And still that awful, flail-like sound went on and on, though all sound of voices had wholly ceased.
Free at last, she stumbled to her feet, and tore madly up the hill.

She saw as she went that Nap was not struggling any longer.

He was hanging like a wet rag from the merciless grip that upheld him, and though his limp body seemed to shudder at every crashing blow, he made no voluntary movement of any sort.
As she drew near, her husband suddenly swung round as though aware of her, and dropped him.

He fell in a huddled heap upon the snow, and lay, twisted, motionless as a dead thing.
Sir Giles, his eyes suffused and terrible, turned upon his wife.
"There lies your gallant lover!" he snarled at her.

"I think I've cured him of his fancy for you." Her eyes met his.