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It was then that Merryon wrenched himself free from that paralysing constriction that bound him, and abruptly intervened.

“Puck,” he said, “go! Leave us! I will deal with this matter in my own way.”

She made no move to obey. Her face was hidden in her hands. But she was sobbing no longer, only sickly shuddering from head to foot.

He took her by the shoulder. “Go, child, go!” he urged.

But she shook her head. “It’s no good,” she said. “He has got–the whip-hand.”

The utter despair of her tone pierced straight to his soul. She stood as one bent beneath a crushing burden, and he knew that her face was burning behind the sheltering hands.

He still held her with a certain stubbornness of possession, though she made no further attempt to cling to him.

“What do you mean by that?” he said, bending to her. “Tell me what you mean! Don’t be afraid to tell me!”

She shook her head again. “I am bound,” she said, dully, “bound hand and foot.”

“You mean that you really are–married to him?” Merryon spoke the words as it were through closed lips. He had a feeling as of being caught in some crushing machinery, of being slowly and inevitably ground to shapeless atoms.

Puck lifted her head at length and spoke, not looking at him. “I went through a form of marriage with him,” she said, “for the sake of–of–of–decency. I always loathed him. I always shall. He only wants me now because I am–I have been–valuable to him. When he first took me he seemed kind. I was nearly starved, quite desperate, and alone. He offered to teach me to be an acrobat, to make a living. I’d better have drowned myself.” A little tremor of passion went through her voice; she paused to steady it, then went on. “He taught by fear–and cruelty. He opened my eyes to evil. He used to beat me, too–tie me up in the gymnasium–and beat me with a whip till–till I was nearly beside myself and ready to promise anything–anything, only to stop the torture. And so he got everything he wanted from me, and when I began to be successful as a dancer he–married me. I thought it would make things better. I didn’t think, if I were his wife, he could go on ill-treating me quite so much. But I soon found my mistake. I soon found I was even more his slave than before. And then–just a week before the fire–another woman came, and told me that it was not a real marriage; that–that he had been through exactly the same form with her–and there was nothing in it.”

She stopped again at sound of a low laugh from Vulcan. “Not quite the same form, my dear,” he said. “Yours was as legal and binding as the English law could make it. I have the certificate with me to prove this. As you say, you were valuable to me then–as you will be again, and so I was careful that the contract should be complete in every particular. Now–if you have quite finished your–shall we call it confession?–I suggest that you should return to your lawful husband and leave this gentleman to console himself as soon as may be. It is growing late, and it is not my intention that you should spend another night under his protection.”

He spoke slowly, with a curious, compelling emphasis, and as if in answer to that compulsion Puck’s eyes came back to his.

“Oh, no!” she said, in a quick, frightened whisper. “No! I can’t! I can’t!”

Yet she made a movement towards him as if drawn irresistibly.

And at that movement, wholly involuntary as it was, something in Merryon’s brain seemed to burst. He saw all things a burning, intolerable red. With a strangled oath he caught her back, held her violently–a prisoner in his arms.

“By God, no!” he said. “I’ll kill you first!”

She turned in his embrace. She lifted her lips and passionately kissed him. “Yes, kill me! Kill me!” she cried to him. “I’d rather die!”