There was certainly no trace of her feature and coloring in this picture, and yet she shrank back, and had an impulse to conceal herself, for what she saw before her was undoubtedly the picture of her soul. Her heart fluttered, and she felt herself beginning to tremble. Was she going to faint here, alone? A wild sense of helplessness seized her, and at the same moment she was conscious of a certain familiarity in the outline of a shoulder and arm between her and the picture. She glanced quickly up at the head of this man, and saw that it was Harold. A little sound--scarcely more than a stifled breath--escaped her, and he turned suddenly, just in time to go to her and take her arm in his steady, reassuring grasp, which seemed to nerve her soul as well as her body to make a desperate effort for self-control. “You are ill. You should not have ventured out alone,” he said. (Oh, the strong, protecting voice; the firm, availing touch!) Then he led her to a seat, with some quiet words that seemed to put new power into her to endure and to resist. “I must go home,” she said, rising as she felt her strength return. “I have been ill. I did not know how weak I was.” “I will take you to your carriage,” he said; and without seeming to recognize the possibility of resistance, he drew her arm in his, and led her from the room and down the steps. It came to her, suddenly, that her carriage was not there. “I sent the carriage away,” she said. “I thought I would stay awhile, and see the pictures.” He signaled to a waiting cab, and as it drew up to the sidewalk, and he put her in, he said quietly, but with resolution: “I cannot let you go alone in this cab, ill and faint as you are. I beg your pardon, princess; but I must go with you”; and he gave the number to the cabman, and got in beside her. That word _Princess_ stung her pride, and gave her a sudden feeling of strength. She knew that he meant to convey by its use the idea that it was only as a matter of formal courtesy that he felt bound to care for and protect her now. She drew herself upright, with a slight bend of the head in acknowledgment of his civility. For a few moments they drove along in silence, utterly alone together. Harold wondered if the thoughts of other days and hours were in her mind. At the same instant she was wondering the same thing about him. She had forgotten that he had just spoken of her with formality, and called her princess. Apparently he had forgotten it, too; for he now said in a low tone and with suddenness: “Your picture is remarkable. You have told your story well.” She felt that denial would be useless. Since he had found her standing there before it, she was certain that he knew the truth as well as she did. “I never meant that it should be known that I painted it,” she said. “You must know that.”