Melmoth the Wanderer by Charles Maturin

Nunc animum pietas, et materna nomina frangunt.

In less than half an hour, the superb apartments, the illuminated gardens of Aliaga, did not echo a footstep; all were gone, except a few who lingered, some from curiosity, some from humanity, to witness or condole with the sufferings of the wretched parents. The sumptuously decorated garden now presented a sight horrid from the contrasted figures and scenery. The domestics stood like statues, holding the torches still in their hands -- Isidora lay beside the bloody corse of her brother, till an attempt was made to remove it, and then she clung to it with a strength that required strength to tear her from it -- Aliaga, who had not uttered a word, and scarcely drawn a breath, sunk on his knees to curse his half-lifeless daughter -- Doña Clara, who still retained a woman's heart, lost all fear of her husband in this dreadful emergency, and, kneeling beside him, held his uplifted hands, and struggled hard for the suspension of the malediction -- Fra Jose, the only one of the group who appeared to possess any power of recollection or of mental sanity, addressed repeatedly to Isidora the question, "Are you married -- and married to that fearful being?"