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. Justin, clinging still to the shrouds, bent his head forward to see whence it came. And to his horror and grief, he saw a man’s hand and arm strike up for an instant through the foaming wave and then sink out of sight. “Great Heaven! Who is it? Which of my friends has been swept off?” cried Justin, gazing in sorrow upon a calamity that he was powerless to prevent. But the arm arose no more, and Justin turned his head to look over the portion of the deck that was still above water to see what had become of his companions. There were but three of them—Mr. Ely and Mr. Breton, whom the sailors had refused to receive on the heavily-laden lifeboats, and Captain McKenzie, whom they would willingly have taken off, but that he regarded it as a point of honor to remain with the passengers whom he was unable to rescue.