Left alone, George's words came more forcibly to Will's tortured brain.
"The best thing for Alma must be your first consideration, yourself next." The best thing for Alma! The best thing for Alma! Again and again the question reiterated in his mind. He was undeniably guilty. For a time he might be free—on bail until his trial—then the prison! A long torturing shame for Alma. What alternative?
He had thought of one alternative to-night. It had come to him at first as a wild intangible thought, born of despair. But it gradually took shape and became proportionate to reason; he had walked the streets for an hour, courting its possibility.
The thought embodied a lie, and this was the hardest part for Will to submit to. By nature, he was honest. But for Alma's sake, even a lie was within his code of honor.
For one hour he debated with himself, ever bringing excuse to bear upon excuse. Finally his decision came, swift and certain. Alma must be spared the long misery of trial and imprisonment. Yes, at all costs, Alma first.
He arose quickly and went to his desk.
His hand trembled as he took the paper and placed it for writing. But he was none the less resolved for this physical weakness.
The first letter he wrote and rewrote many times.
Finally he finished it and addressed it to Alma.
The second he wrote hurriedly and without recopy. This was to George Cadman. Both letters he left on his desk.