The marquis feebly parried the stroke.
"Hold!" he cried.

"Not on me!" "No--no!" exclaimed Beatriz, throwing herself on her father's breast.
The words came too late.

Blinded and deafened with rage, Fonseca had again, with more sure and deadly aim, directed his weapon against his supposed foe.

The blade struck home, but not to the heart of Calderon.
It was Beatriz, bathed in her blood, who fell at the feet of her frenzied lover.
"Daughter and mother both!" muttered Calderon; and he fell as if the steel had pierced his own heart, beside his child.

"Wretch! what hast thou done ?" muttered a voice strange to the ear of Fonseca; a voice half stifled with Horror and, perhaps, remorse.