writhed and groaned, while the wind roared in the laurel walk.

"We must go in," said Mr. Rochester; "the weather changes."

He hurried me up the walk, but we were wet before we could pass the
threshold.


_IV.--The Mystery Explained_


There were no groomsmen, no bridesmaids, no relatives to wait for or
marshal; none but Mr. Rochester and I. I wonder what other bridegroom
looked as he did--so bent up to a purpose, so resolutely grim. Our place
was taken at the communion rails. All was still; two shadows only moved
in a remote corner of the church.

As the clergyman's lips unclosed to ask, "Wilt thou have this woman for
thy wedded wife?" a distinct and near voice said: "The marriage cannot
go on. I declare the existence of an impediment."

"What is the nature of the impediment?" asked the clergyman.

"It simply consists in the existence of a previous marriage," said the
speaker. "Mr. Rochester has a wife now living."

My nerves vibrated to those low-spoken words as they had never vibrated
to thunder. I looked at Mr. Rochester; I made him look at me. His face
was colourless rock; his eye both spark and flint; he seemed as if he
would defy all things.