the bribed instrument of secret informers; suppose the letter had
been fabricated by WHO KNOWS WHOM, to induce me to make important
disclosures to my new friend. Perhaps his pretended prison does not
exist; or if so, he may be a traitor, eager to worm out secrets in
order to make his own terms; perhaps he is a man of honour, and
Tremerello himself the traitor who aims at our destruction in order
to gain an additional salary.

Oh, horrible thought, yet too natural to the unhappy prisoner,
everywhere in fear of enmity and fraud!

Such suspicions tormented and degraded me. I did not entertain them
as regarded Angiola a single moment. Yet, from what Tremerello had
said, a kind of doubt clung to me as to the conduct of those who had
permitted her to come into my apartment. Had they, either from
their own zeal, or by superior authority, given her the office of
spy? in that case, how ill had she discharged such an office!

But what was I to do respecting the letter of the unknown? Should I
adopt the severe, repulsive counsel of fear which we call prudence?
Shall I return the letter to Tremerello, and tell him, I do not wish
to run any risk. Yet suppose there should be no treason; and the
unknown be a truly worthy character, deserving that I should venture
something, if only to relieve the horrors of his solitude? Coward
as I am, standing on the brink of death, the fatal decree ready to
strike me at any moment, yet to refuse to perform a simple act of
love! Reply to him I must and will. Grant that it be discovered,
no one can fairly be accused of writing the letter, though poor
Tremerello would assuredly meet with the severest chastisement. Is
not this consideration of itself sufficient to decide me against