"Did you mark?" said Ephraim, shaking his head. "Did you see the colt shy at the white rock as he ran? In my household that could never happen; and yet Jacob does well enough, for the blood of Harith is as stubborn as old oak and wild as a wolf. But your gift, sir"—and here he turned with much respect toward Connor—"is a great one. I have never seen Harith's sons come to a man as Abra came to you."
He was surprised to see the stranger staring toward the gate as if he watched a ghost.
"He did not gallop," said Connor presently, and his voice faltered. "He flowed. He poured himself through the air."
He swept a hand across his forehead and with great effort calmed the muscles of his face.
"Are there more horses like that in the valley?"
Ephraim hesitated, for there was such a glittering hunger in the eyes of this stranger that it abashed him. Vanity, however, brushed scruple away.
"More like Abra in the valley? So!"
He seemed to hunt for superlatives with which to overwhelm his questioner.
"The worst in my household is Tabari, the daughter of Numan, and she was foaled lame in the left foreleg. But if ten like Abra were placed in one corral and Tabari in the other, a wise man would give the ten and take the one and render thanks that such good fortune had come his way."
"Is it possible?" exclaimed Connor in that same, small, choked voice.