The visions of romance were over. Catherine was completely awakened1. Henry's address, short as it had been, had more thoroughly2 opened her eyes to the extravagance of her late fancies than all their several disappointments had done. Most grievously was she humbled3. Most bitterly did she cry. It was not only with herself that she was sunk -- but with Henry. Her folly4, which now seemed even criminal, was all exposed to him, and he must despise her forever. The liberty which her imagination had dared to take with the character of his father -- could he ever forgive it? The absurdity5 of her curiosity and her fears -- could they ever be forgotten? She hated herself more than she could express. He had -- she thought he had, once or twice before this fatal morning, shown something like affection for her. But now -- in short, she made herself as miserable6 as possible for about half an hour, went down when the clock struck five, with a broken heart, and could scarcely give an intelligible7 answer to Eleanor's inquiry8 if she was well. The formidable Henry soon followed her into the room, and the only difference in his behaviour to her was that he paid her rather more attention than usual. Catherine had never wanted comfort more, and he looked as if he was aware of it.
The evening wore away with no abatement9 of this soothing10 politeness; and her spirits were gradually raised to a modest tranquillity11. She did not learn either to forget or defend the past; but she learned to hope that it would never transpire12 farther, and that it might not cost her Henry's entire regard. Her thoughts being still chiefly fixed13 on what she had with such causeless terror felt and done, nothing could shortly be clearer than that it had been all a voluntary, self-created delusion14, each trifling15 circumstance receiving importance from an imagination resolved on alarm, and everything forced to bend to one purpose by a mind which, before she entered the abbey, had been craving16 to be frightened. She remembered with what feelings she had prepared for a knowledge of Northanger. She saw that the infatuation had been created, the mischief17 settled, long before her quitting Bath, and it seemed as if the whole might be traced to the influence of that sort of reading which she had there indulged.
Charming as were all Mrs. Radcliffe's works, and charming even as were the works of all her imitators, it was not in them perhaps that human nature, at least in the Midland counties of England, was to be looked for. Of the Alps and Pyrenees, with their pine forests and their vices18, they might give a faithful delineation19; and Italy, Switzerland, and the south of France might be as fruitful in horrors as they were there represented. Catherine dared not doubt beyond her own country, and even of that, if hard pressed, would have yielded the northern and western extremities20. But in the central part of England there was surely some security for the existence even of a wife not beloved, in the laws of the land, and the manners of the age. Murder was not tolerated, servants were not slaves, and neither poison nor sleeping potions to be procured21, like rhubarb, from every druggist. Among the Alps and Pyrenees, perhaps, there were no mixed characters. There, such as were not as spotless as an angel might have the dispositions22 of a fiend. But in England it was not so; among the English, she believed, in their hearts and habits, there was a general though unequal mixture of good and bad. Upon this conviction, she would not be surprised if even in Henry and Eleanor Tilney, some slight imperfection might hereafter appear; and upon this conviction she need not fear to acknowledge some actual specks23 in the character of their father, who, though cleared from the grossly injurious suspicions which she must ever blush to have entertained, she did believe, upon serious consideration, to be not perfectly24 amiable25.
Her mind made up on these several points, and her resolution formed, of always judging and acting26 in future with the greatest good sense, she had nothing to do but to forgive herself and be happier than ever; and the lenient27 hand of time did much for her by insensible gradations in the course of another day. Henry's astonishing generosity28 and nobleness of conduct, in never alluding29 in the slightest way to what had passed, was of the greatest assistance to her; and sooner than she could have supposed it possible in the beginning of her distress30, her spirits became absolutely comfortable, and capable, as heretofore, of continual improvement by anything he said. There were still some subjects, indeed, under which she believed they must always tremble -- the mention of a chest or a cabinet, for instance -- and she did not love the sight of japan in any shape: but even she could allow that an occasional memento31 of past folly, however painful, might not be without use.
The anxieties of common life began soon to succeed to the alarms of romance. Her desire of hearing from Isabella grew every day greater. She was quite impatient to know how the Bath world went on, and how the rooms were attended; and especially was she anxious to be assured of Isabella's having matched some fine netting-cotton, on which she had left her intent; and of her continuing on the best terms with James. Her only dependence32 for information of any kind was on Isabella. James had protested against writing to her till his return to Oxford33; and Mrs. Allen had given her no hopes of a letter till she had got back to Fullerton. But Isabella had promised and promised again; and when she promised a thing, she was so scrupulous34 in performing it! This made it so particularly strange!
For nine successive mornings, Catherine wondered over the repetition of a disappointment, which each morning became more severe: but, on the tenth, when she entered the breakfast-room, her first object was a letter, held out by Henry's willing hand. She thanked him as heartily35 as if he had written it himself. "'Tis only from James, however," as she looked at the direction. She opened it; it was from Oxford; and to this purpose:
"Dear Catherine,
"Though, God knows, with little inclination36 for writing, I think it my duty to tell you that everything is at an end between Miss Thorpe and me. I left her and Bath yesterday, never to see either again. I shall not enter into particulars -- they would only pain you more. You will soon hear enough from another quarter to know where lies the blame; and I hope will acquit37 your brother of everything but the folly of too easily thinking his affection returned. Thank God! I am undeceived in time! But it is a heavy blow! After my father's consent had been so kindly38 given -- but no more of this. She has made me miserable forever! Let me soon hear from you, dear Catherine; you are my only friend; your love I do build upon. I wish your visit at Northanger may be over before Captain Tilney makes his engagement known, or you will be uncomfortably circumstanced. Poor Thorpe is in town: I dread39 the sight of him; his honest heart would feel so much. I have written to him and my father. Her duplicity hurts me more than all; till the very last, if I reasoned with her, she declared herself as much attached to me as ever, and laughed at my fears. I am ashamed to think how long I bore with it; but if ever man had reason to believe himself loved, I was that man. I cannot understand even now what she would be at, for there could be no need of my being played off to make her secure of Tilney. We parted at last by mutual40 consent -- happy for me had we never met! I can never expect to know such another woman! Dearest Catherine, beware how you give your heart. "Believe me," &c.
Catherine had not read three lines before her sudden change of countenance41, and short exclamations42 of sorrowing wonder, declared her to be receiving unpleasant news; and Henry, earnestly watching her through the whole letter, saw plainly that it ended no better than it began. He was prevented, however, from even looking his surprise by his father's entrance. They went to breakfast directly; but Catherine could hardly eat anything. Tears filled her eyes, and even ran down her cheeks as she sat. The letter was one moment in her hand, then in her lap, and then in her pocket; and she looked as if she knew not what she did. The general, between his cocoa and his newspaper, had luckily no leisure for noticing her; but to the other two her distress was equally visible. As soon as she dared leave the table she hurried away to her own room; but the housemaids were busy in it, and she was obliged to come down again. She turned into the drawing-room for privacy, but Henry and Eleanor had likewise retreated thither43, and were at that moment deep in consultation44 about her. She drew back, trying to beg their pardon, but was, with gentle violence, forced to return; and the others withdrew, after Eleanor had affectionately expressed a wish of being of use or comfort to her.
After half an hour's free indulgence of grief and reflection, Catherine felt equal to encountering her friends; but whether she should make her distress known to them was another consideration. Perhaps, if particularly questioned, she might just give an idea -- just distantly hint at it -- but not more. To expose a friend, such a friend as Isabella had been to her -- and then their own brother so closely concerned in it! She believed she must waive45 the subject altogether. Henry and Eleanor were by themselves in the breakfast-room; and each, as she entered it, looked at her anxiously. Catherine took her place at the table, and, after a short silence, Eleanor said, "No bad news from Fullerton, I hope? Mr. and Mrs. Morland -- your brothers and sisters -- I hope they are none of them ill?"
"No, I thank you" (sighing as she spoke); "they are all very well. My letter was from my brother at Oxford."
Nothing further was said for a few minutes; and then speaking through her tears, she added, "I do not think I shall ever wish for a letter again!"
"I am sorry," said Henry, closing the book he had just opened; "if I had suspected the letter of containing anything unwelcome, I should have given it with very different feelings."
"It contained something worse than anybody could suppose! Poor James is so unhappy! You will soon know why."
"To have so kind-hearted, so affectionate a sister," replied Henry warmly, "must be a comfort to him under any distress."
"I have one favour to beg," said Catherine, shortly afterwards, in an agitated46 manner, "that, if your brother should be coming here, you will give me notice of it, that I may go away."
"Our brother! Frederick!"
"Yes; I am sure I should be very sorry to leave you so soon, but something has happened that would make it very dreadful for me to be in the same house with Captain Tilney."
Eleanor's work was suspended while she gazed with increasing astonishment47; but Henry began to suspect the truth, and something, in which Miss Thorpe's name was included, passed his lips.
"How quick you are!" cried Catherine: "you have guessed it, I declare! And yet, when we talked about it in Bath, you little thought of its ending so. Isabella -- no wonder now I have not heard from her -- Isabella has deserted48 my brother, and is to marry yours! Could you have believed there had been such inconstancy and fickleness49, and everything that is bad in the world?"
"I hope, so far as concerns my brother, you are misinformed. I hope he has not had any material share in bringing on Mr. Morland's disappointment. His marrying Miss Thorpe is not probable. I think you must be deceived so far. I am very sorry for Mr. Morland -- sorry that anyone you love should be unhappy; but my surprise would be greater at Frederick's marrying her than at any other part of the story."
"It is very true, however; you shall read James's letter yourself. Stay -- There is one part -- " recollecting50 with a blush the last line.
"Will you take the trouble of reading to us the passages which concern my brother?"
"No, read it yourself," cried Catherine, whose second thoughts were clearer. "I do not know what I was thinking of" (blushing again that she had blushed before); "James only means to give me good advice."
He gladly received the letter, and, having read it through, with close attention, returned it saying, "Well, if it is to be so, I can only say that I am sorry for it. Frederick will not be the first man who has chosen a wife with less sense than his family expected. I do not envy his situation, either as a lover or a son."
Miss Tilney, at Catherine's invitation, now read the letter likewise, and, having expressed also her concern and surprise, began to inquire into Miss Thorpe's connections and fortune.
"Her mother is a very good sort of woman," was Catherine's answer.
"What was her father?"
"A lawyer, I believe. They live at Putney."
"Are they a wealthy family?"
"No, not very. I do not believe Isabella has any fortune at all: but that will not signify in your family. Your father is so very liberal! He told me the other day that he only valued money as it allowed him to promote the happiness of his children." The brother and sister looked at each other. "But," said Eleanor, after a short pause, "would it be to promote his happiness, to enable him to marry such a girl? She must be an unprincipled one, or she could not have used your brother so. And how strange an infatuation on Frederick's side! A girl who, before his eyes, is violating an engagement voluntarily entered into with another man! Is not it inconceivable, Henry? Frederick too, who always wore his heart so proudly! Who found no woman good enough to be loved!"
"That is the most unpromising circumstance, the strongest presumption51 against him. When I think of his past declarations, I give him up. Moreover, I have too good an opinion of Miss Thorpe's prudence52 to suppose that she would part with one gentleman before the other was secured. It is all over with Frederick indeed! He is a deceased man -- defunct53 in understanding. Prepare for your sister-in-law, Eleanor, and such a sister-in-law as you must delight in! Open, candid54, artless, guileless, with affections strong but simple, forming no pretensions55, and knowing no disguise."
"Such a sister-in-law, Henry, I should delight in," said Eleanor with a smile.
"But perhaps," observed Catherine, "though she has behaved so ill by our family, she may behave better by yours. Now she has really got the man she likes, she may be constant."
"Indeed I am afraid she will," replied Henry; "I am afraid she will be very constant, unless a baronet should come in her way; that is Frederick's only chance. I will get the Bath paper, and look over the arrivals."
"You think it is all for ambition, then? And, upon my word, there are some things that seem very like it. I cannot forget that, when she first knew what my father would do for them, she seemed quite disappointed that it was not more. I never was so deceived in anyone's character in my life before."
"Among all the great variety that you have known and studied."
"My own disappointment and loss in her is very great; but, as for poor James, I suppose he will hardly ever recover it."
"Your brother is certainly very much to be pitied at present; but we must not, in our concern for his sufferings, undervalue yours. You feel, I suppose, that in losing Isabella, you lose half yourself: you feel a void in your heart which nothing else can occupy. Society is becoming irksome; and as for the amusements in which you were wont56 to share at Bath, the very idea of them without her is abhorrent57. You would not, for instance, now go to a ball for the world. You feel that you have no longer any friend to whom you can speak with unreserve, on whose regard you can place dependence, or whose counsel, in any difficulty, you could rely on. You feel all this?"
"No," said Catherine, after a few moments' reflection, "I do not -- ought I? To say the truth, though I am hurt and grieved, that I cannot still love her, that I am never to hear from her, perhaps never to see her again, I do not feel so very, very much afflicted58 as one would have thought."
"You feel, as you always do, what is most to the credit of human nature. Such feelings ought to be investigated, that they may know themselves."
Catherine, by some chance or other, found her spirits so very much relieved by this conversation that she could not regret her being led on, though so unaccountably, to mention the circumstance which had produced it.
传奇的梦幻破灭了。凯瑟琳完全清醒了。亨利的话语虽然简短，却比几次挫折更有力量，使她彻底认识到自己近来想象之荒诞。她羞愧得无地自容，痛哭得无比伤心。她不仅自己觉得无脸，还会让亨利看不起她。她的蠢行现在看来简直是犯罪行为，结果全让他知道了，他一定再也瞧不起她了。她竟敢放肆地把他父亲的人格想象得这么坏，他还会饶恕她吗？她那荒唐的好奇与忧虑，他还会忘记吗？她说不出多么憎恨自己。在这坏事的早晨之前，亨利曾经——她觉得他曾经有一两次表示过对她好像挺亲热。可是现在——总而言之，她尽量把自己折磨了大约半个钟头，到五点钟时才心碎欲裂地走下楼去，埃丽诺问她身体可好的时候，她连话都说不清楚了。进屋后不久，可怕的亨利也接踵而至，他态度上的唯一变化，就是对她比平常更加殷勤。现在凯瑟琳最需要有人安慰，他好像也意识到了这一点。
夜晚慢慢过去了，亨利一直保持着这种让人宽慰、温文有礼的态度，凯瑟琳的情绪总算渐渐地平静下来。但她不会因此而忘记过去，也不会为过去进行辩解，她只希望千万别再声张出去，别使她完全失去亨利对她的好感。她仍在聚精会神地思索她怀着无端的恐惧所产生的错觉，所做出来的傻事，所以很快就明白了，这完全是她想入非非、主观臆断的结果。因为决计想要尝尝心惊肉跳的滋味，芝麻大的小事也想象得了不得，心里认准一个目标，所有的事情都硬往这上面牵扯。其实，没来等院之前，她就一直渴望着要历历风险。她回忆起当初准备了解诺桑觉寺时，自已怀着什么心情。她发现，早在她离开巴思之前，她心里就着了迷、扎下了祸根。追本穷源，这一切似乎都是因为受了她在巴思读的那种小说的影响。
虽然拉德克列夫夫人的作品很引人入胜，甚至她的摹仿者的作品也很引人入胜，但是这些书里也许见不到人性，至少见不到英格兰中部几郡的人所具有的人性。这些作品对阿尔卑期山，比利牛斯山及其松林里发生的种种罪恶活动的描写，可能是忠实的，在意大利、瑞士和法国南部、也可能像书上描绘的那样，充满了恐怖活动。凯瑟琳不敢怀疑本国以外的事情，即使本国的事情，如果问得紧，她也会承认，在极北部和极西部也可能有这事情。可是在英格兰中部，邓使一个不受宠爱的妻子，因为有国家的法律和时代的风尚作保证，定能确保她有一定的安全感。杀人是不能容忍的，仆人不是奴隶，而且毒药和安眠药不像大黄，不是每个药铺都买得着。在阿尔卑斯山和比利牛斯山、也许没有双重性格的人，凡是不像天使
一样洁白无暇的人，他的性情就会像魔鬼一样。但是在英国就不是这样。她相信，英国人的心地和习性一般都是善恶混杂的，虽然善恶的成分不是对等的。基于这一信念，将来即使发现亨利和埃丽诺身上有些微小的缺陷，她也不会感到吃惊。同样基于这一信念，她不必害怕承认他们父亲的性格上有些真正的缺点。她以前对他滋生过的怀疑是对他的莫大侮辱，将使她羞愧终生。现在，怀疑虽然澄清了，但是仔细一想，她觉得将军委实不是个十分和蔼可亲的人。
凯瑟琳把这几点想清楚之后，便下定决心：以后无论判断什么还是做什么，全都要十分理智。随后她便无事可做，只好饶恕自己，设法比以前更加高兴。怜悯的时光帮了她很大的忙，使她第二天不知不觉地渐渐消除了痛苦。亨利为人极其宽怀大度，对过往之事始终只字不提，这给了凯瑟琳极大的帮助。她刚开始苦恼，正觉得无可解脱时，却全然变得愉快起来，而且能和以前一样，越听亨利说话心里就越痛快。但是她相信，还有几样东西的确不能提，比如箱子和立柜，一提她心里就要打颤。她还讨厌见到任何形状的漆器，不过连她自己也承认，偶尔想想过去做的傻事，虽说是痛苦的，但也不无益处。
不久，日常生活的忧虑取代了传奇的恐惧。她一天急似一天地巴望着伊莎贝拉来信。她迫不及待地想知道巴思的动态和舞厅里的情况。她特别想听说她们分别时，她一心想让伊莎贝拉配的细绸子线已经配好了，听说伊莎贝拉与詹姆斯依然十分要好。她现在唯一的消息来源就靠伊莎贝拉。詹姆斯明言说过，回到牛津之前，决定不再给她写信。艾伦太太在回到富勒顿之前，也不可能指望来信。可是伊莎贝拉却一次又一次地答应了，而凡是她答应的事，她总要认真办到的，所以这就更奇怪了！
接连九个上午，凯瑟琳都大失所望，而且失望的程度一次比一次严重。但是第十天早晨，她一走进早餐厅，亨利马上欣然递给她一封信。她由衷地向他表示感谢，仿佛这信就是他写的似的。她看了看姓名地址：“不过这只是詹姆斯的信。”她把信拆开，信是从牛津寄来的，内容如下：
亲爱的凯瑟琳：
天晓得，虽然不想写信，但我觉得有责任告诉你，我和索普小姐彻底吹了。昨天我离开了她，离开了巴思，永远不想再见到此人、此地。我不想对你细说，说了只会使你更加痛苦。你很快就会从另一方面听到足够的情况，知道过错在哪儿。我希望你会发现，你的哥哥除了傻里傻气地过于轻信他的一片痴情得到报答以外，在别的方面并没有过错。谢天谢地！我总算及时醒悟了！不过打击是沉重的！父亲已经仁慈地同意了我们的婚事——但是不必再说了。她害得我终身不得快活！快点来信，亲爱的凯瑟琳，你是我唯一的朋友，我只有指望你的爱啦。希望你能在蒂尔尼上尉宣布订婚之前，结束你对诺桑觉寺的访问，否则你将处于一个非常难堪的境地。可怜的索普就在城里，我害怕见到他，这个厚道人一定很难过。我已经给他和父亲写过信。她的口是心非最使我痛心。直到最后．我一和她评理，她就当即宣称她还和以前一样爱我，还嘲笑我忧虑重重。我没脸去想我对此姑息了多久。不过，要是有谁确信自己被爱过的话，那就是我。直到现在，我还不明白她在搞什么名堂，即使想把蒂尔尼搞到手，也犯不着耍弄我呀。最后我们两人同意分手了。但愿我们不曾相识！我永远不想再遇见这号女人！最亲爱的凯瑟琳，当心别爱错了人。——请相信我……
凯瑟琳还没读上三行，脸色便唰地变了，悲哀地发出一声声短促的惊叹，表明她接到了不愉快的消息。亨利直盯盯地望着她读完了信，明显看出信的结尾并不比开头好些。不过他一点也没露出惊奇的样子，因为他父亲走了进来。他们立刻去进早餐，可是凯瑟琳几乎什么也吃不下去。她眼里含着两包泪水，坐着坐着，泪水甚至沿着脸蛋籁籁往下滚落。她把信一会拿在手里，一会儿放在腿上，一会儿又塞进口袋，看样子不知道自己在干什么。将军一边看报一边喝可可，幸好没有闲暇注意她。可是那兄妹俩却把她的痛苦看在了眼里。一到可以退席的时候，她就急忙跑到自己房里，但是女仆正在里面忙着收拾，她只好又回到楼下。她拐进客厅想清静清静，不想亨利和埃丽诺也躲在这儿，正在专心商量她的事。她说了声对不起便往后退，却被他俩轻轻地拉了回来。埃丽诺亲切地表示，希望能帮她点忙，安慰安慰她，说罢两人就出去了。
凯瑟琳无拘无束地尽情忧伤着，沉思着，过了半个钟头工夫，她觉得自己可以见见她的朋友了，但是要不要把自己地苦恼告诉他们，却还要考虑考虑。他们要是特意问起，她也许可以只说个大概——只隐隐约约地暗示一下，然而不能多说。揭一个朋友的老底，揭一个像伊莎贝拉这样与她要好的朋友的老底！而且这件事与这兄妹俩的哥哥还有如此密切的牵连！她觉得她干脆什么也不说。早餐厅里只有亨利和埃丽诺两个人。她进去的时候，两人
都急切地望着她。凯瑟琳在桌旁坐下，沉默了一会以后，埃丽诺说道：“但愿没收到来自富勒顿的坏消息吧？莫兰先生，莫兰太太，还有你的兄弟妹妹，但愿他们都没生病吧？”
“没有，谢谢你。”（说着叹了口气）“他们全都很好。那信是我哥哥从牛津寄来的。”
大家沉默了几分钟，然后她泪汪汪地接着说道：“我想永远也不希望再收到信了。”
“真对不起，”亨利说道，一边合上刚刚打开的书，“我要是料到信里有什么不愉快的消息的话，就会带着另一种心情把信递给你的。”
“信里的消息谁也想象不出有多可伯！可怜的詹姆斯太不幸了！。你们不久就会知道是什么缘故。”
“有这样一个如此宽厚、如此亲切的妹妹，”亨利感慨地回道，“遇到任何苦恼，对他都是个莫大的安慰。”
“我求你们一件事，”过了不久，凯瑟琳局促不安地说，“你们的哥哥若是要到这儿来的话，请告诉我一声，我好走开。”
“我们的哥哥！弗雷德里克！”
“是的。我实在不愿意这么快就离开你们，但是出了一件事，搞得我真怕和蒂尔尼上尉呆在同一座房子里。”
埃丽诺越来越惊讶地凝视着，连手里的活计都停住了。但是亨利开始猜出了点名堂，便说了句什么话，话里夹着索普小姐的名字。
“你脑子转得真快！”凯瑟琳嚷道，“真让你猜对了！可是我们在巴思谈论这件事时，你压根儿没有想到会有这个结局。伊莎贝拉——难怪直到现在我也没收到她的信——伊莎贝拉抛弃了我哥哥，要嫁给你们的哥哥了！世界上居然有这种朝三暮四、反复无常，有这种形形色色的坏事、你们能相信吗？”
“我希望，你有关我哥哥的消息是不确切的。我希望莫兰先生的失恋与他没有多大关系。他不可能娶索普小姐。我想你一定搞错了。我真替莫兰先生难过，替你亲爱的人遭遇不幸感到难过。但是这件事最使我惊讶的是，佛雷德里克要娶索普小姐。”
“不过这确是事实。你可以亲自读读詹姆斯的信。等一等，有一段”----想起最后一行话，不觉脸红起来。
“是不是请你把有关我哥哥的那些段落念给我们听听好了？”
“不，你自己看吧，”凯瑟琳嚷道，经过仔细一想，心里变明白了些。“我也不知道自己在想什么。”（想起刚才脸红的事，不觉脸又红了）“詹姆斯只不过想给我个忠告。”
亨利欣然接过信，仔仔细细地看了一遍，然后把信还回去，说：“如果事实如此，我只能说我很抱歉。弗雷德里克选择妻子这么不理智：真出乎家里人的意料，不过这种人也不止是他一个。我可不羡慕他的地位，做那样的情人和儿子。”
凯瑟琳又请蒂尔尼小姐把信看了一遍：蒂尔尼小姐也表示忧虑和惊讶，然后便问起索普小姐的家庭关系和财产。
“她母亲是个很好的女人，”凯瑟琳答道。
“她父亲是干什么的？”
“我想是个律师。他们住在普特尼。”
“他们家很有钱吗？”
“不，不很有钱。伊莎贝拉恐怕一点财产也没有。不过你们家不在乎这个。你父亲多慷慨啊！他那天跟我说，他之所以重视钱，就在于钱能帮他促进他孩子们的幸福。”
兄妹俩你看看我，我瞧瞧你。“可是，”埃丽诺过了一会说道，“让他娶这么一个姑娘能促进他的幸福吗？她准是个没节操的东西，不然她不会那样对待你哥哥。真奇怪，弗雷德里克怎么会迷上这种人！他亲眼看到这个姑娘毁掉了她跟另一个男人自觉自愿订下的婚约！亨利，这不是让人难以置信吗？还有弗雷德里克，他一向心此天高，觉得哪个女人也不配他爱！”
“这情况再糟不过了，别人不会对他有好看法的。想起他过去说的话，我就认为他没救了。此外，我觉得索普小姐会谨慎从事的，不至于在没有把握得到另一个男人之前，就急忙甩掉自己的情人。弗雷德里克的确是彻底完了！他完蛋了，一点理智也没有了。埃丽诺，准备迎接你的嫂子吧，你一定喜欢这样一个嫂子的。她为人坦率，耿直，天真，诚实，富有感情，但是单纯，不自负，不作假。”
埃丽诺莞尔一笑，说道：“亨利，这样的好嫂子我倒真喜欢。”
“不过，”凯瑟琳说，“她尽管待我们家不好，对你们家也许会好些。她既然找到了自己真正爱的人，也许会忠贞不渝的。”
“的确，恐怕她会的，”亨利答道，“恐怕她会忠贞不渝，除非再碰上一位准男爵。这是弗雷德里克唯一的希望所在。我要找份巴思的报纸，看看最近都来了些什么人。”
“那么你认为这都是为了名利吗？是的，有几件事的确很像。我记得，当她第一次听说我父亲会给他们多少财产时，她似乎大失所望，嫌太少了。有生以来，我还从没像这样被任何人的人格蒙蔽过。”
“你从未被你熟悉和研究过的形形色色的人物蒙蔽过。”
“我对她的失望和怀恋已经够厉害了。可怜的詹姆斯恐怕永远也振作不起来了。”
“目前你哥哥的确很值得同情。但是我们不能光顾得关心他的痛苦，而小看了你的痛苦。我想，你失去伊莎贝拉、就觉得像丢了魂一样。你觉得自己心灵空虚，任凭什么东西也填补不了。跟人来往就觉得厌倦。一想起没有她，就连过去你们俩常在巴思一起分享的那些消遣，也变得讨厌了。比方说。你现在说什么也不想参加舞会了。你觉得连一个可以畅所欲言的朋友都没有了，你觉得自己无依无靠，无人关心。有了困难也无人商量。你有没有这些感觉？”
“没有，”凯瑟琳沉思了一下，“我没有——我应该有吗？说实话，我虽然因为不能再爱她，不能再收到她的信，也许永远不会再见她的面而感到伤心，难过，可是我觉得我并不像大家想象的那么痛苦。”
“你的感情总是最合乎人情的。这种感情应该细查一查，看看究竟是怎么回事。”
凯瑟琳也不知怎么搞的，突然发现这番谈话使她心情大为轻松。真是不可思议，她怎么说着说着就把事情讲了出去，不过讲了也不后悔。
收听单词发音 |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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humbled
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| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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abatement
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| n.减(免)税，打折扣，冲销 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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transpire
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| v.(使)蒸发，(使)排出 ；泄露，公开 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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delineation
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| n.记述；描写 | |
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extremities
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| n.端点( extremity的名词复数 )；尽头；手和足；极窘迫的境地 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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dispositions
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| 安排( disposition的名词复数 )； 倾向； （财产、金钱的）处置； 气质 | |
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specks
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| n.眼镜；斑点，微粒，污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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lenient
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| adj.宽大的，仁慈的 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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memento
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| n.纪念品，令人回忆的东西 | |
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dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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scrupulous
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| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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acquit
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| vt.宣判无罪；(oneself)使(自己)表现出 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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45
waive
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| vt.放弃，不坚持(规定、要求、权力等) | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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fickleness
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| n.易变；无常；浮躁；变化无常 | |
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recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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51
presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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53
defunct
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| adj.死亡的；已倒闭的 | |
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54
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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abhorrent
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| adj.可恶的，可恨的，讨厌的 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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