It may be that he lacked ambition, or
was aware of his limitations. For his critics said that, consummate
horseman though he was, he lacked the strength to hold his own
consistently in the first flight. Moreover, just at the one period of
his career when it had seemed to the knowing that he might soar, the
brilliant Chukkers, then but a lad, had crossed the Atlantic in the
train of Ikey Aaronsohnn--to aid the cosmopolitan banker to achieve the
end which was to become his consuming life-passion; and in a brief while
had eclipsed absolutely and forever all his professional rivals.

CHAPTER VII

Ally Sloper

Silver opened the gate into the Paddock Close. Boy passed through,
leading the old mare.

"Shall I take her?" asked the young man.

"No, thank you," she answered.

In the depths of her eyes there lurked a fugitive twinkle. So far the
intercourse between herself and Mr. Silver had consisted in his offering
to do things for her and in her refusing his offers.

The Paddock Close stretched away before the girl in the evening light.
On the hill half-a-dozen young horses stampeded in the dusk.

An early swift screeched and swept above her. A great white owl swooped
out of the wood and waved away up the hillside, hovering over the gorse.
Under the hedge a scattered troop of children were coming down the slope
along the path that led past the little old church among the sycamores.

Boy led the mare up the hillside, her eyes on the flowing green of the
hill. The young man followed in her wake, lazy almost as the old mare,
who trailed reluctantly behind with clicking shoes. The dreams seemed to
have possessed him, too. He did not speak; his eyes were downward; but
he was aware all the time of that slight, slow-moving figure walking
just in front of him.

Then something seemed to disturb the stillness and ruffle his brooding
mind. It was a vague disease as of a coming sickness, and little more.
He emerged from the land of quiet and looked about him, like a stag
disturbed by a stalker while grazing.

A man was blundering down the hillside toward them, an easel on his
shoulder.

As he came closer his face seemed strangely familiar to the young man.
Where had he seen it? Then he recollected in a flash. It was the face
Albert had drawn in caricature on the stable-door--the face of Ally
Sloper.

Silver found himself wondering whether the owner of the face was aware
of his likeness, crude indeed though real, o