“Hamish had been saying something, but Rutledge found it hard to make sense if it - he himself was silenced by the doleful state of the child.
This, then, was Ian Hamish Mcleod.
Rutledge felt his heart turn over. A handsome child, this was. A small, lost child.
Rutledge dropped to one knee, and the man holding the boy’s hand stepped forward, tense and prepared to intervene. But something in Rutledge’s face stopped him; he stepped back again.
"Hello, Ian,” Rutledge said, trying to speak through a constricted throat. This might have been Hamish’s child if he’d lived. This might have been Jean’s if she and Rutledge had married in 1914 - “Going to see your cat, are you?”
Ian nodded. His eyes solemnly moved across Rutledge’s face and then to McKinstry’s. McKinstry must have smiled as he said “Hallo, Ian,” because the child smiled and it was as if the sun had come out. The eyes filled with light and with warmth, the sadness vanished.“