Northanger Abbey and Angels and Dragons by Jane Austen & Vera Nazarian

Author:Jane Austen & Vera Nazarian [Jane Austen & Vera Nazarian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Curiosities (Imprint of Norilana Books)
Published: 2010-12-17T13:00:00+00:00

The two friends, with hearts now “united” in schemes of sisterly happiness, were inseparable for the day.

Mrs. Thorpe and her son—acquainted with everything, and only waiting for Mr. Morland’s consent—considered Isabella’s engagement as the most fortunate circumstance imaginable for their family. But until the happiness was made formal, Anne and Maria were not informed. They however engaged in much whispering and giggling; and it remained only an affected secret.

Catherine was with her friend again the next day, supporting her spirits, and to while away the many tedious hours of distress before the delivery of the letters.

But when it did come, “I have had no difficulty in gaining the consent of my kind parents,” were the first lines—and in one moment all was joyful security.

Isabella’s spirits became almost too high for control. She screeched, she sang, she cooed and hallooed, and caused flurries of snow to appear—verily, Catherine had to blink it away—and she called herself the happiest of mortals.

Are nephilim mortal? Catherine pondered momentarily, then had to remind herself that yes, indeed they were.

Mrs. Thorpe, with tears of joy, embraced her daughter, her son, her visitor, and could have embraced half the inhabitants of Bath. Her heart was overflowing with tenderness.

Even the angels in the room could not help smiling and circled around energetically, narrowly avoiding the two nephilim, while greater light than usual streamed from their wings. Terence, or possibly Clarence, collided with each other in mid-flight and both landed on top of Mrs. Thorpe’s bonnet.

John himself was no skulker in joy. He named Mr. Morland one of the finest fellows in the world. Bellowing, he swore off many sentences in his praise, sending waves of infernal heat about the room. At some point near the middle, and just beneath a chandelier, Isabella’s cold front and the heat wave met . . .

Catherine sensed that, at some precarious point, and soon, indoor precipitation was entirely inevitable.

Meanwhile, the happy letter from James was short. But for the details Isabella could well afford to wait. By what means their income was to be formed, whether landed property were to be resigned, or funded money made over, was a matter in which her disinterested spirit took no concern.

It was enough to feel secure. Her imagination took flight; and she saw herself admired and envied, by friends old and new, at Fullerton and in Putney—a carriage at her command, a new name on her tickets, a brilliant exhibition of hoop rings on her finger.

John Thorpe, who had only waited for the momentous letter’s arrival, now prepared to set off to London. “Well, Miss Morland,” said he, on finding her alone in the parlour, “I am come to bid you good-bye.”

Catherine wished him a good journey.

Without appearing to hear her, he walked to the window, fidgeted about, hummed a tune in a tender roar, and seemed wholly self-occupied.

“Shall not you be late?” said Catherine, wishing the inferno gone.

He made no answer; but after a minute’s silence burst out with, “A famous good thing this marrying scheme, upon my soul! A clever fancy of Morland’s and Belle’s.

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