I'll go by that." And he was off.

It was three-quarters of a mile to the station, and there was no time to parley.

Even on an errand like this, many would have abandoned the endeavour as an impossibility, especially in such a heat.

But Horace was a good runner, and the feat was nothing uncommon for him.
As he flung himself into the train he gave one quick glance round, to see if Reginald had possibly followed him; but no, he was alone; and as the whistle shrieked and the train steamed out of the station, Horace for the first time had a moment to reflect.
Not half an hour ago he had been lying with his brother and companions on the tennis lawn, utterly unconscious of any impending calamity.

What ages ago that seemed! For a few minutes all appeared so confused and unreal that his mind was a blank, and he seemed even to forget on what errand he was bound.
But Horace was a practical youth, and before that half-hour's journey to the City was accomplished he was at least collected in mind, and prepared to face the trial that awaited him.
There was something about the telegram that convinced him it meant more than it said.