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　wife？”—when　a　distinct　and　near　voice　said—
“The　marriage　cannot　go　on：　I　declare　the　existence　of　an　impediment。”
The　clergyman　looked　up　at　the　speaker　and　stood　mute；　the　clerk　did　the　same；　Mr。　Rochester　moved　slightly；　as　if　an　earthquake　had　rolled　under　his　feet：　taking　a　firmer　footing；　and　not　turning　his　head　or　eyes；　he　said；　“Proceed。”
Profound　silence　fell　when　he　had　uttered　that　word；　with　deep　but　low　intonation。　Presently　Mr。　Wood　said—
“I　cannot　proceed　without　some　investigation　into　what　has　been　asserted；　and　evidence　of　its　truth　or　falsehood。”
“The　ceremony　is　quite　broken　off；”　subjoined　the　voice　behind　us。　“I　am　in　a　condition　to　prove　my　allegation：　an　insuperable　impediment　to　this　marriage　exists。”
Mr。　Rochester　heard；　but　heeded　not：　he　stood　stubborn　and　rigid；　making　no　movement　but　to　possess　himself　of　my　hand。　What　a　hot　and　strong　grasp　he　had！　and　hoarble　was　his　pale；　firm；　massive　front　at　this　moment！　How　his　eye　shone；　still　watchful；　and　yet　wild　beneath！
Mr。　Wood　seemed　at　a　loss。　“What　is　the　nature　of　the　impediment？”　he　asked。　“Perhaps　it　may　be　got　over—explained　away？”
“Hardly；”　was　the　answer。　“I　have　called　it　insuperable；　and　I　speak　advisedly。”
The　speaker　came　forward　and　leaned　on　the　rails。　He　continued；　uttering　each　word　distinctly；　calmly；　steadily；　but　not　loudly—
“It　simply　consists　in　the　existence　of　a　previous　marriage。　Mr。　Rochester　has　a　wife　now　living。”
My　nerves　vibrated　to　those　low…spoken　words　as　they　had　never　vibrated　to　thunder—my　blood　felt　their　subtle　violence　as　it　had　never　felt　frost　or　fire；　but　I　was　collected；　and　in　no　danger　of　swooning。　I　looked　at　Mr。　Rochester：　I　made　him　look　at　me。　His　whole　face　was　colourless　rock：　his　eye　was　both　spark　and　flint。　He　disavowed　nothing：　he　seemed　as　if　he　would　defy　all　things。　Without　speaking；　without　smiling；　without　seeming　to　recognise　in　me　a　human　being；　he　only　twined　my　waist　with　his　arm　and　riveted　me　to　his　side。
“Who　are　you？”　he　asked　of　the　intruder。
“My　name　is　Briggs；　a　solicitor　of—Street；　London。”
“And　you　would　thrust　on　me　a　wife？”
“I　would　remind　you　of　your　lady’s　existence；　sir；　which　the　law　recognises；　if　you　do　not。”
“Favour　me　with　an　account　of　her—with　her　name；　her　parentage；　her　place　of　abode。”
“Certainly。”　Mr。　Briggs　calmly　took　a　paper　from　his　pocket；　and　read　out　in　a　sort　of　official；　nasal　voice：—
“‘I　affirm　and　can　prove　that　on　the　20th　of　October　A。D。—（a　date　of　fifteen　years　back）；　Edward　Fairfax　Rochester；　of　Thornfield　Hall；　in　the　county　of　—；　and　of　Ferndean　Manor；　in—shire；　England；　was　married　to　my　sister；　Bertha　Antoita　Mason；　daughter　of　Jonas　Mason；　merchant；　and　of　Antoita　his　wife；　a　Creole；　at—church；　Spanish　Town；　Jamaica。　The　record　of　the　marriage　will　be　found　in　the　register　of　that　church—a　copy　of　it　is　now　in　my　possession。　Signed；　Richard　Mason。’”
“That—if　a　genuine　document—may　prove　I　have　been　married；　but　it　does　not　prove　that　the　woman　mentioned　therein　as　my　wife　is　still　living。”
“She　was　living　three　months　ago；”　returned　the　lawyer。
“How　do　you　know？”
“I　have　a　witness　to　the　fact；　whose　testimony　even　you；　sir；　will　scarcely　controvert。”
“Produce　him—or　go　to　hell。”
“I　will　produce　him　first—he　is　on　the　spot。　Mr。　Mason；　have　the　goodness　to　step　forward。”
Mr。　Rochester；　on　hearing　the　name；　set　his　teeth；　he　experienced；　too；　a　sort　of　strong　convulsive　quiver；　near　to　him　as　I　was；　I　felt　the　spasmodic　movement　of　fury　or　despair　run　through　his　frame。　The　second　stranger；　who　had　hitherto　lingered　in　the　background；　now　drew　near；　a　pale　face　looked　over　the　solicitor’s　shoulder—yes；　it　was　Mason　himself。　Mr。　Rochester　turned　and　glared　at　him。　His　eye；　as　I　have　often　said；　was　a　black　eye：　it　had　now　a　tawny；　nay；　a　bloody　light　in　its　gloom；　and　his　face　flushed—olive　cheek　and　hueless　forehead　received　a　glow　as　from　spreading；　ascending　heart…fire：　and　he　stirred；　lifted　his　strong　arm—he　could　have　struck　Mason；　dashed　him　on　the　church…floor；　shocked　by　ruthless　blow　the　breath　from　his　body—but　Mason　shrank　away；　and　cried　faintly；　“Good　God！”　Contempt　fell　cool　on　Mr。　Rochester—his　passion　died　as　if　a　blight　had　shrivelled　it　up：　he　only　asked—“What　have　you　to　say？”
An　inaudible　reply　escaped　Mason’s　white　lips。
“The　devil　is　in　it　if　you　cannot　answer　distinctly。　I　again　demand；　what　have　you　to　say？”
“Sir—sir；”　interrupted　the　clergyman；　“do　not　forget　you　are　in　a　sacred　place。”　Then　addressing　Mason；　he　inquired　gently；　“Are　you　aware；　sir；　whether　or　not　this　gentleman’s　wife　is　still　living？”
“Courage；”　urged　the　lawyer；—“speak　out。”
“She　is　now　living　at　Thornfield　Hall；”　said　Mason；　in　more　articulate　tones：　“I　saw　her　there　last　April。　I　am　her　brother。”
“At　Thornfield　Hall！”　ejaculated　the　clergyman。　“Impossible！　I　am　an　old　resident　in　this　neighbourhood；　sir；　and　I　never　heard　of　a　Mrs。　Rochester　at　Thornfield　Hall。”
I　saw　a　grim　smile　contort　Mr。　Rochester’s　lips；　and　he　muttered—
“No；　by　God！　I　took　care　that　none　should　hear　of　it—or　of　her　under　that　name。”　He　mused—for　ten　minutes　he　held　counsel　with　himself：　he　formed　his　resolve；　and　announced　it—
“Enough！　all　shall　bolt　out　at　once；　like　the　bullet　from　the　barrel。　Wood；　close　your　book　and　take　off　your　surplice；　John　Green　（to　the　clerk）；　leave　the　church：　there　will　be　no　wedding　to…day。”　The　man　obeyed。
Mr。　Rochester　continued；　hardily　and　recklessly：　“Bigamy　is　an　ugly　word！—I　meant；　however；　to　be　a　bigamist；　but　fate　has　out…　manoeuvred　me；　or　Providence　has　checked　me；—perhaps　the　last。　I　am　little　better　than　a　devil　at　this　moment；　and；　as　my　pastor　there　would　tell　me；　deserve　no　doubt　the　sternest　judgments　of　God；　even　to　the　quenchless　fire　and　deathless　worm。　Gentlemen；　my　plan　is　broken　up：…　what　this　lawyer　and　his　client　say　is　true：　I　have　been　married；　and　the　woman　to　whom　I　was　married　lives！　You　say　you　never　heard　of　a　Mrs。　Rochester　at　the　house　up　yonder；　Wood；　but　I　daresay　you　have　many　a　time　inclined　your　ear　to　gossip　about　the　mysterious　lunatic　kept　there　under　watch　and　ward。　Some　have　whispered　to　you　that　she　is　my　bastard　half…sister：　some；　my　cast…　off　mistress。　I　now　inform　you　that　she　is　my　wife；　whom　I　married　fifteen　years　ago；—Bertha　Mason　by　name；　sister　of　this　resolute　personage；　bs　and　white　cheeks；　showing　you　what　a　stout　heart　men　may　bear。　Cheer　up；　Dick！—never　fear　me！—I’d　almost　as　soon　strike　a　woman　as　you。　Bertha　Mason　is　mad；　and　she　came　of　a　mad　family；　idiots　and　maniacs　through　three　generations？　Her　mother；　the　Creole；　was　both　a　madwoman　and　a　drunkard！—as　I　found　out　after　I　had　wed　the　daughter：　for　they　were　silent　on　family　secrets　before。　Bertha；　like　a　dutiful　child；　copied　her　parent　in　both　points。　I　had　a　charming　partner—pure；　wise；　modest：　you　can　fancy　I　was　a　happy　man。　I　went　through　rich　scenes！　Oh！　my　experience　has　been　heavenly；　if　you　only　knew　it！　But　I　owe　you　no　further　explanation。　Briggs；　Wood；　Mason；　I　invite　you　all　to　e　up　to　the　house　and　visit　Mrs。　Poole’s　patient；　and　my　wife！　You　shall　see　what　sort　of　a　being　I　was　cheated　into　espousing；　and　judge　whether　or　not　I　had　a　right　to　break　the　pact；　and　seek　sympathy　with　something　at　least　human。　This　girl；”　he　continued；　looking　at　me；　“knew　no　more　than　you；　Wood；　of　the　disgusting　secret：　she　thought　all　was　fair　and　legal　and　never　dreamt　she　was　going　to　be　entrapped　into　a　feigned　union　with　a　defrauded　wretch；　already　bound　to　a　bad；　mad；　and　embruted　partner！　e　all　of　you—follow！”
Still　holding　me　fast；　he　left　the　church：　the　three　gentlemen　came　after。　At　the　front　door　of　the　hall　we　found　the　carriage。
“Take　it　back　to　the　coach…house；　John；”　said　Mr。　Rochester　coolly；　“it　will　not　be　wanted　to…day。”
At　our　entrance；　Mrs。　Fairfax；　Adèle；　Sophie；　Leah；　advanced　to　meet　and　greet　us。
“To　the　right…about—every　soul！”　cried　the　master；　“away　with　your　congratulations！　Who　wants　them？　Not　I！—they　are　fifteen　years　too　late！”
He　passed　on　and　ascended　the　stairs；　still　holding　my　hand；　and　still　beckoning　the　gentlemen　to　follow　him；　which　they　did。　We　mounted　the　first　staircase；　passed　up　the　gallery；　proceeded　to　the　third　storey：　the　low；　black　door；　opened　by　Mr。　Rochester’s　master…key；　admitted　us　to　the　tapestried　room；　with　its　great　bed　and　its　pictorial　cabi。
“You　know　this　place；　Mason；”　said　our　guide；　“she　bit　and　stabbed　you　here。”
He　lifted　the　hangings　from　the　wall；　uncovering　the　second　door：　this；　too；　he　opened。　In　a　room　without　a　window；　there　burnt　a　fire　guarded　by　a　high　and　strong　fender；　and　a　lamp　suspended　from　the　ceiling　by　a　chain。　Grace　Poole　bent　over　the　fire；　apparently　cooking　something　in　a　saucepan。　In　the　deep　shade；　at　the　farther　end　of　the　room；　a　figure　ran　backwards　and　forwards。　What　it　was；　whether　beast　or　human　being；　one　could　not；　at　first　sight；　tell：　it　grovelled；　seemingly；　on　all　fours；　it　snatched　and　growled　like　some　strange　wild　animal：　but　it　was　covered　with　clothing；　and　a　quantity　of　dark；　grizzled　hair；　wild　as　a　mane；　hid　its　head　and　face。
“Good…morrow；　Mrs。　Poole！”　said　Mr。　Rochester。　“How　are　you？　and　how　is　your　charge　to…day？”
“We’re　tolerable；　sir；　I　thank　you；”　replied　Grace；　lifting　the　boiling　mess　carefully　on　to　the　hob：　“rather　snappish；　but　not　‘rageous。”
A　fierce　cry　seemed　to　give　the　lie　to　her　favourable　report：　the　clothed　hyena　rose　up；　and　stood　tall　on　its　hind…feet。
“Ah！　sir；　she　sees　you！”　exclaimed　Grace：　“you’d　better　not　stay。”
“Only　a　few　moments；　Grace：　you　must　allow　me　a　few　moments。”
“Take　care　then；　sir！—for　God’s　sake；　take　care！”
The　maniac　bellowed：　she　parted　her　shaggy　locks　from　her　visage；　and　gazed　wildly　at　her　visitors。　I　recognised　well　that　purple　face；—those　bloated　features。　Mrs。　Poole　advanced。
“Keep　out　of　the　way；”　said　Mr。　Rochester；　thrusting　her　aside：　“she　has　no　knife　now；　I　suppose；　and　I’m　on　my　guard。”
“One　never　knows　what　she　has；　sir：　she　is　so　cunning：　it　is　not　in　mortal　discretion　to　fathom　her　craft。”
“We　had　better　leave　her；”　whispered　Mason。
“Go　to　the　devil！”　was　his　brother…in…law’s　remendation。
“‘Ware！”　cried　Grace。　The　three　gentlemen　retreated　simultaneously。　Mr。　Rochester　flung　me　behind　him：　the　lunatic　sprang　and　grappled　his　throat　viciously；　and　laid　her　teeth　to　his　cheek：　they　struggled。　She　was　a　big　woman；　in　stature　almost　equalling　her　husband；　and　corpulent　besides：　she　showed　virile　force　in　the　contest—more　than　once　she　almost　throttled　him；　athletic　as　he　was。　He　could　have　settled　her　with　a　well…planted　blow；　but　he　would　not　strike：　he　would　only　wrestle。　At　last　he　mastered　her　arms；　Grace　Poole　gave　him　a　cord；　and　he　pinioned　them　behind　her：　with　more　rope；　which　was　at　hand；　he　bound　her　to　a　chair。　The　operation　was　performed　amidst　the　fiercest　yells　and　the　most　convulsive　plunges。　Mr。　Rochester　then　turned　to　the　spectators：　he　looked　at　them　with　a　smile　both　acrid　and　desolate。
“That　is　my　wife；”　said　he。　“Such　is　the　sole　conjugal　embrace　I　am　ever　to　know—such　are　the　endearments　which　are　to　solace　my　leisure　hours！　And　THIS　is　what　I　wished　to　have”　（laying　his　hand　on　my　shoulder）：　“this　young　girl；　who　stands　so　grave　and　quiet　at　the　mouth　of　hell；　looking　collectedly　at　the　gambols　of　a　demon；　I　wanted　her　just　as　a　change　after　that　fierce　ragout。　Wood　and　Briggs；　look　at　the　difference！　pare　these　clear　eyes　with　the　red　balls　yonder—this　face　with　that　mask—this　form　with　that　bulk；　then　judge　me；　priest　of　the　gospel　and　man　of　the　law；　and　remember　with　what　judgment　ye　judge　ye　shall　be　judged！　Off　with　you　now。　I　must　shut　up　my　prize。”
We　all　withdrew。　Mr。　Rochester　stayed　a　moment　behind　us；　to　give　some　further　order　to　Grace　Poole。　The　solicitor　addressed　me　as　he　descended　the　stair。
“You；　madam；”　said　he；　“are　cleared　from　all　blame：　your　uncle　will　be　glad　to　hear　it—if；　indeed；　he　should　be　still　living—when　Mr。　Mason　returns　to　Madeira。”
“My　uncle！　What　of　him？　Do　you　know　him？”
“Mr。　Mason　does。　Mr。　Eyre　has　been　the　Funchal　correspondent　of　his　house　for　some　years。　When　your　unc