"Poor boy!" she exclaimed softly. "Poor Gilbert!"—and her tone lingered on the name,—"the world owes you a desperate debt—but the world shall pay it!"
She smiled as she spoke the last words, pressing his arm more suddenly and quickly than before; and he smiled, too, but incredulously. Then she looked down at her own hand upon his sleeve.
"But that is not all," she continued thoughtfully; "was there no woman—no love—no one that was dearer than all you lost?"
A faint and almost boyish blush rose in Gilbert's cheek, and disappeared again instantly.
"They took her from me, too," he said in a low, hard voice. "She was Arnold de Curboil's daughter—when he married my mother he made his child my sister. You know the Church's law!"
Eleanor was on the point of saying something impulsively, but her eyelids suddenly drooped and she checked herself. If Gilbert Warde did not know that the Church granted dispensations in such cases, she saw no good reason for telling him.
"Besides," he added, "I could not have her now, unless I could take her from her father by force."
"No," said the Queen, thoughtfully. "Is she fair?"
"Very dark," said Gilbert.
"I meant, is she beautiful?"