"Good luck to you both!" she called. "Good luck, good luck! After all, Marrion, you see you will be asking Mr. Bryce to get you cried."
Andrew, shamefaced and confused, escaped up the stairs, but Marrion stood her ground boldly.
"There'll be scant time, Miss Marg'ret," she said, not without some scorn, "for Andrew is away with his master the morn, and Captain Duke says he will not be coming back."
Her hearer turned visibly pale. Ever since the rencontre on the rocks Margaret had been haunted by a fear lest Marmaduke should break the half-formulated compact of mutual silence. And now this news of his unexpected departure sent a thousand wild conjectures to her mind. Had he quarrelled with his father over the woman? Had he in revenge told----
"Going away!" she gasped. "I didn't know. Surely it's very sudden! Why? Can my father have found out about Mdlle. Le Grand----" Then realising her slip, she went on hurriedly, "But it is all nonsense about Duke's saying he will not come back. The boys always say that when there is a quarrel; but father forgets, and so do they, as you know quite well, Marrion. And it's only right that it should be so, for after all he is their father, isn't he?"
"Aye, Miss Marg'ret," replied Marrion gravely, "my Lord Drummuir is the present holder o' the barony, an' Captain Marmaduke is the heir to it if the Master has no son; so that settles it outright."
Margaret Muir looked at her with a sort of wistful surprise.
"You put things very plain, Marrion," she said, "but you always were a sensible girl; and, being what you are, your grandfather's granddaughter--you--you belong to Drummuir, as it were."
When she had passed on whistling and calling to her dogs, Marrion Paul stood echoing those last words in her heart. Yes, she belonged to Drummuir; but over and above that inherited loyalty there was a passion of protection for Duke himself. He must not be harmed in any way.
Was there indeed anything between him and the painted woman she was serving?