The answers now came with the speed of lightning.
"Gibamund and my brother-in-law said that of Cabaon's stallion."
"It is the very horse."
"That belongs to Modigisel."
"Not now."
"Why?"
"Oh, for many reasons. In the first place, it is now yours. Secondly, the animal lately ran away from Modigisel at night, was carried off. Thirdly, Modigisel is dead. And, fourthly, the stallion belongs to me."
These replies had come almost too rapidly. Hilda gazed at him without understanding.
"Modigisel dead? Incredible!"
"But it is true. And really--except for himself--no great misfortune. A short time ago, at night, I helped a young Moorish prisoner to escape. I could not foresee that he would use the horse in doing so. But afterwards I rejoiced over it, very, very deeply. Early this morning, a Moor, not the fugitive, brought the stallion into my courtyard. The lad I had saved was Sersaon, Cabaon's famous grandson. Cabaon, in his gratitude, sent me the magnificent horse."