“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