And here was I sitting by the fire in Paulos’s hall, with the deer-antlers and the trophies dim above me under the shadows of the wide-timbered arches in the early winter evening, waiting for Aryenis to come downstairs from changing out of her riding-clothes. We were just back from taking Ziné to Aornos, where she had gone to spend a couple of days with Torka and his wife, a long-promised visit. Paulos, after announcing that we would dine rather later that night, had shut himself up with his steward and a bundle of land-rolls. This, since it was only just five, there would be something like three very cosy hours of firelit winter evening before dinner. And evenings with Aryenis under such conditions were, if anything, even more precious than the sunlit days in her woods. She came at last--a slim figure on the dark stairs, gown of blue-embroidered white silk, bare of neck and arm, the gold clasps in her hair sparkling in the firelight as she seated herself on the low settle by the fire opposite to where I sat on the couch, wherein not so long before I had been a prisoner tied by the leg. “No work to-night, Shahzadi?” I questioned. She sat there most evenings--her deft fingers busy with one or other of the endless sewing jobs that every really home-loving woman seems always to have on hand. “No. I don’t feel like sewing to-night.” “What do you feel like, then, lady of the red-gold locks?” “Like sitting by the fire--and just--well, looking at it--and thinking.” “Then we feel alike. I’ve been doing that, too. There was only one thing lacking.” “What was that?” “You to look at.” “Does that help your thinking process?” “Quite a lot. In fact, I’ve got to the stage of not being able to think sensibly without having you to look at.” “But that’s bad, Harilek. What will you do when you go away again?” “Come back just as soon as I can.” “Silly! What I mean is, how will you think when you’re away if you can’t do it without some one to look at to make your thoughts work?” “Shut my eyes and look at you. Thank goodness, I can always do that.” Which was true. I have only to shut my eyes to see Aryenis in every point, every little precious detail from the thick crown of her auburn hair down to her dainty feet. More; I can see her every movement, and sometimes when I am lucky really hear her voice--phrase after well-remembered phrase. “Can you _really_ see me?” “Of course I can. Can’t you see me if you shut your eyes?” “Suppose I say I can’t?” “Then I shan’t believe you.” “Do you think that, even if I could, being a woman, I would admit it?” “You might, perhaps. Under certain conditions.” “I wonder if that’s true,” said Aryenis, contemplating the fire’s molten heart. “You speak sometimes as if you thought you knew all about me. But you don’t really.” “I do, though. Quite a lot. Shall I tell you your life-history?” She looked up at me from the fire. “I love being told--stories,” she said half seriously, half mockingly.