'I have nearly done--in fact,' he leaned back and contemplated his work with the enthusiasm which is to a painter what the glow of composition is to the writer, 'I have done all I can until I go home. The sun of Scilly hath a more golden glow in September than the sun of St. John's Wood. If I have caught aright--or something like it--the light that is around you and about you, Armorel---- The sun in your left hand is like the red light of the candle through the closed fingers. So--I can do no more--Armorel! you are all glorious within and without. You are indeed the King's Daughter: you are clothed with the sun as with a garment: if the sun were to disappear this moment, you would stand upon the Peak, for all the island to admire--a flaming beacon!' His voice was jubilant--he had done well. Yet he shaded his eyes and looked at canvas and at model once more with jealousy and suspicion. If he had passed over something! It was an ambitious picture--the most ambitious thing he had yet attempted. 'Armorel!' he cried. 'If I could only paint as well as I can see! Come down, child; you are good indeed to stand so long and so patiently.' She obeyed and jumped off her eminence, and stood beside him looking at the picture. 'Tell me what you think,' said the painter. 'You see--it is the King's Daughter. She stands on a peak in Lyonesse and looks forth upon the waters. Why? I know not. She seeks the secrets of the future, perhaps. She looks for the coming of the Perfect Knight, perhaps. She expects the Heaven that waits for every maiden--in this world as well as in the next. Everyone may interpret the picture for himself. She is young--everything is possible to the young. Tell me, Armorel, what do you think?' She drew a long breath. 'A--h!' she murmured. 'I have never seen anything like this before. It is not me you have painted, Roland. You say it is a picture of me--just to please and flatter me. There is my face--yet not my face. All is changed. Roland, when I am grown to my full height, shall I look like this? 'If you do, when that day comes, I shall be proved to be a painter indeed,' he replied. 'If you had seen nothing but yourself--your own self--and no more, I would have burnt the thing. Now you give me hopes. Afterwards, Armorel loved best to remember him as he stood there beside this unfinished picture, glowing with the thought that he had done what he had attempted. The soul was there.