He could find no flaw anywhere. The irrevocable words were pronounced, and the ceremony was legal in every particular except that the children were under age. The certificate was made out without an error, and it seemed as if every precaution had been taken against proving the marriage null and void. When Mr. Leonard had finished his examination of the children he turned to Mr. Ellerton and Mrs. Dupont, saying: “I find there is but one course left us. That villain has bound them for life, unless they will agree to a separation. If they will say they are sorry it ever happened we can procure a divorce, and it is the only way now that they can be separated.” “Of course there will be no difficulty, then,” returned Mr. Ellerton, looking much relieved. “Robert,” he continued, turning to his son, “you will tell Mr. Leonard that you are sorry for this affair immediately.” “But, father, I am not sorry, and I can’t say that I am, unless I tell an untruth.” “Heavens, boy, don’t be stubborn! Don’t you see what a fix you are in? Don’t you see that you are tied to that girl for life?” “I can’t see that it is a very bad fix to be in,” replied Robert, smiling fondly at Dora, who lay with her head upon his shoulder, and looking up at him with her big eyes. “I told you I loved Dora,” he went on, “and that if we waited ten years, I should marry her. No, sir, I am glad instead of sorry.” “Your son has learned one virtue at least, Mr. Ellerton—that of frankness,” laughed the lawyer, much amused. Mr. Ellerton, exasperated beyond control at being thus defied, left his seat, and going to his son, laid a heavy hand upon his shoulder, saying, in a fierce voice: “Robert Ellerton, I command you to say, in the presence of these witnesses, that you regret this marriage.” “Father, I cannot,” pleaded the boy, beseechingly. “You mean you will not, willful boy. But disobey me at your peril!” The lines about the boy’s mouth grew hard and firm. He looked his father calmly in the eye as he replied: “I will not, then, if that pleases you better.” Mr. Ellerton threatened and entreated, coaxed and pleaded, but all to no purpose, for his son was firm as a rock, and at length, in despair, he turned to his friend and asked what he should do. Squire Leonard looked amused yet perplexed, for it was the most novel affair he had ever had anything to do with. “Try the other one,” he said, pointing to Dora. “Dora,” said Mr. Ellerton, trying to frighten her into obedience by a black look, “are you not sorry that you and Robert are married? Just think what a wrong thing for two little children to do.” Dora looked wistfully up at Robert. “Robbie,” she asked, sadly, “shall I tell him that I am sorry?” “Tell them just as you feel, Brightie,” he replied, yet there was an anxious expression in his eye as he waited for her answer.