Early on Good Friday I arrived at Calais. It was a misty, rimy, clammy
morning, and a thick fog was lying over the Channel.
Almost before the train stopped I saw Father Dan, with his coat collar
turned up, waiting for me on the platform. I could see that he was
greatly moved at the sight of me, but was trying hard to maintain his
composure.
"Now don't worry, my child, don't worry," he said. "It will be all
ri. . . . But how well you are looking! And how you have grown! And
how glad your poor mother will be to see you!"