But
she thought of her prayer and would not, and she brought the shield
back into the tent, out of the oratory, and set it upright against the
table.
Then, after a time, Anne of Auch lifted the curtain to let Gilbert in,
standing by the entrance when he had passed her.
He bent his head courteously but not humbly, and then stood upright,
pale from what he had suffered, his eyes fixed as if he were making an
inward effort. The Queen spoke, coldly and clearly.
"Gilbert Warde, you saved my life, and you have sent back a gift from
me. I have called you to give you two things. You may scorn the one, but
the other you cannot refuse."
[Illustration: THE KNIGHTING OF GILBERT.]
He looked at her, and within her outward coldness he saw something he
had never seen before--something divinely womanly, unguessed in his
life, which touched him more than her own touch had ever done. He felt
that she drew him to her, though it were now against her better will.
Therefore he was afraid, and angry with himself.
"Madam," he said, with a sort of fierce coldness, "I need no gifts to
poison your good thanks."
"Sir," answered Eleanor, "there is no venom in the honour I mean for
you. I borrowed your shield,--your father's honourable shield,--and I
give it back to you with a device that was never shamed, that you and
yours may bear my cross of Aquitaine in memory of what you did."
She took the shield and held it out to him with a look almost stern,
and as her eyes fell upon it they dwelt on the spot she had kissed.
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