He falls, and Elvira defends him from her husband with a look and gesture so terrible that he and the murderers fall back before her as though she were some ghastly avenging spirit.

Then, bending over him, she snatches the dagger from the grasp of the dying man, saying to him, with a voice into which Isabel Bretherton threw a wealth of pitiful tenderness, 'There is but one way left, beloved.

Your wife that should have been, that is, saves herself and you--_so_!' And in the dead silence that followed, her last murmur rose upon the air as the armed men, carrying torches, crowded round her.

'See, Macias, the torches--how they shine! _Bring more--bring more--and light--our marriage festival_!' * * * * * 'Eustace! Eustace! there, now they have let her go! Poor child, poor child! how is she to stand this night after night?
Eustace, do you hear?
Let us go into her now--quick, before she is quite surrounded.

I don't want to stay, but I must just see her, and so must Paul.