"You have been the best friend to me, and the kindest, that ever woman was to man."

"A friend? No. I was never your friend. I sent you out to death, because I loved you, and trusted that I might see you never again, and that you might die honourably for the Cross and your vows. Instead, you won glory, and saved us all--all but me! You owe me no thanks for such friendship."

She looked at him long, and he was silent.

"Oh, what a man you are!" she cried suddenly. "What a man!"

He blushed like a girl at the praise, for her soul was in the words, and her great love for him, the only thing in all her life that had ever been above herself.

"What a man you are!" she said again, more softly. "Eleanor of Aquitaine, the Queen, the fairest woman in the world, would give you her soul and her body and the hope of her life to come--and you are faithful to a poor girl whom you loved when you were a boy! A hundred thousand brave men stand by to see me die, and you alone take death by the throat and strangle him off, as you would strangle a bloodhound, with those hands of yours! I send you out--oh, how selfishly!--that you may at least die bravely for your vow and leave me at sad peace with your memory, and you fight through a h.e.l.l of foes and save the King and me and all, and come back to me in glory--my Guide of Aquitaine!"

She had risen and stood before him, her face dead white with pa.s.sion, and her eyes deep-fired by a love that was beyond any telling. And though she would not move, her arms went out toward him.

"How can any woman help loving you!" she cried pa.s.sionately.

She sank into her chair again, and covered her face with her hands. He stood still a moment, and then came and knelt on one knee beside her, resting his hand upon the carved arm of her chair.

"I cannot love you, but in so far as I may be faithful to another I give you my whole life," he said very gently.

As he spoke the last words, the curtain of the inner apartments was softly raised, and Beatrix stood there; for she had thought that the Queen was alone. But she heard not the beginning of the speech, and she grew quite cold, and could not speak nor go away.

Eleanor's hands left her face and fell together upon Gilbert's right.

"I have not mine to give," she answered in a low voice. "It is yours already--and I would that you were not English, that I might be your sovereign and make you great among men--or that I were England's Queen--and that may come to pa.s.s, and you shall see what I will do for love of you--I would marry that boy of the Plantagenets, if it could serve you!"

"Madam," said Gilbert, "think of your own present safety--the King is very angry--"

"Did I think of your safety when I sent you out to lead us? Now if you are here, am I not safe? Gilbert--"

She let her voice caress his name, and her lips lingered with it, and she laid her hands upon his shoulders. As he knelt beside her--she bent to his face.

"Best and bravest living man"--it was a whisper now--"love of my life-- heart of my heart--this last time--this only once--and then good-by."

She kissed him on the forehead, and leapt from her seat in horror, for there was another voice in the room, with a hurt cry.

"Oh, Gilbert! Gilbert!"

Beatrix was reeling on her feet, and caught the curtain, lest she fall, and her face of agony was still turned toward the two, as they stood together. Gilbert sprang forward, when he understood, and caught the girl in his arms and brought her to the light, trembling like a falling leaf. Then she started in his arms and struggled wildly to be free, and twisted her neck lest he should kiss her; but he held her fast.

"Beatrix! You do not understand--you did not hear!" He tried to make her listen to him.

"I heard!" she cried, still struggling. "I saw! I know! Let me go--oh, for G.o.d's sake, let me go!"

Gilbert's arms relaxed, and she sprang back from him two paces, and faced the Queen.

"You have won!" she cried, in a breaking voice. "You have him body and soul, as you swore you would! But do not say that I have not understood!"

"I have given him to you, soul and body," answered Eleanor, sadly.

"Might I not even bid him good-by, as a friend might?"

"You are false--falser each than the other," answered Beatrix, in white anger. "You have played with me, tricked me, made me your toy--"

"Did you hear this man say that he did not love me, before I bade him good-by?" asked Eleanor, gravely, almost sternly.

"He has said it to me, but not to you, never to you--never to the woman he loves!"

"I never loved the Queen," said Gilbert. "On my soul--on the Holy Cross--"

"Never loved her? And you saved her life before mine--"

"And you said that I did well--"

"It was all a lie--a cruel lie--" The girl's voice almost broke, but she choked down the terrible tears, and got words again. "It would have been braver to have told me long ago--I should not have died then, for I loved you less."

Eleanor came a step nearer and spoke very quietly and kindly.

"You are wrong," she said. "Sir Gilbert is sent by the King to take me as a prisoner, that I may be carried away to Jerusalem this very night.

Come, you shall hear the voices of the soldiers who are waiting for me."

She led Beatrix to the door and lifted the curtain, so that through the wooden panels the girl could hear the talking of many voices, and the clank of steel. Then Eleanor brought her back.

"But he would not take me," she said, "and he warned me of my danger."

"No wonder--he loves you!"

"He does not love me, though I love him, and he has said so to-night.

And I know that he loves you and is faithful to you--"

Beatrix laughed wildly.

"Faithful! He? There is no faith in his greatest oath, nor in his smallest word!"

"You are mad, child; he never lied in all his life to me or you--he could not lie."

"Then he has deceived you, too--Queen, d.u.c.h.ess; you are only a woman, after all, and he has made sport of you, as he has of me!" Again she laughed, half furiously.

"If he has deceived me he has indeed deceived you," answered Eleanor, "for he has told me very plainly that he loves you. And now I will not stand between you and him, even in the mistake you made. I love him, yes. I have loved him enough to give him up, because he loves you. I love him so well that I will not take his warning and save myself from the King's anger, and I know not what he and his monks will do to me.

Good-by, Sir Gilbert Warde--Beatrix, good-by."

"This is some comedy," answered the girl, exasperated.

"No--by the living truth, it is no comedy," answered the Queen.

She looked once more into Gilbert's face, and then turned away, stately and sad. With one movement she drew aside the great curtain, and with the next she opened wide the door, and the loud clamour of the knights and men-at-arms came in like a wave. Then it ceased suddenly, as Eleanor spoke to them in clear tones.

"I am the King's prisoner. Take me to him!"

There was silence for a moment, and then the Gascons who had fought with the King and his men cried out fiercely.