“No; you and the girl are both minors. A marriage of minors without consent of parents and guardians is not binding. The girl is not your wife!” “But she is my wife. We were married in church--” “That won’t make the marriage binding. You are a minor, and so is she. She had no one to consult, but you married without my consent, and that fact will render the marriage null and void. More than this,” and Mr. Black’s eyes sparkled wickedly, “you have committed perjury. You obtained your marriage license by declaring yourself of age, and you will not become of age under some months. Do you know what the punishment is for perjury. It is imprisonment, disgrace, a striped suit, and prison fare.” The young man looked appalled. “Who would prosecute me?” he asked. “_I_ would. You have got yourself in a tight box, young man. Your marriage is null and void, and you have committed perjury. Now I will offer you your choice between two alternatives. You can make love to Miss Wynde and marry her, and be somebody. Or, if you refuse, I will prosecute you for perjury, will have you sent to prison, and will brand that girl with a name that will fix her social station for life. Take your choice.” Craven Black meant every word he said, and Rufus knew that he meant it. The young fellow shuddered and trembled, and then broke into a wild appeal for mercy, but his father turned a deaf ear to his anguished cry. “You have my decision,” he said coldly. “I shall not reconsider it. The girl is not your wife, and when she knows her position she will fly from you.” Rufus groaned in his anguish. He knew well the pure soul of his young wife, and he felt that she would not remain in any position that was equivocal, even though to leave him might break her heart. The disgrace, the terror, the poverty of his lot, nearly crushed him to the earth. “What is your answer to be?” demanded Mr. Black. The poor young fellow sat down and covered his face with his hands. He was terribly frightened, and the inherent weakness and cowardice of his character, otherwise full of noble traits, proved fatal to him now. He gasped out: “I--I don’t know. I must have time to think. It is all so strange--so terrible.” “You can have all day in which to consider the matter. I have engaged a bedroom for you on the opposite side of the hall. I will show you to it, and you can think the matter over in solitude.” Mr. Black arose and conducted his son across the hall to a bedroom overlooking the street and the four corners, and here, with a last repetition of the two alternatives offered him, he left him. Poor Rufus, weak and despairing, locked the door and dropped upon his knees, sobbing aloud in the extremity of his anguish. “What shall I do? What can I do?” he moaned. “She is not my wife. My poor Lally! And I am helpless in my father’s hands. I shall have to yield--I feel it--I know it. I wish I were dead. Oh, my poor wronged Lally!” CHAPTER X. NEVA AT HOME AGAIN.