"Good-bye little girl," he said gravely, "Will doesn't seem very well to-night. Don't keep him up too late, will you?" "No, indeed. You notice then, how ill he looks?" she asked, her anxiety lending a pathos to her beauty. "Yes, he needs a rest and no worry of any kind. I'll step in tomorrow. Good-night," and, fearing to lengthen the conversation, he left quickly. Alma found Will, leaning forward in his chair, and gazing into the fire with a morbid intensity. So great was his absorption, that he didn't hear her enter the room. She crossed over to him, and, leaning over his chair, gently she raised his head and laid it back against the cushions. He started slightly. "You Alma?" he said wearily. "Our pleasant little evening is over dear. You had better retire now for I must have an hour or two alone--to puzzle out a business proposition before I can sleep." "O, Will, you are too tired. George said that you should retire early." As she spoke, she caressed his forehead and he closed his eyes in gratitude. After a moment he opened them upon her fondly. "George himself gave me the problem to solve," he said gently, "I cannot sleep now. Go to dreamland, dearest, and don't make it harder for me by disputing." "Good-night, then, if you won't come. But don't exhaust yourself, Will." For answer he drew her down and pressed her closely to his breast. "Good-night, Alma,--dear little wife," he said in passionate low tones. "Whatever comes, dearest, remember I have always loved you to distraction. You believe it?" "Yes, yes. I know it, Will. Of course you have." His strange mood disconcerted her and she was glad to go. Kissing him lightly, she left the room, turning at the door to say smilingly, "Remember dear, you must not linger long." 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.