When it had fallen back, Britomarte once more took hold of her companion, and with painful efforts succeeded in dragging her still a few feet farther on, where she was safe from the tide.
CHAPTER XII.
LEFT TO HIS FATE.
And now let us see what in the meantime had become of Justin, left with his few unfortunate companions to perish on the deserted wreck.
After he had forcibly torn Britomarte from him and dropped her into the outstretched arms of Mike Mullony, and had heard her last despairing cry, and had waved his hand for the lifeboat to be pushed off—he abruptly turned away that he might not have his resolution shaken by the imploring words and gestures of her whom he loved more than life; for he did not know that with the cry still upon her lips she had swooned away in the arms that had received her.
He climbed with difficulty up the inclined plane of the half-submerged quarter-deck to the stern, which was lifted out of the water and wedged tightly in a cleft of the rock at an angle of about forty-five degrees, more or less.
There he turned and stood nearly waist-deep in water, holding onto the shrouds of the mizzen mast to keep from being carried off by the waves.
The sea that continued to break over the wreck with tremendous shocks, did not, however, rise far above the foot of the mizzen mast; though every wave that thundered over the quaking deck shook the wreck to its keel, and nearly swept the man from his holdings.
Yet there he stood, intently watching the receding lifeboat and silently praying for her safety, as she labored through the heavy sea.
And even when she was lost to sight, in the deep fog that enveloped the distant, unknown shore, he continued to gaze after her, until an enormous wave broke over the ship, burying him up to the neck in water and almost tearing him from the holdings where he clung with all his strength.
As the wave fell back a terrible cry arose from the sea.