"Lady Anne,
shall I send it to him, or shall he come here? Were you in my place,
which should you do?"
"Madam, I would send for the Englishman. From your Grace's hands
he cannot refuse honour."
Eleanor did not answer, but after a moment she rose and turned away.
"Nor death," she said in a low voice, as to herself, and stood still,
and pressed her hand to her forehead. "Send for him, and leave me alone
till he comes, but stay when he is here," she added, in clear tones;
and still not looking at the Lady Anne, she bent her head and went out.
The tall, old-fashioned shield stood on its point, leaning against the
table. Eleanor looked at it, and her features were moved, now that she
was alone, and her eyes were veiled. She lifted it in both her hands,
wondering at its weight, and she pushed aside an inner curtain and set
the shield upon an altar that was there, hidden from the rest of the
tent for a little oratory, as in many royal chambers. Then she knelt
down at the kneeling-stool and folded her hands.
She was not ungenerous, she was not at heart unjust; she deserved some
gentleness of judgment, for she was doing her best to fight her love,
for her royal honour's sake and for the sick girl who seemed so poor a
rival, but who loved Gilbert Warde as well as she and less selfishly.
As she knelt there, she believed that she was in the great struggle of
her life, and that at once and forever she could make the sacrifice,
though it had grown to be a great one.
Pages:
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274