“Then I shall get what it does need, but the truth must be proved. And you will help me, won’t you, Leslie? You promised, you know.”
“Yes, and what did you promise me in return? Announce our engagement, Avice, wear my ring, set a day to marry me, and I swear I will get Landon free, no matter what the truth may be.”
“You are contemptible!” and Avice gave him a look of utter scorn.
“I know it. I acknowledge it. But it is my love and devotion to your own dear self that makes me so. Can’t you understand,—no, no,—you can’t. No woman could guess what it means to a hitherto honorable man to resolve to commit perjury,—to swear to a lie,—but the prize is worth it! For you, my beauty, my idol, I would do anything! And I can do it safely; I shall never be found out, for my reputation is too unsullied and too far above reproach for me even to be suspected. I will exploit that letter you so cleverly wrote, and however they may doubt its integrity, they can’t prove that Mr. Trowbridge didn’t write it.”
“Kane doesn’t believe Uncle Rowly wrote it.”
“Did he say so?”
“Not exactly; but he implied it.”
“Don’t you see why, dear? Landon, being guilty himself, knew the note was forged, and of course, he knew only you would do it.”
“Oh, I never thought of that! Do you think it helps to prove Kane guilty?”
“Of course, and so do you, but you don’t want to admit it. But you know it, Avice, in your heart,—so how can you keep on loving him?”