and shut
it two or three times before speech came to her.

"Barty!" she panted; "Miss Christian Lowry! Sweet and Blessed Mother
of God! Francis, you're raving! Is it my poor Barty! They'd never look
at him!"

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 dark