"You may expect me here at two o'clock. We will then step over to the Free Press and allow Mr. Semans to copy the document for his paper." She allowed herself a faint smile. "I daresay he can make room for it, even if he has to subtract a little from his account of the stirring events of yesterday."
"Your story will make a great sensation," declared the lawyer, wiping his brow once more. "He can't afford to—er—to leave it out."
At two o'clock she was in his office again. He read the carefully prepared document to her.
"This is like signing your own death warrant, Rachel Gwyn," he said painfully, as she affixed her signature and held up her hand to be sworn.
"No. I am signing a pardon for two guiltless people who are suffering for the sins of others."
"That reminds me," he began, pursing his lips. "I have been reflecting during your absence. Has it occurred to you that this act of yours is certain to react with grave consequences upon the very people you would—er—befriend? I am forced to remind you that the finger of scorn will not be pointed at you alone. Your daughter will not escape the—er—ignominy of being—ahem!—of being your daughter, in fact. Young Gwynne will find his position here very greatly affected by the—er—"
"I quite understand all that, Andrew. I am not thinking of the present so much as I am considering the future. The past, so far as we all are concerned, is easily disposed of, but these two young people have a long life ahead of them. It is not my idea that they shall spend it here in this town,—or even in this State."
"You mean you will urge them to leave Lafayette forever?"
"Certainly."
"But if I know Viola,—and I think I do,—she will refuse to desert you. As for Gwynne, he strikes me as a fellow who would not turn tail under fire."