Sophie came at seven to dress me: she was very long indeed inaccomplishing her task; so long that Mr. Rochester, grown, Isuppose, impatient of my delay, sent up to ask why I did not come.She was just fastening my veil (the plain square of blond after all)to my hair with a brooch; I hurried from under her hands as soon asI could.

"Stop!" she cried in French. "Look at yourself in the mirror: youhave not taken one peep."

So I turned at the door: I saw a robed and veiled figure, so unlikemy usual self that it seemed almost the image of a stranger."Jane!" called a voice, and I hastened down. I was received at thefoot of the stairs by Mr. Rochester.

"Lingerer!" he said, "my brain is on fire with impatience, and youtarry so long!"

He took me into the dining-room, surveyed me keenly all over,pronounced me "fair as a lily, and not only the pride of his life,but the desire of his eyes," and then telling me he would give mebut ten minutes to eat some breakfast, he rang the bell. One of hislately hired servants, a footman, answered it.

"Is John getting the carriage ready?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is the luggage brought down?"

"They are bringing it down, sir."

"Go you to the church: see if Mr. Wood (the clergyman) and theclerk are there: return and tell me."

The church, as the reader knows, was but just beyond the gates; thefootman soon returned.

"Mr. Wood is in the vestry, sir, putting on his surplice."

"And the carriage?"

"The horses are harnessing."

"We shall not want it to go to church; but it must be ready themoment we return: all the boxes and luggage arranged and strappedon, and the coachman in his seat."

"Yes, sir."

"Jane, are you ready?"

I rose. There were no groomsmen, no bridesmaids, no relatives towait for or marshal: none but Mr. Rochester and I. Mrs. Fairfaxstood in the hall as we passed. I would fain have spoken to her,but my hand was held by a grasp of iron: I was hurried along by astride I could hardly follow; and to look at Mr. Rochester's facewas to feel that not a second of delay would be tolerated for anypurpose. I wonder what other bridegroom ever looked as he did--sobent up to a purpose, so grimly resolute: or who, under suchsteadfast brows, ever revealed such flaming and flashing eyes.

I know not whether the day was fair or foul; in descending thedrive, I gazed neither on sky nor earth: my heart was with my eyes;and both seemed migrated into Mr. Rochester's frame. I wanted tosee the invisible thing on which, as we went along, he appeared tofasten a glance fierce and fell. I wanted to feel the thoughtswhose force he seemed breasting and resisting.

At the churchyard wicket he stopped: he discovered I was quite outof breath. "Am I cruel in my love?" he said. "Delay an instant:lean on me, Jane."

And now I can recall the picture of the grey old house of God risingcalm before me, of a rook wheeling round the steeple, of a ruddymorning sky beyond. I remember something, too, of the green grave-mounds; and I have not forgotten, either, two figures of strangersstraying amongst the low hillocks and reading the mementoes gravenon the few mossy head-stones. I noticed them, because, as they sawus, they passed round to the back of the church; and I doubted notthey were going to enter by the side-aisle door and witness theceremony. By Mr. Rochester they were not observed; he was earnestlylooking at my face from which the blood had, I daresay, momentarilyfled: for I felt my forehead dewy, and my cheeks and lips cold.When I rallied, which I soon did, he walked gently with me up thepath to the porch.

We entered the quiet and humble temple; the priest waited in hiswhite surplice at the lowly altar, the clerk beside him. All wasstill: two shadows only moved in a remote corner. My conjecturehad been correct: the strangers had slipped in before us, and theynow stood by the vault of the Rochesters, their backs towards us,viewing through the rails the old time-stained marble tomb, where akneeling angel guarded the remains of Damer de Rochester, slain atMarston Moor in the time of the civil wars, and of Elizabeth, hiswife.

Our place was taken at the communion rails. Hearing a cautious stepbehind me, I glanced over my shoulder: one of the strangers--agentleman, evidently--was advancing up the chancel. The servicebegan. The explanation of the intent of matrimony was gone through;and then the clergyman came a step further forward, and, bendingslightly towards Mr. Rochester, went on.

"I require and charge you both (as ye will answer at the dreadfulday of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed),that if either of you know any impediment why ye may not lawfully bejoined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it; for be ye wellassured that so many as are coupled together otherwise than God'sWord doth allow, are not joined together by God, neither is theirmatrimony lawful."

He paused, as the custom is. When is the pause after that sentenceever broken by reply? Not, perhaps, once in a hundred years. Andthe clergyman, who had not lifted his eyes from his book, and hadheld his breath but for a moment, was proceeding: his hand wasalready stretched towards Mr. Rochester, as his lips unclosed toask, "Wilt thou have this woman for thy wedded wife?"--when adistinct and near voice said -

"The marriage cannot go on: I declare the existence of animpediment."

The clergyman looked up at the speaker and stood mute; the clerk didthe same; Mr. Rochester moved slightly, as if an earthquake hadrolled under his feet: taking a firmer footing, and not turning hishead or eyes, he said, "Proceed."

Profound silence fell when he had uttered that word, with deep butlow intonation. Presently Mr. Wood said -

"I cannot proceed without some investigation into what has beenasserted, 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 insuperableimpediment 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 hotand strong grasp he had! and how like quarried marble was his pale,firm, massive front at this moment! How his eye shone, stillwatchful, 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 Ispeak 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 nevervibrated to thunder--my blood felt their subtle violence as it hadnever felt frost or fire; but I was collected, and in no danger ofswooning. I looked at Mr. Rochester: I made him look at me. Hiswhole 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 inme a human being, he only twined my waist with his arm and rivetedme 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 lawrecognises, if you do not."

"Favour me with an account of her--with her name, her parentage, herplace of abode."

"Certainly." Mr. Briggs calmly took a paper from his pocket, andread out in a sort of official, nasal voice:-

"'I affirm and can prove that on the 20th of October A.D.--(a dateof fifteen years back), Edward Fairfax Rochester, of ThornfieldHall, in the county of -, and of Ferndean Manor, in -shire, England,was married to my sister, Bertha Antoinetta Mason, daughter of JonasMason, merchant, and of Antoinetta his wife, a Creole, at--church,Spanish Town, Jamaica. The record of the marriage will be found inthe 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 itdoes not prove that the woman mentioned therein as my wife is stillliving."

"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, willscarcely controvert."

"Produce him--or go to hell."

"I will produce him first--he is on the spot. Mr. Mason, have thegoodness 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, Ifelt the spasmodic movement of fury or despair run through hisframe. The second stranger, who had hitherto lingered in thebackground, now drew near; a pale face looked over the solicitor'sshoulder--yes, it was Mason himself. Mr. Rochester turned andglared at him. His eye, as I have often said, was a black eye: ithad now a tawny, nay, a bloody light in its gloom; and his faceflushed--olive cheek and hueless forehead received a glow as fromspreading, ascending heart-fire: and he stirred, lifted his strongarm--he could have struck Mason, dashed him on the church-floor,shocked by ruthless blow the breath from his body--but Mason shrankaway, and cried faintly, "Good God!" Contempt fell cool on Mr.Rochester--his passion died as if a blight had shrivelled it up: heonly 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 againdemand, what have you to say?"

"Sir--sir," interrupted the clergyman, "do not forget you are in asacred place." Then addressing Mason, he inquired gently, "Are youaware, 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 morearticulate tones: "I saw her there last April. I am her brother."

"At Thornfield Hall!" ejaculated the clergyman. "Impossible! I aman old resident in this neighbourhood, sir, and I never heard of aMrs. 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 herunder that name." He mused--for ten minutes he held counsel withhimself: he formed his resolve, and announced it -

"Enough! all shall bolt out at once, like the bullet from thebarrel. Wood, close your book and take off your surplice; JohnGreen (to the clerk), leave the church: there will be no weddingto-day." The man obeyed.

Mr. Rochester continued, hardily and recklessly: "Bigamy is an uglyword!--I meant, however, to be a bigamist; but fate has out-manoeuvred me, or Providence has checked me,--perhaps the last. Iam little better than a devil at this moment; and, as my pastorthere would tell me, deserve no doubt the sternest judgments of God,even to the quenchless fire and deathless worm. Gentlemen, my planis broken up:- what this lawyer and his client say is true: I havebeen married, and the woman to whom I was married lives! You sayyou 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 aboutthe mysterious lunatic kept there under watch and ward. Some havewhispered 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 marriedfifteen years ago,--Bertha Mason by name; sister of this resolutepersonage, who is now, with his quivering limbs and white cheeks,showing you what a stout heart men may bear. Cheer up, Dick!--neverfear me!--I'd almost as soon strike a woman as you. Bertha Mason ismad; and she came of a mad family; idiots and maniacs through threegenerations? Her mother, the Creole, was both a madwoman and adrunkard!--as I found out after I had wed the daughter: for theywere 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 richscenes! Oh! my experience has been heavenly, if you only knew it!But I owe you no further explanation. Briggs, Wood, Mason, I inviteyou all to come up to the house and visit Mrs. Poole's patient, andMY WIFE! You shall see what sort of a being I was cheated intoespousing, and judge whether or not I had a right to break thecompact, and seek sympathy with something at least human. Thisgirl," he continued, looking at me, "knew no more than you, Wood, ofthe disgusting secret: she thought all was fair and legal and neverdreamt she was going to be entrapped into a feigned union with adefrauded wretch, already bound to a bad, mad, and embruted partner!Come all of you--follow!"

Still holding me fast, he left the church: the three gentlemen cameafter. 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, Adele, Sophie, Leah, advanced to meetand greet us.

"To the right-about--every soul!" cried the master; "away with yourcongratulations! Who wants them? Not I!--they are fifteen yearstoo late!"

He passed on and ascended the stairs, still holding my hand, andstill beckoning the gentlemen to follow him, which they did. Wemounted the first staircase, passed up the gallery, proceeded to thethird storey: the low, black door, opened by Mr. Rochester'smaster-key, admitted us to the tapestried room, with its great bedand its pictorial cabinet.

"You know this place, Mason," said our guide; "she bit and stabbedyou here."

He lifted the hangings from the wall, uncovering the second door:this, too, he opened. In a room without a window, there burnt afire guarded by a high and strong fender, and a lamp suspended fromthe ceiling by a chain. Grace Poole bent over the fire, apparentlycooking something in a saucepan. In the deep shade, at the fartherend 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 likesome strange wild animal: but it was covered with clothing, and aquantity of dark, grizzled hair, wild as a mane, hid its head andface.

"Good-morrow, Mrs. Poole!" said Mr. Rochester. "How are you? andhow is your charge to-day?"

"We're tolerable, sir, I thank you," replied Grace, lifting theboiling mess carefully on to the hob: "rather snappish, but not'rageous."

A fierce cry seemed to give the lie to her favourable report: theclothed 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 purpleface,--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 notin mortal discretion to fathom her craft."

"We had better leave her," whispered Mason.

"Go to the devil!" was his brother-in-law's recommendation.

"'Ware!" cried Grace. The three gentlemen retreated simultaneously.Mr. Rochester flung me behind him: the lunatic sprang and grappledhis throat viciously, and laid her teeth to his cheek: theystruggled. She was a big woman, in stature almost equalling herhusband, and corpulent besides: she showed virile force in thecontest--more than once she almost throttled him, athletic as hewas. He could have settled her with a well-planted blow; but hewould not strike: he would only wrestle. At last he mastered herarms; 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. Theoperation was performed amidst the fiercest yells and the mostconvulsive 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 amever to know--such are the endearments which are to solace myleisure hours! And THIS is what I wished to have" (laying his handon my shoulder): "this young girl, who stands so grave and quiet atthe mouth of hell, looking collectedly at the gambols of a demon, Iwanted her just as a change after that fierce ragout. Wood andBriggs, look at the difference! Compare these clear eyes with thered balls yonder--this face with that mask--this form with thatbulk; then judge me, priest of the gospel and man of the law, andremember with what judgment ye judge ye shall be judged! Off withyou now. I must shut up my prize."

We all withdrew. Mr. Rochester stayed a moment behind us, to givesome further order to Grace Poole. The solicitor addressed me as hedescended the stair.

"You, madam," said he, "are cleared from all blame: your uncle willbe 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 hishouse for some years. When your uncle received your letterintimating the contemplated union between yourself and Mr.Rochester, Mr. Mason, who was staying at Madeira to recruit hishealth, on his way back to Jamaica, happened to be with him. Mr.Eyre mentioned the intelligence; for he knew that my client here wasacquainted with a gentleman of the name of Rochester. Mr. Mason,astonished and distressed as you may suppose, revealed the realstate of matters. Your uncle, I am sorry to say, is now on a sickbed; from which, considering the nature of his disease--decline--andthe stage it has reached, it is unlikely he will ever rise. Hecould not then hasten to England himself, to extricate you from thesnare into which you had fallen, but he implored Mr. Mason to loseno time in taking steps to prevent the false marriage. He referredhim to me for assistance. I used all despatch, and am thankful Iwas not too late: as you, doubtless, must be also. Were I notmorally certain that your uncle will be dead ere you reach Madeira,I would advise you to accompany Mr. Mason back; but as it is, Ithink you had better remain in England till you can hear further,either from or of Mr. Eyre. Have we anything else to stay for?" heinquired of Mr. Mason.

"No, no--let us be gone," was the anxious reply; and without waitingto take leave of Mr. Rochester, they made their exit at the halldoor. The clergyman stayed to exchange a few sentences, either ofadmonition or reproof, with his haughty parishioner; this duty done,he too departed.

I heard him go as I stood at the half-open door of my own room, towhich I had now withdrawn. The house cleared, I shut myself in,fastened the bolt that none might intrude, and proceeded--not toweep, not to mourn, I was yet too calm for that, but--mechanicallyto take off the wedding dress, and replace it by the stuff gown Ihad worn yesterday, as I thought, for the last time. I then satdown: I felt weak and tired. I leaned my arms on a table, and myhead dropped on them. And now I thought: till now I had onlyheard, seen, moved--followed up and down where I was led or dragged--watched event rush on event, disclosure open beyond disclosure:but NOW, I THOUGHT.

The morning had been a quiet morning enough--all except the briefscene with the lunatic: the transaction in the church had not beennoisy; there was no explosion of passion, no loud altercation, nodispute, no defiance or challenge, no tears, no sobs: a few wordshad been spoken, a calmly pronounced objection to the marriage made;some stern, short questions put by Mr. Rochester; answers,explanations given, evidence adduced; an open admission of the truthhad been uttered by my master; then the living proof had been seen;the intruders were gone, and all was over.

I was in my own room as usual--just myself, without obvious change:nothing had smitten me, or scathed me, or maimed me. And yet wherewas the Jane Eyre of yesterday?--where was her life?--where were herprospects?

Jane Eyre, who had been an ardent, expectant woman--almost a bride,was a cold, solitary girl again: her life was pale; her prospectswere desolate. A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a whiteDecember storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe apples,drifts crushed the blowing roses; on hayfield and cornfield lay afrozen shroud: lanes which last night blushed full of flowers, to-day were pathless with untrodden snow; and the woods, which twelvehours since waved leafy and flagrant as groves between the tropics,now spread, waste, wild, and white as pine-forests in wintry Norway.My hopes were all dead--struck with a subtle doom, such as, in onenight, fell on all the first-born in the land of Egypt. I looked onmy cherished wishes, yesterday so blooming and glowing; they laystark, chill, livid corpses that could never revive. I looked at mylove: that feeling which was my master's--which he had created; itshivered in my heart, like a suffering child in a cold cradle;sickness and anguish had seized it; it could not seek Mr.Rochester's arms--it could not derive warmth from his breast. Oh,never more could it turn to him; for faith was blighted--confidencedestroyed! Mr. Rochester was not to me what he had been; for he wasnot what I had thought him. I would not ascribe vice to him; Iwould not say he had betrayed me; but the attribute of stainlesstruth was gone from his idea, and from his presence I must go: THATI perceived well. When--how--whither, I could not yet discern; buthe himself, I doubted not, would hurry me from Thornfield. Realaffection, it seemed, he could not have for me; it had been onlyfitful passion: that was balked; he would want me no more. Ishould fear even to cross his path now: my view must be hateful tohim. Oh, how blind had been my eyes! How weak my conduct!

My eyes were covered and closed: eddying darkness seemed to swimround me, and reflection came in as black and confused a flow.Self-abandoned, relaxed, and effortless, I seemed to have laid medown in the dried-up bed of a great river; I heard a flood loosenedin remote mountains, and felt the torrent come: to rise I had nowill, to flee I had no strength. I lay faint, longing to be dead.One idea only still throbbed life-like within me--a remembrance ofGod: it begot an unuttered prayer: these words went wandering upand down in my rayless mind, as something that should be whispered,but no energy was found to express them -

"Be not far from me, for trouble is near: there is none to help."

It was near: and as I had lifted no petition to Heaven to avert it--as I had neither joined my hands, nor bent my knees, nor moved mylips--it came: in full heavy swing the torrent poured over me. Thewhole consciousness of my life lorn, my love lost, my hope quenched,my faith death-struck, swayed full and mighty above me in one sullenmass. That bitter hour cannot be described: in truth, "the waterscame into my soul; I sank in deep mire: I felt no standing; I cameinto deep waters; the floods overflowed me."