Vulcan, for all his insolence, realized the fact. The man's strength in
that moment was gigantic, practically limitless. There was no coping
with it. Still with the snarl upon his lips he turned away.

"You will pay for this, my wife," he said. "You will pay in full. When I
punish, I punish well."

He reached the door and opened it, still leering back at the limp,
girlish form in Merryon's arms.

"It will not be soon over," he said. "It will take many days, many
nights, that punishment--till you have left off crying for mercy, or
expecting it."

He was on the threshold. His eyes suddenly shot up with a gloating
hatred to Merryon's.

"And you," he said, "will have the pleasure of knowing every night when
you lie down alone that she is either writhing under the lash--a
frequent exercise for a while, my good sir--or finding subtle comfort in
my arms; both pleasant subjects for your dreams."

He was gone. The door closed slowly, noiselessly, upon his exit. There
was no sound of departing feet.

But Merryon neither listened nor cared. He had turned Puck's deathly
face upwards, and was covering it with burning, passionate kisses,
drawing her back to life, as it were, by the fiery intensity of his
worship.