"That case must be seen to," I remarked, speaking to myself.

"You might let it go over until morning," suggested my wife. "At any
rate, I would let them send again before going. The child may be
better by this time."

"A call in time may save life here, Constance," I made answer; the
sense of duty growing stronger as the inner and outer man felt the
renovating effects of a good supper, and the brightness and warmth
of my pleasant home. "And life, you know, is a precious thing--even
a baby's life."

And I turned a meaning glance upon the calm, sweet face of our
latest born, as she lay sleeping in her cradle. That was enough. I
saw the tears spring instantly to the eyes of my wife.

"I have not a word to say. God forbid, that in the weakness of love
and care for you, dear husband, I should draw you aside from duty.
Yes--yes! The life of a baby is indeed a precious thing!"

And bending over the cradle, she left a kiss on the lips, and a tear
on the pure brow of our darling. Now was I doubly strengthened for
the night. There arose at this instant a wild storm-wail, that
shrieked for a brief time amid the chimneys, and around the eaves of
our dwelling, and then went moaning away, sadly, dying at last in
the far distance. The rain beat heavily against the windows. But I
did not waver, nor seek for reasons to warrant a neglect of duty. "I
must see Mary Jones's baby, and that to-night." I said this to
myself, resolutely, by way of answer to the intimidating storm.