No; he reckoned on a
better argument in his favor, and it was to his long life of toil and
honor that he relegated the task of pleading for him.
This evening, then, his wife and daughter, strengthened by the manly
words, which thrilled them to the core of their hearts, had left him
more confident than they had ever been since his arrest. For the last
time the prisoner had embraced them, and with redoubled tenderness.
It seemed as though the _d?nouement_ was nigh.
Joam Dacosta, after they had left, remained for some time perfectly
motionless. His arms rested on a small table and supported his head.
Of what was he thinking? Had he at last been convinced that human
justice, after failing the first time, would at length pronounce his
acquittal?
Yes, he still hoped. With the report of Judge Jarriquez establishing
his identity, he knew that his memoir, which he had penned with so
much sincerity, would have been sent to Rio de Janeiro, and was now in
the hands of the chief justice. This memoir, as we know, was the
history of his life from his entry into the offices of the diamond
arrayal until the very moment when the jangada stopped before Manaos.
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