but all abroad was dark, and it must yet be too early.

The various ascending noises convinced her that the
servants must still be up. Till midnight, she supposed

it would be in vain to watch; but then, when the clock
had struck twelve, and all was quiet, she would, if not

quite appalled by darkness, steal out and look once more.
The clock struck twelve--and Catherine had been half

an hour asleep.
CHAPTER 24

The next day afforded no opportunity for the proposed
examination of the mysteriousapartments. It was Sunday,

and the whole time between morning and afternoon service
was required by the general in exercise abroad or eating

cold meat at home; and great as was Catherine's curiosity,
her courage was not equal to a wish of exploring them

after dinner, either by the fading light of the sky between
six and seven o'clock, or by the yet more partial though

stronger illumination of a treacherous lamp. The day was
unmarked therefore by anything to interest her imagination

beyond the sight of a very elegantmonument to the memory
of Mrs. Tilney, which immediately fronted the family pew.

By that her eye was instantly" target="_blank" title="ad.立即，立刻">instantly caught and long retained;
and the perusal of the highly strained epitaph, in which every

virtue was ascribed to her by the inconsolable husband,
who must have been in some way or other her destroyer,

affected her even to tears.
That the general, having erected such a monument,

should be able to face it, was not perhaps very strange,
and yet that he could sit so boldly collected within its view,

maintain so elevated an air, look so fearlessly around,
nay, that he should even enter the church, seemed wonderful

to Catherine. Not, however, that many instances of beings
equally hardened in guilt might not be produced. She could

remember dozens who had persevered in every possible vice,
going on from crime to crime, murdering whomsoever

they chose, without any feeling of humanity or remorse;
till a violent death or a religious retirement closed

their black career. The erection of the monument itself
could not in the smallest degree affect her doubts of

Mrs. Tilney's actualdecease. Were she even to descend into
the family vault where her ashes were supposed to slumber,

were she to behold the coffin in which they were said
to be enclosed--what could it avail in such a case?

Catherine had read too much not to be perfectly aware
of the ease with which a waxen figure might be introduced,

and a supposititious funeral carried on.
The succeeding morning promised something better.

The general's early walk, ill-timed as it was in every
other view, was favourable here; and when she knew

him to be out of the house, she directly proposed
to Miss Tilney the accomplishment of her promise.

Eleanor was ready to oblige her; and Catherine reminding
her as they went of another promise, their first visit

in consequence was to the portrait in her bed-chamber. It
represented a very lovely woman, with a mild and pensive

countenance, justifying, so far, the expectations of its
new observer; but they were not in every respect answered,

for Catherine had depended upon meeting with features,
hair, complexion, that should be the very counterpart,

the very image, if not of Henry's, of Eleanor's--the only
portraits of which she had been in the habit of thinking,

bearing always an equal resemblance of mother and child.
A face once taken was taken for generations. But here she

was obliged to look and consider and study for a likeness.
She contemplated it, however, in spite of this drawback,

with much emotion, and, but for a yet stronger interest,
would have left it unwillingly.

Her agitation as they entered the great gallery was too
much for any endeavour at discourse; she could only look

at her companion. Eleanor's countenance was dejected,
yet sedate; and its composure spoke her inured to all the

gloomy objects to which they were advancing. Again she
passed through the folding doors, again her hand was upon

the important lock, and Catherine, hardly able to breathe,
was turning to close the former with fearful caution,

when the figure, the dreaded figure of the general himself
at the further end of the gallery, stood before her! The

name of "Eleanor" at the same moment, in his loudest tone,
resounded through the building, giving to his daughter

the first intimation of his presence, and to Catherine
terror upon terror. An attempt at concealment had been

her first instinctivemovement on perceiving him,
yet she could scarcely hope to have escaped his eye;

and when her friend, who with an apologizing look darted
hastily by her, had joined and disappeared with him,

she ran for safety to her own room, and, locking herself in,
believed that she should never have courage to go

down again. She remained there at least an hour,
in the greatest agitation, deeply commiserating the state

of her poor friend, and expecting a summons herself from
the angry general to attend him in his own apartment.

No summons, however, arrived; and at last, on seeing
a carriage drive up to the abbey, she was emboldened

to descend and meet him under the protection of visitors.
The breakfast-room was gay with company; and she was named

to them by the general as the friend of his daughter, in a
complimentary style, which so well concealed his resentful ire,

as to make her feel secure at least of life for the present.
And Eleanor, with a command of countenance which did

honour to her concern for his character, taking an early
occasion of saying to her, "My father only wanted me

to answer a note," she began to hope that she had either
been unseen by the general, or that from some consideration

of policy she should be allowed to suppose herself so.
Upon this trust she dared still to remain in his presence,

after the company left them, and nothing occurred to
disturb it.

In the course of this morning's reflections,
she came to a resolution of making her next attempt on

the forbidden door alone. It would be much better in every
respect that Eleanor should know nothing of the matter.

To involve her in the danger of a second detection,
to court her into an apartment which must wring her heart,

could not be the office of a friend. The general's
utmost anger could not be to herself what it might be to

a daughter; and, besides, she thought the examination itself
would be more satisfactory if made without any companion.

It would be impossible to explain to Eleanor the suspicions,
from which the other had, in all likelihood, been hitherto

happily exempt; nor could she therefore, in her presence,
search for those proofs of the general's cruelty,

which however they might yet have escaped discovery,
she felt confident of somewhere drawing forth, in the shape

of some fragmented journal, continued to the last gasp.
Of the way to the apartment she was now perfectly mistress;

and as she wished to get it over before Henry's return,
who was expected on the morrow, there was no time to be lost,

The day was bright, her courage high; at four o'clock,
the sun was now two hours above the horizon, and it

would be only her retiring to dress half an hour earlier
than usual.