Catherine looked at Henry, his expression was grave. " Henry, you are not angry with me are you? For I assure you I am innocent, I did not encourage him in the slightest!" Henry said nothing but his silence spoke volumes to Catherine; he did not believe her, he thought her foolish and selfish, he could never love her in the same way again!

" Henry?" She implored tugging at his arm, her eyes on the brink on tears, but still he refused to speak. Catherine pressed his hand affectionately and Henry turned his eyes to meet her gaze, they were full of rage and resentment. Catherine was about to turn away to conceal a sob when of a sudden his eyes softened and a smile spread across his face, finally he laughed.

" Oh, dearest Catherine! Of course I believe you! Do you think I would ever hear anything against you and believe it if you affirmed it to be nonsense, I would distrust my senses rather than believe bad of you, love."

" Oh, Henry!" Catherine exclaimed her voice full of relief, affection and reproach all at once. "Why did you pretend?"

" It was too good an opportunity to miss," he teased, " You should have more faith in me Catherine."

" Why did you come to the clearing?" Catherine enquired thoughtfully.

" Do you think that I did not notice your absence? You know not what hideous fears and visions passed through my mind, you might have been attacked by robbers, stolen by some handsome highwayman or even snatched away by a villainous monk and forced to spend your days trapped in a lonely convent. I came to rescue my darling Emily like gallant Valencourt."

" Who is Valencourt , and who is Emily?" Asked Catherine puzzled and amused.

Henry clasped his hand to his mouth, " I have exposed my secret!"

" What secret?" Henry put his hand inside his coat and revealed a copy of ' The Italian' which he presented to Catherine," Emily and Valencourt are hiding inside these pages," he said " they will soon be your best and closest friends."

Catherine laughed and thought that Henry was far more handsome, more dashing, and more gallant, than any hero from any novel ever written, even one by Mrs Radcliffe.

" Henry, Catherine, where have you been hiding all this time?" Eleanor asked smilingly when the two rejoined the rest of the party in one of the hothouses, " And what has become of Fredrick?"

" Never-mind Fredrick," Replied Henry with a knowing smile at Catherine.

" What do you mean never mind Fredrick ?" Eleanor queried,

" Oh, nothing, I do not mean anything by it. I am sure that he shall be here soon; Catherine and I spied him walking this way only a moment ago," he said taking Eleanor's hand and Catherine's arm, " I have an idea . I warn you it is a most brilliant idea, you must prepare yourselves for its unavailing: We three should go on our own walk together, we should go on mother's walk . One last time before you escape Northanger's clutches , Eleanor?"

" Yes, that is a nice idea Henry, I was hoping to do so anyway." Catherine's heart went out to her friend, the dejection written on Eleanor's face and a mournful sigh told Catherine that Eleanor's happiness was, even now, blighted by her early loss, she imagined her own marriage to Henry with the absence of her mother and the thought very nearly brought her to tears.

" I shall miss this spot," said Eleanor as the three sat upon the old stone bench at the beginning of the walk, Henry quickly offered his sister a handkerchief which she gratefully received," I am sorry," she said in apology for the few tears gathering in her eyes "it is one of my last connections with mother you see" , Henry put his hand around her's and held it tight. " I am glad that we are all here together," she continued, " I am glad that you are here Henry, and whether we are at Northanger or many miles away we will always remember this place and remember mother."

" And we shall never forget her," added Henry. Catherine felt quite affected by the emotion of the siblings and at a loss as to how to comfort them,

" I am sure that your mother must have been a lovely woman, I so wish that I could have met her," said Catherine.

" She would have liked you very much," said Eleanor, " Oh– there is Collin," she added as she spotted him through a parting in the two hedges which served as a entrance to the walk. " You do not mind if he joins us do you Henry?"

" Of course not."

" I shall fetch him."

" Poor Eleanor" said Catherine when Eleanor had left, " If only her mother were here."

" Indeed. She is happy though, I know she is. Collin truly does deserve her Catherine, I would not have parted with her else."

Eleanor returned with Collin and the four enjoyed a very pleasant walk indeed, Catherine felt extremely content , it seemed that each was very well suited to the other and there was a sense of mutual affection and esteem among the party. Nothing is more sure to guarantee felicity than youth, high spirits and good company and Catherine was enjoying all three of these blessings.

" Eleanor," Henry called out to his sister who was walking a few paces ahead of Catherine and he, " have you told Catherine the old tale about this fir wood?"

" No, what tale brother?"

" The one that Uncle Tom used to tell us of a cold and dark winter evening. I always did love Uncle Tom's stories they are just the sort of thing to ensure that one gets no sleep and instead spends the night shaking under the bedclothes, at particularly fear ridden moments I can recall hitting the curtains just to check that no one was lingering behind them, ready to slit one's throat as soon as one shut one's eyes. More than once I can remember hearing a frightful tap at my door only to see Eleanor standing in the doorway , pale as her nightdress, holding the last stub of her fast dwindling candle, ready to extinguish itself at any moment, so you must not tell me that you have forgotten Uncle Tom's stories Eleanor."

" No, no indeed, now that you remind me I certainly have not forgotten. Why he told us such ghastly tales I shall never know, I am sure I should never tell your children such things Henry."

" Then I shall have to tell them myself, there is no fun without a little fright is there Catherine?"

" I do not know, suspense and mystery and perhaps even horror all make rather entertaining stories for you or I but I am not entirely sure that they are suitable for young children, and I do not think you should tell our children anything too frightful until they are least ten years of age."

" Why, that is very precise Catherine, what is the difference between a child of ten and a child of nine that makes the former more resilient to fear? And less prone to tricks of the imagination?"

" I cannot quite say, but I know that George is always more afflicted by stories of ghosts and highwaymen than Harriet is and there is but one years difference between the two."

" That is one example among many. You cannot possibly say with any certainty that the difference derives from a variation in age and not temperament and you must also concede that the older a child becomes, the greater their powers of comprehension and therefore the greater their understanding of the tale."

" That is true, I spoke hastily, I do not believe that every child of ten is no longer easily frightened but it does seem to me that when a child reaches that age they have a better knack for sorting the real from the imaginary, though I cannot say that I am an expert in such matters and indeed I believe that I myself never have ceased to be influenced by fiction."

" That is a statement that I cannot disagree with."

" Now will you tell me the tale that your uncle used to tell you? The one about this wood."

" Yes, please do, I should like to hear it," Collin requested.

"Very well. A long time ago..." Henry began, affecting the drawling voice of his uncle to humorous effect, ".. Longer than either you or I can remember, when the sea swarmed with pirates and the land was rife with thieves, the Abbey looked quite different from today, for there were not yet any refurbishments or improvements to render it comfortable, and dark, creaking furniture filled every room. Can you picture it like this lad? Eh? What about you Eleanor?' – Do not laugh Eleanor," added Henry returning to his natural voice, " or you Catherine,for you must imagine that I am your uncle and you must pretend to be me, Eleanor shall be herself and Collin must be Fredrick. There, now sit on that bench so that I can rein over you all like our uncle used to, you should really be sitting on the floor but I shall excuse you from that as the floor here is rather dirtier than the nursery rug. Now I shall continue—' you must imagine the abbey in this gloomy, untouched state, when the grounds were wild and the deep woods spanned many miles. At this time— Catherine I never sat like that, do not fold your hands upon your lap so, remember that you are a boy — As I was saying —where was I.. Oh yes, well,— at this time the Abbey was, as you know, cared for by monks. Now, these monks were very secretive, seldom if ever leaving the confines of the abbey and carrying on with their lives in complete isolation. No doubt the villagers became extremely curious of their mysterious neighbours but few ventured to enter the great gates of Northanger until one day a young woman, the daughter of the clergymen , decided to brave the horrors of the Abbey. She walked the dirt track through the woods which were dark and dense, and many people had become lost in the maze of trees. By the time that she finally reached the abbey it was near nightfall; the light of the evening was fast fading away. In the dim light of the moon the Abbey looked black and ominous; like a shadow stretching up before her. She was puzzling over how she should enter the building itself when she noticed that a great door a few feet from her was ajar. She tentatively opened it further and crept inside. It was too dark to see anything in the vault that she had entered but she could hear the soft sound of footsteps, when of a sudden the door shut behind her with a great bang like that of the of the ball from the cannon— you must excuse me, my uncle always liked to use military comparisons, though they added little to the suspense—...the door shut with a great bang like that of the ball from the cannon and the girl was never heard of nor seen, again. Some say she was murdered, some imprisoned, and some even say that her ghost still haunts the Abbey every evening, and if you watch the woods as the day turns to dusk you can see her pallid form walking the dirt track." Here Henry stopped, satisfied, " shall we return to the party?" He asked.

Catherine shuddered, " How frightful! Still, I do not believe that it is a true story, it seems rather unlikely that a young woman would venture so far entirely on her own, unless circumstances made it absolutely necessary. And if she was alone who could have witnessed her visit? Was she truly the daughter of a clergymen?" Catherine added, this similarity between the doomed young heroine and herself made her feel uneasy." Of course, and ever since her disappearance the Abbey has held a curse for clergymen's daughters! No, Catherine, she was not the daughter of a Clergyman, I took the liberty of adding that detail myself." Catherine smiled, and placed her arm in Henry's for the walk back.