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Updated: June 20, 2025
A cousin much older than himself owned and still lived on the estate that had been his grandfather Kildene's, and Richard was welcomed and treated with openhearted hospitality. But there, also, little was known of his father, only that the peasants on the estate remembered him lovingly as a free-hearted gentleman. Even that little was a relief to Richard's sore heart. Yes, his father must be dead.
Even while he could see Amalia sleeping in the cabin, and could feel her soft breath on his cheek, could feel her in his arms, could hear her prayers for Larry Kildene's safety as at that moment he might be coming to them, he knew that the mighty river of his love must be held back by a masterful will must be dammed back until its floods deepened into an ocean of tranquillity while he rose above his loneliness and his fierce longing, loving her, yet making no avowal, holding her in his heart, yet never disturbing her peace of spirit by his own heart's tumult, clinging to her night and day, yet relinquishing her.
Here comes his boy back an' says, 'I'm Peter Junior, and yer son. An' his feyther says till him, 'Ye're no my son, for my son was murder't an' ye're Richard Kildene wha' murder't him. And noo, it's for ye to go home, Hester, an' bring Peter to his senses, and show him the truth. A mither knows her ain boy, an' if it's Peter Junior, it's Peter Junior, and Richard Kildene's died."
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