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.