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"Go this evening to Egeskov and greet the lady Mette, and say to her that Ebbe of Nebbegaard could not barter his good horse, the last of his father's stable. But that she may know he was honest in offering her the thing most precious to him, tell her further what thou hast seen." So saying, he alighted off Holgar, and, smoothing his neck, whispered a word in his ear.
So when this news reached us I looked at my master, and he, perceiving what I would say, answered it. "If Holgar will carry me," said he, "we will ride to Egeskov." This Holgar was a stout roan horse, foaled at Nebbegaard, but now well advanced in years, and the last of that red stock for which our stables had been famous.
Having fed him, I went to the stables, and finding no Holgar made sure that he had killed the poor beast in wrath for his discomforture at the tilt. The true reason he gave me many days after. I misjudged him, judging him by his father's temper.
Yea, and my own heart was hot as I led Holgar back to stable, without waiting to see the prize claimed by one who, though a fair fighter, had not won it without foul aid. Having stalled Holgar I had much ado to find his master again, and endless work to persuade him to quit his sulks and join the other suitors in the hall that night, when each presented his bride-gift.
I had now given up hope, for the maid showed no sign of kindness, and the old man and the youth were like two dogs the very sight of the one set the other growling. Yet since to leave in a huff would have been discourteous I prevailed on my master to bide over the morrow, and even to mount Holgar and ride forth to the hunt which was to close the Bride-show.
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