The fellow, still in the heat of slaughter, hurled her down.
"Spawn of the scarlet woman!" he exclaimed.
She got up to her knees, her head-dress fallen and her face deformed.
"Thrice damned heretic!" she said. "Thou shalt be thrust into the deepest pit——"
"Stop her mouth!" cried another, coming up; he gave her an ugly name, and hit her with his arquebus.
She fell down again, but continued her reproaches and railing, till they made an end, one firing a pistol at her at close range, the ball thereof mercifully killing her, so that she lay prone with her two companions.
After this the soldiers joined Major Harrison, whom they found with Lieutenant-General Cromwell at the end of this noble suite of apartments, having there at last brought to bay the indomitable lord of this famous and wealthy mansion, the puissant prince, John Pawlet, Marquess of Winchester.
The place where this gentleman faced his enemies was the chapel of his faith, pompous and glorious with every circumstance of art and wealth.
Windows of jewel-like glass transmitted the October sunshine in floods of softly coloured light; the walls were of Italian marble, curiously inlaid; on the altar blazed, in full pride, an image of the Virgin, the height of a man and crowned with gems; a silk carpet covered the altar steps, and cushions of velvet were scattered over the mosaic floor.
In front of the altar lay a dead priest; the violet glow from the east window stained his old shrunken features, and beside him on the topmost step stood the Marquess; above the altar and the Virgin hung a beautiful picture brought from Italy at great expense by my lord, and showing a saint singing between some others—all most richly done; and this and the statue was the background for my lord.