winter ;
of their being, therefore, quite unknowingly, within twenty
miles of each other. Captain Harville had never been In
good health since a severe wound which he received two
years before, and Captain Wentworth's anxiety to see him
had determined him to go immediately to Lyme. He had
been there for four-and-twenty hours. His acquittal was
complete, his friendship warmly honoured, a lively interest
excited for his friend; and Ins description of the fine country
about Lyme so feelingly attended to by the party, that an
earnest desire to see Lyme themselves, and a project for
going thither, was the consequence.
The young people were all wild to see Lyme. Captain
Wentworth talked of going there again himself; it was only
seventeen miles from Uppercross : though November, the
weather was by no means bad; and, in short, Louisa, who
was the most eager of the eager, having formed the reso¬
lution to go, and besides the pleasure of doing as she liked,
being now armed with the idea of merit in maintaining her
own way, bore down all the wishes of her father and mo¬
ther for putting it off till summer ; and to Lyme they were
to go — Charles, Mary, Anne, Henrietta, Louisa, and Cap¬
tain Wentworth.
PERSUASION.
297
The first heedless scheme had been to go in the morning
and return at night, but to this Mr. Musgrove, for the sake
of his horses, would not consent; and when it came to be
rationally considered, a day in the middle of November
would not leave much time for seeing a new place, after
deducting seven hours, as the nature of the country re¬
quired, for going and returning. They were, consequently,
to stay the night there, and not to be expected back till
the next day's dinner. This was felt to be a considerable
amendment; and though they all met at the Great House
at rather an early breakfast hour, and set off very punc¬
tually, it was so much past noon before the two carriages,
Mr. Musgrove's coach containing the four ladies, and
Charles's curricle, in which he drove Captain Wentworth,
were descending the long hill into Lyme, and entering upon
the still steeper street of the town itself, that it was very
evident they would not have more than time for looking
about them, before the light and warmth of the day were
gone.
After securing accommodations, and ordering a dinner
at one of the inns, the next thing to be done was un¬
questionably to walk directly down to the sea. They were
come too late in the year for any amusement or variety
which Lyme, as a public place, might offer ; the rooms
were shut up, the lodgers almost all gone, scarcely any fa¬
mily but of the residents left — and, as there is nothing to
admire in the buildings themselves, the remarkable situation
of the town, the principal street almost hurrying into the
water, the walk to the Cobb, skirting round the pleasant
little bay, which, in the season, is animated with bathing
machines and company ; the Cobb itself, its old wonders
and new improvements, with the very beautiful line of
cliffs stretching out to the east of the town, are what the
stranger's eye will seek ; and a very strange stranger it must
be, who does not see charms in the immediate environs of
Lyme, to make him wish to know it better. The scenes in
its neighbourhood, Charmouth, with its high grounds and
extensive sweeps of country, and still more its sweet retired
bay, backed by dark cliffs, where fragments of low rock
among the sands make it the happiest spot for watching the
398
PERSUASION.
flow of the tide, for sitting in "unwearied contemplation ;
the woody varieties of the cheerful village of Up Lyme;
and, above all, Pinny, with its green chasms between ro¬
mantic rocks, where the scattered forest trees and orchards
of luxuriant growth declare that many a generation must
have passed away since the first partial falling of the cliff
prepared the ground for such a state, where a scene so won¬
derful and so lovely is exhibited, as may more than equal
any of the resembling scenes of the far-famed Isle of
Wight: — these places must be visited, and visited again, to
make the worth of Lyme understood.
The party from Uppercross passing down by the now
deserted and melancholy looking rooms, and still descend¬
ing, soon found themselves on the sea-shore, and lingering
only, as all must linger and gaze on a first return to the
sea, who ever deserve to look on it at all, proceeded towards
the Cobb, equally their object in itself and on Captain
Wentworth's account; for in a small house, near the foot
of an old pier of unknown date, were the Harvilles settled
Captain Wentworth turned in to call on his friend; the
others walked on, and he was to join them on the Cobb.
They were by no means tired of wondering and ad¬
miring ; and not even Louisa seemed to feel that they had
parted with Captain Wentworth long, when they saw him
coming after them, with three companions, all well known
already by description to be Captain and Mrs. Harville,
and a Captain Benwick, who was staying with them.
Captain Benwick had some time ago been first lieutenant
of the Laconia; and the account which Captain Wentworth
had given of him, on his return from Lyme before, his
warm praise of him as an excellent young man and an
officer, whom he had always valued highly, which must
have stamped him well in the esteem of every listener, had
been followed by a little history of his private life, which
rendered him perfectly interesting in the eyes of all the
ladies. He had been engaged to Captain Harville's sister,
and was now mourning her loss. They had been a year
or two waiting for fortune and promotion. Fortune came,
his prize-money as lieutenant being great: promotion, too,
came at last; but Fanny Harville did not live to know it.
PERSUASION.
29!)
She had died the preceding summer, while he was at sea.
Captain Wentworth believed it impossible for man to be
more attached to woman than poor Benwick had been to
Fanny Harville, or be more deeply afflicted under the
dreadful change. He considered his disposition as of the
sort which must suffer heavily, uniting very strong feelings
with quiet, serious, and retiring manners, and a decided
taste for reading and sedentary pursuits. To finish the
interest of the story, the friendship between him and the
Harvilles seemed, if possible, augmented by the event which
closed all their views of alliance, and Captain Benwick was
now living with them entirely. Captain Harville had taken
his present house for half a year, his taste, and his health,
and his fortune, all directing him to a residence unex-
pensive, and by the sea ; and the grandeur of the country,
and the retirement of Lyme in the winter, appeared ex¬
actly adapted to Captain Benwick's state of mind. The
sympathy and good-will excited towards Captain Benwick
was very great.
ee And yet," said Anne to herself, as they now moved
forward to meet the party, " he has not, perhaps, a more
sorrowing heart than I have. I cannot believe his pro¬
spects so blighted for ever. He is younger than I am ;
younger in feeling, if not in fact; younger as a man. He
will rally again, and be happy with another."
They all met, and were introduced. Captain Harville
was a tall, dark man, with a sensible, benevolent coun¬
tenance : a little lame ; and, from strong features and want
of health, looking much older than Captain Wentworth.
Captain Benwick looked, and was, the youngest of the three,
and, compared with either of them, a little man. He had
a pleasing face and a melancholy air, just as he ought tc
have, and drew back from conversation.
Captain Harville, though not equalling Captain Went¬
worth in manners, was a perfect gentleman, unaffected,
warm, and obliging. Mrs. Harville, a degree less polished
than her husband, seemed however to have the same good
feelings ; and nothing could be more pleasant than theii
desire of considering the whole party as friends of their
own, because the friends of Captain Wentworth or more
300
PERSUASION.
kindly hospitable than their entreaties for their all pro¬
mising to dine with them. The dinner, already ordered at
the inn, was at last, though unwillingly, accepted as an ex¬
cuse ; but they seemed almost hurt that Captain Wentworth
should have brought any such party to Lyme, without con¬
sidering it as a thing of course that they should dine with
them.
There was so much attachment to Captain Wentworth
in all this, and such a bewitching charm in a degree of
hospitality so uncommon, so unlike the usual style of give-
and-take invitations, and dinners of formality and display,
that Anne felt her spirits not likely to be benefited by an
increasing acquaintance among his brother-officers. " These
would have been all my friends," was her thought; and she
had to struggle against a great tendency to lowness.
On quitting the Cobb, they all went in-doors with their
new friends, and found rooms so small as none but those
who invite from the heart could think capable of accom¬
modating so many. Anne had a moment's astonishment
on the subject herself; but it was soon lost in the pleasanter
feelings which sprang from the sight of all the ingenious
contrivances and nice arrangements of Captain Harville, to
turn the actual space to the best possible account, to supply
the deficiencies of lodging-house furniture, and defend the
windows and doors against the winter storms to be ex¬
pected. The varieties in the fitting-up of the rooms, where
the common necessaries provided by the owner, in the com¬
mon indifferent plight, were contrasted with some few
articles of a rare species of wood, excellently worked up,
and with something curious and valuable from all the dis¬
tant countries Captain Harville had visited, were more
than amusing to Anne: connected as it all was with his pro¬
fession, the fruit of its labours, the effect of its influence
on his habits, the picture of repose and domestic happiness
it presented, made it to her a something more, or less, than
gratification.
Captain Harville was no reader; but he had contrived
excellent accommodations, and fashioned very pretty shelves,
for a tolerable collection of well-bound volumes, the pro¬
perty of Captain Benwick, His lameness prevented him
PERSUASION.
SOI
from taking much exercise; but a mind of usefulness and
ingenuity seemed to furnish him with constant employment
within. He drew, he varnished, he carpentered, he glued;
he made toys for the children; he fashioned new netting-
needles and pins with improvements; and if every thing
else was done, sat down to his large fishing-net at one
corner of the room.
Anne thought she left great happiness behind her when
they quitted the house; and Louisa, by whom she found
herself walking, burst forth into raptures of admiration
and delight on the character of the navy — their friendli¬
ness, their brotherliness, their openness, their uprightness ;
protesting that she was convinced of sailors having more
worth and warmth than any other set of men in England;
that they only knew how to live, and they only deserved to
be respected and loved. •
They went back to dress and dine ; and so well had the
scheme answered already, that nothing was found amiss ;
though its being " so entirely out of the season," and the
" no thorough-fare of Lyme," and the " no expectation of
company," had brought many apologies from the heads of
the inn.
Anne found herself by this time growing so much more
hardened to being in Captain Wentworth's company than
she had at first imagined could ever be, that the sitting down
to the same table with him now, and the interchange of
the common civilities attending on it (they never got
beyond), was become a mere nothing.
The nights were too dark for the ladies to meet again
till the morrow, but Captain Harville had promised them
a visit in the evening ; and he came, bringing his friend
also, which was more than had been expected, it having
been agreed that Captain Benwick had all the appearance
of being oppressed by the presence of so many strangers.
He ventured among them again, however, though his
spirits certainly did not seem fit for the mirth of the party
in general.
While Captains Wentworth and Harville led the talk
on one side of the room, and, by recurring to former days,
supplied anecdotes in abundance to occupy and entertain
302
l>EttSUASION»
the others, it fell to Anne's lot to be placed rather apart
with Captain Benwick; and a very good impulse of her
nature obliged her to begin an acquaintance with him.
He was shy, and disposed to abstraction: but the en¬
gaging mildness of her countenance, and gentleness of her
manners, soon had their effect; and Anne was well repaid
the first trouble of exertion. He was evidently a young
man of considerable taste in reading, though principally in
poetry ; and besides the persuasion of having given him at
least an evening's indulgence in the discussion of subjects,
which his usual companions had probably no concern in,
she had the hope of being of real use to him in some sug¬
gestions as to the duty and benefit of struggling against
affliction, which had naturally grown out of their convers¬
ation. For, though shy, he did not seem reserved: it
had rather the appearance of feelings glad to burst their
usual restraints ; and having talked of poetry, the richness
of the present age, and gone through a brief comparison of
opinion as to the first-rate poets, trying to ascertain whether
Marmion or The Lady of the Lake were to be preferred,
and how ranked the Giaour and The Bride of Abydos,
and, moreover, how the Giaour was to be pronounced, he
showed himself so intimately acquainted with all the ten-
derest songs of the one poet, and all the impassioned de¬
scriptions of hopeless agony of the other; he repeated,
with such tremulous feeling, the various lines which
Imaged a broken heart, or a mind destroyed by wretched¬
ness, and looked so entirely as if he meant to be under¬
stood, that she ventured to hope he did not always read
only poetry ; and to say, that she thought it was the mis¬
fortune of poetry to be seldom safely enjoyed by those
who enjoyed it completely ; and that the strong feelings
which alone could estimate it truly were the very feelings
which ought to taste it but sparingly.
His looks showing him not pained, but pleased with this
allusion to his situation, she was emboldened to go on;
and feeling in herself the right of seniority of mind, she
ventured to recommend a larger allowance of prose in his
daily study ; and on being requested to particularise, men¬
tioned such works of our best moralists, such collections
Persuasion.
303
of the finest letters, such memoirs of characters of worth
and suffering, as occurred to her at the moment as calcu¬
lated to rouse and fortify the mind by the highest precepts,
and the strongest examples of moral and religious endur¬
ances.
Captain Benwick listened attentively, and seemed grate¬
ful for the interest implied ; and though with a shake of
the head, and sighs which declared his little faith in the
efficacy of any books on grief like his, noted down the
names of those she recommended, and promised to procure
and read them.
When the evening was over, Anne could not but be
amused at the idea of her coming to Lyme, to preach pa¬
tience and resignation to a young man whom she had never
seen before; nor could she help fearing, on more serious
reflection, that, like many other great moralists and preach¬
ers, she had been eloquent on a point in which her own
conduct would ill bear examination.
CHAPTER XII.
Anne and Henrietta, finding themselves the earliest of the
party the next morning, agreed to stroll down to the sea
before breakfast. They went to the sands, to watch the
flowing of the tide, which a fine south-easterly breeze was
bringing in with all the grandeur which so flat a shore ad¬
mitted. They praised the morning; gloried in the sea;
sympathised in the delight of the fresh-feeling breeze—and
were silent; till Henrietta suddenly began again, With —
" Oh yes, — I am quite convinced that, with Very few
exceptions, the sea-air always does good. TheVe can be
no doubt of its having been of the greatest service to Dr.
Shirley, after his illness, last spring twelvemonth. He de¬
clares himself, that coming to Lyme for a month did him
more good than all the medicine he took; and that being
by the sea always makes him feel young again. Now, I
cannot help thinking it a pity that he does not live entirely
Persuasion.
by the sea. I do think he had better leave Uppercross efl«
tirely, and fix at Lyme. Do not you, Anne ? Do not you
agree with me, that it is the best thing he could do, both
for himself and Mrs. Shirley ? She has cousins here, you
know, and many acquaintance, which would make it cheer¬
ful for her, — and I am sure she would be glad to get to a
place where she could have medical attendance at hand, in
case of his having another seizure. Indeed, I think it
quite melancholy to have such excellent people as Dr. and
Mrs. Shirley, who have been doing good all their lives,
wearing out their last days in a place like Uppercross,
where, excepting our family, they seem shut out from all
the world. I wish his friends would propose it to him. I
really think they ought. And, as to procuring a dispens¬
ation, there could tbe no difficulty at his time of life, and
with his character. My only doubt is, whether any thing
could persuade him to leave his parish. He is so very
strict and scrupulous in his notions; over-scrupulous, I
must say. Do not you think, Anne, it is being over¬
scrupulous ? Do not you , think it is quite a mistaken
point of conscience, when a clergyman sacrifices his health
for the sake of duties, which may he just as well performed
by another person ? — And at Lyme too, — only seventeen
miles off, — he would be near enough to hear, if people
thought there was any thing to complain of."
Anne smiled more than once to herself during this
speech, and entered into the subject, as ready to do good
by entering into the feelings of a young lady as of a young
man, — though here it was good of a lower standard, for
what could he offered but general acquiescence? She said
all that was reasonable and proper on the business; felt
the claims of Dr. Shirley to repose as she ought; saw
how very desirable it was that he should have some active,
respectable young man, as a resident curate, and was even
courteous enough to hint at the advantage of such resident
curate's being married.
tc I wish," said Henrietta, very well pleased with her
companion, " I wish Lady Russell lived at Uppercross, and
were intimate with Dr. Shirley. I have always heard of
Lady Russell, as a woman of the greatest influence with
PERSUASION
305
every body ! I always look upon her as able to persuade a
person to any thing ! I am afraid of her., as I have told
you before, quite afraid of her, because she is so very
clever; but I respect her amazingly, and wish we had
such a neighbour at Uppercross."
Anne was amused by Henrietta's manner of being grate¬
ful, and amused also that the course of events and the new
interests of Henrietta's views should have placed her friend
at all in favour with any of the Musgrove family; she had
only time, however, for a general answer, and a wish that
such another woman were at Uppercross, before all sub¬
jects suddenly ceased, on seeing Louisa and Captain Went-
worth coming towards them. They came also for a stroll
till breakfast was likely to be ready ; but Louisa recollect¬
ing, immediately afterwards, that she had something to
procure at a shop, invited them all to go back with her
into the town. They were all at her disposal.
When they came to the steps, leading upwards from the
beach, a gentleman, at the same moment preparing to come
down, politely drew back, and stopped to give them way.
They ascended and passed him; and as they passed,
Anne's face caught his eye, and he looked at her with a
degree of earnest admiration, which she could not be in¬
sensible of. She was looking remarkably well; her very
regular, very pretty features, having the bloom and fresh¬
ness of youth restored by the fine wind which had been
blowing on her complexion, and by the animation of eye
which it had also produced. It was evident that the gen¬
tleman (completely a gentleman in manner) admired her
exceedingly. Captain Wentworth looked round at her in¬
stantly in a way which showed his noticing of it. He
gave her a momentary glance, — a glance of brightness,
which seemed to say, £c That man is struck with you, —
and even I, at this moment, see something like Anne
Elliot again."
After attending Louisa through her business, and loiter¬
ing about a little longer, they returned to the inn; and
Anne, in passing afterwards quickly from her own chamber
to their dining-room, had nearly run against the very same
gentleman, as he came out of an adjoining apartment. She
x
306
ffiRSUASIOlSr.
had before conjectured him to be a stranger like them¬
selves, and determined that a well-looking groom, who was
strolling about near the two inns as they came back, should
be his servant. Both master and man being in mourning
assisted the idea. It was now proved that he belonged to
the same inn as themselves; and this second meeting,
short as it was, also proved again, by the gentleman's
looks, that he thought hers very lovely, and by the readi¬
ness and propriety of his apologies, that he was a man of
exceedingly good manners. He seemed about thirty, and,
though not handsome, had an agreeable person. Anne felt
that she should like to know who he was.
They had nearly done breakfast, when the sound of a
carriage (almost the first they had heard since entering
Lyme) drew half the party to the window. " It was a
gentleman's carriage — a curricle — but only coming round
from the stable-yard to the front door — somebody must
be going away. It was driven by a servant in mourning."
The word curricle made Charles Musgrove jump up,
that he might compare it with his own, the servant in
mourning roused Anne s curiosity, and the whole six were
collected to look, by the time the owner of the curricle was
to be seen issuing from the door, amidst the bows and
civilities of the household, and taking his seat, to drive off.
" Ah! " cried Captain Wentworth, instantly, and with
half a glance at Anne ; " it is the very man we passed."
The Miss Musgroves agreed to it; and having all kindly
watched him as far up the hill as they could, they returned
to the breakfast-table. The waiter came into the room
soon afterwards.
" Pray," said Captain Wentworth, immediately, " can
you tell us the name of the gentleman who is just gone
away ? "
" Yes, sir, a Mr. Elliot; a gentleman of large fortune,
came in last night from Sidmouth, — dare say you heard
the carriage, sir, while you were at dinner; and going on
now for Crewkherne, in his way to Bath and London."
" Elliot!" Many had looked on each other, and
many had repeated the name, before all this had been got
through, even by the smart rapidity of a waiter.
PERSUASIOtf.
307
" Bless me !" cried Mary; " it must be our cousin; —
it must be our Mr. Elliot, it must, indeed! Charles,
Anne, must not it ? In mourning, you see, just as our
Mr. Elliot must be. How very extraordinary! In the
very same inn with us ! Anne, must not it be our Mr.
Elliot; my father's next heir ? Pray, sir," turning to the
waiter, " did not you hear, — did not his servant say
whether he belonged to the Kellynch family ?"
" No, ma'am,— he did not mention no particular family;
but he said his master was a very rich gentleman, and
would be a baronight some day."
" There ! you see !" cried Mary, in an ecstasy; " just
as I said ! Heir to Sir Walter Elliot! I was sure that
would come out, if it was so. Depend upon it, that
is a circumstance which his servants take care to publish
wherever he goes. But, Anne, only conceive how extra¬
ordinary 1 I wish I had looked at him more. I wish we
had been aware m time who it was, tnat he might have
been introduced to us. What a pity that we should not
have been introduced to each other! Do you think he had the
Elliot countenance ? I hardly looked at him, I was look¬
ing at the horses ; but I think he had something of the
Elliot countenance. 1 wonder the arms did not strike
me ! Oh, the great-coat was hanging over the panel,
and hid the arms ; so it did, otherwise, I am sure, I
should have observed them, and the livery too; if the
servant had not been in mourning, one should have known
him by the livery."
' Putting all these very extraordinary circumstances
together," said Captain Wentworth, " we must consider it
to be the arrangement of Providence, that you should not
be introduced to your cousin."
When she could command Mary's attention, Anne
quietly tried to convince her that their father and Mr.
Elliot had not, for many years, been on such terms as to
make the power of attempting an introduction at all
desirable.
At the same time, however, it was a secret gratification
to herself to have seen her cousin, and to know that the
future owner of Kellynch was undoubtedly a gentleman,
x 2
SOB
SEltSttASlON.
and had an air of good sense. She would not, upon any
account, mention her having met with him the second
time; luckily Mary did not much attend to their having
passed close by him in their early walk, but she would
have felt quite ill-used by Anne's having actually run
against him in the passage, and received his very polite
excuses, while she had never been near him at all; no,
that cousinly little interview must remain a perfect secret.
" Of course," said Mary, " you will mention our see¬
ing Mr. Elliot the next time you write to Bath. I think
my father certainly ought to hear of it; do mention all
about him."
Anne avoided a direct reply, but it was just the circum¬
stance which she considered as not merely unnecessary to
be communicated, but as what ought to be suppressed.
The offence which had been given her father, many years
back, she knew; Elizabeth's particular share in it she sus¬
pected ; and that Mr. Elliot's idea always produced irri¬
tation in both was beyond a doubt. Mary never wrote to
Bath herself; all the toil of keeping up a slow and unsa¬
tisfactory correspondence with Elizabeth fell on Anne.
Breakfast had not been long over when they were
joined by Captain and Mrs. Harville and Captain Benwick,
with whom they had appointed to take their last walk
about Lyme. They ought to be setting off for Uppercross
by one, and in the mean while were to be all together, and
out of doors as long as they could.
Anne found Captain Benwick getting near her, as soon
as they were all fairly in the street. Their conversation
the preceding evening did not disincline him to seek her
again; and they walked together some time, talking as
before of Mr. Scott and Lord Byron, and still as unable
as before, and as unable as any other two readers, to think
exactly alike of the merits of either, till something occa¬
sioned an almost general change amongst their party, and
instead of Captain Benwick, she had Captain Harville by
her side.
" Miss Elliot," said he, speaking rather low, " you
have done a good deed in making that poor fellow talk so
much. I wish he could have such company oftener. It
PERSUASION.
309
is bad for him, I know, to be shut up as he is; but what
can we do ? we cannot part."
" No," said Anne, " that I can easily believe to be
impossible: but in time, perhaps — we know what time
does in every case of affliction, and you must remember,
Captain Harville, that your friend may yet be called a
young mourner, — only last summer, I understand."
ec Ay, true enough," with a deep sigh, " only June."
" And not known to him, perhaps, so soon."
" Not till the first week in August, when he came home
from the Cape, —just made into the Grappler. I was at
Plymouth, dreading to hear of him : he sent in letters, but
the Grappler was under orders for Portsmouth. There
the news must follow him: but who was to tell it ? not I.
I would as soon have been run up to the yard-arm. No¬
body could do it, but that good fellow (pointing to Cap¬
tain Wentworth). The Laconia had come into Plymouth
the week before ; no danger of her being sent to sea again.
He stood his chance for the rest— wrote up for leave of
absence; but without waiting the return, travelled night
and day till he got to Portsmouth, rowed off to the Grap¬
pler that instant, and never left the poor fellow for a
week; that's what he did, and nobody else could have
saved poor James. You may think, Miss Elliot, whether
he is dear to us !"
Anne did think on the question with perfect decision,
and said as much in reply as her own feelings could
accomplish, or as his seemed able to bear, for he was too
much affected to renew the subject, — and when he spoke
again, it was of something totally different.
Mrs. Harville's giving it as her opinion that her hus¬
band would have quite walking enough by the time he
reached home, determined the direction of all the party
in what was to be their last walk : they would accompany
them to their door, and then return and set off themselves,
By all their calculations there was just time for this; but
as they drew near the Cobb, there was such a general wish
to walk along it once more, all were so inclined, and
Louisa soon grew so determined, that the difference of a
quarter of an hour, it was found, would be no difference at
x 3
310
PERSUASION.
all; so with all the kind leave-taking, and all the kind
interchange of invitations and promises which may be
imagined, they parted from Captain and Mrs. Harville at
their own door, and still accompanied by Captain Ben-
wick, who seemed to cling to them to the last, proceeded
to make the proper adieus to the Cobb.
Anne found Captain Benwick again drawing near her.
Lord Byron's " dark blue seas " could not fail of being
brought forward by their present view, and she gladly gave
him all her attention as long as attention was possible.
It was soon drawn, perforce, another way.
There was too much wind to make the high part of the
new Cobb pleasant for the ladies, and they agreed to get
down the steps to the lower, and all were contented to
pass quietly and carefully down the steep flight, excepting
Louisa; she must be jumped down them by Captain
Wentworth. In all their walks he had had to jump
her from the stiles ; the sensation was delightful to her.
The hardness of the pavement for her feet made him less
willing upon the present occasion ; he did it, however ;
she was safely down, and instantly, to show her enjoy¬
ment, ran up the steps to be jumped down again. He
advised her against it, thought the jar too great; but no,
he reasoned and talked in vain: she smiled and said, " I
am determined I will:" he put out his hands ; she was too
precipitate by half a second, she fell on the pavement on
the Lower Cobb, and was taken up lifeless!
There was no wound, no blood, no visible bruise; but
her eyes were closed, she breathed not, her face was like
death. The horror of that moment to all who stood
around !
Captain Wentworth, who had caught her up, knelt
with her in his arms, looking on her with a face as pallid
as her own in an agony of silence. " She is dead ! she is
dead \ " screamed Mary, catching hold of her husband, and
contributing with his own horror to make him immov¬
able ; and in another moment, Henrietta, sinking under
the conviction, lost her senses too, and would have fallen
on the steps but for Captain Benwick and Anne, who
caught and supported her between them.
PPRSUASIOX.
311
" Is there no one to help me ? " were the first words
which burst from Captain Wentworth, in a tone of
despair, and as if all his own strength were gone.
" Go to him, go to him," cried Anne, " for heaven's
sake go to him. I can support her myself. Leave me,
and go to him. Rub her hands, rub her temples; here
are salts, — take them, take them."
Captain Benwick obeyed, and Charles at the same mo¬
ment disengaging himself from his wife, they were both
with him; and Louisa was raised up and supported more
firmly between them, and every thing was done that Anne
had prompted, but in vain ; while Captain Wentworth,
staggering against the wall for his support, exclaimed in
the bitterest agony,—
" Oh God ! her father and mother !"
" A surgeon !" said Anne.
He caught the word : it seemed to rouse him at once;
and saying only —" True, true, a surgeon this instant,"
was darting away, when Anne eagerly suggested,—
" Captain Benwick, would not it be better for Captain
Benwick ? He knows where a surgeon is to be found."
Every one capable of thinking felt the advantage of the
idea, and in a moment (it was all done in rapid moments)
Captain Benwick had resigned the poor corpse-like figure
entirely to the brother's care, and was off for the town
with the utmost rapidity.
As to the wretched party left behind, it could scarcely be
said which of the three, who were completely rational, was
suffering most, Captain Wentworth, Anne, or Charles,
who, really a very affectionate brother, hung over Louisa
with sobs of grief, and could only turn his eyes from one
sister to see the other in a state as insensible, or to witness
the hysterical agitations of his wife, calling on him for help
which he could not give.
Anne, attending with all the strength, and. zeal, and
thought, which instinct supplied, to Henrietta, still tried,
at intervals, to suggest comfort to the others, tried to quiet
Mary, to animate Charles, to assuage the feelings of Cap¬
tain Wentworth Both seemed to look to her for di¬
rections.
x 4
312
PERS UASION.
" Anne, Anne," cried Charles, " what is to be done
next ? What, in heaven's name, is to be done next ? "
Captain Wentworth's eyes were also turned towards her.
" Had not she better be carried to the inn ? Yes, I am
sure, carry her gently to the inn."
" Yes, yes, to the inn," repeated Captain Wentwortli,
comparatively collected, and eager to be doing something.
" I will carry her myself. Musgrove, take care of the
others."
By this time the report of the accident had spread
among the workmen and boatmen about the Cobb, and
many were collected near them, to be useful if wanted;
at any rate, to enjoy the sight of a dead young lady, nay,
two dead young ladies, for it proved twice as fine as the
first report. To some of the best-looking of these good
people Henrietta was consigned, for, though partially re¬
vived, she was quite helpless; and in this manner, Anne
walking by her side, and Charles attending to his wife,
they set forward, treading back, with feelings unutterable,
the ground which so lately, so very lately, and so light of
heart, they had passed along.
They were not off the Cobb, before the Harvilles met
them. Captain Benwick had been seen flying by their
house, with a countenance which showed something to be
wrong; and they had set off immediately, informed and
directed, as they passed, towards the spot. Shocked as
Captain Harville was, he brought senses and nerves that
could be instantly useful; and a look between him and his
wife decided what was to be done. She must be taken to
their house — all must go to their house — and wait the
surgeon's arrival there. They would not listen to scruples:
he was obeyed: they were all beneath his roof; and while
Louisa, under Mrs. Harville's direction, was conveyed up
stairs, and given possession of her own bed, assistance,
cordials, restoratives were supplied by her husband to all
who needed them.
Louisa had once opened her eyes, but soon closed them
again, without apparent consciousness. This had been a
proof of life, however, of service to her sister ; and Hen¬
rietta, though perfectly incapable of being in the same
PERSUASION.
SIS
room with Louisa, was kept, by the agitation of hope and
fear, from a return of her own insensibility. Mary, too,
was growing calmer.
The surgeon was with them almost before it had seemed
possible. They were sick with horror while he examined;
but he was not hopeless. The head had received a severe
contusion, but he had seen greater injuries recovered from :
he was by no means hopeless; he spoke cheerfully.
That he did not regard it as a desperate case — that he
did not say a few hours must end it — was at .first felt
beyond the hope of most; and the ecstasy of such a
reprieve, the rejoicing, deep and silent, after a few fervent
ejaculations of gratitude to Heaven had been offered, may
be conceived.
The tone, the look, with which " Thank God!" was
uttered by Captain Wentworth, Anne was sure could never
be forgotten by her; nor the sight of him afterwards, as he
sat near a table, leaning over it with folded arms, and face
concealed, as if overpowered by the various feelings of his
soul, and trying by prayer and reflection to calm them.
Louisa's limbs had escaped. There was no injury but to
the head.
It now became necessary for the party to consider what
was best to be done, as to their general situation. They
were now able to speak to each other, and consult. That
Louisa must remain where she was, however distressing to
her friends to be involving the Harvilles in such trouble,
did not admit a doubt. Her removal was impossible. The
Harvilles silenced all scruples; and, as much as they could,
all gratitude. They had looked forward and arranged every
thing, before the others began to reflect. Captain Benwick
must give up his room to them, and get a bed elsewhere —
and the whole was settled. They were only concerned that
the house could accommodate no more; and yet, perhaps, by
" putting the children away in the maids' room, or swinging
a cot somewhere," they could hardly bear to think of not
finding room for two or three besides, supposing they might
wish to stay; though, with regard to any attendance on
Miss Musgrove, there need not be the least uneasiness in
leaving her to Mrs. Harvilles care entirely. Mrs. Harville
314
PERSUASION
was a very experienced nurse; and her nursery-maid, who
had lived with her long, and gone ahout with her every
where, was just such another. Between these two she
could want no possible attendance by day or night. And
all this was said with a truth and sincerity of feeling irre¬
sistible.
Charles, Henrietta, and Captain Wentworth were the
three in consultation, and for a little while it was only an
interchange of perplexity and terror. " Uppercross, — the
necessity of some one's going to Uppercross,—the news to
be conveyed,—how it could be broken to Mr. and Mrs.
Musgrove,—the lateness of the morning,—an hour already
gone since they ought to have been off,—the impossibility
of being in tolerable time." At first, they were capable of
nothing more to the purpose than such exclamations; hut,
after a while, Captain Wentworth, exerting himself, said,—
"We must be decided, and without th^ loss of another
minute. Every minute is valuable. Some must resolve on
being off for Uppercross instantly. Musgrove, either you
or I must go."
Charles agreed; but declared his resolution of not going
away. He would be as little encumbrance as possible to
Captain and Mrs. Harville; but as to leaving his sister in
such a state, he neither ought nor would. So far it was
decided; and Henrietta at first declared the same. She,
however, was soon persuaded to think differently. The use¬
fulness of her staying! She, who had not been able to re¬
main in Louisa's room, or to look at her, without sufferings
which made her worse than helpless! She wa# forced to
acknowledge that she could do no good, yet was still un¬
willing to be away, till, touched by the thought of her father
and mother, she gave it up ; she consented, she was anxi¬
ous to be at home.
The plan had reached this point, when Anne, coming
quietly down from Louisa's room, could not but hear what
followed, for the parlour door was open.
" Then it is settled, Musgrove," cried Captain Went¬
worth, " that you stay, and that I take care of your sister
home. But as to the rest, — as to the others, —if one stays
to assist Mrs. Harville, I think it need be only one. Mrs,
PERSUASION.
315
Charles Musgrove will, of course, wish to get back to her
children; but, if Anne will stay, no one so proper, so ca¬
pable as Anne!"
She paused a moment to recover from the emotion of
hearing herself so spoken of. The other two warmly agreed
to what he said, and she then appeared.
" You will stay, I am sure; you will stay and nurse
her," cried he, turning to her and speaking with a glow,
and yet a gentleness, which seemed almost restoring the
past. She coloured deeply; and he recollected himself, and
moved away. She expressed herself most willing, ready,
happy to remain. " It was what she had been thinking of,
and wishing to be allowed to do. A bed on the floor in
Louisa's room would be sufficient for her, if Mrs. Harville
would but think so."
One thing more, and all seemed arranged. Though it
was rather desirable that Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove should be
previously alarmed by some share of delay; yet the time
required by the Uppercross horses to take them back would
be a dreadful extension of suspense; and Captain Went-
worth proposed, and Charles Musgrove agreed, that it would
be much better for him to take a chaise from the inn, and
leave Mr. Musgrove's carriage and horses to be sent home
the next morning early, when there would be the farther
advantage of sending an account of Louisa's night.
Captain Wentworth now hurried off to get every thing
ready on his part, and to be soon followed by the two ladies.
When the plan was made known to Mary, however, there
was an end of all peace in it. She was so wretched, and
so vehement, complained so much of injustice in being ex¬
pected to go away instead of Anne;—Anne, who was no¬
thing to Louisa, while she was her sister, and had the best
right to stay in Henrietta's stead ! Why was not she to be
as useful as Anne ? And to go home without Charles, too,
— without her husband ! No, it was too unkind ! And,
in short, she said more than her husband could long with¬
stand ; and as none of the others could oppose when he
gave way, there was no help for it: the change of Mary
for Anne was inevitable.
Anne had never submitted more reluctantly to the jea-
316
PERSUASION.
lous and ill-judging claims of Mary ; but so it must be, and
they set off for the town, Charles taking care of his sister,
and Captain Benwick attending to her. She gave a moment's
recollection, as they hurried along, to the little circumstances
which the same spots had witnessed earlier in the morning.
There she had listened to Henrietta's schemes for Dr. Shir¬
ley's leaving Uppercross : farther 011, she had first seen Mr.
Elliot; a moment seemed all that could now be given to
any one but Louisa, or those who were wrapped up in her
welfare.
Captain Benwick was most considerately attentive to her;
and, united as they all seemed by the distress of the day,
she felt an increasing degree of good-will towards him, and
a pleasure even in thinking that it might, perhaps, be the
occasion of continuing their acquaintance.
Captain Wentworth was on the watch for them, and a
chaise and four in waiting, stationed for their convenience
in the lowest part of the street; but his evident surprise
and vexation at the substitution of one sister for the other
— the change of his countenance—the astonishment—the
expressions begun and suppressed, with which Charles was
listened to, made but a mortifying reception of Anne; or
must at least convince her that she was valued only as she
could be useful to Louisa.
She endeavoured to he composed, and fo be just. With¬
out emulating the feelings of an Emma towards her Henry,
she would have attended on Louisa with a zeal above the
common claims of regard, for his sake; and she hoped he
would not long be so unjust as to suppose she would shrink
unnecessarily from the office of a friend.
In the mean while she was in the carriage. He had
handed them hoth in, and placed himself between them;
and in this manner, under these circumstances, full of asto¬
nishment and emotion to Anne, she quitted Lyme. How
the long stage would pass; how it was to affect their man¬
ners ; what was to be their sort of intercourse, she could
not foresee. It was all quite natural, however. He was
devoted to Henrietta; always turning towards her; and
when he spoke at all, always with the view of supporting
her hopes and raising her spirits, In general, his voice and
PERSUASION.
317
manner Were studiously calm. To spare Henrietta from
agitation seemed the governing principle. Once only, when
she had been grieving over the last ill-judged, ill-fated
walk to the Cobb, bitterly lamenting that it ever had been
thought of, he burst forth, as if wholly overcome —
" Don't talk of it, don't talk of it," he cried. " Oh,
God ! that I had not given way to her at the fatal mo¬
ment ! Had I done as I ought! But so eager and so re¬
solute ! Dear, sweet Louisa !"
Anne wondered whether it ever occurred to him now, to
question the justness of his own previous opinion as to the
universal felicity and advantage of firmness of character ;
and whether it might not strike him that, like all other
qualities of the mind, it should have its proportions and li¬
mits. She thought it could scarcely escape him to feel that
a persuadable temper might sometimes be as much in favour
of happiness, as a very resolute character.
They got on fast. Anne was astonished to recognise the
same hills and the same ohiects so soon. Their actual
speed, heightened by some dread of the conclusion, made
the road appear but half as long as on the day before. It
was growing quite dusk, however, before they were in the
neighbourhood of Uppercross, and there had been total si¬
lence among them for some time, Henrietta leaning back in
the corner, with a shawl over her face, giving the hope of
her having cried herself to sleep; when, as they were going
up their last hill, Anne found herself all at once addressed
by Captain Wentworth. In a low, cautious voice, he said,—
" I have been considering what we had best do. She
must not appear at first. She could not stand it. I have
been thinking whether you had not better remain in the
carriage with her, while I go in and break it to Mr. and
Mrs. Musgrove. Do you think this a good plan ? "
She did : he was satisfied, and said no more. But the
remembrance of the appeal remained a pleasure to her —
as a proof of friendship, and of deference for her judgment,
a great pleasure; and when it became a sort of parting proof,
its value did not lessen.
When the distressing communication at Uppercross was
OYex, and he had seen the father and mother quite as com-
318 PERSUASION.
posed as could be hoped., and the daughter all the better for
being with them, he announced his intention of returning
in the same carriage to Lyme; and when the horses were
baited, he was off.
EMI OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
*»mwuaslon.
319
volume the second.
CHAPTER 1.
The remainder of Anne's time at Uppercross, comprehend¬
ing only two days, was spent entirely at the Mansion-house;
and she had the satisfaction of knowing herself extremely
useful there, both as an immediate companion, and as assist¬
ing in all those arrangements for the future, which, in Mr.
and Mrs. Musgrove's distressed state of spirits, would have
been difficulties.
They had an early account from Lyme the next morning.
Louisa was much the same. No symptoms worse than be¬
fore had appeared. Charles came a few hours afterwards,
to bring a later and more particular accounc. He was to¬
lerably cheerful. A speedy cure must not be ),ioped, but
every thing was going on as well as the nature of the case
admitted. In speaking of the Harvilles, he seemed unable
to satisfy his own sense of their kindness, especially of Mrs.
Ilarville's exertions as a nurse. " She really left nothing
for Mary to do. He and Mary had been persuaded to go
early to their inn last night. Mary had been hysterical
again this morning. When he came away, she was going
to walk out with Captain Benwick, which, he hoped, would
do her good. He almost wished she had been prevailed on
to come home the day before ; but the truth was, that Mrs.
Harville left nothing for any body to do."
Charles was to return to Lyme the same afternoon, and
his father had at first half a mind to go with him, but the
ladies could not consent. It would be going only to mul¬
tiply trouble to the others, and increase his own distress ;
and a much better scheme followed, and was acted upon.
A chaise wras sent for from Crewkherne, and Charles coin
320
PERSUASION.
veyed back a far more useful person in the old nursery¬
maid of the family, one who, having brought up all the chil¬
dren, and seen the very last, the lingering and long-petted
master Harry, sent to school after his brothers, was now
living in her deserted nursery to mend stockings, and dress
all the blains and bruises she could get near her, and who,
consequently, was only too happy in being allowed to go
and help nurse dear Miss Louisa. Vague wishes of getting
Sarah thither had occurred before to Mrs. Musgrove and
Henrietta • but without Anne, it would hardly have been
resolved on, and found practicable so soon.
They were indebted, the next day, to Charles Hayter.
for all the minute knowledge of Louisa, which it was so
essential to obtain every twenty-four hours. He made it
his business to go to Lyme, and his account was still en¬
couraging. The intervals of sense and consciousness were
believed to be stronger. Every report agreed in Captain
Wentworth's appearing fixed in Lyme.
Anne was to leave them on the morrow, an event which
they all dreaded. " What should they do without her ?
They were wretched comforters for one another." And
so much was said in this way, that Anne thought she could
not do better than impart among them the general inclin¬
ation to which she was privy, and persuade them all to go
to Lyme at once. She had little difficulty ; it was soon
determined that they would go, — go to-morrow, fix them¬
selves at the inn, or get into lodgings, as it suited, and
there remain till dear Louisa could be moved. They must
be taking off some trouble from the good people she was
with: they might at least relieve Mrs. Harville from the
care of her own children ; and, in short, they were so
happy in the decision, that Anne was delighted with what
she had done, and felt that she could not spend her last
morning at Uppercross better than in assisting their prepar¬
ations, and sending them off at an early hour, though her
being left to the solitary range of the house was the conse¬
quence.
She was the last, excepting the little boys at the cottage,
she was the very last, the only remaining one of all that
had filled and animated both houses, of all that had given
PERSUASION.
321
Uppercross its cheerful character. A few clays ha'd made
a change indeed.
If Louisa recovered^ it would all he well again. More
than former happiness would he restored. There could
not he a doubt, to her mind there was none, of what
would follow her recovery. A few months hence, and
the room now so deserted, occupied hut by her silent, pen¬
sive self, might he filled again with all that was happy and
gay, all that was glowing and bright in prosperous love, all
that was most unlike Anne Elliot.
An hour's complete leisure for such reflections as these,
on a dark November day, a small thick rain almost blotting
out the very few objects ever to be discerned from the win¬
dows, was enough to make the sound of Lady Russell's
carriage exceedingly welcome ; and yet, though desirous to
he gone, she could not quit the Mansion-house, or look an
adieu to the cottage, with its black, dripping, and com¬
fortless veranda, or even notice through the misty glasses
the last humble tenements of the village, without a sad¬
dened heart. Scenes had passed in Uppercross which
made it precious. It stood the record of many sensations
of pain, once severe, but now softened; and of some in¬
stances of relenting feeling, some breathings of friendship
and reconciliation, which could never be looked for again,
and which could never cease to be dear. She left it all he-
hind her; all but the recollection that such things had
been.
Anne had never entered Kellynch since her quitting
Lady Russell's house in September. It had not been ne¬
cessary, and the few occasions of its being possible for her
to go to the hall she had contrived to evade and escape from.
Her first return was to resume her place in the modern and
elegant apartments of the Lodge, and to gladden the eyes of
its mistress.
There was some anxiety mixed with Lady Russell's
joy in meeting her. She knew who had been frequenting
Uppercross. But happily, either Anne was improved in
plumpness and looks, or Lady Russell fancied her so ; and
Anne, iu receiving her compliments on the occasion, had
Y
322
PERSUASION
the amusement of connecting them with the silent admir¬
ation of her cousin, and of hoping that she was to be
blessed with a second spring of youth and beauty.
When they came to converse, she was soon sensible of
some mental change. The subjects of which her heart had
been full on leaving Kellynch, and which she had felt
slighted, and been compelled to smother among the Mus-
groves, were now become but of secondary interest. She
had lately lost sight even of her father, and sister, and Bath.
Their concerns had been sunk under those of Uppercross;
and when Lady Russell reverted to their former hopes and
fears, and spoke her satisfaction in the house in Camden
Place, which had been taken, and her regret that Mrs.
Clay should still be with them, Anne would have been
ashamed to have it known, how much more she was think¬
ing of Lyme, and Louisa Musgrove, and all her acquaintance
there ; how much more interesting to her was the home
and the friendship of the Harvilles and Captain Benwick,
than her own father's house in Camden Place, or her own
sister's intimacy with Mrs. Clay. She wTas actually forced
to exert herself, to meet Lady Russell with any thing like
the appearance of equal solicitude, on topics which had by
nature the first claim on her.
There was a little awkwardness at first in their discourse
on another subject. They must speak of the accident at
Lyme. Lady Russell had not been arrived five minutes
the day before, when a full account of the whole had burst
©n her; but still it must be talked of, she must make en¬
quiries, she must regret the imprudence, lament the result,
and Captain Wentworth's name must be mentioned by both,
Anne was conscious of not doing it so well as Lady RusselL
She could not speak the name, and look straight forward to
Lady Russell's eye, till she had adopted the expedient of
telling her briefly what she thought of the attachment be¬
tween him and Louisa. When this was told, his name
distressed her no longer.
Lady Russell had only to listen composedly, and wish
them happy ; but internally her heart revelled in angry
pleasure, in pleased contempt, that the man who at twenty-
three had seemed to understand somewhat of the value of
fcfeRStrASION.
323
all Anne Elliot, should, eight years afterwards, be charined
by a Louisa Musgrove.
The first three or four days; passed most quietly, with no
circumstance to mark them excepting the receipt of a note
or two from Lyme, which found their way to Anne, she
could not tell how, and brought a rather improving account
of Louisa. At the end of that period, Lady Russell's po¬
liteness could repose no longer, and the fainter self-threaten-
ings of the past became in a decided tone, " I must call
on Mrs. Croft; I really must call upon her soon. Anne,
have you courage to go with me, and pay a visit in that
house ? It will be some trial to us both."
Anne did not shrink from it; on the contrary, she truly
felt as she said, in observing, —
" I think you are very likely to suffer the most of the
two; your feelings are less reconciled to the change than
mine. By remaining in the neighbourhood, I am become
inured to it."
She could have said more on the subject; for she had in
fact so high an opinion of the Crofts, and considered her
father so very fortunate in his tenants, felt the parish to be
so sure of a good example, and the poor of the best atten¬
tion and relief, that however sorry and ashamed for the ne¬
cessity of the removal, she could not but in conscience feel
that they were gone who deserved not to stay, and that Kel-
lynch Hall had passed into better hands than its owners.
These convictions must unquestionably have their own pain,
and severe was its kind; but they precluded that pain which
Lady Russell would suffer in entering the house again, and
returning through the well-known apartments.
In such moments Anne had no power of saying to her¬
self, " These rooms ought to belong only to us. Oh, how
fallen in their destination ! How unworthily occupied!
An ancient family to be so driven away ! Strangers filling
their place !" No, except when she thought of her mother,
and remembered where she had been used to sit and preside,
she had no sigh of that description to heave.
Mrs. Croft always met her with a kindness which gave
her the pleasure of fancying herself a favourite; and on
■* 2
S24
tEHSTJASION.
the present occasion, receiving her in that house, there was
particular attention.
The sad accident at Lyme was soon the prevailing topic;
and on comparing their latest accounts of the invalid, it
appeared that each lady dated her intelligence from the
same hour of yester morn ; that Captain Wentworth had
been in Kellynch yesterday (the first time since the acci¬
dent) : had brought Anne the last note, which she had not
been able to trace the exact steps of; had staid a few
hours, and then returned again to Lyme, and without any
present intention of quitting it any more. He had en¬
quired after her, she found, particularly ; had expressed
his hope of Miss Elliot's not being the worse for her ex¬
ertions, and had spoken of those exertions as great. This
was handsome, and gave her more pleasure than almost any
thing else could have done.
As to the sad catastrophe itself, it could be canvassed
only in one style by a couple of steady, sensible women,
whose judgments had to work on ascertained events ; and
it was perfectly decided that it had been the consequence of
much thoughtlessness and much imprudence; that its
effects were most alarming, and that it was frightful to
think how long Miss Musgrove's recovery might yet be
doubtful, and how liable she would still remain to suffer
from the concussion hereafter ! The Admiral wound it all
up summarily by exclaiming,—
" Ay, a very bad business, indeed. A new sort of way
this, for a young fellow to be making love, by breaking
his mistress's head! is not it, Miss Elliot ? This is
breaking a head and giving a plaster truly !"
Admiral Croft's manners were not quite of the tone to
suit Lady Russell, but they delighted Anne. His goodness
of heart and simplicity of character were irresistible.
" Now, this must be very bad for you," said he, sud¬
denly rousing from a little reverie, " to be coming and
finding us here. I had not recollected it before, I de¬
clare, but it must be very bad. But now, do not stand
upon ceremony. Get up and go over all the rooms in the
house, if you like it."
PERSUASION.
325
' Another time, sir, I thank you, not now."
Well, whenever it suits you. You can slip in from
the shrubbery at any time. And there you will find we
keep our umbrellas hanging up by that door. A good
place, is not it ? But," checking himself, " you will not
think it a good place, for yours were always kept in the
butler's room. Ay, so it always is, I believe. One
man's ways may be as good as another's, but we all like
our own best. And so you must judge for'yourself, whe¬
ther it would be better for you to go about the house or
not."
Anne, finding she might decline it, did so very grate¬
fully.
<( We have made very few changes either," continued
the Admiral, after thinking a moment. " Very few.
We told you about the laundry-door at Uppercross. That
has been a very great improvement. The wonder was,
how any family upon earth could bear with the inconve¬
nience of its opening as it did so long ! You will tell Sir
Walter what we have done, and that Mr. Shepherd
thinks it the greatest improvement the house ever had.
Indeed, I must do ourselves the justice to say, that the
few alterations we have made have been all very much for
the better. My wife should have the credit of them,
however. I have done very little besides sending away
some of the large looking-glasses from my dressing-room,
which was your father's. A very good man, and very
much the gentleman, I am sure — but I should think, Miss
Elliot," looking with serious reflection, —" I should think
he must be rather a dressy man for his time of life. Such
a number of looking-glasses ! oh Lord ! there was no get¬
ting away from one's self. So I got Sophy to lend me a
hand, and we soon shifted their quarters; and now I ani
quite snug, with my little shaving-glass in one corner, and
another great thing that I never go near."
Anne, amused in spite of herself, was rather distressed
for an answer; and the Admiral, fearing he might not
have been civil enough, took up the subject again, to say,—
" The next time you write to your good father, Miss
Elliot, pray give my compliments and Mrs. Croft's, and
y 3
326
persuasion.
say that we are settled here quite to bur liking, and have
no fault at all to find with the place. The breakfast-room
chimney smokes a little, I grant you, but it is only when
the wind is due north and blows hard, which may not
happen three times a winter. And take it altogether, now
that we have been into most of the houses hereabouts and
can judge, there is not one that we like better than this.
Pray say so, with my compliments. He will be glad to
hear it."
Lady Russell and Mrs. Croft were very well pleased
with each other: but the acquaintance which this visit
began was fated not to proceed far at present; for when it
was returned, the Crofts announced themselves to be going
away for a few weeks, to visit their connections in the
north of the county, and probably might not be at home
again before Lady Russell would be removing to Bath.
So ended all danger to Anne of meeting Captain Went-
worth at Kellynch Hall, or of seeing him in company with
her friend. Every thing was safe enough, and she smiled
over the many anxious feelings she had wasted on the sub¬
ject.
CHAPTER II.
Though Charles and Mary had remained at Lyme much
longer after Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove's going than Anne
conceived they could have been at all wanted, they were
yet the first of the family to be at home again ; and as soon
as possible after their return to Uppercross they drove
over to the Lodge. They had left Louisa beginning to sit
up : but her head, though clear, was exceedingly weak,
and her nerves susceptible to the highest extreme of ten¬
derness ; and though she might be pronounced to be alto¬
gether doing very well, it was still impossible to say when
she might be able to bear the removal home; and her
father and mother, who must return in time to receive
eejtsuasion.
327
their younger children for the Christmas holidays, had
hardly a hope of being allowed to bring her with them.
They had been all in lodgings together. Mrs. Mus-
grove had got Mrs. Harville's children away as much as
she could, every possible supply from Uppercross had been
furnished, to lighten the inconvenience to the Harvilles,
while the Harvilles had been wanting them to come to
dinner every day; and, in short, it seemed to have been
only 4 struggle on each side, as to which should be most
disinterested and hospitable.
Mary had had her evils; but upon the whole, as was
evident by her staying so long, she had found more to en¬
joy than to suffer. Charles Hayter had been at Lyme
oftener than suited her; and when they dined with the
Harvilles there had been only a maid-servant to wait, and,
at first, Mrs. Harville had always given Mrs. Musgrove
precedence: but then, she had received so very handsome
an apology from her on finding out whose daughter she
was, and there had been so much going on every day,
there had been so many walks between their lodgings and
the Harvilles, and she had got books from the library, and
changed them so often, that the balance had certainly been
much in favour of- Lyme. She had been taken to Char-
mouth, too, and she had bathed, and she had gone to
church, and there were a great many more people to look
at in the church at Lyme than at Uppercross, — and all
this, joined to the sense of being so very useful, had made
really an agreeable fortnight.
Anne enquired after Captain Benwick. Mary's face
was clouded directly. Charles laughed.
Oh, Captain Benwick is very well, I believe, but he
is a very odd young man. I do not know what he would
be at. We asked him to come home with us for a day or
two: Charles undertook to give him some shooting, and
he seemed quite delighted, and, for my part, I thought it
was all settled ; when, behold ! on Tuesday night, he
made a very awkward sort of excuse; ' he never shot,'
and he had f been quite misunderstood,'—and he had
promised this and he had promised that, and the end of it
was, I found, that he did not mean to come. I suppose
y 4
328
PERSUASION.
he was afraid of finding it dull; but upon my word I
should have thought we were lively enough at the Cottage
for such a heart-broken man as Captain Benwick."
Charles laughed again, and said, " Now, Mary, you
know very well how it really was. It was all your doing,"
turning to Anne. " He fancied that if he went with
us, he should find you close by : he fancied every body to
be living in Uppercross; and when he discovered that
Lady Russell lived three miles off, his heart failed him,
and he had not courage to come. That is the fact, upon
my honour. Mary knows it is."
But Mary did not give into it very graciously; whether
from not considering Captain Benwick entitled by birth
and situation to be in love with an Elliot, or from not
wanting to believe Anne a greater attraction to Uppercross
than herself, must be left to be guessed. Anne's good¬
will, however, was not to be lessened by what she heard.
She boldly acknowledged herself flattered, and continued
her enquiries.
" Oh, he talks of you," cried Charles, cc in such
terms " Mary interrupted him. " I declare, Charles,
I never heard him mention Anne twice all the time I was
there. I declare, Anne, he never talks of you at all."
" No," admitted Charles, " I do not know that he ever
does, in a general way ■ hut, however, it is a very clear
thing that he admires you exceedingly. His head is full
of some books that he is reading upon your recommend¬
ation, and he wants to talk to you about them ; he has
found out something or other in one of them which he
thinks — Oh, I cannot pretend to remember it, but it was
something very fine — I overheard him telling Henrietta
all about it — and then f Miss Elliot' was spoken of in
the highest terms! Now, Mary, I declare it was so, I
heard it myself, and you were in the other room. ' Ele¬
gance, sweetness, beauty,'—Oh, there was no end of Miss
Elliot's charms."
" And I am sure," cried Mary, warmly, " it was very
little to his credit, if he did. Miss Harville only died last
June. Such a heart is very little worth having, is it,
Lady Russell ? J am sure you will agree with me,"
PERSUASION.
329
"■ I must see Captain Benwiek before I decide/' said
Lady Russell, smiling.
Ce And that you are very likely to do very soon, I can
tell you, ma'am," said Charles. " Though he had not
nerves for coming away with us, and setting off again
afterwards to pay a formal visit here, he will make his
way over to Kellynch one day by himself, you may depend
on it. I told him the distance and the road, and I told
him of the church's being so very well worth seeing; for
as he has a taste for those sort of things, I thought that
would be a good excuse, and he listened with all his un¬
derstanding and soul; and I am sure from his manner that
you will have him calling here soon. So, I give you no¬
tice, Lady Russell."
" Any acquaintance of Anne's will always be welcome
to me," was Lady Russell's kind answer.
" Oh, as to being Anne's acquaintance," said Mary,
" I think he is rather my acquaintance, for I have been
seeing him every day this last fortnight."
" Well, as your joint acquaintance, then, I shall be very
happy to see Captain Benwiek."
" You will not find any thing very agreeable in him,
I assure you, ma'am. He is one of the dullest young
men that ever lived. He has walked with me, sometimes,
from one end of the sands to the other, without saying a
word. He is not at all a well-bred young man. I am
sure you will not like him."
" There we differ, Mary," said Anne. " I think Lady
Russell would like him. I think she would be so much
pleased with his mind, that she would very soon see no de¬
ficiency in his manner."
" So do I, Anne," said Charles. (c I am sure Lady
Russell would like him. He is just Lady Russell's sort.
Give him a book, and he will read all day long."
" Yes, that he will!" exclaimed Mary, tauntingly.
" He will sit poring over his book, and not know when a
person speaks to him, or when one drops one's scissors, or
any thing that happens. Do you think Lady Russell
would like that i1"
Lady Russell could pot help laughing. " Upon my
330
PERSUASION.
word/' said she, " I should not have supposed that iny
opinion of any one could have admitted of such difference
of conjecture, steady and matter of fact as I may call
myself. I have really a curiosity to see the person who
can give occasion to such directly opposite notions. I
wish he may be induced to call here. And when he does,
Mary, you may depend upon hearing my opinion ; but I
am determined not to judge him beforehand."
" You will not like him, I will answer for it."
Lady Russell began talking of something else. Mary
spoke with animation of their meeting with, or rather
missing, Mr. Elliot so extraordinarily.
" He is a man," said Lady Russell, " whom I have no
wish to see. His declining to be on cordial terms with the
head of his family has left a very strong impression in his
disfavour with me."
This decision checked Mary's eagerness, and stopped
her short in the midst of the Elliot countenance.
With regard to Captain Wentworth, though Anne ha¬
zarded no enquiries, there was voluntary communication
sufficient. His spirits had been greatly recovering lately,
as might be expected. As Louisa improved, he had im¬
proved ; and he was now quite a different creature from
what he had been the first week. He had not seen Louisa;
and was so extremely fearful of any ill consequence to her
from an interview, that he did not press for it at all; and,
on the contrary, seemed to have a plan of going away for
a week or ten days, till her head were stronger. He had
talked of going down to Plymouth for a week, and wanted
to persuade Captain Benwick to go with him ; but, as
Charles maintained to the last, Captain Benwick seemed
much more disposed to ride over to Kellynch.
There can be no doubt that Lady Russell and Anne
were both occasionally thinking of Captain Benwick, from
this time. Lady Russell could not hear the door-bell
without feeling that it might be his herald; nor could
Anne return from any stroll of solitary indulgence in her
father's grounds, or any visit of charity in the village,
without wondering whether she might see him or hear of
him. Captain Benwick came not, however. lie was
PERSUASION.
531
either less disposed for it than Charles had imagined, or he
was too shy; and after giving him a week's indulgence,
Lady Russell determined him to be unworthy of the in¬
terest which he had been beginning to excite.
The Musgroves came back to receive their happy boys
and girls from school, bringing with them Mrs. Harville's
little children, to improve the noise of Uppercross, and
lessen that of Lyme. Henrietta remained with Louisa;
but all the rest of the family were again in their usual
quarters.
Lady Russell and Anne paid their compliments to them
once, when Anne could not but feel that Uppercross was
■already quite alive again. Though neither Henrietta, nor
Louisa, nor Charles Hayter, nor Captain Wentworth were
there, the room presented as strong a contrast as could be
wished to the last state she had seen it in.
Immediately surrounding Mrs. Musgrove were the little
Harvilles, whom she was sedulously guarding from the ty¬
ranny of the two children from the Cottage, expressly ar¬
rived to amuse them. On one side was a table, occupied
by some chattering girls, cutting up silk and gold paper ;
and on the other were tressels and trays, bending under the
weight of brawn and cold pies, where riotous boys were
holding high revel; the whole completed by a roaring
Christmas fire, which seemed determined to be heard, in
spite of all the noise of the others. Charles and Mary also
came in, of course, during their visit; and Mr. Musgrove
made a point of paying his respects to Lady Russell, and
sat down close to her for ten minutes, talking with a very
raised voice, but, from the clamour of the children on his
knees, generally in vain. It was a fine family-piece.
Anne, judging from her own temperament, would have
deemed such a domestic hurricane a bad restorative of the
nerves, which Louisa's illness must have so greatly shaken;
but Mrs. Musgrove, who got Anne near her on purpose to
thank her most cordially, again and again, for all her atten¬
tions to them, concluded a short recapitulation of what she
had suffered herself, by observing, with a happy glance
round the room, that after all she had gone through, nothing
332
PERSUASION.
was so likely to do her good as a little quiet cheerfulness at
home.
Louisa was now recovering apace. Her mother could
even think of her being able to join their party at home,
before her brothers and sisters went to school again. The
Harvilles had promised to cortie with her and stay at Up-
percross, whenever she returned. Captain Wentworth was
gone, for the present, to see his brother in Shropshire.
" I hope I shall remember, in future," said Lady Rus¬
sell, as soon as they were reseated in the carriage, " not to
call at Uppercross in the Christmas holidays."
Every body has their taste in noises as well as in other
matters; and sounds are quite innoxious, or most distress¬
ing, by their sort rather than their quantity. When Lady
Russell, not long afterwards, was entering Bath on a wet
afternoon, and driving through the long course of streets
from the Old Bridge to Camden Place, amidst the dash of
other carriages, the heavy rumble of carts and drays, the
bawling of newsmen, muffin-men, and milkmen, and the
ceaseless clink of pattens, she made no complaint. No,
these were noises which belonged to the winter pleasures :
her spirits rose under their influence ; and, like Mrs. Mus-
grove, she was feeling, though not saying, that, after being
long in the country, nothing could be so good for her as a
little quiet cheerfulness.
Anne did not share these feelings. She persisted in a
very determined, though very silent, disinclination for
Bath ; caught the first dim view of the extensive buildings,
smoking in rain, without any wish of seeing them better;
felt their progress through the streets to be, however dis¬
agreeable, yet too rapid j for who would be glad to see
her when she arrived ? And looked back, with fond re¬
gret, to the bustles of Uppercross and the seclusion of
Kelly nch.
Elizabeth's last letter had communicated a piece of news
of some interest. Mr. Elliot was in Bath. He had called
in Camden Place; had called a second time, a third; had
been pointedly attentive: if Elizabeth and her fathei
did not deceive themselves, had been taking as much pains
tp seek the acquaintance, and proclaim the value of the
PERSUASION.
333
connection, as he had formerly taken pains to show neglect.
This was very wonderful, if it were true; and Lady Rus¬
sell was in a state of very agreeable curiosity and per¬
plexity about Mr. Elliot, already recanting the sentiment
she had so lately expressed to Mary, of his being " a man
whom she had no wish to see." She had a great wish to
see him. If he really sought to reconcile himself like a
dutiful branch, he must be forgiven for having dismem¬
bered himself from the paternal tree.
Anne was not animated to an equal pitch by the cir¬
cumstance ; but she felt that she would rather see Mr. El¬
liot again than not, which was more than she could say for
many other persons in Bath.
She was put down in Camden Place; and Lady Russell
then drove to her own lodgings, in River's Street.
CHAPTER III.
Sir Walter had taken a very good house in Camden
Place, — a lofty, dignified situation, such as becomes a man
of consequence; and both he and Elizabeth were settled
there, much to their satisfaction.
Anne entered it with a sinking heart, anticipating an
imprisonment of many months, and anxiously saying to
herself, " Oh, when shall I leave you again ? " A degree
of unexpected cordiality, however, in the welcome she re¬
ceived, did her good. Pier father and sister were glad to
see her, for the sake of showing her the house and furni¬
ture, and met her with kindness. Her making a fourth,
when they sat down to dinner, was noticed as an ad¬
vantage.
Mrs. Clay was very pleasant, and very smiling ; but her
courtesies and smiles were more a matter of course. Anne
nad always felt that she would pretend what was proper
on her arrival; but the complaisance of the others was
unlooked for. They were evidently in excellent spirits,
and she was soon to listen to the causes. They had no
334
PERSUASION.
inclination to listen to her. After laying out for some
compliments of being deeply regretted in their old neign-
bourhood, which Anne could not pay, they had only a few
faint enquiries to make, before the talk must be all their
own. Uppercross excited no interest, Kellvnch very little,
it was all Bath.
They had the pleasure of assuring her that Bath more
than answered their expectations in every respect. Their
house was undoubtedly the best in Camden Place : their
drawing-rooms had many decided advantages over all the
others which they had either seen or heard of; and the
superiority was not less in the style of the fitting-up, or
the taste of the furniture. Their acquaintance was ex¬
ceedingly sought after. Every body was wanting to visit
them. They had drawn hack from many introductions
and still were perpetually having cards left by people of
whom they knew nothing.
Here were funds of enjoyment! Could Anne wonder
that her father and sister were happy ? She might not
wonder, but she must sigh that her father should feel no
degradation in his change; should see nothing to regret in
the duties and dignity of the resident landholder ; should
find so much to be vain of in the littlenesses of a town ;
and she must sigh, and smile, and wonder too, as Elizabeth
threw open the folding-doors, and walked with exultation
from one drawing-room to the other, boasting of their space,
at the possibility of that woman, who had been mistress of
Kellynch Hall, finding extent to be proud of between two
Walls, perhaps thirty feet asunder.
But this was not all which they had to make them
happy. They had Mr. Elliot too. Anne had a great
deal to hear of Mr. Elliot. He was not only pardoned,
they were delighted with him. He had been in Bath
about a fortnight; (he had passed through Bath in No¬
vember, in his way to London, when the intelligence of
Sir Walter's being settled there had of course reached him,
though only twenty-four hours in the place, but he had
not been able to avail himself of it;) but he had now been
a fortnight in Bath; and his first object, on arriving, had
been to leave his card in Camden Place, following it up by
PERStTASIOtf.
336
such assiduous endeavours to meet, and, when they did
meet, by such great openness of conduct, such readiness
to apologise for the past, such solicitude to be received as a
relation again, that their former good understanding was
completely re-established.
They had not a fault to find in him. He had explained
away all the appearance of neglect on his own side. It had
originated in misapprehension entirely. He had never
had an idea of throwing himself off: he had feared that he
was thrown off, but knew not why ; and delicacy had kept
him silent. Upon the hint of having spoken disrespect¬
fully or carelessly of the family and the family honours, he
was quite indignant. He, who had ever boasted of being
an Elliot, and whose feelings, as to connection, were only
too strict to suit the unfeudal tone of the present day ! He
was astonished, indeed! But his character and general
conduct must refute it. He could refer Sir Walter to all
who knew him; and, certainly, the pains he had been
taking on this, the first opportunity of reconciliation, to be
restored to the footing of a relation and heir-presumptive,
was a strong proof of his opinions on the subject.
The circumstances of his marriage, too, were found to
admit of much extenuation. This was an article not to
be entered on by himself; but a very intimate friend of
his, a Colonel Wallis, a highly respectable man, perfectly
the gentleman, (and not an ill-looking man, Sir Walter
added,) who was living in very good style in Marlborough
Buildings, and. had, at his own particular request, been
admitted to their acquaintance through Mr. Elliot, had
mentioned one or two things relative to the marriage,
which made a material difference in the discredit of it.
Colonel Wallis had known Mr. Elliot long, had been
well acquainted also with his wife, had perfectly understood
the whole story. She was certainly not a woman of
family, but well educated, accomplished, rich, and exces¬
sively in love with his friend. There had been the charm.
She had sought him. Without that attraction, not all her
money would have tempted Elliot, and Sir Walter was,
moreover, assured of her having been a very fine woman.
Here was a great deal to soften the business. A very fine
336
tERSUASIOiSf.
woman, with a large fortune, in love with him ! Sir Walter
seemed to admit it as complete apology ; and though Eliza¬
beth could not see the circumstance in quite so favourable a
light, she allowed it to be a great extenuation.
Mr. Elliot had called repeatedly, had dined with them
once, evidently delighted by the distinction of being asked,
for they gave no dinners in general; delighted, in short,
by every proof of cousinly notice, and placing his whole
happiness in being on intimate terms in Camden Place.
Anne listened, but without quite understanding it. Al¬
lowances, large allowances, she knew, must be made for
the ideas of those who spoke. She heard it all under em¬
bellishment. All that sounded extravagant or irrational in
the progress of the reconciliation might have no origin but
in the language of the relators. Still, however, she had
the sensation of there being something more than immedi¬
ately appeared, in Mr. Elliot's wishing, after an interval of
so many years, to he well received by them. In a worldly
view, he had nothing to gain by being on terms with Sir
Walter; nothing to risk by a sta'te of variance. In all
probability he was already the richer of the two, and the
Kellynch estate would as surely be his hereafter as the title.
A sensible man, and he had looked like a very sensible
man, why should it be an object to him ? She could only
offer one solution ; it was, perhaps, for Elizabeth's sake.
There might really have been a liking formerly, though
convenience and accident had drawn him a different way,
and now that he could afford to please himself, he might
mean to pay his addresses to her. Elizabeth was certainly
very handsome, with well-bred, elegant manners, and her
character might never have been penetrated by Mr. Elliot,
knowing her but in public, and when very young himself.
How her temper and understanding might hear the investi¬
gation of his present keener time of life was another con¬
cern, and rather a fearful one. Most earnestly did she
wish that he might not be too nice, or too observant, if
Elizabeth were his object; and that Elizabeth was dis¬
posed to believe herself so ; and that her friend, Mrs. Clay
was encouraging the idea, seemed apparent by a glance or
piittstrAslotf.
two between them, while Mr. Elliot's frequent visits w«—^
talked of.
Anne mentioned the glimpses she had had of hie
Lyme, but without being much attended to. " Oh yes,
perhaps, it had been Mr. Elliot. They did not know. It
might be him, perhaps." They could not listen to her
description of him. They were describing him themselves ;
Sir Walter especially. He did justice to his very gentle¬
manlike appearance, his air of elegance and fashion, his
good-shaped face, his sensible eye ; but, at the same time,
te must lament his being very much under-hung, a defect
which time seemed to have increased; nor could he pre¬
tend to say that ten years had not altered almost every
feature for the worse. Mr. Elliot appeared to think that
he (Sir Walter) was looking exactly as he had done when
they last parted but Sir Walter had " not been able to
return the compliment entirely, which had embarrassed
him. He did not mean to complain, however. Mr. Elliot
was better to look at than most men, and he had no objec¬
tion to being seen with him any where."
Mr. Elliot, and his friends in Marlborough Buildings,
were talked of the whole evening. " Colonel Wallis had
been so impatient to be introduced to them ! and Mr. Elliot
so anxious that he should !" And there was a Mrs. Wallis,
at present only known to them by description, as she was
in daily expectation of her confinement; but Mr. Elliot
spoke of her as " a most charming woman, quite worthy
of being known in Camden Place," and as soon as she re¬
covered, they were to be acquainted. Sir Walter thought
much of Mrs. Wallis ; she was said to be an excessively
pretty woman, beautiful. " He longed to see her. He
hoped she might make some amends for the many very
plain faces he was continually passing in the streets. The
worst of Bath was, the number of its plain women. He
did not mean to say that there were no pretty women,
but the number of the plain was out of all proportion.
He had frequently observed, as he walked, that one hand¬
some face would be followed by thirty, or five-and-thirty
frights; and once, as he had stood in a shop in Bond
Street, he had counted eighty-seven women go by, one after
z
338
PBRSSJASTON.
another, without there being a tolerable face among them.
It had been a frosty morning, to be sure, a sharp frost,
which hardly one woman in a thousand could stand the test
of. But still, there certainly were a dreadful multitude of
ugly women in Bath ; and as for the men ! they were infi¬
nitely worse. Such scarecrows as the streets were full of! It
Was evident how little the women were used to the sight or
any thing tolerable, by the effect which a man of decent ap¬
pearance produced. He had never walked any where arm-
in-arm with Colonel Wallis (who was a fine military
figure, though sandy-haired,) without observing that every
woman's eye was upon him; every woman's eye was sure
to be upon Colonel Wallis." Modest Sir Walter ! He was
not allowed to escape, however. His daughter and Mrs.
Clay united in hinting that Colonel Wallis's companion
might have as good a figure as Colonel Wallis, and cer¬
tainly was not sandy-haired.
" How is Mary looking ? " said Sir Walter, in the height
of his good humour. " The last time I saw her, she had
a red nose, but I hope that may not happen every day."
" Oh no, that must have been quite accidental. In
general she has been in very good health and very good
looks since Michaelmas."
" If I thought it would not tempt her to go out in
sharp winds, and grow coarse, I would send her a new hat
and pelisse."
Anne was considering whether she should venture to
suggest that a gown, or a cap, would not be liable to any
such misuse, when a knock at the door suspended every
thing. " A knock at the door ! and so late ! It was ten
o'clock. Could it he Mr. Elliot ? They knew he was to
dine in Lansdown Crescent. It was possible that he might
stop in his way home to ask them how they did. They
could think of no one else. Mrs. Clay decidedly thought
it Mr. Elliot's knock." Mrs. Clay was right. With all
the state which a butler and footboy could give, Mr. Elliot
vas ushered into the room.
It was the same, the very same man, with no difference
but of dress. Anne drew a little back, while the others
received his compliments, and her sister his apologies for
PERSUASION.
calling at so unusual an hour, but " he could not he so
near without wishing to know that neither she nor her
friend had taken cold the day before," &c. &c. which was
all as politely done, and as politely taken, as possible, but
her part must follow then. Sir Walter talked of his
youngest daughter; " Mr. Elliot must give him leave to
present him to his youngest daughter"—(there was no
occasion for remembering Mary);;—and Anne, smiling and
blushing, very becomingly showed to Mr. Elliot the pretty
features which he had by no means forgotten, and instantly
saw, with amusement at his little start of surprise, that he
had not been at all aware of who she was. He looked com¬
pletely astonished, but not more astonished than pleased :
his eyes brightened; and with the most perfect alacrity he
welcomed the relationship, alluded to the past, and en¬
treated to be received as an acquaintance already. He was
quite as good-looking as he had appeared at Lyme, his
countenance improved by speaking, and his manners were
so exactly what they ought to be, so polished, so easy, so
particularly agreeable, that she could compare them in ex¬
cellence to only one person's manners. They were not the
same, but they were, perhaps, equally good.
He sat down with them, and improved their conversation
very much. There could be no doubt of his being a sen¬
sible man. Ten minutes were enough to certify that.
His tone, his expressions, his choice of subject, his know¬
ing where to stop,—it was all the operation of a sensible,
discerning mind. As soon as he could, he began to talk
to her of Lyme, wanting to compare opinions respecting
the place, but especially wanting to speak of the circum¬
stance of their happening to be guests in the same inn at
the same time, to give his own route, understand some¬
thing of hers, and regret that he should have lost such an
opportunity of paying his respects to her. She gave him
a short account of her party, and business at Lyme. His
regret increased as he listened. He had spent his whole
solitary evening in the room adjoining theirs; had heard
voices—mirth continually ; thought they must be a most
delightful set of people—longed to be with them; but
certainly without the smallest suspicion of his possessing
z 2
34,0
persuasion.
the shadow of a right to introduce himself. If he had but
asked who the party were ! The name of Musgrove would
have told him enough. " Well, it would serve to cure
him of an absurd practice of never asking a question at an
inn, which he had adopted, when quite a young man, on
the principle of its being very ungenteel to be curious.
" The notions of a young man of one or two and
twenty," said he, " as to what is necessary in manners to
make him quite the thing, are more absurd, I believe, than
those of any other set of beings in the world. The folly
of the means they often employ is only to be equalled by
the folly of what they have in view."
But he must not be addressing his reflections to Anne
alone; he knew it; he was soon diffused again among
the others, and it was only at intervals that he could return
to Lyme.
His enquiries, however, produced at length an account
of the scene she had been engaged in there, soon after his
leaving the place. Having alluded to " an accident," he
must hear the whole. When he questioned, Sir Walter
and Elizabeth began to question also ; but the difference
in their manner of doing it could not be unfelt. She could
only compare Mr. Elliot to Lady Russell, in the wish of
really comprehending what had passed, and in the de¬
gree of concern for what she must have suffered, in wit¬
nessing it.
He staid an hour with them. The elegant little clock
on the mantle-piece had struck u eleven with its silver
sounds," and the watchman was beginning to be heard at a
distance telling the same tale, before Mr. Elliot or my of
them seemed to feel that he had been there long.
Anne could not have supposed it possible that her flrst
evening in Camden Place could have passed so weli.'
persuasion.
341
CHAPTER IV.
There was one point which Anne, on returning to her
family, would have been more thankful to ascertain, even than
Mr, Elliot's being in love with Elizabeth, which was, her
father's not being in love with Mrs. Clay; and she was
very far from easy about it, when she had been at home
a few hours. On going down to breakfast the next morn¬
ing, she found there had just been a decent pretence on
the lady's side of meaning to leave them. She could
imagine Mrs. Clay to have said, that " now Miss Anne
was come, she could not suppose herself at all wanted ;"
for Elizabeth was replying, in a sort of whisper, " That
must not be any reason, indeed. I assure you I feel it
none. She is nothing to me, compared with you;" and
she was in full time to hear her father say, " My dear
madam, this must not be. As yet, you have seen nothing
of Bath. You have been here only to be useful. You
must not run away from us now. You must stay to be
acquainted with Mrs. Wallis, the beautiful Mrs. Wallis.
To your fine mind, I well know the sight of beauty is a
real gratification."
He spoke and looked so much in earnest, that Anne was
not surprised to see Mrs. Clay stealing a glance at Eliza¬
beth and herself. Her countenance, perhaps, might ex.
press some watchfulness ; but the praise of the fine mind
did not appear to excite a thought in her sister. The
lady could not but yield to such joint entreaties, and pro.,
mise to stay.
In the course of the same morning, Anne and her father
chancing to be alone together, he began to compliment her
on her improved looks ; he thought her " less thin in her
person, in her cheeks; her skin, her complexion, greatly
improved—clearer, fresher. Had she been using any
thing in particular ? " — "No, nothing." — " Merely
(lowland," he supposed.—" No, nothing at all." —" Ha i
v 3
PERSUASION.
he was surprised at that;" and added, "Certainly you
cannot do better than continue as you are ; you cannot be
better than well; or I should recommend Gowland, the
constant use of Gowland, during the spring months. Mrs.
Clay has been using it at my recommendation, and you
see what it has done for her. You see how it has carried
away her freckles."
If Elizabeth could but have heard this ! Such personal
praise might have struck her, especially as it did not appear
to Anne that the freckles were at all lessened. But every
thing must take its chance. The evil of the marriage
would he much diminished, if Elizabeth were also to
marry. As for herself, she might always command a home
with Lady Russell.
Lady Russell's composed mind and polite manners were
put to some trial on this point, in her intercourse in Cam¬
den Place. The sight of Mrs. Clay in such favour, and
of Anne so overlooked, was a perpetual provocation to
her there; and vexed her as much when she was away,
as a person in Bath who drinks the water, gets all the new
publications, and has a very large acquaintance, has time
to be vexed.
As Mr. Elliot became known to her, she grew more
charitable, or more indifferent, towards the others. His
manners were an immediate recommendation; and on con¬
versing with him she found the solid so fully supporting
the superficial, that she was at first, as she told Anne, al¬
most ready to exclaim, " Can this he Mr. Elliot ?" and
could not seriously picture to herself a more agreeable or
estimable man. Every thing united in him; good under¬
standing, correct opinions, knowledge of the world, and a
warm heart. He had strong feelings of family attachment
and family honour, without pride or weakness ; he lived
with the liberality of a man of fortune, without display;
he judged for himself in every thing essential, without de¬
fying public opinion in any point of worldly decorum. He
was steady, observant, moderate, candid ; never run away
with by spirits or by selfishness, which fancied itself strong
feeling ;s and yet, with a sensibility to what was amiable
and lovely, and a value for all the felicities of domestic
PERSUASION.
343
life, which characters of fancied enthusiasm and violent
agitation seldom really possess. She was sure that he had
not been happy in marriage. Colonel Wallis said it, and
Lady Russell saw it; but it had been no unhappiness to
sour his mind, nor (she began pretty soon to suspect) to
prevent his thinking of a second choice. Her satisfaction
in Mr. Elliot outweighed all the plague of Mrs. Clay.
It was now some years since Anne had begun to learn
that she and her excellent friend could sometimes think
differently; and it did not surprise her, therefore, that
Lady Russell should see nothing suspicious or inconsist¬
ent, nothing to require more motives than appeared, in
Mr. Elliot's great desire of a reconciliation. In Lady
Russell's view, it was perfectly natural that Mr. Elliot, at
a mature time of life, should feel it a most desirable ob¬
ject, and what would very generally recommend him,
among all sensible people,*to be on good terms with the
head of his family; the simplest process in the world of
time upon a head naturally clear, and only erring in the
heyday of youth. Anne presumed, however, still to smile
about it, and at last to mention " Elizabeth." Lady Rus¬
sell listened, and looked, and made only this cautious re¬
ply:—" Elizabeth ! very well; time will explain."
It was a reference to the future, which Anne, after a
little observation, felt she must submit to. She could de
termine nothing at present. In that house Elizabeth must
be first; and she was in the habit of such general observ¬
ance as " Miss Elliot," that any particularity of attention
seemed almost impossible. Mr. Elliot, too, it must be re¬
membered, had not been a widower seven months. A
little delay on his side might be very excusable. In fact,
Anne could never see the crape round his hat, without fear¬
ing that she was the inexcusable one, in attributing to him
such imaginations; for though his marriage had not been
very happy, still it had existed so many years that she
could not comprehend a very rapid recovery from the
awful impression of its being dissolved.
However it might end, he was without any question
their pleasantest acquaintance in Bath: she saw nobody
equal to him ; and it was a great indulgence now and then
z 4
34,4,
PERSUASION.
to talk to him about Lyme, which he seemed to have as
lively a wish to see again, and to see more of, as herself.
They went through the particulars of their first meeting a
great many times. He gave her to understand that he had
looked at her with some earnestness. She knew it well;
and she remembered another person's look also.
They did not always think alike. His value for rank
and connection she perceived to be greater than hers. It
was not merely complaisance, it must be a liking to the
cause, which made him enter warmly into her father and
sister's solicitudes on a subject which she thought un¬
worthy to excite them. The Bath paper one morning an¬
nounced the arrival of the Dowager Viscountess Dalrymple,
and her daughter, the Honourable Miss Carteret; and
all the comfort of No. —, Camden Place, was swept away
for many days; for the Dairymples (in Anne's opinion,
most unfortunately) were cousins of the Elliots; and the
agony was, how to introduce themselves properly.
Anne had never seen her father and sister before in con¬
tact with nobility, and she must acknowledge herself dis¬
appointed. She had hoped better things from their high
ideas of their own situation in life, and was reduced to
form a wish which she had never foreseen—a wish that
they had more pride; for " our cousins. Lady Dalrymple
and Miss Carteret;". " our cousins, the Dalrymples,"
sounded in her ears all day long.
Sir Walter had once been in company with the late
Viscount, but had never seen any of the rest of the family ;
and the difficulties of the case arose from there having
heen a suspension of all intercourse by letters of ceremony,
ever since the death of that said late Viscount, when, in
consequence of a dangerous illness of Sir Walter's at the
same time, there had been an unlucky omission at Kel-
lvnch. No letter of condolence had been sent to Ireland.
The neglect had been visited on the head of the sinner ; for
when poor Lady Elliot died herself, no letter of condolence
was received at Kellynch, and, consequently, there was but
too much reason to apprehend that the Dalrymples con¬
sidered the relationship as closed. How to have this
anxious business set to rights, and be admitted as cousins
PERSUASION.
346
again, was the question; and it was a question which, in
a more rational manner, neither Lady Russell nor Mr.
Elliot thought unimportant. " Family connections were
always worth preserving, good company always worth seek¬
ing ; Lady Dalrymple had taken a house, for three months,
in Laura Place, and would be living in style. She had
been at Bath the year before, and Lady Russell had heard
her spoken of as a charming woman. It was very desir¬
able that the connection should be renewed, if it could be
done, without any compromise of propriety on the side of
the Elliots."
Sir Walter, however, would choose his own means, and
at last wrote a very fine letter of ample explanation, regret,
and entreaty, to his right honourable cousin. Neither
Lady Russell nor Mr. Elliot could admire the letter; but
it did all that was wanted, in bringing three lines of scrawl
from the Dowager Viscountess. " She was very much
honoured, and should be happy in their acquaintance."
The toils of the business were over, the sweets began.
They visited in Laura Place, they had the cards of Dow¬
ager Viscountess Dalrymple, and the Honourable Miss
Carteret, to be arranged wherever they might be most
visible; and " Our cousins in Laura Place,"—" Our cou¬
sins, Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret," were talked of
to every body.
Anne was ashamed. Had Lady Dalrymple and her
daughter even been very agreeable, she would still have
been ashamed of the agitation they created, but they were
nothing. There was no superiority of manner, accom¬
plishment, or understanding. Lady Dalrymple had ac¬
quired the name of te a charming woman," because she
had a smile and a civil answer for every body. Miss Car¬
teret, with still less to say, was so plain and so awkward,
that she would never have been tolerated in Camden Place,
but for her birth.
Lady Russell confessed that she had expected something
better; but yet a it was an acquaintance worth having;"
and when Anne ventured to speak her opinion of them to
Mr. Elliot, he agreed to their being nothing in themselves,
but still maintained that, as a family connection, as good
346
PERSUASION.
company, as those who would collect good company around
them, they had their value. Anne smiled and said, —
" My idea of good company, Mr. Elliot, is the company
of clever, well-informed people, who have a great deal of
conversation; that is what I call good company."
" You are mistaken," said he, gently, " that is not good
company—that is the best. Good company requires only
birth, education, and manners, and with regard to educa¬
tion is not very nice. Birth and good manners are essen¬
tial; but a little learning is by no means a dangerous
thing in good company; on the contrary, it will do very
well. My cousin Anne shakes her head. She is not
satisfied. She is fastidious. My dear cousin (sitting
down by her), you have a better right to be fastidious than
almost any other woman I know; but will it answer ?
Will it make you happy ? Will it not .be tviser to accept
the society of these good ladies in Laura Place, and enjoy
. all the advantages of the connection as far as possible ?
You may depend upon it, that they will move in the first
set in Bath this winter, and as rank is rank, your being
known to be related to them will have its use in fixing
your family (our family let me say) in that degree of con¬
sideration which we must all wish for."
" Yes," sighed Anne, " we shall, indeed, be known to
he related to them!" then recollecting herself, and not
wishing to he answered, she added, " I certainly do think
there has been by far too much trouble taken to procure
the acquaintance. I suppose (smiling) I have more pride
than any of you; but I confess it does vex me, that we
should be so solicitous to have the relationship acknow¬
ledged, which we may be very sure is a matter of perfect
indifference to them."
" Pardon me, my dear cousin, you are unjust to your
own claims. In London, perhaps, in your present quiet
style of living, it might be as you say; but in Bath, Sir
Walter Elliot and his family will always be worth know¬
ing, always acceptable as acquaintance."
" Well," said Anne, " I certainly am proud, too proud
to enjoy a welcome which depends so entirely upon place."
" I love your indignation," said he ; " it is very natu-
PERSUASION.
347
ral. But here you are in Bath, and the object is to be
established here with all the credit and dignity which ought
to belong to Sir Walter Elliot. You talk of being proud;
I am called proud I know, and I shall not wish to believe
myself otherwise; for our pride, if investigated, would have
the same object, I have no doubt, though the kind may
seem a little different. In one point, I am sure, my dear
cousin, (he continued, speaking lower, though there was no
one else in the room,) in one point, I am sure, we must
feel alike. We must feel that every addition to your fa¬
ther's society, among his equals or superiors, may be of use
in- diverting his thoughts from those who are beneath him."
He looked, as he spoke, to the seat which Mrs. Clay
had been lately occupying, a sufficient explanation of what
he particularly meant; and though Anne could not believe
in their having the same sort of pride, she was pleased
with him for not liking Mrs. Clay; and her conscience
admitted that his wishing to promote her father's getting
great acquaintance was more than excusable in the view of
defeating her.
CHAPTER Y.
While Sir Walter and Elizabeth were assiduously pushing
their good fortune in Laura Place, Anne was renewing an
acquaintance of a very different description.
She had called on her former governess, and had heard
from her of there being an old schoolfellow in Bath, who
had the two strong claims on her attention, of past kind¬
ness and present suffering. Miss Hamilton, now Mrs.
Smith, had shown her kindness in one of those periods of
her life when it bad been most valuable. Anne had gone
unhappy to school, grieving for the loss of a mother whom
she had dearly loved, feeling her separation from home,
and suffering as a girl of fourteen, of strong sensibility and
not high spirits, must suffer at such a time; and Miss
348
PERSUASION.
Hamilton, three years older than herself, but 'itill from the
want of near relations and a settled home, remaining an¬
other year at school, had been useful and good to her in
a way which had considerably lessened her misery, and
could never be remembered with indifference.
Miss Hamilton had left school, had married not long
afterwards, was said to have married a man of fortune, and
this was all that Anne had known of her, till now that their
governess's account brought her situation forward in a more
decided but very different form.
She was a widow, and poor. Her husband had been
extravagant; and at his death, about two years before, had
left his affairs dreadfully involved. She had had difficul¬
ties of every sort to contend with, and in addition to these
distresses had been afflicted with a severe rheumatic fever,
which finally settling in her legs, had made her for the
present a cripple. She had come to Bath on that account,
and was now in lodgings near the hot baths, living in a very
humble way, unable even to afford herself the comfort of a
servant, and of course almost excluded from society.
Their mutual friend answered for the satisfaction which
a visit from Miss Elliot would give Mrs. Smith, and Anne
therefore lost no time in going. She mentioned nothing
of what she had heard, or what she intended, at home.
It would excite no proper interest there. She only con¬
sulted Lady Russell, who entered thoroughly into her
sentiments, and was most happy to convey her as near
to Mrs. Smith's lodgings, in Westgate Buildings, as Anne
chose to be taken
The visit was paid, their acquaintance re-established,
their interest in each other more than rekindled. The first
ten minutes had its awkwardness and its emotion. Twelve
years were gone since they had parted, and each presented
a somewhat different person from what the other had ima¬
gined. Twelve years had changed Anne from the blooming,
silent, unformed girl of fifteen, to the elegant little woman
of seven-and-twenty, with every beauty excepting bloom,
and with manners as consciously right as they were inva¬
riably gentle; and twelve years had transformed the fine-
looking, well-grown Miss Hamilton, in all the glow of
l>fe|tSbAfelOf*.
349
health and confidence of superiority, into a poor, infirm,
helpless widow, receiving the visit of her farmer protegee
as a favour ; but all that was uncomfortable in the meeting
had soon passed away, and left only the interesting charm
of remembering former partialities and talking over old
times.
Anne found in Mrs. Smith the good sense and agreeable
manners which she had almost ventured to depend on, and
a disposition to converse and be cheerful beyond her ex¬
pectation. Neither the dissipations of the past — and she
had lived very much in the world—nor the restrictions of
the present; neither sickness nor sorrow seemed to have
closed her heart or ruined her spirits.
In the course of a second visit she talked with great open¬
ness, and Anne's astonishment increased. She could scarcely
imagine a more cheerless situation in itself than Mrs. Smith's.
She had been very fond of her husband — she had buried
him. She had been used to affluence — it was gone. She
had no child to connect her with life and happiness again,
no relations to assist in the arrangement of perplexed
affairs, no health to make all the rest supportable. Her
accommodations were limited to a noisy parlour, and a dark
bedroom behind, with no possibility of moving from one to
the other without assistance, which there was only one
servant in the house to afford, and she never quitted the
house but to be conveyed into the warm hath. Yet, in
spite of all this, Anne had reason to believe that she had
moments only of languor and depression, to hours of occu¬
pation and enjoyment. How could it be? She watched,
observed, reflected, and finally determined that this was
not a case of fortitude or of resignation only. A submis¬
sive spirit might be patient, a strong understanding would
supply resolution, but here was something more ; here was
that elasticity of mind, that disposition to be comforted,
that power of turning readily from evil to good, and of
finding employment which carried her out of herself,
which was from nature alone. It was the choicest gift
of Heaven; and Anne viewed her friend as one of those
instances in which, by a merciful appointment, it seems
designed to counterbalance almost every other want.
350
PERSUASION.
There had been a time, Mrs. Smith told her, when her
spirits had nearly failed. She could not call herself an
invalid now, compared with her state on first reaching
Bath. Then she had, indeed, been a pitiable object — for
she had caught cold on the journey, and had hardly taken
possession of her lodgings, before she was again confined to
her bed, and suffering under severe and constant pain ; and
all this among strangers — with the absolute necessity of
having a regular nurse, and finances at that moment parti¬
cularly unfit to meet any extraordinary expense. She had
weathered it, however, and could truly say that it had done
her good. It had increased her comforts by making her
feel herself to be in good hands. She had seen too much
of the world to expect sudden or disinterested attachment
any where, but her illness had proved to her that her land¬
lady had a character to preserve, and would not use her
ill; and she had been particularly fortunate in her nurse,
as a sister of her landlady, a nurse by profession, and who
had always a home in that house when unemployed,
chanced to be at liberty just in time to attend her
" And she," said Mrs. Smith, " besides nursing me most
admirably has really proved an invaluable acquaintance.
As soon as I could use my hands, she taught me to knit,
which has been a great amusement; and she put me in
the way of making these little thread-cases, pin-cushions,
and card-racks, which you always find me so busy about,
and which supply me with the means of doing a little good
to one or two very poor families in this neighbourhood.
She has a large acquaintance, of course professionally,
among those who can afford to buy, and she disposes of
my merchandise. She always takes the right time for ap¬
plying. Every body's heart is open, you know, when they
have recently escaped from severe pain, or are reco¬
vering the blessing of health, and Nurse Rooke thoroughly
understands when to speak. She is a shrewd, intelligent,
sensible woman. Hers is a line for seeing human nature;
and she has a fund of good sense and observation, which,
as a companion, make her infinitely superior to thousands
of those who, having only received f the best education in
the world,' know nothing worth attending to. Call it
iMSllSU AS10N.
351
gossip, if you willbut when Nurse Rooke has half an
hour's leisure to bestow on me, she is sure to have some¬
thing to relate that is entertaining and profitable something
that makes one know one's species better. One likes to
hear what is going on, to be au fait as to the newest modes
of being trifling and silly. To me, who live so much
alone, her conversation, I assure you, is a treat."
Anne, far from wishing to cavil at the pleasure, replied,
" I can easily believe it. Women of that class have great
opportunities, and if they are intelligent may he well worth
listening to. Such varieties of human nature as they are
in the habit of witnessing! And it is not merely in its
follies that they are well read; for they see it occasionally
under every circumstance that can be most interesting or
affecting. What instances must pass before them of ardent,
disinterested, self-denying attachment, of heroism, fortitude,
patience, resignation — of all the conflicts and all the
sacrifices that ennoble us most. A sick chamber may often
furnish the worth of volumes."
" Yes," said Mrs. Smith, more doubtingly, "sometimes
it may, though I fear its lessons are not often in the ele¬
vated style you describe. Here and there, human nature
may be great in times of trial; but, generally speaking,
it is its weakness and not its strength that appears in a
sick chamber : it is selfishness and impatience, rather than
generosity and fortitude, that one hears of. There is so
little real friendship in the world ! — and unfortunately,"
speaking low and tremulously, " there are so many who
forget to think seriously till it is almost too late."
Anne saw the misery of such feelings. The husband
had not been what he ought, and the wife had been led
among that part of mankind which made her think worse
of the world than she hoped it deserved. It was but a
passing emotion, however, with Mrs. Smith • she shook it
off, and soon added, in a different tone, —
" I do not suppose the situation my friend Mrs. Rooke
is in at present will furnish much either to interest or
edify me. She is only nursing Mrs. Wallis of Marl-
borough Buildings — a mere pretty, silly, expensive,
fashionable woman, I believe — and of course will have
35Q
PfiRSU ASTON.
nothing to report but of lace and finery, I mean to make
my profit of Mrs. Wallis, however. She has plenty of
money, and I intend she shall buy all the high-priced
things I have in hand now."
Anne had called several times on her friend, before the
existence of such a person was known in Camden Place.
At last, it became necessary to speak of her. Sir Walter,
Elizabeth, and Mrs. Clay, returned one morning from
Laura Place, with a sudden invitation from Lady Dai¬
ry mple for the same evening, and Anne was already en¬
gaged to spend that evening in Westgate Buildings. She
was not sorry for the excuse. They were only asked, she
was sure, because Lady Dalrymple, being kept at home by
a bad cold, was glad to make use of the relationship
which had been so pressed on her, — and she declined on
her own account with great alacrity — " She was engaged
to spend the evening with an old schoolfellow." They were
not much interested in any thing relative to Anne ; but still
there were questions enough asked, to make it understood
what this old schoolfellow was ; and Elizabeth was dis¬
dainful, and Sir Walter severe.
" Westgate Buildings!" said he; iC and who is Miss
Anne Elliot to be visiting in Westgate Buildings ? A
Mrs. Smith. A widow Mrs. Smith,—and who was her
husband ? One of the five thousand Mr. Smiths whose
names are to be met with every where. And what is her
attraction ? That she is old and sickly. Upon my word,
Miss Anne Elliot, you have the most extraordinary taste !
Every thing that revolts other people,—low company,
paltry rooms, foul air, disgusting associations, are inviting
to you, But surely you may put off this old lady till to¬
morrow : she is not so near her end, I presume, hut that
she may hope to see another day. What is her age ?
Forty ?"
" No, sir, she is not one-and-thirty ; but I do not think
I can put off my engagement, because it is the only even¬
ing for some time which will at once suit her and myself.
She goes into the warm hath to-morrow; and for the
rest of the week, you know, we are engaged."
PERSUASION.
" But what does Lady Russell think of this acquaint¬
ance ?" asked Elizabeth.
" She sees nothing to blame in it," replied Anne ; " on
the contrary, she approves it; and has generally taken me,
when I have called on Mrs. Smith."
" Westgate Buildings must have been rather surprised
by the appearance of a carriage drawn up near its pave¬
ment!" observed Sir Walter. " Sir Henry Russell's
widow, indeed, has no honours to distinguish her arms;
but still, it is a handsome equipage, and no doubt is well
known to convey a Miss Elliot. A widow Mrs. Smith,
lodging in Westgate Buildings ! A poor widow, barely
able to live, between thirty and forty—a mere Mrs.
Smith — an every-day Mrs. Smith, of all people and all
names in the world, to be the chosen friend of Miss Anne
Elliot, and to be preferred by her to her own family con¬
nections among the nobility of England and Ireland !
Mrs. Smith — such a name !"
Mrs. Clay, who had been present while all this passed,
now thought it advisable to leave the room; and Anne
could have said much, and did long to say a little, in de¬
fence of her friend's not very dissimilar claims to theirs,
but her sense of personal respect to her father prevented
her. She made no reply. She left it to himself to recol¬
lect, that Mrs. Smith was not the only widow in Bath
between thirty and forty, with little to live on, and no sir-
name of dignity.
Anne kept her appointment; the others kept theirs, and
of course she heard the next morning that they had had a
delightful evening. She had been the only one of the set
absent; for Sir Walter and Elizabeth had not only been
quite at her Ladyship's service themselves, but had actually
been happy to be employed by her in collecting others, and
had been at the trouble of inviting both Lady Russell and
Mr. Elliot; and Mr. Elliot had made a point of leaving
Colonel Wallis early, and Lady Russell had fresh arranged
all her evening engagements, in order to wait on her.
Anne had the whole history of all that such an evening
could supply from Lady Russell. To her, its greatest
interest must be, in having been very much talked of be-
A A
854> PERSUASION.
tween her friend and Mr. Elliot; in having been wished
for, regretted, and, at the same time, honoured for staying
away in such a cause. Her kind, compassionate visits to
this old schoolfellow, sick and reduced, seemed to have
quite delighted Mr. Elliot. He thought her a most extra¬
ordinary young woman; in her temper, manners, mind,
a model of female excellence. He could meet even Lady
Russell in a discussion of her merits ; and Anne could not
be given to understand so much by her friend, could not
know herself to be so highly rated by a sensible man, with¬
out many of those agreeable sensations which her friend
meant to create.
Lady Russell was now perfectly decided in her opinion
of Mr. Elliot. She was as much convinced of his mean¬
ing to gain Anne in time, as of his deserving her; and
was beginning to calculate the number of weeks which
would free him from all the remaining restraints of widow¬
hood, and leave him at liberty to exert his most open
powers of pleasing. She would not speak to Anne with
half the certainty she felt on the subject; she would ven¬
ture on little more than hints of what might be hereafter,
of a possible attachment on his side; of the desirableness
of the alliance, supposing such attachment to he real, and
returned. Anne heard her, and made no violent ex¬
clamations : she only smiled, blushed, and gently shook
her head.
fC I am no match-maker, as you well know," said Lady
Russell, " being much too well aware of the uncertainty
of all human events and calculations. I only mean that
if Mr. Elliot should some time hence pay his addresses to
you, and if you should be disposed to accept him, I think
there would he every possibility of your being happy to¬
gether. A most suitable connection every body must con¬
sider it—but I think it might he a very happy one."
" Mr. Elliot is an exceedingly agreeable man, and in
many respects I think highly of him," said Anne; " but
we should not suit."
Lady Russell let this pass, and only said in rejoinder,
" I own that to be able to regard you as the future mistress
of Kellynch, the future Lady Elliot, to look forward and
PERSUASION.
355
see you occupying your dear mother's place, succeeding to
all her rights, and all her popularity, as well as to all her
virtues, would be the highest possible gratification to me.
You are your mother's self in countenance and disposition;
and if I might be allowed to fancy you such as she was, in
situation, and name, and home, presiding and blessing in
the same spot, and only superior to her in being more
highly valued ! My dearest Anne, it would give me more
delight than is often felt at my time of life ! "
Anne was obliged to turn away, to rise, to walk to a
distant table, and, leaning there in pretended employment,
try to subdue the feelings this picture excited. For a few
moments her imagination and her heart were bewitched.
The idea of becoming what her mother had heen ; of hav¬
ing the precious name of " Lady Elliot" first revived in
herself; of being restored to Kellynch, calling it her home
again, her home for ever, was a charm which she could not
immediately resist. Lady Russell said not another word,
willing to leave the matter to its own operation; and be¬
lieving that, could Mr. Elliot at that moment with pro¬
priety have spoken for himself! — she believed, in short,
what Anne did not believe. The same image of Mr. El¬
liot speaking for himself brought Anne to composure
again. The charm of Kellynch and of " Lady Elliot" all
faded away. She never could accept him. And it was
not only that her feelings were still adverse to any man
save one; her judgment, on a serious consideration of the
possibilities of such a case, was against Mr. Elliot.
Though they had now been acquainted a month, she
could not be satisfied that she really knew his character.
That he was a sensible man, an agreeable man, — that he
talked well, professed good opinions, seemed to judge pro¬
perly and as a man of principle,—this was all clear enough.
He certainly knew what was right, nor could she fix on
any one article of moral duty evidently transgressed j but
yet she would have been afraid to answer for his conduct.
She distrusted the past, if not the present. The names
which occasionally dropt of former associates, the allusions
to former practices and pursuits, suggested suspicions not
favourable of what he had been. She saw that there had
A A 2
356
PERSUASION.
been bad habits; that Sunday-travelling had been a com¬
mon thing; that there had been a period of his life (and
probably not a short one) when he had been, at least, care¬
less on all serious matters ; and, though he might now
think very differently, who could answer for the true sen¬
timents of a clever, cautious man, grown old enough to
appreciate a fair character ? How could it ever be ascer¬
tained that his mind was truly cleansed ?
Mr. Elliot was rational, discreet, polished, — but he was
not open. There was never any burst of feeling, any
warmth of indignation or delight, at the evil or good of
others. This, to Anne, was a decided imperfection. Her
early impressions were incurable. She prized the frank,
the open-hearted, the eager character beyond all others.
Warmth and enthusiasm did captivate her still. She felt
that she could so much more depend upon the sincerity of
those who sometimes looked or said a careless or a hasty
thing, than of those whose presence of mind never varied,
whose tongue never slipped.
Mr. Elliot was too generally agreeable. Various as were
the tempers' in her father's house, he pleased them all. He
endured too well, — stood too well with everybody. He
had spoken to her with some degree of openness of Mrs.
Clay; had appeared completely to see what Mrs. Clay
was about, and to hold her in contempt; and yet Mrs. Clay
found him as agreeable as any body.
Lady Russell saw either less or more than her young
friend, for she saw nothing to excite distrust. She could
not imagine a man more exactly what he ought to be than
Mr. Elliot; nor did she ever enjoy a sweeter feeling than
the hope of seeing him receive the hand of her beloved
Anr.e in Kellynch church, in the course of tile following
autumn.
persuasion.
351
CHAPTER VI.
It was the beginning of February; and Anne, having
been a month in Bath, was growing very eager for news
from Uppercross and Lyme. She wanted to hear much
more than Mary communicated. It was three weeks since
she had heard at all. She only knew that Henrietta was
at home again; and that Louisa, though considered to he
recovering fast, was still at Lyme ; and she was thinking
of them all very intently one evening, when a thicker letter
than usual from Mary was delivered to her; and, to
quicken the pleasure and surprise, with Admiral and Mrs.
Croft's compliments.
The Crofts must be in Bath ! A circumstance to interest
her. They were people whom her heart turned to very
naturally.
" What is this ?" cried Sir Walter. " The Crofts
arrived in Bath ? The Crofts who rent Kellynch ? What
have they brought you ? "
cc A letter from Uppercross Cottage, sir."
" Oh! those letters are convenient passports. They
secure an introduction. I should have visited Admiral
Croft, however, at any rate. I know what is due to my
tenant."
Anne could listen no longer; she could not even have
told how the poor Admiral's complexion escaped; her let¬
ter engrossed her. It had been begun several days back.
' My dear Anne, ^ebl uar^1'
" I make no apology for my silence, because I know
how little people think of letters in such a place as Bath.
You must be a great deal too happy to care for Uppercross,
which, as you well know, affords little to write about. We
have had a very dull Christmas; Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove
have not had one dinner-party all the holidays. I do not
reckon the Hayters as any body. The holidays, however,
are over at last; I believe no children ever had such long
a a 3
358
persuasion.
ones. I am sure I had not. The house was cleared yes¬
terday, except of the little Harvilles; but you will be sur¬
prised to hear that they have never gone home. Mrs.
Harville must be an odd mother to part with them so long.
I do not understand it. They are not at all nice children,
in my opinion ; but Mrs. Musgrove seems to like them
quite as well, if not better, than her grandchildren. What
dreadful weather we have had! It may not be felt in
Bath, with your nice pavements ; but in the country it is
of some consequence. I have not had a creature call on
me since the second week in January, except Charles
Hayter, who nas been calling much oftener than was wel¬
come. Between ourselves, I think it. a great pity Henrietta
did not remain at Lyme as long as Louisa; it would have
kept her a little out of his way. The carriage is gone to¬
day, to bring Louisa and the Harvilles to-morrow. We
are not asked to dine with them, however, till the day after,
Mrs. Musgrove is so afraid of her being fatigued by the
journey, which is not very likely, considering the care that
will be taken of her ; and it would be much more con¬
venient to me to dine there to-morrow. I am glad you
find Mr. Elliot so agreeable, and wish I could be ac¬
quainted with him too; but I have my usual luck, — I am
always out of the way when any thing desirable is going
on ; always the last of my family to be noticed. What an
immense time Mrs. Clay has been staying with Elizabeth !
Does she never mean to go away ? But, perhaps, if she
were to leave the room vacant, we might not be invited.
Let me know what you think of this. I do not expect
my children to be asked, you know. I can leave them at
the Great House very well, for a month or six weeks. I
have this moment heard that the Crofts are going to Bath
almost immediately: they think the Admiral gouty.
Charles heard it quite by chance: they have not had the
civility to give me any notice, or offer to take any thing,
I do not think they improve at all as neighbours. We see
nothing of them, and this is really an instance of gross
inattention. Charles joins me in love, and every thing
proper. Yours affectionately,
' Mary M .
PERSUASION.
359
" I am sorry to say that I am very far from well; and
Jemima has just told me that the butcher says there is a
bad sore-throat very much about. I dare say I shall catch
it; and my sore-throats, you know, are always worse than
any body's."
So ended the first part, which had been afterwards put
into an envelope, containing nearly as much more,
" I kept my letter open, that I might send you word
how Lousia bore her journey, and now I am extremely
glad I did, having a great deal to add. In the first
place, I had a note from Mrs. Croft yesterday, offering
to convey any thing to you; a very kind, friendly note
indeed, addressed to me, just as it ought; I shall there¬
fore be able to make my letter as long as I like. The
Admiral does not seem very ill, and I sincerely hope Bath
will do him all the good he wants. I shall be truly glad
to have them back again. Our neighbourhood cannot
spare such a pleasant family. But now for Louisa. I
have something to communicate that will astonish you
not a little. She and the Harvilles came on Tuesday
very safely, and in the evening we went to ask her how
she did, when we were rather surprised not to find Captain
Benwick of the party, for he had been invited as well as
the Harvilles ; and what do you think was the reason ?
Neither more nor less than his being in love with Louisa,
and not choosing to venture to Uppercross till he had
had an answer from Mr. Musgrove; for it was all settled
between him and her before she came away, and he had
written to her father by Captain Harville. True, upon my
honour. Are not you astonished ? I shall be surprised
at least if you ever received a hint of it, for I never did.
Mrs. Musgrove protests solemnly that she knew nothing of
the matter. We are all very well pleased, however; for
though it is not equal to her marrying Captain Went-
worth, it is infinitely better than Charles Hayter; and
Mr. Musgrove has written his consent, and Captain
Benwick is expected to-day. Mrs. Harville says her
husband feels a good deal on his poor sister's account;
but, however, Louisa is a great favourite with both.
Indeed, Mrs. Harville and I quite agree that we love
A A 4
360
PERSUASION,
her the better for having nursed her. Charles wonders
what Captain Wentworth will say ; but if you remember,
I never thought him attached to Louisa ; I never could
see any thing of it. And this is the end, you see, of Cap¬
tain Benwick's being supposed to be an admirer of yours.
How Charles could take such a thing into his head was
always incomprehensible to me. I hope he will be more
agreeable now. Certainly not a great match for Louisa
Musgrove; but a million times better than marrying
among the Hayters."
Mary need not have feared her sister's being in any
degree prepared for the news. She had never in her life
been more astonished. Captain Benwick and Louisa
Musgrove ! It was almost too wonderful for belief; and it
was with the greatest effort that she could remain in the
room, preserve an air of calmness, and answer the common
questions of the moment. Happily for her, they were not
many. Sir Walter wanted to know whether the Crofts
travelled with four horses, and whether they were likely to
be situated in such a part of Bath as it might suit Miss
Elliot and himself to visit in ; but had little curiosity
beyond.
" How is Mary ? " said Elizabeth ; and without wait¬
ing for an answer, " And pray what brings the Crofts to
Bath?"
" They come on the Admiral's account. He is thought
to be gouty."
" Gout and decrepitude !" said Sir Walter. cc Poor old
gentleman."
" Have they any acquaintance here ? " asked Elizabeth.
" I do not know ; but I can hardly suppose that, at
Admiral Croft's time of life, and in his profession, he
should not have many acquaintance in such a place as
this."
" I suspect," said Sir Walter, coolly, " that Admiral
Croft will be best known in Bath as the renter of Kellynch
Hall. Elizabeth, may we venture to present him and his
wife in Laura Place ? "
" Oh no, I think not. Situated as we are with Lady
Halrymple, cousins, we ought to be very careful not to
PERSUASION.
36l
embarrass her with acquaintance she might not approve. If
we were not related, it would not signify; but as cousins, she
would feel scrupulous as to any proposal of ours. We had
better leave the Crofts to find their own level. There are
several odd-looking men walking about here, who, I am
told, are sailors. The Crofts will associate with them."
This was Sir Walter and Elizabeth's share of interest in
the letter: when Mrs. Clay had paid her tribute of more
decent attention, in an enquiry after Mrs. Charles Musgrove,
and her fine little boys, Anne was at liberty.
In her own room she tried to comprehend it. Well
might Charles wonder how Captain Wentworth would
feel! Perhaps he had quitted the field, had given Louisa
up, had ceased to love, had found he did not love her.
She could not endure the idea of treachery or levity, or any
thing akin to ill-usage between him and his friend. She
could not endure that such a friendship as theirs should be
severed unfairly.
Captain Benwick and Louisa Musgrove! The high-
spirited, joyous-talking Louisa Musgrove, and the dejected,
thinking, feeling, reading Captain Benwick, seemed each
of them every thing that would not suit the other. Their
minds most dissimilar! Where could have been the at¬
traction ? The answer soon presented itself. It had been
in situation. They had been thrown together several
weeks; they had been living in the same small family
party; since Henrietta's coming away, they must have
been depending almost entirely on each other, and Louisa,
just recovering from illness, had been in an interesting
state, and Captain Benwick was not inconsolable. That
was a point which Anne had not been able to avoid suspect¬
ing before; and instead of drawing the same conclusion as
Mary, from the present course of events, they served only
to confirm the idea of his having felt some dawning of
tenderness towards herself. She did not mean, however, to
derive much more from it to gratify her vanity than Mary
might have allowed. She was persuaded that any tolerably
pleasing young woman who had listened and seemed to feel
for him would have received the same compliment. He
had an affectionate heart. He must love somebody.
362
PERSUASION.
She saw no reason against their being happy. Louisa
had fine naval fervour to begin with, and they would soon
grow more alike. He would gain cheerfulness, and she
would learn to be an enthusiast for Scott and Lord Byron;
nay, that was probably learnt already; of course they had
fallen in love over poetry. The idea of Louisa Musgrove
turned into a person of literary taste and sentimental re¬
flection was amusing, but she had no doubt of its being
so. The day at Lyme, the fall from the Cobb, might in¬
fluence her health, her nerves, her courage, her character
to the end of her life, as thoroughly as it appeared to have
influenced her fate.
The conclusion of the whole was, that if the woman
who had been sensible of Captain Wentworth's merits
could be allowed to prefer another man, there was nothing
in the engagement to excite lasting wonder; and if Cap¬
tain Wentworth lost no friend by it, certainly nothing to
be regretted. No, it was not regret which made Anne's
heart beat in spite of herself, and brought the colour into
her cheeks when she thought of Captain Wentworth un¬
shackled and free. She had some feelings which she was
ashamed to investigate. They were too much like joy,
senseless joy !
She longed to see the Crofts; but when the meeting took
place, it was evident that no rumour of the news had yet
reached them. The visit of ceremony was paid and re¬
turned ; and Louisa Musgrove was mentioned and Captain
Ben wick, too, without even half a smile.
The Crofts had placed themselves in lodgings in Gay
Street, perfectly to Sir Walter's satisfaction. He was not
at all ashamed of the acquaintance, and did, in fact, think
and talk a great deal more about the Admiral than the Ad¬
miral ever thought or talked about him.
The Crofts knew quite as many people in Bath as
they wished for, and considered their intercourse with
the Elliots as a mere matter of form, and not in the least
likely to afford them any pleasure. They brought with
them their country habit of being almost always together.
He was ordered to walk, to keep off the gout, and Mrs.
Croft seemed to go shares with him in every thing, and to
PERSUASION.
363
•valk for her life, to do him good. Anne saw them where-
ever she went. Lady Russell took her out in her carriage
almost every morning, and she never failed to think of
them, and never failed to see them. Knowing their feel¬
ings as she did, it was a most attractive picture of happiness
to her. She always watched them as long as she could;
delighted to fancy she understood what they might be
talking of, as they walked along in happy independence, or
equally delighted to see the Admiral's hearty shake of the
hand when he encountered an old friend, and observe their
eagerness of conversation when occasionally forming into a
little knot of the navy, Mrs. Croft looking as intelligent and
keen as any of the officers around her.
Anne was too much engaged with Lady Russell to
be often walking herself; but it so happened that one
morning, about a week or ten days after the Crofts' arrival,
it suited her best to leave her friend, or her friend's car¬
riage, in the lower part of the town, and return alone to
Camden Place; and in walking up Milsom Street, she had
the good fortune to meet with the Admiral. He was
standing by himself, at a printshop window, with his
hands behind him, in earnest contemplation of some print,
and she not only might have passed him unseen, but was
obliged to touch as well as address him before she could
catch his notice. When he did perceive and acknowledge
her, however, it was done with all his usual frankness and
good-humour. " Ha ! is it you? Thank you, thank you.
This is treating me like a friend. Here I am, you see,
staring at a picture. I can never get by this shop with¬
out stopping. But what a thing here is, by way of a boat.
Do look at it. Did you ever see the like ? What queer
fellows your fine painters must be, to think that any
body would venture their lives in such a shapeless old
cockleshell as that ? And yet, here are two gentlemen
stuck up in it mightily at their ease, and looking about
them at the rocks and mountains, as if they were not to be
upset the next moment, which they certainly must be. I
wonder where that boat was built!" laughing heartily —
" I would not venture over a horsepond in it. Well'
864.
PERSUASION.
turning away, " now, where are you bound ? Can I go
any where for you, or with you ? Can I be of any use ? "
" None, I thank you, unless you will give me the plea¬
sure of your company the little way our road lies together.
I am going home."
" That I will, with all my heart, and farther too. Yes,
yes, we will have a snug walk together; and I have some¬
thing to tell you as we go along. There, take my arm ;
that's right; I do not feel comfortable if I have not a
woman there. Lord ! what a boat it is !" taking a last
look at the picture, as they began to be in motion.
" Did you say that you had something to tell me, sir?"
'fYes, I have, presently. But here comes a friend,
Captain Brigden ; I shall only say, f How d'ye do ? ' as
we pass, however. I shall not stop. f How d'ye do ?'
Brigden stares to see any body with me but my wife. She,
poor soul, is tied by the leg. She has a blister on one of her
heels, as large as a three-shilling piece. If you look across
the street, you will see Admiral Brand coming down and
his brother. Shabby fellows, both of them ! I am glad
they are not on this side of the way. Sophy cannot bear
them. They played me a pitiful trick once—got away
some of my best men. I will tell you the whole story an¬
other time. There comes old Sir Archibald Drew and his
grandson. Look, he sees us; he kisses his hand to you ;
he takes you for my wife. Ah ! the peace has come too
soon for that younker. Poor old Sir Archibald ! How do
you like Bath, Miss Elliot ? It suits us very well. We
are always meeting with some old friend or other; the
streets full of them every morning ; sure to have plenty of
chat; and then we get away from them all, and shut our¬
selves into our lodgings, and draw in our chairs, and are as
snug as if we were at Kellynch, ay, or as we used to be
even at North Yarmouth and Deal. We do not like our
lodgings here the worse, I can tell you, for putting us in
mind of those we first had at North Yarmouth. The
wind blows through one of the cupboards just in the same
way."
When they were got a little farther, Anne ventured to
press again for what he had to communicate. She had
PERSUASION.
365
hoped when clear of Milsom Street to have her curi¬
osity gratified; but she was still obliged to wait, for the
Admiral had made up his mind not to begin till they had
gained the greater space and quiet of Belmont j and as she
was not really Mrs. Croft, she must let him have his own
way. As soon as they were fairly ascending Belmont, he
began,—
" Well, now you shall hear something that will surprise
you. But first of all, you must tell me the name of the
young lady I am going to talk about. That young lady,
you know, that we have all been so concerned for. The
Miss Musgrove, that all this has been happening to. Her
Christian name—I always forget her Christian name."
Anne had been ashamed to appear to comprehend so
soon as she really did • but now she could safely suggest
the name of " Louisa."
Cf Ay, ay, Miss Louisa Musgrove, that is the name. I
wish young ladies had not such a number of fine Christian
names. I should never be out, if they were all Sophys, or
something of that sort. Well, this Miss Louisa, we all
thought, you know, was to marry Frederick. He was
courting her week after week. The only wonder was, what
they could be waiting for, till the business at Lyme came;
then, indeed, it was clear enough that they must wait till
her brain was set to right. But even then, there was
something odd in their way of going on. Instead of stay¬
ing at Lyme, he went off to Plymouth, and then he went
off to see Edward. When we came back from Minehead,
he was gone down to Edward's, and there he has been
ever since. We have seen nothing of him since November.
Even Sophy could not understand it. But now, the matter
has taken the strangest turn of all; for this young lady,
this same Miss Musgrove, instead of being to marry Fre¬
derick, is to marry James Benwick. You know James
Benwick."
" A little. I am a little acquainted with Captain Ben¬
wick."
" Well, she is to marry him. Nay, most likely they
are married already, for I do not know what they should
wait for."
366
PERSUASION.
" I thought Captain Benwick a very pleasing youilg
man/' said Anne, " and I understand that he bears an
excel] ent character."
ec Oh yes, yes., there is not a word to be said against
James Benwick. He is only a commander, it is true,
made last summer, and these are bad times for getting on,
but he has not another fault that I know of. An excellent,
good-hearted fellow, I assure you; a very active, zealous
officer too, which is more than you would think for, per¬
haps, for that soft sort of manner does not do him justice."
" Indeed you are mistaken there, sir; I should never
augur want of spirit from Captain Ben wick's manners. I
thought them particularly pleasing, and I will answer for
it they would generally please."
" Well, well, ladies are the best judges; but James
Benwick is rather too piano for me ; and though very
likely it is all our partiality, Sophy and I cannot help
thinking Frederick's manners better than his. There is
something about Frederick more to our taste."
Anne was caught. She had only meant to oppose the
too common idea of spirit and gentleness being incompa¬
tible with each other, not at all to represent Captain Ben-
wick's manners as the very best that could possibly be,
and, after a little hesitation, she was beginning to say, " I
was not entering into any comparison of the two friends;"
but the Admiral interrupted her with, —
" And the thing is certainly true. It is not a mere bit
of gossip. We have it from Frederick himself. His
sister had a letter from him yesterday, in which he tells us
of it, and he had just had it in a letter from Harville
written upon the spot, from Uppercross. I fancy they are
all at Uppercross."
This was an opportunity which Anne could not resist;
she said, therefore, " I hope, Admiral, I hope there is
nothing in the style of Captain Wentworth's letter to
make you and Mrs. Croft particularly uneasy It did cer¬
tainly seem, last autumn, as if there were an attachment
between him and Louisa Musgrove; but I hope it may
be understood to have worn out on each side equally, and
PERSUASION.
367
without violence. I hope his letter does not hreathe the
spirit of an ill-used man."
" Not at all—not at all: there is not an oath or a
murmur from beginning to end."
Anne looked down to hide her smile.
" No, no ; Frederick is not a man to whine and com¬
plain ; he has too much spirit for that. If the girl likes
another man better, it is very fit she should have him."
" Certainly. But what I mean is, that I hope there is
nothing in Captain Wentworth's manner of writing to
make you suppose he thinks himself ill-used by his friend,
which might appear, you know, without its being abso¬
lutely said. I should be very sorry that such a friendship
as has subsisted between him and Captain Benwick should
be destroyed, or even wounded, by a circumstance of this
sort."
" Yes, yes, I understand you. But there is nothing at
all of that nature in the letter. He does not give the
least fling at Benwick—does not so much as say, CI
wonder at it, I have a reason of my own for wondering at
it.' No, you would not guess, from his way of writing,
that he had ever thought of this Miss (what's her name ?)
for himself. He very handsomely hopes they will be
happy together ; atid there is nothing very unforgiving in
that, I think."
Anne did not receive the perfect conviction which the
Admiral meant to convey, but it would have been useless
to press the enquiry farther. She therefore satisfied her¬
self with common-place remarks or quiet attention, and
the Admiral had it all his own way.
" Poor Frederick !" said he at last. " Now he must
begin all over again with somebody else. I think we must
get him to Bath. Sophy must write, and beg him to
come to Bath. Here are pretty girls enough, I am sure.
It would be of no use to go to Uppercross again, for that
other Miss Musgrove, I find, is bespoke by her cousin, the
young parson. Do not you think, Miss Elliot, we had
better try to get him to Bath ?"
PERSUASION.
CHAPTER VII.
While Admiral Croft was taking this walk with Anne,
and expressing his wish of getting Captain Wentworth to
Bath, Captain Wentworth was already on his way thither.
Before Mrs. Croft had written, he was arrived; and the
very next time Anne walked out, she saw him.
Mr. Elliot was attending his two cousins and Mrs. Clay.
They were in Milsom Street. It began to ram, not much,
but enough to make shelter desirable for women, and quite
enough to make it very desirable for Miss Elliot to have
the advantage of being conveyed home in Lady Dalrymple's
carriage, which was seen waiting at a little distance; she,
Anne, and Mrs. Clay, therefore, turned into Molland's,
while Mr. Elliot stepped to Lady Dalrymple, to request
her assistance. He soon joined them again, successful, of
course; Lady Dalrymple would he most happy to take
them home, and would call for them in a few minutes.
Her Ladyship's carriage was a barouche, and did not
hold more than four with any comfort. Miss Carteret was
with her mother; consequently it was not reasonable to
expect accommodation for all the three Camden Place la¬
dies. There could be no doubt as to Miss Elliot. Who¬
ever suffered inconvenience, she must suffer none, but it
occupied a little time to settle the point of civility between
the other two. The rain was a mere trifle, and Anne was
most sincere in preferring a walk with Mr. Elliot. But
the rain was also a mere trifle to Mrs. Clay; she would
hardly allow it even to drop at all, and her boots were so
thick ! much thicker than Miss Anne's; and, in short,
her civility rendered her quite as anxious to be left to walk
with Mr. Elliot as Anne could be, and it was discussed
between them with a generosity so polite and so deter¬
mined, that the others were obliged to settle it for them ;
Miss Elliot maintaining that Mrs. Clay had a little cely
PfiRStTASfOJSf.
369
already, and Mr. Elliot deciding, on appeal, that his cou¬
sin Anne's boots were rather the thickest.
It was fixed, accordingly, that Mrs. Clay should be of
the party in the carriage; and they had just reached this
point, when Anne, as she sat near the window, descried,
most decidedly and distinctly, Captain Wentworth walk¬
ing down the street.
Her start was perceptible only to herself; but she in¬
stantly felt that she was the greatest simpleton in the world,
the most unaccountable and absurd ! For a few minutes
she saw nothing before her; it was all confusion. She
was lost; and when she had scolded back her senses, she
found the others still waiting for the carriage, and Mr.
Elliot (always obliging) just setting off for Union Street
on a commission of Mrs. Clay's.
She now felt a great inclination to go to the outer door;
she wanted to see if it rained. Why was she to suspect
herself of another motive ? Captain Wentworth must be
out of sight. She left her seat, she would go, one half of
her should not be always so much wiser than the other
half, or always suspecting the other of being worse than it
was. She would see if it rained. She was sent back,
however, in a moment, by the entrance of Captain Went¬
worth himself, among a party of gentlemen and ladies,
evidently his acquaintance, and whom he must have joined
a little below Milsom Street. He was more obviously
struck anff confused by the sight of her than she had ever
observed before ; he looked quite red. For the first time,
since their renewed acquaintance, she felt that she was be¬
traying the least sensibility of the two. She had the ad¬
vantage of him in the preparation of the last few moments.
All the overpowering, blinding, bewildering, first effects of
strong surprise were over with her. Still, however, she
had enough to feel! It was agitation, pain, pleasure,—a
something between delight and misery.
He spoke to her, and then turned away. The character
of his manner was embarrassment. She could not have
called it either cold or friendly, or any thing so certainly
as embarrassed.
After a short interval, however, he came towards her,
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370
tERStJ ASION.
and spoke again. Mutual enquiries on common subjects
passed; neither of them, probably, much the wiser for
what they heard, and Anne continuing fully sensible of
his being less at ease than formerly. They had, oy dint
of being so very much together, got to speak to each other
with a considerable portion of apparent indifference and
calmness ; but he could not do it now. Time had changed
him, or Louisa had changed him. There was conscious¬
ness of some sort or other. He looked very well, not as if
he had been suffering in health or spirits, and he talked
of IJppercross, of the Musgroves, nay, even of Louisa, and
had even a momentary look of his own arch significance
as he named her; but yet it was Captain Wentworth not
comfortable, not easy, not able to feign that he was.
It did not surprise, but it grieved Anne to observe that
Elizabeth would not know him. She saw that he saw Eli¬
zabeth, that Elizabeth saw him, that there was complete
internal recognition on each side; she was convinced that
he was ready to be acknowledged as an acquaintance, ex¬
pecting it, and she had the pain of seeing her sister turn
away with unalterable coldness.
Lady Dalrymple's carriage, for which Miss Elliot was
growing very impatient, ndw drew up ; the servant came
in to announce it. It was beginning to rain again, and
altogether there was a delay, and a bustle, and a talking,
which must make all the little crowd in the shop under¬
stand that Lady Dalrymple was calling to convey Miss
Elliot. At last Miss Elliot and her friend, unattended
but by the servant (for there was no cousin returned), were
walking off; and Captain Wentworth, watching them,
turned again to Anne, and by manner, rather than words,
was offering his services to her.
" I am much obliged to you," was her answer, " but I
am not going with them. The carriage would not accom¬
modate so many. I walk: I prefer walking."
" But it rains."
" Oh, very little. Nothing that I regard."
After a moment's pause, he said, " Though I came only
yesterday, I have equipped myself properly for Bath al¬
ready, you see," pointing to a new umbrella; " I wish
PERSUASION.
371
you would make use of it, if you are determined to walk ;
though, I think, it would be more prudent to let me get
you a chair."
She was very much obliged to him, but declined it all,
repeating her conviction, that the rain would come to no¬
thing at present, and adding, " I am only waiting for
Mr. Elliot. He will be here in a moment, I am sure."
She had hardly spoken the words, when Mr. Elliot
walked in. Captain Wentworth recollected him perfectly.
There was no difference between him and the man who
had stood on the steps at Lyme, admiring Anne as she
passed, except in the air, and look, and manner of the pri¬
vileged relation and friend. He came in with eagerness,
appeared to see and think only of her, apologised for his
stay, was grieved to have kept her waiting, and anxious to
get her away without further loss of time, and before the
rain increased; and in another moment they walked off
together, her arm under his, a gentle and embarrassed
glance, and a " Good morning to you," being all that she
had time for, as she passed away.
As soon as they were out of sight, the ladies of Captain
Wentworth's party began talking of them.
" Mr. Elliot does not dislike his cousin, I fancy?"
" Oh no, that is clear enough. One can guess what
will happen there. He is always with them ; half lives in
the family, I believe. What a very good-looking man !"
" Yes, and Miss Atkinson, who dined with him once at
the Wallis's, says he is the most agreeable man she ever
was in company with."
" She is pretty, I think; Anne Elliot; very pretty,
when one comes to look at her. It is not the fashion to
say so, but I confess I admire her more than her sister."
" Oh, so do I."
" And so do I. No comparisbn. But the men are all
wild after Miss Elliot. Anne is too delicate for them."
Anne would have been particularly obliged to her cousin
if he would have walked by her side all the way to Cam¬
den Place without saying a word. She had never found
it so difficult to listen to him, though nothing could exceed
his solicitude and care, and though his subjects were prin-.
B B 2
PERSUASION.
cipally such as were wont to be always interesting—praise,
warm, just, and discriminating, of Lady Russell, and in¬
sinuations highly rational against Mrs. Clay. But just now
she could think only of Captain Wentworth. She could
not understand his present feelings, whether he were really
suffering much from disappointment or not; and till that
point were settled, she could not be quite herself.
She hoped to be wise and reasonable in time ; but alas '
alas ! she must confess to herself that she was not wise yet.
Another circumstance very essential for her to know,
was how long he meant to he in Bath; he had not men-
/ionedit, or she could not recollect it. He might be only
passing through. But it was more probable that he should
be come to stay. In that case, so liable as every body was
to meet every body in Bath, Lady Russell would in all
likelihood see him somewhere. Would she recollect him ?
How would it all be ?
She had already been obliged to tell Lady Russell that
Louisa Musgrove was to marry Captain Benwick. It had
cost her something to encounter Lady Russell's surprise;
and now, if she were by any chance to be thrown into
company with Captain Wentworth, her imperfect know¬
ledge of the matter might add another shade of prejudice
against him.
The following morning Anne was out with her friend,
and for the first hour, in an incessant and fearful sort of
watch for him in vain; but at last, in returning down
Pulteney Street, she distinguished him on the right hand
pavement at such a distance as to have him in view the
greater part of the street. There were many other men
about him, many groups walking the same way, but there
was no mistaking him. She looked instinctively at Lady
Russell; but not from any mad idea of her recognising
him so soon as she did herself. No, it was not to he sup¬
posed that Lady Russell would perceive him till they were
nearly opposite. She looked at her, however, from time to
time, anxiously; and when the moment approached which
must point him out, though not daring to look again (for
her own countenance she knew was unfit to he seen), she
was yet perfectly conscious of Lady Russell's eyes being
PERSUASION.
373
turned exactly in the direction for him — of her being, in
short, intently observing him. She could thoroughly compre¬
hend the sort of fascination he must possess over Lady Rus¬
sell 's mind, the difficulty it must be for her to withdraw her
eyes, the astonishment she must be feeling that eight or nine
years should have passed over him, and in foreign climes
and in active service too, without robbing him of one
personal grace!
At last, Lady Russell drew back her head. " Now,
how would she speak of him ? "
" You will wonder," said she, " what has been fixing
my eye so long; but I was looking after some window-
curtains, which Lady Alicia and Mrs. Frankland were telling
me of last night. They described the drawing-room win¬
dow-curtains of one of the houses on this side of the way,
and this part of the street, as being the handsomest and best
hung of any in Bath, but could not recollect the exact num¬
ber, and I have been trying to find out which it could be ;
but I confess I can see no curtains hereabouts that answer
their description."
Anne sighed, and blushed, and smiled, in pity and dis¬
dain, either at her friend or herself. The part which pro¬
voked her most, was that in all this waste of foresight and
caution, she should have lost the right moment for seeing
whether he saw them.
A day or two passed without producing any thing.
The theatre or the rooms, where he was most likely to be,
were not fashionable enough for the Elliots, whose evening
amusements were solely in the elegant stupidity of private
parties, in which they were getting more and more engaged;
and Anne, wearied of such a state of stagnation, sick of
knowing nothing, and fancying herself stronger because her
strength was not tried, was quite impatient for the concert
evening. It was a concert for the benefit of a person pa¬
tronised by Lady Dairymple. Of course they must attend.
It was really expected to be a good one, and Captain Went-
worth was very fond of music. If she could only have a
few minutes' conversation with him again, she fancied she
should be satisfied; and as to the power of addressing him,
she felt all over courage if the opportunity occurred. Eli-
I! 1! J
S74
PERSUASION
zabeth had turned from him, Lady Russell overlooked him;
her nerves were strengthened by these circumstances ; she
felt that she owed him attention.
She had once partly promised Mrs. Smith to spend the
evening with her; but in a short hurried call she excused
herself and put it off, with the more decided promise of a
longer visit on the morrow. Mrs. Smith gave a most good-
humoured acquiescence.
" By all means," said she; <c only tell me all about it,
when you do come. Who is your party ? "
Anne named them all. Mrs. Smith made no reply; but
when she was leaving her, said, and with an expression
half serious, half arch, ce Well, I heartily wish your con¬
cert may answer ; and do not fail me to-morrow if you can
come; for I begin to have a foreboding that I may not have
many more visits from you."
Anne was startled and confused; but after standing in a
moment's suspense, was obliged, and not sorry to be obliged
to hurry away.
CHAPTER VIII.
Sir Walter, his two daughters, and Mrs. Clay, were the
earliest of all their party, at the rooms in the evening; and
as Lady Dalrymple must be waited for, they took their sta¬
tion by one of the fires in the octagon room. But hardly
were they so settled, when the door opened again, and Cap¬
tain Wentworth walked in alone. Anne was the nearest
to him, and making yet a little advance, she instantly spoke.
He was preparing only to bow and pass on, but her gentle
" How do you do ? " brought him out of the straight line
to stand near her, and make enquiries in return, in spite
of the formidable father and sister in the back ground.
Their being in the back ground was a support to Anne ;
she knew nothing of their looks, and felt equal to every
thing which she believed right to be done.
While they were speaking, a whispering between her
PERSUASION.
father and Elizabeth caught her ear. She could not dis¬
tinguish, but she must guess the subject; and on Captain
Wentworth's making a distant bow, she comprehended
that her father had judged so well as to give him that
simple acknowledgment of acquaintance, and she was just
in time by a side glance to see a slight courtesy from Eliza¬
beth herself. This, though late, and reluctant, and un¬
gracious, was yet better than nothing, and her spirits
improved.
After talking, however, of the weather, and Bath, and
the concert, their conversation began to flag, and so little
was said at last, that she was expecting him to go every
moment; but he did not: he seemed in no hurry to leave
her; and presently, with renewed spirit, with a little
smile, a little glow, he said, —
" I have hardly seen you since our day at Lyme. I
am afraid you must have suffered from the shock, and the
more from its not overpowering you at the time."
She assured him that she had not.
" It was a frightful hour," said he, " a frightful day !
and he passed his hand across his eyes, as if the remem¬
brance were still too painful; but in a moment, half smiling
again, added, " The day has produced some effects, how¬
ever, — has had some consequences which must be con¬
sidered as the very reverse of frightful. When you had
the presence of mind to suggest that Benwick would be
the properest person to fetch a surgeon, you could have
little idea of his being eventually one of those most con¬
cerned in her recovery."
" Certainly I could have none. But it appears — I
should hope it would be a very happy match. There are
on both sides good principles and good temper."
"Yes," said he, looking not exactly forward; "but
there, I think, ends the resemblance. With all my soul I
wish them happy, and rejoice over every circumstance in
favour of it. They have no difficulties to contend with at
home, no opposition, no caprice, no delays. The Mus-
groves are behaving like themselves, most honourably ana
kindly, only anxious with true parental hearts to promote
B B 4
PERSUASION.
their daughter's comfort. All this is much, very much in
favour of their happiness; more than perhaps— "
He stopped. A sudden recollection seemed to occur,
and to give him some taste of that emotion which was
reddening Anne's cheeks and fixing her eyes on the
ground. After clearing his throat, however, he proceeded
thus, —
£f I confess that I do think there is a disparity, too
great a disparity, and in a point no less essential than
mind. I regard Louisa Musgrove as a very amiable,
sweet-tempered girl, and not deficient in understanding ;
but Benwick is something more. He is a clever man, a
reading man ; and I confess, that I do consider his attach¬
ing himself to her with some surprise. Had it been the
effect of gratitude, had he learnt to love her, because he
believed her to be preferring him, it would have been an¬
other thing. But I have no reason to suppose it so. It
seems, on the contrary, to have been a perfectly spon¬
taneous, untaught feeling on his side, and this surprises
me. A man like him, in his situation ! with a heart
pierced, wounded, almost broken ! Fanny Harville was a
very superior creature, and his attachment to her was in¬
deed attachment. A man does not recover from such a
devotion of the heart to such a woman ! He ought not,—•
he does not."
Either from the consciousness, however, that his friend
had recovered, or from some other consciousness, he went
no farther ; and Anne who, in spite of the agitated voice
in which the latter part had been uttered, and in spite of
all the various noises of the room, the almost ceaseless
slam of the door, and ceaseless buzz of persons walking
through, had distinguished every word, was struck, gra¬
tified, confused, and beginning to breathe very quick, and
feet a hundred things in a moment. It was impossible
for her to enter on such a subject; and yet, after a pause,
feeling the necessity of speaking, and having not the
smallest wich for a total change, she only deviated so far
as to say, —
" You were a good while at Lyme, I think ?"
" About a fortnight. I could not leave it till Louisa's
PERSUASION.
377
doing well was quite ascertained. I had been too deeply
concerned in the mischief to be soon at peace. It had been
my doing, — solely mine. She would not have been obsti¬
nate if I had not been weak. The country round Lyme is
very fine. 1 walked and rode a great deal; and the more
I saw, the more I found to admire."
" I should very much like to see Lyme again," said
Anne.
" Indeed ! I should not have supposed that you could
have found any thing in Lyme to inspire such a feeling.
The horror and distress you were involved in,—the stretch
of mind, the wear of spirits! I should have thought
your last impressions of Lyme must have been strong
disgust."
" The last few hours were certainly very painful,"
replied Anne; " but when pain is over, the remembrance
of it often becomes a pleasure. One does not love a
place the less for having suffered in it, unless it has been
all suffering, nothing but suffering — which was by no
means the case at Lyme. We were only in anxiety and
distress during the last two hours; and, previously, there
had heen a great deal of enjoyment. So much novelty
and beauty! I have travelled so little, that every fresh
place would be interesting to me,—but there is real beauty
at Lyme ; and, in short," with a faint blush at some re¬
collections, " altogether my impressions of the place are
very agreeable."
As she ceased, the entrance door opened again, and the
very party appeared for whom they were waiting. " Lady
Dalrymple, Lady Dalrymple," was the rejoicing sound;
and with all the eagerness compatible with anxious ele¬
gance, Sir Walter and his two ladies stepped forward to
meet her. Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret, escorted
by Mr. Elliot and Colonel Wallis, who had happened to
arrive nearly at the same instant, advanced into the room.
The others joined them, and it was a group in which
Anne found herself also necessarily included. She was
divided from Captain Wentworth. Their interesting,
almost too interesting conversation must be broken up for
a time, but slight was the penance compared with the hap*
378
PERSUASION.
piness which brought it on ! She had learnt, in the last
ten minutes, more of his feelings towards Louisa, more of
all his feelings, than she dared to think of! and she gave
herself up to the demands of the party, to the needful
civilities of the moment, with exquisite, though agitated
sensations. She was in good humour with all. She had
received ideas which disposed her to be courteous and kind
to all, and to pity every one, as being less happy than
herself.
The delightful emotions were a little subdued, when, on
stepping back from the group, to be joined again by Cap¬
tain Wentworth, she saw that he was gone. She was just
in time to see him turn into the concert room. He was
gone — he had disappeared: she felt a moment's regret.
But " they should meet again. He would look for her,
he would find her out long before the evening were over,
and at present, perhaps, it was as well to be asunder. She
was in need of a little interval for recollection."
Upon Lady Russell's appearance soon afterwards, the
whole party was collected, and all that remained was to
marshal themselves, and proceed into the concert room;
and be of all the consequence in their power, draw as
many eyes, excite as many whispers, and disturb as many
people as they could.
Very, very happy were both Elizabeth and Anne Elliot as
they walked in. Elizabeth, arm-in-arm with Miss Carteret,
and looking on the broad back of the dowager Viscountess
Dalrymple before her, had nothing to wish for which did
not seem within her reach ; and Anne,—but it would be an
insult to the nature of Anne's felicity to draw any com¬
parison between it and her sister's; the origin of one all
selfish vanity, of the other all generous attachment.
Anne saw nothing, thought nothing of the brilliancy of
the room. Her happiness was from within. Her eyes
were bright, and her cheeks glowed ; but she knew nothing
about it. She was thinking only of the last half hour, and
as they passed to their seats, her mind took a hasty range
over it. His choice of subjects, his expressions, and still
more his manner and look, had been such as she could see
in only one light. His opinion of Louisa Musgrove's
PERSUASION.
379
inferiority, an opinion which he had seemed solicitous to
give, his wonder at Captain Benwick, his feelings as to a
first, strong attachment,—sentences begun which he could
not finish, his half-averted eyes and more than half-
expressive glance, — all, all declared that he had a heart
returning to her at least; that anger, resentment, avoid¬
ance, were no more; and that they were succeeded, not
merely by friendship and regard, but by the tenderness of
the past, — yes, some share of the tenderness of the past.
She could not contemplate the change as implying less.
He must love her.
These were thoughts, with their attendant visions, which
occupied and flurried her too much to leave her any power
of observation; and she passed along the room without
having a glimpse of him, without even trying to discern
him. When their places were determined on, and they
were all properly arranged, she looked round to see if he
should happen to be in the same part of the room, hut he
was not; her eye could not reach him; and the concert
being just opening, she must consent for a time to be
happy in an humbler way.
The party was divided and disposed of on two contiguous
benches: Anne was among those on the foremost, and Mr.
Elliot had manoeuvred so well, with the assistance of his
friend Colonel Wallis, as to have a seat by her. Miss
Elliot, surrounded by her cousins, and the principal object
of Colonel Wallis's gallantry, was quite contented.
Anne's mind was in a most favourable state for the
entertainment of the evening; it was just occupation
enough : she had feelings for the tender, spirits for the
gay, attention for the scientific, and patience for the weari¬
some ; and had never liked a concert better, at least during
the first act. Towards the close of it, in the interval suc¬
ceeding an Italian song, she explained the words of the
song to Mr. Elliot. They had a concert bill between
them.
" This," said she, " is nearly the sense, or rather the
meaning of the words, for certainly the sense of an Italian
love-song must not be talked of, — but it is as nearly the
380
PERSUASION.
meaning as I can give ; for I do not pretend to understand
the language. I am a very poor Italian scholar."
" Yes, yes, I see you are. I see you know nothing of
the matter. You have only knowledge enough of the lan¬
guage, to translate at sight these inverted, transposed, cur¬
tailed Italian lines, into clear, comprehensible, elegant
English. You need not say any thing more of your igno¬
rance. Here is complete proof."
" I will not oppose such kind politeness ; but I should
be sorry to be examined by a real proficient."
" I have not had the pleasure of visiting in Camden
Place so long," replied he, " without knowing something of
Miss Anne Elliot; and I do regard her as one who is too
modest for the world in general to be aware of half her
accomplishments, and too highly accomplished for modesty
to he natural in any other woman."
" For shame ! for shame ! — this is too much of flattery.
I forget what we are to have next," turning to the bill.
" Perhaps," said Mr. Elliot, speaking low, " I have had
a longer acquaintance with your character than you are
aware of."
' Indeed ! How so ? You can have been acquainted
with it only since I came to Bath, excepting as you might
hear me previously spoken of in my own family."
" I knew you by report long before you came to Bath.
I had heard you described by those who knew you inti¬
mately. I have been acquainted with you by character
many years. Your person, your disposition, accomplish¬
ments, manner — they were all described, they were all
present to me."
Mr. Elliot was not disappointed in the interest he hoped
to raise. No one can withstand the charm of such a mys¬
tery. To have been described long ago to a recent ac¬
quaintance, by nameless people, is irresistible; and Anne
was all curiosity. She wondered, and questioned him
eagerly ; but in vain. He delighted in being asked, but
he would not tell.
<c No, no — some time or other, perhaps, but not now.
He would mention no names now; but such, he could
assure her, had been the fact. He had many years ago
PERSUASION,
381
received such a description of Miss Anne Elliot as had in¬
spired him with the highest idea of her merit, and excited
the warmest curiosity to know her."
Anne could think of no one so likely to have spoken
with partiality of her many years ago as the Mr. Went-
worth of Monkford, Captain Wentworth's brother. He
might have been in Mr. Elliot's company, but she had not
courage to ask the question.
" The name of Anne Elliot," said he, " has long had an
interesting sound to me. Very long has it possessed a
charm over my fancy ; and, if I dared, I would breathe my
wishes that the name might never change."
Such she believed were his words ; but scarcely had she
received their sound, than her attention was caught by
other sounds immediately behind her, which rendered every
thing else trivial. Her father and Lady Dalrymple were
speaking.
" A well-looking man," said Sir Walter, C! a very well-,
looking man."
" A very fine young man, indeed ! " said Lady Dal.
rymple. " More air than one often sees in Bath. Irish,
I dare say."
" No, I just know his name. A bowing acquaintance.
Wentworth—Captain Wentworth of the navy. His sister
married my tenant in Somersetshire, the Croft, who rents
Kellynch."
Before Sir Walter had reached this point, Anne's eyes
had caught the right direction, and distinguished Captain
Wentworth, standing among a cluster of men at a little
distance. As her eyes fell on him, his seemed to be with¬
drawn from her. It had that appearance. It seemed as
if she had been one moment too late ; and, as long as she
dared observe, he did not look again : but the performance
was recommencing, and she was forced to seem to restore
her attention to the orchestra, and look straight forward.
When she could give another glance, he had moved
away. He could not have come nearer to her if he would;
she was so surrounded and shut in : but she would rather
have caught his eye.
Mr. Elliot's speech, too, distressed her. She had no
38*
PEftSUASlOK.
longer any inclination to talk to him. She wished hiin not
so near her.
The first act was over. Now she hoped for some bene¬
ficial change; and, after a period of nothing-saying amongst
the party, some of them did decide on going in quest of tea.
Anne was one of the few who did not choose to move.
She remained in her seat, and so did Lady Russell; but
she had the pleasure of getting rid of Mr. Elliot; and she
did not mean, whatever she might feel on Lady Russell's
account, to shrink from conversation with Captain Went-
worth, if he gave her the opportunity. She was persuaded
by Lady Russell's countenance that she had seen him.
He did not come, however. Anne sometimes fancied she
discerned him at a distance, but he never came. The
anxious interval wore away unproductively. The others
returned, the room filled again, benches were reclaimed
and repossessed, and another hour of pleasure or of pe¬
nance was to be sat out, another hour of music was to give
delight or the gapes, as real or affected taste for it prevailed.
To Anne it chiefly wore the prospect of an hour of agi¬
tation. She could not quit that room in peace without
seeing Captain Wentworth once more, without the inter¬
change of one friendly look.
In resettling themselves there were now many changes,
the result of which was favourable for her. Colonel Wallis
declined sitting down again, and Mr. Elliot was invited by
Elizabeth and Miss Carteret, in a manner not to he refused,
to sit between them ; and by some other removals, and a
little scheming of her own, Anne was enabled to place her¬
self much nearer the end of the bench than she had been
before, much more within the reach of a passer-by. She
could not do so, without comparing herself with Miss La-
rolles, the inimitable Miss Larolles ; but still she did it,
and not with much happier effect; though by what seemed
prosperity in the shape of an early abdication in her next,
neighbours, she found herself at the very end of the bench
before the concert closed.
Such was her situation, with a vacant space at hand,
when Captain Wentworth was again in sight. She saw
him not far off. He saw her too ; yet he looked grave, and
persuasion.
383
seemed irresolute, and only by very slow degrees came at
last near enough to speak to her. She felt that something
must be the matter. The change was indubitable. The
difference between his present air and what it had been in
the octagon room was strikingly great. Why was it ? She
thought of her father — of Lady Russell. Could there
have been any unpleasant glances ? He began by speaking
of the concert gravely, more like the Captain Wentworth
of Uppercross ; owned himself disappointed, had expected
better singing ; and, in short, must confess that he should
not be sorry when it was over. Anne replied, and spoke
in defence of the performance so well, and yet in allowance
for his feelings so pleasantly, that his countenance im¬
proved, and he replied again with almost a smile. They
talked for a few minutes more ; the improvement held ; he
even looked down towards the bench, as if he saw a place
on it well worth occupying; when, at that moment, a touch
on her shoulder obliged Arr e to turn round. It came from
Mr. Elliot. He begged her pardon, but she must be ap¬
plied to, to explain Italian again. Miss Carteret was very
anxious to have a general idea of what was next to be sung.
Anne could not refuse; but never had she sacrificed to po¬
liteness with a more suffering spirit.
A few minutes, though as few as possible, were inevit¬
ably consumed ; and when her own mistress again, when
able to turn and look as she had done before, she found
herself accosted by Captain Wentworth, in a reserved yet
hurried sort of farewell. " He must wish her good night;
he was going; he should get home as fast as he could."
" Is not this song worth staying for ? " said Anne, sud¬
denly struck by an idea which made her yet more anxious
to be encouraging.
" No!" he replied, impressively, " there is nothing worth
my staying for;" and he was gone directly.
Jealousy of Mr. Elliot 1 It was the only intelligible
motive. Captain Wentworth jealous of her affection !
Could she have believed it a week ago — three hours ago i
For a moment the gratification was exquisite. Rut, alas t
there were very different thoughts to succeed. How was
such jealousy to be quieted ? How was the truth to reach
384 persuasion.
him ? How, in all the peculiar disadvantages of their re¬
spective situations, would he ever learn her real sentiments?
It was misery to think of Mr. Elliot's attentions. Their
evil was incalculable.
CHAPTER IX.
Anne recollected with pleasure the next morning her
promise of going to Mrs. Smith ; meaning that it should
engage her from home at the time when Mr. Elliot would
be most likely to call; for to avoid Mr. Elliot was almost a
first object.
She felt a great deal of good-will towards him. In spite
of the mischief of his attentions, she owed him gratitude
and regard, perhaps compassion. She could not help think¬
ing much of the extraordinary circumstances attending
their acquaintance; of the right which he seemed to have
to interest her, by every thing in situation, by his own
sentiments, by his early prepossession. It was altogether
very extraordinary; flattering, but painful. There was
much to regret. How she might have felt, had there been
no Captain Wentworth in the case, was not worth enquiry;
for there was a Captain Wentworth ; and be the conclusion
of the present suspense good or bad, her affection would be
his for ever. Their union, she believed, could not divide
her more from other men than their final separation.
Prettier musings of high wrought love and eternal con¬
stancy could never have passed along the streets of Bath
than Anne was sporting with from Camden Place to
Westgate Buildings. It was almost enough to spread
purification and perfume all the way.
She was sure of a pleasant reception; and her friend
seemed this morning particularly obliged to her for coming,
seemed hardly to have expected her, though it had been an
appointment.
An account of the concert was immediately claimed; and
Anne's recollections of the concert were quite happy enough
PERSUASION.
385
to animate her features., and make her rejoice to talk of it.
All that she could tell, she told most gladly; but the all
was little for one who had been there, and unsatisfactory
for such an enquirer as Mrs. Smith, who had already heard,
through the short cut of a laundress and a waiter, rather
more of the general success and produce of the evening
than Anne could relate; and who now asked in vain for
several particulars of the company. Every body of any
consequence or notoriety in Bath was well known by name
to Mrs. Smith.
" The little Durands were there, I conclude," said she,
" with their mouths open to catch the music; like un_
fledged sparrows ready to he fed. They never miss a
concert."
" Yes. I did not see them myself, but I heard Mr.
Elliot say they were in the room."
" The Ibbotsons—were they there? and the two new
beauties, with the tall Irish officer, who is talked of for one
of them."
" I do not know. I do not think they were."
e: Old Lady Mary Maclean ? I need not ask after her.
She never misses, I know; and you must have seen her.
She must have been in your own circle : for as you went
with Lady Dalrymple, you were in the seats of grandeur,
round the orchestra, of course."
" No, that was what I dreaded. It would have been
very unpleasant to me in every respect. But happily Lady
Dalrymple always chooses to be farther off"; and we were
exceedingly well placed, that is, for hearing; I must not
say for seeing, because I appear to have seen very little."
" Oh, you saw enough for your own amusement. I
can understand. There is a sort of domestic enjoyment
to be known even in a crowd, and this you had. You
were a large party in yourselves, and you wanted nothing
beyond."
" But I ought to have looked about me more," said
Anne, conscious while she spoke, that there had in fact
been no want of looking about; that the object only had
been deficient.
" No, no—you were better employed. You need not
cc
386
PERSUASION
tell me that you had a pleasant evening. I see it in your
eye. I perfectly see how the hours passed — that you had
always something agreeable to listen to. In the intervals
of the concert, it was conversation."
Anne half smiled and said; " Do you see that in my
eye ? "
<f Yes; I do. Your countenance perfectly informs me
that you were in company last night with the person whom
you think the most agreeable in the world; the person who
interests you at this present time more than all the rest of
the world put together."
A blush overspread Anne's cheeks. She could say
nothing.
" And such being the case," continued Mrs. Smith, after
a short pause, " I hope you believe that I do know how to
value your kindness in coming to me this morning. It is
really very good of you to come and sit with me, when you
must have so many pleasanter demands upon your time."
Anne heard nothing of this. She was still in the asto¬
nishment and confusion excited by her friend's penetration,
unable to imagine how any report of Captain Wentworth
could have reached her. After another short silence,—
" Pray," said Mrs. Smith, " is Mr. Elliot aware of your
acquaintance with me ? Does he know that I am in Bath ?"
" Mr. Elliot!" repeated Anne, looking up surprised. A
moment's reflection showed her the mistake she had been
under. She caught it instantaneously; and, recovering
courage with the feeling of safety, soon added, more com¬
posedly, " Are you acquainted with Mr. Elliot ? "
<e I have been a good deal acquainted with him," replied
Mrs. Smith, gravely, " but it seems worn out now. It is
a great while since we met." '
" I was not at all aware of this. You never mentioned
it before. Had I known it, I would have had the pleasure
of talking to him about you."
" To confess the truth," said Mrs. Smith, assuming her
usual air of cheerfulness, " that is exactly the pleasure I
want you to have. I want you to talk about me to Mr.
Elliot. I want your interest with him. He can be of
essential service to me ; and if you would have the good-
Persuasion.
387
Hess, my dear Miss Elliot, to make it an object to yourself,
of course it is done."
" I should be extremely happy—I hope you cannot
doubt my willingness to be of even the slightest use to
you," replied Anne; " but I suspect that you are consider¬
ing me as having a higher claim on Mr. Elliot, a greater
right to influence him, than is really the case. I am sure
you have, somehow or other, imbibed such a notion. You
must consider me only as Mr. Elliot's relation. If in that
light, if there is any thing which you suppose his cousin
might fairly ask of him, I beg you would not hesitate to
employ me."
Mrs. Smith gave her a penetrating glance, and then,
smiling, said,—
" I have been a little premature, I perceive. I beg your
pardon. I ought to have waited for official information.
But now, my dear Miss Elliot, as an old friend, do give
me a hint as to when I may speak. Next week ? To be
sure by next week I may be allowed to think it all settled,
and build my own selfish schemes on Mr. Elliot's good
fortune."
" No," replied Anne, " nor next week, nor next, nor
next. I assure you that nothing of the sort you are
thinking of will be settled any week. I am not going to
marry Mr. Elliot. I should like to know why you imagine
I am."
Mrs. Smith looked at her again, looked earnestly, smiled,
shook her head, and exclaimed,—
" Now, how I do wish I understood you! How I do
wish I knew what you were at! I have a great idea that
you do not design to be cruel, when the right moment comes.
Till it does come, you know, we women never mean to
have any body. It is a thing of course among us, that
every man is refused—till he offers. But why should you
be cruel? Let me plead for my — present friend I cannot
call him—hut for my former friend. Where can you look
for a more suitable match ? Where could you expect a
more gentlemanlike, agreeable man ? Let me recommend
Mr. Elliot. I am sure you hear nothing but good of him
c c 2
388
PERSUASION.
from Colonel Wallis; and who can know him better than
Colonel Wallis?"
" My dear Mrs. Smithy Mr. Elliot's wife has not been dead
much above half a year. He ought not to be supposed to
be paying his addresses to any one."
cc Oh; if these are your only objections/' cried Mrs.
Smith, archly, " Mr. Elliot is safe, and I shall give my¬
self no more trouble about him. Do not forget me when
you are married, that's all. Let him know me to he a
friend of yours, and then he will think little of the trouble
required, which it is very natural for him now, with so
many affairs and engagements of his own, to avoid and get
rid of as he can—very natural, perhaps. Ninety-nine out
of a hundred would do the same. Of course, he cannot
be aware of the importance to me. Well, my dear Miss
Elliot, I hope and trust you will be very happy. Mr. El¬
liot has sense to understand the value of such a woman.
Your peace will not be shipwrecked as mine has been.
You are safe in all worldly matters, and safe in his cha¬
racter. He will not be led astray—he will not be misled
by others to his ruin."
" No," said Anne, " I can readily believe all that of
my cousin. He seems to have a calm, decided temper, not
at all open to dangerous impressions. I consider him with
great respect. I have no reason, from any thing that has
fallen within my observation, to do otherwise. But I have
not known him long; and he is not a man, I think, to be
known intimately soon. Will not this manner of speaking
of him, Mrs. Smith, convince you that he is nothing to me?
Surely this must be calm enough. And, upon my word, he is
nothing to me. Should he ever propose to me (which I have
very little reason to imagine he has any thought of doing), I
shall not accept him. I assure you, I shall not. I assure
you, Mr. Elliot had not the share which you have been
supposing, in whatever pleasure the concert of last night
might afford: not Mr. Elliot — it is not Mr. Elliot
that "
She stopped, regretting, with a deep blush, that she had
implied so much; but less would hardly have been suffi¬
cient. Mrs. Smith would hardly have believed so soon in
PERSUASION.
389
Mr. Elliot's failure, but from the perception of there being
a somebody else. As it was, she instantly submitted, and
with all the semblance of seeing nothing beyond ; and Anne,
eager to escape farther notice, was impatient to know why
Mrs. Smith should have fancied she was to marry Mr.
Elliot, where she could have received the idea, or from
whom she could have heard it.
" Do tell me how it first came into your head."
" It first came into my head," replied Mrs. Smith,
tc upon finding how much you were together, and feeling
it to be the most probable thing in the world to be wished
for by every body belonging to either of you ; and you may
depend upon it that all your acquaintance have disposed of
you in the same way, But I never heard it spoken of till
two days ago."
" And has it, indeed, been spoken of?"
" Did you observe the woman who opened the door to
you, when you called yesterday ? "
" No. Was not it Mrs. Speed, as usual, or the maid ?
I observed no one in particular."
" It was my friend Mrs. Rooke—Nurse Rooke; who,
by the by, had a great curiosity to see you, and was de¬
lighted to be in the way to let you in. She came away
from Marlborough Buildings only on Sunday ; and she it
was who told me you were to marry Mr. Elliot. She had it
from Mrs. Wallis herself, which did not seem bad authority.
She sat an hour with me on Monday evening, and gave me
the whole history."
" The whole history !" repeated Anne, laughing. " She
could not make a very long history, I think, of one such
little article of unfounded news."
Mrs. Smith said nothing.
" But," continued Anne, presently, " though there is
no truth in my having this claim on Mr. Elliot, I should
be extremely happy to be of use' to you, in any way that I
could. Shall I mention to him your being in Bath ?
Shall I take any message ? "
"No, I thank you : no, certainly not. In the warmth
of the moment, and under a mistaken impression, I might,
perhaps, have endeavoured to interest you in some circum:
c c 3
3Q0 PERSUASION.
stances ; but not now. No, I thank you, I have nothing
to trouble you with."
" I think you spoke of having known Mr. Elliot many
years ? "
" I did."
" Not before he married, I suppose ?"
" Yes; he was not married when I knew him first.'
" And — were you much acquainted ? "
" Intimately."
" Indeed ! Then do tell me what he was at that time
of life. I have a great curiosity to know what Mr. Elliot
was as a very young man. Was he at all such as he ap¬
pears now ? "
" I have not seen Mr. Elliot these three years," was
Mrs. Smith's answer, given so gravely that it was impos¬
sible to pursue the subject farther; and Anne felt that
she had gained nothing but an increase of curiosity. They
were both silent — Mrs. Smith very thoughtful. At
last,—
" I beg your pardon, my dear Miss Elliot," she cried,
in her natural tone of cordiality, — "I beg your pardon for
the short answers I have been giving you, but I have been
uncertain what I ought to do. I have been doubting
and considering as to what I ought to tell you. There
were many things to be taken into the account. One hates
to be officious, to be giving bad impressions, making mis¬
chief. Even the smooth surface of family union seems
worth preserving, though there may be nothing durable
beneath. However, I have determined — I think I am
right — I think you ought to be made acquainted with Mr.
Elliot's real character. Though I fully believe that, at
present, you have not the smallest intention of accepting
him, there is no saying what may happen. You might,
some time or other, be differently affected towards him.
Hear the truth, therefore, now, while you are unprejudiced.
Mr. Elliot is a man without heart or conscience ; a design¬
ing, wary, cold-blooded being, who thinks only of himself;
who, for his own interest or ease, would be guilty of any
cruelty, or any treachery, that could be perpetrated with¬
out risk of his general character. He has no feeling for
PERSUASION,,
391
others. Those whom he has been the chief cause of lead¬
ing into ruin, he can neglect and desert without the
smallest compunction. He is totally beyond the reach of
any sentiment of justice or compassion. Oh, he is black
at heart, hollow and black !"
Anne's astonished air, and exclamation of wonder, made
her pause, and in a calmer manner she added, —
" My expressions startle you. You must allow for an
injured, angry woman. But I will try to command my¬
self. I will not abuse him. I will only tell you what I
have found him. Facts shall speak. He was the intimate
friend of my dear husband, who trusted and loved him,
and thought him as good as himself. The intimacy had
been formed before our marriage. I found them most in¬
timate friends; and I, too, became excessively pleased with
Mr. Elliot, and entertained the highest opinion of him.
At nineteen, you know, one does not think very seriously;
but Mr. Elliot appeared to me quite as good as others
and much more agreeable than most others, and we
were almost always together. We were principally in
town, living in very good style. He was then the inferior
in circumstances — he was then the poor one; he had
chambers in the Temple, and it was as much as he could
do to support the appearance of a gentleman. He had
always a home with us whenever he chose it; he was
always welcome ; he was like a brother. My poor Charles,
who had the finest, most generous spirit in the world,
would have divided his last farthing with him; and I
know that his purse was open to him ; I know that he
often assisted him."
" This must have been about that very period of Mr.
Elliot's life," said Anne, " which has always excited my
particular curiosity. It must have been about the same
time that he became known to my father and sister. I
never knew him myself, I only heard of him ; but there
was a something in his conduct then, with regard to my
father and sister, and afterwards in the circumstances of his
marriage, which I never could quite reconcile with present
times. It seemed to announce a different sort of man."
" I know it all I know it all," cried Mrs. Smith. " He
c c 4
392
PERSUASION.
had. been introduced to Sir Walter and your sister before
I was acquainted with him, but I heard him speak of them
for ever. I know he was invited and encouraged, and I
know he did not choose to go. I can satisfy you, perhaps,
on points which you would little expect; and as to his
marriage, I knew all about it at the time. I was privy to
all the fors and againsts, I was the friend to whom he con¬
fided his hopes and plans; and though I did not know his
wife previously, (her inferior situation in society, indeed,
rendered that impossible,) yet I knew her all her life
afterwards, or, at least, till within the last two years of
her life, and can answer any question you wish to put."
" Nay," said Anne, " I have no particular enquiry to
make about her. I have always understood they were not
a happy couple. But I should like to know why, at that
time of his life, he should slight my father's acquaintance
as he did. My father was certainly disposed to take very
kind and proper notice of him. Why did Mr. Elliot draw
back ? "
" Mr. Elliot," replied Mrs. Smith, "at that period of
his life had one object in view — to make his fortune, and
by a rather quicker process than the law. He was deter¬
mined to make it by marriage. He was determined, at
least, not to mar it by an imprudent marriage ; and I know
it was his belief (whether justly or not, of course I cannot
decide,) that your father and sister, in their civilities and
invitations, were designing a match between the heir and
the young lady ; and it was impossible that such a match
should have answered his ideas of wealth and independ¬
ence. That was his motive for drawing back, I can assure
you. He told me the whole story» He had no conceal¬
ments with me. It was curious, that having just left you
behind me in Bath, my first and principal acquaintance on
marrying should be your cousin; and that, through him,
I should be continually hearing of your father and sister.
He described one Miss Elliot, and I thought very affection¬
ately of the other."
" Perhaps," cried Anne, struck by a sudden idea, " you
sometimes spoke of me to Mr. Elliot ? "
" To be sure I did, very often. I used to boast of my
persuasion.
39s
own Anne Elliot, and vouch for your being a very different
creature from "
She checked herself just in time.
" This accounts for something which Mr. Elliot said
last night," cried Anne. " This explains it. I found he
had been used to hear of me. I could not comprehend
how. What wild imaginations one forms, where dear self
is concerned! How sure to be mistaken ! But I beg
your pardon; I have interrupted you. Mr. Elliot mar¬
ried, then, completely for money ? The circumstance,
probably, which first opened your eyes to his character."
Mrs. Smith hesitated a little here. " Oh, those things
are too common. When one lives in the world, a man or
woman's marrying for money is too common to strike one
as it ought. I was very young, and associated only with
the young, and we were a thoughtless, gay set, without
any strict rules of conduct. We lived for enjoyment. I
think differently now; time, and sickness, and sorrow
have given me other notions; but, at that period, I must
own 1 saw nothing reprehensible in what Mr. Elliot was
doing. f To do the best for himself' passed as a duty."
" But was not she a very low woman ? "
" Yes; which I objected to, but he would not regard.
Money, money, was all that he wanted. Her father was
a grazier, her grandfather had been a butcher, but that
was all nothing. She was a fine woman, had had a decent
education, was brought forward by some cousins, thrown
by chance into Mr. Elliot's company, and fell in love with
him; and not a difficulty or a scruple was there on his
side, with respect to her birth. All his caution was spent
in being secured of the real amount of her fortune, before
he committed himself. Depend upon it, whatever esteem
Mr. Elliot may have for his own situation in life now, as
a young man he had not the smallest value for it. His
chance of the Kellynch estate was something, but all the
honour of the family he held as cheap as dirt. I have
often heard him declare, that if baronetcies were saleable,
any body should have his for fifty pounds, arms and
motto, name and livery included; but I will not pretend
to repeat half that X used to hear him say on that subject.
394
PERSUASION.
It would not be fair. And yet you ought to have proof;
for what is all this but assertion ? and you shall have
proof."
" Indeed, my dear Mrs. Smith; I want none;" cried
Anne. " You have asserted nothing contradictory to what
Mr. Elliot appeared to he some years ago. This is all in
confirmation, rather, of what we used to hear and believe.
I am more curious to know why he should be so different
now."
" But for my satisfaction ; if you will have the good¬
ness to ring for Mary—stay, I am sure you will have the
still greater goodness of going yourself into my bedroom,
and bringing me the small inlaid box which you will find
on the upper shelf of the closet."
Anne, seeing her friend to be earnestly bent on it, did
as she was desired. The box was brought and placed
before her, and Mrs. Smith, sighing over it as she un¬
locked it, said, —
" This is full of papers belonging to him, to my hus¬
band, a small portion only of what I had to look over
when I lost him. The letter I am looking for was one
written by Mr. Elliot to him before our marriage, and
happened to be saved; why, one can hardly imagine. But
he was careless and immethodical, like other men, about
those things; and when I came to examine his papers, I
found it with others still more trivial from different people
scattered here and there, while many letters and memoran¬
dums of real importance had been destroyed. Here it is.
I would not burn it, because being even then very little
satisfied with Mr. Elliot, I was determined to preserve
every document of former intimacy. I have now another
motive for being glad that I can produce it."
This was the letter, directed to " Charles Smith, Esq.,
Tunbridge Wells," and dated from London, as far back as
July, 1803.
" Dear Smith,
" I have received yours. Your kindness almost over,
powers me. I wish nature had made such hearts as yours
more common, but I have lived three-and-twenty years in
PERSUASION.
395
the world, and have seen none like it. At present, believe
me, I have no need of your services, being in cash again.
Give me joy: I have got rid of Sir Walter and Miss.
They are gone back tc ILellynch, and almost made me
swear to visit them this summer; but my first visit to
Kellynch will be with a surveyor, to tell me how to bring
it with best advantage to the hammer. The baronet,
nevertheless, is not unlikely to marry again; he is quite
fool enough. If he does, however, they will leave me
in peace, which may be a decent equivalent for the re¬
version. He is worse than last year.
" I wish I had any name but Elliot. I am sick of it.
The name of Walter I can drop, thank God ! and I desire
you will never insult me with my second W. again, mean¬
ing, for the rest of my life, to be only yours truly,
" Wm. Elliot."
Such a letter could not be read without putting Anne in
a glow; and Mrs. Smith, observing the high colour in her
face, said,—
" The language, I know, is highly disrespectful. Though
I have forgot the exact terms, I have a perfect impression
of the general meaning. But it shows you the man.
Mark his professions to my poor husband. Can any thing
be stronger ? "
Anne could not immediately get over the shock and
mortification of finding such words applied to her father.
She was obliged to recollect that her seeing the letter was
a violation of the laws of honour, that no one ought to be
judged or to be known by such testimonies, that no private
correspondence could bear the eye of others, before she
could recover calmness enough to return the letter which
she had been meditating over, and say,—
" Thank you. This is full proof undoubtedly, proof of
every thing you were saying. But why be acquainted
with us now ? "
" I can explain this, too," cried Mrs. Smith, smiling.
" Can you really ? "
" Yes. I have shown you Mr. Elliot as he was a
dozen years ago, and I will show him as he is now. I
PERSUASION.
cannot produce written proof again, but I can give as
authentic oral testimony as you can desire, of what he is
now wanting, and what he is now doing. He is no
hypocrite now. He truly wants to marry you. His pre¬
sent attentions to your family are very sincere, quite from
the heart. I will give you my authority—his friend
Colonel Wallis."
" Colonel Wallis ! are you acquainted with him ? "
" No. It does not come to me in quite so direct a line
as that; it takes a bend or two, but nothing of consequence.
The stream is as good as at first; the little rubbish it
collects in the turnings is easily moved away. Mr. Elliot
talks unreservedly to Colonel Wallis of his views on you,
which said Colonel Wallis, I imagine, to be in himself a
sensible, careful, discerning sort of character; but Colonel
Wallis has a very pretty silly wife, to whom he tells things
which he had better not, and he repeats it all to her. She,
in the overflowing spirits of her recovery, repeats it all to
her nurse; and the nurse, knowing my acquaintance with
you, very naturally brings it all to me. On Monday
evening my good friend Mrs. Rooke let me thus much
into the secrets of Marlborough Buildings. When I talked
of a whole history, therefore, you see 1 was not romancing
so much as you supposed."
" My dear Mrs. Smith, your authority is deficient.
This will not do. Mr. Elliot's having any views on me
will not in the least account for the .efforts he made to¬
wards a reconciliation with my father. That was all prior
to my coming to Bath. I found them on the most
friendly terms when I arrived."
" I know you did; I know it all perfectly, but "
" Indeed, Mrs. Smith, we must not expect to get real
information in such a line. Facts or opinions which are
to pass through the hands of so many, to be misconceived
by folly in one, and ignorance in another, can hardly have
much truth left."
" Only give me a hearing. You will soon be able to
judge of the general credit due, by listening to some
particulars which you can yourself immediately contradict
or confirm. Nobody supposes that you were his first
PERSUASION.
397
inducement. He had seen you, indeed, before he came
to Bath, and admired you, but without knowing it to he
you. So says my historian, at least. Is this true ? Did
he see you last summer or autumn f somewhere down in
the west,' to use her own words, without knowing it
to be you?"
" He certainly did. So far it is very true. At Lyme,
I happened to he at Lyme."
" Well," continued Mrs. Smith, triumphantly, " grant
my friend the credit due to the establishment of the first
point asserted. He saw you then at Lyme, and liked
you so well as to be exceedingly pleased to meet with
you again in Camden Place, as Miss Anne Elliot, and from
that moment, I have no doubt, had a double motive in
his visits there. But there was another, and an earlier,
which I will now explain. If there is any thing in my
story which you know to be either false or improbable,
stop me. My account states, that your sister's friend, the
lady now staying with you, whom I have heard you men¬
tion, came to Bath with Miss Elliot and Sir Walter as long
ago as September, (in short, when they first came them¬
selves,) and has been staying there ever since; that she is
a clever, insinuating, handsome woman, poor and plausible,
and altogether such, in situation and manner, as to give
a general idea, among Sir Walter's acquaintance, of her
meaning to be Lady Elliot, and as general a surprise that
Miss Elliot should be apparently blind to the danger."
Here Mrs. Smith paused a moment; but Anne had not
a word to say, and she continued,—
" This was the light in which it appeared to those who
knew the family, long before your return to it; and Co¬
lonel Wallis had his eye upon your father enough to be
sensible of it, though he did not then visit in Camden
Place; but his regard for Mr. Elliot gave him an interest
in watching all that was going on there, and when Mr.
Elliot came to Bath for a day or two, as he happened to do
a little before Christmas, Colonel Wallis made him ac¬
quainted with the appearance of things, and the reports
beginning to prevail. Now you are to understand, that
time had worked a very material change in Mr. Elliot's
398
PERSUASION.
opinions as to the value of a baronetcy. Upon all points
of blood and connection he is a completely altered man.
Having long had as much money as he could spend,
nothing to wish for on the side of avarice or indulgence, he
has been gradually learning to pin his happiness upon the
consequence he is heir to. I thought it coming on before
our acquaintance ceased, but it is now a confirmed feeling.
He cannot bear the idea of not being Sir William. You
may guess, therefore, that the news he heard from his
friend could not be very agreeable, and you may guess
what it produced; the resolution of coming back to Bath
as soon as possible, and of fixing himself here for a time,
with the view of renewing his former acquaintance and
recovering such a footing in the family as might give him
the means of ascertaining the degree of his danger, and of
circumventing the lady if he found it material. This was
agreed upon between the two friends as the only thing to
be done; and Colonel Wallis was to assist in every way
that he could. He was to be introduced, and Mrs. Wallis
was to be introduced, and every body was to be introduced.
Mr. Elliot came back accordingly; and on application was
forgiven, as you know, and re-admitted into the family;
and there it was his constant object, and his only object
(till your arrival added another motive), to watch Sir Walter
and Mrs. Clay. He omitted no opportunity of being with
them, threw himself in their way, called at all hours—but
I need not be particular on this subject. You can imagine
what an artful man would do; and with this guide, per¬
haps, may recollect what you have seen him do."
" Yes," said Anne, " you tell me nothing which does
not accord with what I have known, or could imagine.
There is always something offensive in the details of cun¬
ning. The manoeuvres of selfishness and duplicity must
ever be revolting, but I have heard nothing which really
surprises me. I know those who would be shocked by such
a representation of Mr. Elliot, who would have difficulty
in believing it; but I have never been satisfied. I have
always wanted some other motive for his conduct than
appeared. I should like to know his present opinion, as to
PERSUASION.
399
the probability of the event he has been in dread of;
whether he considers the danger to be lessening or not."
" Lessenings I understand/' replied Mrs. Smith. " He
thinks Mrs. Clay afraid-of him, aware that he sees through
her, and not daring to proceed as she might do in his
absence. But since he must he absent some time or other,
I do not perceive how he can ever be secure while she
holds her present influence. Mrs. Wallis has an amusing
idea, as nurse tells me, that it is to be put into the marriage
articles when you and Mr. Elliot marry, that your father is
not to marry Mrs. Clay. A scheme worthy of Mrs. Wallis's
understanding, by all' accounts; but my sensible Nurse
Rooke sees the absurdity of it f Why, to be sure, ma'am,'
said she, c it would not prevent his marrying any body
else.' And, indeed, to own the truth, I do not think nurse
in her heart is a very strenuous opposer of Sir Walter's
making a second match. She must be allowed to be a
favourer of matrimony, you know; and (since self will in¬
trude) who can say that she may not have some flying
visions of attending the next Lady Elliot, through Mrs,
Wallis's recommendation ? "
" I am very glad to know all this," said Anne, after a
little thoughtfulness. " It will be more painful to me in
some respects to be in company with him, but I shall know
better what to do. My line of conduct will be more direct.
Mr. Elliot is evidently a disingenuous, artificial, worldly
man, who has never had any better principle to guide him
than selfishness."
But Mr. Elliot was not yet done with. Mrs. Smith had
been carried away from her first direction, and Anne had
forgotten, in the interest of her own family concerns, how
much had been originally implied against him; but her
attention was now called to the explanation of those first
hints, and she listened to a recital which, if it did not
perfectly justify the unqualified bitterness of Mrs. Smith,
proved him to have been very unfeeling in his conduct
towards her, very deficient both in justice and compassion.
She learned that (the intimacy between them continuing
unimpaired by Mr. Elliot's marriage) they had been as
before always together, and Mr. Elliot had led his friend
400
PERSUASION.
into expenses much beyond his fortune. Mrs. Smith did
not want to take blame to herself, and was most tender of
throwing any on her husband; but Anne could collect that
their income had never been equal to their style of living,
and that from the first there had been a great deal of
general and joint extravagance. From his wife's account
of him she could discern Mr. Smith to have been a man of
warm feelings, easy temper, careless habits, and not strong
understanding, much more amiable than his friend, and
very unlike him—led by him, and probably despised by
him. Mr. Elliot, raised by his marriage to great affluence,
and disposed to every gratification of pleasure and vanity
which could be commanded without involving himself (for
with all his self-indulgence he had become a prudent man),
and beginning to be rich, just as his friend ought to have
found himself to he poor, seemed to have had no concern
at all for that friend's probable finances, but, on the con¬
trary, had been prompting and encouraging expenses, which
could end only in ruin;—and the Smiths accordingly had
been ruined.
The husband had died just in time to he spared the full
knowledge of it. They had previously known embarrass¬
ments enough to try the friendship of their friends, and to
prove that Mr. Elliot's had better not be tried; but it was
not till his death that the wretched state of his affairs was
fully known. With a confidence in Mr. Elliot's regard,
more creditable to his feelings than his judgment, Mr.
Smith had appointed him the executor of his will; but
Mr. Elliot would not act, and the difficulties and distresses
which this refusal had heaped on her, in addition to the
inevitable sufferings of her situation, had been such as
could not be related without anguish of spirit, or listened
to without corresponding indignation.
Anne was shown some letters of his on the occasion,
answers to urgent applications from Mrs. Smith, which all
breathed the same stern resolution of not engaging in a
fruitless trouble, and, under a cold civility, the same hard¬
hearted indifference to any of the evils it might bring on
her. It was a dreadful picture of ingratitude and inhu¬
manity ; and Anne felt, at some moments, that no flagrant
PERSUASION.
401
open crime could have been worse. She had a great deal
to listen to; all the particulars of past sad scenes, all the
minutiae of distress upon distress, which in former convers¬
ations had been merely hinted at, were dwelt on now with
a natural indulgence. Anne could perfectly comprehend
the exquisite relief, and was only the more inclined to
wonder at the composure of her friend's usual state of
mind.
There was one circumstance in the history of her
grievances of particular irritation. She had good reason
to believe that some property of her husband in the West
Indies, which had been for many years under a sort of
sequestration for the payment of its own incumbrances,
might he recoverable by# proper measures; and this pro¬
perty, though not large, would be enough to make her
comparatively rich. But there was nobody to stir in it.
Mr. Elliot would do nothing, and she could do nothing
herself, equally disabled from personal exertion by her
state of bodily weakness, and from employing others by
her want of money. She had no natural connections to
assist her even with their counsel, and she could not afford
to purchase the assistance of the law. This was a cruel
aggravation of actually straitened means. To feel that
she ought to be in better circumstances, that a little trouble
in the right place might do it, and to fear that delay might
be even weakening her claims, was hard to bear !
It was on this point that she had hoped to engage Anne's
good offices with Mr. Elliot. She had previously, in the
anticipation of their marriage, been very apprehensive of
losing her friend by it; but on being assured that he could
have made no attempt of that nature, since he did not even
know her to be in Bath, it immediately occurred, that
something might be done in her favour by the influence of
the woman he loved, and she had been hastily preparing
to interest Anne's feelings, as far as the observances due to
Mr. Elliot's character would allow, when Anne's refutation
of the supposed engagement changed the face of every
thing; and while it took from her the new-formed hope
of succeeding in the object of her first anxiety, left her at
least the comfort of telling the whole story her own way.
D D
402
Persuasion.
After listening to this full, description of Mr. Elliot,
Anne could not but express some surprise at Mrs. Smith's
having spoken of him so favourably in the beginning of
their conversation. " She had seemed to recommend and
praise him!"
" My dear," was Mrs. Smith's reply, " there was no¬
thing else to be done. I considered your marrying him as
certain, though he might not yet have made the offer, and
I could no more speak the truth of him, than if he had
been your husband. My heart bled for you, as I talked of
happiness; and yet, he is sensible, he is agreeable, and
with such a woman as you, it was not absolutely hopeless.
He was very unkind to his first wife. They were wretched
together. But she was too ignorant and giddy for respect,
and he had never loved her. I was willing to hope that
you must fare better."
Anne could just acknowledge within herself such a pos¬
sibility of having been induced to marry him, as made her
shudder at the idea of the misery which must have fol¬
lowed. It was just possible that she might have been
persuaded by Lady Russell! And under such a sup¬
position, which would have been most miserable, when
time had disclosed all, too late ?
It was very desirable that Lady Russell should be no
longer deceived; and one of the concluding arrangements
of this important conference, which carried them through
the greater part of the morning, was, that Anne had full
liberty to communicate to her friend every thing relative to
Mrs. Smith, in which his conduct was involved.
CHAPTER X.
Anne went home to think over all that she had heard. In
mc point, her feelings were relieved by this knowledge of
.Mr. Elliot. There was no longer any thing of tenderness
due to him. He stood, as opposed to Captain Wentworth,
PERSUASION.
403
in all his own unwelcome »obtrusiveness; and the evil of
his attentions last nighty the irremediable mischief he might
have done, was considered with sensations unqualified, un-
perplexed. Pity for him was all over. But this was the
only point of relief. In every other respect, in looking
around her, or penetrating forward, she saw more to dis¬
trust and to apprehend. She was concerned for the disap¬
pointment and pain Lady Russell would be feeling, for the
mortifications which must be hanging over her father and
sister, and had all the distress of foreseeing many evils,
without knowing how to avert any one of them. She was
most thankful for her own knowledge of him. She had
never considered herself as entitled to reward for not
slighting an old friend like Mrs. Smith, but here was a
reward indeed springing from it! Mrs. Smith had been
able to tell her what no one else could have done. Could
the knowledge have been extended through her family !
But this was a vain idea. She must talk to Lady Russell,
tell her, consult with her, and having done her best, wait
the event with as much composure as possible ; and, after
all, her greatest want of composure would be in that
quarter of the mind which could not be opened to Lady
Russell, in that flow of anxieties and fears which must be
all to herself.
She found, on reaching home, that she had, as she in¬
tended, escaped seeing Mr. Elliot; that he had called and
paid them a long morning visit; but hardly had she con¬
gratulated herself, and felt safe till to-morrow, when she
heard that he was coming again in the evening.
" I had not the smallest intention of asking him," said
Elizabeth, with affected carelessness, "but he gave so many
hints ; so Mrs. Clay says, at least."
" Indeed I do say it. I never saw any body in my
life spell harder for an invitation. Poor man! I was really
in pain for him ; for your hard-hearted sister, Miss Anne,
seems bent on cruelty."
" Oh," cried Elizabeth, " I have been rather too much
used to the game to be soon overcome by a gentleman's
hints. However, when I found how excessively he was
regretting that he should miss my father this morning, I
I) D 2
404
PERSUASION.
gave way immediately, for I would never really omit an
opportunity of bringing him and Sir Walter together.
They appear to so much advantage in company with each
other. Each behaving so pleasantly. Mr. Elliot looking
up with so much respect."
" Quite delightful!" cried Mrs. Clay, not daring, how¬
ever, to turn her eyes towards Anne. " Exactly like fa¬
ther and son ! Dear Miss Elliot, may I not say father
and son ? "
,s Oh, I lay no embargo on any body's words. If you
will have such ideas ! But, upon my word, I am scarcely
sensible of his attentions being beyond those of other men."
" My dear Miss Elliot!" exclaimed Mrs. Clay, lifting
up her hands and eyes, and sinking all the rest of her as¬
tonishment in a convenient silence.
" Well, my dear Penelope, you need not be so alarmed
about him. I did invite him, you know. I sent him
away with smiles. When I found he was really going to
his friends at Thornberry Park for the whole day to-mor¬
row, I had compassion on him."
Anne admired the good acting of the friend, in being
able to show such pleasure, as she did, in the expectation
and in the actual arrival of the very person whose presence
must really be interfering with her prime object. It was
impossible but that Mrs. Clay must hate the sight of Mr.
Elliot ; and yet she could assume a most obliging, placid
look, and appear quite satisfied with the curtailed license
of devoting herself only half as much to Sir Walter as
she would have done otherwise.
To Anne herself it was most distressing to see Mr.
Elliot enter the room; and quite painful to have him ap¬
proach and speak to her. She had been used before to feel
that he could not be always quite sincere, but now she saw
insincerity in every thing. His attentive deference to her
father, contrasted with his former language, was odious ;
and when she thought of his cruel conduct towards Mrs.
Smith, she could hardly bear the sight of his present smiles
and mildness, or the sound of his artificial good sentiments.
She meant to avoid any such alteration of manners as
might provoke a remonstrance on his side. It was a great
PERSUASION.
405
object with her to escape all enquiry or eclat; but it was
her intention to be as decidedly cool to him as might be
compatible with their relationship; and to retrace, as
quietly as she could, the few steps of unnecessary intimacy
she had been gradually led along. She was accordingly
more guarded, and more cool, than she had been the night
before.
He wanted to animate her curiosity again as to how and
where he could have heard her formerly praised; wanted
very much to be gratified by more solicitation; but the
charm was broken. He found that the heat and animation
of a public room were necessary to kindle his modest
cousin's vanity; he found, at least, that it was not to be
done now, by any of those attempts which he could hazard
among the too-commanding claims of the others. He
only surmised that it was a subject acting now exactly
against his interest, bringing immediately into her thoughts
all those parts of his conduct which were least excusable.
She had some satisfaction in finding that he was really
going out of Bath the next morning, going early, and that
he would be gone the greater part of two days. He was
invited again to Camden Place the very evening of his
return ; but from Thursday to Saturday evening his ab¬
sence was certain. It was bad enough that a Mrs. Clay
should be always before her; but that a deeper hypocrite
should be added to their party seemed the destruction of
every thing like peace and comfort. It was so humiliating
to reflect on the constant deception practised on her father
and Elizabeth ; to consider the various sources of mortifi.
cation preparing for them. Mrs. Clay's selfishness was not
so complicate nor so revolting as his ; and Anne would
have compounded for the marriage at once, wi'th all its
evils, to be clear of Mr. Elliot's subtleties, in endeavouring
to prevent it.
On Friday morning she meant to go very early to Lady
Russell, and accomplish the necessary communication ; and
she would have gone directly after breakfast, but that mVs>.
Clay was also going out on some obliging purpose of saving
her sister trouble, which determined her to wait till she
might be safe from such a companion. She saw Mrs.
p i> 3
406
PERSUASION.
Clay fairly off, therefore, before she began to talk of spend
ing the morning in Rivers Street.
" Very well," said Elizabeth, " I have nothing to send
but my love. Oh ! you may as well take back that tire¬
some book she would lend me, and pretend I have read it
through. I really cannot be plaguing myself for ever with
all the new poems and states of the nation that come out.
Lady Russell quite bores one with her new publications.
You need not tell her so, but I thought her dress hideous
the other night. I used to think she had some taste in
dress, but I was ashamed of her at the concert. Some¬
thing so formal and arrange in her air! and she sits so
upright! My best love, of course."
"And mine," added Sir Walter. "Kindest regards.
And you may say, that I mean to call upon her soon.
Make a civil message. But I shall only leave my card.
Morning visits are never fair by women at her time of
life, who make themselves up so little. If she would only
wear rouge, she would not be afraid of being seen; but
last time I called, I observed the blinds were let down im¬
mediately."
While her father spoke, there was a knock at the door.
Who could it be ? Anne, remembering the preconcerted
visits, at all hours, of Mr. Elliot, would have expected
him, but for his known engagement seven miles off. After
the usual period of suspense, the usual sounds of approach
were heard, and " Mr. and Mrs. Charles Musgrove" were
ushered into the room.
Surprise was the strongest emotion raised by their ap
pearance : but Anne was really glad to see them; and the
others were not so sorry but that they could put on a decent
air of welcome; and as soon as it became clear that these,
their nearest relations, were not arrived with any views of
accommodation in that house, Sir Walter and Elizabeth
were able to rise in cordiality, and do the honours of it
very well. They were come to Bath for a few days with
Mrs. Musgrove, and were at the White Hart. So much
was pretty soon understood; but till Sir Walter and Eliza¬
beth were walking Mary into the other drawing-room, and
regaling themselves with her admiration. Anne could not
FERSUASION.
407
draw upon Charles's brain for a regular history of their
coming, or an explanation of some smiling hints of par¬
ticular business, which had been ostentatiously dropped by
Mary, as well as of some apparent confusion as to whom
their party consisted of.
She then found that it consisted of Mrs. Musgrove,
Henrietta, and Captain Harville, beside their two selves.
He gave her a very plain, intelligible account of the whole ;
a narration in which she saw a great deal of most charac¬
teristic proceeding. The scheme had received its first im¬
pulse by Captain Harville's wanting to come to Bath on
business. He had begun to talk of it a week ago ; and by
way of doing something, as shooting was over, Charles had
proposed coming with him, and Mrs. Harville had seemed
to like the idea of it very much, as an advantage to her
husband; but Mary could not bear to be left, and had
made herself so unhappy about it, that, for a day or two,
every thing seemed to be in suspense, or at an end. But
then, it had been taken up by his father and mother. His
mother had some old friends in Bath, whom she wanted to
see; it was thought a good opportunity for Henrietta to
come and buy wedding-clothes for herself and her sister;
and, in short, it ended in being his mother's party, that
every thing might be comfortable and easy to Captain Har¬
ville ; and he and Mary were included in it, by way of
general convenience. They had arrived late the night be¬
fore. Mrs. Harville, her children, and Captain Benwick,
remained with Mr. Musgrove and Louisa at Uppercross.
Anne's only surprise was, that affairs should be in for¬
wardness enough for Henrietta's wedding-clothes to be
talked of: she had imagined such difficulties of fortune to
exist there as must prevent the marriage from being near
at hand ; but she learned from Charles that, very recently
(since Mary's last letter to herself), Charles Hayter had
been applied to by a friend to hold a living for a youth
who could not possibly claim it under many years; and
that, on the strength of this present income, with almost a
certainty of something more permanent long before the
term in question, the two families had consented to the
young people's wishes, and that their marriage was likely
D D 4
408
PERSUASION.
to take place in a few months, quite as soon as Louisa's,
" And a very good living it was/' Charles added: " only
five-and-twenty miles from Uppercross, and in a very fine
country—fine part of Dorsetshire. In the centre of some
of the best preserves in the kingdom, surrounded by three
great proprietors, each more careful and jealous than the
other; and to two of the three, at least, Charles Hayter
might get a special recommendation. Not that he will
value it as he ought," he observed: " Charles is too cool
about sporting. That's the worst of him."
ce I am extremely glad, indeed," cried Anne, " par¬
ticularly glad that this should happen ; and that of two
sisters, who both deserve equally well, and who have always
been such good friends, the pleasant prospects of one should
not be dimming those of the other—that they should be so
equal in their prosperity and comfort. I hope your father
and mother are quite happy with regard to both."
" Oh yes ! My father would he as well pleased if the
gentlemen were richer, but he has no other fault to find.
Money, you know, coming down with money — two daugh¬
ters at once — it cannot be a very agreeable operation, and
it straitens him as to many things. However, I do not
mean to say they have not a right to it. It is very fit they
should have daughters' shares ; and I am sure he has always
been a very kind, liberal father to me. Mary does not
above half like Henrietta's match. She never did, you
know. But she does not do him justice, nor think enough
about Winthrop. I cannot make her attend to the value
of the property. It is a very fair match, as times go; and
I have liked Charles Hayter all my life, and I shall not
leave off now."
" Such excellent parents as Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove,"
exclaimed Anne, " should be happy in their children's
marriages. They do every thing to confer happiness, I am
sure. What a blessing to young people to be in such
hands ! Your father and mother seem so totally free from
all those ambitious feelings which have led to so much mis¬
conduct and misery, both in young and old ! I hope you
think Louisa perfectly recovered now ? "
He answered rather hesitatingly, " Yes, I believe I do,—
PERSUASION.
409
very much recovered; but she is altered: there is no run¬
ning or jumping about, no laughing or dancing; it is quite
different. If one happens only to shut the door a little
hard, she starts and wriggles like a young dab-chick in the
water ; and Benwick sits at her elbow, reading verses, or
whispering to her, all day long."
Anne could not help laughing. " That cannot be
much to your taste, I know," said she ; " but I do believe
him to be an excellent young man."
" To be sure he is : nobody doubts it; and I hope you
do not think I am so illiberal as to want every man to
have the same objects and pleasures as myself. I have a
great value for Benwick; and when one can but get him
to talk, he has plenty to say. His reading has done him
no harm, for he has fought as well as read. He is a brave
fellow. I got more acquainted with him last Monday
than ever I did before. We had a famous set-to at rat-
hunting all the morning, in my father's great barns ; and
he played his part so well, that I have liked him the better
ever since."
Here they were interrupted by the absolute necessity of
Charles's following the others to admire mirrors and china:
but Anne had heard enough to understand the present state
of Uppercross, and rejoice in its happiness; and though she
sighed as she rejoiced, her sigh had none of the ill-will of
envy in it. She would certainly have risen to their bless¬
ings if she could, but she did not want to lessen theirs.
The visit passed off altogether in high good humour.
Mary was in excellent spirits, enjoying the gaiety and the
change; and so well satisfied with the journey in her
mother-in-law's carriage with four horses, and with her
own complete independence of Camden Place, that she was
exactly in a temper to admire every thing as she ought,
and enter most readily into all the superiorities of the
house as they were detailed to her. She had no demands
on her father or sister, and her consequence was just
enough increased by their handsome drawing-rooms.
Elizabeth was, for a short time, suffering a good deal.
She felt that Mrs. Musgrove and all her party ought to be
asked to dine with them; but she could not bear to have
410
PERSUASION.
the difference of style, the reduction of servants, which a
dinner must betray, witnessed by those who had been
always so inferior to the Elliots of Kellynch. It was a
struggle between propriety and vanity ; but vanity got the
better, and then Elizabeth was happy again. These were
her internal persuasions : — " Old fashioned notions —
country hospitality — we do not profess to give dinners
few people in Bath do — Lady Alicia never does;
did not even ask her own sister's family, though they were
here a month; and I dare say it would be very incon¬
venient to Mrs. Musgrove — put her quite out of her
way. I am sure she would rather not come — she cannot
feel easy with us. I will ask them all for an evening;
that will be much better, that will be a novelty and a
treat. They have not seen two such drawing-rooms be¬
fore. They will be delighted to come to-morrow evening.
It shall be a regular party, small, but most elegan " And
this satisfied Elizabeth ; and when the invitation was given
to the two present, and promised for the absent, Mary was
as completely satisfied. She was particularly asked to
meet Mr. Elliot, and be introduced to Lady Dalrymple
and Miss Carteret, who were fortunately already engaged
to come ; and she could not have received a more gratifying
attention. Miss Elliot was to have the honour of calling
on Mrs. Musgrove in the course of the morning; and Anne
walked off with Charles and Mary, to go and see her and
Henrietta directly.
Her plan of sitting with Lady Russell must give way for
the present. They all three called in Rivers Street for a
couple of minutes ; but Anne convinced herself that a day's
delay of the intended communication could be of no con¬
sequence, and hastened forward to the White Hart, to see
again the friends and companions of the last autumn, with
an eagerness of good-will which many associations contri¬
buted to form.
They found Mrs. Musgrove and her daughter within,
and by themselves, and Anne had the kindest welcome
from each. Henrietta was exactly in that state of recently-
improved views, of fresh-formed happiness, which made
her full of regard and interest for every body she had ever
PERSUASION.
411
liked before at all; and Mrs. Musgrove's real affection had
been won by her usefulness when they were in distress.
It was a heartiness^ and a warmth, and a sincerity which
Anne delighted in the more, from the sad want of such
blessings at home. She was entreated to give them as
much of her time as possible, invited for every day and all
day long, or rather claimed as a part of the family; and,
in return, she naturally fell into all her wonted ways of
attention and assistance, and on Charles's leaving them
together, was listening to Mrs. Musgrove's history of Louisa,
and to Henrietta's of herself, giving opinions on business,
and recommendations to shops; with intervals of every
help which Mary required, from altering her riband to
settling her accounts; from finding her keys, and assorting
her trinkets, to trying to convince her that she was not ill-
used by any body ; which Mary, well amused as she gene¬
rally was in her station at a window overlooking the en¬
trance to the Pump-room, could not hut have her moments
of imagining.
A morning of thorough confusion was to be expected.
A large party in an hotel ensured a quick-changing, un¬
settled scene. One five minutes brought a note, the next
a parcel; and Anne had not been there half an hour, when
their dining-room, spacious as it was, seemed more than
half filled : a party of steady old friends were seated round
Mrs. Musgrove, and Charles came back with Captains
Harville and Wentworth. The appearance of the latter
could not be more than the surprise of the moment. It
was impossible for her to have forgotten to feel, that this
arrival of their common friends must be soon bringing
them together again. Their last meeting had been most
important in opening his feelings ; she had derived from it
a delightful conviction ; but she feared from his looks, that
the same unfortunate persuasion, which had hastened him
away from the concert-room, still governed. He did not
seem to want to be near enough for conversation.
She tried to be calm, and leave things to take their
course ; and tried to dwell much on this argument of ra¬
tional dependence : — " Surely, if there be constant attach¬
ment on each side, our hearts must understand each other
412
PERSUASION.
ere long. We are not boy and girl, to be captiously irrit¬
able, misled by every moment's inadvertence, and wantonly
playing with our own happiness." And yet, a few minutes
afterwards, she felt as if their being in company with each
other, under their present circumstances, could only be
exposing them to inadvertencies and misconstructions of
the most mischievous kind.
" Anne," cried Mary, still at her window, " there is
Mrs. Clay, I am sure, standing under the colonnade, and a
gentleman with her. I saw them turn the corner from
Bath Street just now. They seem deep in talk. Who is
it ? Come, and tell me. Good heavens! I recollect.
It is Mr. Elliot himself."
" No," cried Anne, quickly, " it cannot be Mr. Elliot,
I assure you. He was to leave Bath at nine this morning,
and does not come back till to-morrow."
As she spoke, she felt that Captain Wentworth was
ooking at her; the consciousness of which vexed and em¬
barrassed her, and made her regret that she had said so
much, simple as it was.
Mary, resenting that she should be supposed not to know
her own cousin, began talking very warmly about the fa¬
mily features, and protesting still more positively that it
was Mr. Elliot, calling again upon Anne to come and look
herself; but Anne did not mean to stir, and tried to be
rool and unconcerned. Her distress returned, however,
on perceiving smiles and intelligent glances pass between
two or three of the lady visiters, as if they believed them¬
selves quite in the secret. It was evident that the report
concerning her had spread; and a short pause succeeded,
which seemed to ensure that it would now spread farther.
" JDo come, Anne," cried Mary, " come and look your¬
self. You will he too late, if you do not make haste. They
are parting, they are shaking hands. He is turning away.
Not know Mr. Elliot, indeed ! You seem to have forgot
all about Lyme."
To pacify Mary, and perhaps screen her own embarrass¬
ment, Anne did move quietly to the window. She was just
in time to ascertain that it really-was Mr. Elliot (which
she had never believed), before he disappeared on one side,
PERSUASION.
413
as Mrs. Clay walked quickly off on the other; .and check¬
ing the surprise which she could not but feel at such an
appearance of friendly conference between two persons of
totally opposite interests, she calmly said, "Yes, it is Mr.
Elliot certainly. He has changed his hour of going, I
suppose, that is all—or I may be mistaken; I might not
attend;" and walked back to her chair, recomposed, and
with the comfortable hope of having acquitted herself well.
The visiters took their leave ; and Charles, having
civilly seen them off, and then made a face at them, and
abused them for coming, began with,—
" Well, mother, I have done something for you that
you will like. I have been to the theatre, and secured
a box for to-morrow night. A'n't I a good boy ? I
know you love a play ; and there is room for us all. It
holds nine. I have engaged Captain Wentworth. Anne
will not be sorry to join us, I am sure. We all like 2
play. Have not I done well, mother?"
Mrs. Musgrove was good humouredly beginning to ex¬
press her perfect readiness for the play, if Henrietta and
all the others liked it, when Mary eagerly interrupted
her by exclaiming,—■
" Good heavens, Charles ! how can you think of such a
thing? Take a box for to-morrow night! Have you
forgot that we are engaged to Camden Place to-morrow
night ? and that we were most particularly asked on purpose
to meet Lady Dalrymple and her daughter, and Mr. Elliot
— all the principal family connections — on purpose to be
introduced to them ? How can you be so forgetful ? "
" Phoo ! phoo !" replied Charles, " what's an evening
party ? Never worth remembering. Your father might
have asked us to dinner, I think, if he had wanted to see
us. You may do as you like, but I shall go to the play."
" Oh, Charles, I declare it will be too abominable if
you do ! when you promised to go."
" No, I did not promise. I only smirked and bowed,
and said the word ' happy.' There was no promise."
" But you must go, Charles. It would be unpardon¬
able to fail. We were asked on purpose to be introduced.
414.
PERSUASION.
There was always such a great connection between the
Dalrymples and ourselves. Nothing ever happened on
either side that was not announced immediately. We are
quite near relations, you know; and Mr. Elliot too, whom
you ought so particularly to be acquainted with! Every
attention is due to Mr. Elliot. Consider, my father's
Sheir — the future representative of the family."
" Don't talk to me about heirs and representatives,"
cried Charles. " I am not one of those who neglect the
reigning power to bow to the rising sun. If I would not
go for the sake of your father, I should think it scanda¬
lous to go for the sake of his heir. What is Mr. Elliot to
me ? "
The careless expression was life to Anne, who saw that
Captain Wentworth was all attention, looking and listen¬
ing with his whole soul; and that the last words brought
his enquiring eyes from Charles to herself.
Charles and Mary still talked on in the same style ; he,
half serious and half jesting, maintaining the scheme for
the play ; and she, invariably serious, most warmly op¬
posing it, and not omitting to make it known, that how¬
ever determined to go to Camden Place herself, she should
not think herself very well used, if they went to the play
without her. Mrs. Musgrove interposed.
" We had better put it off. Charles, you had much
better go back, and change the box for Tuesday. It would
be a pity to be divided, and we should be losing Miss
Anne too, if there is a party at her father's ; and I am
sure neither Henrietta nor I should care at all for the play
if Miss Anne could not be with us."
Anne felt truly obliged to her for such kindness; and
quite as much so, moreover, for the opportunity it gave her
of decidedly saying,'—
" If it depended only on my inclination, ma'am, the
party at home (excepting on Mary's account) would not be
the smallest impediment. I have no pleasure in the sort
Of meeting, and should be too happy to change it for a
play, and with you. But it had better not be attempted,
perhaps."
PERSUASION.
415
She had spoken it; but she trembled when it was done,
conscious that her words were listened to, and daring not
even to try to observe their effect.
It was soon generally agreed that Tuesday should be
the day, Charles only reserving the advantage of still teas¬
ing his wife, by persisting that he would go to the play to¬
morrow, if nobody else would.
Captain Wentworth left his seat, and walked to the fire¬
place ; probably for the sake of walking away from it soon
afterwards, and taking a station, with less barefaced design,
by Anne.
" You have not been long enough in Bath," said he,
" to enjoy the evening parties of the place."
" Oh no. The usual character of them has nothing
for me. I am no card-player."
" You were not formerly, I know. You did not use to
like cards; but time makes many changes."
" I am not yet so much changed," cried Anne, and
stopped, fearing she hardly knew what misconstruction.
After waiting a few moments he said — and as if it were
the result of immediate feeling — " It is a period, indeed !
Eight years and a half is a period !"
Whether he would have proceeded farther was left to
Anne's imagination to ponder over in a calmer hour; for
while still hearing the sounds he had uttered, she was
startled to other subjects by Henrietta, eager to make use
of the present leisure for getting out, and calling on her
companions to lose no time, lest somebody else should
come in.
They were obliged to move. Anne talked of being
perfectly ready, and tried to look it; but she felt that
could Henrietta have known the regret and reluctance of
her heart in quitting that chair, in preparing to quit the
room, she would have found, in all her own sensations
for her cousin, in the very security of his affection, where¬
with to pity her.
Their preparations, however, were stopped short.
Alarming sounds were heard; other visiters approached,
and the door was thrown open for Sir Walter and Miss
Elliot, whose entrance seemed to give a general chill. Anne
persuasion.
felt an instant oppression, and. wherever she looked, saw
symptoms of the same. The comfort, the freedom, the
gaiety of the room was over, hushed into cold composure,
determined silence, or insipid talk, to meet the heartless
elegance of her father and sister. How mortifying to feel
that it was so !
Her jealous eye was satisfied in one particular. Captain
Wentworth was acknowledged again by each, by Eliza¬
beth more graciously than before. She even addressed
him once, and looked at him more than once. Elizabeth
was, in fact, revolving a great measure. The sequel ex¬
plained it. After the waste of a few minutes in saying
the proper nothings, she began to give the invitation which
was to comprise all the remaining dues of the Mus-
groves. " To-morrow evening, to meet a few friends, no
formal party." It was all said very gracefully, and the
cards with which she had provided herself, the " Miss
Elliot at home," were laid on the table, with a courteous,
comprehensive smile to all, and one smile and one card
more decidedly for Captain Wentworth. The truth was,
that Elizabeth had been long enough in Bath, to under¬
stand the importance of a man of such an air and appear¬
ance as his. The past was nothing. The present was
that Captain Wentworth would move about well in her
drawing-room. The card was pointedly given, and Sir
Walter and Elizabeth arose and disappeared.
The interruption had been short, though severe ; and
ease and animation returned to most of those they left, as
the door shut them out, but not to Anne. She could
think only of the invitation she had with such astonish¬
ment witnessed ; and of the manner in which it had been
received, a manner of doubtful meaning, of surprise rather
than gratification, of polite acknowledgment rather than
acceptance. She knew him ; she saw disdain in his eye ;
and could not venture to believe that he had determined to
accept such an offering as atonement for all the insolence
of the past. Her spirits sank. He held the card in his
hand after they were gone, as if deeply considering it.
" Only think of Elizabeth's including every body !"
whispered Mary very audibly- " I do not wonder Captain
PBBSUASION.
417
Wentworth is delighted ! You see he cannot put the card
out of his hand."
Anne caught his eye, saw his cheeks glow, and his
mouth form itself into a momentary expression of con¬
tempt, and turned away, that she might neither see nor
hear more to vex her.
The party separated. The gentlemen had their own
pursuits, the ladies proceeded on their own business, and
they met no more while Anne belonged to them. She
was earnestly begged to return and dine, and give them all
the rest of the day; but her spirits had been so long ex¬
erted, that at present she felt unequal to move, and fit
only for home, where she might be sure of being as silent
as she chose.
Promising to be with them the whole of the following
morning, therefore, she closed the fatigues of the present,
by a toilsome walk to Camden Place, there to spend the
evening chiefly in listening to the busy arrangements of
Elizabeth and Mrs. Clay for the morrow's party, the fre¬
quent enumeration of the persons invited, and the conti¬
nually improving detail of all the embellishments which
were to make it the most completely elegant of its kind in
Bath, while harassing herself in secret with the never-
ending question, of whether Captain Wentworth would
come or not ? They were reckoning him as certain, but,
with her, it was a gnawing solicitude never appeased for
five minutes together. She generally thought he would
come, because she generally thought he ought; but it was
a case which she could not so shape into any positive act of
duty or discretion, as inevitably to defy the suggestions of
very opposite feelings.
She only roused herself from the broodings of this rest¬
less agitation, to let Mrs. Clay know that she had been
seen with Mr. Elliot three hours after his being supposed
to be out of Bath; for having watched in vain for some
intimation of the interview from the lady herself, she de¬
termined to mention it; and it seemed to her that there
was guilt in Mrs. Clay's face as she listened. It was
transient, cleared away in an instant; but Anne could
imagine she read there the consciousness of having, by
E E
418
PERSUASION.
some complication of mutual trick, or some overbearing
authority of his, been obliged to attend (perhaps for half
an hour) to his lectures and restrictions on her designs on
Sir Walter. She exclaimed, however, with a very toler¬
able imitation of nature,—
" Oh dear ! very true. Only think, Miss Elliot, to my
great surprise I met with Mr. Elliot in Bath Street! I
was nevsr more astonished. He turned back and walked
with me to the Pump-yard. He had been prevented set¬
ting off for Thornberry, but I really forget by what — for
I was in a hurry, and could not much attend, and I can
only answer for his being determined not to be delayed in
his return. He wanted to know how early he might be
admitted to-morrow. He was full of c to-morrow ;' and
it is very evident t'hat I have been full of it too, ever since
I entered the house, and learned the extension of your
plan, and all that had happened, or my seeing him could
never have gone so entirely out of my head."
CHAPTER XI.
One day only had passed since Anne's conversation with Mrs.
Smith ; but a keener interest had succeeded, and she was
now so little touched by Mr. Elliot's conduct, except by its
effects in one quarter, that it became a matter of course, the
next morning, still to defer her explanatory visit in Rivers
Street. She had promised to he with the Musgroves from
breakfast to dinner. Her faith was plighted, and Mr.
Elliot's character, like the Sultaness Scheherazade's head,
must live another day.
She could not keep her appointment punctually, how*
ever ; the weather was unfavourable, and she had grieved
over the rain on her friend's account, and felt it very much
on her own, before she was able to attempt the walk.
"When she reached the White Hart, and made her way to
the proper apartment, she found herself neither arriving
quite in time, nor the first to arrive. The party before
PERSUASION.
419
her were, Mrs. Musgrove talking to Mrs. Croft, and Captain
Harville to Captain Wentworth; and she immediately
heard that Mary and Henrietta, too impatient to wait, had
gone out the moment it had cleared, but would be back
again soon, and that the strictest injunctions had been left
with Mrs. Musgrove, to keep her there till they returned.
She had only to submit, sit down, be outwardly composed,
and feel herself plunged at once in all the agitations
which she had merely laid her account of tasting a little
before the morning closed. There was no delay, no waste,
of time. She was deep in the happiness of such misery,
or the misery of such happiness, instantly. Two minutes
after her entering the room, Captain Wentworth said, —
" We will write the letter we were talking of, Harville,
now, if you will give me materials."
Materials were all at hand, on a separate table; he went
to it, and nearly turning his back on them all, was en¬
grossed by writing.
Mrs. Musgrove was giving Mrs. Croft the history of her
eldest daughter's engagement, and just in that inconvenient
tone of voice which was perfectly audible while it pre¬
tended to be a whisper. Anne felt that she did not belong
to the conversation, and yet, as Captain Harville seemed
thoughtful and not disposed to talk, she could not avoid
hearing many undesirable particulars ; such as, " how Mr.
Musgrove and my brother Hayter had met again and again
to talk it over ; what my brother Hayter had said one day,
and what Mr. Musgrove had proposed the next, and what
had occurred to my sister Hayter, and what the young people
had wished, and what I said at first I never could consent
to, but was afterwards persuaded to think might do very
well," and a great deal in the same style of open-hearted
communication — minutise which, even with every advan¬
tage of taste and delicacy, which good Mrs. Musgrove could
not give, could be properly interesting only to the princi¬
pals. Mrs. Croft was attending with great good-humour,
and whenever she spoke at all, it was very sensibly. Anne
hoped the gentlemen might each be too much self-occupied
to hear.
" And so, ma'am, all these things considered," said
1- F 9
420
PERSUASION.
Mrs. Musgrove in her powerful whisper, " though we
could have wished it different, yet, altogether, we did not
think it fair to stand out any longer ; for Charles Hayter
was quite wild about it, and Henrietta was pretty near as
had; and so we thought they had better marry at once,
and make the best of it, as many others have done before
them. At any rate, said I, it will be better than a long
engagement."
" That is precisely what I was going to observe,"
cried Mrs. Croft. " I would rather have young people
settle on a small income at once, and have to struggle with
a few difficulties together, than be involved in a long en¬
gagement. I always think that no mutual "
" Oh ! dear Mrs. Croft," cried Mrs. Musgrove, unable
to let her finish her speech, (i there is nothing I so abo¬
minate for young people as a long engagement. It is what
I always protested against for my children. It is all very
well, I used to say, for young people to be engaged, if there
is a certainty of their being able to marry in six months, or
even in twelve; but a long engagement!"
ff Yes, dear ma'am," said Mrs. Croft, " or an uncertain
engagement; an engagement which may be long. To be¬
gin without knowing that at such a time there will be the
means of marrying, I hold to be very unsafe and unwise ;
and what 1 think all parents should prevent as far as they
can."
Anne found an unexpected interest here. She felt it
in its application to herself — felt it in a nervous thrill all
over her; and at the same moment that her eyes instinctively
glanced towards the distant table, Captain "Wentworth's pen
ceased to move, his head was raised, pausing, listening, and
he turned round the next instant to give a look — one
quick, conscious look at her.
The two ladies continued to talk, to re-urge the same
admitted truths, and enforce them with such examples of
the ill effect of a contrary practice as had fallen within
their observation, hut Anne heard nothing distinctly ; it
was only a buzz of words in her ear, her mind was in con¬
fusion.
Captain Harvillei, who had in truth been hearing none
PERSUASION.
421
of it, now left his seat, and moved to a window; and
Anne, seeming to watch him, though it was from thorough
absence of mind, became gradually sensible that he was in¬
viting her to join him where he stood. He looked at her
with a smile, and a little motion of the head, which ex¬
pressed, " Come to me, I have something to say;" and
the unaffected, easy kindness of manner which denoted the
feelings of an older acquaintance than he really was,
strongly enforced the invitation. She roused herself and
went to him. The window at which he stood was at the
other end of the room from where the two ladies were sit¬
ting ; and though nearer to Captain Wentworth's table, not
very near. As she joined him, Captain Harville's counte¬
nance reassumed the serious, thoughtful expression which
seemed its natural character.
" Look here," said, he, unfolding a parcel in his hand,
and displaying a small miniature painting, " do you know
who that is ? "
" Certainly, Captain Benwick."
"*Yes, and you may guess who it is for. But," in a
deep tone, " it was not done for her. Miss Elliot, do you
remember our walking together at Lyme, and grieving for
him ? I little thought then — but no matter. This was
drawn at the Cape. He met with a clever young German
artist at the Cape, and in compliance with a promise to my
poor sister, sat to him, and was bringing it home for her.
And I have now the charge of getting it properly set for
another ! It was a commission to me ! But who else was
there to employ ? I hope I can allow for him. I am not
sorry, indeed, to make it over to another. He undertakes
it:" looking towards Captain Wentworth, "he is writing
about it now." And with a quivering lip he wound up the
whole by adding, " Poor Fanny ! she would not have for¬
gotten him so soon."
" No," replied Anne, in a low feeling voice, " that I
can easily believe."
" It was not in her nature. She doted on him."
" It would not be the nature of any woman who truly
loved."
Captain Harville smiled, as much as to say, " Ho you
n u 3
422
PERSUASION.
claim that for your sex ? " and she answered the question,
smiling also, " Yes. We certainly do not forget you so
soon as you forget us. It is, perhaps, our fate rather than
our merit. We cannot help ourselves. We live at home,
quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us. You are
forced on exertion. You have always a profession, pursuits,
business of some sort or other, to take you back into the
world immediately, and continual occupation and change
soon weaken impressions."
" Granting your assertion that the world does all this so
soon for men, (which, however, I do not think I shall
grant,) it does not apply to Benwick. He has not been
forced upon any exertion. The peace turned him on shore
at the very moment, and he has been living with us, in
our little family circle, ever since."
" True," said Anne, " very true ; I did not recollect;
but what shall we say now, Captain Harville ? If the
change be not from outward circumstances, it must he
from within ; it must be nature, man's nature, which has
done the business for Captain Benwick."
" No, no, it is not man's nature. I will not allow it to
be more man's nature than woman's to be inconstant and
forget those they do love, or have loved. I believe the re¬
verse. I believe in a true analogy between our bodily
frames and our mental; and that as our bodies are the
strongest, so are our feelings; capable of bearing most
rough usage, and riding out the heaviest weather."
" Your feelings may be the strongest," replied Anne,
" but the same spirit of analogy will authorise me to assert
that ours are the most tender. Man is more robust than
woman, but he is not longer lived ; which exactly explains
my view of the nature of their attachments. Nay, it
would be too hard upon you, if it were otherwise. You
have difficulties, and privations, and dangers enough to
struggle with. You are always labouring and toiling, ex¬
posed to every risk and hardship: Your home, country,
friends, all united. Neither time, nor health, nor life, to be
called your own. It would be too hard, indeed," (with a
faltering voice,) rfif woman's feelings were to lie added tg
all this."
PERSUASION.
423
te We shall never agree upon this question," Captain
Harville was beginning to say, when a slight noise called
their attention to Captain Wentworth's hitherto perfectly
quiet division of the room. It was nothing more than
that his pen had fallen down; hut Anne was startled at
finding him nearer than she had supposed, and half-inclined
to suspect that the pen had only fallen, because he had
been occupied by them, striving to catch sounds, which
yet she did not think he could have caught.
" Have you finished your letter ? " said Captain Harville.
" Not quite—a few lines more. I shall have done in five
minutes."
" There is no hurry on my side. I am only ready when,
ever you are. I am in very good anchorage here," smiling
at Anne, ee well supplied, and want for nothing. No hurry
for a signal at all. Well, Miss Elliot," lowering his voice,
" as I was saying, we shall never agree, I suppose, upon
this point. No man and woman would, probably. But let
me observe that all histories are against you—all stories,
prose and verse. If I had such a memory as Benwick, I
could bring you fifty quotations in a moment on my side
of the argument, and I do not think I ever opened a book in
my life which had not sSmething to say upon woman's in¬
constancy. Songs and proverbs, all talk of woman's fickle¬
ness. But, perhaps, you will say, these were all written by
men."
" Perhaps I shall. Yes, yes, if you please, no reference
to examples in books. Men have had every advantage of
us in telling their own story. Education has been theirs in
so much higher a degree; the pen has been in their hands.
I will not allow books to prove any thing."
" But how shall we prove any thing?"
" We never shall. We never can expect to prove any
thing upon such a point. It is a difference of opinion which
does not admit of proof. We each begin, probably, with a
little bias towards our own sex; and upon that bias build
every circumstance in favour of it which has occurred within
our own circle; many of which circumstances (perhaps
those very cases which strike us the most) may be precisely
such as cannot be brought forward without betraying a con-
E E 4
424
PERSUASION.
fidence, or, in some respect, saying what should not be
said."
" Ah !" cried Captain Harville, in a tone of strong feel¬
ing, " if I could but make you comprehend what a man
suffers when he takes a last look at his wife and children,
and watches the boat that he has sent them off in, as long as
it is in sight, and then turns away and says, ' God knows
whether we ever meet again!' And then, if I could con¬
vey to you the glow of his soul when he does see them
again; when, coming back after a twelvemonth's absence,
perhaps, and obliged to put into another port, he calculates
how soon it be possible to get them there, pretending to
deceive himself, and saying, c They cannot be here till
such a day,' but all the while hoping for them twelve hours
sooner, and seeing them arrive at last, as if Heaven had
given them wings, by many hours sooner still! If I could
explain to you all this, and all that a man can bear and do,
and glories to do, for the sake of these treasures of his ex
istence! I speak, you know, only of such men as have
hearts !" pressing his own with emotion.
" Oh !" cried Anne, eagerly, " I hope I do justice to
all that is felt by you, and by those who resemble you. God
forbid that I should undervalue the warm and faithful feel¬
ings of any of my fellow-creature^. I should deserve utter
contempt if I dared to suppose that true attachment and
constancy were known only by woman. No, I believe you
capable of every thing great and good in your married lives.
I believe you equal to every important exertion, and to every
domestic forbearance, so long as—-if I may be allowed the
expression—-so long as you have an object. I mean, while
the woman you love lives, and lives for you. All the pri¬
vilege I claim for my own sex (it is not a very enviable one,
you need not covet it), is that of loving longest, when ex¬
istence or when hope is gone."
She could not immediately have uttered another sentence;
her heart was too full, her breath too much oppressed.
" You are a good soul," cried Captain Harville, putting
his hand on her arm, quite affectionately. " There is no
quarrelling with you. And when I think of Benwiek, my
tongue is tied."
PERSUASION.
425
Their attention was called towards the others. Mrs
Croft was taking leave.
" Here, Frederick, you and I part company, I believe,"
said she. " I am going home, and you have an engage¬
ment with your friend. To-night we may have the plea¬
sure of all meeting again, at your party," turning to Anne.
" We had your sister's card yesterday, and I understood
Frederick had a card too, though I did not see it—and you
are disengaged, Frederick, are you not, as well as our¬
selves ? "
Captain Went worth was folding up a letter in great
haste, and either could not or would not answer fully.
" Yes," said he, "very true; here we separate, but
Harville and I shall soon be after you; that is, Harville, if
you are ready, I am in half a minute. I know you will
not he sorry to be off. I shall be at your service in half a
minute."
Mrs. Croft left them, and Captain Wentworth, having
sealed his letter with great rapidity, was indeed ready, and
had even a hurried, agitated air, which showed impatience
to be gone. Anne knew not how to understand it. She
had the kindest " Good morning, God bless you!" from
Captain Harville, but from him not a word, nor a look!
He had passed out of the room without a look !
She had only time, however, to move closer to the table
where he had been writing, when footsteps were heard re¬
turning; the door opened; it was himself. He begged
their pardon, but he had forgotten his gloves, and instantly
crossing the room to the writing table, and standing with
his back towards Mrs. Musgrove, he drew out a letter from
under the scattered paper, placed it before Anne with eyes
of glowing entreaty fixed on her for a moment, and hastily
collecting his gloves, was again out of the room, almost
before Mrs. Musgrove was aware of his being in it—the
work of an instant!
The revolution which one instant had made in Anne was
almost beyond expression. The letter, with a direction
hardly legible, to " Miss A. E ," was evidently the
one which he had been folding so hastily. While supposed
to be writing only to Captain Benwick, he had been also
426
PERSUASION.
addressing her! On the contents of that letter depended
all which this world could do for her ! Any thing was pos¬
sible, any thing might be defied rather than suspense. Mrs.
Musgrove had little arrangements of her own at her own
table; to their protection she must trust, and, sinking into
the chair which he had occupied, succeeding to the very
spot where he had leaned and written, her eyes devoured
the following words : —
" I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you
by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my
soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am
too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I
offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own,
than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago.
Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his
love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you.
Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been,
but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath.
For you alone I think and plan. Have you not seen this?
Can you fail to have understood my wishes ? I had not
waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings,
as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly
write. I am every instant hearing something which over¬
powers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the
tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too
good, too excellent creature ! You do us justice, indeed.
You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy
among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undevi-
ating, in
" F. W.
" I must go, uncertain of my fate ; but I shall return
hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word,
a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your
father's house this evening, or never."
Such a letter was not to be soon recovered from. Half
an hour's solitude and reflection might have tranquillised
her ; but the ten minutes only, which now passed before
she was interrupted, with all the restraints of her situation,
could do nothing towards tranquillity. Every moment ra-
PERSUASION.
427
fcher brought fresh agitation. It was an overpowering hap¬
piness. And before she was beyond the first stage of full
sensation, Charles, Mary, and Henrietta, all came in.
The absolute necessity of seeming like herself produced
then an immediate struggle ; but after a while she could
do no more. She began not to understand a word they
said, and was obliged to plead indisposition and excuse her¬
self. They could then see that she looked very ill — were
shocked and concerned — and would not stir without her
for the world. This was dreadful. Would they only
have gone away, and left her in the quiet possession of that
room, it would have been her cure ; but to have them all
standing or waiting around her was distracting, and, in de¬
speration, she said she would go home.
fc By all means, my dear," cried Mrs. Musgrove, <c go
home directly, and take care of yourself, that you may be
fit for the evening. I wish Sarah was here to doctor you,
but I am no doctor myself. Charles, ring and order a
chair. She must not walk."
But the chair would never do. Worse than all! To
lose the possibility of speaking two words to Captain
Wentworth in the course of her quiet, solitary progress up
the town (and she felt almost certain of meeting him)
could not be borne. The chair was earnestly protested
against; and Mrs. Musgrove, who thought only of one
sort of illness, having assured herself, with some anxiety,
that there had been no fall in the case; that Anne had not,
at any time lately, slipped down, and got a blow on her
head ; that she was perfectly convinced of having had no
fall; could part with her cheerfully, and depend on finding
her better at night.
Anxious to omit no possible precaution, Anne struggled,
and said, —
" I am afraid, ma'am, that it is not perfectly under¬
stood. Pray be so good as to mention to the other gentle¬
men that we hope to see your whole party this evening. I
am afraid there has been some mistake; and I wish you
particularly to assure Captain Harville, and Captain Went¬
worth, that we hone to see them both,"
428
PERSUASION.
" Oh, my dear, it is quite understood, I give you my
word. Captain Harville has no thought hut of going."
" Do you think so ? But I am afraid ; and I should
he so very sorry. "Will you promise me to mention it
when you see them again ? You will see them both
again this morning, I dare say. Do promise me."
" To be sure I will, if you wish it. Charles, if yon
see Captain Harville any where, remember to give Miss
Anne's message. But, indeed, my dear, you need not be
uneasy. Captain Harville holds himself quite engaged, I '1J
answer for it ; and Captain Wentworth the same, I dare
say."
Anne could do no more j but her heart prophesied some
mischance, to damp the perfection of her felicity. It
could not be very lasting, however. Even if he did not
come to Camden Place himself, it would be in her power
to send an intelligible sentence by Captain Harville.
Another momentary vexation occurred. Charles, in his
real concern and good nature, would go home with her:
there was no preventing him. This was almost cruel.
But she could not be long ungrateful; he was sacrificing
an engagement at a gunsmith's, to he of use to her; and
she set off with him, with no feeling but gratitude appa¬
rent.
They were in Union Street, when a quicker step behind,
a something of familiar sound, gave her two moments'
preparation for the sight of Captain Wentworth. He
joined them ; but, as if irresolute whether to join or to pass
on, said nothing — only looked. Anne could command
herself enough to receive that look, and not repulsively.
The cheeks which had been pale now glowed, and the
movements which had hesitated were decided. He walked
by her side. Presently, struck by a sudden thought,
Charles said,—
" Captain Wentworth, which way are you going? only
to Gay Street, or farther up the town ? "
" I hardly know," replied Captain Wentworth, sur¬
prised.
" Are you going as high as Belmont ? Are you going
pear Camden Place ? Because, if you are, I shall have ne
PERSUASION.
429
scruple in asking you to take my place, and give Anne
your arm to her father's door. She is rather done for this
morning, and must not go so far without help; and I
ought to be at that fellow's in the market place. He pro¬
mised me the sight of a capital gun he is just going ti> send
off; said he would keep it unpacked to the last possible
moment, that I might see it; and if I do not turn back
now, I have no chance. By his description, a good deal
like the second-sized double-barrel of mine, which you
shot with one day round Winthrop."
There could not be an objection. There could be only
a most proper alacrity, a most obliging compliance for
public view ; and smiles reined in and spirits dancing in
private rapture. In half a minute, Charles was at the
bottom of Union Street again, and the other two proceed¬
ing together; and soon words enough had passed between
them to decide their direction towards the comparatively
quiet and retired gravel walk, where the power of convers¬
ation would make the present hour a blessing indeed ; and
prepare it for all the immortality which the happiest re¬
collections of their own future lives could bestow. There
they exchanged again those feelings and those promises
which had once before seemed to secure every thing, but
which had been followed by so many, many years of di¬
vision and estrangement. There they returned again into
the past, more exquisitely happy, perhaps, in their re-union
than when it had been first projected; more tender, more
tried, more fixed in a knowledge of each other's character
truth, and attachment more equal to act, more justified in
acting. And there, as they slowly paced the gradual
ascent, heedless of every group around them, seeing neither
sauntering politicians, bustling housekeepers, flirting girls,
nor nursery-maids and children, they could indulge in
those retrospections and acknowledgments, and especially in
those explanations of what had directly preceded the pre¬
sent moment, which were so poignant and so ceaseless in
interest. All the little variations of the last week were
gone through; and of yesterday and to-day there could
scarcely be an end.
She had not mistaken him. Jealousy of Mr. Elliot
PERSUASION.
had been the retarding weight, the doubt, the torment.
That bad begun to operate in the very hour of first meet •
ing her in Bath; that had returned, after a short suspen¬
sion, to ruin the concert; and that had influenced him in
every thing he had said and done, or omitted to say and do
in the last four-and-twenty hours. It had been gradually
yielding to the better hopes which her looks, or words, or
actions, occasionally encouraged ; it had been vanquished at
last by those sentiments and those tones which had reached
him while she talked with Captain Harville; and under the
irresistible governance of which he had seized a sheet of
paper, and poured out his feelings.
Of what he had then written nothing was to be retracted
or qualified. He persisted in having loved none but her.
She had never been supplanted. He never even believed
himself to see her equal. Thus much, indeed, he was
obliged to acknowledge — that he had been constant un¬
consciously, nay unintentionally ; that he had meant to
forget her, and believed it to he done. He had imagined
himself indifferent, when he had only been angry ; and he
had been unjust to her merits, because he had been a suf¬
ferer from them. Her character was now fixed on his
mind as perfection itself, maintaining the loveliest me¬
dium of fortitude and gentleness; but he was obliged to
acknowledge that only at Uppercross had he learnt to do
her justice, and only at Lyme had he begun to under¬
stand himself.
At Lyme, he had received lessons of more than one sort.
The passing admiration of Mr. Elliot had at least roused
him, and the scenes on the Cobb and at Captain Harville's
had fixed her superiority.
In his preceding attempts to attach himself to Louisa
Musgrove (the attempts of angry pride), he protested that
he had for ever felt it to be impossible; that he had not
cared, could not care, for Louisa; though, till that day, till
the leisuie for reflection which followed it, he had not un¬
derstood the perfect excellence of the mind with which
Louisa's could so ill bear a comparison; or the perfect,
unrivalled hold it possessed over his own. There, he had
learnt to distinguish between the steadiness cf principle and
PERSUASION.
431
the obstinacy of self-will, between the darings of heedless¬
ness and the resolution of a collected mind. There, he
had seen every thing to exalt in his estimation the woman
he had lost; and there begun to deplore the pride, the
folly, the madness of resentment, which had kept him
from trying to regain her when thrown in his way.
From that period his penance had become severe. He
had no sooner been free from the horror and remorse
attending the first few days of Louisa's accident, no sooner
begun to feel himself alive again, than he had begun to
feel himself, though alive, not at liberty.
" I found," said he, " that I was considered by Har-
ville an engaged man ! That neither Harville nor his wife
entertained a doubt of our mutual attachment. I was
startled and shocked. To a degree, I could contradict
this instantly; but, when I began to reflect that others
might have felt the same — her own family, nay, perhaps
herself—I was no longer at my own disposal, I was hers
in honour if she wished it. I had been unguarded. I had
not thought seriously on this subject before. I had not
considered that my excessive intimacy must have its danger
of ill consequence in many Ways; and that I had no right
to be trying whether I could attach myself to either of
the girls, at the risk of raising even an unpleasant report,
were there no other ill effects. I had been grossly wrong,
and must abide the consequences."
He found too late, in short, that he had entangled him¬
self; and that precisely as he became fully satisfied of his
not caring for Louisa at all, he must regard himself as
bound to her, if her sentiments for him were what the
Harvilles supposed. It determined him to leave Lyme,
and await her complete recovery elsewhere. He would
gladly weaken, by any fair means, whatever feelings or
speculations concerning him might exist; and he went,
therefore, to his brother's, meaning after a while to return
to Kellynch, and act as circumstances might require.
" I was six weeks with Edward," said he, " and saw
him happy. I could have no other pleasure. I deserved
none He enquired after you very particularly; asked
432
iPERSUASIOrf.
even if you were personally altered, little suspecting that
to my eye you could never alter."
Anne smiled, and let it pass. It was too pleasing a
blunder for a reproach. It is something for a woman to
be assured, in her eight-and-twentieth year, that she has
not lost one charm of earlier youth : but the value of such
homage was inexpressibly increased to Anne, by compar¬
ing it with former words, and feeling it to be the result,
not the cause, of a revival of his warm attachment.
He had remained in Shropshire, lamenting the blindness
of his own pride, and the blunders of his own calculations,
till at once released from Louisa by the astonishing and
felicitous intelligence of her engagement with Benwick.
" Here/' said he, " ended the worst of my state; for
now I could at least put myself in the way of happiness,
I could exert myself, I could do something. But to be
waiting so long in inaction, and waiting only for evil, had
been dreadful. Within the first five minutes I said, ' I
will be at Bath on Wednesday/ and I was. Was it
unpardonable to think it worth my while to come ? and to
arrive with some degree of hope ? You were single. It
was possible that you might retain the feelings of the past,
as I did; and one encouragement happened to be mine. I
could never doubt that you would be loved and sought by
others, but I knew to a certainty that you had refused one
man, at least, of better pretensions than myself; and I
could not help often saying, f Was this for me?'"
Their first meeting in Milsom Street afforded much to
be said, but the concert still more. That evening seemed
to be made up of exquisite moments. The moment of her
stepping forward in the octagon-room to speak to him, the
moment of Mr. Elliot's appearing and tearing her away,
and one or two subsequent moments, marked by returning
hope or increasing despondence, were dwelt on with
energy.
"To see you," cried he, " in the midst of those who
could not be my well-wishers; to see your cousin close by
you, conversing and smiling, and feel all the horrible eligi¬
bilities and proprieties of the match ! To consider it as
the certain wish of every being who could hope to influence
PERSUAStOK.
433
you! Even if your own feelings were reluctant or indif«
ferent, to consider what powerful supports would be his !
Was it not enough to make the fool of me which I appeared ?
How could I look on without agony? Was not the very-
sight of the friend who sat behind you, was not the recol¬
lection of what had been, the knowledge of her influence,
the indelible, immovable impression of what persuasion had
once done — was it not all against me ? "
ec You should have distinguished," replied Anne,
" You should not have suspected me now; the case so dif¬
ferent, and my age so different. If I was wrong in yield¬
ing to persuasion once, remember that it was to persua¬
sion exerted on the side of safety, not of risk. When
I yielded, I thought it was to duty; but no duty could be
called in aid here. In marrying a man indifferent to me,
all risk would have been incurred, and all duty violated."
" Perhaps I ought to have reasoned thus," he replied,
" hut I could not. I could not derive benefit from the
late knowledge I had acquired of your character. I could
not bring it into play: it was overwhelmed, buried, lost in
those earlier feelings which I had been smarting under
year after year. I could think of you only as one who
had yielded, who had given me up, who had been influ¬
enced by any one rather than by me. I saw you with the
very person who had guided you in that year of misery.
I had no reason to believe her of less authority now. The
force of habit was to be added."
" I should have thought," said Anne, cc that my man¬
ner to yourself might have spared you much or all of this."
u No, no ! your manner might be only the ease which
your engagement to another man would give. I left you
in this belief; and yet — I was determined to see you
again. My spirits rallied with the morning, and I felt
that I had still a motive for remaining here."
At last Anne was at home again, and happier than any
one in that house could have conceived. All the surprise
and suspense, and every other painful part of the morning
dissipated by this conversation, she re-entered the house so
happy as to be obliged to find an alloy in some momentary
apprehensions of its being impossible to last. An interval
F F
434
PERSUASION.
of meditation, serious and grateful, was the best corrective
of every thing dangerous in such high-wrought felicity;
and she went to her room, and grew steadfast and fear¬
less in the thankfulness of her enjoyment.
The evening came, the drawing-rooms were lighted up,
the company assembled. It was hut a card-party, it was
but a mixture of those who had never met before, and
those who met too often — a common-place business, too
numerous for intimacy, too small for variety; but Anne
had never found an evening shorter. Glowing and lovely
in sensibility and happiness, and more generally admired
than she thought about or cared for, she had cheerful or
forbearing feelings for every creature around her. Mr.
Elliot was there; she avoided, but she could pity him.
The Wallises; she had amusement in understanding them.
Lady Dalrymple and Miss Carteret; they would soon be
innoxious cousins to her. She cared not for M'-s. Clay,
and had nothing to blush for in the public manners of her
father and sister. With the Musgroves, there was the
happy chat of perfect ease ; with Captain Harville, the
kind-hearted intercourse of brother and. sister ; with Lady
Russell, attempts at conversation, which a delicious con¬
sciousness cut short; with Admiral and Mrs. Croft, every
thing of peculiar cordiality and fervent interest, which the
same consciousness sought to conceal; — and with Captain
Wentworth some moments of communication continually
occurring, and always the hope of more, and always the
knowledge of his being there !
It was in one of these short meetings, each apparently
occupied in admiring a fine display of green-house plants,
that she said —
" I have been thinking over the past, and trying impar¬
tially to judge of the right and wrong, I mean with regard
to myself; and I must believe that I was right, much as I
suffered from it, that I was perfectly right in being guided
by the friend whom you will love better than you do now.
To me, she was in the place of a parent. Do not mistake
me, however. I am not saying that she did not err in her
advice. It was, perhaps, one of those cases in which ad¬
vice is good or bad only as the event decides; and for
PERSUASION.
43 5
myself, I certainly never should, in any circumstance of
tolerable similarity, give such advice. But I mean, that I
was right in submitting to her, and that if I had done
otherwise, I should have suffered more in continuing the
engagement than I did even in giving it up, because I
should have suffered in my conscience. I have now, as
far as such a sentiment is allowable in human nature, no¬
thing to reproach myself with ; and, if I mistake not, a
strong sense of duty is no bad part of a woman's portion."
He looked at her, looked at Lady Russell, and looking
again at her, replied, as if in cool deliberation,
" Not yet. But there are hopes of her being forgiven
in time. I trust to being in charity with her soon. But
I too have been thinking over the past, and a question has
suggested itself, whether there may not have been one
person more my enemy even than that lady ? My own self.
Tell me if, when I returned to England in the year eight,
with a few thousand pounds, and was posted into the La-
conia, if I had then written to you, would you have an¬
swered my letter ? would you, in short, have renewed the
engagement then ? "
" Would I \ " was all her answer; but the accent was
decisive enough.
" Good God !" he cried, " you would ! It is not that
I did not think of it, or desire it, as what could alone
crown all my other success. But I was proud, too proud
to ask again. I did not understand you. I shut my eyes,
and would not understand you, or do you justice. This
is a recollection which ought to make me forgive every
one sooner than myself. Six years of separation and
suffering might have been spared. It is a sort of pain,
too, which is new to me. I have been used to the gratifi¬
cation of believing myself to earn every blessing that I en¬
joyed. I have valued myself on honourable toils and just
rewards. Like other great men under reverses," he added
with a smile, " I must endeavour to subdue my mind to
my fortune. I must learn to brook being happier than J
deserve."
F F 2
436
persuasion
CHAPTER XII.
Who can be in doubt of what followed ? When any two
young people take it into their heads to marry, they are
pretty sure by perseverance to carry their point, be they
ever so poor, or ever so imprudent, or ever so little likely
to be necessary to each other's ultimate comfort. This
may be bad morality to conclude with, but I believe it to
be truth ; and if such parties succeed, how should a Cap¬
tain Wentworth and an Anne Elliot, with the advantage of
maturity of mind, consciousness of right, and one inde¬
pendent fortune between them, fail of bearing down every
opposition ? They might, in fact, have borne down a
great deal fnore than they met with, for there was little to
distress them beyond the want of graciousness and warmth.
Sir Walter made no objection, and Elizabeth did nothing
worse than look cold and unconcerned. Captain Went¬
worth, with five-and-twenty thousand pounds, and as high
in his profession as merit and activity could place him,
was no longer nobody. He was now esteemed quite
worthy to address the daughter of a foolish, spendthrift
baronet, who had not had principle or sense enough to
maintain himself in the situation in which Providence had
placed him, and who could give his daughter at present
but a small part of the share of ten thousand pounds which
must be hers hereafter.
Sir Walter, indeed, though he had no affection for Anne,
and 110 vanity flattered, to make him really happy on the
occasion, was very far from thinking it a bad match for her.
On the contrary, when he saw more of Captain Wentworth,
saw him repeatedly by daylight, and eyed him well, he was
very much struck by his personal claims, and felt that his
superiority of appearance might be not unfairly balanced
against her superiority of rank; and all this, assisted by
his well-sounding name, enabled Sir Walter, at last, to pre¬
pare bis pen, with a very good grace, for the insertion of
the marriage in the volume of honour,
PERSUASION.
4.37
The only one among them whose opposition of feeling
could excite any serious anxiety was Lady Russell. Anne
knew that Lady Russell must be suffering some pain in
understanding and relinquishing Mr. Elliot, and be making
some struggles to become truly acquainted with, and do
justice to Captain Wentworth. This, however, was what
Lady Russell had now to do. She must learn to feel that
she had been mistaken with regard to both; that she had
been unfairly influenced by appearances in each; that be¬
cause Captain Wentworth's manners had not suited her
own ideas, she had been too quick in suspecting them to
indicate a character of dangerous impetuosity ; and that be-
c&ase Mr. Elliot's manners had precisely pleased her in
their propriety and correctness, their general politeness and
suavity, she had been too quick in receiving them as the
certain result of the most correct opinions and#well-regu-
lated mind. There was nothing less for Lady Russell to
do, than to admit that she had been pretty completely wrong,
and to take up a new set of opinions and of hopes.
There is a quickness of perception in some, a nicety in
the discernment of character, a natural penetration, in short,
which no experience in others can equal, and Lady Russell
had been less gifted in this part of understanding than
her young friend. But she was a very .good woman, and
if her second object was to be sensible and well-judging,
her first was to see Anne happy. She loved Anne better
than she loved her own abilities ; and, when the awkward¬
ness of the beginning was over, found little hardship in at¬
taching herself as a mother to the man who was securing
the happiness of her other child.
Of all the family, Mary was probably the one most im¬
mediately gratified by the circumstance. It was creditable
to have a sister married, and she might flatter herself with
having been greatly instrumental to the connection, by keep¬
ing Anne with her in the autumn; and as her own sister
must be better than her husband's sisters, it was very agree¬
able that Captain Wentworth should be a richer man than
either Captain Benwick or Charles Hayter. She had some¬
thing to suffer, perhaps, when they came into contact again,
in seeing Anne restored to the rights of seniority, and the
438
PERSUASION,
mistress of a very pretty landaulette ; bu.t sbe had a future
to look forward to, of powerful consolation. Anne had no
Uppercross Hall before her, no landed estate, no headship
of a family; and if they could but keep Captain Went-
worth from being made a baronet, she would not change
situations with Anne.
It would be well for the eldest sister if she were equally
satisfied with her situation, for a change is not very pro¬
bable there. She had soon the mortification of seeing Mr.
Elliot withdraw ; and no one of proper condition has since
presented himself to raise even the unfounded hopes which
sunk with him.
The news of his cousin Anne's engagement burst on
Mr. Elliot most unexpectedly. It deranged his best plan
of domestic happiness, his best hope of keeping Sir Walter
single by the watchfulness which a son-in-law's rights
would have given. But, though discomfited and disap¬
pointed, he could still do something for his own interest
and his own enjoyment. He soon quitted Bath; and on
Mrs. Clay's quitting it likewise soon afterwards, and being
next heard of as established under his protection in Lon¬
don, it was evident how double a game he had been play¬
ing, and how determined he was to save himself from be¬
ing cut out by one artful woman, at least.
Mrs. Clay's affections had overpowered her interest, and
she had sacrificed, for the young man's sake, the possibility
of scheming longer for Sir Walter. She has abilities, how¬
ever, as well as affections; and it is now a doubtful point
whether his cunning, or hers, may finally carry the day;
whether, after preventing her from being the wife of Sir
Walter, he may not be wheedled and caressed at last into
making her the wife of Sir William.
It cannot be doubted that Sir Walter and Elizabeth were
shocked and mortified by the loss of their companion, and
the discovery of their deception in her. They had their
great cousins, to be sure, to resort to for comfort; but they
must long feel that to flatter and follow others, without be¬
ing flattered and followed in turn, is hut a state of half en¬
joyment.
Anne, satisfied at a very early period of Lady Russell's
PERSUASION'.
439
meaning to love Captain Wentworth as she ought, had no
other alloy to the happiness of lier prospects tharr what arose
from the consciousness of having no relations to bestow on
him which a man of sense could value. There she felt
her own inferiority keenly. The disproportion in their for*-
tune was nothing; it did not give her a moment's regret;
but to have no family to receive and estimate him properly;
nothing of respectability, of harmony, of good-will to offer
in return for all the worth and all the prompt welcome
which met her in his brothers and sisters, was a source - of
as lively pain as her mind could well be sensible of, under
circumstances of otherwise strong felicity. She had but
two friends in the world to add to his list, Lady Russell
and Mrs. Smith. To those, however, he was very well
disposed to attach himself. Lady Russell, in spite of all
her former transgressions, he could now value from his
heart. While he was not obliged to say that he believed
her to have been right in originally dividing them, he was
ready to say almost every thing else in her favour; and as
for Mrs. Smith, she had claims of various kinds to recom¬
mend her quickly and permanently.
Her recent good offices by Anne had been enough in
themselves; and their marriage, instead of depriving her of
one friend, secured her two. She was their earliest visitor
in their settled life; and Captain Wentworth, by putting
her in the way of recovering her husband's property in the
West Indies ; by writing for her, acting for her, and see¬
ing her through all the petty difficulties of the case, with
the activity and exertion of a fearless man and a determined
friend, fully requited the services which she had rendered,
or ever meant to render, to his wife.
Mrs. Smith's enjoyments were not spoiled by this im¬
provement of income, with some improvement of health,
and the acquisition of such friends to be often with, for
her cheerfulness and mental alacrity did not fail her; and
while these prime supplies of good remained, she might
have bid defiance even to greater accessions of worldly pros¬
perity. She might have been absolutely rich and perfectly
healthy, and yet be happy. Her spring of felicity was in
the glow of her spirits, as her friend Anne's was in the
440
PERSUASION.
warmth of her heart. Anne was tenderness itself, and she
had the full worth of it in Captain Wentworth's affection.
His profession was all that could ever make her friends
wish that tenderness less; the dread of a future war all
that could dim her sunshine. She gloried in being a sailor's
wife, but she must pay the tax of quick alarm for belong¬
ing to that profession which is, if possible, more distin¬
guished in its domestic virtues than in its national import¬
ance.
THE END.
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i»-i ra 11
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THE COMPLETE WORKS
harles Sickens.
THE DIAMOND EDITION,
23 WORKS IN 16 HANDY VOLUMES.
prices.
£ s. a. £ t. i.
CLOTH, in Cloth Case - - 1 IS 0 1 PERSIAN CALF, in Leather Case 3 13 6
ROAN, in Leather Case - - 3 3 0 \ MOROCCO, in Leather Case - -440
Single Vols., in Cloth, 2s.
contents.
vol. I.
THE PICKWICK PAPERS.
vol. ii.
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT.
vol. iii.
DOMBEY AND SON.
vol. iv.
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY.
vol. v.
DAVID COPPERFIELD.
vol. vi.
BLEAK HOUSE.
vol. vii.
LITTLE DORRIT.
vol. viii.
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.
vol. ix.
BARNABY RUDGE.
HARD TIMES.
vol. x.
SKETCHES BY " BOZ,"
TWELVE TALES, and
FIVE CHRISTMAS BOOKS.
tinas Carol
:tle of Life
vol. xi.
OLIVER TWIST.
AMERICAN NOTES.
PICTURES FROM ITALY.
vol. xii.
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP,
And other Stories.
Master Humphrey's Clock, &o.
vol. xiil
TALE OF TWO CITIES.
GREAT EXPECTATIONS.
vol. xrv.
UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER.
EDWIN DROOD.
vol. xv.
SKETCHES OF YOUNG ...
GENTLEMEN, AND YOUNG
COUPLES.
CHILD'S HISTORY of ENGLAND.
vol. xvl
EIGHT CHRISTMAS STORIES
From *'Household IVords"
SEVEN from "Allthe Year Round"
AND FOUR READINGS, viz.:—
The Poor Traveller
Boots at the Holly-Tree Inn
Mrs. Gamp
The Story of Little Dombey
The Strange Gentleman: a Play.
London : CHAPMAN & HALL (Limited), 193, Piccadilly.
SOLD AT RAILWAY BOOKSTALLS.
THE SELECT LIBRARY 2/- VOLS.
Tilbury Nogo. By We Melville.
"A capital novel, of the 'Charles O'Malley' school, full of dashing
adventure, with scenes of real history cleverly introduced in the
narrative." (80)
Charles Auchester.
Dedicated to the Earl of Beaconsfield.
" Music has never had so glowing an advocate as the author of these
volumes. There is an amazing deal of ability displayed in thern."—
Herald.
" The life of an enthusiast in music, by himself. The work is full of
talent. The sketches of the masters and artists are life-like. In
Seraphael all will recognise Mendelssohn, and in Miss Benette, Miss
Lawrence, and Anastase Berlioz, Jenny Lind, and another well-known
to artist life will be easily detected. To every one who cares for
music, the volumes will prove a delightful study."—Britannia. (41)
The House on the Moor.
By Mrs. Oliphant,
Author of "May," "Harry Muir."
" This story is very interesting, and the interest deepens as the story
proceeds.''—A thenceum. (334) I
Harry Lorrequer. By Charles Lever.
" Who needs introducing to Charles Lever, the most rollicking,
jovial, as he is the most truthful and natural of Irish novelists ? This
new and very cheap edition of ' Harry Lorrequer' will revive the
pleasure that waited upon its hist perusal many years ago. Mr. Lever's
fame as a novelist is certainly based upon his wonderful power of
invention, his audacious fun, his unexaggerated treatment of passion
and sentiment, and the unrivalled genuineness of his Irish characters.
This work deserves a cosy place on the shelves of those who do not
already possess the dearer and less handy editions."—Derby Reporter.
(22)
Barrington. By Charles Lever.
"This is a new and cheap edition in one volume of one of Mr.
Charles Lever's recent novels, and one which, considering its general
merits, holds a very respectable position amongst the varied works of
that author. There is certainly nothing very remarkable in the plot of
the story, or the manner of its execution, but it maintains its interest
throughout, and presents one or two characters which may claim the
merit (for it is merit now-a-days) of decided originality. The book is
well worth reading, and in its present form will no doubt find many
admirers."—Hampshire Telegraph. (75)
THE SELECT LIBRARY 2/- VOLS.
La Beata. A Tuscan Romeo and Juliet.
" It is a charming book—charming not only for its exquisitely graphic
and accurate pictures of Italian life in country and city, but still more
so for its admirable delineations of character."—The Tress. (344)
Castle Richmond." By Anthony Trollope.
"A novel by the author of 'Doctor Thorne' is certain to yield a
good deal of amusement to all novel readers of both sexes, who have
the necessary amount of culture and knowledge of the world to bring
to the reading of them. ' Castle Richmpnd' is -a clever book ; full of
acute and accurate observations of men and manners in the south of
Ireland, besides containing a good story concerning people worth telling
stories about."—The Globe. (.96)
The Queen of the Seas.
By Captain Armstrong.
" With the exception of Marryat, Captain Armstrong is the best
writer of nautical novels England has ever had."—Sun.
" Mr. Armstrong is quite at home in writing a tale of the sea. The
deeds of noble daring are recounted with a hearty enthusiasm, and a
Tery stirring naval novel is the result."—Observer. (81)
Theo Leigh. By Annie Thomas,
Author of " He Cometh Not."
" The author has surpassed herself in ' Theo Leigh." The characters
are distinctly drawn. The story is simple and spiritedly told. The
dialogue is smart, natural, full of character. In short, ' Theo Leigh'
takes its place among the cleverest novels of the season, and deserves
to be popular. It is the cream of light literature, graceful, brilliant,
and continuously interesting."
In every respect an excellent novel. The interest is unflagging."
("4)
Harry Muir: A Story of Scottish Life.
By Mrs. Oliphant.
"We prefer { Harry Muir ' to most of the Scottish novels that have
appeared since Gait's domestic stories. This new tale, by the author
of 'Margaret Maitland,' is a real picture of the weakness of man's
nature and the depths of woman's kindness. The narrative, to repeat
our praise, is pot one to be entered on or parted from without our
regard for its writer being increased."—Atheticeum, (317)
Ursula's Love Story.
by the author of
"Sun and Shade."
" As a picture of contemporary
manners, 'Ursula's Love Story'
has more than ordinary merit. Its
tale is fresh, interesting, and well
told: its language is simple and
correct, and its characterisation is
not wanting in power. Evidences
of culture are frequent in its pas¬
sages, over which hangs a pleasant
aroma of refinement and good taste.
Ursula is an attractive heroine, ad¬
mirably depicted ; Edgar Ravenel,
Mrs. Daynham, and all the char¬
acters, even to the most subordinate,
are life-like. Their actions and
gossip, loves, betrothals and mar¬
riages are well described, and con¬
stitute with the main interest a very
pleasant novel."—Athenaeum.
A Book of Heroines.
by the author of
"Margaret and Her Brides¬
maids," "Three Wives."
" The heroines of these volumes
are most of them charming: all of
them are women worth reading
about."—Observe) \
Off tlie Line.
By LADY CHARLES THYNNE.
" This story is pleasant and
natural. There is interest enough
in the incidents to keep the reader's
attention alive, and the moral is
thoroughly healthy." -- Saturday
1\ evievj.
"A story with a genuine
interest."—Atheua-um.
Queen of Herself.
By ALICE KING.
author of
" Spell - Bound."
" Miss King writes gracefully and
with good purpose. Her novels are
always interesting, and ' Queen of
Herself' is true, vivid, and marked
by unusual power."—Examiner.
"A story of the very best class.
It raises an interest of the most
exciting kind."—Alessenger,
First in the Field. .
by the author of
"Lilian's Penance."
"A novel of considerable ability.
The plot is full of strong situations.
The characters are distinct, and not
unnatural."—Athenaeum.
" We cordially recommend this
work for general perusal. The
characters are strongly drawn, the
incidents well developed and
diversified."—Alessenger,
Pearl.
by the author of "caste."
" This is the best book that the
author has written. ' Pearl' is a
refined and charming story. The
incidents and characters are man¬
aged with delicate subtlety, and
there is a careful finish about each
character which raises the story
into a work of art. ' Pearl' is
exquisitely drawn. She is worthy
of her name."—Athenaeum.
THE SELECT LIBRARY 2/- VOLS.
Father. Godfrey.
by the author _of
"Anne Dysart."
" A well-written story. Godfrey's
character is finely drawn."-—Athcn-
aittn.
" A book of considerable ability
and of thrilling interest, which never
flags. Each character is portrayed
in a vivid manner, and the plot is
well carried out ."—John Bull.
Sun and Shade.
by the author of
"Ursula's Love Story."
"An interesting story. It ex¬
hibits the merits of refined and easy
language, natural delineation of the
manners of social life, and insight
into the feelings and motives of
mankind."— Globe.
Mr. Arle.
by the author of
"Caste," etc.
" ' Mr. Arle ' is a work of a very
high order, and we are offering it
110 light tribute when we say that,
in style and conception, it reminds
us of the writings of Mrs. Gaskell."
—John Bull.
Lost for Gold.
By KATHERINE KING.
author of
" Queen of the Regiment."
"Our readers will find much to
interest them in this novel. It is the
work of a writer of lively imagina¬
tion and real ability."—Messenger.
5
Aunt Margaret's v
Trouble.
By FRANCES E. TROLLOPE.
author of
" A Charming Fellow."
" Rarely have we met witha-mbfe
interesting book than this. The
story is of a most thrilling descrip¬
tion. The authoress writes with
much vigour, and from the faithful
delineation of her characters, the
admirable selection of the incidents^
and the graphic descripton of scenes
and events, the reader is enchanted
with the work throughout."
Three Wives.
by the author of
" Book of Heroines."
"The popular authoress of'Mar¬
garet and her Bridesmaids' has
here given us three very charming
volumes. The work is full of in¬
terest, and will be read throughout
with pleasure. We can safely com¬
mend 'Three Wives' to the best
attention of novel readers."—Sun.
Bruna's Revenge.
G
by the author of
"Caste,"
"My Son's Wife," etc. -■ .
" \ iewed simply as love stories,
fresh, pure, and pathetic, these
volumes deserve praise."—Athem.
(turn.
'"Bruna's Revenge' is all fire,
animation, life, raid reality. The
whole story fascinates the reader's
attention."—Standard.
The Lost Bride.
By LADY-CHATTERTON.
" An ingenious and picturesque
Story, in which there is a goqd deal
of character - drawing, and some
pleasant and lively sketches of
society occur."—Spectator.
"'The Lost Bride' will add
considerably to Lady Chatterton's
literary reputation. It is replete
with interest, and the characters are
perfectly true to nature."—Court
Journal.
Beautiful Edith.
by the author of
"Ursula's Love Story."
" We have no hesitation in plac¬
ing ' Beautiful Edith '. among the
very best novels that have been
issued for a long period. It will
become widely popular. The
author possesses a charming style
and a talent for quiet humour."—
Messenger.
Colonel Bacre.
by the author of
"Caste," "Pearl," "Bruna's
Revenge," etc.
There is much that is attractive
both in Colonel Dacre and the sim¬
ple-hearted girl whom he honours
with his love."—Aihenceum.
'' Colonel Dacre is a gentleman
throughout, which character is some¬
what rare in modern novels."—
Pall Mall Gazette.
The Queen of the
Regiment.
By KATEER1NE KING.
author of '
"Lost for Gold."
A charming, fresh, cheery novel.
Its merits are rare"and welcome.
The gleefulness, the ease, the
heartiness, of the author's style can¬
not fail to please. Her heroine is a
captivating girl."—Spectator.
Mary Seaham.
By Mrs. GREY.
Author of
"The Gambler's Wife."
" Equal to any former novel by
.its author."—Athenceum.
" An admirable work—a power¬
fully conceived, novel, founded on
a plot of high moral and dramatic
interest."—John Bull.
The Queen of the
County.
by the author of
"Three Wives."
"A novel of the first class. It is
a story of exciting interest."—Post.
Misrepresentation.
By ANNA H. DRURY.
" This book is full of genius, and
contains many strikingly beautiful
passages. It well deserves to find
readers. Those who begin it will
certainly feel inclined to finish it."
SHILLINGS.
JANE AUSTIN'S NOVELS.
Sense and Sensibility. Mansfield Park.
Emma. Pride and Prejudice.
Persua: > ?r urthanger Abbey.
"Shakespeare has nehher • iGr .. ... Hut among the writers who have approached
Austen, a woman
nearest to
of whom K
the manner of the l"«. ... • , ..■pfl^^itjjjion in p acing Jane
England is justly prouf <„ i-Jay.
By AUTIa'u. DEVOTION."
A Woman's-Dev: J4;.. Three Wives.
Ladies of Lev. t Leigh, Book of Heroines.
Quee ; of the County. Lords t nd Ladies,
Mr and Mr*;, Asbeton. * •
By AUTHOR OF "CASTE."
i Entanglements,
Ivi • 'Oil's Wife. t Caste. - "
Pearl. Brrfna's Revenge.
By AUTHOR Or- "
Beautiful Edith.
Condoned.
BOTE STORY."
Sub and Shade.
Ursu~ - s Love Story
H ■ :.a «
B A.£ • \ C. ^SELE,
■ Gardenhurst.
■ r. n To?-
Efifi
Tbeo Leigh.
Called to Accomit.
A Passion in Tagl
He Cometh Not 51
B J ...
IteynatiY®.
/Ut.
A" Lagg rd in Love.
■pjTA Narrow Escape.
Stakes; f*?* H
By FRANCFS E. TRGLLOPF.
Aunt Margaret's Trouble. A Charming Fellow.
Sacristan's Household.
Vennnihi .
By GERTRUDE PARSONS.
Beautiful Edith. Sun and Shade.
Ursula's Love Story.