it, because to oppose them aggravates them."

"Well, I believe that there are skilful physicians at your side who
have determined to cure you, and who will, in the end, my adored girl,
succeed in doing so."

"No, no; a thousand times no!" exclaimed Rosario, leaning her forehead
on her lover's breast. "I am willing to be mad if I am with you. For
you I am suffering, for you I am ill; for you I despise life and I risk
death. I know it now--to-morrow I shall be worse, I shall be dangerously
ill, I shall die. What does it matter to me?"

"You are not ill," he responded, with energy; "there is nothing the
matter with you but an agitation of mind which naturally brings with it
some slight nervous disturbances; there is nothing the matter with you
but the suffering occasioned by the horrible coercion which they are
using with you. Your simple and generous soul does not comprehend it.
You yield; you forgive those who injure you; you torment yourself,
attributing your suffering to baleful, supernatural influences; you
suffer in silence; you give your innocent neck to the executioner, you
allow yourself to be slain, and the very knife which is plunged into
your breast seems to you the thorn of a flower that has pierced you in
passing. Rosario, cast those ideas from your mind; consider our real
situation, which is serious; seek its cause where it really is, and
do not give way to your fears; do not yield to the tortures which are
inflicted upon you, making yourself mentally and physically ill. The
courage which you lack would restore you to health, because you are not
really ill, my dear girl, you are--do you wish me to say it?--you are
frightened, terrified. You are under what the ancients, not knowing how
to express it, called an evil spell. Courage, Rosario, trust in me! Rise