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The travelers and Catherine sought their rest, while the coroner and doctor wound up their business, writing to several officials scattered about the countryside, to spread the alert regarding the fugitive. On Monday Henry was at Northanger by noon.
Catherine had never been so glad to see him, and he was equally relieved, though concerned to hear of what she had endured. She did not tell all, holding back for the moment the story of the tapestry, but what he did hear was enough. Earnestly she assured him she was quite unaffected and unharmed, but he could see from her paleness, and her degree of relief at seeing him, that she had indeed suffered.
“I blame myself,” he said, “I ought never to have left, at such a time.”
“But you were obliged, Henry. It is your duty to be at Woodston for the church and parish affairs belonging to Sunday; that cannot be controverted.”
“No; but I might have taken you with me. It was wrong to expose you to being on your own in this place, which I know has always made you nervous; and right at the time of my father’s death. It was badly done.”
“Oh, do not talk as if I was a fine lady with fancies and vapours, Henry. I might be trusted to take care of myself, for once.”
“So you might.” He caressed her fondly. “You do have great good sense, Catherine, and I must learn to rely on your powers of mind, more. I have been so used to trusting only my own judgment, and have thought it so superior that it has tended to make me think meanly of others.”
“You have every right, Henry, because you are so very clever; and you are never mean.”
“Not mean in the sense of being spiteful or cruel, perhaps; but you will have perceived by now my unfortunate habit of thinking lowly of other people’s intelligence.”
“You must have thought meanly of mine when we first met,” said Catherine with a sigh, “I was such a silly girl.”
“I have regarded your intelligence as rising more highly every day,” said Henry with a smile, “and since your falling in love with me, have been convinced you have shown yourself to have the most excellent taste and judgment.”
“You make me laugh, Henry, but I do not know what you will think of my judgment when I tell you all.”
“I have perfect trust in your judgment, and you could not now persuade me otherwise,” he declared.
“Well, then, I will tell you. I have seen the Grey Lady again.”
“Catherine! Not really. Why, my dear girl, you must be quite mad after all!”
She exclaimed, and he had to point out that he was not being serious.
“But really now, you did see that woman again?”
“Yes, she was peering into your father’s window at dawn, as I was watching there. She was trying to tell me something, but I do not know what, and she ran away.”
“Good God, how positively chilling! And as if you did not have enough to unsettle yourself, that night. Really, I am amazed at your composure, for not falling into hysterics; I am sure most people would have done.”
“No, I did not think she meant me any harm, in fact I know she did not, because she left me something, a sort of message in a piece of tapestry. I believe she meant to be kind. But I will tell you about that later. Just before, I had seen something so very much worse, that I - ”
“I know, the coffin,” he interrupted. “Well, and so we still do not know who your Grey Lady is. I did mean to have a word with Claiborne about it, for he knows all the people and tenants around here; and I will.”
“I wish you would. But I have not yet made my confession to you.”
“What can you possibly have to say now, my dear Catherine?”
“The thing I saw before the Grey Lady – it was not just the coffin.”
“What in heaven’s name was it then?”
“Oh, Henry, it is hard for me to tell you, but you of all people, are tolerably well acquainted with what my uncontrollable curiosity is. I had no right to do it, but spending that long night in that – that room, I dared to open a chest...”
“What, again?” said Henry, unable to keep from laughing a little, despite himself. “Another chest? I thought you were cured of all that sort of thing, and would never open another one as long as you lived.”
“I am sure I never shall again,” she said earnestly, and told him about the letters, and the relics.
He was struck by her account. “Well, I cannot criticize you – it was natural enough. I will only say that in this case, you may reflect that curiosity did not kill the cat, it found the cat.”
“Oh, Henry, be serious. Remember we are in a house of mourning. You should not make me laugh.”
“My dearest Catherine, as you rightly deduce, my meaning was to make you laugh, so as to lighten your feelings a little. You did nothing wrong, and I am sincerely sorry that my family should have such horrors in its secret coffers. So that is where the family history is kept. I will have to look those papers over myself, some time.”
“I never want to see them again,” she shuddered. “But you probably should look them over. They are a very complete family record, quite unique in the world, I should say. So much tragedy in one little box! It will make you quite sad.”
“Look here, Catherine, we have vowed always to be honest with one another, have we not? Therefore I can say that it will not have escaped your notice that there is not much of sadness or sincere mourning going on at Northanger.”
Catherine could not gainsay it, and would not tell a lie.
“That being the case, we will be fully justified leaving for home directly after the funeral.”
“It can’t be directly enough,” said Catherine fervently. “What a house of horrors it is. I cannot compassionate you enough, for having had to grow up here.”
“It was not all bad,” he told her mildly. “There was my mother then, and dear Eleanor, and my brother was at times a good humoured companion. And there were all the country pleasures, and I was much absorbed in my education; no, no, Catherine, you need not be sorry for that.”
“No, I suppose not. After all, it made you what you are, did it not? You could not have been so wise, and of such a good temper, without some shade in your life.”
“You are right in principle; levity needs to be tempered with some compassion, or it is heartless.”
“And you do have a heart,” she told him with a caress.
“You are a philosopher, my Catherine, but I am going to take you to bed in spite of it.”
Together they retired, both thankful that perhaps as early as the following night, they might sleep in peace in their dear own home.