He made a lunge and drove his sword into the Frenchman's side.
Montfort uttered a cry, dropped his sword, flung up his hands, and sunk bleeding to the deck.
Merry flung his blood-stained weapon aside and bent over the man, saying sincerely: "I hope your wound is not fatal, M.Montfort." "It makes no difference!" gasped the man.

"You are ze victor, so I must stay here an' die jus' ze same." But Frank Merriwell was seized by a feeling of horror at the thought of leaving this man whom he had wounded.

In a moment he realized he would be haunted all his life by the memory if he did so.
Quickly he caught M.Montfort up in his arms.

He sprang to the side of the steamer.

The boat was holding in for him.