The man also was changed since Gilbert had seen him. The face was handsome still, but it was thin and sharp, and the eyes were haggard and weary, as if they had seen a great evil long and had sickened of it at last, and were haunted by it. Gilbert looked at him who had murdered his father and had brought shame to his mother, and who had robbed him of his fair birthright, and he saw that something of the score had been paid. Gradually, too, as Sir Arnold gazed, a look of something like despair settled in his face, a sort of horror that was not fear,--for he was no coward,--but was rather a dread of himself. He made a step forward, and Gilbert waited, and heard how Dunstan, who stood behind him, loosened his dagger in its brass sheath. At that moment came the King's herald again as before, bidding him go up to the presence of the King and Queen. "Room for the Guide of Aquitaine!" The cry rang loud and clear, and Gilbert saw Sir Arnold start in surprise at the high-sounding title. Then he followed the herald; but in his heart there was already a triumph that the man who had left him for dead in the English woods should find him again thus preferred before other men. The Queen's face grew paler as he came toward her and knelt down on one knee, and through her embroidered glove of state his own hand, that was cold, felt that hers was colder. But it did not tremble, and her voice was steady and clear, so that all could hear it. "Sir Gilbert Warde," she said, "you have done well. Guienne thanks you, and France also--" She paused and looked toward the King, who was watching her closely. Louis bent his great pale face solemnly toward the Englishman. "We thank you, Sir Gilbert," he said, with cold condescension. "A hundred thousand men thank you," added Eleanor, in a ringing voice that was to make up for her husband's ungrateful indifference. There was a moment's silence, and then the voice of Gaston de Castignac, high and full, sent up a cheer that was heard far out in the clear night. "God bless the Guide of Aquitaine!" The cheer was taken up in the deep shout of strong men in earnest; for it was known how Gilbert cared not for himself, nor for rewards, but only for honour; and the thirty men who had been with him had told far and wide how often he had watched that they might sleep, and how he would always give the best to others, and how gently and courteously he treated those he commanded. But in the loud cheering, Eleanor took his hand in both hers and bent down to speak to him, unheard by the rest; and her voice was low and trembled a little. "God bless you!" she said fervently. "God bless you and keep you, for as I am a living woman, you are dearer to me than the whole world."