arcely 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
shriveled 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 neighborhood, sir, and I never heard of a Mrs.
Rochester at Thornfield Hall."

I saw a grim smile contort Mr. Rochester's lip, 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 a 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 bette