"But that is not all," she continued thoughtfully; "was there no
woman--no love--no one that was dearer than all you lost?"
A faint and almost boyish blush rose in Gilbert's cheek, and
disappeared again instantly.
"They took her from me, too," he said in a low, hard voice. "She was
Arnold de Curboil's daughter--when he married my mother he made his
child my sister. You know the Church's law!"
Eleanor was on the point of saying something impulsively, but her
eyelids suddenly drooped and she checked herself. If Gilbert Warde did
not know that the Church granted dispensations in such cases, she saw
no good reason for telling him.
"Besides," he added, "I could not have her now, unless I could take her
from her father by force."
"No," said the Queen, thoughtfully. "Is she fair?"
"Very dark," said Gilbert.
"I meant, is she beautiful?"
"To me, yes: the most beautiful in the world. But how should I know? I
have never heard others speak of her; she is not beautiful as your
Grace is,--not radiantly, supremely, magnificently perfect,--yet to
my eyes she is very lovely."
"I should like to see her," said the Queen.
In the silence that followed they began to walk up and down again side
by side, but Eleanor's hand no longer rested on Gilbert's arm. She
could see that his eyes were fixed upon a face that was far away, and
that his hand longed for a touch not hers; and a painful little thrill
of disappointment ran through her, for she was not used to any sort of
opposition, in great things or small.
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