"I don't. It's a name I've heard mentioned, a name that has something to do with me. Only ... have you ever seen me before?"
"I think so," she said slowly. "But I don't remember it. Were you ever at the court of Duke Winslow?"
"Never. But I recall you from somewhere. I—"
Dizzily, he looked away as a burst of sudden pain flooded his mind. He shuddered and felt sick.
"What's the matter?" she asked anxiously.
"I—don't know."
"You look ill. You've gone completely pale." She put her arms around him as if to steady him, and her warmth sustained him through the moment of terror that had overtaken him. It was as if he had struck some particularly sensitive nerve, and the resonances were carrying agony through his body.
When it was over, he mopped the beads of cold sweat from his forehead. He looked up at her and saw that her glacial remoteness had been replaced by a sort of feminine warmth, almost a maternal solicitude.
"Would you like to find your father again?" he asked in a low voice.
She nodded.