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Updated: May 27, 2025
Only yesterday she asked me what Puck was short for, and I told her Elizabeth and then I got laughing so that I had to stop." Her face was flushed, and she was slightly breathless as she ended, but she stared across the table with brazen determination, like a naughty child expecting a slap. Merryon's face, however, betrayed neither astonishment nor disapproval.
Davenant pursed her lips somewhat over the assertion, and remarked that Major Merryon's wife was plainly more at home with men than women. Captain Silvester was so openly out of temper over her absence that it was evident she had been "leading him on with utter heartlessness," and now, it seemed, she meant to have the whole mess at her beck and call.
She was evidently sublimely happy at least in Merryon's society, but she did not pick up her strength very quickly, and but for her unfailing high spirits Merryon would have felt anxious about her. There seemed to be nothing of her. She was not like a creature of flesh and blood. Yet how utterly, how abundantly, she satisfied him!
She flinched at that flinched as if he had struck her across the face. "Oh, you brute!" she said, and shuddered back against Merryon's supporting arm. "You wicked brute!" 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.
A very strange smile came over Merryon's face. He pressed her to him, his eyes gazing deep into hers. He kissed her, but not passionately, rather with reverence. "Your afterwards will be mine, dear, wherever it is," he said. "If it comes to that if there is any going in that way we go together." The anxiety went out of her face in a second. She smiled back at him with utter confidence.
Think what your feelings will be if she dies!" "I have thought, sir." The dogged note was in Merryon's voice again. His face was a mask of impenetrability. "If she dies, I shall at least have the satisfaction of knowing that I made her happy first." It was his last word on the subject. He departed, leaving the colonel fuming. That evening the latter called upon Mrs. Merryon.
It seemed the most natural thing in the world that she should evade all approach to intimacy. They were comrades just comrades. Everyone in the station wanted to know Merryon's bride. People had begun by being distant, but that phase was long past. Puck Merryon had stormed the citadel within a fortnight of her arrival, no one quite knew how. Everyone knew her now.
Merryon's hard mouth took a sterner downward curve. "My wife refuses to leave me, sir," he said. "Good heavens above, Merryon!" The colonel's voice held a species of irritated derision. "Do you tell me you can't manage a a piece of thistledown like that?" Merryon was silent, grimly, implacably silent. Plainly he had no intention of making such an admission. "It's madness criminal madness!"
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.
Through bitter sobbing the confession came; in bitter sobbing it ended. But still Merryon's hand was on her head, still his face was bent above her, grave and sad and pitiful, the face of a strong man enduring grief. After a little, haltingly, she spoke again. "And I wasn't coming back to you ever. Only someone a syce told me you had been stricken down. And then I had to come.
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