For Arnold de Curboil was before him, looking at him,
but not recognizing him. Still Gilbert stood rooted to the spot, trying
not to believe his senses, for he could not understand how his
stepfather could suddenly be among the Crusaders; but the divine peace
that had descended upon him that night was shivered as a mirror by a
stone, and his heart grew cold and hard.
The man also was changed since Gilbert had seen him. The face was
handsome still, but it was thin and sharp, and the eyes were haggard
and weary, as if they had seen a great evil long and had sickened of it
at last, and were haunted by it. Gilbert looked at him who had murdered
his father and had brought shame to his mother, and who had robbed him
of his fair birthright, and he saw that something of the score had been
paid. Gradually, too, as Sir Arnold gazed, a look of something like
despair settled in his face, a sort of horror that was not fear,--for
he was no coward,--but was rather a dread of himself. He made a step
forward, and Gilbert waited, and heard how Dunstan, who stood behind
him, loosened his dagger in its brass sheath.
At that moment came the King's herald again as before, bidding him go
up to the presence of the King and Queen.
"Room for the Guide of Aquitaine!"
The cry rang loud and clear, and Gilbert saw Sir Arnold start in
surprise at the high-sounding title. Then he followed the herald; but
in his heart there was already a triumph that the man who had left him
for dead in the English woods should find him again thus preferred
before other men.
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