influence impelled him to set out, although he was not even sure of
finding the band on the Madeira. In fact, it might be engaged in some
other part of the province, and to come up with it might require more
time than Fragoso had at his disposal! And what would be the result?
It is none the less true, however, that on the 29th of August, before
sunrise, Fragoso, without saying anything to anybody, secretly left
the jangada, arrived at Manaos, and embarked in one of the egariteas
which daily descend the Amazon.
And great was the astonishment when he was not seen on board, and did
not appear during the day. No one, not even Lina, could explain the
absence of so devoted a servant at such a crisis.
Some of them even asked, and not without reason, if the poor fellow,
rendered desperate at having, when he met him on the frontier,
personally contributed to bringing Torres on board the raft, had not
made away with himself.
But if Fragoso could so reproach himself, how about Benito? In the
first place at Iquitos he had invited Torres to visit the fazenda; in
the second place he had brought him on board the jangada, to become a
passenger on it; and in the third place, in killing him, he had
annihilated the only witness whose evidence could save the condemned
man.
And so Benito considered himself responsible for everything–the
arrest of his father, and the terrible events of which it had been
the consequence.
In fact, had Torres been alive, Benito could not tell but that, in
some way or another, from pity or for reward, he would have finished
by handing over the document. Would not Torres, whom nothing could
compromise, have been persuaded to speak, had money been brought to
bear upon him? Would not the long-sought-for proof have been
furnished to the judge? Yes, undoubtedly! And the only man who could
have furnished this evidence had been killed through Benito!
Such was what the wretched man continually repeated to his mother, to
Manoel, and to himself. Such were the cruel responsibilities which
his conscience laid to his charge.
Between her husband, with whom she passed all the time that was
allowed her, and her son, a prey to despair which made her tremble
for his reason, the brave Yaquita lost none of her moral energy. In
her they found the valiant daughter of Magalhaës, the worthy wife of
the fazender of Iquitos.
The attitude of Joam Dacosta was well adapted to sustain her in this
ordeal. That gallant man, that rigid Puritan, that austere worker,
whose whole life had been a battle, had not yet shown a moment of
weakness.
The most terrible blow which had struck him without prostrating him
had been the death of Judge Ribeiro, in whose mind his innocence did
not admit of a doubt. Was it not with the help of his old defender
that he had hoped to strive for his rehabilitation? The intervention
of Torres he had regarded throughout as being quite secondary for
him. And of this document he had no knowledge when he left Iquitos to
hand himself over to the justice of his country. He only took with
him moral proofs. When a material proof was unexpectedly produced in
the course of the affair, before or after his arrest, he was
certainly not the man to despise it. But if, on account of
regrettable circumstances, the proof disappeared, he would find
himself once more in the same position as when he passed the
Brazilian frontier–the position of a man who came to say, “Here is
my past life; here is my present; here is an entirely honest
existence of work and devotion which I bring you. You passed on me at
first an erroneous judgment. After twenty-three years of exile I have
come to give myself up! Here I am; judge me again!”
The death of Torres, the impossibility of reading the document found
on him, had thus not produced on Joam Dacosta the impression which it
had on his children, his friends, his household, and all who were
interested in him.
“I have faith in my innocence,” he repeated to Yaquita, “as I have