"But we will no longer--We--"
Modigisel could not finish; the loud blast of a horn and the noise of galloping horses drowned his voice; a white figure on a dark charger was dashing forward at the head of several mounted men. Two torch-bearers were on the right and left, but could barely keep up with her; long golden locks were fluttering in the wind, and a large white mantle enveloped both horse and rider.
"That is Hilda," cried Gibamund.
"Yes, Hilda and war!" exclaimed the Princess, exultingly, instantly checking her snorting steed. Her eyes were blazing, and in her right hand she waved a parchment, crying: "War! King of the Vandals. And I--I was permitted to be the first to announce to you the fateful word which, like the brazen voices of the battle horns, summons you, all you Asdings, to victory and honor."
"She is glorious," said Thrasaric to Eugenia.
The bride nodded.
"A cloak," he went on. "She--Hilda--must not see me in this absurd, disgraceful guise. Lend me your cloak, friend Markomer."
Stripping off the panther-skin, and throwing down the thyrsus, he flung the brown cloak of the leader of the horsemen over his bare shoulders.
"How do you, a woman, come with such a message?" asked Gelimer, taking the parchment from her hand.
Hilda now sprang from the saddle into her husband's open arms. "Verus sends me. The swift-sailing ships which he expected have just run into the harbor. He intended to bring you this letter--the first one he received--himself. But several other important ones were immediately delivered,--some from the King of the Visigoths,--which he was obliged to translate in part from cipher. So he ordered that I should be waked. 'To wake Hilda means to wake battle,' my ancestor Hildebrand taught me," she added, laughing, with sparkling eyes.