And most probably what was contemplated at Wreste Abbey was no ordinary burglary, but the assassination of old Lord Chobham, of which the guilt would also be set down to him.
Very clearly now he realized that this tremendous plot was aimed, not only at life, but at honour - that not only was his life required, but also that he should be thought a murderer.
With the realization of the danger that threatened at Wreste Abbey he turned and began to run back in the direction where it lay, that he might take timely warning there, but he did not run a dozen strides when he remembered Ella again, and paused.
Surely he must think of her first, alone and unprotected.For she was the woman he loved; and besides, she had summoned him to her help, and then she was a woman, and at least, the others were men.
All this flood of thoughts, this intuitive grasping of a situation terrible beyond conception, almost unparalleled in bloody and dreadful horror, passed through his mind with extreme rapidity.
Once more he turned and began to run - to run as he had never run before, for now he saw that all depended on the speed with which he could cover the eight miles that lay between him and Ottam 's Wood, whether he could still save his father or not.
The district was lonely in the extreme, there was no human habitation near, no place where he could obtain any help or any swift means of conveyance.His one hope must be in his speed, his feet must be swift to save, not only his own life and his father's, but his honour, too, and Ella and his old uncle as well; and all - all hung upon the speed with which he could cover the eight long miles that lay between him and Brook Bourne Spring in Ottam's Wood.
Even as he ran, as he thought of Ella, he came abruptly to a pause, wrung with sudden anguish.For each fleet stride he was making towards Brook Bourne Spring was taking him further and further away from Bittermeads just as before each step to Bittermeads had been taking him further from Ottam's Wood.
He began to run again, even faster than before, and it was towards Ottam's Wood that he ran, each step taking him further from Bittermeads and further from the woman he loved in her bitter need and peril, who looked to him for the help he could not give.With pain and anguish he ran on, ran as men have seldom run - as seldom so much was hung upon their running.
On and on he sped, fleet as the wind, fleet as the light breeze that blew lightly by.A solitary villager trudging on some errand in this lonely place, tells to this day the tale of the bearded, wild-eyed man who raced so madly by him, raced on and down the long, straight road till his figure dwindled and vanished in the distance.
A shepherd boy went home with a tale of a strange thing he had seen of a man running so fast it seemed he was scarcely in sight before he was gone again.
And except for those two and one other none saw him at all and he ran his race alone beneath the skies, across the bare country side.
It was at a spot where the path ran between two high hedges that he came upon a little herd of cows a lad was driving home.
It seemed impossible to pass through that tangle of horns and tails and plunging hoofs, and so indeed it was, but Dunn took another way, and with one leap, cleared the first beast clean and alighted on the back of the second.
Before the startled beast could plunge away he leaped again from the vantage of its back and landed on the open ground beyond and so on, darting full speed past the staring driver, whose tale that he told when he got home caused him to go branded for years as a liar.
On and on Dunn fled, without stay or pause, at the utmost of his speed every second of time, every yard of distance.For he knew he had need of every ounce of power he possessed or could call to his aid, since he knew well that all, all, might hang upon a second less or more, and now four miles lay behind him and four in front.
Still on he raced with labouring lungs and heart near to bursting - onward still, swift, swift and sure, and now there were six miles behind and only two in front, and he was beginning to come to a part of the country that he knew.
Whether he was soon or late he had no idea or how long it was that he had raced like this along the lonely country road at the full extremity and limit of his strength.
He dared not take time to glance at his watch, for he knew the fraction of a second he would thus lose might mean the difference between in time and too late.On he ran still and presently he left the path and took the fields.
But he had forgotten that though the distance might be shorter the going would be harder, and on the rough grass he stumbled, and across the bare ground damp earth clung to his boots and hindered him as though each foot had become laden with lead.
His speed was slower, his effort greater if possible, and when he came to a hedge he made no effort to leap, but crashed through it as best he could and broke or clambered or tumbled a path for himself.
Now Ottam's Wood was very near, and reeling and staggering like a man wounded to the death but driven by inexorable fate, he plunged on still, and there was a little froth gathering at the corners of his mouth and from one of his nostrils came a thin trickle of blood.
Yet still he held on, though in truth he hardly knew any longer why he ran or what his need for haste, and as he came to the wood round a spur where a cluster of young beeches grew, he saw a tall, upright, elderly man walking there, well-dressed and of a neat, soldier-like appearance.
"Hallo - there you are - father - " he gasped and fell down, prone unconscious.
