d
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. Still, a boy's hopefulness will grasp at a straw, and he
battled with his despair. His father was not dead--he would recover--at
the hospital he would have the best medical assistance possible. The
coachman who sent the telegram would be sure to make things out at the
worst. Yes, when he got to Saint Nathaniel's he would find it was a
false alarm, that there was nothing much the matter at all, and when his
mother and Reginald arrived by the next train, he would be able to meet
them with reassuring news. It was not more than a ten-minutes' cab-
drive from the terminus--the train was just in now; in twelve minutes
this awful suspense would be at an end.

Such was the hurried rush of thoughts through the poor boy's brain
during that dismal journey. He had sprung from the carriage to a hansom
cab almost before the train had pulled up, and in another moment was
clattering over the stones towards the hospital.

The hopes of a few minutes before oozed away as every street corner
brought him nearer his destination, and when at last the stately front
of Saint Nathaniel's loomed before him, he wished his journey could
never end. He gazed with faltering heart up at the ward windows, as if
he could read his fate there. The place seemed deserted. A few street
boys were playing on the pavement, and at the door of the in-patients'
ward a little cluster of visitors were collected ro