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“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 

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