closets of the present. The general's improving hand had
not loitered here: every modern invention 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

general'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

uniformity of architecture had been thought necessary.
Catherine 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 domesticeconomy; and would

willingly 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 gratifying, he should make no apology
for leading her on. They took a slight survey of all;

and Catherine was impressed, beyond her expectation,
by their multiplicity and their convenience. The purposes

for which a few shapeless pantries and a comfortless
scullery were deemed sufficient at Fullerton, were here

carried on in appropriate divisions, commodious and roomy.
The number of servants continually appearing did not

strike her less than the number of their offices.
Wherever they went, some pattened girl stopped to curtsy,

or some footman in dishabille sneaked off. Yet this was
an abbey! How inexpressibly 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 ornaments
of rich carving might be pointed out: having gained

the top, they turned in an opposite direction from the
gallery 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

bed-chambers, with their dressing-rooms, most completely
and handsomely fitted up; everything 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 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 unexpectedcompliment, and deeply regretted
the possibility" target="_blank" title="n.不可能办到的事">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 whether
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 downstairs, 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.

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 be 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 downcast eyes and contracted brow, she felt secure

from all possibility 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 humanity, in its fearfulreview of past scenes

of guilt? Unhappy man! And the anxiousness of her spirits
directed her eyes towards his figure so repeatedly,

as to catch Miss Tilney's notice. "My father,"
she whispered, "often walks about the room in this way;