Jacopo swung his axe afresh, but this time it remained deep in the keel of the ship, and now light dawned on Parlo. Jacopo meant to destroy them.
"Hold on, Jacopo," he called aloud despairingly, and tried to take hold of the axe.
The Corsican said not a word, but he, with his axe uplifted, kept Parlo at a distance, and then cut again into the keel, till a loud creaking was audible.
Jacopo had at last succeeded in his object—gurgling and roaring, the agitated waters rose through the leak in the ship, and Parlo shrieked like a madman.
"Jacopo—you carry us to destruction!"
Jacopo's pale features became at last animated; he threw himself on Parlo, grasped his shoulders, and, forcing him on the floor of the boat, pressed his knee on his chest.
"Manuelita," he called, with a voice which sounded through the storm like a trumpet, "you shall be happy with your lover, miserable woman!"
Manuelita heard the words—she saw the quick rising flood—she saw Jacopo kneeling upon Parlo's chest, and she understood all—all!
Higher and higher still rose the water, and now Jacopo laughingly left his rival—he was drowning in the waves.