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 her under that name.” He mused⁠—for ten minutes he held counsel with himself: he formed his resolve, and announced it⁠—

“Enough! all shall bolt out at once, like the bullet from the barrel. Wood, close your book and take off your surplice; John Green (to the clerk), leave the church: there will be no wedding today.” The man obeyed.