"Nothing of personal misfortune, my friend; but there are times when
the spirit is tortured by a doubtful duty. To preserve silence is
undoubtedly wrong, and may lead to wrong, yet greater; and yet, to
speak, is so painfully distressing to my peace-loving disposition,
that I am tossed for ever on conflicting impulses, and would gladly be
guided by another."
"If you would be guided by my counsel, my good friend, I must entreat
a clearer statement," replied Morales, half smiling. "You have spoken
so mysteriously, that I cannot even guess your meaning. I cannot
imagine one so straightforward and strong-minded as yourself
hesitating and doubtful as to duty, of whatever nature."
"Not if it concerned myself: but in this case I must either continue
to see wrong done, with the constant dread of its coming to light,
without my interference; or inflict anguish where I would gladly give
but joy; and very probably, in addition, have my tale disbelieved,
and myself condemned, though for that matter, personal pain is of no
consequence, could I but pursue the right."
"But how stands this important case, my good friend?"
"Thus: I have been so unfortunate as to discover that one is false,
whom her doting husband believes most true--that the lover of her
youth has returned, and still holds her imagination chained--that she
meets him in secret, and has appointed another clandestine interview,
from which who may tell the evil that may ensue? I would prevent this
interview--would recall her to her better nature, or put her husband
on his guard: but how dare I do this--how interfere thus closely
between man and wife? Counsel me, my friend, in pity!"
"If you have good foundation for this charge, Don Luis, it is your
duty to speak out," replied Morales, gravely.
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