"Mr. Mason, have the goodness to step forward," said the stranger.

"Are you aware, sir, whether or not this gentleman's wife is still
living?" inquired the clergyman.

"She is now living at Thornfield Hall," said Mason, with white lips. "I
saw her there last April. I am her brother."

I saw a grim smile contract Mr. Rochester's lip.

"Enough," said he. "Wood"--to the clergyman--"close your book; John
Green"--to the clerk--"leave the church; there will be no wedding
to-day."

"Bigamy is an ugly word," he continued, "but I meant to be a bigamist.
This girl 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. Follow me. I invite you all
to visit Grace Poole's patient and my wife!"

We passed up to the third storey, and there, in the deep shade of the
inner room beyond the room where I had watched over the wounded Mason,
ran backward and forward, seemingly on all fours, a figure, whether
beast or human one could not at first sight tell. It snatched and
growled like some wild animal. It was covered with clothing; but a
quantity of dark, grizzled hair, wild as a mane, hid its head and face.

"That is my wife," said Mr. Rochester, "whom I was cheated into marrying
fifteen years ago--a mad woman and a drunkard, of a family of idiots and