"Oh, Walter! Oh, my son!"
"Mother!" he repeated with a sob. She bent her face and kissed him.
"Those horrible clothes—you have suffered! But you have escaped! Tell me—"
In broken sentences he began to tell her.
"You have seen your father?" she asked, interrupting him.
"Not yet. I have seen nobody: I came straight to you."
"He is greatly aged."
There came a knock at the door, and Father Halloran stood on the threshold confounded.
The priest was a tall and handsome Irishman, white-haired, with a genial laughing eye, and a touch of grave wisdom behind his geniality.
"Walter, dear lad! For the love of the saints tell us—how does this happen?"