'Oh, yes, by all means light them,' he replied. 'You won't be disturbing me.'
She took a burning twig and kindled the wicks one by one, trimming and placing several lamps until the room was bright and well-lit. The rest she carried away and Siristrou, left once more alone, sat down before the fire, holding out his hands to the warmth and, just as when a boy, looking into its heart for pictures and shapes -an island, a glowing knife, a barred cage; the likeness of an old woman, a deep ravine, a shaggy bear. The fire flamed in its warmth with a gentle murmur and a wood-knot popped sharply. The logs moved, the ash crumbled and fell, the pictures were gone.
Melathys came hurrying in, carrying a joint of pork on a spit, her fine robe changed for a long, grey kitchen-smock. As she approached he stood up and smiled. 'Can't I work too?' he asked.
'Later, perhaps – another evening, when you've become an old friend, as you surely will. You see what a splendid occasion your visit gives us for a feast. U-Siristrou, are you warm enough? Shall I put on some more logs?'
'No, please don't trouble,' answered Siristrou. 'That's a beautiful fire.'