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　turned　and　glared　at　him。　His　eye；　as　I　have　often　said；　was　a　black　eye：　it　had　now　a　tawny；　nay；　a　bloody　light　in　its　gloom；　and　his　face　flushed—olive　cheek　and　hueless　forehead　received　a　glow　as　from　spreading；　ascending　heart…fire：　and　he　stirred；　lifted　his　strong　arm—he　could　have　struck　Mason；　dashed　him　on　the　church…floor；　shocked　by　ruthless　blow　the　breath　from　his　body—but　Mason　shrank　away；　and　cried　faintly；　“Good　God！”　Contempt　fell　cool　on　Mr。　Rochester—his　passion　died　as　if　a　blight　had　shrivelled　it　up：　he　only　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　again　demand；　what　have　you　to　say？”

“Sir—sir；”　interrupted　the　clergyman；　“do　not　forget　you　are　in　a　sacred　place。”　Then　addressing　Mason；　he　inquired　gently；　“Are　you　aware；　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　more　articulate　tones：　“I　saw　her　there　last　April。　I　am　her　brother。”

“At　Thornfield　Hall！”　ejaculated　the　clergyman。　“Impossible！　I　am　an　old　resident