Catherine goes into the Bluebeard chamber—which is certainly not kept locked—on tiptoe. “She beheld what fixed her to the spot, and agitated every feature. She saw a large, well-proportioned apartment, a handsome dimity bed unoccupied, arranged with a housemaid’s care, a bright Bath stove, mahogany wardrobes and neatly-painted chairs, on which the warm beams of a western sun gaily poured through two sash-windows. Catherine had expected to have her feelings worked upon, and worked upon they were. Astonishment and doubt first seized them, and a shortly-succeeding ray of common sense added some bitter emotions of shame.”
She is endeavouring to retreat as quickly as she has come. She has got as far as the gallery, when she hears footsteps approaching. It would be awkward for a servant, it would be dreadful for the General to meet her prowling about there.
Happily for Catherine, though she cannot think so at the time, it is Henry Tilney who comes running up the side stair.
“‘Mr. Tilney,’ she cries, taken by surprise, ‘how did you come here?’
“‘How did I come up that staircase?’ he echoes, as much astonished as she is; ‘because it is my nearest way from the stable-yard to my own chamber; and why should I not come up it?’
“Catherine recollected herself, blushed deeply, and could say no more. He seemed to be looking in her countenance for that explanation which her words did not afford. She moved on towards the gallery.
“‘And may I not, in my turn,’ said he, as he pushed back the folding doors, ‘ask how came you here? This passage is at least as extraordinary a road from the breakfast-parlour to your apartment as that staircase can be from the stables to mine.’
“‘I have been,’ said Catherine, looking down, ‘to see your mother’s room.’
“‘My mother’s room! Is there anything extraordinary to be seen there?’
“‘No, nothing at all. I thought you did not mean to come back till to-morrow.’”