Montfort uttered a cry, dropped his sword, flung up his hands, and sunk bleeding to the deck.
Merry flung his blood-stained weapon aside and bent over the man, saying sincerely:
"I hope your wound is not fatal, M. Montfort."
"It makes no difference!" gasped the man. "You are ze victor, so I must stay here an' die jus' ze same."
But Frank Merriwell was seized by a feeling of horror at the thought of leaving this man whom he had wounded. In a moment he realized he would be haunted all his life by the memory if he did so.
Quickly he caught M. Montfort up in his arms. He sprang to the side of the steamer. The boat was holding in for him. His friends shouted to him. The captain ordered him to jump at once.
"Catch this man!"
He lifted M. Montfort, swung him over the rail, and dropped him fairly into the boat!
"He has chosen," said the captain. "The boat will hold no more. Pull away!"
It was useless for Frank's friends to beg and plead. Away went the boat, leaving the noble youth to his doom.