"I have not mine to give," she answered in a low voice. "It is yours already—and I would that you were not English, that I might be your sovereign and make you great among men—or that I were England's Queen—and that may come to pass, and you shall see what I will do for love of you—I would marry that boy of the Plantagenets, if it could serve you!"
"Madam," said Gilbert, "think of your own present safety—the King is very angry—"
"Did I think of your safety when I sent you out to lead us? Now if you are here, am I not safe? Gilbert—"
She let her voice caress his name, and her lips lingered with it, and she laid her hands upon his shoulders. As he knelt beside her—she bent to his face.
"Best and bravest living man"—it was a whisper now—"love of my life—heart of my heart—this last time—this only once—and then good-by."
She kissed him on the forehead, and leapt from her seat in horror, for there was another voice in the room, with a hurt cry.
"Oh, Gilbert! Gilbert!"
Beatrix was reeling on her feet, and caught the curtain, lest she fall, and her face of agony was still turned toward the two, as they stood together. Gilbert sprang forward, when he understood, and caught the girl in his arms and brought her to the light, trembling like a falling leaf. Then she started in his arms and struggled wildly to be free, and twisted her neck lest he should kiss her; but he held her fast.
"Beatrix! You do not understand—you did not hear!" He tried to make her listen to him.
"I heard!" she cried, still struggling. "I saw! I know! Let me go—oh, for God's sake, let me go!"