CHAPTER IV.
“I WILL NOT!”
Robert drove home as fast as he could make old Prince go, his mind all confused, while doubts and fears oppressed him. His father was just going in to tea when he arrived, and Robert followed him into the dining-room.
Mr. Ellerton received Mrs. Dupont’s message with evident displeasure.
“What does Mrs. Dupont wish to-night,” he asked, “that is so important? Can’t she wait until some other time?”
“No, sir; she told me to come back immediately.”
“Do you know what she wants?” inquired his father.
“Yes, sir,” replied Robert, blushing deeply; “but I cannot tell you; she will do that.”
Mr. Ellerton eyed him sharply, as if he mistrusted he had been up to some mischief. He then took his seat at the table, and ate his supper in silence.
As for Robert, he was so anxious and uneasy that he could scarcely swallow; but the meal was soon over, and they started for Mrs. Dupont’s.
It was only a short distance, and they were soon there.
Mrs. Dupont met them in the hall, with a grave and troubled face, and ushered them into the cozy sitting-room, where Dora lay upon a lounge, with red and swollen eyes. At sight of Robert, her tears started afresh, and she sobbed as if her heart were broken.
He went to her, and took her in his arms, whispering words of comfort in her ears, and soon had her smiling again. She could not be unhappy long when he was with her.
Taking Mr. Ellerton’s hat, Mrs. Dupont asked him to be seated, and then drawing a low rocker opposite him, she began her story.
Mr. Ellerton listened with cold politeness until she mentioned Squire Moulton’s name, when he glanced angrily at his son. Robert understood the look, and his own eyes fell.
When she had finished, he replied, half laughing at what he considered children’s play:
“Well, my dear madam, you are making yourself unhappy about a very slight matter. No ceremony like that could possibly be legal. In the first place, they are minors; then there are no witnesses, and they had no certificate.”
“Oh, but I forgot to tell about that,” she replied, hastily. “There it is,” and she handed him the paper.
His brow clouded instantly as he read it. The affair was beginning to assume a more serious look than he liked. He saw it was made out in due form, and signed by “Anson Moulton, clerk.”
He saw through the whole plot immediately—saw that the man whom he knew to be his deadly enemy had intended to do him this great wrong; that he meant to strike a blow where it would tell.
He turned sternly to Robert, and said:
“Well, sir, what have you to say for yourself? You have disobeyed me by going where I have strictly forbidden you, to say nothing of the fix you have got yourself into.”
“I intended no harm, father,” replied Robert, respectfully. “I heard of the squire’s statuary, and you know how fond I am of such things, so I told Dora we would ride out and see it.”
“What put this ridiculous idea into your heads?” he asked, shaking the certificate impatiently at him.
“I don’t know; I always thought Dora was to be my wife, so I thought we might as well be married to-day as any time.”
“Such talk was all very well for a couple of children; but you could not think I would really allow such a thing, either now or in the future. I had other plans for you,” said Mr. Ellerton, an angry flush spreading itself over his face.
“But I did, sir,” replied Robert, firmly, though with a mortified air, for the implied inferiority cast upon the Duponts by his father’s words stung him. “It has been talked of for years,” he went on, “and I, for one, have believed it. I love Dora, and always shall love her; and if we had waited ten years, and she was willing, I would have done the same thing.”
“Bosh!” exclaimed his father, impatiently. “You can sit down again, and hold your peace. Madam,” he continued, turning icily to Mrs. Dupont again, “I think we can fix this little affair. Even if the ceremony proves to be legal, we can easily have them divorced. I suppose it’s your wish as well as mine?”
“Certainly,” replied Mrs. Dupont, in a constrained tone, for she was deeply hurt at Mr. Ellerton’s words and manner. “But do you think the marriage is legal?”
“I don’t see how it can be, for they are under age; but I assure you there will be no trouble about the matter.”
“Can we not see a lawyer to-night, and get his advice about the matter? I should feel much relieved to have it settled at once.”
“I don’t think it is necessary; still, if you desire it, I will drive to Lawyer Leonard’s office, and talk it over with him.”
“Do, if you please, for I shall not rest easy until I know beyond a doubt,” replied Mrs. Dupont, nervously.
Without a word Mr. Ellerton took his hat and left the house.
He drove directly to the office of his friend, Squire Leonard, where he remained nearly an hour, and when he came out the lawyer was with him, and he looked moody and anxious. They entered the buggy and drove back to Mrs. Dupont’s.
Mr. Ellerton introduced the lawyer, and then sat down, stern and silent.
Mr. Leonard questioned and cross-questioned the children, making them relate over again every particular of their trip.
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.
“Well, then, I ain’t sorry one mite,” she said, flushing angrily, “and I think you are a real wicked man to try and part us, for Squire Moulton said ‘what God hath joined together let no man put to thunder.’ Was not that it, Robbie?” she asked, half doubtfully, thinking that it didn’t sound just right.
The lawyer shouted, while even her mother and Mr. Ellerton could not repress a smile at this new version of the Scriptural command.
“No, ‘put asunder,’ darling,” replied the boy lover, a glad look in his eye, while he gathered her closer in his arms.
“Come here, Dora,” said Mrs. Dupont, who had noticed the act, and feared it might influence her replies.
She obeyed, though somewhat unwillingly.
Lawyer Leonard, controlling his mirth, turned to the child and said:
“My dear little girl, don’t you see how unhappy you are making your mother? Only see how pale and sad she looks at what you have done. If you will only say you are sorry she will be happy again.”
Dora looked up in her mother’s face with a troubled expression.
“Mamma,” she asked, “are you unhappy?”
“Yes, dear, very,” replied Mrs. Dupont.
“Mamma, do you want me to tell a lie?”
“I have always told you to speak the truth, my child,” replied her mother, somewhat evasively.
“No, but do you want me to tell one now?”
Mrs. Dupont caught the child to her bosom as she whispered:
“No, dear.”
She then turned with a look of anguish to her visitors, and said:
“It’s of no use, gentlemen; I cannot ask my child to tell a falsehood even for this. I have always taught her to shun an untruth, and I cannot be the first to bid her speak one.”
Dora threw herself into her mother’s arms again, and bursting into tears, said, between her sobs:
“Mamma, if Robbie was sorry, I should be—because—because if he didn’t want me for his wife I shouldn’t want to be.”
Something very like a curse burst from Mr. Ellerton’s lips, while the lawyer, with tears in his eyes, turned to him and said:
“I think, my dear sir, you had better let this matter rest, at least for the present. It is clear that the children love each other. It’s an odd predicament, I know, and I must say I never before knew or heard of an attachment so strong in persons so young. It may prove to their mutual happiness hereafter, and therefore I advise you to let the subject drop.”
“No!” thundered Mr. Ellerton. “If the law won’t separate them, I shall. They are a couple of stubborn fools, and if they won’t give in, I will send Robert off where he shall never see the girl again. Once for all, what do you say, Robert?”
“Oh, Robbie!” sobbed Dora.
“Hush, darling,” whispered her mother, while she anxiously waited Robert’s reply.
A look of anger flashed from the boy’s fine eyes, while the lines about his mouth grew harder and sterner, though his tone was perfectly respectful as he replied:
“I say, sir, that I am glad it was done before you had a chance to stop it. She is mine now and forever, and nobody can take her from me.”
White with suppressed wrath, Mr. Ellerton walked to the table, took up his hat and giving Robert his cap, pointed silently to the door.
Robert took the cap and went boldly to Dora’s side.
“Good-night, darling,” he whispered. “Watch for me, for I shall come again soon.”
He bent down and kissed her flushed cheek, and bowing to the others, followed his father from the room.