We meet her again in the following dialogue, with its pathetic allusions to Dante and to the complaint--a kind of nervous exhaustion which he called 'the horrors'-- that was to trouble Borrow all his days: 'What ails you, my child ?' said a mother to her son, as he lay on a couch under the influence of the dreadful one; 'what ails you?
you seem afraid!' _Boy._ And so I am; a dreadful fear is upon me.
_Mother._ But of what?
there is no one can harm you; of what are you apprehensive?
_Boy._ Of nothing that I can express.

I know not what I am afraid of, but afraid I am.
_Mother._ Perhaps you see sights and visions.

I knew a lady once who was continually thinking that she saw an armed man threaten her, but it was only an imagination, a phantom of the brain.
_Boy._ No armed man threatens me; and 'tis not a thing like that would cause me any fear.

Did an armed man threaten me I would get up and fight him; weak as I am, I would wish for nothing better, for then, perhaps, I should lose this fear; mine is a dread of I know not what, and there the horror lies.
_Mother._ Your forehead is cool, and your speech collected.

Do you know where you are?
_Boy._ I know where I am, and I see things just as they are; you are beside me, and upon the table there is a book which was written by a Florentine; all this I see, and that there is no ground for being afraid.