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On the morning of 17 March 1807, Simão António Botelho left the Relação prison. He boarded at the Ribeira quay with seventy-five fellow convicts sentenced to exile. Thanks to Mourão Mosqueira, Simão alone was not tied to another man. He went down from the prison beside an officer of the court. Mariana followed him, keeping watch over the baggage crates. Mourão, a friend of Dona Rita Preciosa, asked the captain to let Simão remain on deck and eat at his table.
Mourão then gave Simão the gold sent by his mother. Simão accepted it but immediately asked the captain to distribute it among the other exiles. 'Are you mad, Senhor Simão?' Mourão asked. 'I have the madness of dignity, and it was for love of dignity that I ruined myself,' Simão replied. He wanted to know how far that dignity could carry him. He accepted only charity that came from the heart, not from duty. Mourão told him that the gold had come from his mother. 'I have no mother,' Simão declared, rejecting the alms. Mourão refused to return it; Simão then threatened to throw the gold into the river. The captain accepted the gold, and Mourão left the ship astonished by the young man's grim resolve.
Simão asked Mariana where Monchique was. She pointed out the convent overlooking the bank of the Douro in Miragaia. With his arms folded, Simão saw a figure behind the bars of the lookout. It was Teresa, who had received his farewell the previous day and sent him a plait of her hair.
That night, Teresa asked for the sacraments and took Communion by the choir grille, supported by her maid. She spent part of the night near her aunt's sanctuary, while her aunt prayed until morning. She asked to be taken to the window overlooking the sea, without feeling the cold. She spoke calmly with the nuns and said farewell to each of them in turn. She walked to the cells of the sick nuns to say farewell. Her companions pretended to feel hopeful in order to encourage her, but Teresa merely smiled.
At dawn, she read Simão's letters one by one. The letters written beside the Mondego made her weep, for they celebrated the happiness they had both expected. She remembered joys, sorrows, hopes and the silent meetings with Simão's sister. She then tied the letters with silk ribbons untied from sprigs of withered flowers. Simão had thrown those flowers from his window into her room two years earlier. Almost all the petals crumbled, and Teresa murmured, 'Like my life...' Weeping, she kissed the crumbling flowers and entrusted the letters to Constança, giving her instructions for later. She prayed on her knees for half an hour, her body leaning over a chair. When they raised her almost by force, she drank a little broth and smiled: 'For the journey...' At nine o'clock, she asked Constança to take her to the lookout and stared at the ship. When Teresa saw the convicts boarding tied together in pairs, she briefly lost consciousness.
It was at that moment that Simão recognised her. A boat then arrived carrying the beggar woman from Viseu, who was calling for him. Simão received from her a small packet containing his letters. From the smooth paper, Simão realised that he had not written the first letter, but he did not open it.
The order then came to raise anchor and cast off the ropes. Leaning against the rail, Simão saw a handkerchief waving at the lookout and answered with his own. As the ship passed in front of the convent, he made out a face and two arms against the bars. It looked like the face of a corpse raised from the cloister to the lookout. In a stifled moan, Mariana confirmed that it was Teresa. Suddenly the handkerchief stopped; several arms moved violently, and Teresa and Constança disappeared from view.
The ship stopped off Sobreiras because a cloud at the harbour mouth and the sudden roughening of the waves forced the captain to suspend the departure. A small vessel brought the chief pilot from Foz, and he ordered the ship to anchor until further notice. Later, the departure was postponed until the following day. Simão remained motionless, his eyes fixed on the darkness of the lookout, until the last ray of sunlight died upon the bars.
At dusk, the captain returned from shore with tears in his eyes and found Simão gazing at the first stars. 'Are you looking for her in heaven?' he asked. Simão repeated the question without understanding and asked whom he meant. 'Teresa died at the lookout, from where she had been waving to you,' the captain replied. Simão bent over the rail and fixed his eyes on the river current. The captain seized him and urged him to be brave, saying that Teresa's prayers might open heaven to him.
Mariana stood one step behind him, her hands raised. 'Everything is over; I am free to die,' Simão murmured. He immediately added firmly, 'Captain, I shall not kill myself. You may let me go.' The captain asked him to go down to the cabin, where his berth was close to the captain's. Simão asked whether he was obliged to go below. 'There are no orders for you, only requests; I am asking, not commanding,' the seaman explained. Simão accepted the request and thanked him for his compassion. Mariana followed him with a tender, sorrowful gaze. Seeing her, Simão asked the captain, 'And this unhappy woman?', and he replied, 'Let her follow you.'
In the cabin, the captain sat opposite Simão while Mariana wept in the darkness. He urged him to speak, weep and ease his pain. 'I have already wept, sir,' Simão replied. The captain admitted that he had never imagined such anguish, despite the horrors he had seen on land and at sea. He spoke deliberately to draw out Simão's grief, but Simão remained silent, listening to Mariana's sobs and staring at the bundle of letters.
In Miragaia, the captain had learnt of Teresa's death and asked someone connected with the convent to take him to a nun. A nun told him the story with more sobs than words. Abreast of Ouro, Teresa had cried, 'Simão, farewell until eternity!', and fallen into a maid's arms. The maid screamed, other women hurried over and carried Teresa below half-dead, or rather dead, for they never heard another word from her. During two years and nine months in the convent, love and each lost hope had made her suffer a thousand deaths. 'For a short time,' Simão murmured, as though speaking only to himself.
The captain promised him loyal friends in India and swore to obtain the viceroy's permission for him to live in Goa. He also offered him a decent start in life and the conditions needed to live in good health in Asia. He urged Simão not to fear exile, but to live and try to overcome his despair. Simão interrupted him and begged him to remain silent. The captain admitted that it was still too soon to imagine the future and apologised for his indiscretion. He then offered him his friendship in that hour of suffering. 'I accept, and I need a friend,' Simão replied before calling Mariana.
When she entered, Simão described her as his providence. He explained that Mariana had saved him from hunger during two years and nine months in prison. She had sold everything she owned to provide him with food and clothing. He asked the captain to respect that woman, who was as pure as truth on the lips of a dying man. If he died, the captain was to protect her with kindness, as though Mariana were Simão's sister. If Mariana wished to return to Portugal, the captain was to protect her throughout the voyage home. Simão held out his hand and asked, 'Do you promise me this?' 'I swear it,' the captain replied.
Called back to the deck, the captain left Simão with Mariana. Simão told his friend that he was now at peace about her future; Mariana replied that she was already at peace. For a long time, they did not exchange a word. Simão rested his face on the table and pressed his temples; Mariana stood beside him, watching the faint light of the lamp. Both were thinking of death while the north-easterly wind whistled like a moan high among the ship's masts.