He could die.
That was a possibility of which he had thought.

But would his death, which would save him from committing the last and greatest baseness, save Veronica?
She would have one friend less in the world, and she had not many.
With a half-childish smile on his pale face, he wondered what such a man as Taquisara would do, if he were so placed, and the Sicilian's manly face and bold eyes rose up contemptuously before him.

To such a depth as Bosio had already reached, Taquisara could never have fallen.

Bosio's instinct told him that.
If he had been able to find one friend in all his acquaintance to whom he might turn and ask advice, it would have been an infinite relief.

But such friends were rare, he knew, and he had never made one.