He was as much surprised as I intended him to be. “I scarcely expected you to agree so readily. But after my promise to you, I felt I must let you know first.”
“I am not involved, M. Dagara. You are in a very trying position—purgatory, as you term it—but your ruin and imprisonment cannot in any way affect any one but yourself and your wife and children, of course.”
“My wife and children?” he echoed blankly.
“No, not your children, perhaps. Your friends will no doubt be able to take care of them. Your wife, only, I should have said.”
“But she has had nothing to do with this betrayal of information.”
I perceived then that he had not decided to confess, but was only contemplating the step. “You are rather shortsighted, surely, if you think that those whom you are going to give up to justice will not retaliate. You must reckon that they will do their utmost to be revenged, and that utmost will include your wife.”
“You don’t think I should confess, then?”
“On the contrary, I think you should have told everything long ago; but you might have taken the precaution of sending your wife out of the country. Is she strong enough to bear imprisonment? You know what hells your Portuguese prisons are.”
“It would kill her in a week,” he groaned.
“It is clearly your duty, but I am sorry for her.”