Explore "Melmoth the Wanderer" by Charles Maturin on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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?"