“Then, before Heaven, I will not permit you to do so! You are mine by the right of the strongest love man ever felt for woman, and I will dispose of my own as I please,” he exclaimed, throwing his arms around her, and lifting her up as easily as a child would lift a kitten. He bore her down to the starboard gangway, from which the last lifeboat was just putting off. “Stop!” he shouted. “Men! seamen! some of you help to lower her down! Some of you take her as I let her go! Riordan!—Mullony!—hold up your arms!” “Bedad, and meself will do that same! Let her go!” exclaimed Mike, standing up in the boat, and spreading his arms, to receive the form that Justin was preparing to lower down. Too proud, or too fragile to struggle with superior force, up to this instant Britomarte had been quiet enough; but now, as he was letting her go, she turned with a half-suppressed cry and clung to his breast. But he tore her away from that hold, and dropped her into the strong arms of Mike Mullony. And then, stepping back upon the deck, he waved his hand for them to push off. But oh! what a cry of unspeakable anguish came up from that boat, as Britomarte started to her feet, and stretched forth her arms yearningly, longingly toward him, exclaiming: “Justin! With you! Take me! My beloved! my beloved!” But he waved his hand to Mike to take charge of her, and turned away, white as death. And it was an insensible form that Mike Mullony laid gently in the lap of Judith Riordan, who, with his own wife, Biddy, were the only other women in that boat; Mrs. Ely and Mrs. Breton being in the other one. While Britomarte lay still in that swoon, the boat was put off from the side of the ship. There were on board of her, besides the crew and the women, the ship’s doctor and the supercargo. And oh! in the midst of all their selfish anxiety for the preservation of their own lives, and their natural sorrow for their companions left behind to perish, what grief they also felt in abandoning the brave ship that had so gallantly borne them through such a waste of waters; the good ship that had so safely brought them through such tremendous storms, and that had only succumbed at last to the overwhelming power of winds and waves! Aye, they grieved remorsefully for her, as for a human being, deserted at her utmost need, and left alone to die. When Britomarte recovered from the deep, deathlike swoon that had held her life in abeyance, the boat was some distance from the ship. Her senses and memory returned instantly with her consciousness. Her first thought was of her lover—her first act to raise herself on her elbow, and with her eyes to sweep the horizon in search of the abandoned wreck.