“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.”
“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!”