“By my long sword,” replied Salisbury impetuously, “I would rather be the object of your suspicion than have you cause the Prince to suffer.” “Is he really as captivating as that?” said Eleanor, changing her tone. “I notice the people take no pains to conceal their admiration of his fine face and knightly bearing.” “He is—and you may as well know it,” replied Salisbury—“he is a Plantagenet from head to foot; and those who doubt it, or seek to make others doubt it, have malicious designs.” “When we have recognized him as a Plantagenet and our grandson, it will be time to award him his proper rank. We will see him in the morning.” Salisbury looked sharply at the Queen, as if to discover her purpose, but one of his honest, straightforward nature could not read this crafty woman. He determined, however, to watch over Arthur with increased vigilance, for—and the reason he could hardly explain himself—the youth had won his love and devotion. While Arthur was attending mass the next morning with Salisbury, the Queen was arranging for the interview with the son of the hated Constance in her apartment. Two soldiers of the royal bodyguard submissively received her orders. As she sat at a table covered with papers and writing materials she heard the gong strike the hour which marked the close of the morning service. “Step behind those doors,” she said to the soldiers, “and await this signal. As soon as you hear me strike that metal cup with this silver key, enter, overpower and bind the prisoner, then do what I shall order. But hold! Before you go, make a hotter fire in that brazier so that the irons may be heated—now, go.” The guard disappeared behind the door, and Eleanor, gazing fixedly at the irons in the coals, said to herself: “‘Let him be made harmless in the future,’ John says; well, a blind man is harmless enough. He will not fascinate people when he has lost his sight. A blind king never can rule over England.” Steps were heard in the passage leading to the apartment, and as the Queen turned her head, she saw Arthur and Salisbury entering. Arthur stopped a moment, awaiting a greeting from the Queen, who sat in silence. As he approached her and she observed his noble figure and beautiful face, she suddenly rose and put out her hands as if to keep him off. “Will you send me away? Will you not speak to your grandson?” said Arthur reproachfully. “My grandson!” said Eleanor, with her eyes bent upon him. “No—my son—Geoffrey.” “Yes,” said Salisbury, “one might fancy Geoffrey had come back to life.” “Oh! that it were so, if it would only give me his mother’s love!” exclaimed Arthur, kneeling and taking the Queen’s hand. “Do not recall him,” replied Eleanor passionately. “Geoffrey scorned his mother’s love. I loved him better than any of my sons, and he gave his heart to Constance of Brittany, whom I detest.” “You speak of my mother,” quickly replied Arthur. “Oh, she is good and noble. What has she done that you should hate her so?”