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The red of anger mounted to his hair and throbbed in his temples, then swept back to his heart, and left him with a deathlike pallor. "Keep back. I'm not Richard Kildene. You have the wrong man. Peter Craigmile was never murdered." The big Swede leaped the piazza railing and stood close to him, while the sheriff held him pinioned, and Sam Carter drew out his notebook. "You know me, Mr.
You have seen how the man he claims is his father refuses to even look upon him. Could a father be so deceived as not to know his own son? When Peter Craigmile, Jr., disappeared he was lame and feeble. This man returns, strong and walking as well as one who never received a wound. Why, gentlemen, he stepped up here like a soldier erect as a man who is sound in every limb.
In the indictment he was arraigned for the murder of Peter Craigmile, Jr., as Richard Kildene, and yet he had seen his cousin lying dead before him, during all the years that had passed since he had fled from that sight. In battle he had seen men clubbed with the butt end of a musket fall dead with wounded temples, even as he had seen his cousin stark inert lifeless.
"Miss Ballard, you are called upon to identify the prisoner in the box. Can you do so?" asked the lawyer again, patiently. Again she turned her clear eyes on the judge's face, "Yes, I can." Then, looking into the Elder's eyes, she said: "He is your son, Elder Craigmile. He is Peter. You know him. Look at him. He is Peter Junior."
Hester Craigmile barely smiled as she held out her slender, blue-veined hand. "It is very good of you to come to me, Mary Ballard, but you can't make me think I should be reconciled to this. No! It is hard enough to be reconciled to the blows God has dealt me, without accepting what my husband and son see fit to give me in this." Her hand was cold and passive, and her voice was restrained and low.
I would not go back there and meet the contempt of Peter Craigmile, for he never could forget that I had taken his sister out of hand, and she gone man it was all too sad. How did I know how my son had been taught to think on me? I could not go back when I would. "His name was Richard my boy's. If he came alive from the army I do not know, See?
Her voice rang clear and strong, and she pointed to the prisoner with steady hand. "Look at him, Elder Craigmile; he is your son." "You will address the jury and the court, Miss Ballard, and give your reasons for this assertion. How do you know he is Peter Craigmile, Jr.?" Then she turned toward the jury, and holding out both hands in sudden pleading action cried out earnestly: "I know him.
Jean Craigmile threw her apron over her head and rocked herself back and forth, while Ellen set down her cup and reluctantly opened the letter many pages, in a long business envelope. She sighed as she took them out. "It's a waefu' thing how much trouble an' sorrow a man body brings intil the world wi' him. Noo there's Richard, trailin' sorrow after him whaurever he goes."
"We'll go now." He looked down on his shorter friend, and Bertrand looked up to him, his genial face saddened with sympathy, yet glowing with kindliness. "Wait a little, Elder; let us consider further. Mr. Walters sit down, Elder Craigmile, for a moment Mr. Walters is capable, and he can organize the search; for if you keep this from your wife, you must be discreet.
He had done so ever since Elder Craigmile went to Scotland with his wife. The young man he had found on the river bluff was pacing the hotel veranda as he drove up, and Nels Nelson glanced at him, and into the eyes of the traveling man, as he handed down the latter's heavy valise.
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