“Artress will be on the look-out for him,” thought Craven Black. “She will meet the messenger at the lodge gates, and carry the packet herself to Octavia. So that is arranged!”
He summoned his son to breakfast, and presently Rufus came in, worn and haggard, having evidently passed a sleepless night. The two men ate their breakfast without speaking. After the meal, when the tray had been removed, Rufus would have withdrawn, but his father commanded him to remain.
“I want you to write a letter to that girl in Brompton,” said Craven Black, in the tone that always compelled the abject obedience of his son. “Tell her it is all up between you—that she is not your wife—that you shall never see her again!”
“I cannot—I cannot! I must see her again. I must break the news to her tenderly—”
“Do as I say. There are writing materials on my desk. Write the letter I have ordered, or, by Heaven, I’ll summon a constable on the spot!”
Rufus sobbed pitifully, and turned away to hide his weakness. He was but a boy, a poor, weak, cowardly boy, afraid of his father, unable to earn a living for himself and Lally, unable even to support himself, and he had actually gained his marriage license by committing perjury—swearing that he was of age, and his own master. He had laid a snare for himself in that wrong act, and was now entangled in that snare.
He felt himself helpless in his father’s hands, and sat down at the desk, and with tear-blinded eyes and unsteady hand, dashed off a wild, incoherent letter to his poor young wife, telling her that their marriage was null and void—that she was not his wife—and that they two must never meet again. When he had appended his name, he bowed his head on his arms and wept aloud.
Craven Black coolly perused the letter and approved it. He folded it, and put it in his pocket-book.
“I will take it to her,” he said quietly. “My cab is at the door, and I am ready to start to London. I shall take the half-past ten express, if I can reach Canterbury in time. You will await my return here. I shall be back before evening. Reconcile yourself to your fate, Rufus, and don’t look so woe-begone. I shall expect to find you in a better frame of mind when I return. As to the girl, I will provide for her liberally. Fortunately I am in funds just now. I shall send her away somewhere where she will never cross your path again!”
Without another glance at his son, he took up his hat and went out. The rumbling of the carriage wheels, as it bore Craven Black on his way to Canterbury, aroused Rufus from his stupor. That sound was to him the knell of his happiness!