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.