such as Catherine could not listen to without dismay,

being more than double the extent of all Mr. Allen's,
as well her father's, including church-yard 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,
"without any ambition of that sort himself--without any

solicitude 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 general wished he could do the same, for he never

entered his, without being vexed in some way or other,
by its falling short of his plan.

"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 weary of seeing
and wondering, 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 Tilney,

"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
disapprobation, be kept from stepping forward. He perceived

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: "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, however,
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 companion,
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 countenance,
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 I 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 be 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 handsome?
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 marriage,

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 consummate

art of her own question, "hangs in your father's room?"
"No; it was intended for the drawing-room; but my 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 bed-chamber--where I 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, characters 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 virtuousindignation, 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