“No, indeed; I should be too much frightened to do any such thing.”

“What!  Not when Dorothy has given you to understand that there is a secret subterraneous communication between your apartment and the chapel of St. Anthony, scarcely two miles off?  Could you shrink from so simple an adventure?  No, no, you will proceed into this small vaulted room, and through this into several others, without perceiving anything very remarkable in either.  In one perhaps there may be a dagger, in another a few drops of blood, and in a third the remains of some instrument of torture; but there being nothing in all this out of the common way, and your lamp being nearly exhausted, you will return towards your own apartment.  In repassing through the small vaulted room, however, your eyes will be attracted towards a large, old-fashioned cabinet of ebony and gold, which, though narrowly examining the furniture before, you had passed unnoticed.  Impelled by an irresistible presentiment, you will eagerly advance to it, unlock its folding doors, and search into every drawer —­ but for some time without discovering anything of importance —­ perhaps nothing but a considerable hoard of diamonds.  At last, however, by touching a secret spring, an inner compartment will open —­ a roll of paper appears —­ you seize it —­ it contains many sheets of manuscript —­ you hasten with the precious treasure into your own chamber, but scarcely have you been able to decipher ’Oh!  Thou —­ whomsoever thou mayst be, into whose hands these memoirs of the wretched Matilda may fall’ —­ when your lamp suddenly expires in the socket, and leaves you in total darkness.”

“Oh!  No, no —­ do not say so.  Well, go on.”

But Henry was too much amused by the interest he had raised to be able to carry it farther; he could no longer command solemnity either of subject or voice, and was obliged to entreat her to use her own fancy in the perusal of Matilda’s woes.  Catherine, recollecting herself, grew ashamed of her eagerness, and began earnestly to assure him that her attention had been fixed without the smallest apprehension of really meeting with what he related.  “Miss Tilney, she was sure, would never put her into such a chamber as he had described!  She was not at all afraid.”

As they drew near the end of their journey, her impatience for a sight of the abbey —­ for some time suspended by his conversation on subjects very different —­ returned in full force, and every bend in the road was expected with solemn awe to afford a glimpse of its massy walls of grey stone, rising amidst a grove of ancient oaks, with the last beams of the sun playing in beautiful splendour on its high Gothic windows.  But so low did the building stand, that she found herself passing through the great gates of the lodge into the very grounds of Northanger, without having discerned even an antique chimney.