Perhaps water, taken in large quantities, might deaden the effects of the poison and save Julio's life.

At any rate, he had no other remedy, and as it was his only hope, he grasped at it as if it were an inspiration from heaven.
Filling a pitcher, he ran with it to the cellar, and radiant with joy, approached Julio, who had barely strength to ask in a feeble voice: "Is the priest coming?
Will the doctor be here?
Ah! it is too late!" "Drink," said Geronimo, holding the pitcher to his lips; "the water will cool the inflammation and refresh you." Julio took the water.
"Thank you, signor; it is useless, the water does me no good." "Take more, I beg you, Julio,--as much as you can." Julio obeyed mechanically and nearly emptied the pitcher.

His respiration became very labored, and the sweat ran in big drops from his brow.
"Do you feel better, Julio ?" asked the young man.
"A little better; the heat is not so burning." "There is still hope!" exclaimed Geronimo, joyfully.

"Take courage, Julio; have confidence in the mercy of God.

When all human aid fails us, then God gives his omnipotent assistance." "But," said Julio, "my heart beats so feebly, my limbs are benumbed.
Signor, I am dying.