20 Northanger Abbey - Read By Stephanie Poppins

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Happy listening.

Chapter 16 continued.

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 £400 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 his future inheritance.

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 unwelcome,

No more than he had expected,

Was born 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 everything 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.

I only wish I could do as much.

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,

You 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 infection it makes everybody feel for you.

There was never a young woman so beloved as you are,

Isabella,

By everybody 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.

I 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 everybody has their failing,

You know,

And everybody has a right to do what they like with their own money.

Catherine was hurt by these insinuations.

I am very sure,

Said she,

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.

Oh,

My dear Catherine,

You have found me out.

There is 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 her mother,

We perfectly see into your heart,

We have no disguise,

We perfectly understand the present vexation,

And everybody must love you the better for such a noble,

Honest affection.

Catherine's uncomfortable feelings began to lessen.

She endeavoured to believe 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 she had for a minute thought otherwise.

James soon followed his letter,

And was received with a most gratifying kindness.

Chapter 17 The Allens 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 Tilney's end so soon was an evil which nothing could counterbalance.

Her whole happiness seemed at stake while the affair was in suspense,

And everything secured when it was determined that the lodging should be taken for another fortnight.

What this additional fortnight was to produce to her,

Beyond the pleasures of some time seeing Henry Tilney,

Made but a small part of Catherine's speculation.

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 arrange,

She visited Miss Tilney and poured forth her joyful feelings.

It was doomed to be a day of trial.

No sooner had she expressed her delight in Mr.

Allens' lengthened stay than Miss Tilney told her of her father's having just determined 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.

Catherine's countenance fell,

And in a voice of most sincere concern she echoed Miss Tilney's concluding words,

By the end of another week.

Yes,

My father can seldom be prevailed upon to give the waters what I think a fair trial.

He's been disappointed of some friend's arrival whom he expected to meet here,

And he's now pretty well in a hurry to get home.

I'm very sorry for it,

Said Catherine dejectedly,

If I'd have known this before.

Perhaps,

Said Miss Tilney in an embarrassed manner,

You would be so good,

It would make me very happy if… The entrance of her father put a stop to the civility which Catherine was beginning to hope might introduce a desire of their corresponding.

After addressing her with his usual politeness,

He turned to his daughter and said,

Well,

Eleanor,

May I congratulate you on being successful in your application to your fair friend.

I was just beginning to make the request,

Sir,

As you came in.

Well,

Proceed by all means.

I know how much your heart is in it.

My daughter,

Miss Morland,

He continued without leaving his daughter time to speak,

Has been forming a very bold wish.

We leave Bath,

As she has perhaps told you,

On Sunday's night.

A letter from my steward tells me my presence is wanted at home,

And being disappointed in my hope of seeing the Marquess of Longton and General Courtney here,

Some of my very old friends,

There's nothing to detain me any 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 the scene of public triumph and oblige your friend,

Eleanor,

With your company in Gloucestershire?

I'm almost ashamed to make the request,

Though its presumption would certainly appear greater to every creature in Bath than yourself.

Modesty such as yours,

But not for the world,

Would I paint it by open praise.

If you can be induced to honour us with a visit,

You will make us happy beyond expression.

Tis true we can offer you nothing like the gaieties of this lively place.

We can tempt you neither by amusement nor splendour,

For our mode of living,

As you see,

Is plain and unpretending.

Yet no endeavour shall be wanting on our side to make Northanger Abbey not wholly disagreeable.

Northanger Abbey.

These were thrilling words and wound up Catherine's feelings to the highest point of ecstasy.

Her grateful and gratified heart could hardly restrain its expressions within the language of tolerable calmness.

To receive so flattering an invitation,

To have her company so warmly solicited.

Everything honourable and soothing,

Every present enjoyment and every future hope was contained in it,

And her acceptance,

With only the saving clause of papa and mama's approbation,

Was eagerly given.

I will write home directly,

Said she,

And if they do not object,

As I dare say they will not.

General Tilney was not less sanguine,

Having already waited on her excellent friends in Pulteney Street,

And obtained their sanction of his wishes.

Since they can consent to part with you,

Said he,

May we expect philosophy from all the world.

Miss Tilney was earnest,

Though gentle,

In her secondary civilities,

And the affair became in a few minutes as nearly settled as this necessary reference to Fullerton would allow.

The circumstances of the morning had led Catherine's feelings through the varieties of suspense,

Security and disappointment,

But they were now safely lodged in perfect bliss,

And with spirits elated to rapture,

With Henry at her heart and Northanger Abbey on her lips,

She hurried home to write her letter.

Mr and Mrs Moreland,

Relying on the discretion of the friends to whom they had already entrusted their daughter,

Felt no doubt of the propriety of an acquaintance which had been formed under their eye,

And sent therefore by return of post their ready consent to her visit in Gloucestershire.

This indulgent,

Though not more than Catherine had hoped for,

Completed her conviction of being favoured beyond every other human creature,

In friends and fortune,

Circumstance and chance.

Everything seemed to cooperate for her advantage.

By the kindness of her first friend,

The Allens,

She had been introduced into scenes where pleasures of every kind had met her.

Her feelings,

Her preferences,

Had each known the happiness of a return.

Wherever she felt attachment,

She had been able to create it.

The affection of Isabella was to be secured to her in a sister.

The Tilneys,

They whom above all she desired to be favourably thought of,

Outstripped even her wishes in the flattering measures by which their intimacy was to be continued.

She was to be their chosen visitor.

She was to be for weeks under the same roof with the person whose society she mostly prized.

And in addition to all the rest,

This roof was to be the roof of an abbey.

Her passion for ancient edifices was next in degree to her passion for Henry Tilney,

And castles and abbeys made usually the charm of those reveries which his image did not fill.

To see and explore either the ramparts and keep of the one,

Or the cloisters of the other,

Had been for many weeks a darling wish,

Though to be more than the visitor of an hour had seemed too nearly impossible for desire.

And yet this was to happen.

With all the chances against her of house,

Hall,

Place,

Park,

Court and cottage,

Northanger turned up an abbey,

And she was to be its inhabitant.

Its long,

Damp passages,

Its narrow cells and ruined chapel were to be within her daily reach,

And she could not entirely subdue the hope of some traditional legends,

Some awful memorials of an injured and ill-fated nun.

It was wonderful that her friend should seem so little elated by the possession of such a home,

That the consciousness of it should be so meekly borne.

The power of early habit could only 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 endowed 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 it.

Of the present dwelling,

Although the rest was decayed,

Or of it standing low in a valley,

Sheltered from the north and east by rising woods of oak.