touch. San Miniato was about to follow and had already risen from
his seat. But with a strong turn of his hand Ruggiero made the stern of
the skiff swing out across the narrow water that is twenty fathoms deep
between the mountain and the islet.

"What are you doing?" asked San Miniato impatiently. "Let me land!"

But Ruggiero pushed the boat's head off and she floated free between the
rocks.

"You and I can take a bath together," said the sailor very quietly. "The
water is very deep here."

San Miniato started. There was a sudden change in Ruggiero's face.

"Land me!" cried the Count in a commanding tone.

"In hell!" answered the sailor's deep voice.

At the same moment he dropped the torch, and seizing the bags of
ballast that lay between his feet, hove them overboard, springing across
the thwarts towards San Miniato as he let them go. The line slipped to
the side as the heavy weight sank and the boat turned over just as the
strong man's terrible fingers closed round his enemy's throat in the
darkness. San Miniato's death cry rent the still air--there was a little
splashing, and all was done.

* * * * *

So I have told my tale, such as it is, how Ruggiero of the Children of
the King gave himself body and soul to free Beatrice Granmichele from a
life's bondage. She wore mourning a whole year for her affianced
husband, but the mourning in her heart was for the strong, brave,
unreasoning man, who, utterly unloved, had given all for her sake, in
this world and the next.

But when the year was over, Bastianello married Teresina, and took her
to the home he had made for her by the sea--a home in which she should
be happy, and in which at least there can never be want, for Beatrice
has settled money on them both, and they are safe from sordid poverty,
at all events.

The Marchesa's nerves were terribly shaken by the tragedy, but she has
recovered wonderfully and still fans herself and smokes countless
cigarettes through the long summer afternoon.

Of those left, Bastianello and Beatrice are the most changed--both,
perhaps, for the better. The sailor is graver and sterner than before,
but he still has the gentleness which was never his brother's. Beatrice
has not yet learned the great lesson of love in her own heart, but she
knows and will never forget what love can grow to be in another, for she
has fathomed its deepest depth.

And now you will tell me that Ruggiero did wrong an