“Yes, Mrs. Ballard.” Richard looked gravely into her eyes and from her to Bertrand. “You left after the verdict. You weren’t at the courthouse at the last. It’s all come right, and it’s going to stay so.”
The meal progressed and ended amid laughter; and a little later the family all set out for the banker’s home.
“How I wish Hester were here!” said Mary. “I did not wish her here before–but now we want her.” She looked at Peter.
“Yes, now we want her. We’re ready for her at last. Father leaves for New York to-morrow to fetch her. She’s coming on the next steamship, and he’ll meet her and bring her back to us all.”
“How that is beautiful!” murmured Amalia, as she walked at Peter’s side. He looked down at her and noted a weariness in her manner she strove to conceal.
“Come back with me a little–just a little while. I can go later to my father’s, and he will excuse you, and I’ll take you to him before he leaves to-morrow. Come, I think I know where we may find Larry Kildene.” So Peter led her away into the dusk, and they walked slowly–slowly–along the road leading to the river bluff–but not to the top.
After a long hour Larry came down from the height where he had been communing with himself and found them in the sweet starlight seated by the wayside, and passed them, although he knew they were Peter and Amalia. He walked lingeringly, feeling himself very much alone, until he was seized by either arm and held.
“It is your blessing, Sir Kildene, we ask it.”
And Larry gave them the blessing they asked, and took Amalia in his arms and kissed her. “I thought from the first that you might be my son, Peter, and it means no diminution in my love for you that I find you are not. It’s been a great day–a great day–a great day,” he said as if to himself, and they walked on together.
“Yes, yes! Sir Kildene, I am never to know again fear. I am to have the new name, so strong and fine. Well can I say it. Hear me. Peter-Craigmile-Junior. A strange, fine name–it is to be mine–given to me. How all is beautiful here! It is the joy of heaven in my heart–like–like heaven, is not, Peter?”
“Now you are here–yes, Amalia.”
“So have I say to you before–to love is all of heaven–and all of life, is not?”
Peter held in his hand the little crucifix he had worn on his bosom since their parting. In the darkness he felt rather than saw it. He placed it in her hand and drew her close as they walked. “Yes, Amalia, yes. You have taught me. Hatred destroys like a blast, but love–love is life itself.”