"Is not that beautiful ?" The smoke mounted to the top of the cavern, curled there or passed out into the glen through the briers that dropped like a portcullis.

The fagots crackled in the flame, the light danced, the warmth was pleasant.

So was the sense of adventure and of _solitude a deux_.

They stretched themselves beside the flame.

Alexander produced from his pouch four small red-cheeked apples.