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 use 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" target="_blank" title="ad.事实上；实际上">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--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 impetuous 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 resentment.

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 inquiries,

on any one article of which her mind was incapable of more
than momentaryrepose, the hours passed away, and her journey

advanced much faster than she looked for. The pressing
anxieties of thought, which prevented her from noticing

anything 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 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

uselessresentment, and perhaps involve the innocent
with the guilty in undistinguishing ill 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

announce 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.

But, whatever might be 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 everyday 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 immediately 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 carriage. Happy the glance that first
distinguished Catherine! 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
anything that she had believed possible. So surrounded,

so caressed, she was even happy! In the joyfulness
of family love everything 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 inquiry
so direct as to demand a positive answer was addressed to her.

Reluctantly, and with much hesitation, did she then
begin 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 quickness 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 pardoned. Without suffering any