He paused, as the custom is. When is the pause after that sentence
ever broken by reply? Not, perhaps, once in a hundred years. And
the clergyman, who had not lifted his eyes from his book, and had
held his breath but for a moment, was proceeding: his hand was
already stretched towards Mr. Rochester, as his lips unclosed to
ask, "Wilt thou have this woman for thy wedded wife?"--when a
distinct and near voice said "The marriage cannot go on: I declare the existence of an
impediment."
The clergyman looked up at the speaker and stood mute; the clerk did
the same; Mr. Rochester moved slightly, as if an earthquake had
rolled under his feet: taking a firmer footing, and not turning his
head or eyes, he said, "Proceed."
Profound silence fell when he had uttered that word, with deep but
low intonation. Presently Mr. Wood said "I cannot proceed without some investigation into what has been
asserted, 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 insuperable
impediment 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 hot
and strong grasp he had! and how like quarried marble was his pale,
firm, massive front at this moment! How his eye shone, still
watchful, 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 I
speak 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 never
vibrated to thunder--my blood felt their subtle violence as it had
never felt frost or fire; but I was collected, and in no danger of
swooning. I looked at Mr. Rochester: I made him look at me. His
whole 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 in
me a human being, he only twined my waist with his arm and riveted
me to his side.