Eleanor sat under the warm lamplight, near the open window, for the
night was warm. Her head was uncovered, her russet-golden hair fell in
great waves upon her shoulders and to the ground behind her chair, and
she wore no mantle, but only a close-fitting gown of cream-white silk
with deep embroideries of silver and pearls. She was very beautiful,
but very pale, and her eyes were veiled. Gilbert came and stood before
her, but she did not hold out her hand, as he had expected.
"Why have you come to me?" she asked after a time, looking out at the
balcony, and not at him.
"The King, Madam, has bidden me take you a prisoner to him, in order
that he may carry you away by sea to Ptolemais and to Jerusalem."
While he was speaking, she slowly turned her face to him, and stared at
his coldly.
"And you are come to do as you are bidden, getting admittance to me
stealthily, with men of my own who have betrayed me?"
Gilbert turned white, and then he smiled as he answered her.
"No. I am come to warn your Grace and to defend you against all
violence, with my life."
Eleanor's face changed and softened, and again she looked out at the
balcony.
"Why should you defend me?" she asked sadly, after a pause. "What am I
to you, that you should fight for me? I sent you out to die--why should
you wish me to be safe?"
"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.
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