“He may not have eaten.”

Alec smiled, trying to relieve the deep concern he saw in his mother’s eyes. “He’ll be along any minute now, Mom,” he said, getting to his feet. And as he helped her carry the dishes to the sink, he added, “He might have had trouble finding a veterinary in New York.”

His mother washed the dishes in silence while Alec stood beside her drying them. “Do you think Sebastian might have been seriously hurt?” she finally asked.

“I don’t think so, Mom. Henry said the colt’s hoof just nicked him.”

“You should have kept the colt away from him,” his mother said a little sternly as she dried her hands.

“Sebastian …” Then Alec stopped. His mother was worried enough now without his going into all the details of the accident. “Yes, Mom,” he said quietly. “I know I should have.”

The spring lock on the screen door on the porch clicked and then clicked again as the door shut. In another moment Mr. Ramsay was striding into the kitchen, his face white and tired. “Sorry I’m late, Belle,” he said, turning to his wife, “but it couldn’t be helped.” Then his gaze was upon Alec, and the boy felt uneasy until the sternness left his father’s eyes. “Seb will be all right in a couple of days, Alec,” he said slowly. “Doctor Hancock thinks he was just stunned by the blow, but he’s going to keep him around awhile to make sure.”

“Sit down, William, while the food is still warm,” Alec heard his mother say. “You must be hungry.”

Everything was all right now, Alec thought. Sebastian wasn’t hurt; his father was eating hungrily; and his mother was moving busily about the kitchen once more. She poured the coffee into her husband’s cup and said, “We thought you might have tried to find a veterinary in New York.” The tenseness was gone from her voice.

“Decided it would be better taking him to Hancock,” Alec heard his father say. “I figured it wouldn’t take any longer than looking for a vet in New York.”

Excusing himself, Alec left the kitchen, stopped momentarily in the living room, as though undecided where to go, then turned and walked up the stairs, his hand trailing along the well-polished mahogany banister.

He went to his bedroom, and for a moment stood at the window looking at the barn, a dim, uncertain shape in the darkness. It would turn out all right, he told himself again. Things which started out badly had a way of righting themselves. The colt would come around in time. He was certain of that.

He went over to the bed and stretched out upon it, his eyes looking up at the ceiling. He lay there quietly for a few minutes; then his gaze descended to the walls and traveled about the room, dimly lit from the light in the hall. His eyes passed over the Flushing High School banners, stopped at the pictures of the Black, Henry and himself, then went on to the soiled green jockey cap hanging there. Henry’s cap, the same one the old man had worn long ago when he had been riding. And the one which Alec had worn when he had ridden the Black in the match race at Chicago. Finally Alec glanced at the empty wall on the other side of his bed. He was saving that wall for the colt, for pictures of him, for his own jockey cap … his own colors. His silks would be black, coal black … the color of the great stallion and now his son. Somehow he had known Satan would be black. Alec thought of the white diamond in the center of the colt’s forehead.