And now I may dismiss my heroine to the sleepless couch, which is the true heroine’s portion; to a pillow strewed with thorns and wet with tears.  And lucky may she think herself, if she get another good night’s rest in the course of the next three months.

CHAPTER 12

“Mrs. Allen,” said Catherine the next morning, “will there be any harm in my calling on Miss Tilney today?  I shall not be easy till I have explained everything.”

“Go, by all means, my dear; only put on a white gown; Miss Tilney always wears white.”

Catherine cheerfully complied, and being properly equipped, was more impatient than ever to be at the pump-room, that she might inform herself of General Tilneys lodgings, for though she believed they were in Milsom Street, she was not certain of the house, and Mrs. Allen’s wavering convictions only made it more doubtful.  To Milsom Street she was directed, and having made herself perfect in the number, hastened away with eager steps and a beating heart to pay her visit, explain her conduct, and be forgiven; tripping lightly through the church-yard, and resolutely turning away her eyes, that she might not be obliged to see her beloved Isabella and her dear family, who, she had reason to believe, were in a shop hard by.  She reached the house without any impediment, looked at the number, knocked at the door, and inquired for Miss Tilney.  The man believed Miss Tilney to be at home, but was not quite certain.  Would she be pleased to send up her name?  She gave her card.  In a few minutes the servant returned, and with a look which did not quite confirm his words, said he had been mistaken, for that Miss Tilney was walked out.  Catherine, with a blush of mortification, left the house.  She felt almost persuaded that Miss Tilney was at home, and too much offended to admit her; and as she retired down the street, could not withhold one glance at the drawing-room windows, in expectation of seeing her there, but no one appeared at them.  At the bottom of the street, however, she looked back again, and then, not at a window, but issuing from the door, she saw Miss Tilney herself.  She was followed by a gentleman, whom Catherine believed to be her father, and they turned up towards Edgar’s Buildings.  Catherine, in deep mortification, proceeded on her way.  She could almost be angry herself at such angry incivility; but she checked the resentful sensation; she remembered her own ignorance.  She knew not how such an offence as hers might be classed by the laws of worldly politeness, to what a degree of unforgivingness it might with propriety lead, nor to what rigours of rudeness in return it might justly make her amenable.