A duty claimed him. He must put such dreams away. Besides where was the merit of doing the right if you had not to sacrifice something? Love might be the light of life, but men and women all the world over had for one reason or other to marry without it. Millions of hearts in all ages were like old battlefields, with dead things, which nobody knew of, lying about in the dark places. And yet the world went on. He might have struggles, heart-aches, heart-hunger, and more than he could do to keep the pot boiling, with the fire out and the hearth cold, but nobody need know anything about that. This girl need never know. Fenella need never know. Nobody need know. It was a matter for himself only. "Yes, yes, I must do the right," he kept on saying, "whatever it may cost me." Having arrived at this decision he felt an immense relief and got up to go back. The windows of the town were reflecting the morning sun and the smoke was rising from the chimneys. He saw an elderly woman, with a little shawl pinned over her head and under her chin, trudging along past the storm-cone station on the other side of the harbour. It was Mrs. Quayle, on her way to his rooms. But he shuddered no longer at the thought of her. She was a good creature and when she heard what he meant to do she would help him with the care of Bessie. As he walked towards the town he told himself he had another reason now for setting to work in earnest--he had to justify what he was going to do in the eyes of the island and of the Deemster. Therefore the event of last night might be a good thing after all, little as he had thought so. At the mouth of the bridge he met the harbour-master, whose face wore a look of dismay. "This is a ter'ble shocking thing that has happened in the night, Mr. Stowell." Stowell caught his breath and asked "What?" "Why, the light-house. Struck by lightning in the storm. Didn't you see it, Sir?" "Oh yes, of course, certainly." "I'm just after telegraphing to the Governor and the Receiver-General. The old light has gone out with the tide, Sir, and it will be middlin' bad for the boats coming in at night until we get a new one." "It will, Captain, it will. Good-morning!" His eyes were positively shining with joy as he walked sharply through the town, and as he opened his door he was saying to himself again, "I must do the right, _whatever_ it may cost me." He was closing the door on the inside when he saw in the letter-box the letter which had caught his eye last night. Now he could open it. It was marked "Immediate." Recognising the Ballamoar crest and Janet's handwriting, he trembled and turned pale.