"Take the parson's arm and come along, Meg. You may as well get a good send off from the castle and have your share of the family wedding march, since it is little else you'll be getting from the Muirs of Drummuir." That evening, after the newly made Lady Drummuir had been dismissed to her own rooms with the injunction to remember her new honours, and not to stand any cursed nonsense from any one, and the old man, regardless of gout, sat drinking one glass of port after another on the ground that, having got royally drunk at his three previous weddings, he was not going to treat his fourth with less consideration--Jack Jardine, somewhat breathless after all the disturbing and inexplicable events of the day, shook his head and said once more-- "Your father is a remarkable man--a very remarkable man!" "Very," assented Peter. "Now I wonder what Marrion Paul had to do with it all!" CHAPTER XII Marrion Paul herself failed to answer that question. When she had returned at six o'clock to the castle--having spent the intervening time down by the seashore in order to avoid Penelope--she had been completely taken aback by the sudden development of affairs, wondering if she were in any way responsible for what had happened. But a single look at the old lord's face, as he was wheeled in to take his place at the marriage ceremony, made her realise that the unwieldy body, instinct with malice and controlled by autocratic unassailable will, held every inmate of Drummuir Castle, herself included, as puppets in the hollow of its gouty hand. A sudden unreasoning desire to get away from that influence, an extreme distaste at the part she had played in the serio-comic tragedy filled her. She envied the Reverend Patrick Bryce his independence, and it was with real relief that, according to her plan, she found herself once more rumbling to the Cross-keys in the chaise from the Crow. This should be her last departure from the conventional. Now that Duke's safety from the dancing woman's wiles had been secured, she had time to blame for his supineness; and he, of course, when he heard of the marriage, was not likely to forgive her. Thus they were quits! So be it. She could return to her dressmaking and never see him again. He had his majority, and, born soldier as he was, had his chance.