Volume The Third - Chapter 1

Behold!
What blessings ancient prophesie foretold,
Bestow'd on her in death. She past away
So sweetly from the world, as if her clay
Laid onely downe to slumber. Then forbeare
To let on her blest ashes fall a teare.
But, if th'art too much woman, softly weepe
Lest grief disturbe the silence of her sleepe.

HABINGTON

Barbara, the young, the beautiful, the innocent Barbara, fell, as the
bullet struck her, upon the arm of the imbecile Sir Robert Cecil. It is
impossible adequately to describe the scene that followed. Constantia
caught the maiden from her father, who shrank at the sight of blood, and
drew himself gradually away, like a terrified child from a frightful
object, while his daughter, kneeling, supported the stricken girl upon
her bosom. After the deed was done, the Jewess stood for a moment with
an air of exultation upon the ledge of the oriel window, and then
disappeared; but Sir Willmott, who saw that the time was come when, if
ever, his prey was to be secured, rushed to the open door, with a view
to seize her as she descended, and at once rid himself of all danger by
her destruction. At the instant his evil purpose was about to be
accomplished, his course was arrested, as he reached the postern, by a
powerful arm, which grappled at his throat. The stentorian voice of
Dalton shouted "Villain!" so loudly, that many, who had crowded round
the dying Barbara, turned in alarm to ascertain who spoke.