From Chapter 21:

"Her resolute effort threw back the lid, and gave to her astonished eyes the view of a white cotton counterpane, properly folded, reposing on one end of the chest in undisputed possession!"

This is, for me, the height of JA's irony and Gothic satire. She creates this wonderful romantic setup with the chest, and then at the very last second yanks the rug out by having the contents be exceedingly ordinary--while punctuating the sentence exactly as if something extraordinary had just happened.

Is it any wonder why we love her?