I was indignant at this. I advanced towards the informer and reproached him for his cruelty; he wished to reply; I treated him as a coward, and turned my back to him. Express orders from my colonel compelled me to leave my house, to assist at this frightful execution; still, deep anxiety ought to have prevented me from so doing, as I will explain. On the eve when the battle was over, and the insurgents routed, the distress of my dear Anna came across my mind. It was now one o'clock in the afternoon, and she had received no tidings from me since three in the morning; might she not think me dead, or in the midst of the rebellion? Ah! if duty could make me forget for a moment she whom I loved more than life, now all danger was over her charming image returned to my mind. Dearest Anna! I beheld her pale, agitated; asking herself at each report of the cannon whether it rendered her a widow; when my mind became so agitated that I ran home to calm her fears. Having reached my house I went quickly up stairs, my heart beating violently; I paused for a moment at her door, then summoning a little courage I entered. Anna was kneeling down praying; hearing my footsteps she raised her head, and threw herself into my arms without uttering a word. At first I attributed this silence to emotion, but, alas! upon examining her lovely face, I saw her eyes looked wild, her features contracted: I started back. I discovered in her all the symptoms of congestion of the brain. I dreaded lest my wife had lost her senses, and this fear alarmed me greatly. How fortunate it was that it lay in my power to relieve her. I had her placed in bed, and ministered myself to her wants. She was tolerably composed; the few words she uttered were inconsistent; she seemed to think that somebody was going to poison or kill her. All her confidence was placed in me. During three days the remedies I prescribed and administered were useless; the poor creature derived no benefit from them. I therefore determined to consult the doctors in Manilla, although I had no great opinion of their skill. They advised some insignificant drugs, and declared to me that there were no hopes, adding, as a philosophical mode of consolation, that death was preferable to the loss of reason. I did not agree on this point with these gentlemen: I would have preferred insanity to death, for I hoped that her madness would die away by degrees, and eventually disappear altogether. How many mad people are cured, what numbers daily recover, yet death is the last word of humanity; and, as a young poet has truly said, is "the stone of the tomb."