Instead, you
won glory, and saved us all--all but me! You owe me no thanks for such
friendship."
She looked at him long, and he was silent.
"Oh, what a man you are!" she cried suddenly. "What a man!"
He blushed like a girl at the praise, for her soul was in the words,
and her great love for him, the only thing in all her life that had
ever been above herself.
"What a man you are!" she said again, more softly. "Eleanor of
Aquitaine, the Queen, the fairest woman in the world, would give you
her soul and her body and the hope of her life to come--and you are
faithful to a poor girl whom you loved when you were a boy! A hundred
thousand brave men stand by to see me die, and you alone take death by
the throat and strangle him off, as you would strangle a bloodhound,
with those hands of yours! I send you out--oh, how selfishly!--that you
may at least die bravely for your vow and leave me at sad peace with
your memory, and you fight through a hell of foes and save the King and
me and all, and come back to me in glory--my Guide of Aquitaine!"
She had risen and stood before him, her face dead white with passion,
and her eyes deep-fired by a love that was beyond any telling. And
though she would not move, her arms went out toward him.
"How can any woman help loving you!" she cried passionately.
She sank into her chair again, and covered her face with her hands. He
stood still a moment, and then came and knelt on one knee beside her,
resting his hand upon the carved arm of her chair.
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