"The sufferer is young, his organization rare in its vigour. He has gone
through and survived assaults upon life that are commonly fatal. His
system has been poisoned by the fangs of a venomous asp, and shattered by
the blast of the plague. These alone, I believe, would not suffice to
destroy him. But he is one who has a strong dread of death; and while the
heart was thus languid and feeble, it has been gnawed by emotions of hope
or of fear. I suspect that he is dying, not from the bite of the reptile,
not from the taint of the pestilence, but from the hope and the fear that
have overtasked the heart's functions. Judge for yourself."

We were now at the door of the hut. I unlocked it: we entered. Margrave
had quitted his bed, and was pacing the room slowly. His step was less
feeble, his countenance less haggard than on the previous evening.

He submitted himself to Faber's questioning with a quiet indifference, and
evidently cared nothing for any opinion which the great physician might
found on his replies.

When Faber had learned all he could, he said, with a grave smile: "I see
that my advice will have little weight with you; such as it is, at least
reflect on it. The conclusions to which your host arrived in his view of
your case, and which he confided to me, are, in my humble judgment,
correct. I have no doubt that the great organ of the heart is involved in
the cause of your sufferings; but the heart is a noble and much-enduring
organ. I have known men in whom it has been more severely and
unequivocally affected with disease than it is in you, live on for many
years, and ultimately die of some other disorder. But then life was held,
as yours must be held, upon one condition,--repose. I enjoin you to
abstain from all violent action, to shun all excitements that cause moral
disturbance. You are young: would you live on, you must live as the old.