“I do not care to discuss the subtle meaning of words; I am willing to accept them at the valuation society puts upon them. The pedigree of ‘Lally’ is of no interest to me. I merely want to know if you mean to marry Neva Wynde and be rich, or marry your ‘Lally’ and starve. And if you are willing to starve yourself, are you willing to have ‘Lally’ starve also? With your fine ideas of honor, I wonder you can wish to drag that girl into a marriage that will be to her but a slow death.” A groan burst from the youth’s lips. He wrung his hands weakly, while the secret of his marriage trembled on his tongue. But he dared not tell it. He was afraid of his father with a deadly fear, and more than that, he had yet some hope of receiving assistance from his parent. “I cannot give her up, father,” he said hoarsely. “I beg you to help me in some way, and let me go. You are not rich, I know, but you have influence. You could get me a situation under government, in the Home office, Somerset House, or as secretary to some nobleman. If you will do this for me, I will bless you while I live. Oh, father, be merciful to me. Give me a little help, and let me go my ways.” “By Heaven, I will not. If you cling to that girl, you shall have not one penny from me, not one word of recommendation. You can drift to the hospital, or the alms-house, and I will not raise a finger to help you! I will not even give one farthing to save you from a pauper’s burial. I swear it!” Craven Black uttered the oath in a tone of utter implacability, and Rufus knew that the heavens would sooner fall than his father would relent. A despair seized upon him, and again he wrung his hands, as he cried out recklessly: “I _must_ cling to her, father. Cast me off if you will, curse me as you choose--but Lally is my wife!” Craven Black was stupefied for the moment. An apoplectic redness suffused his face, and his eyes gleamed dangerously. “Your wife? Your wife?” he muttered, scarcely knowing that he spoke. “Yes, she is my wife,” declared Rufus, his voice gathering firmness. “I married her three months ago. We have been starving together in a garret at New Brompton. Oh, father--” “Not one word! Married to that girl? I will not believe it. Have you a marriage certificate?” “I have. Here it is,” and Rufus drew from his pocket-book a slender folded paper. “Read it, and you will see that I tell the truth. Lally Bird is my wife!” Craven Black took the paper and perused it with strange deliberation, the apoplectic redness still suffusing his face. When he had finished, he deliberately tore the marriage certificate into shreds. Rufus uttered a cry, and sprang forward to seize the precious document, but his father waved him back with a gesture of stern command. “Poor fool!” said the elder man. “The destruction of this paper would not affect the validity of your marriage, if it were valid. But it is not valid.” “Not valid.”