The Doctor watched her with triumph in his face. "Don't be too sure of that! I might have an argument up my sleeve--" he checked himself as a nervous knock was heard at the door. "Who's there? Come in! Come in, can't ye?" A telegram, the orange envelope dark with wet, was handed to him. He read it. "No answer," he said, getting up quickly. "Well, bad manners to the woman! Such a day to choose!" "What _is_ it, lovey? _Don't_ tell me it's a sick call! You couldn't _possibly_ go _annywhere_ this evening!" cried Mrs. Mangan, italicising, in her indignation, every second word, "and for goodness' sake, go on and tell me what was the argument you said you had?" "My dear, I couldn't go into it properly now. I'll tell you another time. I'm bound to go, and as quick as I can too! Run now, like a good girl, and tell Barty or Mike to get the car ready in a hurry. That wire was from Hannigan that lives below Riverstown. He says his wife'll die--she's very bad, I'm afraid--I'm booked for the job this long time--" Mrs. Mangan, loudly expostulating, though wise in obedience from experience, flew from the room with her message, and speedily returned to find the Big Doctor still hurrying about the surgery, making his preparations, and talking as he went. "I mightn't be back till morning, but I'll not miss the wedding, don't be afraid! I'll come as soon as I can, I promise you that!" "Oh, Francis, love, I hate to see you go out this awful night," wailed Mrs. Mangan, following him into the little hall, and dragging his fur-lined coat off a peg, and holding it for him; "and this scorf, my darling, put it on you before you ketch your death. Will you take Mike with you?" "I will not. He'll be wanting here. Don't delay me now. Good-bye, girlie!" He kissed her. Then he opened the door, and with a roar, the wind and the rain hurled in, with a force that staggered him, big as he was. "Well, such a night!" lamented Mrs. Mangan, for the twentieth time, clinging to the door; "I wish to God the telegraph wires were down before they could send for you! Oh, will you take care of yourself now, Francis?" "Of course I will! Go in out of the wet--" he pushed himself in under the low hood of the car, and glided into the darkness. A doctor is a dedicated man. He accepts risks with a laugh, and toil with, perhaps, a grumble, but he does not flinch. Obscure and inglorious perils are his, and hardships that only himself can gauge. Be sure that they are not unrecorded. They shine, and their splendour is hidden, like those lanterns that were hidden under the coats of the lantern-bearers. But there is, very surely, some screen, sensitive to its rays, on which that light is thrown, that will some day show us what we have been too self-centred to realise, and will dazzle us with the devotion to which we are now too much habituated to admire. CHAPTER XL