Initial content from December 31, 2021

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+<div lang='en' xml:lang='en'>
+<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Perilous Seat, by Caroline Dale Snedeker</p>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
+at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
+are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the
+country where you are located before using this eBook.
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Perilous Seat</p>
+  <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Caroline Dale Snedeker</p>
+<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December 30, 2021 [eBook #67050]</p>
+<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p>
+  <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Mary Glenn Krause and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net</p>
+<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PERILOUS SEAT ***</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_i"></a>[i]</span></p>
+
+<h1>THE PERILOUS SEAT</h1>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_ii"></a>[ii]</span></p>
+
+<div class="box">
+
+<p class="center">BOOKS BY<br />
+CAROLINE DALE SNEDEKER</p>
+
+<ul>
+<li><span class="smcap">Seth Way: A Romance of the New Harmony Community</span></li>
+<li><span class="smcap">The Spartan</span></li>
+<li><span class="smcap">The Perilous Seat</span></li>
+</ul>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iii"></a>[iii]</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 460px;">
+<img src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="460" height="700" alt="" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="titlepage larger">THE<br />
+PERILOUS SEAT</p>
+
+<p class="center">BY<br />
+CAROLINE DALE SNEDEKER</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter titlepage" style="width: 250px;">
+<img src="images/titlepage-detail.jpg" width="250" height="250" alt="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent12">The untaught maid</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Mounting the perilous high seat can, for the god</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Speak wisdom kings will seek for, but herself</div>
+    <div class="verse indent12">The god will soon destroy.</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">GARDEN CITY <span class="spacer">NEW YORK</span></span><br />
+DOUBLEDAY, PAGE &amp; COMPANY<br />
+1923</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iv"></a>[iv]</span></p>
+
+<p class="titlepage allsmcap">COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY<br />
+DOUBLEDAY, PAGE &amp; COMPANY</p>
+
+<p class="center allsmcap">ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION<br />
+INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN</p>
+
+<p class="center allsmcap">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES<br />
+AT<br />
+THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>First Edition</i></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_v"></a>[v]</span></p>
+
+<p class="dedication"><span class="larger">TO<br />
+MY SON<br />
+KARL SNEDEKER</span><br />
+WHOSE GREEK SCHOLARSHIP HAS<br />
+AIDED MY TASK, THIS STORY<br />
+OF OLD GREECE IS DEDICATED</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vi"></a>[vi]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vii"></a>[vii]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">PREFACE</h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>The background and details of this story have been
+carefully authenticated. The founding of the colony
+Inessa, however, is not an actual event. It is the union
+of a number of colony traditions. It is therefore correct
+in character and spirit.</p>
+
+<p>The tale was written at the MacDowell Colony at
+Peterborough, New Hampshire, and I am constantly
+mindful of the inspiration given to me by the beautiful
+and solitary surroundings in which I there worked.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_viii"></a>[viii]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_ix"></a>[ix]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<table summary="Contents">
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr smaller">CHAPTER</td>
+    <td></td>
+    <td class="tdpg smaller">PAGE</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdc" colspan="3"><a href="#BOOK_I">BOOK I</a><br /><i>At the Pythian Festival</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">I.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Dryas Wins the Prize</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">1</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">II.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Parental Justice</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">10</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdc" colspan="3"><a href="#BOOK_II">BOOK II</a><br /><i>A Childhood in Delphi</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">III.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Theria, Seven Years Old</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">19</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">IV.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Eleutheria Looks out of a Window</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">26</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">V.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">The Traditions of the House</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">34</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">VI.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">The Guests</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">45</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">VII.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">What Gifts the Guests Brought</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">51</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">VIII.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Dryas Takes a Robber</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">57</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">IX.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Laurel From Tempè</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">62</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">X.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">A Boy Called Sophocles</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">69</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XI.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Why Not Be the Pythia?</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">78</a><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_x"></a>[x]</span></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdc" colspan="3"><a href="#BOOK_III">BOOK III</a><br /><i>Within the Oracle</i></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XII.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">“The Place of Golden Tripods”</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">89</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XIII.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">In Pleistos Woods</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">101</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XIV.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">The Poor Slave</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">105</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XV.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">The Shattered Cup</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">113</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XVI.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Gathering the Threads</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">117</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XVII.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">The Youth under the Window</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">122</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XVIII.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Gathering more Threads</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">127</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XIX.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">The Song Re-sung</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">133</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XX.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Love in the Lane</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">142</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXI.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">A Procession of Sacrifice</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">152</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXII.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">In the Pythia House</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">156</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXIII.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">The Child Priestess</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">159</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXIV.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">The High, Perilous Seat</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">164</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXV.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Bitter Consequences</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">170</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXVI.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">“Pray to the Winds”</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">177</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXVII.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">The Messengers</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">182</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXVIII.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Outcast on Parnassos</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">191</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXIX.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Eëtíon Pursues</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">196</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXX.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Shepherd Wisdom</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">201</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXXI.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Nikander’s Nearest of Kin</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">210</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXXII.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Terrible News from Thermopylæ</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">215</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXXIII.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">At Eëtíon’s Call</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">221</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXXIV.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Eëtíon and Nikander</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">226</a><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xi"></a>[xi]</span></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXXV.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Theria Tells Her Vision</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">229</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXXVI.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Refuge in the Precinct</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">233</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdc" colspan="3"><a href="#BOOK_IV">BOOK IV</a><br />“<i>The God Will Care for His Own</i>”</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXXVII.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">The Persian Comes</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">239</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXXVIII.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Thankfulness</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">247</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XXXIX.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Nikander Pleads for His Daughter</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">252</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XL.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Again Home</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XL">257</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XLI.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">A Sculptor’s Respectability</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">261</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XLII.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">The Unwilling Colonist</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">267</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XLIII.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">The Bird in the Cage</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIII"> 278</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XLIV.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">The Metic</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIV">289</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XLV.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">The Marriage</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLV">293</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XLVI.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">The Door of Escape</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVI">297</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XLVII.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Alien Meadows</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVII">302</a></td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr>
+    <td class="tdr">XLVIII.</td>
+    <td><span class="smcap">Town Makers</span></td>
+    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVIII">309</a></td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_I">BOOK I<br />
+<span class="smaller">AT THE PYTHIAN FESTIVAL</span></h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1"></a>[1]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br />
+<span class="smaller">DRYAS WINS THE PRIZE</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Dryas</span>, the young Delphian, finished his song.
+As he did so he leaped impulsively to the sheer
+edge of the temple platform, leaning forward
+in the very attitude of the Archer God. The song
+was to Apollo. For a moment he seemed to be the
+young Apollo himself.</p>
+
+<p>The final note was scarce heard for the surge of applause
+which met it. The people pelted the boy with
+flowers—snatched off their own garlands to throw to
+him—until he stood ankle deep in the bloom. He was
+blushing, shy, now that his song was finished. Awestruck,
+too, for he heard everywhere the shout:</p>
+
+<p>“The Prize! The Prize!”</p>
+
+<p>Thus ended the first day of the Pythian festival at
+Delphi. The crowds poured down through the Precinct,
+a very tumult of colour and motion. White-robed
+priests, purple-cloaked kings, Sybarites in cloth
+of gold, young athletes beautiful as the sunlight in which
+they moved; and upon every man’s head, rich or poor,
+his crown of flowers.</p>
+
+<p>How freely they talked, how happily gave themselves
+to laughter! The truce of God was upon them—that
+peace which Apollo imposed upon the passionate, warring<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[2]</span>
+Greeks at festival time. Delphi itself, forbidding
+amid its beetling cliffs, seemed to lose sternness at this
+festival. Out on the far-seen hillsides were the booths
+and bright-coloured tents of the visitors, the flash and
+glitter of things brought for sale. Even yet crowds of
+pilgrims were arriving, swarming up the steep winding
+roads as the bees were fabled of old to have swarmed
+thither to build the first temple in Delphi.</p>
+
+<p>Dryas, his father, Nikander, and his brother, Lycophron,
+came down through the stirring Precinct, perhaps
+the happiest hearts of all the multitude.</p>
+
+<p>The prize at Delphi! It was an immortal honour.
+The noblest poets of Greece would write hymns in his
+praise. Dryas’s whole town would bask in the honour
+of it. Dryas’s statue in bronze would be set up near
+the Precinct gate, and in future years his sons and
+sons’ sons would recount the victory.</p>
+
+<p>Neighbours, kinsfolk, strangers, halted them on their
+homeward way. No man in Hellas was too exalted to
+pause in humility and delight to greet the young victor
+with the crown yet fresh upon his head. But it was to
+the father, Nikander, rather than to Dryas that they
+addressed themselves, lingering to catch if it were but a
+reflection of the surprised joy in that father-face.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander walked holding his boy’s hand, or touching
+his shoulder as he presented him to some famous man.</p>
+
+<p>“You liked it?” he would say, his sensitive face flushing
+almost as Dryas’s own. “You liked the song?
+Yes, I, too, enjoyed it—that stern opening—the Dorian
+mode. It was as new in my hearing as in yours. The
+dear lad kept it so.”</p>
+
+<p>And Dryas’s answering look showed the father’s
+praise to be the most precious of all. It was no usual
+affection which bound these two together.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span></p>
+
+<p>And now Pindar, the greatest poet, met them, outstretching
+both his hands.</p>
+
+<p>“Nikander! Dryas! Kairos bless you both! You
+are tasting the heady joy of victory!”</p>
+
+<p>“Eating victory rather,” put in the elder brother,
+Lycophron, with a rough laugh. “Feasting on it in
+courses I should say.”</p>
+
+<p>At his father’s hurt look he stopped and laid his hand
+upon the father’s shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>“Tut,” he said, “I meant no harm.” Then he turned
+to the poet: “Pindar, I hope you are coming to us to-night,
+speaking of feasts; a symposium in Dryas’s
+honour.”</p>
+
+<p>Pindar frowned at the young man’s forwardness
+but assented, then smiled again as he turned to
+Dryas.</p>
+
+<p>“It was almost as good as your father’s victor song
+years ago.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, better, much better,” urged Nikander. At
+which Pindar moved onward, laughing, shaking his
+head. A lovable man, Pindar.</p>
+
+<p>They arrived finally at their own door. All the
+slaves were there bowing and curtseying, Medon, the
+old pedagogue, at their head. He peered up eagerly
+to see if the boy really wore the laurel crown and, at
+sight of it, trembled visibly with joy.</p>
+
+<p>“Little Dryas, little Dryas,” he crooned, all love.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander must needs stop to rehearse all his happiness
+to the old servant. And who so glad to hear as
+Medon!</p>
+
+<p>“All Dryas’s songs have been good,” Nikander finished.
+“But, oh, this one to-day is in a new class! Do
+you know what the rascal did, Medon? Brought out
+an utterly new poem, different from any I ever heard.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span>
+Imagine my amazement when he started out—and my
+delight!”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Master, yes!” assented Medon.</p>
+
+<p>As they talked, they had been moving slowly through
+the andron and now entered the women’s court.</p>
+
+<p>Melantho, the mother, hearing them enter, came
+running down the stair to fold her son in her arms.
+Baltè, the old nurse, hobbled up. Nerea, Clito, and
+other slave girls came and kissed the hem of his robe.</p>
+
+<p>But Nikander missed one member of the household.</p>
+
+<p>“Where is Eleutheria?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Then he caught sight of her standing in the far
+corner of the court—his daughter, tall, delicately
+flushed with that air between shyness and pride which
+is common to all new-flowering things.</p>
+
+<p>“Daughter,” said Nikander, “we have come home
+with the crown!”</p>
+
+<p>She bowed her dark head, fingering her distaff with its
+tangled threads.</p>
+
+<p>“Come, my dear,” said Nikander, snapping his fingers
+to hasten her. “Come, greet your brother victor.”</p>
+
+<p>Then she looked up—a face full of some strange
+startling emotion.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” she half whispered.</p>
+
+<p>“No? What on earth do you mean?”</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot,” she spoke sharply. “I cannot praise
+him.”</p>
+
+<p>“You are ill,” said Nikander, going to her. Indeed
+he feared some fever had deprived her of her wits.</p>
+
+<p>“No, I am not ill.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then what madness is this? What nonsense!”
+Nikander could hardly believe in this sudden quarrel
+darkening the brightness of his day of joy.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span></p>
+
+<p>Dryas crossed over to her. He was ever the peacemaker.</p>
+
+<p>“What has happened, Theria?” He began gently.</p>
+
+<p>Her great eyes looked fearfully at him.</p>
+
+<p>“You know perfectly well what has happened. How
+dare you ask!”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander was now thoroughly angry.</p>
+
+<p>“Theria,” he said, “greet your brother at once or go
+to your room. Your whims are unbearable.”</p>
+
+<p>“Theria,” began Dryas again. But at his urging
+voice her anger took flame.</p>
+
+<p>“I won’t praise you!” she cried wildly. “You know
+the song is mine, mine. I made it myself.”</p>
+
+<p>“Great gods!” laughed Lycophron. “Here’s a pother
+for you!”</p>
+
+<p>“No pother at all,” spoke Dryas quickly. “Who’ll
+believe her?”</p>
+
+<p>“Nobody, nobody, my son,” sounded Nikander’s
+deep voice. “Now, Theria, go! I shall punish you
+myself for this!”</p>
+
+<p>Here Melantho lifted horrified hands. “What jealousy,
+Theria! Shame on you! Shame!”</p>
+
+<p>Theria had already reached the stair-foot, but at this
+word she faced them again.</p>
+
+<p>“I am not jealous, I can prove that I made it,”
+she said, her voice suddenly clear. “I can sing my
+song.”</p>
+
+<p>As at sacrilege, Nikander answered:</p>
+
+<p>“Indeed you will do no such thing. Do you suppose
+I would allow that perfect creation to be caricatured by
+you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Father, she heard me sing it,” thus Dryas, pale with
+the hurt Theria had given. “She has a perfect memory.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span></p>
+
+<p>“My dear boy, do you suppose the matter needs
+argument?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, let her try. Why not?” came the heavy voice
+of Lycophron. “Then we can finish the scene with a
+good laugh, anyway.”</p>
+
+<p>“You will not laugh at me,” cried out Theria. “By
+Hermes, you will not laugh!” The look in her face,
+suddenly visionary and unafraid, found response in an
+unexpected quarter.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, let her try.” Lycophron spoke in a different
+tone. “Give the poor child a chance.”</p>
+
+<p>“Surely you need no proof,” said the father.</p>
+
+<p>“Be damned if I don’t,” responded the elder brother.</p>
+
+<p>“Then have your proof. It will need few moments.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander swiftly took the lyre from Dryas’s slave and
+gave it into Theria’s hand. The girl received it with
+an almost hungry eagerness as though the song within
+her burned for expression. Every vestige of anger
+died from her. Something from within seemed to
+sweep her up into a mobile erectness, holding her delicately
+steady as a flame is held aloft.</p>
+
+<p>She struck a deep chord from the lyre upon her hip
+and sang. To their astonishment, it was not Dryas’s
+song though haunted ever and again with bits of the
+Dryas melody. She tossed the melody from grave
+to gay with ease and in the changes swayed softly.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">Wherefore, O Muse, dipping from highest heaven</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Down through the ambient air</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Com’st thou to <em>me</em> in my thick-walled shadowy chamber</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">To lay on <em>my</em> lips the honey of sweet song?</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">I am a woman, a spinner.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Not for such is the glory of singing;</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Not for such the happiness free in the sunshine</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">of Pythian contests in song.</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">In answer the Muse</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Inexorable goddess,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Drew with yet stronger cords my will and my spirit.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Sing!” she commanded, “Sing!”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>At this point the rhythm with an increasing purposeful
+tread marched into the very tune of Dryas. The
+ancient story of Apollo slaying the Python-snake and
+winning the place of the Oracle from which to speak to
+men. The song was greatly enhanced by its prelude:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">Fair, fair on the mountains the feet of Apollo striding;</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Swift is our God and stern.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Dark, dark in the valley, the snake coiling and sliding</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Lone mid the Delphic fern.</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">Ha, old Dragoness, dost thou possess it—</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Oracle meet for the voice of a God?</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Nay, for our archer God comes to redress it.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Already are trod</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">The dear paths of Delphi by feet mysterious, divine.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Apollo, we shall be thine!</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">Coils of the Python lie over the place</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Of Loxias’s<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> grace</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">The heartening word</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Is choked in the depth,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent8">Unheard.</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent2">Dark dark is Delphi,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Dark is the dell,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">There in the murk the birds of ill-omen, softly horribly fly,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">And like waters of hell</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Castaly streams from her gorge and is lost in Castaly’s well.</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent2">That <em>gleam</em> in the gorge!</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">That glint in Phaëdriades cleft!</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Like a golden spool in the weft</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Like a golden bird which flits</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">’Mong solemn crags of the ghostly place:</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">Before the God cometh, cometh his grace.</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent2">Ha! flash of silver bright as a bolt from the sky</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">A piercing cry</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">And straight to the heart of the monster</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">The arrows of Loxias fly!</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Writhe, O Monster, lifting on high.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Now thou must die!</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">And now from Castaly’s gorge like the beauty of day</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Steppeth the God with bow bent broad to the fray</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Drawing with lifted arm the shaft to the tip.</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent2">Paian, Paian, the pure!</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Thou art here, thou art sure,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Immortally tall, fair tressed, crowned with bay.</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent2">God of the far-borne voice,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">So dost thou capture with valiance the place of thy choice—</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">Delphi, murmuring, golden.</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent2">Hail to thee—God of Day!</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnotes">
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> Loxias, Son of Leto, Archer God, Paian, son of Zeus—all are affectionate,
+worshipful names of Apollo.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>To the end she sang it. Not with Dryas’s sensitive
+handling but with a dramatic power, possessive, from
+within, making it inalienably her own.</p>
+
+<p>Then she seemed to waken. She looked around.
+Her father stood with bowed head and hidden face.
+Melantho was weeping. Lycophron motioned a slave
+to shut the door lest someone come upon them, and
+Dryas sat gazing at the ground with an expression of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span>
+misery and defeat which scattered the last vestige of
+Theria’s creative joy.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly she would have given worlds not to have
+sung. All kept silence as if they were all guilty. And
+like a guilty thing, Theria gave the lyre back to the
+slave and went up the stair.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br />
+<span class="smaller">PARENTAL JUSTICE</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Theria</span> was gone. Yet in the room the awkward
+silence held. Then by some hidden sympathy
+Nikander’s hand beckoned to Dryas and
+Dryas himself started forward at the same moment.</p>
+
+<p>“I wanted,” faltered Dryas, “oh, I wanted you to be
+proud.”</p>
+
+<p>“I would have been proud anyway,” said Nikander
+loyally. Dryas began to sob.</p>
+
+<p>“Son, why did you deceive me? There was no need.
+I would never have told the judges.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t care for the judges. It was you—you!”</p>
+
+<p>With sorrowful affection Nikander kissed him, then
+went slowly up the stair to Theria’s room.</p>
+
+<p>He found her pacing up and down the narrow place.
+She was talking aloud.</p>
+
+<p>“To take away my song! It wasn’t fair. No! To
+take away my song!”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander spoke passionately: “Theria, this was the
+happiest day of my life and you have made it the most
+sorrowful.”</p>
+
+<p>“Father!” she cried. “Father!”</p>
+
+<p>She stood instantly still. Tears were running down
+her face. “Oh, I was sorry the minute I had done it.
+There was no use to tell and it only gave pain to everyone.”</p>
+
+<p>Wistfully she tried to take his hand. Like most<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span>
+children, she had never told him how intensely she loved
+him.</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot understand, Theria, why you would give
+your song to Dryas and then at a crucial moment
+snatch it back again. Dryas has done wrong, but your
+wrong is sheer cruelty.”</p>
+
+<p>“But, Father——” she began. Then she stopped.
+She had done enough harm for one day.</p>
+
+<p>She could not tell him that she had never given the
+song, but that Dryas had taken it against her will.
+Dryas had come to her one morning with a song of his
+own. Theria knew at once that it would never win the
+prize. They had talked it over, trying to mend it.</p>
+
+<p>That afternoon her own song had flashed upon her.
+It was, as such flashes are apt to be, the culmination of
+long striving and dreaming. And for days afterward
+she had worked and perfected it. Then a week before the
+Pythian festival she had taken the song to Dryas and had
+sung it for him. Of course she was willing to give it to
+him. It did not occur to her but that Dryas would
+share with her the honour of it, at least in their own home.
+This Dryas had refused to do. They had quarrelled,
+and, at the end, Dryas had flatly told her that since
+she taught him the song he would take it for his own,
+whether she willed or no. He had thought she would
+never dare to tell. But now she had told, and the result
+was this misery.</p>
+
+<p>“Theria,” said her father wearily, “how did it ever
+occur to you to write a song?”</p>
+
+<p>“It was just as I told in the singing, Father. I was
+spinning alone in the spinning-room and the Muse
+struck across my mind. She would not let me go.
+The words hurried before I could catch up with them;
+a new chord waited for every chord I struck.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span></p>
+
+<p>Nikander was for a moment awed. He believed in
+the Muse; no mere poetic figment was she. She was an
+accepted goddess, and even thus was she wont to act.</p>
+
+<p>“But you must have studied and worked,” he said.
+“You must have had help.”</p>
+
+<p>“Medon has helped me a little. He taught me the
+scales, and I have taken your book rolls and made him
+show me how to read. Do not be angry with Medon.
+He is only a slave and I commanded him. It was really
+myself did it. I worked very hard.”</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly it seemed to her that some invisible door,
+which ever for her, a girl, had always stood ajar, had
+quietly and irrevocably closed. She had the instinct to
+turn this way and that for escape. But there was no
+escape.</p>
+
+<p>“What shall I do?” she moaned. “Oh, what shall I
+do?” It seemed as though her father, so intelligent, so
+quick to help all comers to the Oracle, surely he would
+know some help for her.</p>
+
+<p>“My dear Theria,” said Nikander, “there is much for
+you to do here at home. You have everything, why are
+you unhappy?”</p>
+
+<p>She bowed her head without answer. There was so
+much to say that she could say nothing at all.</p>
+
+<p>“Theria,” he went on kindly, “I must tell you that
+only yesterday by your mother’s advice I did something
+for you. I see now how necessary it was.”</p>
+
+<p>Her lips parted as if in fear.</p>
+
+<p>“I have offered you in marriage,” said Nikander,
+“to Timon for his eldest son Theras. Timon has accepted.
+I am delighted with the alliance and I shall
+have the betrothal very soon.”</p>
+
+<p>With a low cry the girl crouched upon the floor, clasping
+his knees.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Oh, no, Father, no,” she pleaded. “You are not
+so angry with me as that. Don’t send me away!
+Don’t send me away!”</p>
+
+<p>He took her hands gently and lifted her—put his arm
+about her pitifully trembling shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>“What a strange child. What a strange, foolish
+child. All maidens look forward to marriage. It is
+their right.”</p>
+
+<p>“But not I, Father, not I!”</p>
+
+<p>“You must do so. Of course it will be strange at
+first. Brides are often timid, but you are not lacking in
+courage. Theria, your constant dwelling upon thoughts
+which are for men makes you cold toward what is your
+business in life—which is marriage and childbearing.
+You are mature in things not for you and in all the rest
+an undeveloped child.”</p>
+
+<p>This brutal statement was a nearer reading of
+Theria’s character than Nikander himself guessed.
+An unevenness of development was hers—a kind of
+mental hobbledehoy which is not infrequent in high-bred
+youngsters. Nay, more than this: An actual
+shrinking purity was the concomitant of her poetic gift.
+Other girls of Delphi discussed the facts of marriage
+with primitive frankness and looked forward to marriage
+as the one event to break monotony. Theria never
+spoke of it, and thought of it almost with horror—the
+strange house, the strange man, the mysteries from
+which she hid her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Shall we add to this the terrific pride of youth—that
+she held it a certainty that no family equalled the
+Nikanders? To mate even with another Delphian was
+a downward step. This pride was in her stubborn answer.</p>
+
+<p>“Father, I cannot—I cannot.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Nonsense,” smiled Nikander, “of course you will.
+He is a good man—Timon’s son.”</p>
+
+<p>“Have I seen him?”</p>
+
+<p>“Daughter! Of course you have not.”</p>
+
+<p>She wrung her hands in sudden wildness.</p>
+
+<p>“I won’t marry,” she cried. “I won’t go away from
+the house I love to one I have never known. I won’t
+belong to Theras whom I have never seen. I will only
+belong to you, you, you!”</p>
+
+<p>“Theria, my dear child,” began Nikander.</p>
+
+<p>But she was quite beside herself. She stamped the
+floor with her foot.</p>
+
+<p>“I won’t marry Theras! I won’t! I won’t!” she
+raged.</p>
+
+<p>At the end of the interview Nikander brought out a
+small whip which was used for child slaves. With this
+he whipped his daughter. Greek fathers had this right
+even with grown sons, but Nikander had never used it.</p>
+
+<p>At last, when she stood tall and tearless and he stood
+trembling in spite of effort to keep steady, he said:</p>
+
+<p>“Daughter, this is not for your present act alone. It
+is for your year-long disobedience. I believe now that
+you will obey.”</p>
+
+<p>She stood like a straight reed, so still, so horror struck.
+And in that stillness her father left her.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>An hour later Theria was roused from her apathy by
+the sound of beautiful music.</p>
+
+<p>It was in the street, and she curiously stole forward to
+her father’s room to look out of the little window there.
+She was in time to see Dryas borne along the way on the
+shoulders of his friends.</p>
+
+<p>The full moon of the festival made the street as bright<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span>
+as day and the torches of the procession twinkled like
+jewels in the white light. Pindar walked in the procession
+chanting a strophe in Dryas’s honour. A chorus
+of youths followed singing the antistrophe, and behind
+these a boy played the cymbals upon which the glitter
+of sound met the lovely glitter of the moonlight.</p>
+
+<p>Leaning out of the window, Theria suddenly exulted.
+“It is <em>my</em> song Pindar is praising. All those words are
+for me and it is Pindar, Pindar!”</p>
+
+<p>In a burst of joyous music they passed within the
+house door below her, and Theria heard the pleasant
+confusion as they took their seats at the board and the
+scurry of the slaves beginning to serve them.</p>
+
+<p>Then after a time came a faint tuning of a lyre, a
+pause, and Dryas started once more to sing his song—her
+song. He faltered. Oh, would her rumpus of the
+afternoon make him fail? She was in a panic—family
+pride, family affection were strong in the Nikander
+household—but after a little flickering Dryas’s
+flame burned bright. He even imitated his sister’s
+dramatic singing of the afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>Theria could not hear Pindar’s exclamation of wonder
+that the lad should sing the song this evening with an
+entirely new meaning. She heard only the hand clappings,
+the mingled voices, the chitter of the silver cups—cups
+treasured many a year by successive Nikander
+housewives. A wave of loneliness swept over her—a
+Wave of fear, remembering her father’s purpose. And
+shrinking back from the window she made her way
+through the darkness to her room and bed.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_II">BOOK II<br />
+<span class="smaller">A CHILDHOOD IN DELPHI</span></h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br />
+<span class="smaller">THERIA, SEVEN YEARS OLD</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">A little</span> girl in an ancestral house—a slender,
+vivid, flashing little girl whom yet the rich
+traditions of her line filled to the brim with
+dreams—such had been Theria in her childhood.</p>
+
+<p>The town in which she was born had not grown
+haphazard, had not been founded for trade nor for its
+nearness to some natural wealth.</p>
+
+<p>Its central life was the god, the god of light and of
+enlightenment, of beauty and judicial fairness. Apollo
+was its source of happiness and its livelihood as well.
+He moulded the daily life. The focus of all Delphi
+was the shrine where, from a windy cleft beneath the
+temple, Apollo spoke, answering the wistful questions
+of men.</p>
+
+<p>And of such an idealizing force it is true, that while it
+affects the community as a whole, it gives to certain
+individuals a heaped-up gift. Such a gift was upon this
+child, peculiar to her in Nikander’s house. Delphi
+had imprinted that expression on her baby face, that
+unmistakable look of spiritual life which had been the
+life of her fathers for at least four hundred years. So
+many traditions, so many prides, upliftings, adventures,
+poetries, and faiths, entering into the heart of a little
+girl. Nikander’s sons were just hearty, playful Greek
+boys. Theria was a Delphian.</p>
+
+<p>One spring morning, when all Delphi was joyous with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span>
+an awakening sky and earth, it happened that Theria
+was seven years old. She came tripping down the
+stairway of the inner court, fresh-washed from the
+hands of her nurse, fresh-dressed in a single garment
+which did not reach her knees.</p>
+
+<p>“Now be good,” the old nurse had admonished her
+as she gave the last touch to her dark curls. “Your
+twin brother is playin’ that sweet down in the aula.
+Don’t ye go now and stir him up with your mischievous
+ways.”</p>
+
+<p>And here in the court sure enough Dryas was playing
+“that sweet.” He had made a circle of pebbles and
+stones and was marching around and around it chanting
+some childish, made-up thing—perfectly absorbed, unseeing.
+Sunbeams slanted across the court leaving him
+in a sort of magic, refracted light; small rain-pools here
+and there among the worn pavement-flags gave back
+the blue, or wrinkled suddenly from the unseen breeze.
+In the corner the old, old tiny altar, upon which many
+generations of Nikanders had sacrificed, breathed yet
+the smoke of the morning rite. The place smelt sweet
+of wood-smoke. Now Theria was aware of a shadow
+moving across the court and looking up saw an eagle
+swoop down the sunlit air.</p>
+
+<p>In after years Theria—a woman and far away—was
+to recall this scene cut clear and deep by the love she
+bore her home, but now she tripped recklessly down the
+unbalustered stair and scattered Dryas’s circle of stones
+with her foot.</p>
+
+<p>“Let’s play,” she announced.</p>
+
+<p>“<em>Am</em> playin’—threshin’-floor,” responded Dryas,
+breathless from circling.</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t play threshing-floor now. That’s past.”</p>
+
+<p>The Threshing-Floor was an ancient circular platform<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span>
+in the Precinct of Apollo. Every four years a sacred
+drama of the Python-snake was performed upon it and
+this year little Dryas had seen it.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll tell you,” said the disturbing Theria, “you fetch
+more stones. We’ll make the village and the road that
+goes by to the Oracle.”</p>
+
+<p>The Oracle was the treasury of beauty and wonder
+of all Hellas, but to Delphic children it was just a dear
+bright place within high walls and the scene of their
+holidays.</p>
+
+<p>Dryas did not answer, but he stopped his play and
+trotted off toward the outer room, which led to the front
+door, for the pebbles.</p>
+
+<p>Theria waited impatiently while he brought in skirtful
+after skirtful of stones. Then she began to make her
+village, a stone for each well-known house, a line of little
+stones to show the road which passed their own door
+and ran windingly along the mountain slope. Theria
+set her miniature precinct in the sunny part of the court.
+To her the sunlight always and inevitably rested on
+that temple place where fane after fane and shrine after
+shrine mounted the hillside up to the matchless Apollo
+temple itself, set like a jewel of red and peacock-blue
+and gold against the shining cliffs.</p>
+
+<p>“The Sacred Way,” murmured Dryas happily as
+he made the path between the temples. “Here it
+turns—an’ oh, here’s a sparkly stone for the ’Thenian
+Treasury.”</p>
+
+<p>“The Knidian Treasury,” corrected Theria. “It’s the
+Knidian Treasury at the turn.”</p>
+
+<p>“No—’Thenian!”</p>
+
+<p>“No, don’t you remember the pretty marble ladies
+who hold up the porch?”</p>
+
+<p>Still Dryas maintained his Athenian Treasury.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Shu! You’ve never been there,” he said, “an’ I’ve
+been there lots o’ times.”</p>
+
+<p>“I go every day,” announced the little girl.</p>
+
+<p>At this evident whopper Dryas’s rosy mouth fell
+open in dismay.</p>
+
+<p>“Never have you been there. You are only a
+girl.”</p>
+
+<p>“I go there every day,” repeated Theria.</p>
+
+<p>Quarrel was imminent; was averted only by Dryas
+scrambling to his feet to seek old Medon as judge.</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind Medon, I’ll show you how I go,” and,
+taking her twin brother’s hand with an air of great
+bestowing, Theria led him up stairs and forward
+to her father’s bedchamber, to its one window. Out
+of this she leaned so far that only her chubby legs remained
+within. Sure enough, so leaning she could
+see beyond the shoulder of a cliff a spur of farther hill,
+and there in a bath of light the golden tip-edge of a
+little temple and on a higher level a single pillar bearing
+a sphynx of lofty wings.</p>
+
+<p>“I see it every day,” she announced again.</p>
+
+<p>“Only a little piece,” said Dryas contemptuously.</p>
+
+<p>“When I see that I see all,” repeated the child enthusiast.
+“Medon has told me all.”</p>
+
+<p>Dryas opened his lips to answer but thought better
+of it. Theria was a most determined little person when
+once she had made up her mind.</p>
+
+<p>They went back to the aula. Here ruin met them.
+Baltè, the old nurse, was sweeping up their shrine of
+Apollo in great indignation.</p>
+
+<p>“Whatever made ye litter up the aula like this?” She
+complained. “Rubble and rubbish when the rain
+washed all so clean last night. Never ye mind. I’ll
+be rid o’ <em>one</em> of ye after to-day.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span></p>
+
+<p>Dryas did not notice this speech but Theria looked
+up in alarm.</p>
+
+<p>“Which one?” she asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Never ye mind. There; I should not ’a’
+spoken.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why shouldn’t you spoken?”</p>
+
+<p>Such caution was unusual in Baltè. The threat
+sounded real. Theria caught Baltè’s skirt.</p>
+
+<p>“Is something goin’ to happen?”</p>
+
+<p>“There, don’t you worry, darlin’. It won’t be you,”
+said the old nurse as she hurried away.</p>
+
+<p>Dryas had rescued enough stones to recommence his
+threshing-floor. To tell truth, he had preferred this all
+along.</p>
+
+<p>Theria sat beside him watching his play. The “something”
+was not going to happen to herself. Then surely
+it would happen to Dryas. Her heart began to yearn
+over her brother with that frightened tenderness which
+children know. She leaned over and kissed him.
+Dryas wiped off the kiss in frank disgust.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>She remembered the eagle. There was no bird so
+sure of omen as an eagle.</p>
+
+<p>“Dryas,” she said softly, “I’ll tell you a story now.”</p>
+
+<p>“No—please.”</p>
+
+<p>Yet Theria lingered. Dreadful it was that she could
+do nothing for her brother when the eagle would so soon
+be carrying him away.</p>
+
+<p>“I wish you would let me,” she said faintly. “I’ll
+give you all my honey cake at noon if you will.”</p>
+
+<p>To such a bribe Dryas consented, squatting down in
+a chubby heap beside his pebbles.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s about baby Hermes,” Theria began. “First,
+he was born, and when he was three hours old he got out<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span>
+of his cradle and walked straight up Parnassos Mountain—to
+the very top.”</p>
+
+<p>“He couldn’t,” objected her auditor.</p>
+
+<p>“But god-legs is strong.”</p>
+
+<p>“Presè’s got a baby three months old and it can’t
+walk yet. Its worse’n a puppy.”</p>
+
+<p>“Presè’s a slave. Slave legs is different.”</p>
+
+<p>“But even a god, he couldn’t do it.”</p>
+
+<p>And though Theria knew her story was correct, she
+did not press the point.</p>
+
+<p>“And little Hermes found some cows,” she went on.
+“Oh, beautiful wild cows with sharpy-sharp horns. All
+the cows were white and were eating white flowers that
+grow in the meadows up against the sky.”</p>
+
+<p>“Clouds?” suggested Dryas.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, clouds were their food,” went on Theria who
+knew the tale by rote. “For they were the herd of
+Apollo. And the little baby called the cows and they
+left their white flowers and came; for who can resist
+the call of a god? And Hermes, swift of foot——”</p>
+
+<p>“Three-hours-old foot,” interposed Dryas.</p>
+
+<p>“—leaped down the path, and all the cows they
+followed him. And when he came to the deep forest he
+sacrificed the cows to his father, Zeus, and the smoke
+went up through the trees to heaven and smelt very
+sweet. Then Hermes found a tortoise, and out of the
+tortoise and the cows’ pretty horns he made a lyre—oh,
+the first, first lyre that ever was made. And the baby
+Hermes began to play on the lyre—</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">‘Twink, twink,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Twinky, twink, twink’</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>—Oh, god-music, as pretty as Father plays or Pindar
+when he——”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Here, here!” came an unexpected voice. “It’s very
+well to compare Pindar to Hermes but your father is
+another matter.”</p>
+
+<p>The children scrambled to their feet with faces of
+delight. It was rare to see their father at this hour.
+And Father always brought gaiety.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br />
+<span class="smaller">ELEUTHERIA LOOKS OUT OF A WINDOW</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Nikander</span> was a tall slender man, a remarkable
+uniting of sensitiveness and force. Twelve
+generations of his forbears had been priests of
+Delphi, statesmen of wide outlook and ministers to the
+souls of men. Nikander was a resultant type.</p>
+
+<p>He sat down on a stone bench lifting Dryas to his
+knee, but Theria crept into the hollow of his arm. Her
+fears took flight like scattered birds. No harm could
+come to Dryas now that her father was there.</p>
+
+<p>“And what day, think you, is this?” he asked.
+Birthdays were not so important in those days and the
+children did not know.</p>
+
+<p>“It is Dryas’s birthday,” he told them.</p>
+
+<p>“Then my birthday, too,” exclaimed Theria, for
+though she was taller and seemed older than her brother,
+she was his twin.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, yours, too.” Quite unconscious of his act,
+Nikander bent and kissed the little girl. So bending,
+his face was the mature model for her own.</p>
+
+<p>“And because it is the seventh birthday it is to be the
+first day of school. Medon will take you, Dryas. He
+will be pedagogue. And here is your little lyre. Father
+bought it to-day of the old lyre maker. See what a
+pretty picture is here beneath the strings. And for you,
+my daughter, what you have wanted so long.”</p>
+
+<p>He drew from behind the bench the ropes and seat of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span>
+a swing. “But I wanted a lyre, too,” said Theria with
+wide, blank eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“A lyre for a little girl! Oh, no, kitten. Besides,
+did you not ask for a swing?”</p>
+
+<p>“But, oh, Father, it is the lyre I want.”</p>
+
+<p>“Theria must not be envious,” said her father seriously.
+“That would be a new fault in my little girl.”</p>
+
+<p>But her wide, astonished eyes disturbed him and
+again he kissed the child before he hurried out.</p>
+
+<p>Dryas with little cluckings of delight plucked at his
+toy, but Theria stood very still. Since she was to have
+no lyre, was it also true that she was not to go to school?</p>
+
+<p>She seemed in the presence of a calamity which had
+been approaching since all the days she had been alive,
+and now was come. With the vagueness of her seven
+years, yet very deeply, she knew that not going to
+school meant the parting of the ways between her and
+Dryas, the closing away from her of precious things.
+Yet, strangely enough, in her surface, childish self, she
+did not believe it at all.</p>
+
+<p>Father had not said she could not go. Besides, she
+had always got what she wanted if she persisted. She
+knew from her big brother Lycophron what the school
+was like—a room or portico up near the Precinct, the
+master teaching Homer all the day long—wonderful
+stories which one could not forget, boys playing their
+lyres merrily then hanging them upon the wall to go
+out and leap and race in contest in the sunshine. Lycophron
+had gone to school since the beginning of the
+world.</p>
+
+<p>Theria did not associate Baltè’s warning with this
+matter at all.</p>
+
+<p>“I go to school to-day,” she began to say softly to
+herself. “Then I must hurry.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span></p>
+
+<p>With a certain anxiety she crossed the court to
+Lycophron’s room. Yes, there on the chest were his
+extra stylus and tablets and hanging on the wall a
+small lyre which in a temper he had broken.</p>
+
+<p>Theria climbed the chest and got it.</p>
+
+<p>And in possession of these things confidence came to
+her. She was perfectly sure now that she should go to
+school. She began to hum briskly to herself. She
+went back into the court to be near Dryas lest when
+Medon come he forget her.</p>
+
+<p>Dryas was prancing about, hugging his lyre. He was
+not slow to taunt her.</p>
+
+<p>“Ai: I’m going to school. You can’t go; you can’t
+go!”</p>
+
+<p>“I can. Father said I could. I heard him.”</p>
+
+<p>“When did he say it?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know when, but I heard him! ‘Daughter,
+you are going to school; you are seven years old!
+Everybody goes to school then.’”</p>
+
+<p>“He didn’t give you the lyre. He gave it to me,”
+gloried Dryas.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve a lyre, too, foolish one.” She held it out.</p>
+
+<p>“Ai, what a broken thing, and it’s Lycophron’s. It’s
+none of yours.”</p>
+
+<p>“If I had a lyre I’d play it, not hug it,” retorted
+Theria.</p>
+
+<p>Here Medon came into the aula with sandals on.
+To Theria it was a thunder-clap. She watched him
+steadily as he crossed to them, then with loving
+gesture slipped her hand into his.</p>
+
+<p>“But,” said the slave, “my darling is not going to-day.
+It’s Dryas who must go. Poor Dryas!”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, no: you didn’t understand,” she reasoned with
+him. “Father wants me to go.” She pushed back<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span>
+her curls with a nervous little gesture and looked
+brightly up at him.</p>
+
+<p>Medon dreaded a battle with Theria. The child had
+a storm-like temper. To be sure it broke seldom, but
+it was always on some bright day like this and nearly
+always had to do with going out of the house—a
+privilege rare for little girls. Most girls did not expect
+to go out. Theria always expected it, like a boy, and
+fought for it like a boy, too. Something told him she
+was going to fight now. He must do his best.</p>
+
+<p>“Medon will buy you a hoop in the market—a hoop,
+mind you, with bells—if you will be good.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t want that.” How tight she held his hand
+and how black were the childish eyes gazing up at him.
+“I’ll tell you, Medon, you can give the hoop to
+Dryas. School will be hard for Dryas. It’s going to
+be so easy for me.”</p>
+
+<p>“But, my dear little mistress, you cannot go. There
+are no girls at the school.”</p>
+
+<p>Medon felt the hand tighten sharply in his. The
+child was looking off at a distance. Then with complete
+change she slipped her hand out of his.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, you and Dryas go,” she said.</p>
+
+<p>She ran quickly up the stair to the women’s apartments—no
+doubt to cry alone, and Medon, seizing his
+opportunity, fairly fled with his charge from the house.</p>
+
+<p>Medon carried the little boy’s lyre and very peacefully
+they walked along the road toward the Precinct.
+They had gone some distance when Medon heard running
+steps behind him, and, turning, saw to his amazement
+Theria as if on wings, her black hair streaming
+behind, her chubby arms clasping a lyre.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going!” she cried. “I will; I will!”</p>
+
+<p>And then it was that Medon had to carry back along<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span>
+the road a strange wild creature that fought and kicked
+and bit and clutched at his hair.</p>
+
+<p>The neighbours hearing the cries ran out of their
+houses and shook their heads at Nikander’s terrible child.
+Poor Medon was like to drop into the earth for shame.
+Yet amid all the tumult he kept thinking of a mountain
+stream which had been dammed back but which one
+day broke through and rushed away—a mighty flood.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander’s alarmed family—wife, slaves, and all—met
+them at the door.</p>
+
+<p>“Now for what do the gods punish me?” cried poor
+Melantho, “that I should have such a child! Look at
+her eyes. She is beside herself. Baltè, hold her!”</p>
+
+<p>But as Medon set down the little raging tumult old
+Baltè let her escape. Up the stairs she flew, her voice
+like a clarion.</p>
+
+<p>“Leave her be, dear mistress,” pleaded wise old Baltè.
+“Remember, she is a twin child and it does grieve her
+sore to be separate from her twin.”</p>
+
+<p>In the farthest room of the house Theria found refuge
+and slammed the door. Here she threw herself face
+downward and beat the floor with her fists; yes, and
+kicked, too, as her childish grief surged to and fro within
+her. Her strength spent itself at last and she fell to
+sobbing, suffering now as she had not done amid the
+curious enjoyment of loud woe.</p>
+
+<p>Her thoughts now were not of the school nor of Dryas,
+but of her father, the strange horror that her father
+should have done this and not seem to care. Always
+before this had he mended hurts, not made them. Facing
+this mystery her dearest faith tottered. Yet after
+a while even this dread grew faint. Thoughts faded into
+fancies. Then she fell asleep.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>She must have slept a long while for she awoke
+strangely quiet. Her refuge place was a storeroom.
+Chests stood about full of things used only at festivals.
+There were also great earthen jars of grain and wine.</p>
+
+<p>The room was stone floored, stone walled, but its far
+end was hewn into the native rock. Nikander’s house,
+standing on a side hill, was two storied in front but
+here at the back melted to the roof in the hillside. This
+room had a little low window—the only other window
+in the house besides that in Nikander’s room.</p>
+
+<p>To this window the little girl crept, and leaned her
+two elbows on the ledge, her chin in her hands. The
+window showed her only the side lane which led up
+between the houses to lose itself in the hill above. This
+lane was wider than most of the lanes in Delphi, for it had
+been chosen by one of the mountain streams for a bed,
+and now in the springtime the foaming waters dashed
+downward between the house walls beside the footpath.</p>
+
+<p>There was no sound in the lane save the happy speaking
+of the waters. An amber light lay over all as if the
+sun were setting, and in this rich light everything stood
+distinct: ferns, rocks, and the tiny flowers on the mossy
+roof of Cousin Phaino’s house across the lane. Every
+little wave as it lifted in the stream turned golden and
+as it dived under again seemed to peep at Theria and
+laugh. Presently a child came down from the upper
+hills into the lane. What could so small a child have been
+doing up there alone in that wilderness of crags? But
+what a lovely child he was, what brave, erect little
+shoulders and rounded legs and what a mischievous,
+dream-haunted face! How fearlessly he leaped along!
+He was only a baby. Oh, why should he not leap?
+Wings were on his heels and two golden wings in his
+cap—Hermes, and no other!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span></p>
+
+<p>To Theria it was not strange that Hermes should thus
+stroll down Nikander’s lane. Not strange, but it made
+her very glad. Now the dear Hermes child paused by
+the stream, laid his tortoise lyre to his arm, and began
+to play. Theria had never heard such music. It was
+clear like the amber light and filled her with a joy that
+was to glisten softly down all her years. Yet it was very
+faint, that music. She had to strain her ears to hear.</p>
+
+<p>Presently under its rhythm the stream grew more
+turbulent. The waves dashed higher and turned to
+foaming white. And suddenly from each white wave
+where it tossed in swift succession there swam out into
+the air nymphs white as the foam, slender as flowers,
+immortally fair.</p>
+
+<p>Theria knew it was right for them to come. Nymphs
+were always the nursemaids of infant gods. Little
+Hermes must not wander alone, god though he be.
+How delicately they kissed him, bending over him, then
+rising, circling up and away as if carried by the breeze.
+Hermes was safe now no matter how rough the way.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a step sounded in the lane, “clump clump,”
+coming nearer.</p>
+
+<p>The nymphs and Hermes stopped still, listing as
+hares do in the path. Then instantly, thus poised,
+they vanished.</p>
+
+<p>“Lentils—good lentils, who’ll buy?” came the call
+of old Labba, the market woman, so tired with her day’s
+work, tramping home to her poor scraggy farm in the
+hills.</p>
+
+<p>Theria watched her. Poor Labba! She could not
+see the gods. Labba climbed the hill and was lost to
+view. Theria looked again.</p>
+
+<p>Yes—at once, as though bursting out of invisible pods,
+they came again, and with them the music so elfin clear.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span>
+The nymphs formed a circle and danced, with feet
+which did not touch the rocks, around their baby god.
+Sometimes they circled above the stream, sometimes
+swept near under Theria’s very window. So they
+danced and danced.</p>
+
+<p>Baltè, searching anxiously through the house for her
+nurseling, found her at length in the far shadowy room.
+She was sitting by the window, her head resting on the
+window ledge over which was strewn loose her night-dark
+hair.</p>
+
+<p>She was sound asleep.</p>
+
+<p>“An’ I only wish,” said Baltè afterward to Medon,
+“you could ’a’ seen the smile on her face. You wouldn’t
+’a’ thought this very mornin’ she was like a whole crew
+o’ mænads!”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE TRADITIONS OF THE HOUSE</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">So Theria’s</span> world was bounded by the house.
+Fortunate was it then that the house was rich in
+memories. Rich otherwise it was not. No
+earnest Greek beautified his own house when he could
+beautify instead the house and temple of his deathless
+gods. So the walls of Nikander’s house were of plain
+stucco, its floors, worn flags.</p>
+
+<p>To be sure the furniture, handed down from olden
+days, was beautiful. The bedsteads were chastely carved,
+their coverings were of home-made purple, and Melantho’s
+chair in which she sat to spin was of exquisite
+shape and balance. The tables in the men’s
+aula, where Nikander feasted his guests, were of teak-wood
+brought from afar by some travelled merchant
+to the Pythian feast. The vases in every room and put
+to all possible uses were of a grace and workmanship
+which only the Greeks knew. They were of the
+ordinary make, which everyone afforded, from the
+Delphi pottery below the hill. Upon them were painted
+pictures of the heroes and the gods—Theria’s charming
+picture books which sometimes told whole stories.</p>
+
+<p>The plain old house had been built upon, lived in, and
+loved by a dozen generations of Nikanders. It had
+absorbed within itself the beauty of their daily life and
+seemed to give it forth again—a sort of fragrance to be
+sensed the moment you crossed the threshold. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span>
+Nikanders were one of those quiet families of exceeding
+excellence and highmindedness which always exist
+in great numbers in the background of an age of genius.</p>
+
+<p>Time had harmonized the house. The lines of wall
+and ceiling were no longer plumb and level. The grey
+stucco had been stained lavender, yellow, faint rose by
+lichen growths. No threshold in the house but was
+worn deep by the tread of feet now passed beyond. In
+front of the little altar to Hestia the stone floor was
+hollowed like a bowl, where father and son, father and
+son had stood to offer reverent sacrifice to the goddess
+of the hearth.</p>
+
+<p>Into this atmosphere Theria had been born and in it
+her spirit grew, keeping itself alive within the straitened,
+prescribed round.</p>
+
+<p>But through the house were also wafted deep draughts
+of life from the Oracle—that mysterious shrine which
+seems to us like some myth, but which to the Greek was
+business-real.</p>
+
+<p>The manner of divination at Delphi was peculiar in
+that it gave the priests an opportunity to mould the
+divine answer without at the same time losing faith in
+its divineness. The Priestess or Pythoness was a simple
+girl comprehending nothing of the knowledge which she
+must impart. In preparation for the day of oracle she
+was subjected to three days of rite. She fasted, drank
+of the sacred spring, walked through laurel smoke;
+and with her perfect faith in these rites, she must often
+have been in the ecstatic state before mounting the
+tripod.</p>
+
+<p>Then in the shadowy adytum beneath the temple
+she was placed upon the golden tripod, the “High
+Perilous Seat” as it was called. The cold wind blew
+out of the cleft below her and in ecstasy she spoke words<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span>
+she knew not. It is undoubted that in her state of
+suspended consciousness she often reflected as in a
+mirror the knowledge and judgments of the priests.
+Her marvellous answers often filled priests and
+questioners alike with awe. The priests afterward
+were allowed to recast the answers into verse and to
+remould them. But in spite of the liberty which they
+occasionally felt obliged to use in the recasting the
+priests sincerely believed that the responses were genuinely
+from the god.</p>
+
+<p>It was this mingling of faith and liberty which gave
+Delphi her power, a power which was for the most part
+grandly used. At the dawn of Hellas, from this eerie
+mountain glen the authority began to be exercised.
+It continued down through all the glory of Hellas and
+for centuries after her decline. Strong and real indeed
+must have been the religious impetus which could outlast
+the race.</p>
+
+<p>This was the Oracle which Theria’s kin had served
+with singleness of heart. Her father, Nikander, served
+it now. Priest, yes, but priest in the joyous, free fashion
+of the Greek. In performance of his priestly duties
+to the Oracle Nikander had travelled far, studying the
+coasts of the Ægean, Mediterranean, and Euxine
+seas, wherever lay the colonies of Delphi’s founding.
+He had mingled with the barbarians or un-hellenic peoples
+and had even learned some of their languages—a
+sort of knowledge unknown in Greece. In Thrace he
+had sojourned with the rude tent dwellers, in Egypt
+he had visited the stately temples of Isis and Osiris and
+had seen the great Sphynx which so grimly faced the
+desert. In Persia he had visited the court of Xerxes
+and despised its luxury. He had returned to Delphi
+broadened and sweetened by his experiences.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span></p>
+
+<p>Among the narrow one-city men of Greece the Delphian
+was not provincial.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander was a member of that Council, presided over
+by Delphi, called “Amphyction,” which for hundreds
+of years had upheld the only international law that
+Hellas recognized. The Amphyctiony earnestly tried
+to keep peace between the passionate cities which were
+its members. Nikander personally had great influence
+in this Council and used that influence for the constant
+uplifting of the policy of the Oracle.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander brought with him into his home the very
+breath of the Oracle. He spent little time at home, but
+when he did come his children ran to him, for no one
+could tell such wonder stories as Nikander—stories of
+shipwreck on savage coasts, of mountains that flamed
+and smoked, of the great statue Memnon which stood
+in Egypt and sang when the sun rose. But for the most
+part Nikander’s tales were tales of Delphi. Delphi
+was so rich in tradition that Nikander needed never to
+go far afield for his stories.</p>
+
+<p>It was from her father that Theria heard of the beautiful
+coming of her own ancestors to Delphi, men
+brought by Apollo himself to be his worshippers.</p>
+
+<p>“They were in a ship on a trading voyage,” Nikander
+would relate, “those ancestors of ours, bold young men,
+unafraid of the sea, for they were Cretan islanders.
+When suddenly there leaped out of the waves a Dolphin,
+golden and bright, and lay on their deck. At
+once the wind changed, speeding them toward the west.
+They tried to shift their sails but not one whit could
+they shift their course. The men were sore afraid for
+they knew they were in the hands of a god.”</p>
+
+<p>“The Dolphin god,” Theria would murmur with
+Wide eyes.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes, the Delphian,” her father made the age-old
+pun. “And they saw the immortal creature shimmer
+with rainbow colours never ceasing. So the strong
+wind blew them against their will first westward then
+northward into our own lovely gulf and to our port of
+Krissa. Here the ship stopped, held by immortal hands.</p>
+
+<p>“Then at once the Dolphin disappeared and in his
+stead stood a young man strong and beautiful with
+golden locks out-sprayed upon the winds and eyes
+whose light was as the dawn of day.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria would clap her hands softly, saying, “And he
+leaped upon the shore, our dear Apollo, and beckoned
+the men with his hand.” She knew the tale by heart.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander would continue, smiling:</p>
+
+<p>“And Apollo, lightly stepping, playing upon his
+heavenly lyre, led the Cretans hither, right by the place
+where our house now stands and up to the ‘place of
+golden tripods’ yonder.</p>
+
+<p>“‘This is to be yours,’ he told the Cretans. ‘Here
+shall ye serve my oracle.’</p>
+
+<p>“Then the Cretans looked about them. They saw
+the sterile cliffs and rocky hillsides on which nothing
+would grow. And they asked in apprehension:</p>
+
+<p>“‘How can we live in this place, O Lord Apollo?
+Here will no grain grow, no cattle find fodder. Here
+we cannot fish.’”</p>
+
+<p>The children laughed at this.</p>
+
+<p>“Fish! O foolish, foolish Cretans!”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, foolish Cretans. So Apollo called them. ‘Do
+ye so love to delve in the earth, and sweat? Do ye so
+love to be buffeted by salt water and bitter winds? A
+secret I will tell you! Sit ye here, attend my worship,
+and all the nations of the earth shall bring you gifts.
+My altars shall smoke with the fat of lambs, my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span>
+temples glow with golden things. But your duty shall
+be to guard my temple and to receive kindly in my
+name the tribes of men who gather here.</p>
+
+<p>“‘But if any of you ill-treat the stranger, if ye do
+violence or speak harsh words, then shall others be your
+masters and make you slaves for ever.’”</p>
+
+<p>“But we will never be slaves?” Theria would inquire
+anxiously. “We will never do those wicked deeds
+and be slaved?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, never.” Nikander would kiss the child who
+cuddled so close in his arms and then with yet more
+fondness kiss his son Dryas.</p>
+
+<p>Such was the ennobling tradition which the little
+girl Theria treasured in her heart. But she knew, too,
+that the Delphi god had not always been master of his
+shrine. Story upon story, faith upon faith went back
+into the misty past where the chaste belief in Apollo
+was underlaid with grotesque stories of Gaia—Mother
+Earth—and dragons.</p>
+
+<p>It was from her nurse Baltè that she heard these older
+tales though they were sternly and fearfully believed by
+all Delphians.</p>
+
+<p>Baltè one afternoon found the little girl sitting by
+Nikander’s front window gazing outward in silence. It
+was a place of wide prospect. The house was one of
+the few which stood above the main road, and so steep
+was the incline that the roofs across the way seemed but
+little higher than the road itself. Theria could look
+over them and over other roofs in sharp downward
+succession into the violet depth of Pleistos gorge and
+then up to the fir-clad mountain beyond.</p>
+
+<p>A storm of clear-edged cloud was sweeping along
+that slope with flashes and mutterings. She watched
+wistfully its swiftness and its strength.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span></p>
+
+<p>Baltè came from behind and kissed her.</p>
+
+<p>“Now an’ why aren’t ye down in the aula playin’
+with Clitè an’ Nerea? It’s always I find ye by yourself
+at the window. It isn’t right for little girls to be seen
+from the street.”</p>
+
+<p>But Theria was full of questions. “Baltè, what does
+the glen find when it goes down into the shadows? It
+always seems to stoop down and down.”</p>
+
+<p>“The river, do ye mean, darlin’?”</p>
+
+<p>“But I can’t see the river, I’ve tried so many days.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, the glen is too deep to see the Pleistos.”</p>
+
+<p>“Baltè, did you ever go across the river to the other
+mountain—far, far over where Father Zeus has driven
+his clouds?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, child, not I. What ever would I be doin’
+there?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’d like to go,” said the child.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t ye never! Do ye see that little rift-like all
+black on the mountainside among the firs?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Baltè.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, down in that rift is the cave o’ Lamia—a
+woman the upper part of her, but all the rest a <em>snake</em>.
+In the olden time she did come hitherward and ravaged
+the country.”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s ravid?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, knockin’ down the houses and eatin’ the folk.
+So at last to quiet her they did take a boy—oh, a nice
+likely young boy of the village—and leave him for her in
+that cave.”</p>
+
+<p>“What for?”</p>
+
+<p>“To eat! Every day a boy!”</p>
+
+<p>By this time Theria’s eyes were wide, and she reached
+furtively and caught Baltè’s skirt.</p>
+
+<p>“But then there came the hero Eurymalos an’ he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span>
+walked right into the cave, he did. An’ he caught
+Lamia and pulled her out, and cast her down the cliff.
+Then she fell down, down, a-bumpin’ and bangin’ her
+head all the way—right into the river Pleistos.”</p>
+
+<p>“Paian be praised!” breathed the little girl.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but them kind don’t stay killed,” said Baltè
+uncomfortingly. “Look at the other one, the Python
+now. Apollo killed her long since. But every fourth
+year the Sacred Boy has to go up there in the Precinct
+an’ kill her again.”</p>
+
+<p>“But, Baltè, that’s only a play to make a holy memory
+to the god.” Theria felt sure of this, for not long ago
+her cousin had been the Sacred Boy in the play and she
+had heard Mother say that if Dryas continued to do so
+well in school, and if he grew graceful and fair, he,
+too, might some day be the “Boy of The Strepterion
+Drama.” She somehow felt sure that Dryas could not
+kill a real Python.</p>
+
+<p>But Baltè shook her head.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t tell me!” she said stoutly. “Ye haven’t
+seen her. I have. I’ve seen the switch o’ the Python’s
+tail, an’ heard her teeth grind, the while she dies. An’
+when she is dead, don’t they perform all the purifications
+just as when old mistress died in the house? She’s
+real, I tell ye!”</p>
+
+<p>Theria was more than half convinced.</p>
+
+<p>Yet even the Python and the boy-eating Lamia did
+not so strike terror to the childish Theria as did the
+strange rites which through winter months occupied the
+Delphians. These were no tales of the past but rites
+of Dionysos which Theria herself could see.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>In the winter came Dionysos, a powerful god, to take
+possession of the Precinct while Apollo should be away<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span>
+in the north. Then Theban women—a large company—arrived
+in Delphi to greet him. Theria saw
+them pass and knew that a like company from Athens
+was arriving at the other end of the village.</p>
+
+<p>A society of Delphian ladies never else seen publicly
+came crowding out of their houses into the highway.
+From her favoured window Theria saw these also, her
+own kinswomen whom she knew well, no longer sedate
+and kind and neat, but with hair disordered, clad in
+strange spotted fawn skins over their chitons. They
+came leaping, shouting, whirling around in a sort of
+frenzy as though unable to wait for the rites which
+they were about to perform. They were no longer
+themselves, they were possessed by the strange god
+Dionysos. They were no longer called women, but
+Bacchantes. They were being swept along by a terrible
+joy from which the child shrank in shame though she
+could not understand.</p>
+
+<p>On one such evening Theria watched them, saw the
+chill, dusky street aflare with their torches, saw how the
+eyes of the Bacchantes caught the light, staring like the
+eyes of panthers. Then in a frenzied, noisy rout they
+rushed away.</p>
+
+<p>Theria sat by her window quivering while the cold
+yellow light died out on glen and mountain. Then
+quickly she left the window and stole down to the aula
+where she sat close to the Hestia fire. One of those
+first evenings of frost it was when instinctively men
+draw near to their hearth and wish to have about them
+the home faces and the comfortable voices of home.
+Yet the little girl knew that her Aunt Eunomia, her
+pretty cousin Clodora, and the rest, were speeding half-naked
+up Parnassos, there in the bitter uplands and the
+wild to rage madly to and fro at the will of the god.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span></p>
+
+<p>Lycophron burst into the room, rosy with the cold,
+rude as fourteen years could make him.</p>
+
+<p>“Did you see the women?” he shouted. “By the
+gods, I could hardly get home for them. Free at last—that’s
+what they are, havin’ the time of their lives.
+Dionysos is only an excuse. Hey, Theria, you are always
+wanting to get out. Why don’t you join?”</p>
+
+<p>Lycophron did not see his father who had just come
+down the stair.</p>
+
+<p>“Lycophron,” said the father sternly, “how do you
+dare such insolence? Let me never hear such from you
+again.”</p>
+
+<p>And Lycophron disappeared more suddenly than he
+had come.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander drew near the fire, absently warming his
+hands. Even at this early time he was disturbed over
+his eldest son.</p>
+
+<p>“Are they gone?” queried the little girl.</p>
+
+<p>“The Bacchantes? Yes, my child. As I came up
+the street I saw far up on the mountain their Bacchic
+fires gleaming through the dusk. It is cold for the
+night of Bromios.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria knew of what he was thinking—a little great-great-aunt
+of hers who had died on a night like this,
+in the cold of the Parnassian rocks. A tiny room next
+to Theria’s own had belonged to her and she was said
+to visit it on Bromios night, a white, chattering figure
+trying in vain to warm herself amid the purple covering
+of the couch.</p>
+
+<p>Theria stole to her father’s side, slipped her hand In
+his, and drew him down to whisper:</p>
+
+<p>“Father, must I be a Bacchante some day?”</p>
+
+<p>“God forbid,” spoke Nikander, then added piously,
+“unless the god demand you, Theria.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span></p>
+
+<p>“But he will not demand me. Oh, Father, he will
+not?”</p>
+
+<p>Again she was in the hollow of his arm and again felt
+safe even from the god Dionysos himself.</p>
+
+<p>“No, my daughter,” he said, looking into the sane
+little face. “I do not believe he will.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE GUESTS</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">So throughout</span> the winter months Dionysos,
+that god who came from far Asia into
+Greece, held sway in Delphi. Apollo was gone
+on his distant mysterious journey to the land of the
+Hyperboreans, those happy, luxurious folk who live
+on the farther side of the north wind. Theria felt
+keenly this absence of her god: more keenly perhaps
+than she would have felt the absence of any person in
+the household.</p>
+
+<p>For with Apollo’s going the Oracle was silenced. No
+pilgrims came to consult it. The pure, ordered songs
+of Apollo, the throbbing lyre, the announcing trumpets
+were stilled. Instead sounded the nervous wailing of
+Dionysos pipes. On quiet evenings Theria could hear
+them, and Baltè told her of the furious satyr dances in
+the Precinct. And now the absence of Apollo brought
+the rains and the cold. Yes, in the winter Theria
+missed her god.</p>
+
+<p>When, therefore, in the spring Apollo returned, the
+whole heart of the little girl went forth to him in love.
+Theria knew well how her god must look. Every vase
+and kylix in the house bore pictures of Apollo. And
+long ago her child mind had selected, from among the
+beautiful youths she had seen come by on pilgrimage,
+one who seemed to her like the god himself. Always
+at the word “Apollo” Theria saw again that fresh-hearted<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span>
+happy boy moving, flushed and expectant,
+toward the Precinct, and on his face that same look of
+dear surprise, youth’s first response to life.</p>
+
+<p>Apollo always arrived at Delphi on his birthday the
+seventh of Busious. Then the whole Precinct and the
+town awoke to greet him with song and festival. In
+Nikander’s house slaves ran to and fro on busy errands;
+for of a surety guests would be coming from the ends of
+the earth. The purples and the woven curtains came
+forth from Theria’s familiar storeroom, and all the
+house glowed with the patterns and pictures of tapestries.
+What joy to the little girl that busyness and
+commotion.</p>
+
+<p>Past the house on the highroad now came throngs of
+pilgrims, more of them every day. At these times no
+forbiddings or punishments could keep Theria away
+from the window.</p>
+
+<p>Here came men from Corinth, Thebes, Argos, and the
+islands of the sea. Rich men on horseback with trains
+of slaves, poor men whose anxious faces showed plain
+their question to the god. “Even the wolves bring
+gifts to Delphi,” was the saying; and some of these with
+their heavy mountain faces and clothes of skin seemed
+wild and wolf-like to the little girl. Now would pass a
+delegation from some distant Delphian colony bearing
+the tithe gift to the mother fane; for Apollo was founder
+of cities. It was he who had first led the colonists to
+their distant lands over the misty deep. Sculptors
+came accompanying their statues; poets brought their
+songs. Now would pass an Ionian gentleman in long
+purple cloak, laughing, gesturing; now a quiet young
+philosopher whose large-eyed vivid face showed his
+spirit-quest. Philosophers were well known in Delphi
+and more welcome than kings.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span></p>
+
+<p>How eagerly the visitors talked as they came along.
+They had arrived after long journeying to within sight
+of their goal. The broad Doric speech, the melodious
+Attic, the barbarous dialects mixed with the speech of
+Scyths, Sikels, and Gauls, all these she heard.</p>
+
+<p>Among these passers-by were sure to be some who
+would stop and enter Nikander’s door—guests of the
+priestly house. Often these were men of high renown,
+but quite as often they would be poor, in threadbare
+garments, who had came to the Oracle in bitter need.
+To these Nikander’s ministry was almost un-Greek in its
+overflowing sympathy. An inherited skill of kindness
+was his and his poet quality of insight was of no peculiar
+race or date. Many a troubled wight came forth from
+Nikander’s presence, serene to face the god.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>In the centre of Nikander’s as in every Greek house
+there was a fast-closed door. Behind this door lived the
+women. They might, when only the family was in the
+house, come through this door, but they had no business
+or occupation on its outer side. At the appearance of
+a guest the women must quickly disappear.</p>
+
+<p>This door was at once Theria’s greatest grief and
+greatest delight. Grief that it must constrain her at
+all. Delight in that she could steal through it and
+catch glimpses of her father’s guests. Often though she
+was punished for this Theria always did it. Who would
+not take punishment for a glimpse of Æschylus, Kimon,
+Parmenides, or Pindar!</p>
+
+<p>“Back to your room—quick, Daughter!” Nikander
+would command whenever he noticed her. But often
+Nikander would be absorbed in his guest, and the room
+would be confused with serving-slaves. Nikander would
+not even see Theria’s little figure crouched by a pillar.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span></p>
+
+<p>Of all the guests the Theban poet Pindar was the one
+whom Theria loved best. Indeed all children loved
+Pindar. Not a child in Delphi but would lift up eager
+hands to that radiant smile as Pindar passed. There
+was in him an almost aggressive joy. The same vitality
+which makes a child leap and run and shout—all this
+was in his adult nature. It shone out of the clear deeps
+which were his eyes and trembled on his full Greek lips.
+He seemed always just to have taken a deep breath as if
+joying in the very air about him. His rather large
+mouth and his nose both were well-built for breathing.
+Splendour was his—splendour of imagination. His
+whole being exulted in response to spiritual beauty unseen
+by other men.</p>
+
+<p>All Delphi adored him. They had a strangely spiritual
+custom concerning him. Wherever Pindar might
+be in bodily comings or goings, the keeper of the Apollo
+temple when closing the shining doors at sunset hour
+was wont to call aloud:</p>
+
+<p>“Let Pindar, the poet, go in to the supper of the god!”</p>
+
+<p>Theria was a very little girl when she first saw Pindar.
+She was awakened by a sweet commotion of music, and
+getting up from her bed she trotted down into the front
+aula. The fateful door had been left open and she stole
+through, a diminutive figure in her short chiton. She
+went direct to Pindar.</p>
+
+<p>The poet laid his lyre upon the table and lifted the
+child to his knee.</p>
+
+<p>“There, there; I awakened you, little one,” he said
+tenderly.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” she answered, “the music called me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Called you, did it? And so you had to come?”</p>
+
+<p>She did not answer but gazed up at him unwinking,
+her tiny hands folding and unfolding in her utter joy<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span>
+at being so near to him. She was unaware of the others
+sitting at the feast.</p>
+
+<p>“Where do you get it?” she asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Get what? The lyre? Oh, of the lyre-maker in
+Athens.”</p>
+
+<p>She shook her curls.</p>
+
+<p>“No, the song. Does it come out of the air?”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps so, little one. Apollo gives it, surely.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, will he give one to me?” she asked, her hands
+clasping suddenly close to her breast. “If I make a
+prayer to him and a sacrifice—a big, big sacrifice like
+Father’s? A sheep, and burn it all up with leaping
+flame till it smells so good—so good?”</p>
+
+<p>Her baby nose sniffed deliciously and all the men
+laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“And where will you get your big sheep?” teased one.</p>
+
+<p>“Nay, do not spoil her hope,” spoke Pindar quickly.
+He drew the lyre toward her and instantly her chubby
+hand reached out to touch the strings, sounding them
+lovingly, softly.</p>
+
+<p>Pindar watched her, absorbed.</p>
+
+<p>“The god will give you your song, darling. Apollo’s
+answer is already in your eyes and fingers.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think so, Pindar?” asked Nikander, amused.
+“Yet even so the child must not stop our feast. Medon,
+will you carry her back to her nurse?”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander expected that she would cry and struggle,
+but she leaned over and kissed the lyre, then went
+away with Medon, quite satisfied.</p>
+
+<p>Ever from that time Theria awakened at the first
+sound of Pindar’s lyre. She would steal down as near
+as she dared. If the door were shut she would press
+her ear against it in her eagerness to hear. If it were
+open she would crouch in its shadow. The slaves<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span>
+passing to and fro with the feast never told. Theria
+was a favourite with them.</p>
+
+<p>It was Pindar’s habit to bring his songs to Nikander
+when they were glowing new. Nikander, a poet who
+had never written himself forth, had the keenest sense of
+poetic values and Pindar was glad of his judgments.
+Sometimes an ode would be sung again and again before
+both pronounced it right. Then Pindar would go out
+into the Delphic starlight humming the altered, perfected
+refrain:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Harken, for once more we plough the field</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">of Aphrodite of the glancing eyes,”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>or</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“In anywise to slake my thirst for song,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">The ancient glory of thy forefathers summoneth me,”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>or he would address his own songs, calling them</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“My lords of lute,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">My feathered arrows of sweet song,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">My golden pillars of sweet song——”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>These were the familiars of Theria’s childhood and
+entered into the fabric of her mind. Pindar, as he strode
+singing away, little recked of the girl-listener drinking
+at his fountain and transmuted in all her being by his
+supreme expression.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII<br />
+<span class="smaller">WHAT GIFTS THE GUESTS BROUGHT</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">It was</span> through a guest that Theria first came to
+visualize those distant colonies of the west which
+gave so many gifts to Delphi and played so important
+a part in Delphi’s life.</p>
+
+<p>He was a simple-seeming guest, this young man from
+far-away Elea in Italy. But child though Theria was,
+she could not but note his face. It shone with an
+almost startling quietness, a robust and heavenly
+calm. The soul of the man had been dipped deep
+and deep again in abstract thought. Earthly things
+were washed away. The “Parmenidean Countenance
+of Peace” was soon to be recognized throughout
+Hellas, for even the disciples of Parmenides acquired
+this same look.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” he said, smiling, as though it were an ordinary
+happening. “We were nearly shipwrecked off Corcyra.
+Four days of storm. I thought my earthly term was
+come. But I knew that I would at once rise from the
+sea and begin my long progress toward the Eternal
+Source.”</p>
+
+<p>“Would you have been glad,” asked the amazed
+Nikander, “to go on pilgrimage to Hades?”</p>
+
+<p>“No—no,” laughed Parmenides. “Too much to do
+here. Elea needs me. The city is now in my hands to
+govern quite as I will. I govern by philosophy. And,
+Nikander, we are happy in Elea! We are a little city<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span>
+and on a far-away coast, yet even Athens has not our
+justice and calm. Constantly I keep before the minds
+of our citizens the importance of right, the unimportance
+of this world’s goods. They know they are in
+the hands of <em>The One</em>.”</p>
+
+<p>“I could not worship <em>The One</em>,” said Nikander seriously.
+“Think what a lonely god—an Only One, sitting
+sole and wordless in Olympos with no other god to
+speak to, to deal with, or to love. Or even to quarrel
+with,” he added whimsically.</p>
+
+<p>“But the gods themselves worship my god. They
+know the One who is above them and controls.”</p>
+
+<p>“Moira?” asked Nikander in a low voice. “Inexorable
+Fate?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, Nikander, not Fate, but Love—creating all
+things—healing all things. Love—the First—the
+Source.”</p>
+
+<p>Parmenides’s eyes shone with eerie light. He was
+fairly launched now. He began to recite his philosophy.
+It was—as was all literary expression in those days—a
+poem. Nikander listened entranced, laying it away
+in his retentive Greek memory which would give him
+back whole cantos of it almost entire.</p>
+
+<p>Theria, crouched in the door corner wrapped in a
+dark cloak, was content to listen to the rhythm. Of
+the poem she understood not a word. Then she grew
+weary of her stolen pleasure, but she dared not move
+from her hiding place.</p>
+
+<p>Presently Baltè began to call her through the house.</p>
+
+<p>“Little mistress, little mistress, your mother asks for
+you. Little mistress, she is ill and needs you.”</p>
+
+<p>For, strange to say, in Melantho’s frequent headaches
+it was Theria’s little magnetic hands which
+helped most of all.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Apollo has blessed the child with his healing touch,”
+old Baltè was wont to say.</p>
+
+<p>But now Baltè called in vain, and at last, fearing that
+her charge might be in forbidden quarters, she left off
+her call.</p>
+
+<p>But the interminable poem went on. It mingled at
+last in Theria’s ears into a soft humming. Torches
+were brought, and the evening meal. Priest and philosopher
+lingered in ardent converse—that friction of
+mind upon mind which the Greek men of that day so
+loved and which with its sparkle and contagion of wit
+made the Greek look with contempt upon the mere
+written page.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander, strolling dreamily to bed at midnight,
+stumbled upon the heap wrapped in its dark cloak, and
+lifted his daughter in his arms.</p>
+
+<p>“Strange,” he murmured, “this continual disobedience.
+What can draw her hither—I wonder?”</p>
+
+<p>The childish face sleeping upon his arm reminded him
+of his mother—a resemblance he had not noted before,
+and very tenderly he carried her to her bed where Baltè
+was waiting.</p>
+
+<p>It was from a guest also that Theria heard the first
+whisper of The War—that steadily approaching war
+which was yet so far off that only the wise felt its dread.</p>
+
+<p>Theria was older at this time and understood more
+of what she heard.</p>
+
+<p>Her father one day entered suddenly bringing with
+him a stranger whose personality started her interest.
+Unremitting energy! That was the keynote of the
+man. He talked continually. Theria heard him even
+before he entered—the clear voice of the orator. His
+strange Attic dialect, his swift words made him a little
+difficult for her to understand. Fair he was, tall, blue-eyed,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span>
+strong, something un-Greek about him. Nikander
+did not even see Theria this time. He was too absorbed
+in Themistokles.</p>
+
+<p>Their talk was first about the new play at Athens.
+Themistokles had just heard the first great drama.
+His heart was afire with the excitement of it.</p>
+
+<p>“It is new, utterly new and powerful,” he exclaimed.
+“Prometheus, it is called. Our Æschylus has outdone
+himself. The very gods come down upon the stage.
+And actors! We have never had such actors, Nikander.
+But it is the greatness of the play which creates them—the
+greatness of the play!”</p>
+
+<p>“The lines!” pleaded Nikander. “Tell me the lines.”</p>
+
+<p>And with ready memory Themistokles began. He
+gestured swiftly with his hands. “Flashing hands,”
+Theria named them. He puzzled her. Surely he was
+not Athenian—not quite moderate and serene—and his
+cloak with its border of purple and gold was a little too
+conspicuous of beauty.</p>
+
+<p>In the midst of a scene he broke off.</p>
+
+<p>“But here we talk of the play,” he said. “When I
+want to talk of dear Athens. Nikander, the Athenians
+are blind, every one of them, <em>blind</em>!”</p>
+
+<p>“Gracious,” laughed Nikander, “no one else thinks
+so.”</p>
+
+<p>“They will not believe that the Persian will come
+again. ‘Oh,’ they boast, ‘We conquered them at Marathon,
+that deed is done.’ But the deed is not done.
+Nikander, <em>you</em> know the Persian will return. Ye of
+Delphi, are you so unaware?”</p>
+
+<p>He seized Nikander’s hand and Nikander sobered
+instantly.</p>
+
+<p>“Indeed we are not unaware,” he answered.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Nikander, the trophies of Miltiades will not let<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span>
+me rest. Such trophies must be won again. May the
+gods let me win them!”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander did not reply but Theria saw him search the
+man’s face, as if anxiously measuring him for some great
+need.</p>
+
+<p>“Have you news, Themistokles—fresh news?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, only straws, but plenty of them. I keep a
+clever slave down at the Piræus who has no other business
+than to listen to stories of the ship-merchants and
+traders. Sailors know the way of the winds—the winds
+of the future. They push in at every shore. The
+Great King they tell us is now warring against Egypt,
+but our turn is next. Oh, it is surely the next. Nikander,
+the armies which Darius brought against us seven
+years agone were but a handful to those which his son
+Xerxes will bring.”</p>
+
+<p>“I believe that,” said Nikander. “Ay, and the
+Delphian Council believe it, too.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good!” exclaimed the Athenian.</p>
+
+<p>“It is not good. Do you know, Themistokles, what
+this belief breeds in the Council? Fear; only fear!
+‘Hellas cannot withstand the Persian.’ That is what
+they are whispering here in Delphi. ‘Hellas is
+doomed.’”</p>
+
+<p>Themistokles’s face took on a horror which startled
+the listening girl.</p>
+
+<p>“Nikander,” he cried, “you will not allow Delphi to
+shirk. The Oracle must stand by Athens!”</p>
+
+<p>“I will stand by Athens and by all Hellas,” said
+Nikander solemnly. “I believe Apollo will defend his
+own.”</p>
+
+<p>Themistokles now began to talk of the silver mines
+of Laurium and how he had been trying to persuade the
+Athenians to forego their yearly gift of silver in order to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span>
+build ships for fighting against the little island of
+Ægina.</p>
+
+<p>“Will so many ships be needed?” queried Nikander
+with sharp insight.</p>
+
+<p>Themistokles leaned toward him, laughing softly,
+triumphantly. “For the war with Ægina!” he said, low-toned.
+“Believe me, for that war the ships will not be
+used. But when the Persian comes, he will find certain
+ships in our harbour that will give him pause. Remember
+that, Nikander, so that you may give credit to
+Themistokles who saw before the event.”</p>
+
+<p>All too soon Themistokles took his departure. Afterward
+Theria heard the slaves gossiping about the man.
+“He brought with him a purple tent,” they said, “and
+furniture and many slaves, even for his short visit.”
+Themistokles lived like a prince in Delphi.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII<br />
+<span class="smaller">DRYAS TAKES A ROBBER</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">There</span> was no use mincing matters; Lycophron,
+the eldest son of Nikander, was not satisfactory.
+Handsome in person, he had nevertheless always
+been slow to learn and swift in evil doing, the
+bane of his Delphic schoolmasters. At fourteen years
+his features had coarsened, his eyes grown less intelligent.
+Now at eighteen that phase was past and he
+was clever in a fashion which Nikander vainly tried to
+think creditable. Nikander wanted to keep close to his
+boy in study and sports. Lycophron was his first-born.
+Some day Lycophron would be priest in Nikander’s
+stead, would take his chair in the Amphictyonic Council.
+Yet try as he might, Nikander could never look
+forward to this succession without shame.</p>
+
+<p>Lycophron now began to demand money for horses
+and a chariot for the Olympian games. Nikander
+could ill afford so expensive a winning. He had hoped
+that his eldest son would win the crown for leaping or
+running, some act which would be reflected back in
+manly beauty and strength. Yet Nikander managed
+to give Lycophron money for his horses. He loved his
+eldest with a sensitive, intimate love.</p>
+
+<p>But now came Dryas. Dryas from the first week of
+school had shown himself a promising son of the ancient
+house, and Nikander’s joy in him was beautiful to see.
+Always when Dryas returned from school Nikander<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span>
+would contrive to be in the aula to greet him, to
+hear the latest Doric melody the boy had learned, to
+correct the faults, or recite with him the passage of
+Homer which had been the lesson of the day.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes Nikander would linger along the road,
+meet Dryas, and, dismissing the pedagogue, would
+himself conduct the boy home.</p>
+
+<p>Dryas was not always strong. Nikander summoned
+for him the best physicians from Athens and on his ill
+days would sit beside him patiently trying to ease the
+child. At such times Theria helped, knowing by that
+curious instinct of hers what to do. And when the pain
+was eased, Dryas would draw her face down and kiss
+her. Nikander was almost jealous of the love that
+Dryas gave to his twin sister. As he grew taller,
+however, Dryas grew also well and strong.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>One winter evening Dryas and his slave boy were returning
+from the gymnasium, old Medon his pedagogue
+being lame and at home. All afternoon Dryas had been
+exercising. Then in the gymnasium he had stood under
+the pouring fountain, a chilly bath, and the slave boy
+had rubbed him to a glow. He was full of life and of a
+sense of waxing strength. Dreams of Olympian contests
+were in his heart as they were in the heart of every
+boy of Greece.</p>
+
+<p>“Come,” said he to the slave. “Let’s go out the eastern
+road. You have the bow. Maybe we’ll bring down
+a hare.”</p>
+
+<p>“It will grow dark soon,” ventured the slave. “And
+your father will be coming to meet you.”</p>
+
+<p>“It won’t be dark,” answered Dryas. “Come, I
+say.”</p>
+
+<p>So together they walked eastward on the hill road.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span>
+They passed the row of outer temples and the hillside
+tombs. Sure enough, against all hope, a hare leaped
+across the road. Dryas shot it, and the slave fetched
+and slung it over his shoulder. Then they started back
+to town.</p>
+
+<p>Twilight had fallen when they repassed the graves.
+The boys shrank close to each other. Both slave and
+free were afraid of the spirits which hovered there.</p>
+
+<p>As they came to the roadside temples they saw a man
+dart quickly around a corner.</p>
+
+<p>“What was that?” asked Dryas sharply.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know,” answered the slave. Dryas, with
+wide eyes of fear, backed behind a rock.</p>
+
+<p>“If he’s stealing from the gods we ought to stop him,”
+spoke the slave. “See; we have our bow.”</p>
+
+<p>At this word Dryas, ashamed of his fear, came out
+from hiding.</p>
+
+<p>“Stay by me,” he pleaded, and the slave advanced
+first.</p>
+
+<p>These small temples, being outside the Precinct wall,
+were poorly guarded. The boys crept nearer and
+rounded the corner just in time to see the man with
+some silver cups in his arms running down the hill.</p>
+
+<p>The boys gave chase. The man circled around so as
+to come up the hill again. The upper heights were always
+a fastness for robbers. The boys still followed,
+and above the road overtook the man.</p>
+
+<p>Dryas with a cry half like a sob leaped upon him while
+the slave at the same time tripped his heels. The fellow
+went down like a log, screaming in panic. The boys
+quickly possessed themselves of the cups. The slave
+with his own leather belt tied the man’s hands, and together
+the boys pulled the man down the road—he not
+resisting at all. They pushed him along toward town.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span></p>
+
+<p>At the edge of the village Nikander met them. In all
+his life Nikander never forgot that shock—first the
+fear, then the joy—as he realized that Dryas, spite of
+bleeding face and dishevelled hair, was safe and that he
+had done a brave deed.</p>
+
+<p>“Father, it is a robber,” Dryas was saying excitedly.
+“I caught him by the outer temples. See, he had the
+silver temple cups.”</p>
+
+<p>“My son,” said Nikander. “My son!”</p>
+
+<p>At sound of Nikander’s voice the man fell down again,
+howling like an animal in fear. And strangely, Dryas,
+too, broke into hysterical weeping.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t let them kill him, Father. Don’t let them kill
+the man!”</p>
+
+<p>“But he has committed sacrilege.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, no—no, if they kill him I’ll die, too. Oh, I’m
+afraid! Oh, he would haunt me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nonsense, Dryas.”</p>
+
+<p>Here the man tried to get upon his feet but tumbled
+down again.</p>
+
+<p>“Pitiful Hermes!” cried Nikander. “The wretch is
+starving.”</p>
+
+<p>Dryas, still sobbing, caught nervously at the man’s
+bonds and pulled them off.</p>
+
+<p>“Here, Son,” said Nikander. “Give him a drachma.”</p>
+
+<p>The poor creature snatched the money and seeing
+the look of relenting in Nikander’s face, sprang up the
+hill with sudden life. He was quickly lost among the
+crags.</p>
+
+<p>The incident soon got abroad in Delphi. The boys
+at school made a hero of Dryas. They had always
+liked him.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander, however, could not help recurring to
+Dryas’s curious, passionate weeping. He told himself<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span>
+that it was natural. The young boy should be pitiful.
+But the weeping had not seemed to be pity. Something
+selfish, almost craven was in it. And a look in the slave
+boy’s face made Nikander think that the slave had done
+as much or more of the deed than Dryas himself.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander pushed these thoughts from him and when
+Dryas’s praise came in from every side, Nikander gladly
+forgot them.</p>
+
+<p>For from this time the Delphians began to take notice
+of Nikander’s younger son. His beauty was growing
+every day. He had a voice high, clear, unearthly
+sometimes, and he played the lyre with firm touch while
+he sang. He was only fourteen years old.</p>
+
+<p>One day, as the priests broke up their council after the
+giving of the Oracle, the old Akeratus, president of the
+priests, detained Nikander. He told him that his boy
+Dryas had been chosen the “Laurel-Bearer” for the
+next Strepterion feast. It was the greatest honour
+the Delphians could give to a young Delphian boy.
+Then Nikander went home feeling that his cup of joy
+was full.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX<br />
+<span class="smaller">LAUREL FROM TEMPÈ</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Theria’s</span> joy, too, was full. The tie between
+Dryas and herself was very strong and his happiness
+closely touched her.</p>
+
+<p>But, oh, the further marvel! Theria was to go up to
+the Precinct to see the sacred rite. She was older now.
+Had she not already dedicated her girlhood toys to
+Artemis? Soon she would be a woman and for women
+there were certain rare occasions when they might
+visit the temple place.</p>
+
+<p>The new white himation which she was to wear she
+hung on a peg in her room. Gazing at this, fingering it,
+she could almost realize she was about to go to the
+Precinct. The joy caught strongly at her throat.
+Every day she begged her mother to name over each
+temple that she was to see, each treasury, each statue
+that flanked the Sacred Way until Melantho clapped
+hands over her ears and ordered her out of the room.</p>
+
+<p>Theria never moved quietly about the house. She
+always ran or skipped. Now as she ran, she sang aloud
+or, leaping into her swing in the court, she swept upward
+like a swallow, until she could see high over the balcony
+into the second-story rooms. The whole house felt the
+contagion of her joy.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m to attend little mistress,” boasted Nerea in the
+kitchen. “By Hermes, the best o’ the festival will be
+to see her face goin’ into the gates.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span></p>
+
+<p>The Strepterion was a festival which like the Pythia
+came every fourth year. At the Strepterion was performed
+the sacred drama, “Apollo Killing the Python,”
+the very same which Dryas had acted in play when a
+baby, and now he was to act it in earnest.</p>
+
+<p>Midway in the Precinct was built a temporary hut
+called the Palace of the Snake. And the snake would be
+there, a marvel of contrivance, his ugly dragon head,
+with open mouth and teeth, resting on the threshold.
+Dryas, arrayed as the boy Apollo, must in mimic
+dance and gesture fight the dragon. A chorus of boys
+carrying torches would sing the story. Then after the
+struggle Apollo must lift his silver bow and shoot the
+dragon. It would die with great writhings and agony—a
+joy to the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>Presently all the actors would come in solemn, silent
+procession down the Sacred Way. They would pass
+out of the gate of the Precinct, through the village, and
+away on the western road.</p>
+
+<p>Thus would begin a long journey which would take
+from moon to moon. Symbolically, the actors would
+journey to the land of the Hyperboreans beyond the
+north wind. Actually they would trace an ancient way
+of pilgrimage, the Pythian Way, to the Vale of Tempè.</p>
+
+<p>At Tempè Dryas, as the Sacred Boy, would gather
+boughs from a certain famous laurel tree, and bring
+them home to be woven into crowns for the Pythian
+victors. For the Pythian festival and games always
+fell in the same year, a few weeks later than the
+Strepterion.</p>
+
+<p>All this was to be Dryas’s adventure. He would
+return to tell of its wonders. He was a dear, companionable
+boy. Theria knew he would tell her the
+whole of it.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span></p>
+
+<p>On the morning of Strepterion she awoke before
+daybreak and lay in that ecstasy of anticipation which
+only youth-time knows. Presently dawned the light
+and showed her her white dress, still hanging ghostly
+on its peg. She arose and went out into the court-balcony.
+Here she met Dryas. He, too, had awakened
+early with the joy of the day.</p>
+
+<p>“Good luck,” she greeted him. “The luck of
+Loxias.” And he answered piously, “Apollo bless you.”</p>
+
+<p>Between them they roused the whole family.</p>
+
+<p>At sunrise Dryas must be clothed in his ceremonial
+robes. He stood in the court near the Hestia hearth
+where all the family could see him, where the slaves
+could gather proudly to look on. They brought
+forth the temple himation, yellow with its border of
+gold, an ancient, precious thing.</p>
+
+<p>Dreamily, sensitively, Dryas suffered them to put it
+on him, to unplait his long hair that it might flow over
+his shoulders in the manner of Apollo. Already he
+felt upon him the sacred character of the god he was to
+personate.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander advanced to place the golden laurel crown
+on Dryas’s head. He came slowly, unlike himself, and
+in the ceremony spoke only the necessary words—no
+more. He made sacrifice upon the hearth and then,
+stumbling a little, stepped back.</p>
+
+<p>It was time to go. The whole family were to walk
+behind Dryas up to the Precinct. Theria stood hand
+in hand with her mother. Her eyes were like stars.</p>
+
+<p>“Son,” said Nikander in a low voice, “I cannot go
+with you now. I will come up in a few moments with
+Medon. The priests will meet you at the gate.”</p>
+
+<p>“Father—but why?” A troubled look crossed the
+boy’s rapt face.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I am not quite well. Just for a moment. I’ll be
+with you soon, my son.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria darted out and touched his hand.</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind, Daughter,” he said. “Make haste, all
+of you.”</p>
+
+<p>Obediently the family formed in a sort of procession
+and left the house.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, the golden sunshine of that early morning! The
+sweet cool air with the blessing of the stars still upon it!
+Theria took thirsty draughts of it as she went along.</p>
+
+<p>The cliffs towered nobly about as if in prayer and
+along their face the mists, white spirits new risen from
+the vale, came shouldering, sinking, lifting, dreamily
+alive. So tall are the cliffs at Delphi that they meet the
+blue and cut off from sight the snowy peak of Parnassos
+which is back above them.</p>
+
+<p>Now the procession turned the shoulder of a cliff.
+The Precinct burst into view—the Precinct, a golden
+and many-hued Elysium lying on the slope above the
+road within its quadrate wall.</p>
+
+<p>It slanted against the hillside in the sunshine.
+Theria could see the bright little fanes, the golden
+tripods, the zig-zag of the Sacred Way dividing it in the
+midst, and the great Apollo temple at the top. The
+Precinct seemed to spread itself generously before her
+sight—all of it at once—as though knowing how
+dearly she loved it.</p>
+
+<p>Above the Precinct were the cliffs again soaring
+terribly to the sky.</p>
+
+<p>Now the procession was stopping. It was before
+the great bronze doors. The doors were opening,
+showing a glimpse of the wonder place within. Here
+a company of priests, with the old president or Hosios,
+received them.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span></p>
+
+<p>They greeted Dryas. Then—</p>
+
+<p>“But where is Nikander?” they asked.</p>
+
+<p>“He said he would join us,” answered Dryas. “He
+should be with us by now.”</p>
+
+<p>“We will wait for him,” said the old Hosios.</p>
+
+<p>And so they waited. Moments—a half hour and
+still Nikander did not arrive. The priests began to stir
+impatiently. Dryas looked around with anxious eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Theria slipped back among the slaves.</p>
+
+<p>“Baltè,” she said, “he does not come!”</p>
+
+<p>“Hist, little mistress, we must not speak in this
+place.”</p>
+
+<p>“But, Baltè, perhaps he is ill.”</p>
+
+<p>“Medon is there, and Philo.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria suddenly recalled that her father’s hand
+when she touched it had been cold as ice. How
+curiously he had stumbled as he turned from the crowning—an
+ill omen that. Theria had a sure instinct
+concerning illness. She knew that her father was in
+trouble. All the joy of the festival and of the out of
+doors folded its wings in her heart. She could think
+only of her father.</p>
+
+<p>Now she was dimly aware that the old Hosios had let
+open the gates and bade Dryas enter. She caught
+Baltè’s hand.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going back home,” she said. “Baltè, come
+quickly.”</p>
+
+<p>“But, little mistress, what a crazy notion is this?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll be back for the festival. Oh, I’ll be back in
+time. But I must meet Father.”</p>
+
+<p>“But, little mistress——”</p>
+
+<p>“Baltè, come at once!”</p>
+
+<p>And Baltè, who never before had obeyed her little
+girl, came without a word.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span></p>
+
+<p>They hurried back along the road. Nikander did
+not meet them on the way. Theria was the more
+terrified. Entering the house she heard music—the
+music of the physician. She ran to her father’s room.</p>
+
+<p>He lay gasping upon the bed, his fine face drawn like
+an old, old man’s. His eyes, haunted with pain,
+turned toward Theria, but he did not speak; perhaps
+he could not. The physician in the corner sang
+nervously the healing ode of Apollo. Medon was
+clasping his hands.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Missy, Missy,” he moaned. “The doctor gave
+the medicine and it did no good. Now he’s playin’ the
+music. When he does that—it’s the end—the end!”</p>
+
+<p>The room was suffocating.</p>
+
+<p>“Air,” thought Theria. “Father must have air.”</p>
+
+<p>She stamped her foot at the physician. “Stop that
+wailing!” she commanded. “Stop it at once.”</p>
+
+<p>The physician was glad enough to obey her. If
+Nikander died it could be the daughter’s fault.</p>
+
+<p>Then swiftly, businesslike, Theria had them carry
+her father, bed and all, into the street and sent Baltè for
+hot water which she applied. She was trembling in
+very childishness of grief. Sometimes she flung herself
+upon her father, kissing him, begging him to live.
+But nevertheless she kept on with her simple remedies—remedies
+she had used before.</p>
+
+<p>At last, so gradually that she could not tell when it
+began, the pain abated. Nikander’s eyes grew clear
+and his breath came even once more.</p>
+
+<p>“Daughter!” he spoke at last. “My darling girl.”</p>
+
+<p>And Baltè, putting down the steaming pot of water,
+gave a shout of joy.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile up in the Precinct the festival was going
+forward, but Theria had forgotten it.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span></p>
+
+<p>At length Nikander was strong enough to be carried
+back into the aula where he fell asleep. Then it was
+that Theria heard the sound of pipes and shouting
+in the street. Instinctively she ran upstairs to the
+window.</p>
+
+<p>The sacred drama was over. Here came the actors—now
+a happy, laughing rout. It was the custom that
+the Tempè procession leave the city in haste so as to
+out-distance all evil. First Dryas came running in the
+beautiful leaps which Greek racers used. His hair
+was streaming in the wind. He held aloft his silver
+bow in triumph and great joy. Then came the swift
+boy chorus with backward burning torches and beauty
+of fluttering garments, then the sacred women having
+an awkward time of it to keep the boys in sight. And
+the crowd laughing at them and shouting:</p>
+
+<p>“Good luck for the journey. The luck of Loxias.”</p>
+
+<p>So shouting, laughing, the picture of joyous life, they
+disappeared down the road.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, there was the last gleam of Dryas’s silver bow!</p>
+
+<p>“At least,” thought Theria, “when Dryas comes
+back, he will have Father to greet him instead of—instead——”</p>
+
+<p>Then with tender happiness—or was it the bitterness
+of missing her one festival—she hid her face, weeping.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X<br />
+<span class="smaller">A BOY CALLED SOPHOCLES</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">One</span> hot summer morning Melantho and her
+daughter were sitting in the upper room spinning.
+Or rather it was Melantho who was
+<em>sitting</em>. Theria was pacing to and fro at her task,
+stretching out the thread with free gesture, her fingers
+twisting, twisting like fluttering wings. Melantho
+noted how tall the girl had grown. “Her awkwardness,
+too, is passing,” she mused as Theria turned,
+sweeping the thin folds of her chiton against her supple
+limbs. So might Iris have looked, the slender goddess
+messenger, running to the divine threshold with news
+for the blessed gods.</p>
+
+<p>But Melantho had no thought of goddesses.</p>
+
+<p>“She will soon be old enough for a husband,” was
+Melantho’s thought. “I must speak to Nikander
+about it.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria sighed and paced again.</p>
+
+<p>“Theria,” said her mother, “if you would sit down
+you would not be so tired.”</p>
+
+<p>“Tired,” spoke the girl, frowning, “Great Hermes,
+why should I be tired except from this eternal sitting?
+There’s no breath in this room.”</p>
+
+<p>“Theria, you grow more impatient every day. Do
+you suppose your father can ever get you a husband if
+you frown like that?”</p>
+
+<p>At the word “husband,” the girl gave her mother a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span>
+startled, puzzled look. She said nothing. Melantho’s
+thoughts ran in given channels. Her next was of
+vegetables and fish which Medon must purchase this
+morning.</p>
+
+<p>“Daughter,” she said, “go down and fetch Medon to
+me.”</p>
+
+<p>Quick as thought, Theria dropped her spindle into
+the basket of snowy wool and sped away.</p>
+
+<p>The morning was full of sunshine. Theria carolled
+like a lark as she tripped down the stair. Housed
+though she was, Theria never seemed housed. Perhaps
+the effect upon generation after generation of her
+forefathers of living out of doors, the strengthening,
+sweetening effect upon mind and body, had entered into
+her and made her part of the open air.</p>
+
+<p>Through the inner court she ran and burst open the
+door into the outer court of the men. Here pure
+amazement stopped her motion. In the outer court
+stood the most beautiful boy Theria had ever beheld.</p>
+
+<p>He had laid aside his himation for the heat, and stood
+in his short chiton, slender, delicately erect, gazing
+about his new surroundings with shy yet interested
+eyes. His hair, honey coloured, was cut short and
+filleted as if for a holiday. He himself was bronzed
+by the sun as all high-born boys should be. At sight
+of Theria he smiled.</p>
+
+<p>“Forgive me, lady,” he said. “My father left me here
+to wait for him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh,” said Theria, “I thought perhaps a god had
+done that.” At which speech he blushed, and became
+a little lovelier.</p>
+
+<p>She came toward him. She was not shy, for the boy
+was younger than she. Besides, she was too delighted
+with his beauty to be shy.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Whence are you?” she queried.</p>
+
+<p>“From Colonos.”</p>
+
+<p>“The grove near Athens?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, the shady, sacred grove. The most beautiful
+place in the world.”</p>
+
+<p>“More beautiful than Delphi?” she smiled.</p>
+
+<p>“I think so, lady.”</p>
+
+<p>“It is your home,” said Theria gently. “Therefore
+you love it.”</p>
+
+<p>“My father came to consult the Oracle,” explained the
+boy. “He questions about his ship which comes not
+back to us. He is now with your father in the Precinct.
+For you are Nikander’s daughter, are you not?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes—his only daughter,” she answered with pride.</p>
+
+<p>How modestly the boy questioned. His respect
+toward her was something new in Theria’s experience.
+Both her brothers were brotherly contemptuous. But
+this stranger was talking with her! To Theria this
+experience was nothing short of an adventure. She
+felt it so. Mind and soul sprang up vivid and intense.
+She began to ask her usual eager questions.</p>
+
+<p>“How did you come to Delphi? Was it a long
+journey? Oh, was it by sea?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, lady, by land—through Bœotia and over the
+mountains.”</p>
+
+<p>“How many days?”</p>
+
+<p>“Three days—we did not hurry. Yesterday at sunset
+we came to the Triple Way.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where Œdipus met his father.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” he answered, “where he killed his father.
+Of course you know the story. Oh, lady, such a
+lovely place it is. Up there where the mountains
+pierce the sky; the road runs among the clouds. Where
+the clouds broke I could catch glimpses far beneath of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span>
+the blue valley and the sun setting. Far down I
+heard the tinkle of goat bells—the herds hidden below
+the clouds. I seemed to be in the home of the gods.
+And do you know what I did? I let the others walk
+onward and I stood there alone. The three roads
+went this way and that from the place of my feet.
+Then I seemed to see approaching along one road old
+Laius and his men, and by the other road Œdipus,
+young and proud, fulfilling his curse. But before they
+met I fled. Oh, I could not bear to think that he would
+kill his father all unknowing! What if it had been
+my own dear father and myself? The curse of Œdipus,
+that terrible curse, swept down over me with whirlwind
+wings.”</p>
+
+<p>The boy put up his hand to his head with a whimsical
+yet solemn smile.</p>
+
+<p>“It touched me,” he said, “and when I ran up to my
+dear father and clasped his hand I was weeping. I
+would not tell them why. Yet I am telling <em>you</em>.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wish I had been there,” breathed Theria.</p>
+
+<p>“I wish you had,” echoed the boy.</p>
+
+<p>And suddenly the boy’s gentle reverence gave Theria
+a joy utterly new—a sense at once of humbleness and
+power.</p>
+
+<p>“Come,” she said childishly, seizing his hand, “there’s
+a swing in the other aula. Let’s swing in it.” Busily
+she hied him thither. But the boy would not swing.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s for girls; I’ll push you,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>Soon the court rang with their voices and merry
+laughter. The boy “ran under” and Theria flew like a
+tall nymph in great dips and soarings. Now her black
+tresses streamed behind, new they flung over her face—a
+dusky veil. After a while the boy stopped, breathless,
+and the swing “died.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Guess who came with us all the way,” he said
+suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot guess.”</p>
+
+<p>“Pindar!” he told her joyously. “That’s what made
+the journey so wonderful. All those three days I
+heard his divine talk with my father. Never shall I
+forget it—all about Hellas and the Persians and the war
+that is coming. I hope it won’t come too soon before
+I can fight.”</p>
+
+<p>“Pindar is ours,” said Theria with Delphic pride.
+“There is a chair set in the temple just for him. He sits
+there and the god gives him song. Tell me: did you
+hear him sing?”</p>
+
+<p>“Often and often,” boasted the boy. “When we
+would stop by the road to sup and pour wine to the
+blessed gods, then a slave would bring Pindar’s lyre.
+A fine old one it is, always fresh stringed. He would
+sweep it with his hand and the thing would tremble as if
+alive. Do you think my hand is like Pindar’s?” he
+asked, stretching out his right hand. Slender and
+brown it was, expressive as his face.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” said the girl honestly, “but it is a player’s
+hand.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going to be a poet some day,” ran on the boy.</p>
+
+<p>“I wish I might be a poet,” said Theria.</p>
+
+<p>“You! But you are a girl. For you will be the
+house and children and the loom.”</p>
+
+<p>“I hate the house!” cried Theria.</p>
+
+<p>“What! The home of your fathers? How can
+you?” The boy was shocked.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I don’t mean the home. I mean the house walls
+that keep me in. Sometimes I want to scream and
+struggle as though I were tied down hand and foot.”</p>
+
+<p>“But nothing ties you down.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Do you call it nothing to stay all day twisting a
+miserable thread like this?” Theria spun with her
+fingers. “When there is so much, oh, so much in the
+world.”</p>
+
+<p>“But do women feel that way?” he asked. “They
+always seem contented in the house.”</p>
+
+<p>“Would you be content?”</p>
+
+<p>“By the gods, no.”</p>
+
+<p>“But are we not like you, we girls? We are strong—we
+like to run and breathe the air. Look at my arm,
+how ugly white. It has never seen the sun.” She
+flashed out her fair arm—free of its drapery.</p>
+
+<p>“That is not ugly,” said the boy gently.</p>
+
+<p>“It is! It is! White as a Persian’s!”</p>
+
+<p>“No, it is Greek,” maintained the boy. “By the
+gods, I’d like to see you running brown and free like
+Artemis in the wood.”</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t think I am foolish to want to run and
+leap.”</p>
+
+<p>“No—no—no!”</p>
+
+<p>Theria’s eyes widened with delight.</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t think me foolish to read my father’s
+books?”</p>
+
+<p>“Books!” Here the boy was puzzled. “Why should
+you read books? Poems are to sing, not to read.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I sing them, too,” laughed Theria. “Far back
+in the storeroom, when nobody can hear, I sing them.
+I have to make up the tunes.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wish I could hear you; oh, I wish I could hear
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>That any one should care for what she did! No
+praise could be sweeter, no joy. So absorbed were they
+both that they did not hear the voices calling through
+the house, “Sophocles! Sophocles!” until the searchers<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span>
+had entered the open door—that door which should
+always be closed.</p>
+
+<p>“Eleutheria,” came her father’s voice, sterner than
+she had ever heard it. “The meaning of this! By
+Hermes, I must know.”</p>
+
+<p>The two turned in confusion.</p>
+
+<p>“Whatever made you think you could bring a stranger
+here into the inner court? How long have you been
+together?”</p>
+
+<p>Theria answered none of his questions. She faced
+him, her eyes black lakes of astonishment. So intense
+a mood could not break at once.</p>
+
+<p>“I have done no wrong,” she asserted. “How can
+you think I have done wrong?”</p>
+
+<p>“But you have. You are almost a woman. You
+cannot receive my guests.”</p>
+
+<p>“<em>My</em> guest he is, this Sophocles,” she answered with
+frightened face but steady voice. “We have been
+talking together about Homer and Pindar. Surely
+that is no harm. Where is our wrong?”</p>
+
+<p>A low exclamation came from the corner of the room.
+Pindar himself was there with Sophocles’s father.</p>
+
+<p>The boy spoke, blushing, “I am the one to blame.
+I came in here to push the swing—not thinking.”</p>
+
+<p>“There is no blame,” repeated the girl passionately.
+“Don’t call it blame.”</p>
+
+<p>Had Nikander been an ordinary Greek father,
+Theria would undoubtedly have received her whipping
+at this time.</p>
+
+<p>“Go to your room, Daughter,” said Nikander
+quietly. “I cannot talk with you here.”</p>
+
+<p>And Theria fled in an agony of shame.</p>
+
+<p>Pindar’s voice broke the silence.</p>
+
+<p>“By the deep-vested Graces, Nikander, but I think<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span>
+we have broken into a pretty dialogue. Would I had
+heard some of it.”</p>
+
+<p>The boy, redder still, hid behind his father.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander shook his head in whimsical despair.</p>
+
+<p>“What am I to do with a daughter like that? I
+never know what she will do next. She’s perfectly
+good, I assure you. She only breaks rules like a colt.”</p>
+
+<p>“She’s your image,” laughed Pindar. “Your own
+face faced you when she spoke. Ay, and your spirit, too.
+By Artemis, did you mark how she fled up the stairs
+with head held high?”</p>
+
+<p>“She’s a twin, you know,” said Nikander. “The
+boy is more beautiful.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ay, I know your Dryas. The coming beauty
+they say, and perhaps the coming singer.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander’s face flushed with pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>“The lyrists tell me so,” he assented.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>Thus Eros brushed his wings across Theria’s fancy
+and flew away. No business of his was this. But
+youth was here—fearful impressibility: A breath, and
+youth is changed.</p>
+
+<p>Who shall say that when in after years this boy sang
+of a woman and gave her a new type of nobleness
+the image of this proud sweet maid of Delphi did not
+float before him and make his creation real?</p>
+
+<p>And as for Theria, the encounter was a peep outward
+into the world. From this time she became more
+aware of the hurry of development outside in the
+awakening land of Greece. From this time she felt
+it—the joyous advance into the light, new art, new
+politics, new thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>The amassing knowledge of centuries was converging<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span>
+to a focus and the heart of the Greeks soared into
+a mental atmosphere never known before or since.
+This intense point came in Theria’s lifetime. No
+wonder the light of it penetrated all her walls and restrictions.
+No wonder she struggled to be free to meet
+it. Her own youth was of the youth-time of Hellas
+and longed to be merged with it as flame yearns toward
+flame.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI<br />
+<span class="smaller">WHY NOT BE THE PYTHIA?</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">In times</span> of war we picture every corner of a warring
+land torn with passion, dark with fear, dyed
+with blood. But this is not so. In Nikander’s
+household the four meals a day were served by quiet
+slaves, the washing was done down in the Pleistos
+River as the good housewife Melantho required it.
+Eleutheria received her daily lesson in spinning and
+weaving and damaged more good wool than any maid
+of all the generations of Nikanders. This indeed was
+Dame Melantho’s chief grief, despite the fact that her
+little land was cowering under the heaviest cloud of
+war that ever threatened a devoted country.</p>
+
+<p>At every festival came crowding news of the great
+Persian king across the sea preparing his army to
+invade and devour. Into every port came sailors telling
+of the fleets of Phœnicians, Cyprians, Lykians,
+Dorians of Asia, etc., all of which fleets were making
+ready to pounce upon Greece. Then arrived the actual
+ambassadors of the King, demanding earth and water.
+Which was to say: “Consent to slavery and the Persians
+will leave you out of the fight.” Many cities
+gave these tokens immediately.</p>
+
+<p>“Who, then, will resist?” “What will happen if any
+should resist?” “Will the gods help?” “Have the
+gods forgotten their beloved Hellas?”</p>
+
+<p>Such were the questions which poured into Delphi.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span>
+These days Nikander might be seen pacing to and fro
+in some lesche or near the Council House, seeing naught
+before him, blind to the beauty of hills and far-glimpsed
+vale. Then perhaps in desperation he would stride
+down the hill and along the road toward home.</p>
+
+<p>In the women’s aula Melantho would greet him with
+the small worries of the day. A slave child was ill and
+she knew not what to do for it. She must have more
+grain to store away in the storeroom or Nikander
+would have to go without his special cake next winter.</p>
+
+<p>“And will you have a cake now?” she asked. “And a
+little wine? Do, now; you look tired.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” he said. “Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>And so she went out to make the slaves do all in
+order.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Theria came in and sat upon a stool near
+by. She spoke no word but tried to untangle a thread
+from her distaff, parting wisp from wisp with slender
+fingers, and watched her father with keen, quiet eyes.
+Melantho returned chattering and Nikander ate his
+cake in silence, and still Theria watched.</p>
+
+<p>She knew that the Amphictyonic Council, that famous
+council of many states, was meeting to-day in its
+house west of the town. Why was it meeting now?
+This was not the season. She knew that her father
+had been with it. He was one of the Amphictyons.
+There had been hot dispute, she could see that in his
+face. But had he won? And what was the strife
+about? She knew something of the danger which
+threatened the land. This she knew in spite of the
+fact that Nikander had been strict in keeping the news
+away from the household. He hated the aspects of
+fear: these would come soon enough.</p>
+
+<p>Bitterly Theria longed to ask questions. She knew<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span>
+that there was no use. She knew that her father had
+come home for peace, for a respite.</p>
+
+<p>After a while Melantho was called away, and Theria
+moved over beside her father on the bench and slipped
+her hand into his. He sighed restfully as she did so.
+Then care again settled like closing wings upon him.
+Theria decided that he had not won in the Council—at
+least not for to-day. She also decided that the controversy
+had been serious. She could not guess that it
+had to do with the whole policy of the Oracle in the
+face of the Persian attack. In that Council Nikander
+and one friend stood alone for the defence of Greece.
+All the others stood for surrender.</p>
+
+<p>Theria’s first instinct was the woman’s, to mend her
+father’s disappointment by some diversion.</p>
+
+<p>“Father,” she said, “I have been thinking all day of
+the birds that Homer tells of on the Scamandrian
+plain.”</p>
+
+<p>He frowned and came out of his dream. “What is
+Homer to you, child?” he said impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing, Father; but I often think of those things.
+I love the birds,” she added quietly. “They are so
+merry and move so swift, so swift. They are kind,
+too.”</p>
+
+<p>“Kind! What do you mean?”</p>
+
+<p>“They come to me when I go to the window—oh, just
+a few moments at the window, Father, to breathe the
+air. Then I call them their own calls and they fly
+down out of the air, very timid at first. I put out my
+hand and hold it still and talk to them. Finally, one of
+them is sure to flutter near and sit on my finger with
+its little sharp claws. They watch me with clever
+quick turnings of the head and chirp to make me laugh.”</p>
+
+<p>She leaned forward—very child in this childish<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span>
+pleasure. “Father, tell me what Homer says about the
+birds.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am in no mood for Homer’s lines.” And indeed
+he was not. But presently he began to say them—</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“As the many tribes of feathered birds,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Wild geese and long-necked swans</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">On the Asian mead by Kystrios stream</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Fly hither and thither joying in their plumage</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">And with loud cries settle ever onward——”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>“What a picture!” he commented. “I never realized
+before how fine it is.”</p>
+
+<p>Did his nearness to the ardent Theria bring this realization?
+Who can tell how mind may leap toward mind?</p>
+
+<p>So they were sitting when Olen, the slave boy, came
+and stood beside them.</p>
+
+<p>“Master, a consultant,” he announced, “at the street
+door. He will not come in.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander rose from the bench, strangely refreshed,
+and went to the outer aula. As Olen was following,
+Theria made him an imperious gesture and the slave
+reluctantly left ajar the dividing door. Then Theria
+moved to sit where she could command the outer room.</p>
+
+<p>She saw enter a man with white, wrecked face.</p>
+
+<p>“But I must not come in,” he objected. “O priest,
+I might bring it upon your house.”</p>
+
+<p>“My house is not afraid,” said Nikander. He sat
+down, indicating the bench beside him, and the man sat
+down fearfully, like one unclean, at the farther end.</p>
+
+<p>“It is a curse, O priest,” he said. “I am under a
+curse.”</p>
+
+<p>Very skilfully Nikander quieted him, urging upon
+him kindness and wisdom of the Oracle, persuading
+him to speak. It was a terrible tale of this man<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span>
+Corobios and his friend Pythias—one of those Greek
+friendships so seriously considered that marriage was
+not allowed between the children of the two.</p>
+
+<p>“We were on a journey,” said Corobios. “Five
+robbers leaped from ambush upon Pythias. It was him
+they were after, not me. I whipped out my sword and
+struck at one of them. And just at that moment
+Pythias was thrown in the struggle straight under my
+blade. It cut him to the bone. Oh, if he had only
+lived to exculpate me! If he had only spoken some
+word. But there was no time. I saw only his eyes
+raised to me in agony, in reproach. O priest—in terrible
+reproach. Ah, I see them now! Wherever I go I
+see them! The Eumenides are coming upon me. To
+my children’s children will the curse run unless Apollo
+will clean me.”</p>
+
+<p>How Theria loved her father as he leaned toward the
+man laying his hand upon the shaking shoulder, fearless
+of the terrible curse which could run so quickly from
+man to man.</p>
+
+<p>“The Son of Leto will hear you,” Nikander said.
+“Our god is pitiful of those whose hearts are clean. Do
+not fear. To-morrow you shall consult the god. I
+shall see that you go in first of them all to the Oracle.
+Your case is needy.”</p>
+
+<p>The interview was long. For as the man grew
+quieter, Nikander did not fail to sound him as to his
+attitude in the coming war. Every pilgrim was so
+tested by Nikander. Thus Nikander learned the
+public mind.</p>
+
+<p>At Corobios’s departure Nikander wandered back
+to where Theria sat. He was quite unaware that he
+was seeking his daughter again.</p>
+
+<p>Theria ran toward him with overflowing eyes.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Oh the poor man, the poor man! Father, surely the
+Oracle will help him—it must help him!”</p>
+
+<p>“The poor man, hey! What do you know about the
+poor man? Theria, I will not have you listening from
+corners—do you heed me?”</p>
+
+<p>“But why did the dying Pythias reproach him?
+Couldn’t he see that Corobios didn’t mean to hurt him?
+Couldn’t he trust his friend that much?”</p>
+
+<p>“Probably Pythias didn’t blame Corobios at all.
+The eyes were in death-agony, already unconscious.”</p>
+
+<p>“But will the Pythia tell him that? After all, how
+can the Pythia help him? Corobios is a murderer—poor
+man! poor man!”</p>
+
+<p>“Corobios is not a murderer, Theria. Murder is of
+the heart’s intention, not the hand’s mistake. Nay, his
+hands are clean; cannot you see that?”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander was forgetting the proper reproaches for
+Theria’s eavesdropping. The question of blood-guilt
+was a burning one at Delphi. It concerned a brand-new
+policy of the Oracle: that sin was a thing of the
+heart and not of outward accident. This moral advance
+is, in every age, the most important and most
+difficult for the human mind to achieve. Nikander
+was fighting more battles than the defence against the
+Persian.</p>
+
+<p>“I wish,” said Nikander, “the people could see that
+the curse does not come that way—without fault of
+the accursed. Corobios is not under a curse.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not under a curse?” repeated Theria. “Will the
+god tell him that?”</p>
+
+<p>“How do I know what the god will tell him?” answered
+Nikander piously.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, if I were the Pythia I would pray the dear Son
+of Leto till he gave me that answer.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span></p>
+
+<p>“But you are not the Pythia.”</p>
+
+<p>On a sudden the wish of many moons sprang to
+Theria’s lips.</p>
+
+<p>“Father, let me be the Pythia, the next Pythian
+priestess. Oh, Father, you do not know how I can pray
+to the god and—and how——”</p>
+
+<p>“Nonsense; the Pythian priestess is a stupid girl.
+You would never do.”</p>
+
+<p>“But the Pythia need not be a stupid girl,” Theria
+was talking now breathlessly. “Father, when I pray,
+Apollo answers me. He <em>does</em>.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander took her chin in his hand, lifting her pleading
+face.</p>
+
+<p>“What a queer child it is,” he mused. “What do
+you mean by Apollo answering you?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know, Father; but he does. Oh, with the
+coming down upon me of something out of the air like
+wings—no, not like wings—but I know it is the god.”</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes grew mystic with a curious inner seeing.</p>
+
+<p>“You strange Theria,” said her father. “If you saw
+all the visions of the gods it would not make you a good
+Pythia. You know perfectly well that the Pythia is a
+girl of empty mind. The mind must be vacant for the
+god to speak through it. She is but the mouthpiece of
+the god. Besides all this, she writhes in agony when the
+oracle comes upon her. Sometimes it kills her.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wouldn’t mind if it killed me, just so I were
+Pythia,” Theria urged solemnly. “Just so I could
+speak for the god.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, you’re not going to be Pythia, my child.
+This whole question is nonsense. It grows out of nothing
+but your eternal desire to be doing something.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander was right. It was Theria’s burning desire
+to use the power that was in her which kept her constantly<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span>
+urging. Her face turned tragic and Nikander’s
+anger sharpened. He was under great stress.</p>
+
+<p>“Now, no passion, mind. Theria, I have enough
+burdens in these terrible days without your foolish notions.
+Pythia—faugh! I’d be disgraced to have you
+Pythia. Silly girl!”</p>
+
+<p>So he strode out of the house.</p>
+
+<p>Theria ran to her room. She expected to cry but she
+did nothing of the sort.</p>
+
+<p>“I <em>will</em> be Pythia,” she said, throwing her long arms
+above her head and clasping her hands.</p>
+
+<p>“I will be Pythia—no matter what——”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>The springs of poet inspiration are hidden and very
+strange. Could it be this opposition which drove
+Theria to make her song—the prize song of Dryas?
+The next day after these events that song came across
+Theria’s mind like the flash. Anger was part of its
+origin. Longing for outlet was another part. Strongest
+of all was the damming back of the birth-right power
+within her until it welled higher than its nature and
+broke over into song.</p>
+
+<p>It was the following week that she showed her song to
+Dryas, and a yet further week when Dryas sang the
+song at the Pythian festival and Theria snatched it
+back again. The result was disastrous, as we have
+seen.</p>
+
+<p>And after her father’s whipping, Theria strangely
+knew that she would soon do something to deserve another
+whipping.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_III">BOOK III<br />
+<span class="smaller">WITHIN THE ORACLE</span></h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII<br />
+<span class="smaller">“THE PLACE OF GOLDEN TRIPODS”</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Theria</span> awoke in the first grey of dawn. She
+sat bolt upright in her narrow bed. A dream
+had awakened her, or rather a purpose, a purpose
+full formed in sleep. Awake, even her bold mind
+could not have dared it.</p>
+
+<p>Theria was going to dare to go out of the house! Out
+into the free morning. Under the sky. Away through
+Delphi. Up into the beloved Precinct. Oh, she would
+see all of it—this once!</p>
+
+<p>The consequence? Never once did she think of
+consequence. She was simply doing what she did as if
+a god had pushed her to it, feeling vaguely that she was
+in the hands of her god. She sprang from bed and
+threw about her bare lovely body her chiton, pinning
+it at the shoulders. How her fingers trembled! Then
+around her supple waist went her zone, drawn tight;
+then came cloak and sandals.</p>
+
+<p>The key to the front door was in her father’s room.
+Nikander slept soundly, but Melantho slept, like puss
+by the fire, with one eye open. “If they see me they
+will whip me again,” she thought. “Well, what of
+that?”</p>
+
+<p>Noiselessly she stepped out upon the court gallery.
+Everything in the court stood strangely distinct in the
+dawn. Would she ever see again the little altar, the
+swing that hung motionless in its place? No one could<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span>
+tell what might ensue if she went out. Theria stole
+forward to her parents’ room.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, they were asleep. The key was kept in the
+chest among the book-scrolls. With an instinctive
+prayer, she opened the chest and put her hand deftly
+among the metal cylinders. But one of them settled
+noisily into a new position. It clattered like a chariot
+in her ears, and she crouched terror-struck. Her father
+moved, sighed. The key was not there. In desperation
+she arose and pushed her hands behind some clothes
+on a peg. There, O Kairos! it hung. And grasping it
+in her hand, Theria disappeared like a shadow, and so
+descended the stair.</p>
+
+<p>The porter would be near the door; but at this hour
+surely in his lodge asleep. And Medon was growing
+very deaf these days. He was hardly a fit porter, but
+Nikander would not grieve the old man by taking away
+his office. Theria had grace enough to feel a passing
+regret that Medon through this escapade of hers might
+lose his beloved duty.</p>
+
+<p>Now she was at the door, fitting the great key into
+its hole. Careful Medon was asleep but lying almost
+across his door. Oh, if she could be quicker! If she
+would not so lose breath! But slowly the door opened.
+It did not creak—not very much.</p>
+
+<p>She slipped through the crack.</p>
+
+<p>Then, O Hermes, O gods of all open spaces and
+swift feet! She was out of doors. She was under the
+sky. So high that sky that she was dizzy looking up at it.
+Not the accustomed low ceiling of the room or the narrow
+opening above the court. It was the lofty treading
+place of the Immortals. All the air in the world met
+her first deep-taken breath—fragrance a thousand fold—the
+uprising spirit of the morn meeting her spirit.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span></p>
+
+<p>She ran like a deer along the road in the grey silver
+light. A marvellous place in which to be set free. A
+vast amphitheatre of hills, spaceful and she in the midst
+of the space. On every side in a far-flung circle rose
+dim mountain forms to the silvery sky. On a nearer
+hillside, aslant like a picture, lay the precious sanctuary,
+framed four square within its clear-seen walls.
+But within all was dim and confused, for the cliffs
+which towered above it still had it in their shadow.</p>
+
+<p>She stopped to gaze at it with that tenderness which
+we feel toward things asleep and with a reverence born
+of twelve generations of worship. Men of her blood
+and bone had here met the god and here had builded
+his temple. Hers the Precinct had been long before
+she was born. Hers it would be when she was dead a
+thousand years.</p>
+
+<p>But how was she to get in? The Precinct was so
+strictly guarded, the wall so high. Her spirit shrank as
+she thought of it.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Theria heard a footfall coming toward
+her and quick as a thought she turned down one of
+the steep streets. Once within the narrow blackness
+she could see a little—could see the house doors set
+down and down the terraces, and the Apollo statues
+standing pillar-like beside each door. No one was
+abroad in the street.</p>
+
+<p>She passed down the better section and came below
+into the slave quarter. Here a stench met her which
+was almost more than she could bear. In this fetid
+place doors were wide open and crowded slaves snoring
+within. The sweat and weariness of slaves were the
+very smell of the place. Was it here that Olen and the
+kitchen slaves had to come after their day’s work was
+done? Now she passed some half-naked women asleep<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span>
+in the street. Great pity for them swept her, pity for
+their slave life and slave lowness. She stooped over
+one of them, gazing into her face.</p>
+
+<p>The creature awoke with a howl of terror.</p>
+
+<p>“Ye fool,” she cried. “Damned of Hades. If ye
+come home late as this can’t ye keep still? Ho, I’ll
+trounce ye.”</p>
+
+<p>The woman leaped to her feet. Theria fled down the
+street, turned the corner, and fled down another, the
+woman in full chase, her cries arousing the quarter.
+Here was real danger. This was the place where thieves
+and ruffians hid themselves who came to rob the Precinct.
+But even in her fright Theria had no instinct
+to run home. She only fled farther away down the hill.
+She outdistanced the woman, who presently gave up the
+chase. Then Theria found herself below the town in
+the depth of the glen.</p>
+
+<p>She was hurt as if the woman had struck her. Never
+had she heard loathsome oaths such as had been flung
+after her. Their meaning filled her with horror. Thus
+much had her cloistering done for her that it had kept
+her whitely pure. She crouched like a wildwood thing
+amid the bushes—confused, daunted. Then slowly her
+determination came back, and she began to climb cautiously
+upward.</p>
+
+<p>At last she regained the highroad.</p>
+
+<p>While this low adventure was chancing a whole new
+world had been made—a world of dawn, of faint rose
+and amethyst under an awakened sky, immense, marvellous,
+holy.</p>
+
+<p>Theria had emerged directly below the sanctuary.
+Its great wall towered above her with glimpses over it of
+temple roofs. Above all rose the great Phaidriades
+cliffs, colossal, shutting out the east. Their colour now<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span>
+was the ripe bloom of a plum from their base up to
+where their clear-cut summits met the zenith. Theria
+stood clasping and unclasping her hands. She was a
+living spark of expectancy in that expectant morning
+world. Here outside the wall near the gate stood the
+victor statues. She could not but pause by one. She
+knew its place well, her supple, young great-grandfather,
+who had won the running match for boys. There he
+stood, long limbed, spare, archaically smiling at her and,
+for all time, fourteen years old. Dryas also would have
+a statue here among the music victors. Tenderly
+proud Theria marked the place for it near their ancestor.
+In her present mood she had no jealousy or regret.</p>
+
+<p>According to custom, ancient and immutable, Theria
+must now pass by the Precinct and go onward some
+distance to Castaly’s fount before entering the sacred
+place. She wrapped herself in her cloak and hurried
+forward.</p>
+
+<p>She easily found Castaly—a pool glassy-still in its
+rock-cut basin at the foot of the sheer cliff. It was
+quite deserted and hidden from the road. Birds fluttered
+up at her approach. A solemn place.</p>
+
+<p>She looked about her. In mortal fear she took off
+her cloak and dropped her chiton to her feet. So, like a
+white nymph, very small at the foot of the cliff, Theria
+stepped down into the sacred pool. She met the icy
+water with a shivering cry, but she took the plunge. No
+one might enter the temple who had not first bathed
+here. She came out tingling, touched with ecstasy.
+For holy Castalia cleansed the soul as well as the body.
+Quickly she put on her garments, quickly walked back
+to the Precinct.</p>
+
+<p>She dared not even think now of the difficulty of
+entrance. One terrible moment would decide. She<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span>
+mounted the six steps to the Precinct gate, dipped her
+trembling fingers in the lustral bowl—then knocked.
+They were great bronze doors opening inward.</p>
+
+<p>At once came steps within and the clanking of heavy
+keys—the rasp of the unlocking. Then the doors
+slowly, stingily, opened.</p>
+
+<p>When she saw the keeper’s hideous face at the crack,
+her courage sank in her.</p>
+
+<p>“I want to come into the sanctuary,” said her faint
+voice. “I want to pray to the god. I would like to
+make a sacrifice.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ye can’t consult no priests now,” said the man.
+“They’re just gettin’ out o’ their beds.” Behind the
+man she saw the glitter of the armed guard.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t want to consult a priest, I want to pray—to
+pray for myself and my house.”</p>
+
+<p>“Women like you ain’t got no house. Now get along
+with you.” He was shutting the doors. Desperately
+she laid her hand in the crack. “I pray you, I pray
+you,” she cried. Then she tore off the himation which
+wrapped her head. “Judge you whether I have a
+house or no”—lifting her face—“I am a Nikander.”</p>
+
+<p>“Great gods in Olympos!” quoth the keeper. “Ye
+sure be.”</p>
+
+<p>He opened the doors slowly, hesitating even yet.
+The guard fell back.</p>
+
+<p>“Line for line an’ feature for feature,” murmured the
+keeper of the keys. “That daughter of Nikander’s.
+It’s crazy she is. I’ve heard o’ her.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria slipped through the narrow opening.</p>
+
+<p>She was within! Locked into a wilderness of beauty.
+Multitudes of little temples, red, blue, and gold; multitudes
+of statues, some of hoary eld, some glossy new;
+statues of wood, marble, bronze, standing under graceful<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span>
+porticoes, or standing bareheaded by the wayside
+looking out dreamily from life-like eyes.</p>
+
+<p>And over all the still holiness of the morning the unearthly
+light whose steady increase affected her spirit
+like a joyous, irresistible call.</p>
+
+<p>A child set free in fairyland? Oh, Theria was more
+than that. A soul set in heaven, if ever heaven came
+down to earth; and, in sooth, it sometimes does.
+Theria’s soul leaped up from its depths. Suddenly
+she could not see for the tears which filled her eyes. She
+brushed them away impatiently. She must not waste
+one moment of her seeing.</p>
+
+<p>Right at hand stood the Athenian Gift after Marathon—statues
+of Athenian gods and heroes standing so
+friendly, mortal with immortal together in their portico.</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, Athena, thou art dreaming of thine own hill in
+Athens,” she cried, moving closer. “No, thou must not.
+Be happy here, dear Athena.” Bred in the worship of
+images, Theria quite forgot that all these were not alive.</p>
+
+<p>Here was Miltiades. He who nine years ago had
+won the battle of Marathon. He was a noble statue
+in the new manner. Almost a portrait, with his curling
+beard and fearless eyes. Theria touched his robe.</p>
+
+<p>“It was thou who saved Hellas,” she said seriously.
+“Oh, thou couldst do it, thou hast the look.”</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Theria realized that the light was much
+increased. She had told her name at the gate. That
+would mean quick capture. She must hasten. Before
+her the white Sacred Way zigzagged boldly among the
+treasuries up to the lordly temple of Apollo above
+them all. In Delphi there is neither near nor far, but
+only below and above.</p>
+
+<p>Swiftly Theria chose out what she must see and what
+she must pass by, perhaps never to see again. For<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span>
+though she might some day walk here in processions she
+could never linger as now. Every object had its story,
+“history,” she would have called it, for she believed
+them all.</p>
+
+<p>Here near by was the Argive bronze horse given to
+commemorate the Wooden Horse which Odysseus made
+and gave to Troy. Everyone knew that tale. And
+here was the Sikyonian Treasury. Theria must see
+that, because it was the first little temple at the wayside
+and was very old. It was round with a circle of chaste
+pillars upholding the roof. She mounted the three
+shallow steps. The doors had been just opened, for
+some god had destined her to go in. The little circular
+cella held many treasures, but of these Theria saw only
+the central one—a book unrolled upon a marble table.
+The antique lettering was of pure gold. Eagerly she
+began to read. No one had told her of this book. It
+was the epic poem of Aristomache of Erythrai, a
+woman! Aristomache had won the prize at the Isthmian
+games. Of course it was long ago. But a <em>woman</em>
+had won it! The poem, how lovely, how much more
+noble than Theria’s; but a woman’s, a woman’s!
+Theria would try again, try to reach the high goal this
+woman had set. Oh, she would try soon! She was
+heartened and came out of that treasury with shining,
+purposeful face.</p>
+
+<p>Theria had lingered here longer than she had intended.
+In haste she had to pass the treasuries higher up the
+way, the Knidian—a little temple exquisite as a jewel
+lifted high upon its tower-like foundation, its porch
+upheld by tall, long-haired maidens—“Korai,” she
+called them.</p>
+
+<p>She began to meet caretakers on the way, yawning
+after their night watch, going to their homes.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span></p>
+
+<p>Now came the first turn upward of the Way. Here
+stood her beloved Naxian Sphynx, the one the top of
+whose wing she had always glimpsed from her window.
+How wonderful now, close at hand, high on her high pillar,
+her breast covered with brilliant feathers, her blue
+wings flung up lofty to the sky, her woman’s face
+dreamily smiling. Ah, well she kept her wisdom to
+herself, Mistress Sphynx! Theria knew she was dreaming
+tenderly over the silent dead. For she was Gê,
+mistress of earth and underworld.</p>
+
+<p>Theria climbed dreamily higher up the Way, passing
+now the threshing-floor where Dryas had enacted the
+play. Memories, stories, faiths—all these swam together
+in her mind until she dreamed herself away and
+became part of the poesy about her.</p>
+
+<p>Now the Sacred Way made its last steep turn. From
+here the whole Delphic Vale burst into view. The Way
+here ran upward and clung against the wall-like foundation
+of the Great Temple, but on its outer side was a
+veritable Olympos, full of gods and godlike men, statues
+which would remake art if we could but see them now.</p>
+
+<p>All were in action. Achilles on horseback and his
+beloved young Patroclos running beside the horse and
+gazing up at him. Apollo and Heracles both grasping
+the tripod (for they had once had a quarrel over it).
+The mother Leto and sister Artemis were trying to
+quiet the angry god, and Athena was quieting the boisterous
+hero. The eyes of these statues were set with
+living coloured stones and looked in anger, command,
+compassion, whatever they willed. No wonder Theria
+shrank from them a little afraid.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Theria was aware beyond the statues of
+the great depth of vale—the Pleistos a silver ribbon
+visible for miles, the hills away and away, and ah!<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span>
+the direct golden sunlight in long level shafts flooding
+the vale. The sun had risen high over the mountain.
+Her time was almost spent. She fairly ran up to the remaining
+Way to the platform of the great Temple.</p>
+
+<p>She stood breathless, awed before the greatest temple
+of all Hellas. It was pure Doric. Grandeur spoke
+from its mighty columns, repose from its perfect roof.
+It was at once solemn and tender—man’s thought of
+God made visible. And indeed the god breathed forth
+in every line of it. No mere thing of white marble was
+this. Gorgeous it faced the sunrise, crimson of column,
+blue and orange of architrave, and golden griffined at
+eaves and peak.</p>
+
+<p>The doors were newly opened and he who had opened
+them was busily brushing the threshold with a laurel
+branch for broom. He was singing softly to himself.
+Happy young priest at his happy task!</p>
+
+<p>Theria came softly nearer. She knew what was in
+the temple, every bit of sacred furniture and age-old
+thing. She wanted to see each object, to treasure it in
+her heart for ever. The young priest saw her and
+stopped his sweeping in amazement.</p>
+
+<p>“May I go in?” she asked.</p>
+
+<p>“You know very well you may not,” was his answer.
+Unlike the rude porter he knew that Theria was a lady.
+“I cannot imagine, Despoinia, how you managed to
+come up here.”</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot imagine either,” she answered. The joy of
+it overcame her and she laughed a gay ripple of laughter.
+This angered the young man.</p>
+
+<p>“You had no business to come here,” he said severely.
+“You have disobeyed in coming, that I know, or you
+would not be alone.”</p>
+
+<p>Just at this moment an eagle circling down from the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span>
+cliffs above made a swoop like a falling stone for the
+altar where the early sacrifice lay. Instantly the
+young man seized a bow, near at hand for such adventure,
+lifted it Apollo-wise, and shot the bird. The he
+bounded down the temple steps to seize it.</p>
+
+<p>And Theria quick as thought darted into her beloved
+fane. How lofty it was within, the flickering light from
+the hearth-flame playing everywhere and meeting
+palely the day that poured in at the eastern door. This
+hearth-flame was eternal and must never go out. An
+old priestess was tending it. Theria paused by the
+famous navel stone which marked the centre of the
+earth. Who knows how many thousands of years men
+had worshipped it. It was a rude stone, but immeasurably
+holy. Two golden eagles were perched
+either side of it—commemorating those whom Zeus had
+sent to meet at Delphi. Farther within, near the
+Statues of the Fates, was Pindar’s chair, waiting for
+him always to come and sit and sing inspired songs—the
+songful Apollo welcoming the human singer and
+giving him of his own divine fire.</p>
+
+<p>Theria bent and kissed the chair for the love she bore
+the poet. As she did so her shoulder was seized and
+roughly shaken.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean by coming in here when I had
+forbidden you?” said the furious priest.</p>
+
+<p>Theria was too startled to speak.</p>
+
+<p>“Answer me!” he shouted.</p>
+
+<p>“I had wished for this,” she faltered. “Perhaps I
+can never come——”</p>
+
+<p>“I should say not.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria came to herself and stood like a tall goddess.</p>
+
+<p>“How dare you speak to me like that?” she cried.
+“How dare you?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span></p>
+
+<p>But the priest seized her shoulder again. “Get out,”
+he stormed. “The priests even now are coming up the
+road with visitors. Get out, I say.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria had no time for either dignity or resistance.
+The youth pushed her out of the cella, across the temple
+porch and down the steps.</p>
+
+<p>She fled across the platform. A single glance showed
+her the whole Precinct below. The little shrines, unearthly
+in new golden light, the bronze tripods all
+aglitter. Yes, and the Way! The priests coming up
+the Way. She was in terror—not of punishment, but of
+more unkindness. She was almost sobbing.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII<br />
+<span class="smaller">IN PLEISTOS WOODS</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">She</span> sped across the road and hid behind the
+Phokian offering. She could hear the priests’
+pleasant voices talking of Delphi. From where
+she stood a little path set out here behind the shrines
+and treasuries. She followed it to the Precinct wall and
+went searching for a side gate. Found one at last.
+The keeper was almost asleep.</p>
+
+<p>“Let me pass out,” she commanded. “Let me pass
+at once.”</p>
+
+<p>The man spat. “Now, Missy, this here lock’s rusty.
+You go on down to the big gate. It won’t be far.”</p>
+
+<p>“I will not go to the great gate. Be quick or I
+shall have you punished.” Theria’s voice had a ring
+of command. Besides, she did not speak the dialect of
+women, but the speech of men.</p>
+
+<p>“I will, Missy; I will,” hastily said the man, fishing the
+key from his belt and fitting it. Noisily it creaked.
+Theria twisted her fingers in nervous fear. She could
+hear footsteps again. The Precinct was filling.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s awful rusty, Missy: I can’t—— Ho, Hermes!
+there it goes.” The door swung open and Theria
+darted out.</p>
+
+<p>Her Precinct hour was over. Where now to go?
+What to do? She was bitterly lonely. “Dryas can
+come to the Precinct whenever he will,” she thought
+heartbrokenly. “And Father brings him there and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span>
+tells him all things. But I—I am hounded out as if I
+were a thief.”</p>
+
+<p>She would not go home! No, she would not go home—not
+yet. She crossed the highway into the eastern
+end of Delphi town, and passed down through it to the
+glen.</p>
+
+<p>The glen was deeper here, even wilder than where she
+had seen it below her home. It was so steep that no
+buildings could cling. It was given over to wild olives
+and laurel trees with gnarled roots, and to huge rocks,
+the gift of earthquakes from the cliffs above. Theria
+pushed doggedly down through it, tearing her hands,
+bruising her feet. At last, after a special tumble, she
+kirtled up her long chiton, pulling it up through her belt,
+took off her himation and formed it into a long roll
+which she tied about her waist. She was amazed at
+the ease this gave her. No wonder the Goddess Artemis
+could leap after the stag in this her special costume.</p>
+
+<p>Now she was in the midst of stark, slender pine trees
+which soared from the vale into the height to feather
+out against the sun. She paused with upturned face.</p>
+
+<p>“Are they always so solemn-thoughted, these dryads
+here?” she asked herself. For of course each tree had
+its dryad and the mood of the tree was the dryad’s own
+mood. “Do they always pray so seriously to their
+father Zeus?”</p>
+
+<p>Theria would never willingly have come into the
+forest. No Greek would have exchanged the man-beautified
+sanctuary for this wild. But once here the
+forest mysteriously received her. She who had never
+before known the sweet ministration of trees began to
+be strangely quieted. The forest distances, infinite yet
+hidden, mobile, shifting with her every step, what a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span>
+relief after the rigid walls of her house. How twilight-dim
+it was. Yet sunlight filtered through the dimness—pools
+of gold among the tree roots, shatterings of
+gold on boles and boughs. Beneath her feet, which had
+never trod aught save floor and pavement, was the deep
+pine-needle mass springy under her step. She looked
+down, wondering at it; a carpet no hands had ever
+woven, or perhaps a carpet woven by some delicate god.</p>
+
+<p>So the forest silence entered her heart—the silence
+which is not silence at all, but the deep breathing of all
+living things. She seemed to have grown wings which
+would make her essentially free no matter in what
+house of stone or clay.</p>
+
+<p>But no, it was not the forest itself which received
+Theria. She could never have conceived such a
+thought. It was rather the thousand delicate dwellers of
+the wood—dryads, fauns, satyrs, nymphs. These were
+touching her with unseen hands. These were they who
+dogged her footsteps with invisible service, who ceased
+from their gay dances, slipping into invisibility, that she
+might move across their place. Did she not see their
+lairs among the ferns, and the footprints perhaps of
+Artemis herself where she had crushed the starry mosses?
+Most of these beings were sinister. They could lay
+spells upon you. They could whisk you away into
+sleep. But to-day they had no mischief in their hearts.
+They were only kind.</p>
+
+<p>Gradually came sweeping across the silence the voice
+of a rushing stream. Theria pushed forward eagerly
+to behold it—a lovely living thing, leaping, running,
+singing, between its banks. It was the same little
+stream she had seen falling down Castaly’s gorge, here
+set free on the hillside. Who has not been touched by
+the immortal force of moving water? Surely Theria<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span>
+was touched by it. She knelt by the stream, stooped her
+dark head low, her breast among the fern, and drank.
+The ineffable fragrance of the waterfall met her—a fragrance
+new to Theria.</p>
+
+<p>Did not the gods breathe fragrance such as this? Ha,
+the nymph Castalia—her veritable presence!</p>
+
+<p>Theria sprang to her feet, hiding her face. At any
+moment Castalia might be visible. No, no; Theria
+would not spy upon her.</p>
+
+<p>Fearfully she said the accustomed stream-prayer,
+then took off her sandals and waded across. No Greek
+would cross a stream without first asking its pardon.
+Once on the farther bank she quickened her step, and
+began to breathe again. A narrow escape was that
+from a supernatural sight!</p>
+
+<p>So noon came lordly into the sky, and afternoon.
+Theria found herself in the enclosure of Athena Forethought,
+the farthest shrine of Delphi; or its first, if you
+came from the east. The Forethought Fane, a little
+circular temple, was far above her on the road. She
+could scarce see it for crag and tree. Here, weary with
+wandering, Theria sat down to rest.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE POOR SLAVE</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">And</span> here so late, she met the adventure of her
+day.</p>
+
+<p>Sounds of distress brought her quickly to her
+feet. She hastily wrapped herself in her himation.
+She peered down the slope and could see the figure of a
+man moving wildly about among the trees. Now he
+lifted convulsive hands on high, now spread both arms
+abroad and groaned. Greek woe never repressed itself.
+It rather flung out, wind-swept, fiery, real. “But,”
+thought Theria, “this must be some physical agony.”
+She remembered her remedies at home, yet what could
+she do for the man in this wild place?</p>
+
+<p>She started down the hill. Nearer at hand she saw
+that the man was a slave, rough bearded and clad
+in an old slave cloak. Her adventure with the cruel
+woman of the morning came back to her. A slave
+might hail from any barbaric coast. Wild deeds, wild,
+unthinkable crimes were committed by slaves. Theria
+stopped in fear but at that moment the slave saw her.
+His arms dropped to his sides, he gazed at her wide-eyed,
+terrible—then suddenly pathetic.</p>
+
+<p>“Forethoughtful One,” he faltered, “hast thou come
+to punish or to save?”</p>
+
+<p>What did the man mean? The “Forethoughtful One”
+could be none other than Athena herself. Theria
+laughed outright.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Surely you do not think I am the goddess?” she
+queried.</p>
+
+<p>The mistake was not unnatural—Theria, slender
+amid the slender trees, the light behind her, and all in
+the Athena Precinct. However, the man looked a little
+ashamed.</p>
+
+<p>“Forgive me, Despoina, my lady. I am beside myself,
+I—you startled me.” He was still wondering at
+her. “You are a priestess?”</p>
+
+<p>“You can see I am not,” she answered, businesslike.
+“You are ill. I thought I might help you.”</p>
+
+<p>Again he wondered at her. Then his face changed
+back to its misery.</p>
+
+<p>“I am not ill, Despoina, not bodily ill. My courage
+is gone! The gods know how I shall ever pick it up
+again.”</p>
+
+<p>“What took your courage?”</p>
+
+<p>He began to pace again.</p>
+
+<p>“A slave’s tale; a miserable slave’s tale. Why
+should you hear it? Oh, Mistress, you can do nothing,
+nothing.” Yet he burst out with the telling.</p>
+
+<p>“My freedom money. It is gone! Gone, I tell you.
+My damned master knew all the while where it was hid.
+He let me work and hope and hoard it. And now when
+all but two drachmæ are there”—he held out his hand
+with these last coins—“he came and seized it. The
+beast! How can the just gods let such a man walk
+the earth?”</p>
+
+<p>Theria came nearer, interested, absorbed.</p>
+
+<p>“You mean that you earned the money to buy your
+freedom?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Despoina—to buy it from Apollo.”</p>
+
+<p>He was referring to one of the noblest customs of the
+Oracle. Both of them knew it well. A slave might<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span>
+sometimes be so fortunate as to get money to buy himself
+from his master. But the Greek master could seize
+him again and once caught, the slave had no redress.
+But Apollo of Delphi would buy slaves. They could
+come to his temple and pay the money down to the god.
+The terms of the transaction were engraved on the
+stones of the temple foundation for all men to see.
+Then the slave went free, protected by this divine ownership.
+No former master would dare touch him.
+Wherever the former slave might go, he was under
+divine protection, Apollo’s ward.</p>
+
+<p>“How long did it take you to earn the money?”
+she asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Four years, Mistress. Oh, gods! four long years. I
+cannot do it again, and, if I did, would not my master
+seize it as before?”</p>
+
+<p>“How did you earn it?”</p>
+
+<p>“My work is in the pottery, lady—the pottery there
+below the hill toward Kirrha.” He showed her his
+hands marred with the clay. “It is I who make the
+best pictures on the pots.”</p>
+
+<p>“I like those pictures,” spoke Theria. “They are
+beautiful, those gods and men that you make.”</p>
+
+<p>Tears ran straight down the man’s dirty cheeks.
+Praise was rare for a slave.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think so?” he queried. “Do you think so,
+my lady?”</p>
+
+<p>Theria did not answer. She was thinking.</p>
+
+<p>“My father, now. If you could bring your money to
+my father, each drachma as you earn it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you mean me to begin all over again, my lady?
+Then I will. If only my master does not take me away
+from the pottery. He wants me for a body servant. He
+is always threatening to take me for a body servant!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span></p>
+
+<p>“But to be a body servant is easier,” said Theria.
+Privately she was wondering what sort of a body servant
+this uncouth man would make.</p>
+
+<p>“I hate to be a body servant,” he said loathingly.
+“Besides, I would not then know where to turn to earn
+extra money.”</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Theria clapped her hands with a cry of
+delight. “I have it! I have it!” she said. “I can help
+you myself.”</p>
+
+<p>The man gazed at her as if his faith in her goddesshood
+had quite returned.</p>
+
+<p>“I have jewels,” she went on, moving her hands in
+her excited telling. “They are ancestral jewels and were
+given me at my birth. I am supposed to give them to
+my first daughter at birth. Well, my first daughter can
+do without them. They are rich pearls. They are
+worth more than the price of a slave.”</p>
+
+<p>“Lady, lady! Oh, they would free me at once!”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, free you at once. But the matter is dangerous.
+The priests may think you have stolen the jewels.
+If they do, call for Nikander’s daughter.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, blessed one.”</p>
+
+<p>“And when you go to the Precinct ask for Kobon
+as your priest. The Kobons are angry with us and have
+never been in our house. Kobon will not recognize the
+jewels.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes—yes,” he said as if in a dream.</p>
+
+<p>“But how to get them to you. Mother will not allow
+me, Father will not—Baltè, no; no slave would dare to
+do it for me. Besides, I hate to let slaves know anything.
+They are so apt to tell.”</p>
+
+<p>The man started out of his dream.</p>
+
+<p>“I will not tell, Despoina.”</p>
+
+<p>“You,” she laughed. “No, of course not, you will<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span>
+be hastening off as far as you can go. You will be free.”
+Then she added quite unintentionally, “Yes, you will
+be free and I will be in my room again. Shut in—always
+shut in!”</p>
+
+<p>Of course Theria did not say this to the slave. She
+said it to herself, because on a sudden she felt weak
+and discouraged, felt her capture very near. The slave,
+however, took note of her saying.</p>
+
+<p>“How strange,” he said. “How strange—I never
+thought——”</p>
+
+<p>“What is strange?” she demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“I never thought, Despoina, that wives and maidens
+cared to walk abroad. They keep the house and seem
+all content.”</p>
+
+<p>It was the same comment that the lad Sophocles had
+made, the very same. It roused her sudden anger and
+flood of speech.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, yes. Be content, be content! Even a slave
+dare mock me with that. And you yourself, what do
+you want with <em>your</em> freedom? Why aren’t you happy
+making pots? What is the difference between making
+pots and spinning wool? What is the difference between
+obeying a master and obeying a father, brother, uncle,
+cousin; every man that is your kin? What have I to
+look forward to? What to do—to do?”</p>
+
+<p>The man fairly trembled before her outburst.</p>
+
+<p>“Despoina! Dear, dear lady,” he kept trying to
+make her listen. “I—fool that I was not to understand
+the beautiful one. Despoina, hear me!” Something
+in the man’s ardent voice frightened Theria. She
+stumbled to her feet. But the man came nearer.</p>
+
+<p>“Despoina, ah, poor lady, you have been away from
+home many hours, have you not?”</p>
+
+<p>“How dare you question me?” She walked away.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span>
+She was dizzy, staggering. The man was following her.
+What would he do, seize her? Carry her to Nikander’s
+house for reward? Perhaps do worse than that?
+“Do not go,” he urged. “Mistress, you are famished.
+Forgive me, but we slaves know the look.” He snatched
+from his wallet the rough brown bread, the day’s slave
+ration. He pushed the bread into her hand.</p>
+
+<p>“I pray you eat it. Not fit for you. Oh, I know that,
+but if you do not eat you will faint here in the wood.”</p>
+
+<p>She turned to him. Then suddenly she laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“Hungry? Why, of course, I never thought of
+hunger.”</p>
+
+<p>She sat down, broke the tough bread, and began to
+eat. The man ran down the hill to the stream and
+returned with a little cup (one from his pottery)
+brimming with fresh water. As he offered it he trembled
+and spilled it awkwardly.</p>
+
+<p>“Forgive me, lady. I am not a house slave.” How
+breathless he seemed from his short run. “Dear lady,”
+he added gently as to a child, “do not eat so fast; I
+will guard. I will let no one come. I have cheese, too,
+but I was afraid to give you that. I could not eat their
+cheese at first myself.”</p>
+
+<p>But she took it eagerly. It was atrocious stuff,
+smelling horribly and perfectly green of colour.</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t it strange?” she said. “It tastes as good as
+the daintiest fish. I never was hungry like this before.”</p>
+
+<p>“My lady was never in the forest before,” said the
+man. “The house breeds no appetite.”</p>
+
+<p>“I have been long without food,” she confided to
+him now. “I ran away before dawn and I never thought
+to eat. I walked up into the sanctuary and saw all the
+gods and temples and golden tripods. Oh, if they take<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span>
+me home and whip me now and put me in the dark, they
+can never take that away from me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Whip—great Zeus, who would dare do that!”</p>
+
+<p>“No one, no one,” she quickly answered. “Of course,
+that was only jest.”</p>
+
+<p>But his eyes still held the horror of it as he watched
+her.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you know,” she said, as she finished the last
+morsel, “this bread has given me all the rest of my
+precious day. With my hunger I would have had to go
+home.”</p>
+
+<p>“May it give you your hours,” said the slave devoutly.
+“You who are giving me a life of freedom.”</p>
+
+<p>Something in his manner of speech caught her
+notice. It was well tuned and he used quaint words
+which she had never heard before.</p>
+
+<p>“You have not always been a slave,” she concluded.</p>
+
+<p>“No, Despoina, that is why it is so hard to be a slave.
+And when I saw the years ahead once more I cursed the
+gods. Then you came, and I thought you were Athena
+come to punish me for the cursing. Even now, dear
+lady, I would not be amazed if you were to grow suddenly
+tall and rise upward through the trees.”</p>
+
+<p>He made an eloquent gesture. Then his eyes grew
+fixed, staring at a place up the hill.</p>
+
+<p>“Who is that?” he whispered sharply. “Do you
+know them?”</p>
+
+<p>She followed his look.</p>
+
+<p>“Baltè!” she spoke almost with a sob. “And
+Dryas, my brother.” Then she collected her thoughts
+and began to talk quickly.</p>
+
+<p>“The jewels! I have not told you how to get them.
+There is a little street beside Nikander’s house. And<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span>
+a window in the house that side. Come at twilight.
+I will throw them down to you.”</p>
+
+<p>She had hardly said the last word when the slave disappeared
+among the bushes. Then she forgot him.
+Dryas was there with his scorn, Baltè with her tears.
+She had to face both.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE SHATTERED CUP</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Bitterness</span> and confusion were Theria’s portion
+when she reached home. Melantho was
+ill from anxiety and stormed alternately at
+Theria for her misdeed and at poor Baltè for not
+taking better care of her. Dryas was very superior and
+very wrathful. The slaves whisked hither and yon,
+some delighted with the fuss, others scared as to which
+way the storm might strike. Lycophron treated everything
+with amused scorn, whether of Theria or her tormentors
+could not be told. Nikander was away.</p>
+
+<p>“But the whipping he’ll give you when he comes,”
+declared Melantho, “will make that other whipping
+seem a caress.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria waited in a dumb terror. Not of the whipping,
+but of her own reaction to it. She would fight back.
+Oh, the disgrace of that! Deeper than all was the fear
+of losing the last of her father’s love.</p>
+
+<p>She had been sent to her room and poor Baltè watched
+her like a Cerberus. No chance to be throwing jewels
+from windows even if Theria had thought of it. As a
+matter of fact, she forgot it utterly.</p>
+
+<p>It was next morning before she met her father.</p>
+
+<p>His face was darker than she had ever seen it. He
+seemed to look at her strangely and from a great
+distance.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, yes, Theria,” he said, putting his hand to his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span>
+head. “I am in too great anxiety to care whether you
+are punished or not.”</p>
+
+<p>“Father,” she exclaimed, instantly concerned for
+him alone. “What—what has happened to you?”</p>
+
+<p>“The Medes are at our door, child,” he strainedly
+answered. “And at present I see no one who is going
+to resist them.”</p>
+
+<p>She laid hand upon his arm, but he hurried away out
+of the house.</p>
+
+<p>All that day Theria was in disgrace. Her mother set
+her an extra long task of weaving and with extra severity
+made her ravel out all her mistakes.</p>
+
+<p>These were many. Theria could think of nothing but
+her father’s worried words: “The Medes are at our
+door.” The phrase rang over and over again in her
+ears. The Medes were the Persians. Did Father mean
+that the Medes were in Phokis—or on Mount Parnassos
+itself? How soon would they fall upon Delphi? Oh, if
+she could only question her mother. But her mother
+would know nothing about it.</p>
+
+<p>In the midst of her worry her promise to the slave
+concerning the jewels flashed across her mind. “But it
+was last night I was to give him the jewels, last night,
+poor slave. He must have come—and gone away again.
+Will he come to-night? Oh, surely he will.”</p>
+
+<p>She went immediately to her room and took from her
+jewel box a necklace. It was of pearls strung upon
+horsehair. A mother-of-pearl amulet depended from it.
+This she tried to remove, for it was characteristic,
+easily identified. But a sound along the corridor
+made her swiftly hide the necklace and all in her bosom.
+Moments alone were rare to-day. She must have the
+jewels ready. Of course the adventure pleased her.
+She was young and she was—Theria!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span></p>
+
+<p>After the family had dispersed from the last meal of
+the day she sped away to the back storeroom. There
+at the window she waited. Never had so many steps
+sounded in the house, coming near the door, passing and
+repassing; never had the lane reëchoed so loudly the
+footsteps from the highway. Again and again she
+thought people must be entering the lane itself. Once
+Nerea came into the storeroom to fetch wheat for the
+kitchen. But it was by no means unusual to find the
+little mistress sitting at that window, and Nerea went
+innocently away.</p>
+
+<p>Down in the lane the shadows crept closer. Deep
+twilight now. There among the jagged rocks at the
+lane’s end was a denser shadow. Suddenly bird-swift
+the shadow darted forward and stopped under her
+window. She leaned out.</p>
+
+<p>“Hist! is it you, slave?”</p>
+
+<p>The bearded face uplifted itself, the hands as well.
+She could see this in the dimness.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, marvel of kindness,” came the low voice, “I
+knew you could not fail.”</p>
+
+<p>“But I forgot yesterday. Hold your hands up close
+together. Careful, now.”</p>
+
+<p>She dropped the pearls and he caught them easily.
+But he stood still in his place.</p>
+
+<p>“They did not whip you yesterday, Despoina? Tell
+me they did not,” he whispered.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course not, Fool! Go quickly, you will be
+caught. Go!”</p>
+
+<p>He flung his hands upward again. Poor creature, the
+gesture was a very speech of gratitude. Then he
+slipped back to the enfolding rocks.</p>
+
+<p>Theria suddenly recalled how once she had found a
+bird in the court and had taken it to this window to set<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span>
+it free. Even so had it flung itself off and was gone.
+Her fancy pictured the slave hiding for the night among
+the rocks; then, at break of day, hurrying down to the
+Precinct to purchase freedom from the god. Ah, by to-morrow
+he would be miles and miles away. He would
+not wait for the jewels to be questioned. That problem
+would be hers.</p>
+
+<p>She went off to bed singing softly a little tune.</p>
+
+<p>Next afternoon Olen, her father’s slave, came into
+Theria’s room. He seemed furtive in his errand.</p>
+
+<p>“I was to give you this,” he said, and handed her a
+small two-handled bowl. He was for hurrying out, but
+Theria stopped him.</p>
+
+<p>“What is this, Olen?” she asked.</p>
+
+<p>“You know best, Mistress,” he said, hiding a smile.</p>
+
+<p>It was a shallow bowl, one of those made in the
+pottery below the hill. Within the bowl was a delicate
+figure of the goddess “Athena” so the letters said above
+the figure. She was bestowing something upon a supplicant
+who stood before her.</p>
+
+<p>“Who gave you this bowl, Olen?” asked Theria, puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>“A man, Mistress, a sorry-looking slave with clay
+matted in his hair.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria turned the bowl about. On the under side
+was an unburned painting of a youth standing tip-toe
+with arms outstretched as if to fly. The drawing was exquisite,
+but exquisite drawings were common in Greece.
+Above the youth was scrawled:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquote">
+
+<p>Eleutheria gives freedom.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Theria blushed slowly, angrily red. She held forth
+the bowl and broke it to shards against the house wall.</p>
+
+<p>“Olen,” she said sternly, “never bring me messages.
+Never bring me gifts.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI<br />
+<span class="smaller">GATHERING THE THREADS</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Nikander</span> had spoken of the Medes but in a
+voice so low that none but Theria heard.</p>
+
+<p>Theria, Nikander knew, would not give way to
+fear. However, she did give way to curiosity. She
+questioned Medon, but Medon would tell her nothing.
+“Your father has forbidden us, Missy,” was his word.
+She plied Olen with questions, but Olen backed away
+from them with a skill which slaves acquire. As for
+Baltè, she could only say:</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, darling, it is tribes and tribes of men, all the men
+in the world coming against our Greece. And the king
+at their head is a god. Where he will he knocks a
+mountain over, like <em>that</em>, an’ when he will he makes the
+sea dry land for his tribes to walk over. He is goin’
+to burn every city of Greece.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria, what with her love of her land and her love of
+mere knowing, felt actually ill from all this bafflement.</p>
+
+<p>Late in the afternoon she caught Lycophron walking
+across the aula.</p>
+
+<p>“Lycophron, stay with me! Talk with me only a little
+while. I’ll have Olen bring wine and the fresh cakes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Now, Sis, what are you up to?” he asked. Her
+eyes were wide and starry. At such times they had
+the look of being new opened like a child’s.</p>
+
+<p>“And Circe put wine before the Mariners,” he quoted,
+laughing. She finished the lines.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span></p>
+
+<p>“You rogue,” he said. “I believe you know the
+whole of Homer by heart. Very improper for a girl.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, I don’t; I only know most of the Odyssey.
+But don’t talk about that, please. Oh, please tell me
+of the war.” She caught his arm pleadingly. “Nobody
+but you will ever tell me anything. I am not afraid
+about the war.”</p>
+
+<p>“But you’d better be,” he said shortly.</p>
+
+<p>“Old Baltè says the great king is a god who makes the
+land a sea and the sea dry land.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, do you know, that is truth—almost. Xerxes
+has dug a canal across the peninsula of Athos, behind
+the stormy mountain, to give safer passage to his ships,
+and he has built an enormous bridge across the Hellespont
+for his tribes to walk over. They were nine days
+and nights passing over the thing, a constant stream.
+It seems foolish for him to transport so many men to
+Greece. He could conquer our little states with a fifth
+of that number.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you mean he brings too many?” queried Theria
+keenly.</p>
+
+<p>“Gods, no! The great king knows what he is about.
+He’s an enemy to be reckoned with! I don’t say we
+should throw up our hands and <em>Medise</em> all at once. But
+surely we should treat with him before we try to fight
+him. Why should we go out with a handful of men and
+ships to be butchered? Schutt!” he snapped his fingers
+scornfully. “That Tempè business! Do you know about
+Tempè?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, they started out—the Athenians and the Spartans
+together and—— Now, Sis, you may as well know that the
+Persians are coming really against Athens and
+Sparta. Them only. None of the rest of us are in this<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span>
+fight at all. And I say there’s no need of our throwing
+ourselves into it like geese. Well, they start out, these
+Athenians and Spartans, and go to the Vale of Tempè
+where they say there is a pass where they can keep the
+Persians from coming through. And when they get
+there they find <em>two</em> passes into Greece instead of <em>one</em>
+pass to defend. So back they come like whipped curs.
+I can hear the Persian king roar with laughter when he
+hears of it. This was last week. The news of their
+fizzle is all over Hellas. It’s taken the heart out of
+everyone. You’ve seen a hare sitting with ears up ready
+to run. That’s the way we are!”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh,” breathed Theria. She was leaning forward,
+drinking the news. “That is what ails Father. That
+Tempè failure. Not that he is scared,” she corrected
+herself. “But so troubled, so deeply troubled.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, he’s troubled. The difficulty with Father is,
+he is trying to butt into a stone wall. I suppose he’ll
+see after a while, the old dear!”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t call him that, Lycophron. Father isn’t old.
+What do you mean by butting a wall?”</p>
+
+<p>Lycophron stretched out his hands, yawning: “Oh,
+Sis, you want to know the history of the Oracle since
+the time of Gaia,” he said. Then suddenly a shrewd,
+purposeful look came into his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Look here, puss. If I tell you about it will you try
+to help Father? Father’s going against the Oracle.
+The Pythia says one thing but Father thinks another.”</p>
+
+<p>Now Theria’s faith in her father was second only to
+her faith in her god. “He wouldn’t do that,” she
+exclaimed. “How can you say that of Father? Father
+is——”</p>
+
+<p>“Now, now; don’t get so hot all of a sudden! Wait till
+you hear: Athens has sent to Delphi asking—‘Shall we<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span>
+fight the Persian and if so how will we come out?’ The
+Pythia gave them a discouraging answer. Then the
+Spartans came. Discouraging answer again. Something
+about ‘a king shall die to save you.’ But not
+clear. Now Father wants them to keep on asking again
+and again until better answers come. That’s pretty
+near sacrilege!”</p>
+
+<p>He paused a moment.</p>
+
+<p>“All the answers are the same, Sis. The answer to
+the Cretans: I heard that myself, heard the priestess
+give it. Confused, of course, but after the priests deliberated
+over it, clear as a whistle. ‘Keep out of the
+fight,’ it said. ‘Do you want to be whipped as the
+Phokians whipped you?’</p>
+
+<p>“Now Father is horrified at that. He says the Oracle
+meant nothing of the kind. He had a terrific argument
+against all of them in the Council. He’s making enemies
+right and left. What worries me is that man Kobon.
+The Kobon family have always hated us and Kobon—well,
+he’d like to destroy Father. Now here is his
+chance. Sooner or later he’ll do it unless Father stops
+what he is doing.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria was speechless with horror. Lycophron leaned
+toward her earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>“Look here, Sis, why don’t <em>you</em> talk with Father? You.
+I can’t talk to him any more. He won’t listen to me.
+Try to tell him what I’ve told you. Of course he’ll be
+angry. He’ll say you know nothing about it. But it may
+count if you tell him you’ve been warned. He’s bitter
+discouraged now. It may count. Will you do it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, oh, yes!” she said.</p>
+
+<p>Lycophron kissed her. He was really an affectionate
+fellow and considered his sister a charming child. Then
+he hurried out of the house.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span></p>
+
+<p>Her father was in danger! Her father might be
+destroyed! This fact overtopped all others in Theria’s
+loving mind. Even the impending war was dim in this
+presence. And at nightfall Theria learned that her
+father had gone away from Delphi. He had gone on
+some mysterious business. Lycophron had seen him
+depart but even he did not know Nikander’s destination.</p>
+
+<p>For the next two weeks Theria was well-nigh impossible
+to live with. Her temper took fire at everything.</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot sit and spin,” she declared. “Ah, gods;
+but I cannot!”</p>
+
+<p>She threw down her distaff, defying her mother’s authority.
+In her room she paced up and down, maddening
+for activity. “If only Father were here,” she would
+repeat. “If only here, so that I might plead with him
+to keep out of danger.”</p>
+
+<p>But if Nikander should come, would she dare to
+question him and his state policies? Never in her life
+had she doubted her father’s wisdom. Theria had in
+some way gleaned a knowledge of Nikander’s far-reaching
+powers—Nikander who seldom thought in terms
+of the individual but nearly always in terms of the state.
+But now his statecraft was bringing him into personal
+danger. That very danger made him seem to her in
+the wrong. Yet to question him face to face, that
+seemed to Theria the height of impiety. What could
+she, an ignorant girl, say to so wise a statesman? Yet
+persuade him she must. He was in danger—in danger!</p>
+
+<p>From this perturbation Theria found her old solitary
+place in the back storeroom an only refuge. Here she
+could at least breathe the air, could see the turbulent
+stream, could watch the gradual increase of nooning
+light or its golden decline.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII<br />
+<span class="smaller">A YOUTH UNDER THE WINDOW</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">One</span> evening she had sat there until the violet
+twilight gathered and the stream down in the
+lane ran uproarious among the damp mists.
+Presently she heard footsteps and looking down saw
+emerge from the hill a youth, a beautiful lithe fellow,
+walking with that swift grace that youth is heir to.
+He looked directly to her window and threw out both
+arms as if in surprise and greeting.</p>
+
+<p>Theria retired at once. She was quick enough for
+adventure, but not this sort of adventure. She had no
+taste for romantic secrecies. But the youth stopped
+under her window.</p>
+
+<p>“Lady,” he called, low but intensely. “For love of the
+gods do not go away! I have not come to harm you.”</p>
+
+<p>Something in his tone—earnestness, a tragic need—brought
+her back to the window. There he was standing
+with upturned face, beautiful in the twilight. But
+now having her in sight he did not speak. He only
+lifted up his hands toward her with an energy as though
+he would spring upward.</p>
+
+<p>Could this be her cousin Agis or Caramanor, one of
+those with whom she had played as a child? Was he
+bringing her news of her father? He seemed to have
+come with purpose.</p>
+
+<p>“What news have you, Cousin?” she asked anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>“The news that I see your face—your face!” answered<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span>
+the astonishing fellow. “Oh, all my happiness
+harks back to you. All my freedom to be a man is of
+your making. Do not wonder that I thank you—that
+I must see you and speak my thanks to your face.
+Every breath waking and sleeping I thank you.”</p>
+
+<p>“But who are you?” asked Theria, amazed. “Are
+you mad? You have nothing to thank me for.”</p>
+
+<p>He was the more delighted.</p>
+
+<p>“Ahai, my lady! you do not recognize me. Nay,
+forget the one you saw before. You with your jewels
+have made me a new man.”</p>
+
+<p>Then Theria’s mind leaped back over the two weeks
+and she guessed.</p>
+
+<p>“But, love of Leto, you cannot be that slave!”</p>
+
+<p>“No, no; I am not he, I am free!”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t believe you are that slave. You have no
+look of him. You are straight. You are young.”</p>
+
+<p>“I had almost forgotten I was young. I had kept
+that disguise so long. And how I hated it—the dirt,
+the miserable matted beard, the stooping. It took me
+days to stand straight again.”</p>
+
+<p>“Was it not bad enough to be a slave without making
+yourself like that?” said Theria disgustedly.</p>
+
+<p>“Dear maid, I had to keep so. They would certainly
+have sold me into Persia. There is great price
+in the East for beautiful men.”</p>
+
+<p>He said this frankly of himself as a matter of course.
+Indeed there was something startling in his beauty—an
+ethereal quality, though he was manly too, but now
+so full of delight that he seemed like a child. He began
+hurriedly to tell her of himself.</p>
+
+<p>“Dear lady, I was not born a slave. You will believe
+that. I was taken at sea by pirates—the whole ship
+seized. They put us below in the dark hold of their<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span>
+ship and fed us on nuts. That first night I blacked my
+face with the nut-hulls. I exchanged garments with
+the meanest man among us. I——”</p>
+
+<p>“But why?” asked Theria.</p>
+
+<p>“I had heard the sea-robbers upon deck above talking
+of me—and how they would sell me to the Persian
+Court.” A horror crossed the youth’s sensitive face.
+“Lady,” he said, “the Persians would have shamed me
+and made me worse than slave. I would do anything to
+escape that. In the morning, when the pirates came
+down looking for me, they thought their beautiful
+youth had jumped overboard. Stupid Phœnicians.”</p>
+
+<p>This Odyssey was holding Theria fascinated. She
+forgot all the proprieties. She forgot that the youth
+might be love-making. Her mind had moved so many
+days in a doomed circle that now it spread wings of new
+life.</p>
+
+<p>“But you got home again. How ever did you manage
+that?” she questioned.</p>
+
+<p>“For long I was a galley slave. But one day, when
+the ship stopped at Corinth, I won the captain’s attention
+and told him of my skill in making gods of stone.
+Then he sold me to an image maker, and the image
+maker again to the owner of the pottery here. Oh,
+those days at the pottery! Those endless days! The
+dirt, the sweat, the low talk, the beatings if work was
+not swift enough. For I was not a swift worker. I
+had to make even those poor slight drawings as beautiful
+as I could. My only life was in them. I would
+dream over them. Then the overseer would beat me.
+But those days are over. Think of it, lady. Can you
+think how happy I am being away from that?”</p>
+
+<p>“Great Hermes, yes! And then you went up the
+Precinct with my jewels?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes, blessed one. The next morning after you gave
+me them the good god freed me. I came down out of
+the Precinct gate knowing that I was free. I went
+straight to Argos. I think I sang all the way. Argos
+is my home.”</p>
+
+<p>His face saddened unexpectedly. “Dear lady, I had
+been long away. I found that my father was dead and
+also my lady-mother, for grief at losing me—and—and
+I found something worse than that—even than that.
+Great Hera!” he lowered his voice. “Argos had
+Medized. My father’s dearest friend confessed it to
+me. The Argives say they are bargaining for the headship
+of the All-Greek army. They are really doing
+nothing of the kind. They have Medized. They have
+made a real compact with Persia—nothing less! Lady,
+I had lived so long in dread of Persian slavery and there
+at home to meet it again! But I will not meet it,” he
+cried with sudden energy. “I will not! So I have
+come back here to Delphi. But I loved Argos so
+dearly!”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course you did. Your home! Dreadful! Argos
+Medized!” Theria hardly know that she spoke.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll fight the Persians here. Here in Delphi. You
+will surely need every man you can get. I shall become
+a Delphian. I have a little fortune, lady,” he
+added, very businesslike. “My father’s good friend
+saved it for me. I can buy citizenship in Delphi.”</p>
+
+<p>Then suddenly the moral of the tale was out.</p>
+
+<p>“And, lady, with my fortune and my citizenship, I
+shall ask your father for your hand in marriage. But
+not against your will. I will not enslave you who have
+made me free. Oh, dearest lady, love me, love me, love
+me!” he hurried on. “Cannot you see what the
+Cyprian has done to me toward you?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span></p>
+
+<p>Theria rose from the window as though the youth had
+struck her.</p>
+
+<p>“How dare you, how dare you?” She gasped.
+“Words not meet for a maid to hear.”</p>
+
+<p>“Lady,” he called so loud that she came back to her
+window for very caution. “Hush, hush,” she whispered.
+“Will you disgrace me?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, no; lady, I pray for you, I bless you to the immortal
+gods.” He beat his palm against the house
+wall for emphasis. “Can you stop the stream of Castaly
+flowing down from the cliffs?” he questioned passionately.
+“No more can you stop the stream of my love.
+It will refresh and bless you whether you will or no. Ah,
+what I would do for you, dear child, if I only might.”</p>
+
+<p>He tossed With a skilful fling a bunch of fresh ferns
+into her window. Then he was gone.</p>
+
+<p>If the stream of Castaly had indeed fallen on Theria’s
+head she could hardly have been more shocked. She
+stood in the middle of the room angered into tears, hurt,
+strangely frightened. How dared the man return her
+kindness in this fashion? When a man wanted a friend
+he took a man, creature of his own mental stature, not
+a girl.</p>
+
+<p>Well did Theria know that love-making was
+disgraceful and not for high-born maids. Pure girls
+dreamed of marriage, of course, but not of love. Theria
+had dreamed of neither. She picked up the scattered
+ferns and tossed them out of the window. Their
+delicate scent of the wild wood met, her as she did so.
+Suddenly she longed for her mother’s touch and voice,
+even her scolding voice. She hurried out of the room.</p>
+
+<p>But as she went to sleep that night she remembered
+only that Argos had Medized.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII<br />
+<span class="smaller">GATHERING MORE THREADS</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">The</span> next morning Nikander returned to his home.
+He retired at once to rest after his journey.
+Theria met him as he came forth again from his
+room in the late afternoon. It was plain that no sleep
+had been his. He was haggard. There was something
+in his face which cut Theria to the heart. She put
+herself directly in his path.</p>
+
+<p>“Father,” she said, “I know your trouble. Do not
+hide it from me. You think I cannot help you, but,
+oh, let me try.”</p>
+
+<p>The love outgoing from her face and from the little
+trembling gesture of her hand—these he could not
+choose but see.</p>
+
+<p>“You say a great deal when you say that you know
+all about my trouble,” he smiled.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t laugh at me, please. I am a grown woman.
+I am sixteen years old.”</p>
+
+<p>“What is it you want to know, child?”</p>
+
+<p>“About the Persians,” she said breathlessly. She was
+daring the question now. What a fool she felt herself to
+be! “If they’re really coming against only Athens and
+Sparta couldn’t the other states stand aside—and keep
+out of it—wouldn’t it be best?”</p>
+
+<p>His face went black.</p>
+
+<p>“Theria, who has been talking to you?” he demanded.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Nobody, Father. We hear things in the house.
+We can’t help hearing them. I heard, too, that Argos
+has Medized. I wanted to tell you that. The Pythia’s
+answer had nothing to do with it. They Medized long
+before. They are in actual league with the Persian!”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander looked as if she had dashed water in his
+face.</p>
+
+<p>“By the thundering Zeus, how did you know that?
+The priests only made certain of it last night.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s because I want so much to know, Father, that I
+learn. And I know that you are in bitter danger from
+Kobon. Are you sure”—she caught her breath before
+the plunge—“are you sure you are right? Are you sure
+that <em>all</em> the states should fight the Persian? Wouldn’t
+it be better to treat with the Persian just as the Oracle
+bids us do?”</p>
+
+<p>This time his eyes flashed with anger. “Am I to hear
+myself flouted,” he said, “by the very women of my
+household?”</p>
+
+<p>She suddenly threw both arms about his neck in a
+passion of tears.</p>
+
+<p>“No—no—no—I am not flouting you! Kobon!
+He may kill you. Any day he may kill you.”</p>
+
+<p>“That side of the question is not to be dwelt upon,”
+he said severely. He put his arm about her, but his
+face was like a mask.</p>
+
+<p>“Come with me,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>He led her into his room and shut the door. She
+could not tell whether he would punish her or not.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you know what is meant by ‘treating with the
+Persian’?” he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“No.”</p>
+
+<p>“It means to be his slave, to submit to his rule in ways
+that would ruin the freedom of Greece. We Greeks<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span>
+could meet in our Councils—oh, yes, we could <em>meet</em>!
+But the Councils would count for naught. The Great
+King’s word would be law. It would mean that we
+would be called out to fight the King’s battles, not our
+own—that he would take our young men to his court
+and make eunuchs of them, take our young girls for his
+concubines. Don’t you think that any state of Greece
+should prefer death to such a fate?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, oh, yes,” she whispered with wide eyes. At
+last she was to know the truth.</p>
+
+<p>“Yet this is the fate you tell me Argos prefers. I
+suppose,” he added whimsically, “you know all about
+the Council at the Isthmos of Corinth, from which I
+have just come.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, nothing of that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then I will tell you. Athens, Sparta, and all the
+lesser states who want to defend our Hellas have sent
+representatives to this congress. They are making
+our plan of defence. They have sent envoys to all the
+doubtful states of Greece, begging them to join in the
+fight. Now, here, my child, is my grief and should be
+yours—these states, Argos, Crete, and others sent at
+once to our Pythia to ask whether or not they should
+enter the war. And in every case the oracles have been
+negative. It has been so when there was no need.</p>
+
+<p>“You know, my child, that oracles are not always
+clear! Just as prayers to the gods are not always
+answered. And when the oracles are not clear, surely
+it is because the Son of Leto wishes us to use our own
+wisdom in the interpretation thereof.</p>
+
+<p>“These oracles to Argos and Crete came forth in
+confused utterance and could have been interpreted
+into splendid words of courage to those states. We
+could have <em>forced</em> them to join the League.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span></p>
+
+<p>Nikander’s voice began to ring with his message. He
+forgot it was only to his daughter, Theria, that he was
+speaking. She meanwhile thrilled and quivered with
+the sudden enlightenment. Yesterday she had been for
+the moment persuaded by Lycophron. But this from
+her father was the truth, so clear that she ought to
+have known it without any telling.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander went on:</p>
+
+<p>“But all the priests were for bending the oracles the
+other way. They fashioned them into drivelling nonsense,
+only adding enough of sense to warn the states
+away, to make them afraid to fight.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, that our Delphi should come to this.</p>
+
+<p>“The priests themselves are scared. Many of them
+have visited Persia and remember its vast power.
+I, too, have visited it. What of it? Cannot they see
+that in a pass like this the gods will fight on our
+side?</p>
+
+<p>“But among all the priests, only Timon and I are for
+the nobler part. I am not accustomed to failure. I do
+not know how to bear it.”</p>
+
+<p>His head bowed, but it lifted again quickly.</p>
+
+<p>“But we have not failed yet, Timon and I. There
+are yet Athens and Sparta for us to help.”</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he seemed aware of his daughter. He took
+her hand.</p>
+
+<p>“Athens and Sparta prefer death to the Persian rule.
+They are going to fight the Persian though he be twenty
+times their number. Do you see nothing fine in that,
+my child?”</p>
+
+<p>Her wide-open eyes answered him.</p>
+
+<p>“Up till now the Oracle has disheartened them both.
+It shall not dishearten them again. Athens and Sparta
+will certainly visit the Oracle once more. If I have to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span>
+die in giving them the message of the god, that is a
+small matter. The message shall be given.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria moved toward him in awed, shining acquiescence.</p>
+
+<p>“Father,” she said clearly, “if you have to die that
+way, I will not cry out any more.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander framed her white face in his two hands.</p>
+
+<p>“My darling child!” he said in a kind of amazement.
+“How strangely you understand.”</p>
+
+<p>She felt his hands tremble; then he smiled almost
+merrily.</p>
+
+<p>“But I do not intend to die, Theria. I intend to
+win!”</p>
+
+<p>Her trust in him now was too complete for her even
+to urge her own help upon him.</p>
+
+<p>“I will not ask you again, Father, to make me Pythia,
+but if I can help you that way or any way, you will let
+me—you will let me?”</p>
+
+<p>“Persistent Theria! You cannot help me by being
+Pythia. How many times must I tell you that the
+Pythia is the empty mouthpiece of the god.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Father,” she consented.</p>
+
+<p>“You can help me,” he said, “by keeping up the
+courage of the household. Do not let the slaves talk.
+Don’t let your mother cringe and worry. Most of all,
+do not be surprised at anything. I’ll tell you now the
+fullness of it. The Persians will come to Delphi. No
+amount of treating will keep their greedy hands off
+this rich spoil. Our streets will know their footsteps,
+our temples and households their desecration.</p>
+
+<p>“They are a great horde. All the armies of the past
+taken together will not make the sum of them. Yet we
+must fight them. There is no other choice, my child.
+Can you keep a brave heart and stiff will?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she answered. “Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>She went back to her room exalted and actually refreshed.
+The danger was so great, so certain, that it
+bred not fear but only a deep solemnity.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander, however, walking out into the street, was
+not encouraged by this conversation, but miserably
+cast down.</p>
+
+<p>He had received sympathy; but not from his sons
+had he received it. The fullness of Theria’s understanding
+but made him feel the more keenly their aloofness.
+This poor child, a daughter! wanted to help him
+by becoming the Pythia—futile effort! Yet the only
+one open to her. His sons, had they desired, might
+have been already in the priesthood, fighting by his side
+for this—the greatest cause the Oracle had ever known.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, he must fight alone. In bitterness of
+heart he made his way through the midsummer heat
+up toward the Council House.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE SONG RE-SUNG</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Theria’s</span> first thought was to deal with Lycophron.
+That afternoon she met him in the
+outer aula. He questioned her first.</p>
+
+<p>“Sis, did you speak with Father?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, and oh, Lycophron, Father is right about the
+oracles. You haven’t quite understood. He explained——”</p>
+
+<p>“Shu!” he interrupted. “I might have known it
+would turn out that way. You take Father for a god.”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t talk that way, Lycophron. You know yourself
+how wise he is. You know how the priests have
+always looked up to him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do they? Now? In this crisis?” he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“No, but that is the more reason we should stand by
+him. We should think and act with him. Lycophron”—she
+caught the corner of his himation, twisting
+it in her fingers—“you could really go into the Council
+yourself if you wished. You are old enough. Your
+vote would help his.”</p>
+
+<p>“But I wouldn’t vote his way, Puss.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do talk with Father,” she pleaded. “He will make
+you understand. He talked of it with me” (she said it
+proudly). “How much rather would he talk with you.
+He would make it all clear.”</p>
+
+<p>“Now, Sis, it’s you that are butting into a wall.
+Father and I don’t agree in these matters. You’re a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span>
+smart little girl, but don’t try to meddle in things too big
+for you. By the way, when are you to be betrothed?”</p>
+
+<p>She paled quickly and Lycophron laughed. Theria’s
+reluctance to marriage was a curious streak of idiocy in
+this quick-witted sister of his. Lycophron thought it
+comic.</p>
+
+<p>“Great Hermes, what a face you make!”</p>
+
+<p>“Father hasn’t said anything about betrothal, has
+he?” she queried.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I won’t say whether he has or not,” he teased,
+“but I shall remind him. I met Theron the other day,
+‘When am I going to get my beautiful wife?’ says he.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Lycophron, please, please!” she begged, all in a
+tremble. “Don’t remind Father, do not tell him what
+that man——”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, Sis, you little fool, a betrothal is a fine
+festival. And you would be coming right down among
+the men. It would be the merriest time you ever had in
+your life—and you the centre of it all.”</p>
+
+<p>“Who would want a merry time,” she retorted,
+“when the Persian is coming to tear us to pieces?”</p>
+
+<p>“No; don’t you be scared to death like Dryas.”</p>
+
+<p>“You know I am not scared!” she said so indignantly
+that Lycophron patted her shoulder approvingly.</p>
+
+<p>“There, there, Sis, I won’t remind Father. But,
+honestly, I do think it is a shame that he forgets to betroth
+you just because he is so busy in the Council.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m glad he forgets,” she said vehemently. “I’m
+glad he forgets.”</p>
+
+<p>After a moment she asked with anxiety:</p>
+
+<p>“But is Dryas really scared?”</p>
+
+<p>“He doesn’t say so, but I can tell that he is. He
+turns white about the lips.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I am so sorry, so sorry,” she answered. The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span>
+break up of the family front was more serious than she
+had supposed. “But,” she concluded, “Dryas will
+stand by Father whatever happens.”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>For a week Theria kept away from her storeroom and
+its beloved window. Cruel, that the impudent stranger
+should deprive her of her refuge. The storeroom was
+her place of intimate solitude. It was saturated with
+her thought, her dreams, her songs. The little window
+and the lonely street—all were hers.</p>
+
+<p>But after a time her fears lessened. Surely the
+youth would not keep coming all this while, or if he
+did, she had only to tell her father. Nikander would
+punish him thoroughly. Yes, and perhaps his daughter
+also for being at the window at all. Oh, but the youth
+must have forgotten. Why need she be anxious? The
+evening was very hot. The air seemed to press down
+heavily into the amphitheatre of the mountains. One
+could hardly breathe.</p>
+
+<p>Theria found her window. Darkness had fully come
+and the hoped-for breeze. She had sat there some
+moments before she realized that the Argive youth
+was in the lane below. She shrank back, but his first
+word startled her into speech.</p>
+
+<p>“Lady Eleutheria, I have asked your father for your
+hand,” he said. “But oh, dear maid, he tells me that you
+are betrothed.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am not betrothed! I am not betrothed!” she
+cried vehemently. “There has been no betrothal.”</p>
+
+<p>“Thank the good gods for that,” was the devout
+answer.</p>
+
+<p>Foolishly she began to argue.</p>
+
+<p>“But that does you no good.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, but at least it does not snatch you quite away.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span>
+I have learned to hope, Eleutheria. When I was in
+the galley-hold all day rowing until my back cracked,
+then it seemed as though I could never be glad again.
+But I am glad; thanks to you. In the same way I shall
+hope that some glorious fate will bring you to me,
+though so far from me now. I shall make you love me.”</p>
+
+<p>“But I do not love you,” said Theria desperately,
+“and you must not come here any more. This window
+is my solitude. You shall not come to it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do not say that,” he pleaded. “You cannot imagine
+the joy it is to come. I have worn a path on the
+hillside coming, coming to you. And as I come my
+heart lifts and lifts as with a dawning light. Ah, you
+do not understand it; nor did I, dear child. It is
+something stronger than I—than you—— Each morning,”
+he hurried on, fearful lest she leave him, “when
+I awake and remember that I am free, then your cry
+comes back to me that you are shut in always, always,
+without hope. My heart breaks. I, too, had been
+shut in without hope. Therefore, I long to free you.”</p>
+
+<p>“You compare me to a slave,” she said sternly.</p>
+
+<p>“No, no,” he cried. “If I could only take your hand
+and show you the beautiful temples of the gods, the
+cities which I know, the sea. Lady, have you ever seen
+the sea?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” she answered, very low.</p>
+
+<p>“Once I had a friend. He was taken prisoner with
+me on the pirate ship. But he died of the wounds he
+got shielding me—and I still love him. I thought I
+could never love any one in all my life as I love him;
+but you, dear maid, you are more than that friend. It
+is strange to say that. But you are my friend and my
+life. I am no longer my own.” His voice changed
+with awe. “Dear lady, it is not Aphrodite’s passion<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span>
+that is come upon me, it is the gift of some god loftier
+than she—perhaps Eros the Creator. Try to understand.”</p>
+
+<p>Just here the moon sailed clear of the housetops over
+the way and filled the narrow lane with light. She
+could see him standing there, his head thrown back to
+see her—his golden hair bound and crowned. His very
+standing was elastic, spurning the ground. So much
+had his few weeks of gymnastic restored to him of
+Hellenic health and attitude.</p>
+
+<p>She could see the curious, searching light in his face—a
+light of tenderness such as she had never known but
+which she recognized as all maidens do. Oh, why did
+her heart leap? Was she, too, in the power of a god?</p>
+
+<p>Now he startled her yet more.</p>
+
+<p>“Dear lady, I am coming to this house to-morrow
+night, I am Nikander’s guest.”</p>
+
+<p>Delphians, though proud as Olympians, were yet the
+most cosmopolitan of Greeks. They were taught by
+the Oracle to receive all men hospitably.</p>
+
+<p>Theria’s dread increased. What would her father
+think? What might not this strange youth tell!</p>
+
+<p>“I shall ask to hear that song,” added the youth.
+“The prize song which you made for Dryas, your
+brother.”</p>
+
+<p>“I made no song,” she asserted, loyal to her house.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, yes, you did. All the Precinct whispers that.
+But I shall know, dear maid, whether the song be yours.
+If it came from your spirit, it will go to mine.”</p>
+
+<p>Steps were heard in the lane. She cried out a low
+warning. Her anger swept back again that the youth
+should thus bring her into fear. But he was gone almost
+before her cry. He was among the hills.</p>
+
+<p>Theria turned, dazed, from the window. There on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span>
+the moon-lit floor lay flowers strewn, one bunch upon
+another—faded ferns, fresh anemones, violets half dry.
+Evidently a gift for every day. If the youth came in
+this fashion sooner or later someone would see him.
+They would punish her. Worse! They would laugh
+at her. A street song, a vulgar old catch, struck across
+her mind, one of the common gibes at women:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent2">Always as of old——</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">They roast their barley sitting as of old</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">They on their heads bear burdens as of old—</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">They buy themselves sly dainties as of old—</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">They still secrete their lovers as of old.</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Ahai! so she had thought herself different, better!
+She was like all other silly women. No wonder the men
+gibed. Only for a moment had she been guilty, but it
+was such a vivid, unforgettable moment. The moon
+had shone so bright upon him, the youth had looked so
+impossibly beautiful. Fool! The youth was plainly
+mad. Never would she allow herself to see him again.</p>
+
+<p>Wrathfully she gathered all the flowers at one sweep
+and flung them far out of the window. Theria had
+heard of physical love. She had heard of no other kind.
+How was she to understand this sudden placing of her
+upon a pedestal? How should she guess that the youth
+through the suffering of slavery, through the purity of
+his gratitude, had stumbled upon an emotion old as
+creation, beautiful as dawn, strong as life, which the
+Greeks had utterly quenched and set aside?</p>
+
+<p>Next day, sure enough, a feast was preparing in the
+house. Theria watched fearfully. Was the Argive
+really coming among the other guests? She tried to
+keep out of her father’s way, but she had to face him at
+luncheon.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span></p>
+
+<p>Nikander, where his family was concerned, was very
+frank and childlike. “Well, Theria,” he said, “what do
+you suppose has happened? A young man comes
+asking for your hand.” Theria’s heart thumped so
+that she had to stop eating.</p>
+
+<p>“His name is Eëtíon.<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> He is from Argos, one of the
+handsomest youths I ever saw. What do you think of
+that, Daughter?”</p>
+
+<div class="footnotes">
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Note: pronounced A-e-teé-on.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>“I do not know,” she managed to falter.</p>
+
+<p>“My dear, why tremble?” smiled her father. “The
+youth does not concern you. But the fellow is curiously
+headlong. Of course I did not discuss dower with him.
+But he offered it. He said: ‘I want no dower. I have
+seen your daughter in a festival procession. Her beauty
+is enough without dower!’ Now in what procession
+could he have noticed you, Theria? I do not quite like
+it that he should have seen you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I do not know,” she said, again bowing her head.
+She was in mortal fear lest he see her fear. But he
+turned to Melantho—</p>
+
+<p>“By Hermes, Melantho, I do like the youth. He
+quitted Argos because he is too loyal a Hellene to stay
+there. I like that. Timon knew the young man’s
+father, says the family is one of the most upright in
+Argos. The boy shows his race. Beautiful fellow,
+astonishingly beautiful.” (The Greek could not but
+dwell on beauty whenever he met it.) “The children
+of such a youth would be glorious children.”</p>
+
+<p>“But, Father, must I—must I marry an Argive?”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander threw back his head with laughter. It had
+been weeks since Theria had heard him laugh.</p>
+
+<p>“No, Theria, your children would be glorious, but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span>
+they would not be legitimate. Eëtíon has purchased
+citizenship in Delphi, but he is still metic, a foreigner.
+Of course, you will not marry him.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander voiced the pride that was in every Greek
+citizen—the pride and the isolation. No man could
+take full citizenship in a city not his own. No marriage
+with a foreigner (born say fifty miles distant) was
+counted legal by any government. This fact, instinctive
+in Theria’s mind, had steeled her heart against the
+Argive. Oh, what right had he to come to the house
+even as her father’s guest? She dared not object. She
+was not supposed to know of his coming.</p>
+
+<p>The dinner guests assembled early. Theria and her
+mother had their supper upstairs. Then Theria went
+off to bed so as not to hear anything of the feast. But
+she could not sleep. She did not want the youth to
+hear her song. She tossed and tossed on her hot couch.
+What must they be doing now at the feast? Talking of
+the war? Ah, yes, that surely. They would not be
+singing songs in these war-troubled days, even at
+symposia. If she had only dared to ask Dryas not to
+sing. But was he singing? Oh, if she only knew.</p>
+
+<p>Impatiently she rose and crept to her father’s room.
+Here came up the mingled voices and laughter from the
+men’s court. Oh, what was that? Why were they suddenly
+silent? That lyre, tuning. Then clear and fateful
+came the sound of Dryas’s singing,</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Fair, fair on the mountain the feet of Apollo striding.”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>The thing always thrilled her; so intimately hers. “I
+shall know, dear maid, whether the song be yours. If it
+came from your heart it will go to mine.” The Argive’s
+saying was ringing back upon her. He was down
+there now, listening, close to the singer. Almost<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span>
+she could see the listening in his face. And oh,
+the song was giving him what she did not want to
+give—her intimate, sweetest thought. He would grasp
+it all. Had he not asserted that he would?</p>
+
+<p>She clapped hands upon her ears and fairly ran back
+to her room. He had no right, that Argive foreigner,
+to read her soul that way. No right!</p>
+
+<p>She lay in her bed trembling. It was long before
+she could reason with herself and believe that this was a
+foolish, childish fear.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX<br />
+<span class="smaller">LOVE IN THE LANE</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Theria</span> paced to and fro in the large upper
+room, weaving. She had unskilful hands for
+this craft also as well as for spinning. Her figures
+of gods were stiff, her colours never true. But these
+days the long task was grateful. The whole household
+seemed hushed, as before a storm. Even Melantho
+now knew how near the Persians were. She, too, must
+be told. “Last week they were at Pydna, to-day we hear
+they have reached Larissa in Thessaly.” So the vast
+armies approached nearer, nearer, fateful, certain,
+awful, and the tiny land toward which they came seemed
+crouching with arms upheld to ward off a blow.</p>
+
+<p>But Melantho was unexpectedly quiet. She had
+taken charge of the house as never before. And there
+was need. The slaves were irritable with fear, disobedient.
+This morning Olen had run away.</p>
+
+<p>As for the Argive youth, Theria had not seen him since
+the night of Dryas’s singing. She had forsworn her
+beloved window. Better so than to see him again.
+That one moment of piercing beauty in his face. Ah,
+that had taught her the danger. Tender-conscienced
+child that she was—she was remorseful for every
+moment that she had lingered at the window listening
+to his speech. Those moments were not worthy of
+Nikander’s daughter. One day she went into the storeroom
+to fetch a book-roll which she had left there.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span>
+The floor again was strewn with flowers, faded and
+dewy fresh, as though thrown there each day.</p>
+
+<p>That the Argive youth should keep coming. This
+haunted her. Patient, persistent, each evening, lonely
+in the lane. How was she to drive him from her
+thoughts?</p>
+
+<p>She looked up from her weaving. Her father had
+opened the curtain of the doorway. He came toward
+her. There was in his face a finality which brought her
+to her feet.</p>
+
+<p>“Father! The Persians!”</p>
+
+<p>“No, child,” answered Nikander’s low voice. “The
+delegation of Athenians is in Delphi.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Father, I knew that.”</p>
+
+<p>“They have received their answer from the Oracle.
+Child, the message needed no interpreting priest. It was
+fearful and fearfully clear. The Pythia in her own voice,
+in ecstasy upon the tripod, warned them out of the
+shrine. ‘Quit Athens,’ was her cry. ‘Flee afar; fire
+and sword shall come upon your city—and not yours
+only, but many cities. My temple sweats blood; get ye
+away from my holy place; and steep your souls in
+sorrow.’”</p>
+
+<p>“Father, how dreadful; horrible!”</p>
+
+<p>“The priests, of course, are horror-struck. But they
+are triumphant, too. They have prevailed over me.
+The Athenians! Theria, the Athenians dare not go
+home with that message. We have told them, Timon
+and I, not to go home with it. That message would
+put their armies to rout before the Persians should
+strike one blow.”</p>
+
+<p>He stopped. His face took on a deep regret, almost
+abhorrence. Then he said hurriedly:</p>
+
+<p>“Theria, I have come to make you the Pythia. It is<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span>
+a last resort. You say you can pray. God grant you
+can! Oh, my child, put into this consecration every
+effort, every spiritual strength you know!”</p>
+
+<p>She was so dazed that she could only stand before
+him trying to say “Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“You will leave the house early to-morrow morning.
+You will have your days of rites and preparation. But
+the Athenians will await your days. We will enter the
+Precinct as supplicants—you and I. The Athenians
+also as supplicants. Supplication may win the god.”</p>
+
+<p>He put his hands on her shoulders, gazing deeply into
+her eyes. But his mind was far away, wrapt in the
+purpose for his state.</p>
+
+<p>“Theria, the honour of the Oracle, the very saving
+of Athens and of all Hellas are in your hands. Pray,
+pray!”</p>
+
+<p>At the door he paused again with bent head. “You
+will have your wish now to stay a virgin. And you can
+never come home again.”</p>
+
+<p>She was alone. It is in such moments that one grows
+old. Maturity is not of years but of such experience.
+She was neither happy nor sad. What she had desired
+so long seemed strangely impossible now that it had
+come to her. There was no exaltation for the great task.</p>
+
+<p>She kept naming the task over to herself. “I am
+to win the good oracle which will save Athens. Apollo
+will give me a good answer if I supplicate.” But she
+felt very dazed.</p>
+
+<p>Now she laid aside her hated weaving. It was the
+last time. The Pythia did not weave. Greater tasks
+were hers. Theria’s home which had seemed so prison-like,
+that, too, she was leaving for ever. Very quietly she
+walked along the balcony to her own room and there
+stood thinking.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span></p>
+
+<p>How distant her father had seemed. The great state-sorrow
+weighed him down. He was beyond thought
+of her. Yet there had been something tragic in his
+face as though he were laying her as victim upon the
+altar rather than lifting her to the tripod.</p>
+
+<p>A fearful thing that tripod. It stood in a dark
+cavern, and the breath of the god rushed up from a gulf
+below and filled her who was set there. How would
+it feel—that breath upon her? What would it do to her,
+that ghostly thing? She shook her shoulders as if to
+free them of a load.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, dear Paian, what if it did harm her? That was
+nothing, nothing! Could she win the good message?
+Could she by prayers, importunity, and ritual-supplication
+win from the god the better fate for Greece?
+Apollo had already given forth the terror and warning.
+Could she push that evil back as with her two hands?</p>
+
+<p>All the courage, the confidence, which had so easily
+been hers sank out of her. Her heart, which had been
+like a pool reflecting the sky of the god, was suddenly
+empty. She longed to go to her mother to hide in her
+arms. But Melantho (how well she knew) would only
+weep and add weakness to her own. Her father? It
+had been her father’s detachment, his way of laying the
+task impersonally upon her, forgetting the daughter
+upon whom he laid it—it was this that made her lonely.
+She thought of Dryas, of Lycophron, of Baltè. She
+could only hide her face in her hands, rejecting the
+thought of each. And the black loneliness grew at each
+rejection.</p>
+
+<p>“Is there someone else? Isn’t there any one else?”
+she thought wildly.</p>
+
+<p>And like answer to her thought came the clear picture
+to her closed eyes. The Argive standing in the moon-lit<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span>
+lane with face upturned to hers. “Can you stop the
+stream of Castaly? Even so will my love refresh you
+whether you will or not.”</p>
+
+<p>She lifted up her face timidly in the empty room. Ah,
+he had loved her. He had come again and again with
+his love. So faithful, so patient, and how true he was to
+Greece! How ready to fight for Hellas! If she should
+go to the window to-night, would he give her strength—strength
+for her fearful duty? But how could he?
+Would he reach up his hands? What could he say?</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly she was trembling so that she had to sit
+down, clasping her hands, unclasping them again. How
+could he do anything except to put arms about her as
+she had longed for her mother to do? But these arms
+as they stole about her spirit were not like Melantho’s.
+They thrilled her, brought her near to weeping. They
+were the arms of love, the love he had told of, the love
+that understood the inmost of her heart. She began
+to long so intensely for their comforting that she was
+frightened. The barriers of her coldness went down at
+once, leaving her as tender as young spring. Unconsciously
+she reached out her hands in the dim room.</p>
+
+<p>Then a panic assailed her. Perhaps he would not
+come. Perhaps her long refusal had broken even his
+faithfulness. Perhaps he would fail her for just this
+one evening. Then it would be too late. To-morrow
+she would be locked in the Pythia House. Then even to
+see him would be sin.</p>
+
+<p>To-night! Oh, could she go down into the lane and
+greet him there? But how? The house wall was too
+high for her down-clambering or for his ascent. The
+front door was guarded by Medon.</p>
+
+<p>She would ask Baltè to take her. Surely on this her
+last night at home Baltè would be kind.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span></p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the news of Theria’s departure was noised
+through the house. Melantho was excited, bewildered,
+frightened. She was closeted with Nikander. The
+slaves were weeping. One after another stole to Theria’s
+door, the men awkward in their grief, the women and
+girls throwing their arms about their little mistress in
+stress of tears.</p>
+
+<p>Theria waited till nightfall before she asked Baltè.</p>
+
+<p>“Just to go out into the lane a little while, Baltè—to
+stand near the stream.” Baltè sometimes had taken
+her there. But always of a morning when Baltè was
+doing her washing.</p>
+
+<p>“Not in the evening, little mistress. You know your
+mother would not allow it.”</p>
+
+<p>“She will not care this time. Oh, Baltè, you will have
+no more chances to please me!”</p>
+
+<p>“But surely I am going to be with you in the Pythia
+House, little mistress?” cried Baltè, frightened.</p>
+
+<p>“There, Baltè, don’t cry. Of course you will.”</p>
+
+<p>But Baltè had already consented to her little mistress’s
+wish.</p>
+
+<p>The two entered the lane at nightfall, climbed the
+short steep path beside the stream to the very wall of
+the cliff.</p>
+
+<p>“But, Missy, I should think you would rather stay
+down near the highroad where you could glimpse the
+folk passing.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not to-night, Baltè. It is only the air I want and to
+be still, very still.”</p>
+
+<p>She slipped into a cleft of the hillside and drew Baltè
+with her. How quiet it was. A cricket chirped above
+her on the hillside, lonely in the stillness. At the opening
+of the lane the highroad was half hidden by the
+rocks.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Missy, it’s growing late. We mustn’t stay too
+long.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh Baltè, wait—wait.”</p>
+
+<p>Never in her life had Theria known fear such as this—the
+fear of the Argive’s not coming. It choked her. It
+tasted bitter in her mouth. But why should he come?
+Oh, why should he, to her who had been only cruel, who
+had thrown only contempt from her window—that
+window which now stared at her dimly at a distance
+like some vacant fate——</p>
+
+<p>What was that? Oh, Paian, a stir in the bushes above
+her, a form in the dusk that walked swiftly and stopped
+under her window. Ah, dear gods, how intently he gazed
+up where he thought to find her!</p>
+
+<p>She slipped from Baltè’s hand and sped like a freed
+bird toward him. Lightly she touched his arm. She
+could not speak.</p>
+
+<p>He wheeled—saw her.</p>
+
+<p>“Gods in Olympos! My lady!”</p>
+
+<p>The Argive’s hope had been largely boasting. He had
+never imagined a thing like this that she should greet
+him in the lane. Now he saw her changed face. His
+voice broke with tenderness.</p>
+
+<p>“Eleutheria,” he whispered. Her timid hand reached
+toward him.</p>
+
+<p>Then the arms that she had dreamed of were about
+her, wonderful, amazing in their love. She had not
+known they would tremble. She had not known they
+would seem so strong. All thought for winning courage
+for her duty left her—all thought of asking anything.
+She only longed to give him the gentleness and affection
+she had so long denied him. She lifted her hand,
+touching his cheek. It was wet with tears.</p>
+
+<p>“I have been unkind. Oh, I have been cruel to you.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Never cruel,” he said. “Only a child whom the
+gods must teach.”</p>
+
+<p>“They have taught me. They have taught me,” she
+answered.</p>
+
+<p>But now Baltè recovered from amazement, and was
+shaking Theria’s arm.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Missy, Missy, come back with Baltè. Wicked
+child, you deceived me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, yes, Baltè,” she said, tender even toward her
+old nurse, “I will come. Eëtíon will not harm me. He
+is good, good.”</p>
+
+<p>At this confession of faith the youth kissed her afresh.</p>
+
+<p>But Baltè was not to be baulked. “Missy, please,
+please, for Apollo’s sake,” she cried, again shaking
+Theria. “How can you, you who are to be Pythia
+to-morrow?”</p>
+
+<p>“Pythia,” repeated the lover. “What does she mean?
+Theria, that is not true!”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I am to pray for a good oracle from the god.
+Oh, Eëtíon, I feel now that it may be granted me.”</p>
+
+<p>“But you! Great Hermes, you cannot be Pythia.
+Your father will not allow that!”</p>
+
+<p>“But Father commands it. He says it is the only
+hope of saving the Athenians. I must do it!”</p>
+
+<p>“Theria, no, no!” he said wildly. The horror of the
+thing broke over him and the horror of her being torn
+from him, for ever beyond his reach. “What a frightful
+mistake. Nikander should know better. You are not
+fit for a Pythia. The tripod will kill you. It will destroy
+your mind. Theria, you must listen to me!”</p>
+
+<p>She was listening indeed. His misery was sweeping
+down her high mission as the gale sweeps down the
+grain. She clung to him, saying no word.</p>
+
+<p>“I can take you away from it. Oh, it is a horrible<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span>
+fate. My darling, for the god’s sake let me save you.
+I’ll take you to the islands. No one will find you; no
+one.” He was drawing her toward the hill.</p>
+
+<p>That moment her spirit returned to her.</p>
+
+<p>“No, no, Eëtíon. You cannot save me that way. Oh,
+you know you cannot!”</p>
+
+<p>His hands dropped to his sides, his head drooped.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” he faltered. “Not that way, but how, how?
+You must not be Pythia. You are not fit for pythiahood.
+I have seen the present Pythia—pale, weak, and
+above all, empty, ignorant. Oh, darling Theria, you
+cannot be made like that! I must save you!”</p>
+
+<p>“You <em>have</em> saved me,” she said, childlike. “I was
+afraid and you have made me unafraid. Because you
+love me, just because you love me. Oh, Eëtíon. Death
+lies both ways. For the Persians will kill us if they get
+into Hellas. Only the god can keep them back. I
+must pray to the god. I must pray to the god. I know
+he will hear me. Must I not go when I know that?
+Oh, Eëtíon, help me—help me to go!”</p>
+
+<p>He took her face between his hands, gazing into the
+brave depths of her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Always you make me remember that you are
+Eleutheria,” he said in a low, awed voice. “If you were
+like other women I could not so love you—oh, do you
+believe how I love you—love you?”</p>
+
+<p>Then before she could answer—</p>
+
+<p>“Go,” he said hastily. “While I can let you go.”</p>
+
+<p>She bowed her head and started down the lane. But
+he caught her back with passionate kisses. He knew
+it was the last time. There in the narrow lane pure
+love, neglected and chilled by Greek custom and unknown
+to Greek sullying passion, burned high and clear
+like an altar flame.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span></p>
+
+<p>Baltè was beside herself with fear. Yet if she gave
+the alarm what a punishment there would be for her
+darling! Only the dread Cyprian could know when they
+would have parted had not a step echoed from the
+highway and Medon’s deaf-hollow voice called:</p>
+
+<p>“Baltè, ye fool. If ye don’t come in I’ll lock the door
+on ye. What time is this to be stayin’ out in the night
+with the little mistress?”</p>
+
+<p>And at this Baltè gathered her nurseling in her arms
+and almost carried her into the house.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI<br />
+<span class="smaller">A PROCESSION OF SACRIFICE</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Next</span> morning it was Nikander himself who
+came to awaken his daughter. The house was
+full of the bustle and awe of the departure. The
+dawn was yet grey. Melantho brought a white festal
+robe and for one long hour she and Baltè dressed the
+young candidate, pinning the robe at the shoulders,
+clasping the girdle, drawing the soft fabric up through
+it, full over the breast, then adjusting the long straight
+folds to the sandalled feet.</p>
+
+<p>Melantho brought the casket of jewels.</p>
+
+<p>“Where are the pearls?” she complained. “You
+should have the pearls to-day.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria put her deft fingers among the jewels, stirring
+their glitter.</p>
+
+<p>“Please leave me without jewels, Mother,” she said
+quietly. Then she added, “Oh, Mother, let me give
+them to the god. Apollo loves gifts. He says if one
+gives one’s all it is as great as the bowl of Crœsos. These
+are my all. Perhaps they will help.”</p>
+
+<p>So they crowned her with red roses and hung a great
+garland of roses about her neck. Baltè thought she had
+never seen any one so beautiful as her dark-eyed darling.</p>
+
+<p>But Nikander, coming to look at her, was touched
+with anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>“Daughter,” he questioned, “your hope is yet strong
+in you? Do you feel that you can reach the god?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Father, I was never so sure as to-day,” she
+answered him.</p>
+
+<p>He took Baltè aside.</p>
+
+<p>“What is it? Her eyes?” he asked anxiously. “It is
+almost a fatal look. Is she well?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Master,” said Baltè. “But Master must remember
+that she is leaving her home. That is awesome
+for a maid.”</p>
+
+<p>“No doubt; yes, indeed,” he agreed.</p>
+
+<p>He went to his own room and brought forth a cup of
+his most delicate wine.</p>
+
+<p>“I want roses in your cheeks this morning, Theria,”
+he said as he gave it to her. But the roses came before
+she drank.</p>
+
+<p>For as she took the cup she noted its picture—the
+same that was on the cup that she had broken—Athena
+bestowing upon a worshipper—the same delicate
+sureness of drawing—unmistakable!</p>
+
+<p>“My dear, you are spilling the wine,” admonished
+Nikander, steadying her trembling hand.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly she sipped it, bringing herself to speech.</p>
+
+<p>“Father, give me this cup to take with me.”</p>
+
+<p>“You strange child. It is a common thing from the
+pottery under the hill.”</p>
+
+<p>“It will be from home,” she faltered.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander went off for reassurance to his Wife. “Will
+she be homesick, think you?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Left alone, Theria stole away to look at the places
+that she must see no more—her father’s room, the
+aula, the balcony. She had to walk slowly, stately, in
+her robe. Already she seemed far away from the free,
+swift-moving Theria she had been. Last of all she came
+to the dusky old storeroom. Here, strangely enough, it
+was not its recent memories that came to her, but the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span>
+memory of that far-off day when she had wept there as
+a child and had seen the nymphs and baby Hermes
+in the stream.</p>
+
+<p>Then suddenly the sharp scent of violets met her—sweet,
+dewy, fresh, new. With a low cry she gathered
+the flowers from the floor; then, stumbling over her
+long robe, she hurried from the room.</p>
+
+<p>The Nikander family left the house in silent procession.
+They were all crowned with laurel and carried
+with them the necessary things of sacrifice—the flat
+baskets with grain of barley, the torch lighted from
+their own dear hearth. Lycophron led the victim, a
+white goat whose gilded horns were crowned with
+flowers.</p>
+
+<p>It was a solemn going. Theria had never thought
+that she could walk toward her beloved Precinct with so
+heavy a heart. A breeze, rare in summer, caught her
+festal skirts and fluttered them about her. Across the
+sky raced splendid clouds whose huge silver bulks but
+made loftier the blue sky-spaces between them. Midsummer
+had laid its silence on the morning birds but
+doves on her cousin Clitè’s roof cooed and strutted in
+the sunshine.</p>
+
+<p>And now they had reached the Precinct. How easily
+the great gates opened to her this time. Did the keeper
+remember that other morning, she wondered? When
+he had refused to let her in?</p>
+
+<p>“Father, who are those splendid-looking men?”
+she asked. “They seem waiting for us.”</p>
+
+<p>“They are waiting, indeed. They are the Athenians.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria’s heart rose at the sight of them. At sight of
+their anxious faces her personal sorrow retired before
+their larger sorrow. She wanted to call out to them, to
+tell them how sure was her hope. But of course she<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span>
+could do no such thing. The Athenians greeted her
+father solemnly from a distance.</p>
+
+<p>Now the priests gave into all their hands great boughs
+of trees.</p>
+
+<p>“Do not speak again, Daughter,” said Nikander.
+“We are suppliants now.”</p>
+
+<p>And bearing their solemn boughs with which to constrain
+the god and with their baskets, their torch, and
+their slow-moving victim, they went up the Sacred Way.
+The Athenians went with them. Kindly the little
+temples watched them go, kindly the gods and heroes beside
+the way.</p>
+
+<p>Before the great altar in front of Apollo’s temple they
+stopped. The altar was alight, smoking in the sunshine.
+The flute player began a slow Dorian melody.
+The priest brought a great silver bowl of water and,
+lighting a new torch at the altar flame, plunged it hissing
+into the bowl. With the water thus sanctified, he
+sprinkled the worshippers. Then lifting the bowl high
+with the swift gesture of long custom, he dashed the
+water full upon the goat. It shivered in all its limbs!</p>
+
+<p>Good omens, good omens all. Theria’s confidence
+soared upward with her simple faith.</p>
+
+<p>When the goat was sacrificed, Theria was sure that
+its outgoing life was mounting invisibly to please the
+Son of Leto. In her enthusiasm, she kissed her hands to
+the god and stood so with her arms uplifted. Nikander,
+gazing upon her, felt more hopeful than for many weeks.</p>
+
+<p>When the ritual was done, they laid the supplicant
+boughs upon the altar. Her brother and her mother
+kissed Theria good-bye, a sorrowful parting but quiet as
+befitted the temple place. Then Nikander took Theria’s
+hand and, Baltè following, led her around the back of the
+Great Temple to the Pythia House.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII<br />
+<span class="smaller">IN THE PYTHIA HOUSE</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">The</span> old house-mistress received them; a stubby
+little person, most proper and severe, who fixed
+her eyes upon Theria intently and disapprovingly.
+As she let them in, a curious suffering sound came from
+a farther room.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s Aristonikè, the Pythia,” vouchsafed the mistress.
+“She has been like that ever since her last oracle—the
+one to the Athenians. She stands it worse and worse,
+poor child. It’s good we’re getting another to help her.”</p>
+
+<p>Again she looked Theria up and down.</p>
+
+<p>“Your slave woman can come with me,” she said,
+referring to Baltè. “Wait you for me there.”</p>
+
+<p>She was one of those old servants whose trustiness
+and efficiency are so great as hardly to be borne by
+those who employ them.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander and Theria were left in the little room,
+unknowing for how long. Beyond the corridor the
+poor little Pythoness kept up her incessant moaning.</p>
+
+<p>It did not frighten Theria. From her stronghold of
+perfect health she could not think of herself as being
+thus laid low, but it filled Nikander with horror. He
+was glad when Theria began to speak.</p>
+
+<p>“Father, the Athenians look so bitterly anxious. Is
+their task the hardest of all? Harder than that of the
+Spartans?”</p>
+
+<p>“I think so, child.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span></p>
+
+<p>“But why?”</p>
+
+<p>“Because they are not only doing their own task but
+keeping the Spartans to theirs. Then, too, Athens city
+itself is almost sure to be destroyed.”</p>
+
+<p>“Father!”</p>
+
+<p>Theria leaned forward in her usual absorbed fashion.
+Nikander suddenly realized how he would miss Theria’s
+questionings at home. Of late, he had actually cleared
+his plans by talking fully to Theria. This he did not
+acknowledge even to himself. Yet it affected his mood.
+He was tenderly frank in speech with her.</p>
+
+<p>“Athens destroyed!” she repeated.</p>
+
+<p>“It will all depend upon the battle in the north. The
+battle which we hope will bar the Persians out of
+Greece. We have decided now to hold them back at a
+place called Thermopylæ, the narrowest pass anywhere
+in our northern mountain barrier. The pass
+lies thus,” he gestured, “between steep mountain and
+sea. It is scarce six feet wide.”</p>
+
+<p>“How far from here?” she queried.</p>
+
+<p>“Seventy-five miles by mountain road. The Spartans,
+we hope, will march thither. The Athenians’ ships
+will hold the strait at Artemesium. Land and sea will
+fight at once.”</p>
+
+<p>“But if we win,” exclaimed Theria, “then Athens will
+be safe!”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, if we win,” he repeated. “If we lose, the
+Persians will march direct upon Athens and upon us.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, could the Athenians do nothing? Nothing?”</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing to save their city, my child. Even Themistocles
+says that in that case the citizens must flee to
+the isle of Salamis.” Nikander was by this time lost
+in the subject uppermost in his heart. “But the
+Athenian fleet would fight. They are very confident<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span>
+of their fleet in Salamis Bay. They can tempt the
+Persians into the small bay where skill will count more
+than numbers. The crowding of the Persian ships
+might—— But, child, why do I tell you this? I have
+the habit of it because you never tell what is told you.
+But this is most seriously secret.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you know I will keep it so,” she said with a little
+dignified uplift of her head which gave him a sudden
+pleasure and pride. Silence fell between them. They
+sat impatiently waiting, the courage of one of them
+oozing fast. They could hear again the moaning of the
+Pythia with now and then a miserable, delirious scream.</p>
+
+<p>At last the old house mistress appeared.</p>
+
+<p>“You are to come with me,” she said to Theria.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander rose and took his daughter’s hand for good-bye.
+But as he kissed her a bitter tumult seized him.
+He hid his face in his cloak and hurried from the room.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE CHILD PRIESTESS</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Theria’s</span> room was small, hardly more than
+a closet. Like all Greek bedrooms, it was
+windowless, but opened on a sunny court.</p>
+
+<p>She was glad to be alone. The coming three days
+seemed hardly enough for her prayers and importunities
+to her god. The Athenian danger possessed her. She
+felt inspired and strong. She stood in the middle of the
+room lifting her hands. They almost touched the low
+ceiling.</p>
+
+<p>“O Paian, dear Son of Leto. Am I not thy supplicant?
+A supplicant thou canst not refuse? Have
+I not given all my jewels, Apollon, Apollon? If I had
+more I would give all to thee.”</p>
+
+<p>Here the old house mistress entered without prelude.</p>
+
+<p>“You are to take off that gown,” she said, “and put on
+this, the simple garb of the Pythia.”</p>
+
+<p>She held forth a sort of long shift. It was fine-fluted
+in the ancient fashion and yellow, the accepted colour
+of the Apollo priesthood.</p>
+
+<p>“Send me my tiring woman,” said Theria.</p>
+
+<p>“Your tiring woman is gone home. You will have
+the usual temple slave. The Pythia has no touch with
+outside folk.”</p>
+
+<p>“Baltè is not outside folk. I will refrain from all
+speech with her, if that is the rule, nor will I allow her to
+speak.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span></p>
+
+<p>“That makes no difference,” said the old peasant woman,
+joying in her authority. “It is against the law.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria’s heart bounded with anger.</p>
+
+<p>“How dare you mistrust me, woman? Have I not
+the good of the oracle at heart more than you? Go at
+once and fetch me Baltè.”</p>
+
+<p>The house mistress bowed and went out. And
+presently the Pythian slave appeared, very timid, and
+eyeing her, secretly amused.</p>
+
+<p>Theria looked hard at her.</p>
+
+<p>“Go out,” she commanded. “How dare you enter
+my room when I have not sent for you?”</p>
+
+<p>The woman withdrew but Theria was conscious that
+she lingered in the court.</p>
+
+<p>Never in all her life had any one dressed Theria but
+Baltè. It was quite unthinkable that any one else
+should do it. Theria was a spoiled child in this.</p>
+
+<p>Awkwardly she unpinned her white robe herself,
+folded it away, and donned her Pythia habit.</p>
+
+<p>But anger is the arch destroyer of prayer. Theria
+could not pray now. Besides, she was mortally
+hungry.</p>
+
+<p>In her excitement last night she had eaten almost
+nothing. Now she must fast for three days to come.</p>
+
+<p>She supposed, of course, that the hunger would grow
+worse and worse. She walked up and down the room
+when she should have remained still, saving her
+strength.</p>
+
+<p>“What do I care for hunger?” she kept saying
+proudly. “For mere hunger when Athens is in danger
+of burning!”</p>
+
+<p>But it was only by an effort that she could hold her
+mind on Athens. Her thoughts kept rising, floating
+away like clouds.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span></p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon, where was he to-day? Somewhere in the
+Precinct? Was he thinking of her? Surely of naught
+else. Word after word of his came flashing back to her,
+snatching her breath with joy. Now his very touch, his
+trembling kindness filled her with a new and terrible
+longing. Only one dear hour of love in all her long life
+would she ever have to treasure and remember.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly with a wrench she brought her thoughts
+back to the present.</p>
+
+<p>“Love of Leto, how the poor little Pythia moaned
+in her room across the court.”</p>
+
+<p>It was impossible for Theria to be near suffering and
+not try to help.</p>
+
+<p>She hurried across the court and entered the room.
+Aristonikè lay upon a couch, her eyes staring and bright.
+She was thin as a blade of grass, looked a mere child with
+her poor little cheekbones so prominent and white and
+her tiny chin so pointed. Theria came and stroked the
+pathetic face.</p>
+
+<p>“Poor little Aristonikè, poor little girl,” she said.</p>
+
+<p>The wandering eyes fixed themselves upon her.</p>
+
+<p>“Who?” she whispered.</p>
+
+<p>“I am Theria, daughter of Nikander. Where is your
+pain, dear child?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not anywhere—all over.”</p>
+
+<p>“Are you hungry?” asked Theria. This thought
+was so present with herself.</p>
+
+<p>“Aach,” said the little creature, turning with disgust.</p>
+
+<p>The slave who sat at the bedside answered for her.</p>
+
+<p>“She will not eat these many days, Mistress; and
+she never sleeps, never, after an oracle.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria gave a low-toned order to the slave, who presently
+brought hot milk. To Theria in her hunger it<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span>
+smelt like nectar itself. Aristonikè at sight of it hid her
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“But if you will take it,” pleaded Theria, “I will
+send out your slave to buy a little living bird for you, a
+linnet in a cage.”</p>
+
+<p>Aristonikè uncovered her eyes. “Will it sing?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, how it will sing! high and low and chittery. But
+you must awake early in the morning for then it will
+sing best.”</p>
+
+<p>As Theria talked she fed her the milk and Aristonikè
+sipped it before she knew.</p>
+
+<p>They were still at this when the old dame Tuchè
+appeared.</p>
+
+<p>“Mistress Theria here! What are you doing in this
+room?”</p>
+
+<p>“You see what I am doing!” Theria answered.</p>
+
+<p>“You are to keep your own room. I supposed you
+knew that.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria rose in alarm.</p>
+
+<p>“Have I broken the ritual? Oh, I hope I have not
+broken it.”</p>
+
+<p>Aristonikè began to moan again.</p>
+
+<p>“Do not go, oh, lady, do not go.”</p>
+
+<p>She caught Theria’s dress, clinging to it as with little
+claws.</p>
+
+<p>“I did not think the god would mind,” spoke Theria
+anxiously. “Is it not for his priestess to heal if she
+can?”</p>
+
+<p>Old Tuchè’s armour was not without its flaw. She
+loved the little priestess child. She gazed at Aristonikè
+and her face curiously changed as if some sweet were
+trying to mitigate its sour.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, mayhap ye can stay, Mistress Theria,” she
+grudgingly consented. “I don’t say it’s not irregular.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span>
+But, well, it’s to-morrow an’ next day for your silence.
+Is the child eatin’?”</p>
+
+<p>“When you stopped her she was eating,” Theria
+made answer.</p>
+
+<p>So Theria stayed. Aristonikè gazed at her, and slow
+tears began to pour down sideways from eyes upon her
+pillow.</p>
+
+<p>“What use is it to be better?” she said fatally.
+“Whenever I am better they come again and, oh, they
+put me in the smoke and then it begins.”</p>
+
+<p>“What begins?” questioned Theria.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, the ecstasy of the tripod,” she whispered,
+frightened.</p>
+
+<p>“But, Aristonikè, I am Pythia, too. Did you not
+know that? I am going to the tripod in your stead.
+Then you will grow well.”</p>
+
+<p>Again the little claws caught at her, but in a sort of
+protection.</p>
+
+<p>“No, no, not you!”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said Theria, nodding confidently. “I am
+strong. Me it will not hurt. Think not of the tripod,
+little one. There, there. You will not weep any more.”</p>
+
+<p>And presently beyond hope, the tired little priestess,
+with her hands clasped in Theria’s strong ones, fell
+asleep.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE HIGH, PERILOUS SEAT</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">When</span> Theria awoke next morning she did not
+at first remember where she was. For the
+first time in her life she opened her eyes upon a
+room not her own. Then she noted over in the corner
+a woman dressed in the yellow robe of the temple. As
+Theria turned her awakened face the woman solemnly
+advanced, holding aloft two golden vessels. She offered
+one, a cup of water. Theria knew that this water was
+from the sacred spring Cassotis, which bubbled forth
+near the temple.</p>
+
+<p>Apollo, himself, had troubled that spring. That was
+the reason it bubbled. His touch was upon it still.
+Theria drank in fear while the priestess murmured,
+“Apollon, Apollon.”</p>
+
+<p>Would the ecstasy fall at once? It sometimes did fall
+upon the Pythia after this single draught.</p>
+
+<p>Silence followed while the priestess searched Theria’s
+face. Theria paled, knowing well what she searched
+for. Then the priestess presented the second vessel,
+in which were leaves of laurel.</p>
+
+<p>These Theria was required to chew. How bitter
+they tasted, intensely so in her hungry state. She rose
+from her couch, swayed as she stood. Without a word
+the priestess caught her and nodded her head in satisfaction.
+It was the beginning of what the priests
+wished for. How strangely Theria’s fingers tingled<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span>
+and, as she stepped, how heavy were her feet. She
+tried not to be terrified, but she was a healthy young
+thing. She dreaded the supernatural.</p>
+
+<p>The old priestess dressed her.</p>
+
+<p>“You must make sacrifice at the altar now,” she said.</p>
+
+<p>She led Theria out of the house and into the glory
+of an amethystine morning. They came out upon the
+lofty temple platform and the whole Precinct lay below,
+little pillared temples bathing their feet in the low level
+rays of light, brazen statues, golden tripods flashing like
+struck cymbals in the dawn. The white Sacred Way
+was drawn clear as with the swift finger of the god up
+zig-zag through his own treasuries.</p>
+
+<p>A trumpet sounded. It cut the pure air, a flashing
+shaft of sound; then echoed, echoed from cliff to cliff
+into utter clarity and sweetness—a note from Elysium.</p>
+
+<p>Theria stretched forth her hands in enthusiasm of
+love. Every vestige of her dizziness disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>“But this way is the altar,” corrected the dame,
+and led her to it.</p>
+
+<p>Here Theria performed long rites, offerings of barley
+and wine, long silent prayers. Then she was led back
+into her room.</p>
+
+<p>“Do not move from here,” said the priestess. “Be
+silent. Try to think of—nothing.” So she left her.</p>
+
+<p>Never would Theria forget that day, the interminable
+hours, the slow change of the slant sunlight in the court,
+the trying to pray, succeeding at last with upsoaring
+faith, sleeping; the awakening to realize that it was still
+only morning. Then again the waiting, waiting.</p>
+
+<p>The third and last morning Theria was so weak that
+she longed to cry, longed as she never supposed she
+could long for Baltè to come to her. Baltè surely could
+make her well.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span></p>
+
+<p>To-day, as yesterday, she must preserve through all
+the hours the holy silence.</p>
+
+<p>Again came the old priestess and dressed her. Then
+a procession of priestesses led Theria down to the
+Castalian spring where they gave her the sacred, purifying
+bath.</p>
+
+<p>The shock of the cold water restored her. She realized
+with a start that now, if ever, she must seize the
+will of the god. She began to struggle with petitions.
+When she entered her room again it seemed to reel
+round and round her head. Surely this meant that
+Apollo was approaching nearer—nearer. The face of the
+god with solemn eyes and wide-flung hair became suddenly
+so vivid before her that she could not tell whether
+it was an image in her mind or the real presence of the
+god. Her home, her father, Eëtíon were all infinitely
+far away. Numbly she realized that she was passing
+into the ecstatic state.</p>
+
+<p>Once again it was morning—the morning of the
+oracle. Theria’s mind awoke crystal clear, drenched
+through and through with hope. She smiled so happily
+at the old priestess when she came in that the dame
+bent and kissed her. Then, since this was against custom,
+the woman was quite shocked at what she had
+done.</p>
+
+<p>Now the hour of the oracle was come. Dreamily
+Theria was conscious of being led into the temple.
+Knew that her hair was hanging loose, the sacred veil
+and crown upon her head. Ah, the dear, dear temple!
+There were the splendid golden eagles, the navel stone,
+first of Delphi’s treasures, Pindar’s chair which she had
+kissed. And over yonder the Athenian consultants
+waiting with awed faces. Oh, the god would help them.
+She was sure, now, sure!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span></p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the priestesses kindled to exceeding brightness
+the eternal flame on the altar; put into it many
+branches of dry laurel. The cella was filled with
+smoke, especially the space behind the altar where
+within temporary screens the priestesses waved the
+half-extinguished laurel branches.</p>
+
+<p>The priests pushed Theria into this enclosure. How
+sweet was the smell of the smoke. So smelled the little
+altar at home, the—— Oh, it was choking her!</p>
+
+<p>She started forth from the screen. They pushed her
+back again. She began to struggle and to gasp—they
+held her—oh, fatal consequence! Their roughness
+made her angry. Weak as she was she fought them
+back. It was almost unknown that the Pythia should
+have such strength at this stage of the ritual.</p>
+
+<p>At last they brought her forth, her eyes streaming,
+her nose also, her lungs burning as with fire. Down
+the rough-hewn steps they led her into the dim holy of
+holies. Bed rock was the floor and in its midst the
+narrow opening of a cave. Over the blackness of this
+abyss stood, solemn, tall, and terrible, the brazen
+tripod. From the blackness below would rise the
+breath of the god.</p>
+
+<p>In awe-stricken silence the priests and Athenian consultants,
+again lifting on high their branches of supplication,
+filed into the small dank place. They filled
+it quite and ranged themselves with religious care.</p>
+
+<p>Theria saw everything: the golden statue of Apollo,
+the special laurel tree in its tub; and there was her
+father looking as she had never seen him, his face set,
+white as chalk. She must not fail him—all the life of
+her dear Hellas hung upon her now.</p>
+
+<p>Great Apollon! Akeretos, the priest-president, was
+lifting her up to the high seat of the tripod!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span></p>
+
+<p>Now she must shake the laurel tree. For in the
+laurel was the life of the god. Yes, she was shaking it.
+The consultants stood waiting, waiting.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly she had a queer sort of panic. She had
+been expecting forgetfulness so intensely for so many
+hours. Now instead of forgetfulness everything became
+horribly clear—all memories, all thoughts, home,
+Eëtíon, nonsense rhymes which Baltè used to sing her.
+Great Paian! she must not laugh.... That would
+be sacrilege.</p>
+
+<p>And oh, they were waiting, they were shifting their
+feet. The Athenians stole glances at each other.
+Their eyes were despair. How her father was gazing at
+her! Oh, if she could only pray! A moment more and
+they would take her down from the tripod.</p>
+
+<p>She had failed!</p>
+
+<p>Flashingly a temptation crossed Theria, a temptation
+as old as magic—as old as priestcraft or the first mumbling
+worship of primitive man.</p>
+
+<p>She would <em>make</em> the oracle. Make it herself! Better
+that than for Athens to go unanswered.</p>
+
+<p>The god! He might strike her with his arrows. Nay,
+he would instantly destroy her.... Better that
+than let Athens go unanswered!</p>
+
+<p>She stiffened straight as a reed on her tripod and
+flung her hands on high, cupping the palms as if to
+receive a gift. Never had the Athenians seen anything
+more beautiful. Athena, their own virgin goddess,
+might in some divine appearing be of this likeness.</p>
+
+<p>And her voice, the intense, meaningful voice of the
+singer:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Apollon, Apollon!</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Apollon emos.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Ah idou, idou!</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Ships, ships—see—see!”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span></p>
+<p>Oh, how fatally clear she remembered all her father’s
+words. All that he had told her of the Athenian policy.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Sails, galleys of the glancing sails. To Salamis,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Ye Athenians. Fight at Salamis.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Oh, more ships. Strange, strange ships—locked in the land.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Down—down—down!”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>She was keen as a hawk. She saw her father start
+with horror. He was remembering his inadvertent talk
+with her. She must not be too exact, she must not let
+him suspect what she was doing. She began to mumble.
+Baltè’s nonsense rhymes would do while she was
+gathering thought. Her message must not be too
+hopeful. Now she had it!</p>
+
+<p>She broke forth into hexameter verse. Once in a
+long while the Pythia did this and it was considered
+more exact. The priests could not remake it.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Pallas cannot prevail to appease great Zeus in Olympos,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Though she with words very many, and wiles close-woven entreat him.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">But I will tell thee this truth: and clinch it with steel adamantine:</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">That when all else shall be taken—all that the boundary of Cecrops holdeth within,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0"><em>A bulwark of wood</em>—this Zeus will grant to Athena the goddess,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Sole to remain, a defense to you and your children.</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Salamis, thou the divine!</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Thou shalt cause the sons of women to perish.”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>She began to sway, holding her hands still above
+her, repeating, “Salamis, thou the divine.” Then mumbling
+at nothing.</p>
+
+<p>Surely now the god would strike her. This greatest
+of all sins upon her—— He must strike her.</p>
+
+<p>She crouched, as if avoiding a blow.</p>
+
+<p>Then she achieved her one Pythian act: She really
+fainted quite away.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV<br />
+<span class="smaller">BITTER CONSEQUENCES</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Day</span> after day Nikander came to the Pythian
+House to inquire after his daughter.</p>
+
+<p>“She has recovered,” they told him. “She
+eats once more; but there is upon her the apathy that
+follows the utterance.”</p>
+
+<p>“What does she do?”</p>
+
+<p>“Gazes for hours at nothing,” was the reply. “The
+usual thing. Though it is not usual that the apathy
+come so soon. She has gone but once to the tripod.
+Aristonikè now, not so strong a girl was she, but she
+went many a time under the ecstasy before this apathy
+attacked her.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander went home with heavy heart. He dared
+not tell Melantho his anxiety. Melantho’s way was
+to increase trouble by bewailing it. And Theria was
+but one of his deep anxieties.</p>
+
+<p>His two sons these days seemed to have constant
+business in which they gave Nikander no part. This
+was natural for Lycophron. He was wild and loose-living.
+It would be a sorry day for him if he had to tell
+his father all his doings. But of late he and Dryas
+had become very intimate. From morning to night
+they were together. Even when in other company,
+Nikander saw glances pass between them. Lycophron
+was the worst possible example for a soft, gentle boy<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span>
+like Dryas. Yet Nikander did not like to break the
+brotherly tie. He still loved his eldest son.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, of course, Theria’s ailment was far different
+from what Nikander supposed.</p>
+
+<p>It was no exhaustion of nerves from indulging in
+trance and supernatural sight. It was agony of mind.</p>
+
+<p>Apollo had not killed her! This was her chief grievance.
+The mighty Immortal had allowed her to
+contemn his shrine, to deceive his questioners. Yet he
+did nothing—and continued to do nothing. What sort
+of a god was he?</p>
+
+<p>And the Athenians had gone joyously home with
+their oracle. So the old temple dame had told her.
+They were treasuring it as the word of the god. They
+were acting upon it. The whole city was moved in
+effort to understand and fulfil the sacred words,
+Theria’s words!</p>
+
+<p>She laughed hysterically.</p>
+
+<p>She could talk to no one of what she had done.
+The oracle must remain to help the Athenians as best
+it could.</p>
+
+<p>And what of all the oracles, age long, multitudinous,
+the pride and wonder of her childhood? Were they all
+like this—fraud and deception?</p>
+
+<p>This thought beat down Theria’s spirit as with strokes
+of a sledgehammer.</p>
+
+<p>“No—no—no,” she would say aloud.</p>
+
+<p>Those oracles had helped the poor—they had
+punished the wrong-doer, they had founded colonies
+and controlled states. And surely Aristonikè had
+genuinely felt the god-possession. Had it not wrecked
+her, body and mind? But the doubt remained, tormenting
+all the golden preciousness of all the reverences
+of her life.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span></p>
+
+<p>The Precinct, the beloved Precinct itself, where men
+brought grateful gifts to the god. What a mockery!
+Were these wistful worshippers all deceived? Did
+Apollo sit in Olympos and <em>laugh</em> at them?</p>
+
+<p>And Theria was wretchedly lonely. Hour-long,
+hour-long, with nothing to do, not even spinning. The
+home faces, home voices, not a thousand paces distant,
+were all to her as far as the pillars of Heracles. Farther—farther!
+for it is conceivable that loved ones might return
+thence, but her dear ones could not come to her.</p>
+
+<p>And while she sat mid the windowless walls there
+happened without her knowledge the most glorious
+single deed of Greece.</p>
+
+<p>Sparta was ever grudging. She did not much care
+to bar the Persians out of all Greece. She would
+have preferred to meet them on the borders of her own
+Lakonia. If all her sister states should then perish
+why should Sparta care?</p>
+
+<p>But one Spartan cared supremely to keep them out
+of Greece. Her king, Leonidas. So Leonidas, with
+the few soldiers which the Ephors grudgingly allowed
+him, marched for Thermopylæ.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander, Lycophron, Dryas, Eëtíon—all the men of
+Delphi—saw one day the file of bronze-clad soldiers
+coming up the Delphi road, led by the twinkling flame
+of their sacred fire. They came with set faces under
+their helmets, their new polished shields glancing in the
+sun.</p>
+
+<p>They paused only to do honour to Apollo, then moved
+onward up the Parnassian road. Three hundred men
+and a few timid allies to meet a million Persians at the
+narrow pass!</p>
+
+<p>Those who saw them never forgot them. Nor has the
+world forgot.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span></p>
+
+<p>But Theria within her walls knew nothing of these
+things. Theria had come upon a new dilemma.</p>
+
+<p>The day of oracle came around again. Aristonikè
+was too ill for the tripod. Theria must serve again.</p>
+
+<p>Of course she would not deceive again. Indeed she
+had no knowledge with which to deceive. Besides,
+she had determined that she would never again speak
+upon the tripod. She wanted to cry out against it, to
+tell the world what a mummery it was. Yet in spite of
+all this she was compelled to undergo the preparatory
+rites. She had to fast, chew the laurel, pass through
+the smoke. When she did not go into the trance, they
+tried her over and over again until she was well-nigh
+dead.</p>
+
+<p>“I knew she could not do it,” she heard old Tuchè
+saying in the court. “What ’mazes me is that she went
+under the first time. She’s not the kind for a pythoness.”</p>
+
+<p>Well, then, they would cast her aside, and for Theria
+they could not do so too soon. Then her life would be
+spent in the Pythia House. She thought of her lover and
+of the rich life that might have been hers, even of the
+“glorious children” that her father had spoken of.
+But now she would be but a useless vessel, cast aside.
+Theria had no joy in her helpful Athenian oracle. Her
+whole world was overshadowed because her god was
+gone.</p>
+
+<p>One evening she was sitting in her room, “gazing into
+space” as Tuchè had described it, when the old slave
+who had tried to wait on her that first day brought
+her her supper. Now Theria had never received this
+woman. Tuchè had been obliged to send her a young
+girl whom finally, because Theria needed such service,
+she accepted. Now why did the old slave come again?<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span>
+Doubtless Tuchè had sent her merely as an annoyance.
+Tuchè disliked the new Pythoness.</p>
+
+<p>“How dare you come here again?” Theria said to the
+old slave. “I will not see you; I——” She rose to her
+feet.</p>
+
+<p>But the old slave, trembling much, set aside the
+supper tray and threw off her cloak.</p>
+
+<p>“Baltè!” Theria cried, and with outstretched arms
+ran to Baltè’s bosom.</p>
+
+<p>“Be quiet! There, there, my darlin’, don’t cry so,
+blessèd, blessèd—my little bird!” whispered Baltè,
+stroking the dark hair.</p>
+
+<p>And Theria gradually brought herself into control,
+but her heart seemed breaking with joy.</p>
+
+<p>“Baltè, Baltè, I never thought I could be so glad
+again. I never thought——”</p>
+
+<p>“And just for seein’ old Baltè’s face,” said the slave
+proudly. “Here, eat your supper. Ye’re that thin and
+white.”</p>
+
+<p>They talked in whispers, or rather in low, even tones,
+for Baltè well knew that whispers are most conspicuous
+of all sounds.</p>
+
+<p>“How did you get to me, Baltè; how, in Apollo’s
+name?” Even the divine name seemed strange to
+Theria now.</p>
+
+<p>“Been tryin’ ever since that old Chimera took me
+away from you. What’s she, to be takin’ care o’ my
+darling?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes—go on.”</p>
+
+<p>“I couldn’t get in. The slaves were that pitickilar.
+Then I went to Lycophron and I begged him. I says,
+‘Give me money to get to my darlin’. She’s dyin’ for
+the sight of a home face.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘How do you know that?’ says he.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span></p>
+
+<p>“‘You know yourself,’ I says. ‘Could she feel any
+other way?’</p>
+
+<p>“Then his eyes grew soft like and he gave me not
+silver, but gold.</p>
+
+<p>“‘Bribe ’em, Baltè, and get in,’ says he, laughin’. You
+know the way he does. ‘There’s no slave in the world
+but will take a bribe. When that’s gone come to me for
+more’.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good, dear Lycophron,” said Theria, loving him
+tenderly.</p>
+
+<p>She leaned closer. Already her face was changed by
+this touch of home. She asked lovingly after father and
+mother, even each slave of the household.</p>
+
+<p>“Tell me, Baltè——” she said at last, then stopped.
+It was the first time she had ever spoken this name to
+any one.</p>
+
+<p>“Did he ever come again—Eëtíon who met me in the
+lane?”</p>
+
+<p>“Shame upon you. Do you think I’d be bringin’
+you love messages, you, a priestess of Apollo?”</p>
+
+<p>Theria hid her face, shivering.</p>
+
+<p>“No—no. Oh, Baltè, I would not want messages.
+How can you think that of me? And I did not mean
+to ask.”</p>
+
+<p>Poor child, only her own sense of right would uphold
+her now. She had no longer any fear of the god.</p>
+
+<p>When Baltè rose to go Theria threw arms about her.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll come again. Promise that you’ll come
+again.”</p>
+
+<p>“Surely will I. Oh, there, I’m most forgettin’ the
+message Lycophron sent you. ‘It’s an oracle,’ says he,
+laughin’. ‘I can give oracles as well as any one. You
+tell Theria: “Keep up heart. Argos has become Delphi
+for her sake.”’ It’s a queer message that.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span></p>
+
+<p>“‘Argos has become Delphi,’” she repeated, puzzled.
+“Argos, Argos. Could it be the Argive?”</p>
+
+<p>Theria began to laugh softly, her eyes full of tears,
+clinging to Baltè and kissing her.</p>
+
+<p>“Darling old Baltè,” she said. “Darling, dear old
+Baltè.”</p>
+
+<p>“He said you’d like it,” said the old slave, nodding
+her head.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, dangerous message. Lycophron did not look
+ahead. He meant to be kind.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI<br />
+<span class="smaller">“PRAY TO THE WINDS”</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Next</span> week happened what Theria most feared:
+An important oracle was required. Theria
+learned by chance that it was important. Old
+Tuchè in her excitement over it forgot how loudly she
+was speaking in the court.</p>
+
+<p>“This time an oracle they <em>must</em> have,” she was
+asserting. “It is a matter of state. The new Pythoness
+can’t get it. I wonder what they’ll do with her,
+anyway.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria was in despair. Should she refuse to try?
+Feign illness? Then a new pythia would sit upon the
+tripod to babble at nothing or to give some dread,
+discouraging word. Nikander had placed Theria in
+the Pythia House counting upon her prayerful help.
+Should she step down and leave him without that help,
+or was it her duty to go upon the tripod and feign
+again for Hellas’s sake?</p>
+
+<p>But gods in Olympos! she did not know the question
+nor who was asking it. She could not deceive if she
+would. She would refuse to try.</p>
+
+<p>Upon this decision Theria found relief for her troubled
+mind. No more should they starve her and push
+her through the smoke. She could rest. She no longer
+cared for anything but to be left alone.</p>
+
+<p>That evening, like a light among shadows, came old
+Baltè again.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span></p>
+
+<p>Theria’s first question concerned her father.</p>
+
+<p>“Master is sad, very sad,” the old nurse told her,
+“but so is everyone sad. It’s like a storm gatherin’ on
+Parnassos—those Persians coming. And everybody is
+afraid like as when they hear thunder and the darkness
+comes closer. Oh, darlin’, if I could take you out of
+this house and keep you in the fastness of the mountain.
+There it will be safe. Only there.”</p>
+
+<p>Again the danger brought to Theria its dark and
+solemn peace.</p>
+
+<p>“Poor Baltè,” she said. “How could I live in the
+mountain with Delphi destroyed? Could I be a peasant
+all my days?”</p>
+
+<p>“You could never be a peasant,” said old Baltè
+proudly, “and you would always have one slave. Old
+Baltè will last long.”</p>
+
+<p>“Dear Baltè,” she answered, and kissed her. Baltè
+was a Helot from Sparta and some high Spartan blood
+ran in her veins.</p>
+
+<p>But Baltè had more to tell.</p>
+
+<p>“Yesterday came a runner. Poor lad, he was sore
+spent. Your father brought him in from the highroad
+and gave him wine and made the slaves rub him well.
+Then he sent him on his way to Sparta wi’ another
+runner to help in case he fall.”</p>
+
+<p>“Whence came the runner?” asked Theria.</p>
+
+<p>“From Leonidas at Thermopylæ. He was to beg the
+Spartans to come quick and help.”</p>
+
+<p>“Those laggard Spartans,” cried Theria. “Why
+do they not go to help their king without his begging
+and summoning?”</p>
+
+<p>“Leonidas is already fighting the Persians—he and
+his Spartans,” said Baltè proudly. “So few against so
+many. Only three hundred Spartans and a few allies.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span>
+If the Persians beat they’ll be comin’ straight here—straight
+to Delphi.”</p>
+
+<p>“But is there no one to help Leonidas—no one at
+all?”</p>
+
+<p>“The Athenians be helpin’, so they say. The
+Athenians’ ships, Missy. But the Persian ships be
+twenty to one. Oh, dearie, if only a sea storm would
+fall upon the Persians. Medon keeps wishin’ for a
+storm. Medon was a sailor long ago and he knows the
+ways of ships. He says the Athenian ships would be
+safe in the Eubœan Strait where they are now. But
+the Persians be outside around some rocky points up
+there. A storm would wreck them sure.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria suddenly awakened to the fact that her heart
+was overflowing with interest. Just as she used to do
+when she was pent up at home and could do nothing,
+would beat her hands together, agonized because she
+could do nothing. Now that some power was in those
+hands, would she abandon it? She trowed not! Oh, if
+she only knew the question before the Oracle!</p>
+
+<p>But she could in no wise find this out. Then she
+must give her oracle as best she might not knowing the
+question—trusting that it must in some way concern
+the fate of Greece.</p>
+
+<p>She would pray for that storm which was to help
+the Athenian ships. Baltè’s word showed her the
+way.</p>
+
+<p>Theria might doubt the voice of her Golden God, she
+might almost doubt the existence of Apollo. But the
+things of Nature—the sea, the mountains, the winds—these
+she could see or feel. These to her were persons,
+clear-imaged, well known, and having much power.
+They were gods nearer to men in whom all men must
+believe. To these Theria still could pray.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span></p>
+
+<p>When the day came she once more mounted the fateful
+tripod.</p>
+
+<p>This, then, was the oracle which Eleutheria the
+Pythoness gave to Hellas:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">O ye who are born in the bright air,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Driving the ships as thistles in the harvest,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Shepherds of clouds, piping to white flocks so loud a tune,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent12">Children of Thrace</div>
+    <div class="verse indent18">All Hail.</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent18">Boreas,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Thine are the whirlwind-footed steeds;</div>
+    <div class="verse indent18">Zephyrus,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Thine are the tossing locks and head full-winged;</div>
+    <div class="verse indent18">Euros,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Thine are the rounded cheeks piping no visible flute;</div>
+    <div class="verse indent18">Notos,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Thine are the blessings and cursings;</div>
+    <div class="verse indent18">All Hail!</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">Men of Delphi, men in the terrible need,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Men upon whom is descending a host like the sands of the sea,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent12">Pray to the winds!</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">And ye Men of Athens, men of the swift-moving galleys,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Men of the long oars smiting the hoary ocean,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent12">Pray to the winds!</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">And pray most of all to your brother by marriage</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Because of Orithyia, daughter of mighty Erectheus,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent12">Pray to the winds!</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>That oracle is famous. Never in all the history of
+Delphi was an oracle received in such dire need. Never
+one which to the Delphians themselves was more precious.
+For it was the Delphians themselves who had
+asked the question and to whose hearts the oracle gave
+courage and hope.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span></p>
+
+<p>They sent messengers at once, carrying the precious
+words of courage northward to the ships of Artemisium
+and to the little band of heroes at Thermopylæ, and
+eastward to Athens city, crying:</p>
+
+<p>“Apollo, the Son of Leto, is on our side. He bids us
+pray to the Winds.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE MESSENGERS</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Aristonikè</span> was dying. No more did she notice
+even the linnet, Theria’s gift, which sang so
+sweetly in the solemn house.</p>
+
+<p>A fever burned through all her limbs. As evening
+came on old Tuchè was fain to take her out of the close
+house and lay her in front of the door on the high temple
+platform.</p>
+
+<p>And because the little maid would not go without
+Theria, Theria came also. So they two sat, Theria
+and Tuchè, on either side the couch.</p>
+
+<p>Little do the young consider thoughts of the old.
+Theria did not guess that Tuchè hated her because
+Aristonikè loved. The little Pythia was Tuchè’s
+nurseling and Tuchè was cut to the heart to have her
+turn to another in her last hours.</p>
+
+<p>But Theria, holding the hot little hand, had thoughts
+afar off. Her soul was in bitterness because she had
+again deceived her god. That was yesterday and she
+was yet weak from the ordeal. She wondered if Eëtíon
+would cease to love her if he knew what she had done.
+Certainly her father would not love her, nor would
+any of her kin.</p>
+
+<p>Far below lay the sheer abyss of Pleistos valley.
+Nearer at hand Delphi itself nestled into the gigantic half
+circle at the mountains’ base. Precinct and town seemed
+floating in a violet mist. For the day was nearly done.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span></p>
+
+<p>But this was the hour of the Phaidriades, the glory
+of the cliffs. Theria turned and looked above to where
+they stood facing the west. The setting sun poured
+his light direct upon these high embattling walls
+turning them to gold, to beryl, to amethyst. They
+gave forth light again as with a shout, a clashing of
+golden cymbals, and a prayer. They hushed the
+spirit of the gazing priestess.</p>
+
+<p>As the reflected light retired upward with the sinking
+of the sun one spot on the cliff held the glitter. It was
+the famous votive chariot of Gelon, a chariot of polished
+bronze.</p>
+
+<p>It stood on a high ledge of the cliff, its four bronze
+steeds prancing with that lightness of poise just learned
+by Greek craftsmen. In the car stood the naked chariot
+victor and just behind him the charioteer holding
+the reins, his living eyes watchful of his steeds.</p>
+
+<p>But to Theria it seemed that he was driving them
+over the ledge, was driving them into the sheer abyss
+and that he did not care.</p>
+
+<p>Would the gods so drive her Delphi to destruction?
+Would Atè (doomed Fate) tread Delphi down? Whose
+feet are delicate because she steps upon the heads of
+men, and on whom she steps she bows to the dust.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, the Persians were so near! At Thermopylæ.
+Were they victorious? If so, they would march directly
+upon Delphi. They were not one week’s time
+away. The doom of Delphi pressed so close, so sure.</p>
+
+<p>Even the temple guardsman seemed to feel it as he
+paced his beat. Now he walked slowly, dignified in his
+armour, now he hastened with nervous steps to and fro.</p>
+
+<p>Aristonikè awoke, complaining. “The thirst, the
+thirst. Tuchè, bring water. Not warm water; cold,
+fresh from the spring.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span></p>
+
+<p>Tuchè rose up, flattered that her dear one had asked
+this of her, and went upon the errand.</p>
+
+<p>No sooner had she disappeared than the guard halted
+short in his beat, looked about him—then almost ran
+toward the Pythia House.</p>
+
+<p>He touched Theria’s shoulder and she rose with a
+cry. It seemed as though her thoughts had suddenly
+become visible, for there beneath the helmet was the
+face of Eëtíon. Pale white he was. Then flushed with
+unbidden joy as he touched her.</p>
+
+<p>“Eleutheria,” he whispered. “I had to come. Your
+oracle to the Winds. The Delphians have sent it to
+Artemisium and the fleet and also to Athens. It is
+precious beyond words, for it will hearten men to victory.
+Nay, the winds themselves will answer it; for
+what god could resist so insistent a prayer.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she whispered—wondering that he should
+come to tell her this.</p>
+
+<p>“But your brothers! Oh, beloved, it is no happy
+tidings I bring you. Your brothers are in league with
+the Persians. They are with the Persian spies. They
+have gone after our Delphian messengers to kill them
+on the road.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Eëtíon, no, no!” she interrupted him in low
+voice. “Not my Lycophron! Not my Dryas!”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, it is true. I saw them start: Lycophron
+toward Thermopylæ and Dryas toward Athens. If it
+become known in Delphi it will mean the ruin of Nikander’s
+house. But your father will have to know in
+order to stop them. He would not believe me. But
+you he will believe because you are Pythia. Send for
+him at once, Theria, tell him to dispatch swift horsemen
+to save the oracle for Greece. I go now on instant
+business.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span></p>
+
+<p>He paused for a moment, gazing into her face. “Hera
+be thanked that I have seen thee. O thou peer of
+gods, thou sister of the dawn.”</p>
+
+<p>He bent and kissed the edge of her sleeve. He dared
+no more. She was priestess of Apollo.</p>
+
+<p>Then he was gone. Before she could answer or think
+of answer he was gone. He knew that to linger might
+likely be her death.</p>
+
+<p>Theria’s thoughts whirled like a falling star.</p>
+
+<p>She must send for her father. Yet her father could
+not have speech with her. Eëtíon did not know this,
+not being Delphian.</p>
+
+<p>And even if Nikander could have speech, would
+Tuchè send for him? Tuchè refused regularly her
+every request. And Theria could not give reason for
+this request without betraying her brothers.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Lycophron and Dryas were hastening to
+their doom and to the doom of Hellas. For Theria
+ardently believed now that the prayer to the winds
+would avail.</p>
+
+<p>What could she do? Like a sword’s stroke came the
+thought: “Run home yourself, Theria. Now while
+Tuchè yet lingers in the house. There is no time to
+lose.”</p>
+
+<p>Aristonikè was sleeping again. Theria snatched a
+dark himation which lay for cover on the couch and
+wrapping herself, head and all, ran to the protection
+of the temple-colonnade, along this she hurried, the
+columns would conceal her, soon an angle of the cella
+would intervene.</p>
+
+<p>Then she reached the Sacred Way and walked not too
+fast so as to avoid question.</p>
+
+<p>Her weakness from yesterday’s ordeal was instantly
+gone. She only prayed that Nikander might be at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span>
+home, that his action might be swift. And now for the
+highroad; now for the familiar street; now for the
+dearest house which she had thought never to see again!</p>
+
+<p>Medon tottered to his feet at sight of her. More
+natural would it have been to see the ghost of his little
+mistress than herself.</p>
+
+<p>“Is Father within?” she asked, but did not stay for
+answer. She sped into the aula and, oh, thanks be to
+Kairos, Nikander was there.</p>
+
+<p>He, too, looked upon her as upon a dire spirit. Only
+madness could have brought her. But more terrible
+than his wildest conjecture were her words.</p>
+
+<p>“Father, Father, it is bitter news I bring. Lycophron,
+Dryas. They have Medized and are fled with
+Persian spies. They are gone to hold back the Oracle
+message from all the Hellenes.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander sprang up, seizing her wrist, searching her
+face.</p>
+
+<p>“Child, what madness! They are not gone away.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, are they in the house—now?” She almost
+sobbed with relief.</p>
+
+<p>“I saw them both only an hour ago.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, but within the hour they are gone far. Dryas
+to Athens, Lycophron to Thermopylæ. Father, search
+the house. Send after them quick, quick.” She
+seized both his shoulders, shaking them as if to waken
+him to the sorrow.</p>
+
+<p>“Where did you get this information?” Nikander
+was pitiful of her strange mistake.</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot tell you. It came, it came.” Her eyes
+looked so strange and glittering, her whole aspect so
+bordering on delirium or even ecstasy, that Nikander
+touched her gently.</p>
+
+<p>“Was it by some prophetic power?—vision?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span></p>
+
+<p>Theria was so upwrought that she spoke out her first
+instinctive thought.</p>
+
+<p>“No—no prophecy. Do not speak of prophecy. I
+am not deceiving. This is real, real.”</p>
+
+<p>The words escaped the door of her lips. She was
+aghast at the net of lies closing about her. Of course
+if she should tell her father it was prophecy he would
+believe. But she would not lie to him, not even——</p>
+
+<p>She did not know that as she thought these things
+guilt stood manifest in her face.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander caught her arm, roughly, asking the thing
+he did not want to know—the thing he had been
+suspecting for many days.</p>
+
+<p>“Theria, your Athenian oracle—Great Zeus in
+Olympos, have you deceived in all your oracles?”</p>
+
+<p>She sank in a heap on the floor.</p>
+
+<p>“Father, Father; the need! It was such bitter need—and
+no ecstasy would come. The Athenians—the—the——” Her
+weeping choked her speech.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander was too horrified to answer. With hand
+before his eyes he kept repeating: “Great heaven!
+great heaven!” Suddenly he lifted his head again. “If
+the oracle is not from the god, why, in Zeus’s name, this
+pother about it—the words of a girl?”</p>
+
+<p>“Father—but it is important. The Athenians will
+offer true sacrifice to the winds. They will be hopeful
+in their prayers, in their fighting. The oracle gladdens
+the fighters.”</p>
+
+<p>But Nikander’s mind had never left his sons.</p>
+
+<p>“Theria, who told you this vile tale about your
+brothers?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot tell you. I——”</p>
+
+<p>“If it were from some good source, you would tell
+me.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span></p>
+
+<p>Theria dragged herself up to her knees. “It was a
+good source. Oh, Father, the truest, the best, the
+kindest.” Poor Theria; even to speak of her lover set
+her white face aflame.</p>
+
+<p>But Nikander was pushing further. “Theria, I
+begin to believe what the slaves have been telling in the
+household, that you have a lover. Now do not lie to
+me. Your lover brought you this news.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria was utterly broken down. She could only
+moan, “But he told me the truth. He told me in order
+to save them. He told me because he loves my house
+and you and he wants to save us from ruin.”</p>
+
+<p>“Great Paian, what a heap of sins on one girl’s head!
+She has deceived on the tripod, not once, but twice.
+She has a lover—she a priestess of Apollo. Now she has
+fled the Pythia House (which she ought never to have
+left) to bring a monstrous lie against her brothers.”
+To Nikander the shock of all this was terrible beyond
+belief. But worst of all, he feared that the vile tale
+about his sons was true. Oh, if he could crush that fear
+out of his mind. It must not be true. It could not——</p>
+
+<p>He paced up and down the room beating his hands
+together weeping, sobbing, as only those can who, but
+once in a lifetime, give way to grief.</p>
+
+<p>“My children all against me. But no, it cannot be
+true. Ruin for them, ruin for me. It cannot be. No!”</p>
+
+<p>Theria crept weakly to her feet and followed him, but
+as she touched him he reeled from her.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t touch me!” he cried.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly his agony was transformed to anger.</p>
+
+<p>“You—you—tell that tale, oh, how easily! It is not
+true. Leave me. I am beside myself. Your sins are
+more than I can bear. And now you add yet more.
+You will ruin my sons.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Father, Father,” she pleaded.</p>
+
+<p>“My poor wicked Theria. What place is there for
+you anywhere? Not at home here, not in the Pythia
+House. Oh, I know not what to do for you. No, I will
+never believe that story. Leave me before I go mad!”</p>
+
+<p>He was so beside himself that he did not notice when
+she shrank away from him and staggered out of the
+door. Indeed he continued to speak in the same words,
+“Leave me—I will not believe you. Leave me!”</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly she touched his arm again, or so he thought.
+He uncovered his face to find Medon standing before
+him—Medon with eyes astream with tears.</p>
+
+<p>“Master, Master, I knew that if the little mistress
+appeared it was some terrible thing. Master, I know
+what she has told you. You called so bitter loud upon
+your sons. I know, I know!”</p>
+
+<p>“Leave me, Medon,” said Nikander angrily. He was
+still pacing up and down. But Medon did not leave.</p>
+
+<p>“Master, I had not the courage to tell you. But I
+can follow the little mistress’s telling. Lycophron,
+Dryas, oh, you must haste to save them.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander stopped his pacing, and gazed into Medon’s
+face as though he comprehended not a word of what
+the old man was saying.</p>
+
+<p>Medon piteously went on, “Lycophron and Dryas
+thought I could not hear, but I heard them talking; oh,
+I heard too well. And the men who have been with
+them, they are spies, Master. The slaves have long
+been whispering that those men were Persian spies.
+To-day I was very anxious. All day I have watched.
+And this afternoon I followed Lycophron to where he
+had swift horses waiting and those men were there. I
+do not know where they were going, but it was on some
+wicked errand. For when Master Lycophron saw me,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span>
+he caught me. He threatened to kill me if I told.
+The men wanted to kill me at once. Oh, Master,
+haste! haste, there is no time to lose.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes—yes,” said Nikander, dazed into bitter quietness.
+“Yes, Medon, thank you.”</p>
+
+<p>He stood quite still while his thoughts raced. Then
+he ran out of the house to summon youths of the nearest
+kin who owned the swiftest horses.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII<br />
+<span class="smaller">AN OUTCAST ON PARNASSOS</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Theria</span> stood still in front of the house. She
+was stunned as one must be when life turns a
+sharp corner and shows undreamed-of paths of
+dread. “No place in the Pythia House, no place at
+home—anywhere.” Her father’s words were true.
+She did not feel sad nor terrified. She did not feel at all.</p>
+
+<p>She looked down the twilit road toward Kirrha, the
+port. No, in Kirrha they would find her and kill her
+publicly. She must not die that way. The Pleistos
+glen also was out of the question. The hills! Her
+true hiding place was the hills. She turned swiftly into
+the little lane and threaded its shadows to the cliff.
+A steep climb brought her to a height above the house-roofs.
+Here at once she was in the wilds, on a slant
+hillside where grew laurel, wild olive, and the hemlock.
+Here the twilight was silvered by the rising moon, the
+same full round under which the Thermopylæ soldiers
+were keeping their heroic guard.</p>
+
+<p>Here the laurels were threaded by a slender path,
+surely the one made by Eëtíon’s feet coming to her.
+She knelt down and kissed it. The Greeks were lovers
+of the earth and not seldom did they kiss it for their
+love. Oh, gods, if she could but hide herself completely!
+Then Eëtíon would never know her sins and would
+continue to love her.</p>
+
+<p>She tried to make haste, but her whole body ached<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span>
+with weariness as though she were very old. The repeated
+fastings had told even on her strong body.</p>
+
+<p>She won past the higher terraces of hill and found
+the so-called Kaka Skala, “bad stairs” indeed, steps
+partly hewn out of the rock and winding up Parnassos
+Mountain until they were lost in cloud. These she
+began to climb. No thought was hers to see the glory
+about her, the crags ghost-like in the moon, the abyss
+of glens black with fir and cedar, the heights which
+soared and melted into infinity, the starry sky—a
+grandeur hardly to be borne. Theria only knew that
+she was very lonely, that the grandeur was terrible.
+She seemed very small and childlike in that vastness,
+stumbling along ever slower, stopping sometimes with
+labouring breath, then pushing on again higher, higher.</p>
+
+<p>In an upland meadow she passed a herd of cows,
+small wild things which fled trampling at her approach.
+She thought vaguely of the cattle of Apollo, which he
+kept on Parnassos and which of yore the baby Hermes
+had stolen. Of course, these could be no other cows.
+She shuddered at the supernatural creatures. Now
+she came to a fir wood, black like a cloak. The mottled
+moonlight sifted in at the edge pricking out fern-brake
+and rock, but within it was ebony. In such a place
+might the Bacchantes well go mad in worship of their
+god. With a sob she entered it. For the fear of being
+found was greater than her fear of the haunted place.</p>
+
+<p>Theria lay down to rest among the mosses. Even
+her double terror could not contend against her utter
+exhaustion. At once she fell asleep.</p>
+
+<p>She awoke in the dawn shivering with cold, hungry
+beyond telling. The fear with which she had gone to
+sleep, the fear of being found, met her at the door of
+waking. It made her get up and, though she ached in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span>
+every bone, to push onward, upward into safer hiding.
+Sometimes she came to a bare stretch across which she
+stumbled in haste. For surely in such a place they
+would see her, and would catch her and drag her back
+and doubtless bury her alive. In this thought she forgot
+even her old grief for the loss of her god. Indeed
+she half believed that this present fate of hers was
+Apollo’s punishment which he had delayed so long.</p>
+
+<p>Now again she must cross a bare upland. The sun
+was high and burning as it can burn only on such heights.
+She started across in the fearsome blinding glare, the
+sweat pouring from every member. Curiously enough,
+in the midst of the sunlight she saw moving along in
+front of her—<em>a shaft of golden light</em>! When she entered a
+shadow of jutting cliff the golden light endured in the
+shadow. If she paused, it paused. It was quiet as if a
+dream pervaded it. It seemed to smile as do those
+faces that peep from bushes or caves, which smile and
+afterward destroy.</p>
+
+<p>Theria shrank back. It shrank with her. No evading
+it that way. A terror seized her. She wrung her
+hands. Should she run back to the forest? No, there
+it would only gain power. She tried to remember a
+charm against spirits which Baltè had taught her, but
+she had no memory left. Now a lofty cliff baulked her
+path. Against this cliff, facing her, the light stopped
+and stayed very tall and stately. It quivered, growing
+brighter to a focus, and suddenly out from it as from a
+sheath stepped a youth, tall as befits an Immortal and
+of beauty tender as the dawn. Golden were his tresses,
+golden his flowing vesture, golden his sandalled feet
+which did not touch the ground. But the quiver girt
+upon his shoulder was silver-white, silver also the bent
+bow in his hand.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span></p>
+
+<p>Should she not know him, she who had known him so
+well? Up went her hands in worship; up higher yet
+her worshipping heart.</p>
+
+<p>“Thou hast come to kill me,” she whispered.
+“Blessed art thou, glorious child of Leto. Not lightly
+shall thy dear Oracle be flouted and thy worshippers
+deceived.”</p>
+
+<p>Apollo did not gaze upon Theria, else she would forthwith
+have died. But just above her he gazed, delicately
+smiling, and as he smiled, he toyed with his
+silver bow. Already was the shaft set on the string,
+and along that arrow back and forth ran the white fire
+which whensoever it reached the tip broke into flame.
+Now he nodded his head and spoke aloud:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Theria, daughter of Delphi, begone from my tripod!</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">No priestess of mine art thou.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">No voice of Apollo can enter thy mind close-guarded with reason,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent20">Begone! Begone!”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Theria cowered before that voice, crouching to the
+earth.</p>
+
+<p>But the god spoke on, almost tenderly, as to a
+frightened child:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Nay, cower not, my maiden, my bow shall not hurt thee.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Nay, for I love thee. Hast thou not sung at my bidding</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Hymns for my glory, songs which I to thy spirit</div>
+    <div class="verse indent14">Breathed and created?”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Suddenly the god threw back his golden head and
+laughed. And with his laughter the cliffs echoed as
+with stricken lyres and heavenly flutings. He was
+laughing at Theria!</p>
+
+<p>He spoke again:</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Thou poor child of a mortal wouldst compel good fortune for Hellas</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0"><em>Steal</em> it—from gods unwilling! Good lack! But I love thy courage!</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“But now behold, little one, wilt thou grant me to speak in Delphi?</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Ha, thou advisor of gods. Thou helper of gods in trouble,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Without thee Apollo shall succour. Without thee give aid to his people</div>
+  </div>
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent4"><span class="allsmcap">I SHALL CARE FOR MY OWN!</span>”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Again he laughed—a merry, loving mockery.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, the dear joyous god! the dear Son of Leto—Phœbus
+of the bright hair! Had he not always
+spoken at Delphi since his glorious mother bore him
+upon Delos? And Theria had doubted! Her heart
+filled with a very agony of faith and joy.</p>
+
+<p>But now the god was looking again at his bow. Perhaps
+he had changed his mind, and would destroy her,
+after all. Even so, Theria had no regret to die.</p>
+
+<p>But he spoke thus—</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“See now, child of Nikander, whither my arrows are destined.”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>He turned, lifted his bow, and shot the flaming shaft
+toward the north. It flew with a peal like a lightning
+bolt when the bolt falls so nigh that it quenches the
+thunder; it soared white and blinding over the peak of
+Parnassos and fell crashing beyond.</p>
+
+<p>But with the noise of the arrow Theria fell prone
+on the earth and knew nothing more.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX<br />
+<span class="smaller">EËTÍON PURSUES</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Eëtíon</span> had said to Theria that he was going
+upon an urgent quest. The quest was indeed
+an urgent one. Eëtíon set about it instinctively,
+not considering how little chance there was of its success.
+It was nothing less than to save Dryas.</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon had come to know Nikander’s sons well. He
+had met them in palæstra and lesche. Being foreign
+born himself, he had also often been thrown with the
+other young foreigners who were Lycophron’s friends.
+These men called themselves Athenians, but Eëtíon believed
+that they were really Ionians and that they were
+in Delphi for no good purpose. As for the men themselves,
+they were inclined to consort with Eëtíon as an
+Argive because of the secret league of Argos with Persia.
+And while they did not talk with him of their projects,
+they were less careful in his presence than they might
+otherwise have been.</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon, meanwhile, being ardent for the Hellenic
+cause, had kept quiet watch of the disguised Ionians and
+later of Nikander’s sons as well. He had hitherto
+found nothing worthy of note. But to-day a chance
+word of Dryas’s had given him a clue. Then by careful
+watching he had learned that couriers bearing the
+oracle were to be intercepted.</p>
+
+<p>Dryas had a boyish devotion to Eëtíon, first because
+of Eëtíon’s beauty and also because of his prowess in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span>
+wrestling and fast running, combined gifts which easily
+made a hero in Greece.</p>
+
+<p>And Eëtíon, touched by the boy’s love for him, had
+wished many a day to save Dryas from his treacherous
+companions. This he had not dared to attempt because
+the weak boy would have babbled and all Eëtíon’s
+chance to watch the Ionians be lost.</p>
+
+<p>But now Eëtíon thought he had a chance to save
+Dryas. Lycophron had gone to cut off the Thermopylæ
+messengers because he was heart and hand
+with Persia. Dryas had gone with those who were
+intercepting the message to Athens because of weakness
+and fear. Eëtíon, therefore, the instant he had given
+word to Theria, hastened to get a horse to pursue
+Dryas. Horses were few in Delphi where they were of
+so little use. He returned to the Great Temple where
+workmen painting the crimson columns had left their
+paint. Here he smeared a red gash upon his knee and
+stained the breast of his cloak. Like Odysseus,
+Eëtíon was a man of many devices. Then mounting,
+he hurried from Delphi along the Athens road. He
+trusted much to the swiftness of his horse. The spies
+must go at the pace of their worst steed, nor would they
+feel any special need of haste. So Eëtíon hoped to
+overtake them. The highway was very clear under the
+bright moon. It was a mountain road and mountain
+rough. But the Argives were lovers of horses and
+Eëtíon had not forgotten his early skill. Sometimes he
+held tight rein and rode with careful slowness; again,
+whenever the stretch was good, he dug heels into the
+flanks of his horse and galloped hard.</p>
+
+<p>What man when at a gallop has not dreamed of his
+beloved? And Eëtíon had just seen Theria’s face
+again beyond all hope. So thin and changed it was, in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span>
+its frailness almost like a child’s, and very pitiful. And
+oh, that little cry of joy when she saw him. That
+sounded again and again in his mind and mingled with
+the fragrance of the mountain road.</p>
+
+<p>So he passed the town of Daulis. Some distance
+beyond Daulis he saw the men he was pursuing.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as he neared them he began to cry out to
+them, cries of suffering and distress. He saw them
+stop. He dashed into their midst.</p>
+
+<p>“For the sake of the gods, save me, save me!” he cried.</p>
+
+<p>“What is it? What is it?” Ionians were always
+quick of sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>“Robbers set upon me. I was going to Orchomenos
+on a mission. You fellows can guess what kind it was.
+But, oh, stop the blood. See, it trails in the road.”</p>
+
+<p>At this Dryas dashed up.</p>
+
+<p>“Eëtíon,” he exclaimed, going pale. “Great Zeus!
+Dear fellow.”</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon displayed his horrible red knee and leg and as
+he did so reeled in Dryas’s arms. “Help me,” he
+pleaded. “Don’t leave me.” Then Eëtíon lay in the
+road with closed eyes and heard them talking.</p>
+
+<p>“We ought not to stop at all. You know that.”</p>
+
+<p>“We’ve got to stop,” said Dryas’s voice, half weeping.
+“I for one will not let him lie here to die.”</p>
+
+<p>“But we can’t leave you here, Dryas. We need you
+in Athens. Who will introduce us to Themistokles?”</p>
+
+<p>“I won’t leave him, you’ve got to wait.”</p>
+
+<p>Some of them drew aside, discussing the matter in low
+tones. Eëtíon strained his ear to hear. He heard a
+scornful laugh.</p>
+
+<p>“Suppose we do leave Dryas here, will he join us in
+Athens? By the gods, he will! Wasn’t he beside himself
+to come?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span></p>
+
+<p>This was true. Poor Dryas was hoping to get ship
+from Athens and save himself in the Islands. He was
+terrified at the certain impending destruction of Delphi.
+He had ever pleaded to accompany the party.</p>
+
+<p>“Very well, Dryas,” they said at last. “You stay.
+We’ll send you help. You can leave Eëtíon at Daulis.
+Then follow quickly. Do you hear?”</p>
+
+<p>So they cantered away.</p>
+
+<p>Dryas started off for water, but Eëtíon called him
+back again, allowing himself to revive.</p>
+
+<p>“Get me on my horse,” he faltered. “I must get to
+Daulis if I can.”</p>
+
+<p>“Dear Eëtíon, dear, dear fellow,” said the affectionate
+Dryas.</p>
+
+<p>They remounted, and soon the distance was doubling
+between Theria’s brother and the killers of his soul.</p>
+
+<p>At the edge of Daulis Eëtíon drove his horse close so
+as to touch Dryas’s arm.</p>
+
+<p>“Dryas,” he said in a low voice, “do you want to do
+that vile deed?”</p>
+
+<p>Dryas started violently, and Eëtíon caught his
+wrist. Eëtíon could throw Dryas at a wrestle like a
+child.</p>
+
+<p>“What deed?” Dryas asked between chattering
+teeth.</p>
+
+<p>“You know very well what deed. Will you let your
+father and your mother die without lifting your hand to
+help, while you save yourself—a renegade, a Persian
+serf?”</p>
+
+<p>“Let me go, let me go!” cried Dryas wildly.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I shall let you go, I will not bring you back
+against your will. That would be folly. But think.
+Perhaps your father already knows this. If so, he
+longs to die. Think of the shame, Dryas.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span></p>
+
+<p>Dryas began to breathe as if weeping.</p>
+
+<p>“Think of the glory of fighting for Delphi,” went on
+Eëtíon’s low voice. “The rich glory. And if you will
+fight I will make you my brother-at-arms. Yes, even
+knowing what I know. You are a skilful fighter, Dryas.
+You will not fail in the fight.”</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the sobbing breaths stopped and Dryas
+sat up straight and urged his horse forward. “Quick,
+quick,” he said, “before they come back after me.”
+Then he reined in the gallop. “Eëtíon, forgive me.
+Your wound!” he said.</p>
+
+<p>“My wound is red paint,” said Eëtíon, laughing.
+“Thus I was wounded for your sake.”</p>
+
+<p>“And, and you came out for my sake——” At this
+Dryas began to weep indeed.</p>
+
+<p>They passed Daulis, and hurried on under the setting
+moon. Dryas was silent now, only urging his horse
+so fast that Eëtíon had to check him for fear of accident.
+In the dark they met a party of men hurrying
+toward Athens as if mad. Eëtíon knew what they
+were and Dryas guessed, and he hid his face in his cloak
+as they rushed by. They were Nikander’s kinsmen
+riding to intercept those who would withhold the good
+oracle from Athens.</p>
+
+<p>Toward dawn the two riders neared Delphi, and at
+the familiar road-sights Dryas lifted his face, saying to
+himself:</p>
+
+<p>“Safe, safe!”</p>
+
+<p>“Safe?” asked Eëtíon, “where the Persians will certainly
+come to harry and destroy?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, safe,” answered Dryas, “safe from worse than
+the Persians!” and with Greek affection he reached for
+Eëtíon’s hand and kissed it.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX<br />
+<span class="smaller">SHEPHERD WISDOM</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Nikander</span> had returned to his aula and sat
+there with face of stone. The kinsmen had
+gone. He himself had sent the doom upon his
+sons. For him Delphi was already in the dust. The
+Persians had no need to destroy her.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a running step outside, and the door burst
+open. There in a flood of morning light came Dryas
+like Hermes running with outstretched arms. He fell
+at his father’s feet, embracing his waist, hiding his face
+in his lap.</p>
+
+<p>“Father! Father! Father!” he cried.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander fell forward at the shock of joy, trembling
+and unable to speak. Then he righted himself, heard
+as in a dream the boy in his arms talking to him.</p>
+
+<p>“Only some god saved me! I want to fight for you,
+Father—to fight at your side.”</p>
+
+<p>“You did not go with the spies? Not after all?”
+Nikander said dazedly.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Father, but——”</p>
+
+<p>Here Eëtíon, whom both had forgotten, stepped forward
+and touched Dryas’s shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>“They abducted him, Nikander,” he said clearly. “It
+was only by a ruse that I saved him. Oh, if you could
+have seen the joy in the boy’s face when I got him free.”</p>
+
+<p>“I see the joy in his face now,” said Nikander.
+Nikander believed because he so wanted to believe.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Tell your father how I fooled them,” urged Eëtíon,
+and Dryas between trembling and laughter told the
+story of Eëtíon’s red paint wound. But before he had
+finished, Nikander rose, took Eëtíon’s hand, and drew
+him to an embrace.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you good youth!” he said, “I can never thank
+you, never fully thank you. No kinsman shall be so
+dear as you.”</p>
+
+<p>Now the only shadow on Nikander’s joy was his
+anxiety for Lycophron. Dear gods, where might his
+son be now? Even if Delphi survived the onslaught of
+the Persians this sorrow would remain. Nikander
+could never speak his son Lycophron’s name.</p>
+
+<p>A slave brought their breakfast, and as they ate the
+figs and bread and milk they began to talk seriously of
+Delphi’s plans of escape. Many citizens had already
+carried their household treasures up the mountain to
+the Korykian cave. And the priests were now urging
+a further questioning of the god if perchance even yet
+he might reveal to them some way to save the Holy
+Place. Dryas entered into the plans with an interest
+and fearlessness which caused his father to look at
+him ever and again. What had happened to Dryas?
+What brave-minded god was thus changing his son?</p>
+
+<p>Such was their conversation when a temple slave
+came running in at the door past Medon, saying
+breathlessly:</p>
+
+<p>“The Pythoness, your daughter, is nowhere in the
+Pythia House. Is she here, Nikander?”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander hid his eyes confusedly a moment.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” he said, “yes, she is here; I had forgotten. I
+will bring her back myself and explain. Tell that to
+Tuchè. Dryas, dear lad, go you and fetch your sister.”</p>
+
+<p>The slave added with embarrassment: “And, Master,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>[203]</span>
+I was to tell you that Tuchè is very angry. They wish
+to begin the rites at once. Consultants are waiting
+and the priests are there. Aristonikè is too ill to go
+upon the tripod and they have no Pythia.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, unkind gods,” breathed Nikander. His heart
+had ached every time his daughter was set upon the
+terrible high seat of the god. Now how much more
+would it ache knowing how she had deceived. She
+must not go there again. Must never again give an
+oracle. She was no fit subject for the ecstasy. He
+must find some chance to tell her this. Must command
+her to resist the trance no matter what rites were
+practised. But oh, what a terrible fate for the poor
+child. Back to the Pythia House. Of course she
+must go back.</p>
+
+<p>He started to meet her before she could come downstairs.</p>
+
+<p>But here Dryas returned with amazed face, and
+Melantho with him, running down into the forbidden
+aula because of her anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>“How could you think Theria was in the house?”
+asked Dryas.</p>
+
+<p>“She has not been here. She is nowhere here,” urged
+Melantho.</p>
+
+<p>Again Nikander paused, confused. What had he
+said to the child? What harsh words? He had not
+meant them. Of course he had not meant them. But
+surely she had not gone forth from the house.</p>
+
+<p>Melantho was bringing in old Medon who knew all
+who came and went.</p>
+
+<p>“What is it? What?” asked the poor deaf man.
+“Yes, little mistress was here, but she went away—back
+to the Pythia House. Yesterday evening early.
+Very sad she looked, and staggered as she went.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>[204]</span></p>
+
+<p>So at last they knew that Theria was abroad.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander’s face hardened with bitter anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>“Come, Dryas,” he said. “We must find her at
+once.”</p>
+
+<p>Dryas turned to Eëtíon, “Dearest Eëtíon, you will
+help us?”</p>
+
+<p>As for Eëtíon, through what a range of feeling had he
+been carried in these moments? First, joy like an
+unbidden melody, because his beloved was in the house;
+then strong joy because he might see her as she passed;
+then horror at her disappearance. Why had she gone?
+What had Nikander done to her to make her run away?
+What cruel thing had he said? But there was no time
+even to be angry. Theria must be found and that
+quickly before the Persians should arrive. Eëtíon
+looked at Nikander, begging for a boon.</p>
+
+<p>“If I might help to find her,” he ventured; “but let
+me go my own way while you go another. We must
+search everywhere at once.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander read his unspoken fear. Women must not
+be abroad when the Persians were in the country.
+There was not an instant to lose.</p>
+
+<p>“Nikander, I am presumptuous to give advice,” said
+Eëtíon. “But send also messengers to the port. I
+beg you do that.”</p>
+
+<p>It seemed to Nikander that he was sending messengers
+to the four quarters of the earth for his vanished
+children. He answered hurriedly:</p>
+
+<p>“Dear Eëtíon, you are wise, I can hardly think out
+this thing.” He was too occupied to notice Eëtíon’s
+emotion.</p>
+
+<p>Dryas had meantime fetched a fresh chiton for his
+friend. “You cannot go forth in that stained cloak,”
+he told him. “Dear Eëtíon, how excited you are, how<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span>
+like a kinsman you care for us. We’ll find her in a half
+hour. She ran away once before, you know. I know
+exactly where she’s run to.”</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon was so angry that he dared not answer
+Dryas. How little the shallow fellow knew of his
+sister’s character and ways. Eëtíon was glad when
+they all left the house.</p>
+
+<p>How foolish they were, running hither and yon
+without thought. In Eëtíon’s Argos were many
+shepherds and when a sheep was lost they did not go
+forth in this wise, but first thought about the paths,
+and the simple sheep reasoning, and then went and
+found.</p>
+
+<p>This flight of Theria’s was of course connected with
+the message which Eëtíon had himself given to her.
+She had not sent for her father, but, true heart that
+she was, she had brought the news herself. But why
+had she fled forth like this?</p>
+
+<p>He took Medon into the street.</p>
+
+<p>“Tell me, Medon, was Nikander angry with his
+daughter?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Master, how should I know?” But Eëtíon
+saw at once that Medon did know and did not rest until
+he got the truth of him.</p>
+
+<p>Then he went back into the house and called Baltè.</p>
+
+<p>“Baltè,” he said, “take with you two men slaves and
+go up on Parnassos by the far eastern path and look
+for your mistress.”</p>
+
+<p>“But, Master, surely she would not go there. Wolves
+are there.”</p>
+
+<p>“She would not stop for wolves,” Said Eëtíon sharply,
+and Baltè saw his eyes fill with tears.</p>
+
+<p>“If you reach to the Korykian cave, Baltè, and yet
+do not find her, then come down by the hither path and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>[206]</span>
+I will meet you at the top of the Bad Steps. Give me a
+flask of wine and my sword there.”</p>
+
+<p>Then Eëtíon fairly ran out and through the lane up
+the slender path he knew so well.</p>
+
+<p>On the hard rocky earth he could find no trace of
+her. But still he climbed on, his heart aching for the
+dear lonely child who had fled from unkindness and injustice.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, how could Nikander have let forth upon her
+gentle head the wrath that should have gone to his sons?
+Where was his fatherly tenderness? How could he in
+the first place have put her away in the Pythia House,
+that cruelty, that fearfulness, tales of which were rife
+in the Precinct? How could Nikander have placed her
+there to be a barren maid, she who was so full of life,
+so fit to be the mother of children? As Eëtíon mounted
+his anger mounted with him. He longed intensely to
+take her away from cruelty and neglect and to give
+her henceforth only tenderness and the visionary love
+that was his.</p>
+
+<p>He climbed up the Kaka Skala, passed the wood in
+which Theria had hidden over night, on up into the
+pathless heights beyond her, into despair of finding
+her alive. A mountain bear padded past him and
+broke its way into the thicket to hide. “Oh, Artemis,
+Protector of maidens; help the little maid who is now
+in thy care alone!”</p>
+
+<p>By some instinct, for Eëtíon could now no longer
+reason, he turned back. He descended to the Kaka
+Skala, he entered the wood, and there on a jagged
+branch found some torn yellow shreds of dress.</p>
+
+<p>Then as in fever he ran hither and yon searching;
+found, now a broken twig, now a footprint. He began
+to call, “Theria! Theria!” He lost time here for he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span>
+was so sure she would stay hiding in the wood. But
+at the last some god led him out upon the upland where
+he caught a glimpse of a fluttering yellow garment on
+the ground. He ran to it and at last saw her, slender
+and prone, her hair lying in soft dark billows upon the
+rock and hiding her face.</p>
+
+<p>With a sob he knelt, lifted her in his arms and
+tenderly put back her locks. Then he saw her death-whiteness
+and the terrible gash upon her forehead
+where she had hit the rock in her fall. He was too
+wild at first to help her, kissing her, calling her, feeling
+her cold hands, holding his lips against hers to make
+sure if any breath was there.</p>
+
+<p>But when she responded not at all Eëtíon grew more
+careful. He brought out the wine but could not give
+it between the set lips.</p>
+
+<p>Then he gathered her in his arms to carry her up to
+a spring which he remembered in the heights. He was
+too frightened now to feel any emotion. He only knew
+that he was carrying Theria away from Delphi, away
+from the bitterness and mishandling. It was right
+that he should do so. She belonged to him, to nobody
+else in all the world! Away in some colony over seas
+they could be truly wedded and live the years. He
+even forgot her Apolline priesthood and the sacrilege
+of loving such a one.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, perhaps she was dying in his arms.</p>
+
+<p>In the upper slope among the firs he found his spring.
+He laid the dear burden on the ground, bathed her
+white face, bathed the wound and poured the wine into
+it. At last life, like a visible prayer, came back into her
+face and the colour of life was there.</p>
+
+<p>Then indeed did Eros, the tall youth, earliest of all the
+gods, send power into Eëtíon’s heart, filling it with a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span>
+strange uplifting worship—that invisible power with
+which the son of Chaos holds the cosmos together, Eros
+the mighty one.</p>
+
+<p>Now Theria opened her eyes. They were like black
+lakes and lonely as the stars.</p>
+
+<p>“Theria, darling, darling Theria. No harm shall
+come to you now, Theria!”</p>
+
+<p>But she looked straight into his face without a spark
+of recognition.</p>
+
+<p>“It is I—Eëtíon,” he said, taking her face between
+his hands. “Kiss me, my maiden!”</p>
+
+<p>“Apollon,” she murmured. “Apollon.” She did
+not close her eyes again, but kept them fixed upon
+Eëtíon’s face in a way that froze his spirit. Eëtíon
+was not skilled in Apollo’s ways; he knew nothing of
+mantic power by which men with their natural eyes
+see things unseen. He could only recognize that
+Theria’s spirit was farther from his than the farthest
+planet.</p>
+
+<p>“Apollon,” she said again.</p>
+
+<p>She was in that far serenity that knows not time nor
+change, the indifference that comes of too great knowledge
+from the gods.</p>
+
+<p>Of a certainty she was going to die, and that very
+soon.</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon sprang to his feet. Fool, fool, that he was to
+bring his darling where she could get no help from
+leech or magic. If she died here it would be he who
+had killed her. The fear of Apollo now came over
+him. Apollo would blast them both if he took her
+away for his own. Again he lifted Theria in his arms
+and carried her back toward the path where he hoped
+Baltè might meet him.</p>
+
+<p>Baltè did not appear at the head of the Kaka Skala,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span>
+but presently came Delphic citizens bearing their
+household treasures to hide in the hills. These, seeing
+the dying maiden, helped him gladly.</p>
+
+<p>“Did the Persians hurt her? Are they already
+come?” they asked, terrified.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” said Eëtíon. “The maid was lost and fell
+upon a rock.”</p>
+
+<p>They gave their litter on which they had carried
+their burdens and upon this Eëtíon and a slave of the
+Delphians bore her down toward her old bitter fate
+again, toward the priesthood and the torture. If she
+should live at all, she would not live long in that
+Pythia House. Eëtíon’s heart was dead within him
+as he made the slow descent.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI<br />
+<span class="smaller">NIKANDER’S NEAREST OF KIN</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Meanwhile</span>, Nikander and Dryas of the easy
+confidence came to the temple of Athena
+Forethought where this time no Theria was
+to be found. Dryas looked into his father’s grieving
+face.</p>
+
+<p>“Theria ought to be ashamed of herself,” he said
+stoutly, “to give you such trouble now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Be silent, Dryas,” said his father sternly. “You
+know nothing about your sister or her reason for this.
+Try to find her. Try.”</p>
+
+<p>“Father, I am sorry,” said the wondering Dryas,
+taking his father’s hand.</p>
+
+<p>“I want you to search now in the slave quarter,” said
+Nikander hurriedly. “I will go to the Precinct whence
+I will send messengers to Daulis.”</p>
+
+<p>Wearily Nikander climbed the Precinct hill. His
+memory was playing him curious tricks. His harsh
+words, which at first he could in no wise recall, now
+came back deadly clear, “No place in the Pythia House.
+No place for you at the home hearth, Bringer of vile
+tales.” Great Zeus! he had been god maddened, blind!
+The girl had risked her life and reputation to save her
+brothers from disgrace.</p>
+
+<p>Theria was always doing the unexpected, poor child,
+always bringing down wrath upon her own head, and
+as he now saw it, doing something either interesting or<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span>
+noble. What a Nikander she was, how true in every
+instinct to her ancient race.</p>
+
+<p>While these thoughts beset him Nikander was
+hastening from treasury to treasury, hastening through
+the hidden paths and secret places of the Precinct.
+Each familiar statue, tripod, each quiet, chapel-like
+treasury room pierced him with the thought of her
+intense love of everything in Delphi. Her very deceptions
+on the tripod had been only from her too great
+love for Delphi and for Greece.</p>
+
+<p>And her lover; poor little daughter, if he had but
+kept closer to her in daily life (ah, she had tried so
+wistfully to keep close to him), she would have told him
+of this lover long ago.</p>
+
+<p>Why had he not warned his child when he was making
+her a priestess? He had put her on the perilous seat
+of the tripod without one thought of her. He had
+left her aidless and lonely. He was to blame, to
+blame!</p>
+
+<p>Near the Great Temple Dryas met him again, saying
+that his search had been fruitless—asking where now
+to go. Nikander caught his son’s hand convulsively.</p>
+
+<p>“Go nowhere,” he pleaded. “Stay with me.”</p>
+
+<p>But even as he clung to his boy he thought how impossible
+it would be for Theria to do what Dryas had
+done. No spies could have dragged her away on such
+an errand. And oh, dear Paian, she would not have
+companioned with them at all nor left her father
+lonely through these terrible days. She would have
+entered with him into every struggle for Delphi’s
+honor if her father had only allowed her. How wistful
+she was when she met him returning from Council.
+What a sly little puss in her questioning, finding out
+his problems which he did not mean to tell! Nikander<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span>
+smiled, but in his smiling found himself blinded with
+tears.</p>
+
+<p>Dryas was sure that it was anxiety for Lycophron
+which unmanned his father thus.</p>
+
+<p>Long after nightfall the two came home again. The
+slaves brought supper, and all unwilling they sat down
+to eat. Then footsteps were heard in the doorway—Eëtíon
+and the slave with Theria white on her litter.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander ran to her, lifting her in his arms as though
+she were a child, calling her endearing names, weeping
+with relief. He laid her on a couch in the aula while
+they brought the torches.</p>
+
+<p>But one look at Theria’s face and wide-open eyes
+sobered him.</p>
+
+<p>“Theria, Theria,” he called to her terrible silence.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Nikander, don’t you see that she is dying?”
+cried Eëtíon, brokenhearted.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander rose solemnly to his feet. “She has beheld a
+god,” he said. “She is yet in the vision.” He turned
+to Eëtíon. “Has she spoken any word?”</p>
+
+<p>“She called upon Apollo thrice, but since then this
+silence. Oh, Nikander, what does it mean?”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander bowed his head. Knowing what he knew
+of Theria’s sacrilege, he fully believed this state to be a
+doom from Phœbus himself. He believed that she
+would die. And when he lifted his head, trying to speak,
+Eëtíon’s anger melted before the anguish in his face.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>Nikander as a worshipper of Apollo had recognized
+at once the mantic ecstasy. He knew also the accepted
+means of breaking the ecstatic state. He had
+Baltè bathe Theria in warm water and gently rub her
+body. He himself brought his lyre and sitting at the
+bedside played strong, clear music in the Doric mode.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span></p>
+
+<p>Then fearing that he might have omitted some act,
+he went out and fetched in the priests to look at her.
+They gazed, awestruck. “Yes, you are doing all you
+can,” they said. “The maid is certainly in a vision.
+But she is far gone toward Hades.”</p>
+
+<p>So Nikander resumed his post. Sitting there, patiently
+playing, he was the more convinced that she
+would die. Even his anxiety for Lycophron faded
+before this unlooked-for sorrow. Nikander’s two sons
+were only by some physical chance his children. This
+girl was the child of his mind and heart. She loved
+what he loved, hated what he hated. She was his
+nearest of kin. His own! Why had he not known it
+before?</p>
+
+<p>At last, as Theria’s wide-open eyes half closed, he
+tried to believe she slept. So he lay down on a couch
+near at hand while the old slave Baltè watched.</p>
+
+<p>It was full morning when Baltè woke him.</p>
+
+<p>“Karamanor and Agis are in the andron to speak
+with you.”</p>
+
+<p>These were the young kinsmen whom Nikander had
+sent in pursuit of Lycophron. Nikander rose and
+went to hear what he must hear.</p>
+
+<p>The two young men waited solemnly.</p>
+
+<p>“It was midnight, Nikander, when we came up
+with the spies on the north road,” said young Karamanor
+gently. “They gave battle so quick that we
+had just time to fend ourselves even though we so
+outnumbered them. And Lycophron, even though
+we called and kept calling to him to come over to our
+side, that we had only come to save him, Lycophron
+laughed us to scorn. And, oh, Nikander, he fought
+splendidly, fiercely, like a wild boar. And so he fell.
+Two of the spies fell. The rest fled to the hills.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span></p>
+
+<p>“He was fearless always,” said Nikander in a low
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>The young man put his arm pityingly over his
+uncle’s shoulder. He could not know that just now
+Nikander felt only relief in the death of his son.</p>
+
+<p>“We took an oath among us, we kinsmen,” said
+Karamanor. “All of us, an oath not to tell this thing.
+We will say that he fell in a skirmish with the Persians.
+Men are too troubled now to think. His absence will
+not be marked. Our words will be believed, if any of
+us, after the Persian onslaught, be left alive for beliefs
+or doubtings. Can we do anything further for you,
+Nikander?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” said Nikander quietly. “May the Son of
+Leto bless you for saving my son’s honour. I must
+go now and tell his mother.”</p>
+
+<p>Dryas, who had been playing the lyre at Theria’s
+bedside, had stopped playing when his father withdrew.
+He sat awestruck, waiting.</p>
+
+<p>Presently Melantho’s death-wail for Lycophron
+sounded through the house.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, look, Baltè,” whispered Dryas, through his
+tears. “Poor Theria does not even hear it.”</p>
+
+<p>Baltè bent over her nurseling. “She hears it well
+enough,” she answered sadly. “She hears, but she is
+too far to care.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII<br />
+<span class="smaller">TERRIBLE NEWS FROM THERMOPYLÆ</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Theria</span> lay on her couch without change, except
+to grow weaker each day. Baltè had her own
+remedies. She brought a sieve and suspended
+it from the ceiling. Then she whirled it, reciting
+all the magic she knew and all the cures. At whatever
+cure the sieve came to rest that one she tried. But,
+alas, it did no good.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander, in spite of urgent business with the priests,
+spent hour upon hour beside his daughter. Sometimes
+he himself wondered at his strength of love for a mere
+girl. He sat dreaming over her, learning her with a new
+intimate vision which led him farther every hour.</p>
+
+<p>Often and again as he looked across to where Melantho
+sat he would say:</p>
+
+<p>“Wife, we have not understood this little one of ours,
+and now it is too late.”</p>
+
+<p>And Melantho would come around the couch and
+timidly kiss her husband’s forehead.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander, after his first keen gratitude to Eëtíon, was
+too beaten about by the winds of fate to think of him.
+Eëtíon, however, came every day. He was very shy,
+very guarded in his inquiries after the Delphic priestess.
+His friendship for Dryas and Dryas’s devotion to him
+were ample excuse for his coming.</p>
+
+<p>Then on the fourth day of Theria’s illness Delphi
+rocked with news as at times it rocked with actual<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span>
+earthquakes. The heralds from the north came running,
+crying the news with spent voices:</p>
+
+<p>“Thermopylæ is taken! Thermopylæ is taken by
+the Persians!”</p>
+
+<p>Then after they took breath again from their long
+run—</p>
+
+<p>“The Spartans are beaten back. The noble three
+hundred are killed every man. Leonidas is killed. All,
+all is lost. The Persians stole through over the mountain
+and attacked us from the rear. Thus they took
+the pass. They are free in Hellas now to do their will
+upon you. Yes, they are marching hither. They are
+already in the land of Daulis. They are not forty
+miles away.”</p>
+
+<p>The trembling Delphians were mute with horror.</p>
+
+<p>“But the fleet,” pursued Nikander, “was the fleet
+also destroyed?”</p>
+
+<p>Upon this the heralds had better news to tell.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, the fleet, wonderful! The gods themselves!
+Never was known such a storm. Three days it lasted,
+oh, Delphians. Rain, torrents of rain, now in midsummer
+when we never have rain. Wind! Oh, such wind
+that it strewed the Persian ships in heaps along the
+shore—windrows of ships and drowned Persians. But
+our ships, the Athenians were safe in the Eubœan strait.
+Not one was lost in the storm and very few by battle.
+Well said your Oracle: ‘Pray to the winds.’”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander, his heart swelling with joy and pride, began
+to see dimly that miracles can happen in spite of sacrilege
+and in other than accepted ways.</p>
+
+<p>“The Athenians?” he asked. “Are they hopeful?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, hopeful! Heartened by the god’s help and the
+storm’s help. Of course the Persian and Ionian ships
+still outnumber them. But the Athenians say that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span>
+some god is on their side. They are ready to fight
+again. They are hastening back to Athenian waters for
+the fighting.”</p>
+
+<p>But Delphi had no such hope. Delphi was all confusion.
+She had no real army even though she was an
+independent state. She had only her temple guard.
+This guard had been sufficient in ordinary times. For
+all Hellas revered Apollo’s temple. No Hellenic state
+would dare plunder Apollo’s shrine. But now! Those
+hordes of barbarians who knew not the god. From
+these the Delphians well knew what to expect.</p>
+
+<p>They hurriedly left the heralds. Everywhere now
+were seen men with their families, their slaves, carrying
+burdens, some hurrying up toward the mountain, some
+hurrying down toward the port of Kirrha. But the
+braver citizens stayed with white faces to consult
+the Oracle once more.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander, hastening homeward, found these and the
+priests already at his door.</p>
+
+<p>“You must give us back the Pythia, Nikander,” spoke
+Kobon angrily. “The Oracle must be consulted at once.
+Who ever heard of a Pythia being taken home again?”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander pushed through the crowd and stood with
+his back to the closed door.</p>
+
+<p>“You may not take her,” he said. “She is dying. She
+would die before she reached the tripod.”</p>
+
+<p>“She might not. You know very well, Nikander,
+that on the edge of death the Pythia often prophesies
+best.”</p>
+
+<p>Timon took Nikander’s arm.</p>
+
+<p>“I am sorry, cousin,” he said, “but you know that
+what Kobon says is true. This is no time for a man to
+think of his own household. She might save the very
+shrine.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span></p>
+
+<p>“She cannot save it,” said Nikander stubbornly.
+“She has not spoken for four days. She is beyond all
+speech. Aristonikè is not so ill as she.”</p>
+
+<p>He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to decide
+what he might and might not tell. “My daughter has
+no gift of ecstasy,” he ventured. “No oracles come to
+her at all.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nikander, what lies! You know the very best of
+the oracles have been through her.”</p>
+
+<p>“Aristonikè,” broke in another priest; “Aristonikè
+prophesies nothing but ill.”</p>
+
+<p>They seized Nikander, held him struggling, while
+priests and citizens broke upon the door and rushed
+into the house.</p>
+
+<p>“Dryas, Dryas, help me!” Nikander shouted; but if
+Dryas was there he did not appear.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander heard Baltè shriek as the priests caught up
+her nurseling. Forth they rushed again, his daughter
+white as death in a stalwart priest’s arms. So they
+hurried up the road toward the temple.</p>
+
+<p>Then Nikander from his house saw temple slaves
+running to meet the priests, saw them all stop together.
+They crowded in confusion. Then from the confusion
+came the same temple slaves and to Nikander’s amazement
+they were bearing Theria in their arms, bringing
+her home again. The priests and citizens ran onward
+frantically up to the temple.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander wrested himself free and ran to meet the
+slaves. They gave her carefully into his arms.</p>
+
+<p>“She is dead, already dead?” he whispered.</p>
+
+<p>“No—no, Master,” they assured him.</p>
+
+<p>He did not pause to find out what had happened but
+hurried back with Theria to her couch, where on a
+sudden he could do nothing but weep and wring his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span>
+hands. Baltè had to compose both her patient and
+him, assuring him over and over again that no harm
+had been done.</p>
+
+<p>It was Dryas who, later, hurrying home from the
+Precinct, told Nikander what had happened.</p>
+
+<p>“Aristonikè,” he announced, “passed into ecstasy
+suddenly without any rites and prophesied wonderful
+things. They carried her to the tripod even while she
+prophesied. The crowd of priests coming from our
+house reached the adytum just in time to hear her cry
+out:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“‘The god will care for his own.’</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>“Then she fell forward into old Akeretos’s arms and
+was dead.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander shuddered. “Poor child,” he said, “poor,
+poor little girl.”</p>
+
+<p>“But, Father, think what that means!” said Dryas.
+“‘The god will care for his own’!”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander put his hand on Dryas’s shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, yes, my son, you are right, but had any one
+asked a question? How did it happen?”</p>
+
+<p>“But, Father, don’t you know that Akeretos himself
+has been asking a question for days? He is so old,
+I suppose he knows the Oracle better than any of us.
+He says that in his youth this method was tried and
+answer received beyond all hope.</p>
+
+<p>“But what did he do?” asked the dazed Nikander.</p>
+
+<p>“He made sacrifice right in front of the Pythia House,
+not as usual on the Great Altar. The question which he
+was to ask was: ‘What shall we do to save the treasures
+of the god? Shall we hide them in the hills?’ But
+he repeated not this question at all, but instead, the
+while he was sacrificing, he kept repeating to himself<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span>
+the answer which he desired—thinking only of this
+answer: ‘The god will care for his own. The sacred
+things must not be touched by mortal hands. The
+god will care for his own.’ And sure enough within the
+house, locked within it indeed, Aristonikè awoke from
+sleep with a low cry and began to say those very words:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Touch not the sacred things,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">The god will care for his own!”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>“So when Tuchè came running out to tell him, Akeretos
+brought Aristonikè forth to the tripod.”</p>
+
+<p>Dryas paused, taking a long breath.</p>
+
+<p>“And now all the Delphians say there is no need to
+stay to defend our Delphi. We may all flee to the
+mountains while the god alone fights for us. We of the
+household also must make haste to go.”</p>
+
+<p>It was almost a pleading look which poor Dryas bent
+upon his father.</p>
+
+<p>“You can go if you will, Dryas. For my part, I
+shall not leave the shrine.”</p>
+
+<p>Again Dryas took a long breath. His cheek paled
+and he looked down, then he said:</p>
+
+<p>“I might have known you would answer that. I
+shall stay with you.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII<br />
+<span class="smaller">AT EËTÍON’S CALL</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">What</span> Dryas reported was true. The Delphians
+were deserting their town, whether
+from great faith or great fear, who could say?
+Their temple guard could not be called an army. It
+seemed as vain to wait for the Persian as to wait for
+the onsweep of a flood at the breaking of a dam. The
+dam had broken at Thermopylæ and the flood was
+coming.</p>
+
+<p>Men sent their wives and children across the gulf to
+Corinth and thence to Achaia, and when there were no
+more boats others sent them to Amphissa in Locris.
+The men of Delphi hurried up into Mount Parnassos,
+to the Korykian cave and to other fastnesses known
+only to themselves.</p>
+
+<p>Only about sixty people were left in Delphi and of
+course the armed temple guard.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander sought out Melantho.</p>
+
+<p>“Dear wife,” he said, “I have chartered a little boat
+to take you and your own special slaves to Corinth.
+It will be a long journey for you, but do not be afraid.
+You will be safe in Achaia.”</p>
+
+<p>“And Theria?” she asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Would God I could send her!” said Nikander
+brokenly. “But she is too ill to be moved. She is
+weaker than ever since that terrible experience with the
+priests. Even were she strong enough, the priests<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span>
+would not allow her to go. The Pythia is not allowed
+to go away.”</p>
+
+<p>He looked up, wondering at Melantho’s silence. Melantho
+was a timid creature and the most submissive
+wife in the world.</p>
+
+<p>“Am I like the kegs of cheese that they carry up to
+the cave?” she asked huskily.</p>
+
+<p>“Kegs of cheese!” asked Nikander blankly.</p>
+
+<p>“Am I goods and chattels, not even so much alive as
+the dogs of Delphi? The dogs stay.”</p>
+
+<p>Great Paian! Melantho was angry. Nikander had
+never seen her angry in his life.</p>
+
+<p>She stamped her foot.</p>
+
+<p>“I will not go,” she cried. “I’ll turn over the boat
+and swamp it if you put me in it. I will not go when—when
+all my dear ones stay.”</p>
+
+<p>Then she melted with streaming tears. Poor Melantho!
+After this little outburst she would have
+done anything Nikander required.</p>
+
+<p>But Nikander took her in his arms, loving her as he
+had never thought to do.</p>
+
+<p>“My dear Melantho,” he said. “I begin to think I
+am the stupidest man in Delphi. Of course you shall
+stay.”</p>
+
+<p>It was no easy matter to care for two helpless women
+at such a time, but Nikander was glad that Melantho
+was to stay. As for Baltè, nations might rise or fall,
+she had one care only, to watch her nurseling. And
+now Baltè was busy with new plans. She had long ago
+given up her sieve and taken it back to the kitchen
+where she gave it a kick of scorn.</p>
+
+<p>Theria was steadily growing weaker, but her eyes as
+Baltè studied them looked not quite so glassy, not
+quite so blank as at first. Sometimes Baltè actually<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span>
+saw in them a great sadness. When any one came into
+the door, Theria’s eyes would slowly, painfully direct
+themselves thither, seeming to search, and when the
+search was made this deep sadness or disappointment
+would settle upon her face. And once, instead of relapsing
+into blankness after their pitiful searching, the
+dark eyes closed and tears stole down between the lids.</p>
+
+<p>What did her child want? Baltè asked herself this
+question. Asked Theria every question she knew.
+For while Nikander could not bring himself to speak to
+that strange, blank face of Theria, Baltè talked and
+asked and crooned as any nurse crooned to her baby.</p>
+
+<p>Though to all her asking Baltè received no reply,
+yet at last she thought she knew her darling’s wish.</p>
+
+<p>The next day she met Nikander in the outer aula.</p>
+
+<p>“Master,” she said, “I know now what little mistress
+wants.”</p>
+
+<p>“Great Heaven! has she spoken?” asked Nikander.</p>
+
+<p>“No, Master, but her eyes speak to me.”</p>
+
+<p>“They do not to me,” said Nikander sorrowfully.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Master, ye must not be wroth with little mistress
+if I tell ye that she loves that good youth that found
+her on the mountain. Don’t ye blame her for it. She
+is a human child and Eëtíon loves her so dearly. She
+wants to see him, Master. She wants to see him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Poor Baltè, you cannot know that.”</p>
+
+<p>Baltè told what she had seen.</p>
+
+<p>“You forget,” said Nikander, “that your little mistress
+is priestess. It would be absolutely improper.”</p>
+
+<p>“She’s goin’ soon where there’s no proper nor unproper,”
+retorted Baltè in her broadest Doric. “An’
+if she goes, what harm to gi’ her this wee bit of joy
+beforehand? An’ if she dies for lack of it, then it’s ye
+will be her murderer.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span></p>
+
+<p>Baltè was determined to supplicate her master with
+the unrefusable supplication if she could get consent
+no other way.</p>
+
+<p>But at this moment came Eëtíon, all excited over
+what the priests had done.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s ye I am talkin’ o’, young man,” announced
+Baltè. “The master here says ‘no’. But the little
+mistress is pinin’ away for a sight of ye. She is thot.”</p>
+
+<p>“Is she better? Did she ask—oh, Nikander——”
+pleaded Eëtíon.</p>
+
+<p>“Baltè is dreaming. Go back to your little mistress,
+Baltè.”</p>
+
+<p>But Baltè stood her ground. “If the lad calls her
+she’ll answer him. Mark ye that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Will she answer? Do you really believe she will
+answer?” asked Eëtíon, his lips quivering with the
+memory of Theria’s unanswering silence on the mountain.</p>
+
+<p>“O love o’ Leto, stop askin’! Come!” said Baltè.</p>
+
+<p>And Nikander suddenly consented.</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon came in with awe as one comes into a death
+chamber.</p>
+
+<p>He knelt by her couch, laid his brown, trembling
+hands over her two white ones, and, leaning close, called
+her—once, and again.</p>
+
+<p>Then an amazing thing happened: There passed
+slowly from off the dark lakes of eyes something as it
+were a shadow, leaving them sweet and sensible, leaving
+in them an ardent, dreamy look.</p>
+
+<p>Then the dream gave place to lovely awakening,
+which was Theria’s self—a surprised, outreaching love.</p>
+
+<p>Her lips framed a word: “Eëtíon.”</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon forgot all about him. He gathered her close,
+kissing her, calling her. And now she spoke quite<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span>
+aloud, calling him in return with names and epithets as
+dear.</p>
+
+<p>“You have not forgotten me,” he was saying, “Oh,
+I thought you had forgotten.”</p>
+
+<p>“Never, never. I could not forget you in Acheron,”
+was her murmured answer.</p>
+
+<p>“Speak to me, me, also, my daughter,” pleaded
+Nikander.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Father. Dear, dear Father,” came her answer.
+No trace of fear or unaffection for all his angry words
+which had sent her away. She reached out her arms
+to him like a returning child.</p>
+
+<p>Baltè clapped her hands with loud sobs and shoutings.
+She, too, must kiss and rejoice over her little one.</p>
+
+<p>“Baltè,” said Nikander solemnly, “may the gods in
+my age give me such wisdom as yours. For my part
+I shall never question yours again. So now, dear Baltè,
+go and fetch Melantho.”</p>
+
+<p>Melantho came, and Dryas. One would have
+thought to hear the rejoicings in the house that no
+Persians were anywhere in Greece. Then presently
+Baltè was for sending them all away. They must not
+tire her darling.</p>
+
+<p>Theria clung to her lover’s hands. “Will you come
+again, Eëtíon?” she pleaded. “Say you will come
+again.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander doubtfully opened his lips but Baltè
+waved a warning finger.</p>
+
+<p>“Indeed an’ he will, my darlin’,” she said with
+authority. “Old Baltè will see that he does.”</p>
+
+<p>And Eëtíon, leaping up, kissed Baltè’s withered cheek,
+at which Theria’s first sweet laugh was heard.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV<br />
+<span class="smaller">EËTÍON AND NIKANDER</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Nikander</span> and Eëtíon went out hand in hand
+as was the custom of Greek men who loved
+each other.</p>
+
+<p>“Dear youth, what can I say to you?” spoke Nikander.
+“You have returned to me my two children,
+my son and now my daughter.”</p>
+
+<p>“I love your daughter. I love your daughter,”
+spoke out Eëtíon passionately. “Now you know it.
+I want her for my wife.”</p>
+
+<p>“Would you could have her,” was Nikander’s answer.</p>
+
+<p>“But can I not?” questioned the unreasonable
+youth.</p>
+
+<p>“My dear boy, you know she is priestess. I wish
+Apollo had killed me before I made her priestess.”</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon clenched his hands. “She shall not go back
+to the Pythia House. She is too splendid, too free-minded.”</p>
+
+<p>“She shall certainly never go upon the tripod,” responded
+Nikander. “I will promise you that.”</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon paced the room in bitter distress. “How
+could you make her priestess?” he said, forgetting all
+kindness. “How could you take away her last chance
+for action and noble living? You don’t deserve to be
+Theria’s father.”</p>
+
+<p>“Indeed I do not,” was Nikander’s sorrowful rejoinder.
+He laid quieting hands upon the youth.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span></p>
+
+<p>“We are in dark days, Eëtíon. Perhaps not one of
+us will be alive to-morrow. Let us not grieve over
+what may not in any case come to pass.”</p>
+
+<p>“The hope would be so much,” said Eëtíon with
+sudden tears. Eëtíon’s fortunate beauty made each
+emotion of his appealing, whether bowing the head in
+grief or lifting it with sudden smile. Nikander loved
+him for his grief and, forgetting his own bitter share in it,
+set about earnestly to calm him.</p>
+
+<p>“My dear boy,” he said, “in the coming battle
+you will forget this love for a maid. It will be unimportant
+in the light of great deeds. Men love other
+men with such devotion and companioning but hardly
+a maid.”</p>
+
+<p>“But this is Theria,” said Eëtíon childishly.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” mused the father proudly. “It is Theria.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you know,” went on Eëtíon in a low voice, “I
+thought she was a goddess the first time I saw her. I
+really did. It was in the Precinct of Athena. I was
+weeping aloud with misery because my work of four
+years was brought to naught and I was pushed back
+into slavery, for I had been long in bondage. And
+Theria came leaping down the hill in the morning light.
+She spoke to me. (Oh, such wonderful kindness to
+which I had long been a stranger.) Then afterward,
+O Nikander, she saved me. Braving all sorts of
+punishment, she saved me. Could a man have done
+more than that? Is it any wonder that I love her?”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander felt it his duty to dissuade the youth from
+a love so hopeless—but he suddenly had no word to say.
+That love seemed so sweet and right and pure. He
+was proud that this daughter of his had called it forth.</p>
+
+<p>The youth went on:</p>
+
+<p>“We of Argos are worshippers of Hera. There is a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span>
+saying among us that the ‘Souls who follow Hera desire
+a love of royal quality.’ Hera cherishes the lawful
+union of man and woman.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander’s head bowed lower. He had forgotten
+this further obstacle that Eëtíon was a metic. The
+union was impossible. From every side, impossible.
+With grieving face Nikander turned and left Eëtíon
+where he stood.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV<br />
+<span class="smaller">THERIA TELLS HER VISION</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Nikander’s</span> care was now to save as much of
+his household treasure as might be. Before
+this time his anxiety over his children had so
+beset him that he cared little whether anything else was
+saved or not. But now he set slaves to packing the
+family records, the old Nikander drinking vessels of
+gold and silver, and the stores of corn, oil, and wine.
+Theria’s storeroom soon bore a changed aspect.</p>
+
+<p>Then the most faithful slaves he sent with these
+things up into the mountain to the Korykian cave.</p>
+
+<p>But even with this business Nikander found time to
+go ever and again to Theria’s bedside to stop perhaps
+but for a single caress or word or question.</p>
+
+<p>Theria was sitting up in her couch and keeping poor
+Baltè busy running for this and that to occupy her.</p>
+
+<p>“Father!” she said, holding up her five fingers
+brightly as he came toward her. “This is the fifth
+time you have come to me. I have counted.”</p>
+
+<p>“Bless your heart, child, why do you count my
+visits?”</p>
+
+<p>“Because they are my treasures,” she answered. “I
+used to see you only twice in the day and the time between
+was so long and stupid.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander bent and kissed her, not quite able to
+speak. He determined that this daughter should
+never again lack his companionship. Then a swift<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span>
+stab of memory reminded him how soon she must be
+returned to the Pythia House, where he could see her
+not at all.</p>
+
+<p>He sat down beside her.</p>
+
+<p>Baltè, seeing that he was there to watch in her stead,
+hurried off on some errand.</p>
+
+<p>Baltè was no sooner gone than Theria bent near him.</p>
+
+<p>“Father,” she said in awed tones, “I was not ill. I
+was held in dumbness by what I saw in the mountain.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Daughter,” he responded.</p>
+
+<p>“The god crossed my path. Phœbus Apollo. I saw
+him!”</p>
+
+<p>Even though Nikander had guessed this, he was
+startled at her telling.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Father, so living beautiful he was, with the dawn
+in his face and power shining from all of him! All the
+statues in the Precinct should be broken. They are
+not my god.”</p>
+
+<p>“We must leave them,” said her father gently,
+“for those of us who cannot see.”</p>
+
+<p>“First,” she went on, “I saw only a golden light upon
+my path, which followed me and frightened me.”</p>
+
+<p>Even as she spoke, her eyes grew starry and her
+father caught her shoulder, shaking her.</p>
+
+<p>“No, do not tell me, child. Be still. The dumbness
+may come again.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, it will not,” she smiled. “Apollo promised.”</p>
+
+<p>“Great heaven, did he speak?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, yes.” Then she told as near as she remembered
+the words of the message. Oracle it could hardly be
+called, as it was a revelation for her alone.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquote">
+
+<p>Theria, daughter of Delphi, begone from my temple. My bow
+shall not hurt thee, Nay, for I love thee. I shall be able without
+thee. I shall care for my own.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span></p>
+
+<p>And how the god had turned and shot his terrible shaft
+away from her over Mount Parnassos toward the north.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander was uplifted, overwhelmed. He went
+hastily and fetched tablet and stylus and wrote it down
+for the temple records. He was hopeful, fairly trembling
+from what he guessed this message might mean for
+his daughter’s future. Theria herself thought only
+of the god’s forgiveness.</p>
+
+<p>“Apollo said that he loved me,” she repeated. “He
+said it. And he laughed at me because I wanted him
+to slay me.”</p>
+
+<p>What would the priests think of this message of the
+god? Nikander hardly dared hope that they would put
+upon it the interpretation which he so desired. No
+pythia had ever been freed from priesthood. Indeed,
+if he told the vision, must it not bring them to a knowledge
+of her false oracle, the punishment of which would
+be death? His face grew set with thought. But yes,
+he would risk even that fate in the hope of what the
+god’s message might do for her. He kissed his child
+and hurried out to find Timon and the other priests.</p>
+
+<p>How changed already were the streets, empty of
+folk. The houses closed and locked or left open in the
+haste of flight, showing the vacant rooms.</p>
+
+<p>He found Timon in the Precinct. But Timon was
+wholly indifferent to Theria’s part of the god’s message.
+It was the hurtling shaft of Phœbus which interested
+him. “It was shot toward Parnassos, you say? That
+is a good omen,” he asserted. Nikander could not be
+sure. But he soon saw that the priests were too
+beset now with their fears and instant business to consider
+Theria’s status as priestess—the matter so dear to
+his heart.</p>
+
+<p>“A party of Phokian peasants,” said Timon, “came<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span>
+into town this morning, fleeing from the Persians.
+Their tidings are horrible. The armies have overrun
+all the land of Phokis. They are killing men, outraging
+women, burning towns. Drymos is burned. Charadra,
+Amphikaia, Neon, Elateia, and many more. They
+have burnt the temple of Apollo at Abai. Do you not
+think, Nikander, that that may mean perhaps that they
+are headed the other way toward Athens and will pass
+us by?”</p>
+
+<p>For Abai was on the eastern road.</p>
+
+<p>“I do not,” said Nikander. “If they burnt the
+god’s temple at Abai, they will not spare his temple at
+Delphi. The Persian prisoners are telling that Xerxes
+the king knows more exactly what is treasured in our
+temples than he knows the treasures in his own palace.
+He will not spare Delphi.”</p>
+
+<p>“I have sent my wife, daughters, and slaves to
+Achaia,” said Timon. “If I am killed and you spared,
+Nikander, you will send them word?”</p>
+
+<p>Something in Nikander’s face stopped him.</p>
+
+<p>“I am sorry,” he added, “that you may not send
+Theria away. No priest would allow it. The Oracle
+without a pythia at such a time as this!”</p>
+
+<p>“My wife is staying, too,” replied Nikander, not
+without pride.</p>
+
+<p>“Then I advise you to bring all up within the Precinct
+walls as soon as possible,” urged his kinsman.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI<br />
+<span class="smaller">REFUGE IN THE PRECINCT</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">In Delphi</span>, where all was danger, the Precinct was
+perhaps the most dangerous place, yet Nikander
+with his faith did not think this, nor would any
+other Greek think it.</p>
+
+<p>He hurried home and sought Melantho.</p>
+
+<p>“We must go up to the Precinct at once,” he said.
+“Make ready as soon as you can.”</p>
+
+<p>In an hour’s time they were all gathered with the
+slaves in the men’s aula. Bundles of clothes and
+little treasures were in their hands. Some of the slaves
+were weeping, but the family stood in that awed silence
+which precedes departure.</p>
+
+<p>Theria seemed even yet but distantly touched by the
+world’s alarms. The calm of the vision mood was still
+upon her. Nikander believed that she would never
+wholly recede from this but would always retain that
+serenity of mind which marks one who has beheld a god.</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon came in asking for Dryas, but, seeing Theria
+there in her cloak, of course forgot all else. Theria
+was shy, but Eëtíon took her in his arms quite frankly
+and kissed her. Nikander looked upon them with an
+aching heart, thinking how many a hedge shut out
+happiness from these two.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Dryas was pacing nervously to and fro
+under the balcony. Nikander averted his eyes. He
+could not bear that his son should be in the pangs of
+personal fear. But Eëtíon went directly to Dryas.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Dryas,” he said, “would it not be well for you to
+take a last survey of all the rooms to see that nothing is
+left? Do it quickly, for all is ready.”</p>
+
+<p>Dryas hurried off with just the sense of relief which
+Eëtíon had meant to afford him.</p>
+
+<p>And as Eëtíon once more stood at Theria’s side,
+Nikander said to him:</p>
+
+<p>“I want you, Eëtíon, to be with us in the Precinct as
+a son of the house. A son could not be more dear.”</p>
+
+<p>Dryas returned.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve been through the rooms,” he said brightly.
+“There’s nothing worth while but this old thing in the
+storeroom.”</p>
+
+<p>It was Lycophron’s old lyre which Theria had used
+all these years.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, yes, yes, I want it,” said Theria, taking it in her
+arms.</p>
+
+<p>“Are we all ready now?” asked Nikander.</p>
+
+<p>Theria began to look around. Her face flushed,
+then paled. Then she asked the question which Nikander
+had been dreading.</p>
+
+<p>“Where is Lycophron, Father? Why isn’t he with
+us?”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander put his arm about her and led her away
+from the others.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh,” she said in a frightened voice, “I remember
+now. Father, did he go clean away—away from us?”</p>
+
+<p>“My dear child, he is dead,” said Nikander, without
+tears. Then he told her of the kind oath of the kinsmen.
+Theria, too, must keep that secret.</p>
+
+<p>But she only clung to him, sobbing. Eëtíon came to
+comfort her and before long she was able to go with
+them out toward the Precinct.</p>
+
+<p>It was natural that the few remaining Delphians<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span>
+should cling as close as possible to the Great Temple.
+Nikander saw to his regret that the only obvious
+refuge for Theria was the Pythia House. It was the
+only building besides the temple itself upon the temple
+platform. Into the old prison place she must go.</p>
+
+<p>But Melantho went in with her. And there was also
+an old blind woman, too feeble for fight, and a young
+mother borne on a litter with her hour-old child.
+Nikander was allowed to go in and out as the one upon
+whom all depended, and in front of the house Eëtíon and
+Dryas kept guard.</p>
+
+<p>The great danger had broken down all conventions.</p>
+
+<p>Before nightfall Nikander took Melantho and Theria
+out through a small gate of the Precinct wall, which was
+just back of the Pythia House. He gave Theria the
+gate key. Then he led them up a little path amid the
+talus of the cliff to where there was a tomb against the
+hillside. Nikander had caused a narrow hole to be
+made in the side of the tomb where a thick laurel
+bush would hide it. The door of the tomb itself
+presented a sealed front. Hither Nikander had
+brought provisions and here—so near by and yet secure—he
+told Theria she must come with her mother should
+the Persians enter the Precinct.</p>
+
+<p>As they turned back toward the Pythia House he
+gave Theria a small sharp dagger.</p>
+
+<p>“You will not use it too soon I know, for you are
+brave. You will know the moment if it comes. It is
+for both of you.”</p>
+
+<p>With a strange sense that all this was quite a usual
+thing to do, they came back through the gate.</p>
+
+<p>At twilight Nikander, passing Theria’s door, saw her
+with her head down, weeping quietly. He came and
+sat beside her, questioning her.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span></p>
+
+<p>“It is Lycophron,” she said through her tears. “Oh,
+Father, I loved him! He was so good to me!”</p>
+
+<p>Now Nikander’s grief for Lycophron had been bitter
+and lonely. He could hardly share it with Dryas, and
+Melantho knew nothing of the truth. So the grief
+haunted him like a hovering Erinyes.</p>
+
+<p>“We must remind ourselves that it is best as it is,”
+he said dryly.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, best for him, but I miss his goodness. No
+matter who is kind to me I shall miss <em>his</em> kindness.”</p>
+
+<p>“Was he so kind to you?” said Nikander. For there
+in the house, as so often happens, the father had not
+guessed the bond between these youngsters.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. Always he would stop and tell me the news
+I was hungry to know. He would spend time upon me
+when no one else thought of me. And, Father, when I
+was here dying of loneliness Lycophron sent Baltè to
+me—I know it was disobedient, but it was so kind. He
+gave Baltè money to use for bribes so she could get in and
+as if that were not enough, he sent me messages, just the
+ones that he knew I wanted most. He had a heart of
+gold!”</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Nikander bowed his head low in a passion
+of weeping. The unexpected praise—the unexpected
+bringing back of his son into the sweetness of the family
+life, broke him down completely.</p>
+
+<p>Theria threw her arms about him, frightened at her
+thoughtlessness.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Father, I should have thought of you before I
+said it,” she faltered.</p>
+
+<p>“Dear child, you have given me something that I
+thought was for ever lost,” he answered.</p>
+
+<p>He went out readier for the hard to-morrow than he
+had deemed possible.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span></p>
+
+<h2 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_IV">BOOK IV<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE GOD WILL CARE FOR HIS OWN</span></h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE PERSIAN COMES</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">The</span> night was deepening. Eëtíon and Dryas,
+fully armed, stood guard together on the temple
+platform not far from the Pythia House. Nikander,
+at their insistence, had gone within the house.
+He was sleeping, worn out by his anxieties for children
+and state.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think,” spoke Dryas in a low voice, “that
+even now the host may go on toward Athens and leave
+us out of their march?”</p>
+
+<p>“It is possible,” returned Eëtíon. “The Persians
+have no time to lose in the direction of Athens. Their
+marching to Abai is a good sign for Delphi.”</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, Delphi was armed for the Medes’ immediate
+coming. Most of the Precinct guards were
+stationed at the great gate. The small gates facing
+the highway had a few men each, but the gates in the
+back wall were entirely without guard—a pitiful preparation
+truly for the coming of a hundred myriads of men.</p>
+
+<p>It was a showing forth of the Delphians’ despair.
+The best they could do was so far short of adequate
+defence that this seemed nor less nor more.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly, as the two friends stood there in the night,
+they saw a glow break on the far heights east of Pleistos
+Valley, very red and brightening, brightening!</p>
+
+<p>“Look,” said Dryas, between lips which hardly
+parted. “Eëtíon, that light up there!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span></p>
+
+<p>One of the old temple guardsmen approached.</p>
+
+<p>“That will be up Daulis way,” he said. “They’ve
+set fire to Daulis.”</p>
+
+<p>Neither Dryas nor Eëtíon made comment. They
+knew only too well what it meant.</p>
+
+<p>The Persians were heading for Delphi! And were
+now not two hours away!</p>
+
+<p>Dryas hurriedly sent a slave to fetch wine.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t do that,” advised Eëtíon. “The wine will
+help you now, but later it will weaken your arm.”</p>
+
+<p>Dryas clapped his hands together in pitiful misery.</p>
+
+<p>“Why don’t you hate me, kick me out for the dog I
+am? Why did you ever try to save me?”</p>
+
+<p>“Hush, hush,” said Eëtíon. He laid his hand on
+Dryas’s arm. “Your father must not hear you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, Eëtíon! Your hand is cold as ice.”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course it is, foolish boy, do you suppose other
+men are made of wood and only you feel what must be
+hid?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Eëtíon, forgive—forgive me,” pleaded the
+emotional Dryas.</p>
+
+<p>“This inaction now, this waiting,” said Eëtíon
+soberly, “is the hardest part of the battle. I have not
+been in battles myself, but old soldiers tell me so.
+Think, Dryas, you have father, mother, sister to protect.
+I have no one I can call my own—and no city.”</p>
+
+<p>“Father would give you Theria,” whispered Dryas,
+“if he could get her free. And oh, Eëtíon, I know he
+feels that Delphi is your city. I feel that Delphi is
+your city.”</p>
+
+<p>All night long Dryas had been assailed by a horrible
+picture of his own death. His highly developed imagination
+swept the thing through him like a reality. It
+was a spear-thrust in his side, keen and fatal, the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span>
+grinning face of a Persian triumphing over him.
+Dryas tried to think other thoughts, but this thing returned
+again and again, sometimes with an actual pain
+where the weapon was thrust in. Dryas could have conquered
+it but for the fear-producing chant which old
+Akeretos kept up near the Great Altar.</p>
+
+<p>All night long the old prophet moved to and fro—making
+sacrifices, trying omens of all sorts, seeing
+portents where none were, an eerie, aged figure in the
+starlight with his white beard wagging and his hands
+lifted on high.</p>
+
+<p>Dawn began to break in the slow beautiful way as if
+the day were to be all gentleness instead of the most
+dreadful day these hills had ever known.</p>
+
+<p>At full morning Nikander came out refreshed, to
+share with Dryas and Eëtíon the morning meal. He
+was in armour, for Nikander was yet in full fighting
+strength.</p>
+
+<p>They were eating in silence when Dryas with a cry
+jumped to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>“Look, look,” he said. “There on the uppermost
+road!”</p>
+
+<p>The road from Daulis, winding down the distant
+mountains among the crags, was several times visible
+and lost again ere it reached Delphi. Now on its
+highest, farthest stretch the Delphians saw moving
+spots, like groups of ants, carrying ant burdens. Even
+as the Delphians were gazing, the spots became a
+solid mass, which filled the road from end to end of its
+visible stretch.</p>
+
+<p>They could not tell now that the mass was moving.
+Simply the road at that point was curiously black.</p>
+
+<p>Dryas’s cry brought Theria from the house. She
+noted the looks and gestures of the men, then stole<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span>
+over to Eëtíon’s side. The others were too intent to
+notice what she did.</p>
+
+<p>“What is it?” she asked.</p>
+
+<p>He pointed out the black stretch of distant road and
+she knew by the horror in his face what it meant.</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon was not a natural soldier. Only training and
+Hellas-love had made him such. But now with Theria
+beside him, the horror in his face changed to iron resolve.
+Theria hardly recognized him as he turned
+toward her.</p>
+
+<p>“Theria, there is no chance for Delphi now,” he
+whispered. “Your father has told me of your hiding
+place. I shall keep as near to it as I may, but the gods
+only know whither the battle will thrust me. If I
+escape, I’ll come to you. I’ll speak outside a pass-word,
+‘<i>Hera basileia</i>,’ because Hera is my goddess at home.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she whispered, clinging to his hand, “but add
+‘<i>Paian will care for his own</i>.’”</p>
+
+<p>He could not but catch the hope which lived with her,
+the peace which her vision had left upon her.</p>
+
+<p>He bent and kissed her, almost believing that they
+should both be saved.</p>
+
+<p>Only Dryas saw him do it, Dryas, whom Eëtíon
+had forgotten in this moment of snatched joy, Dryas,
+whose struggle had now grown so intense that it seemed
+every moment he must break away. The hills were
+still there to hide in, so near, so possible a refuge.
+Was it worth while standing there to be slaughtered?
+This was no battling for Delphi. It was foolishness.
+They were all of them fools—fools—fools!</p>
+
+<p>Now Nikander came to him. “Son,” he said reassuringly,
+“I am thankful you are here.”</p>
+
+<p>Dryas did not answer, for at this moment a low exclamation
+broke from all the little group at once.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span></p>
+
+<p>The Persians had emerged on the lower road!</p>
+
+<p>Now could be caught the moving colour of their
+garments, flashes of bronze, as shields glanced the
+light, and now a moving bulk of shivering glitter as a
+host of upright spears advanced.</p>
+
+<p>Nearer, nearer! Well seen now at the foot of
+Delphi’s own cliffs, well seen at the foot of Phaidriades,
+well seen below in the Precinct of Athena Forethought
+in Delphi village!</p>
+
+<p>Pointed caps, huge wicker shields, tall lances, these
+were the Medes themselves. Behind them, a curious
+barbarian folk in hooded mantles, and oh, dear Paian,
+what are these? Men black as ebony, clad in skins of
+leopard and lion, carrying bows twice as tall as themselves.
+Some have woolly heads, others have heads
+not human at all but horse heads, with upright ears
+and flowing manes. Behind these come tribes and
+tribes and tribes, greedy, pitiless, devouring.</p>
+
+<p>Look far up the mountain road! Every visible loop
+is filled back to where it is lost in distance. Oh, Apollon,
+surely you have forgotten! Son of Leto, you are far
+off this day, joying among your Olympians. Our
+Delphi is naught to you!</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>What happened now can hardly be believed, but it
+is recorded by the father of history and later writers
+bear testimony to it.</p>
+
+<p>This had happened time and time again in the past
+to the hurt of Delphi, why not happen this once to her
+help? Herodotus says it did happen.</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon, Dryas, Theria, Nikander heard
+groan as if the earth, old Gê herself, had spoken. A
+little bird singing in the laurel bush near by stopped
+its song and leaped aloft with frightened cries. Then<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span>
+like a wave on the sea-beach the temple platform beneath
+their feet pitched forward. They saw the wave
+motion run onward upon the earth, down the glen, and
+to the farther hillside where the forests received it
+shivering. The Delphian group on the platform
+stumbled wildly forward. Old Akeretos fell flat before
+his altar. The altar itself shook and the Great Temple
+rocked as if about to begin an elephantine dance.</p>
+
+<p>The earth movement was distinct, outward from
+Parnassos toward the valley.</p>
+
+<p>Theria, looking up at Phaidriades, saw the cliffs nodding
+solemnly to each other as if to say: “Ay—so be it.”</p>
+
+<p>Then huge rocks flew hurtling from their summits
+high overhead and down upon the road, down crashing
+upon the moving Persian host!</p>
+
+<p>There was a great and bitter cry, death, terror, confusion.</p>
+
+<p>The Persian army fled this way and that. Forward
+toward the village—downward into the Forethought
+Precinct where the avenging rocks of Delphi followed
+them.</p>
+
+<p>Everywhere the mountains sent up clouds and clouds
+of dust. In the distance upon the distant armies
+poured down avalanches of earth and rolling stones
+and dust—more dust!</p>
+
+<p>Of the little group on the temple platform Dryas
+was the first to get upon his feet.</p>
+
+<p>“Hail, Paian; Alala, Alala!”</p>
+
+<p>He shouted the old Dorian war cry and, waiting not
+for Eëtíon nor his father, charged down the Sacred Way.
+His spear was forward-ready; his shield weightless
+upon his arm. His hair streamed from his helmet upon
+the wind. He was light-footed as a god. So might
+Achilles have swept into battle after his days of wrath.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span></p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon and Nikander, with a score of temple guards,
+leaped after him. The great gates had already been
+flung open by the earth’s motion.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>“Ai, Ai! look up! Look up. Behold our avenging
+god!”</p>
+
+<p>It was old Akeretos shouting in a frenzy which
+Theria had to obey. Her upward glance caught the
+bronze votive chariot of Gelon just as it toppled from
+its lofty eyrie in the cliffside. Down it came! Chariot,
+horses, victor and charioteer, banging on jutting rock
+and crag with grand clangour, a divine and shattering
+noise.</p>
+
+<p>“And there happened to the Persians yet greater
+portents,” says the historian. “Two men in full
+armour and of stature more than human followed
+them slaying and pursuing.”</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Dryas in the midst of battle knew only
+that he was struggling amid a sea of men. Persian
+warriors, who in spite of their terror of the supernatural
+happenings, fought the pursuing Delphians
+desperately and tried thus to preserve their fleeing
+hordes.</p>
+
+<p>Dryas dealt blow after blow, stroke after stroke.
+Better yet, he received wounds uncaring, and with
+every wound, every stroke, the gods gave him manhood
+and courage.</p>
+
+<p>Surely after tasting so sweet a thing as courage he
+could not ever go back to cowardice. The Nikander
+in him grew to full stature in these moments.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, heaven! Eëtíon had fallen. Dryas rushed to
+him, holding over him the shield while he fought.
+More wounds were here. Then, Paian be praised,
+Eëtíon struggled to his feet.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span></p>
+
+<p>Where were they now? Out beyond Delphi, a mile
+out on the Daulis road and the Persians, Assyrians,
+Arabians, Ethiopians in full retreat.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, what was Dryas doing now? Struggling, shouting,
+brandishing his arms in foolish wildness, while
+Eëtíon and Nikander adjured him to keep still, that
+all was past.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII<br />
+<span class="smaller">THANKFULNESS</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Surely</span> never was a happier, humbler band of
+victors than these who now returned along the
+road to the Precinct. Nikander and Eëtíon
+bearing Dryas on a litter, the temple guardsmen now
+laughing aloud with some recollection of battle triumph,
+now awed into silence, as one of them told of
+the divine shoutings he had heard, or the terrible
+dealing of those rocks which fell from on high upon the
+enemy.</p>
+
+<p>The other Delphians who had rushed down from
+hiding in the hills kept silence. Every one of them
+was wishing that he had stayed with the guard in the
+Precinct.</p>
+
+<p>Outside the gate Theria met them with outstretched
+arms and tears of joy. She kissed Eëtíon and her
+father, and knelt down by Dryas’s litter, bending over
+him in love.</p>
+
+<p>“Darling Dryas.” Then, “Quick, I must help him.”</p>
+
+<p>Dryas’s face was white with pain, but he caught her
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>“I am safe now,” he whispered. “Really, really
+safe!”</p>
+
+<p>He closed his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“He saved my life,” spoke Eëtíon proudly.</p>
+
+<p>“And fought better than any of us. Oh, my son.
+Dear, dear boy!” cried Nikander.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I saw him in the fight,” asserted one of the guard.
+“That’s true what you say.”</p>
+
+<p>In the entrance portico of the Precinct they set him
+down, while Theria sent slaves for water and wine and
+other slaves homeward for the remedies of her own.</p>
+
+<p>Soon she was bathing Dryas’s deep wounds, staunching
+their flow with the wine, setting the poor broken
+leg, which, while it would mend, would never let Dryas
+walk perfectly straight again.</p>
+
+<p>Dryas bore his pain with a look which ever and again
+started her tears, the look of a child come home.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as Melantho came to replace her Theria
+turned to attend Eëtíon’s wounds. She knelt before
+him, binding up his bleeding ankle, then carefully
+washed the deep gash in his shoulder where the sword
+had grazed over the top of his shield. Her heart sang
+with the task.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander, perhaps because he was an older, more skilful
+warrior, had received only scratches. Indeed the fight
+had not been long. The Persians had been conquered
+by the god ere ever man struck one blow.</p>
+
+<p>More and more Delphians crowded into the Precinct.
+The happy news seemed to have mounted on wings of
+its own to those who had been hidden on Parnassos.</p>
+
+<p>They came down in groups or singly, and each as he
+entered had to hear the story again from those fortunate
+ones who had stayed. All the talk was of the wonders,
+the portents, the direct action of the god. They told
+each other the tales which were to become the rich
+traditions of their race. Their faith grew with the
+telling.</p>
+
+<p>And who shall say that their faith was vain? Even
+we to-day receive the benefit of that strange repulse,
+which helped to keep Europe what it was, to make it<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span>
+what it is to-day. We may not explain it as they did,
+but the mysterious, deciding succour is a basic historical
+fact. Apollo had saved more than his visible
+treasures by this prompt defence.</p>
+
+<p>Now other Delphians came in with armfuls of battle-litter
+they had found on the road, the curious wicker
+shields, despicable in Greek eyes, rich torn garments,
+gold chains, head pins set with rubies, the silly Persian
+caps which set them all a-laughing, and whole mule-packs
+of trousers which made them laugh still more.</p>
+
+<p>“Men, full-grown men, to hamper their legs with
+such a foolish gear!”</p>
+
+<p>They found also the curious horse heads which the
+black men had worn. They were but skins flayed, with
+ears and mane remaining.</p>
+
+<p>“And we thought those were monsters and were
+afraid!” laughed one.</p>
+
+<p>“But all the gold must be saved for the god, no gift
+of ours, but his own, his right,” said another.</p>
+
+<p>Instantly all assented to this. Their hearts were
+dewy fresh with gratitude. They were like noisy, happy
+children.</p>
+
+<p>Melantho was bending over Dryas. He had reacted
+now from the first shock and was restless with fever.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, let us go home,” pleaded Melantho. “See, this
+is no place for my sick boy. Oh, I want to go home.”</p>
+
+<p>Poor home-body, she was almost in terror at being
+from under her accustomed roof.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander held Dryas’s hand. His face clouded as
+he answered her.</p>
+
+<p>“If we go, we shall have to do without Theria’s
+help,” he answered.</p>
+
+<p>“I can care for my son,” said Melantho. “But
+Theria—surely to-day the priests will let her——”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span></p>
+
+<p>Nikander was looking away. “I do not dare to provoke
+them,” he said very low.</p>
+
+<p>Dryas stirred with a moan of pain.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, wife,” said Nikander decisively. “I know
+that we should go.”</p>
+
+<p>He went over to where Theria and Eëtíon together
+were binding up the leg of a stout young guardsman,
+he howling with true Greek ardour.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander touched Theria’s arm.</p>
+
+<p>“Daughter,” he said, “Dryas is growing worse and
+I fear we must take him home.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes; and, Father, we must see that the litter-slaves
+walk slowly and very steadily. I will try——”</p>
+
+<p>Tears filled Nikander’s eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Dear heart, I wish I could take you with us. I
+do not dare to take you,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>Theria whitened as sorrow stole over and fixed itself
+upon her face.</p>
+
+<p>She moved close to him.</p>
+
+<p>“I had forgotten,” she whispered. “Oh, Father, I
+want to go home—home!”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander answered nothing. He could not answer.
+He led her over to a corner.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh,” she moaned, “that I should have begged to be
+priestess. How foolish, witless——”</p>
+
+<p>“I was the fool to allow you. But remember,
+Daughter, always remember the deed which priesthood
+let you do. Your Prayer to the Winds was answered,
+abundantly answered. You helped to save the
+fleet, my darling. And you did it thinking you must die
+for doing it.”</p>
+
+<p>His praise took her by surprise, but it only made it
+more impossible to part from him.</p>
+
+<p>She stole into his arms like a frightened child. He<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span>
+dared not tell her the hope he had for her. It was too
+faint a hope for that. He knew well that his best
+comforting was to remind her of what her priesthood
+had accomplished.</p>
+
+<p>“Your Salamis oracle. We have yet to hear from
+that. The battle must even now be raging at Athens.
+They tell me that never would Themistokles have kept
+the Athenians to their task but for that oracle to
+hearten them. You gave the oracle as being your own,
+but you know now it was the god’s.”</p>
+
+<p>She was trembling with the sobs she must keep still.</p>
+
+<p>“And, Daughter, never go to the tripod again,” he
+urged. “Promise me that.”</p>
+
+<p>“Never, never the tripod,” she answered.</p>
+
+<p>“No matter how they push you, no matter what
+rites.”</p>
+
+<p>“No—no.”</p>
+
+<p>Here Eëtíon came over to them, asking, “What is it?”
+and before they answered knowing what it was.</p>
+
+<p>“But no, no, no, Nikander. Not the Pythia House
+again,” he pleaded.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander had to take charge with decision.</p>
+
+<p>“It must be, Eëtíon. It must be. Go, Eëtíon, and
+take Dryas home. I will care for Theria.”</p>
+
+<p>There was no chance for good-bye in what the lovers
+felt to be the last parting.</p>
+
+<p>As for Nikander, mounting the Sacred Way with his
+arm about his child, the joy of victory, the safety of
+Delphi, were lost in bitter heartaches and self-reproach.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX<br />
+<span class="smaller">NIKANDER PLEADS FOR HIS DAUGHTER</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Early</span> next morning Nikander returned to the
+Precinct. The smoke of the Great Altar was
+lifting in a glorious column. Not one priest of
+Delphi but had promised gifts to the Far-Darter if
+he would but save them. And now they were offering
+those gifts.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander mingled with the crowd on the temple
+platform. He was heavy hearted where all were gay.
+Old Akeretos was sitting on the temple steps worn out
+with hours of ritual. A little squat Delphic farmer was
+talking to him. Near by stood two cloaked females.</p>
+
+<p>“And, Akeretos,” said the eager little man, as if driving
+a bargain, “you can’t get any better anywhere.
+The two of ’em at once and portents to both of ’em.”</p>
+
+<p>“Bring them here,” said the old shrine president.</p>
+
+<p>The man pushed the two females to the front and
+without ceremony flicked off their veils.</p>
+
+<p>He showed two girls as alike as two peas. They were
+peasant-built but flabby. Their faces, brown because
+the sun had made them so, had somehow a look
+of paleness under the brown. The eyes of both were
+large and haunted as if with ill-health. They were
+simpering with the excitement.</p>
+
+<p>“Hyeroche, here, is the oldest,” went on the farmer.
+“Before she was born my wife had a dream. Any of
+the neighbours can tell ye, for, Paian help us, she told it<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span>
+enough! She dreamed that she was searchin’ for her
+baby in the mountains, an’ she found it, a little weepin’
+thing lyin’ on top of a milkin’ stool. She started to
+take it off of the milkin’ stool, but quick, the milkin’
+stool shot up tall with its three legs, a very tripod, an’
+she couldn’t reach the baby.</p>
+
+<p>“Now I ain’t no reader of dreams. But what do ye
+think o’ that, Akeretos? Doesn’t it seem pointin’ the
+baby to be Pythia?”</p>
+
+<p>Old Akeretos nodded. He was much impressed.</p>
+
+<p>“An’ this other one here, Timo, before she was born,
+Paian help us, the same dream to her, too.”</p>
+
+<p>Akeretos was not listening. He was studying the
+girls. Well did he know the successful Pythia type.</p>
+
+<p>The little farmer turned to Nikander. “Now ain’t
+they just made for Pythias?” he demanded, “the both
+on ’em, an’ free-born Delphians both.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander studied them. He was trying to keep his
+judgment clear and unbiassed by his earnest wish.
+If these girls were made Pythias at once would it not
+afford a chance to secure his daughter’s freedom?</p>
+
+<p>Akeretos turned to Nikander.</p>
+
+<p>“These might put your daughter into the background,”
+he said. “You will forgive me, Nikander, if
+I say that these have more the Pythia look than has
+Theria.”</p>
+
+<p>“My daughter is not the Pythian type,” said Nikander,
+trying to speak indifferently. “I realize that,
+Akeretos. Anyway, we require three Pythias. It has
+been the custom and is right.”</p>
+
+<p>That afternoon a council of all the priests was held
+to decide upon the farmer girls.</p>
+
+<p>Beforehand Nikander sought his kinsman Timon.
+Perhaps Timon would listen now as he would not on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span>
+that other occasion when Nikander had spoken—then
+when the Persians were so nigh at hand. Nikander
+must steer his course carefully. Timon must not
+suspect the dangerous truth—Theria’s deception on the
+tripod. Yet Nikander must bring forth every argument
+possible for his child’s release.</p>
+
+<p>“Timon,” he began, “I am feeling more and more
+that my daughter Theria is not the Pythia type.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not the type!” repeated his kinsman. “But she
+gave magnificent oracles, Nikander. Very unusual
+oracles. And the manner of giving was unusual, also.
+Do not you think so?”</p>
+
+<p>Timon looked sharply at Nikander, or did Nikander
+fancy it? Nikander had much ado to keep himself
+steady and unmoved. He hastily changed the subject.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, they were good oracles. But the girl is breaking
+too fast under the ecstasy. That, of course, would
+make me wish to have her cease prophesying. But that
+is not all. I would not let mere personal feelings sway
+me. You know that, Timon.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Theria had a vision on the mountain. You have
+no doubt of that, have you?”</p>
+
+<p>Timon assented. To the Greek this was easy of
+belief. Timon had seen Theria in her state of trance.
+He had seen her yesterday, and even then the expression
+of her face showed the vision state through which she
+had passed. Yes, yes, Theria had seen a vision.</p>
+
+<p>“She has lately told me more about it,” pursued
+Nikander. “Apollo spoke to her. She has told me
+the words of the god and I have written them down.”</p>
+
+<p>With a hand he could not keep from trembling
+Nikander brought forth the tablet.</p>
+
+<p>Timon read it slowly, as Greeks were wont to read.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span>
+Again he read it. “No priestess of mine art thou.—Begone
+from my temple.—Nay, for I love thee—thou
+hast sung at my bidding.”</p>
+
+<p>“Was all this in it when you spoke of this before?”
+asked Timon seriously.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, the same.”</p>
+
+<p>“I remember only the silver shaft of Apollo. But this!—Why,
+Nikander, the god has actually driven the girl
+from his temple. It might even be dangerous to hold
+her there after this express command.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you think that?” queried Nikander eagerly.
+“Will you say that in the Council?”</p>
+
+<p>“But suppose she is freed—what should then be done
+with her?” asked Timon.</p>
+
+<p>But with this encouragement Nikander determined
+to apply formally to the Priests’ Council for her release.</p>
+
+<p>Never in all his days would Nikander forget the
+bitter anxiety of that afternoon with the Council.
+Many strifes had he striven with that august body,
+strifes for the good name of Delphi, strifes for the
+honour and safety of Hellas, yet never one that had
+given him this suffocation at the thought of defeat.</p>
+
+<p>Timon became his earnest helper and Nikander
+sorely needed help.</p>
+
+<p>“Never before,” maintained the older priests,
+“never before had the Pythia been given back to her
+family or been given in marriage. It would cause a
+pestilence.”</p>
+
+<p>But as the debate progressed Nikander gradually
+became aware of his own new power in the Council. For
+many months Nikander had been the sole one who had
+counselled resistance to the Persian. It was Nikander
+who had supplicated for the more hopeful oracles and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span>
+received them. Suppose the more timid interpretations
+had prevailed, where would the Delphians now be?</p>
+
+<p>Nikander had been right and his prayers had changed
+the mind of the god. Now Nikander was making a
+strange request. Might he not be right in this also?
+Surely Nikander would not ask this save in honest
+conviction. Had Nikander ever been selfish toward
+the shrine? Would he ask that his daughter be dismissed
+if it were likely to bring disaster? Did he not
+bring them now the god’s actual command: “Begone
+from my temple”?</p>
+
+<p>Nikander saw friend after friend spring to his feet
+with arguments like these until his heart warmed and
+in a clear, impassioned speech he moved the Council to
+his side.</p>
+
+<p>It was old Akeretos who made answer.</p>
+
+<p>“Apollo has spoken to free the girl. It is not usual.
+But neither is it usual for Apollo to appear in person
+and hurl mountains upon the enemy. It is a time of
+portents and wonders. Let the girl be freed, and at
+once.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander’s brain whirled as this verdict was pronounced.</p>
+
+<p>But a still further joy awaited him.</p>
+
+<p>Kobon, who had always been his bitterest antagonist,
+now rose in the Council and proposed to elect Dryas,
+son of Nikander, to the priesthood, also to give Dryas
+the crown for the best warrior in yesterday’s battle.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL<br />
+<span class="smaller">AGAIN HOME</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">On leaving</span> the Council, Nikander did what
+no other father in Hellas would have done:
+He went first to release his daughter before
+bringing the good news to his son.</p>
+
+<p>He could not bear that Theria should learn her freedom
+from any but himself. Old Akeretos went with
+him to confirm his authority in the Pythia House. To
+tell the truth, they ascended the Precinct with no little
+trepidation.</p>
+
+<p>If you had asked who ruled the priests in Delphi not
+one would have answered: “The old peasant woman
+Tuchè.” Yet such was the case. Tuchè had a tongue
+of fire. Akeretos knocked faintly, and the authoritative
+one herself appeared.</p>
+
+<p>But she told the news quite otherwise than they had
+expected.</p>
+
+<p>“Theria? No Pythoness, ye say? An’ did it take all
+ye men in day-long council to find that out? <em>I</em> knew it
+from the first. She’s no Pythia, no, not if she gave the
+best oracles ever. Take her away, do—before she puts
+notions into the heads of the two new ones, good as
+gold.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander did not wait for the finish. He ran past
+Tuchè to Theria’s room.</p>
+
+<p>Theria sat there on her couch staring at nothing in
+the same melancholy apathy which before had so<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span>
+troubled the temple women. She did not rouse until
+her father stood quite before her. Then up went her
+longing hands.</p>
+
+<p>“Father, Father,” she whispered amazedly.</p>
+
+<p>But Nikander in his delight threw both arms about
+her.</p>
+
+<p>“You are free, my own darling Theria, you are free,”
+he said. “The Council has freed you.”</p>
+
+<p>But he should have been more careful with his news.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” she said wildly. “Oh, I have to stay here.
+Here all my life—all my life.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not one further minute,” he asserted. “Dear
+child, I have come to take you home.”</p>
+
+<p>At this dear telling she burst into uncontrollable
+weeping. “Tuchè will not let me,” she kept saying
+like a frightened child. “No, she will not let me.”</p>
+
+<p>“By the gods she will. Theria, quiet yourself. There,
+dear little one, Father will care for you now.”</p>
+
+<p>He was like a tender nurse comforting her. He
+called the temple slave.</p>
+
+<p>“Get this Pythia robe off my daughter at once,” he
+commanded. “Where is the white robe in which she
+came?”</p>
+
+<p>He himself helped to fasten the shoulder pins, unheard-of
+service for a father. Often he kissed her when
+her tears ran down afresh. By his excitement he made
+it the harder for her to grow calm. Then he threw the
+himation over her head and face and hurried her out.</p>
+
+<p>They reached home after a happy walk hand in hand.
+The open air was always tonic to Theria. She was her
+bright self again when they had reached the threshold.
+Melantho and Eëtíon were tending Dryas in the aula.</p>
+
+<p>With a cry Eëtíon leaped up, knowing the beloved
+figure before her face was revealed. Melantho ran to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>[259]</span>
+her. Dryas reached out arms from his couch, calling,
+“Sister, Sister,” and the slaves came hurrying from
+everywhere.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander had to explain a hundred questions how she
+came to be really free.</p>
+
+<p>Dryas kept her hand affectionately.</p>
+
+<p>“Now home will be home,” he said. “It has never
+been the same since you went away.”</p>
+
+<p>“Dear Theria,” laughed Nikander, “even the fish
+have tasted wrong. I did not know you directed the
+cooking of the fish.”</p>
+
+<p>Then he turned to Dryas.</p>
+
+<p>“Dryas,” he questioned, “have they told you the
+news?”</p>
+
+<p>“What news?”</p>
+
+<p>Then all the joyfulness was to be gone through again
+as Nikander told of Dryas’s election to the priesthood
+and his crowning.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander, being by nature courageous, was never
+quite to realize the struggle Dryas had had to win such
+a crown. But fine deeds he did know, and felt new
+kinship with his son and all the old love and pride. As
+the two were talking together, Eëtíon softly drew
+Theria aside.</p>
+
+<p>How strong and heavenly the joy in his face as he
+kissed her. Theria had never known how godlike
+Eëtíon was until now, his eyes so shining upon her and so
+full of awe. What was this strange love which had
+come to her from the gods, a thing so unheard-of for a
+mere Greek girl? Their very silence together seemed
+holy, difficult to break.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, do you think that Father will allow——” she began;
+and then, realizing what she was about to ask, she
+blushed and hushed her speech.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>[260]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Allow us what, dear Theria?”</p>
+
+<p>He lifted her hands in both of his, hardly listening to
+her words. And before he could answer Melantho
+broke in upon them.</p>
+
+<p>“Great Heavens! Theria, what are you doing?
+What am <em>I</em> doing to let you stay here? Come back to
+our aula at once.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria was too happy to be disobedient. She took
+her mother’s hand and went back with her to the
+women’s apartment where the door was quickly shut.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>[261]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI<br />
+<span class="smaller">A SCULPTOR’S RESPECTABILITY</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Now</span> that abnormal conditions were past, Nikander
+and his family returned to conventional
+ways. Theria must not meet nor see Eëtíon.
+Of course she must not. She must be shut in the
+women’s court whenever he came to the house.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander gave his formal consent to the marriage.
+He loved Eëtíon with all his heart. The good youth
+now would have been his choice for Theria even if
+Theria had had no wish in the matter. Yet as the
+days went by Nikander dreaded the marriage. Marriage
+with a metic was indeed a serious step.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander knew his daughter well. He knew that
+while she now made the sacrifice gladly that later when
+she saw her sons excluded from the priesthood, herself
+excluded from processional rites and perhaps taunted
+by women of her own class, Theria’s proud spirit would
+revolt. He even wondered if her love would outlast
+the strain. Love so burning bright in youth may be
+strangely quenched by hard conditions.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander’s attitude unconsciously affected Eëtíon.
+He, too, now that he faced his marriage, realized how sad
+a sacrifice he was asking of her who had set him free.</p>
+
+<p>He had hoped that Theria would speak to him from
+her window so that he could ask her of these things
+face to face. But this Theria was too loyal to do.</p>
+
+<p>She sent her messages by her father.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>[262]</span></p>
+
+<p>“So soon will come our life-long happiness,” she said,
+“we must bear this parting now.”</p>
+
+<p>At last Eëtíon was in serious misery for the trials
+looming ahead. He sent question to Theria by
+Nikander.</p>
+
+<p>“Had she thought of all the future? Did she want
+to decide again?”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander came back laughing.</p>
+
+<p>“Never send me on such an errand again, young
+man,” he told him. “She was almost as abusive as old
+Tuchè herself. She said she had not supposed that you
+would so insult her. That if she were as great a fool as
+you seem to be she would retaliate by distrusting your
+love. But that she does not do. She trusts your love,
+and you by this time should trust hers.”</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon laughed joyously. “Apollo bless her! she is
+as lovely in her anger as in everything else!”</p>
+
+<p>Upon which Nikander named him an Eros-infatuated
+youth.</p>
+
+<p>But the incident cleared the air. From that time
+Nikander trusted his daughter’s decision. So, Melantho
+having made ready the linens, garments, and
+embroideries she considered essential, Theria and Eëtíon
+were betrothed before witnesses, solemnly in the aula.
+For a few happy moments they stood together and
+touched hands, though Theria had to be veiled. The
+ceremony was more binding than the wedding which
+was to follow later. Theria returned to her room
+knowing that now she belonged to Eëtíon as his goods
+and chattels belonged, but her heart was singing for joy.</p>
+
+<p>It was at the betrothal feast, when it was too late for
+mending, that Eëtíon revealed his one defect.</p>
+
+<p>They were chatting after the meal, or rather sitting
+silent while Eëtíon talked. For none of the youths<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>[263]</span>
+of Delphi had had such adventures as Eëtíon, by storm
+of ocean, by cruelty of pirates, deceit of merchants in
+the ports. As a captive he had seen practically all
+the far ports of the West.</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon sat upright on his couch, too animated to
+recline, his dark eyes now brightening with some memory,
+now filling with terror or triumph. Near him was
+one of the many small tables of a Greek room.</p>
+
+<p>Upon this table had been left, no doubt by Kairos
+himself, the god of chance, a double handful of smooth
+clay. It had been brought that morning by some citizens
+from far away who wanted to establish a sale for
+it in Delphi. Nikander had pronounced it the finest in
+texture he had ever seen. Then it had been left here.</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon idly picked it up as he talked, working it with
+his deft fingers.</p>
+
+<p>Gradually it became soft, malleable. Absently he
+shaped it into a thick pillar, then, as if in sudden decision,
+began to mould it. He ceased talking, forgot his
+guests entirely, quite unconscious that they were watching
+what he did.</p>
+
+<p>Under his swift fingers the clay soon took the form
+of a youth. “Look, it is beautiful,” whispered Dryas,
+wondering.</p>
+
+<p>Now Eëtíon looked up impatiently, seized upon a
+plectrum as a tool, and began to work again in mad
+haste.</p>
+
+<p>More and more lovely the little youth became, not
+standing on both feet in the old hieratic attitude, but
+leaning forward with one leg advanced as if running,
+head thrown back and both arms outstretched toward
+an invisible goal. Time passed by, but Eëtíon was
+unaware of it. Now began the muscle modelling, dry,
+and at points stylized, yet lovely and alive, the delicate<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>[264]</span>
+thighs full of strength, the spare abdomen showing the
+play of running muscles, the chest lifted and full of
+breath.</p>
+
+<p>“It is Ladas,” they cried, “Ladas, the Argive runner.”</p>
+
+<p>Now Eëtíon began to etch the hair in fine-drawn lines
+in the old fashion and bind it down with a fillet. Nikander
+saw at once that this figure was the result of long
+and intense imagining of the mind. Eëtíon could not
+otherwise have modelled with such swiftness. The
+skill, too, was no idle skill, it was the result of long hours
+of training and toil.</p>
+
+<p>At length it satisfied its creator. Eëtíon breathed
+deep, looked up and saw all the company gazing at him,
+and laughed a quick, embarrassed laugh.</p>
+
+<p>“Eëtíon!” spoke Nikander, amazed. “Surely you
+are not a sculptor!”</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon hung his head. “I sometimes think I am,”
+he confessed.</p>
+
+<p>“But your father Euclides was a high-born citizen.
+He surely would not give you over to the sculptor’s
+trade.”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” answered Eëtíon. Then on the defensive,
+“But after all, Nikander, is there any nobler way of
+honouring the gods than by beautiful sculpture? What
+would Delphi be without its statues and its songs?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, but Eëtíon, this is <em>hand</em> craft. See, your hands
+are soiled even now. Song is the work of the mind
+alone.”</p>
+
+<p>“But you use the hand to play the lyre,” said Eëtíon,
+quickly hiding his dirty hands in his himation.</p>
+
+<p>“Apollo presides over song,” retorted Nikander.
+“No such god fosters sculptor work.”</p>
+
+<p>“There is Hephæstos.”</p>
+
+<p>“The ugly lame god. By heaven, Eëtíon, you are<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>[265]</span>
+no Hephæstos.” Everybody laughed. “The beautiful
+Eëtíon himself with the limping, grizzled
+one!”</p>
+
+<p>“I am serious,” insisted Nikander; “you must explain
+this thing. Who taught you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ageladas,” answered Eëtíon, “but of course my
+father never knew.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, no wonder you model well,” said Nikander, for
+Ageladas, the Argive, was the greatest teacher of sculpture
+in Greece.</p>
+
+<p>“My pedagogos was Ageladas’s friend,” went on
+Eëtíon, “and he used to stop with me at Ageladas’s workshop
+on our way from school. I—well, I played with
+the clay as I do now and Ageladas saw and praised me.
+But oh, it was not the praise, it was the love of making
+beautiful gods and men which possessed me. All
+through my school hours I forgot my Homer, longing
+to be at work with Ageladas. I bribed my pedagogos
+again and again to bring me there. Myron was in the
+workshop, too, and I learned at his side. Then one day
+Ageladas told me he would exhibit one of my statues
+as his own.” Eëtíon laughed softly and tears came
+into his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, never shall I forget my father stopping by my
+own statue. ‘This is most beautiful of all,’ he said.
+‘This youth pouring the libation. See how he worships,
+how shyly he supplicates before his god?’ Then such
+happiness welled up within me that I could not speak.
+Dear Father, he never guessed that the statue was mine.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander took Eëtíon’s hand.</p>
+
+<p>“But now, Eëtíon, now that you are a Delphian, a
+son of my house, surely you will not do this curious
+thing, which no well-born citizen would do? Delphi
+will give you large activities.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>[266]</span></p>
+
+<p>“No, dear Nikander,” answered Eëtíon gently. “No.”</p>
+
+<p>He took the little runner and with a single fierce
+pressure sent him back into the clay whence he had
+come.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, don’t, don’t do that,” cried they all at once, for
+they loved its loveliness.</p>
+
+<p>“It would perish anyway,” said Eëtíon sadly. “The
+clay would soon crack.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>[267]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE UNWILLING COLONIST</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">On the</span> far-away coast of Sicily, the western outpost
+of the world, lay the little town of Inessa.
+One day men came from the neighbouring town
+Catana, attacked Inessa, and razed it to the ground.
+This was done while Theria was yet spinning at home,
+before she was immured in the Pythia House. And
+this one cruel act, performed by men she had never
+known, in a town whose name she had never heard, was
+to affect Theria’s life more profoundly than any act of
+father, mother, or brother.</p>
+
+<p>It was her fate.</p>
+
+<p>A purposeful intent thus seemed to run through
+circumstance, deflecting it toward a far-off goal.</p>
+
+<p>Most of Inessa’s inhabitants were killed outright, but
+among those who were cast upon the world was an awkward
+youth—one Hyllos, son of Inessa’s most prominent
+citizen—but an ill-born young man who stammered
+abominably. This Hyllos being come to the shore of
+Phokis thought it a good opportunity to visit the
+Delphic Oracle and inquire for the curing of his speech.</p>
+
+<p>But when Hyllos stood before the tripod the priestess
+answered not at all concerning his speech, but bade him:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquote">
+
+<p>“Return to Sicily and rebuild Inessa.”</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>He was so disappointed that he left the tripod almost
+before the Pythoness had finished speaking.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>[268]</span></p>
+
+<p>But from that hour misfortune followed Hyllos.</p>
+
+<p>At last he became so frightened that he bestirred
+himself belatedly to obey the Oracle. He secured a
+ship and a few people willing to go to Sicily, but still he
+dreaded the colonizing task. And on the very day of
+Theria’s betrothal Hyllos reappeared in Delphi, praying
+to be released from Apollo’s command.</p>
+
+<p>On this occasion the Oracle reproved him roundly.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquote">
+
+<p>“The ruins of Inessa disturb the peace of the Delphic god. Yes,
+and yet more misfortune shall overtake thee unless thou rebuild
+Inessa on a height where trees invite the birds. Of high choice
+is the one who goeth with thee.”</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Hyllos next morning met Nikander in the Precinct
+and to him poured out his troubles.</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot rebuild Inessa, O priest,” he said. “Only
+a few poor shepherds are left there. Our Catanian
+neighbours in their raid upon us killed all our leading
+citizens. They carried away our wealth and destroyed
+everything. Inessa is ruined beyond repair. Oh,
+no doubt the god means to destroy me also, and takes
+this way of making me worthy of death.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander quieted the young man as was his wont,
+then bade him wait in Delphi until the priests should
+think and advise with each other over the problem.</p>
+
+<p>The young man’s predicament interested Nikander.
+Like all Delphic priests he loved those far-away colonies
+of the west: Tarentum, Catana, Syracuse, Croton,
+Elia—scattered at right intervals along the coast of
+Greater Greece. They were young in power, wonderful
+places of sunny beach and wooded hill, while in
+their backlands were stretches of the richest soil in the
+world.</p>
+
+<p>Almost all those cities had been either founded by
+the Oracle of Delphi or greatly helped by it. To some<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>[269]</span>
+Delphi had given laws, to others had sent great leaders
+in times of need. In the case of Cyrene in Africa, the
+Oracle had, in some secret way, selected the site and
+insisted by repeated commands until the “fortunate
+city” had been built. Delphi retained no lordship over
+these colonies—her children. She was satisfied to feed
+their spirit and to receive in return their worship, their
+tithes, and free gifts.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander left the young man and at once went into
+the cella of the Great Temple. Here in the closed
+back room he brought forth long-treasured maps of the
+priests, ancient ones of pottery, later ones of sheepskin
+and papyrus.</p>
+
+<p>He studied them absorbedly. Yes, at the site of the
+destroyed Inessa was a great stretch of unhabitation
+on the coast. A city was needed there and the port at
+the mouth of the river Symæthus was good. How well
+the god had planned!</p>
+
+<p>Nikander then went to old Akeretos who without delay
+summoned the Council of the priests.</p>
+
+<p>They met not in the Council House, for the day was
+warm, but up in the great lesche or colonnade of the
+Precinct. Greeks never willingly did their thinking
+away from the open air. Sitting thus on the stone
+seats, they could look down through the opening of the
+steep vale to the far-off bit of sapphire loveliness which
+was the Corinthian Gulf.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander showed them his map.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said Karamanor’s father whose name was
+Glaucos. “I remember Inessa. Saw it during my
+travel year. I recall the back country, too. Lovely
+shaded heights having wide prospect. I could quite
+see them in memory as I stood there yesterday by the
+tripod. And even while I was thinking, the Pythia<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>[270]</span>
+spoke of them, ‘A height where trees invite the birds.’
+The oracle was marvellously clear.”</p>
+
+<p>Glaucos looked awestruck, for the god’s message was
+not always so revealing. The tranced Pythia did
+not invariably reflect the priestly mind.</p>
+
+<p>“Inessa must be rebuilt,” declared Timon. “Apollo
+has spoken it, and Apollo is lord of migrations.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” agreed Nikander. “But this poor stammering
+Hyllos cannot rebuild it. Strange it is that upon
+such an inefficient person the god should have laid the
+charge. Within a century past we have not founded
+so important a city.”</p>
+
+<p>“The god sees that Hyllos cannot do it,” declared
+a third priest, Melas. “Did you note the oracle
+yesterday? ‘Of high choice the one who goeth with
+thee.’ What can that mean but that we are to choose
+out some real leader, some adequate, big-minded man,
+to found the city? He must go with Hyllos. Thus
+shall the oracle be fulfilled.”</p>
+
+<p>“One of high choice refers to Apollo himself,” declared
+Glaucos. “That was said to encourage Hyllos
+on the enterprise.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s the way I understood it,” assented a young
+priest.</p>
+
+<p>Akeretos brought forth the oracle tablet, and earnestly
+the priests reread it.</p>
+
+<p>“It means another man to go with Hyllos. Melas
+is right,” said Nikander. “Why should the priestess
+refer to Apollo? Of course the god always goes.”</p>
+
+<p>“A leader is of utmost importance,” urged Melas.
+“The god sees that and gives us the command to find
+a good one. It’s plain as sunlight.”</p>
+
+<p>“The oracle would be futile otherwise,” put in Timon
+decisively.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>[271]</span></p>
+
+<p>Agreement was soon reached as to the oracle’s meaning
+and the urgent need of a leader. Then came the
+all-important choice of a man.</p>
+
+<p>“Shall he be a Delphian?” was the first question.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I think so,” said old Akeretos. “Colonies
+are not often founded these days. It may be years
+before another goes out. ’Tis a rare chance to
+strengthen Apollo’s influence in the west.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, yes,” chorused the priests. “A Delphian, by
+all means.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander’s face suddenly shone. He had wished for
+many a month to do some service for Karamanor and
+Agis in return for their honourable treatment of his
+poor son Lycophron. They were younger sons without
+means. Here was a chance to make them both
+rich and prominent.</p>
+
+<p>“I propose Karamanor and Agis, Glaucos’s sons, as
+leaders of the colony,” said Nikander.</p>
+
+<p>The priests discussed the two young men at length,
+but in the end rejected both—honest young fellows but
+not of calibre for this business. Then Dryas was proposed
+but quickly rejected. Then several other young
+men of Delphi. It was not easy to find a leader of the
+peculiar genius needed, fearless yet not quarrelsome,
+young yet understanding, having the statesman’s uncanny
+vision to discern the hidden meaning of events
+and their unlooked-for but inevitable resultants.</p>
+
+<p>During this later discussion Timon had remained
+quite silent. Evidently he was thinking something
+through before proposal. Timon’s was the most original
+mind in the Council, and Nikander awaited his
+word with pleasure. However, amazement rather than
+pleasure followed it.</p>
+
+<p>“O priests,” at last said Timon, “has it occurred to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272"></a>[272]</span>
+you that there have been women who were successful
+<i>oekists</i> of colonies?”</p>
+
+<p>“Women! what nonsense, Timon. What are you
+joking about?”</p>
+
+<p>The Council broke into puzzled laughter. For women
+were a perennial source of satire.</p>
+
+<p>“No, no, I mean it. Did not Dido, the Tyrian,
+found Carthage and was faithful to the city even unto
+death?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ay, but Dido was no Greek.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, but Manto was—Manto who founded Clarus.
+She was a <em>priest’s daughter</em>, a priest of Apollo.”</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Nikander guessed Timon’s meaning.</p>
+
+<p>It was Theria—none other, whom Timon was about
+to propose for this high, amazing trust.</p>
+
+<p>But why? How could Timon know that the girl
+had the needed power—Nikander’s little girl, hidden
+away in her home, unknown?</p>
+
+<p>For a moment Nikander pictured her thus and
+trembled to think how his familiar Theria could wield
+the power of state.</p>
+
+<p>Then with an overwhelming pride he realized that she
+could! <em>She could do it!</em> What else was the meaning
+of her trenchant questionings, her revealing suggestions
+in matters which puzzled himself, her overpowering
+interest in public affairs in spite of all rebukes, her
+oracles, by which in the very face of death she had sent
+courage to the armies?</p>
+
+<p>Yes, yes, Theria could! And the high task would
+meet and satisfy her mental need.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, but that task would take her away over seas;
+away, away to the west. Nikander would never see
+his child again. The very life would be torn out of
+him to part with her. It was too sudden, too unexpected.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273"></a>[273]</span>
+He must call aloud to Timon to stop—stop!
+But no. Did he dare stand in Theria’s way,
+to deprive her of this gift? Was it not her right, her
+fate from the gods? Nikander hid his face from the
+Council. They would never understand this emotion
+of his—this dependence upon a girl-child.</p>
+
+<p>But what were the priests saying? With quick concern
+Nikander looked up again.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s not only foolish, Timon; it’s dangerous!”
+Melas spoke. “Give a woman power like that, she’ll go
+mad with it.”</p>
+
+<p>Melas was one of those Greeks, a numerous class,
+who hated women with a curious active hatred which
+seemed almost bred of fear. They laughed at it all,
+of course. Why could not babies be found in temples
+and thus women utterly done away? Wives! what
+silly, miserable creatures. Hetairai! what undoing of
+mankind. And behind all the gibing was the curious
+hating fear. Nikander knew that Melas would not
+stop short of harming Theria to keep her from being
+nominated. Keenly Nikander heard the argument.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve followed you, Timon, in most of your proposals,”
+said another priest, “but now, by the gods,
+this is too much! But say, old fellow, you <em>are</em> joking,
+you know you are.”</p>
+
+<p>“It seems to me you insult all the able young men of
+Delphi,” said Glaucos.</p>
+
+<p>“What young man have we in Delphi who has seen
+Apollo face to face?” retorted Timon. “Theria,
+daughter of Nikander, has been found worthy to behold
+the god.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s so, that’s so,” assented some.</p>
+
+<p>“Go fetch her oracle tablets, let’s see what Apollo
+said to her,” said one.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274"></a>[274]</span></p>
+
+<p>A messenger was dispatched to the temple.</p>
+
+<p>“And not only has she beheld Apollo,” went on
+Timon. “But she has spoken for him. Think of those
+two oracles of hers on the tripod. If it had not been
+for those oracles, where would Delphi be now? On
+the Persian side! In disgrace! As it is, men are
+throwing the earlier oracles of Aristonikè in our face.
+‘Persian lovers!’ they call us. ‘Medizers, you Delphians.’
+And for my part I have naught to answer
+but Theria’s oracles. That silences ’em. Salamis
+and the storm of Artemisium! She foretold them
+both.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ay, foretold them,” screamed Melas. “But what
+had she to do with it? It was the god that spoke
+through her. She was nothing but his mouthpiece.”</p>
+
+<p>“She was more, more I tell you, Melas. She understood
+those oracles—saw exactly whither they led.
+She gave them, rejoicing in what they were to accomplish.
+She——”</p>
+
+<p>“One would think,” interrupted Melas, “from what
+you say, Timon, that she made them up, and that you
+knew it!”</p>
+
+<p>“By Zeus, it seemed that way to me. Even at the
+time I thought so,” said the young priest, his echo.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, they had scented it out! What Nikander had
+feared—Theria’s strange deception (or was it deception?
+Nikander himself hardly thought so now).
+If this question should come up in the Council, what
+punishment might not fall upon Theria? Who could
+foresee the end?</p>
+
+<p>Not one trace of this terror, however, showed in
+Nikander’s face. Your true Greek was on his mettle
+at such time. He spoke with trumpet anger.</p>
+
+<p>“I will not have my daughter insulted in the Council!<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275"></a>[275]</span>
+If you cannot discuss her honourably, do not
+discuss her at all. You all know that her oracle trance
+on the tripod was so real that it nearly killed her.
+You all know that Apollo spoke afterward to her in
+the mountain. And you, and you, and you”—turning
+to the priests—“saw her after her vision. Was
+ever any vision condition more patent?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, no!” they said. “That vision was true if ever
+vision was.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then stop this cavilling about my daughter.
+Either she has the power to conduct the colony or else
+she has not. That alone is up for your decision.”</p>
+
+<p>Since Salamis, Nikander had been a most powerful
+figure in the Council, ardently loved, sincerely feared.
+The lovers spoke first.</p>
+
+<p>“You know your daughter, Nikander. Tell us what
+you think of her.”</p>
+
+<p>“I think she can do it. Whether I am willing for her
+to go is another matter. Oh,” Nikander added, “I
+was as unwilling as you are to acknowledge this power
+in my daughter. Like you I thought it insulted my
+sons who should have it in her stead. But hers is the
+gift of mind. I have been taught that, obstinately
+fighting. I have been punished until I saw.”</p>
+
+<p>“Punished by herself?” sneered Melas.</p>
+
+<p>“No, by some unrelenting god,” he answered with
+the love of Theria shining in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Remember,” spoke Timon again. “She has seen
+Apollo. We want Delphi kept alive in the hearts of
+her colonists. Could we do better than send one who
+has beheld the god?”</p>
+
+<p>This argument won.</p>
+
+<p>It was as if Apollo himself were bestowing the leadership
+upon his ardent young priestess.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276"></a>[276]</span></p>
+
+<p>Nikander and Timon left the Council together.
+Each gazed for a moment into the other’s face.</p>
+
+<p>“Well?” said Timon, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>“Well!” said Nikander, still half amazed. “You
+have let me in for a fine adventure.”</p>
+
+<p>“Aren’t you glad?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I am glad,” responded Nikander, but Timon
+saw his eyes flush with tears.</p>
+
+<p>“You are very fond of her?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, oh, yes. She is closer to me than any other
+now that I have grown to know her. But,” suddenly
+lifting his head, “how in Zeus’s name did you
+guess her, Timon? You never meet her as I do.”</p>
+
+<p>“I did not have to guess. I saw.”</p>
+
+<p>“Saw? What do you mean?”</p>
+
+<p>“Her oracles on the tripod. She <em>did</em> make them,
+Nikander. I know that. You know it! By Zeus, it
+was a close shave in the Council.”</p>
+
+<p>The sudden statement was like a thunder-clap.
+Nikander shook with fear. He seized Timon’s arm.</p>
+
+<p>“You will not accuse her! Timon! She was compelled.
+She was——”</p>
+
+<p>“No, no. Has not the god himself justified her?
+Who am I to offer blame? But I saw her do it! And
+by Zeus, it was the bravest deed, yes, and the most
+intelligent that I ever saw in my life.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh,” breathed Nikander.</p>
+
+<p>“At first I could not credit that she was doing it,
+even though she was pronouncing the oracle as no one
+had ever pronounced it—driving home its meaning,
+by Hermes—driving it home! Then I saw the martyr
+light in her face—the death light, expecting the god’s
+lightning stroke. Did you note that agonized look
+just before she fell?</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_277"></a>[277]</span></p>
+
+<p>“But she had done the deed. Done the thing that
+you and I, Nikander, couldn’t bring about with all our
+toil and effort.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander was too moved to speak.</p>
+
+<p>“Ever since then,” went on Timon, “the girl’s
+genius has haunted me. Horrible, you know! Such
+genius to be wasted even though it be housed in a
+woman. There!” he ended, laughing. “You have my
+reasoning.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander’s gratitude beamed from his face. “The
+gods bless you,” he said, “for giving the girl her
+chance.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_278"></a>[278]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLIII">CHAPTER XLIII<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE BIRD IN THE CAGE</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Nikander</span> came hurrying into the house.</p>
+
+<p>“Where is Theria?” he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>Time was when Nikander coming in had invariably
+asked, “Where is Dryas?” Now it was always,
+“Where is Theria?” looking about restlessly as
+though home were not home until Theria appeared.</p>
+
+<p>“Theria? She has gone to bed,” answered her
+mother.</p>
+
+<p>“To bed! But the sun has not yet set,” said Nikander.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but that’s where she is all the same. She
+said there was nothing more to do in the house so she
+had better sleep. Of course there <em>is</em> more to do,”
+complained Melantho. “You’d think she’d take more
+interest in her bridal spinning. She says there are
+already more linens and woollens than she can use in
+twenty years if she had twenty children.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, aren’t there?” laughed Nikander.</p>
+
+<p>“I should think she would like some more just to put
+away. But she is so listless.”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander smiled happily.</p>
+
+<p>Listless! Ah, the dear child! She would be listless
+no longer now that this supreme task had been thrust
+into her hands. How strangely that had been done,
+as if the god had done it beyond all human planning.
+Ah, what a task! The eloquent statements of the afternoon<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_279"></a>[279]</span>
+had set the colony glowing in Nikander’s mind.
+That Theria his child had been chosen leader still filled
+him with an amazed joy. And Timon’s words! They
+thrilled back upon Nikander like a triumphal song.
+He was newly proud, newly tender toward his child
+who, unaided, had faced death from the god. But
+Timon had recognized the real power of the girl
+which had quite escaped the father who loved her.
+Nikander wondered at this so-common experience.
+Theria was as good as a son to him now. Had this
+happened to Lycophron or Dryas could he be any
+happier than he was at this moment?</p>
+
+<p>He turned impatiently to Melantho.</p>
+
+<p>“Think you she is asleep?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Who, Theria? No, hardly yet. Have you something
+for her to do?”</p>
+
+<p>“By the gods, yes,” answered Nikander, and strode
+off like a boy to Theria’s room.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, she was asleep. How strange to see her bright
+face so quieted. Gods! What a quantity of dark
+hair she had spreading out over her pillow. What
+a young child she was, after all.</p>
+
+<p>“Theria,” he said, touching her shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes opened wide and alarmed.</p>
+
+<p>“Father, what has happened?”</p>
+
+<p>“Something wonderful, dear child, but you can never
+guess it. Are you awake enough to understand?”</p>
+
+<p>Theria sat up rubbing her eyes, dizzy from the depths
+of sleep.</p>
+
+<p>“About Eëtíon?” she murmured.</p>
+
+<p>“No, not your lover. Yourself, yourself. Though,
+by Hermes, Eëtíon comes into it, too.” Suddenly
+Nikander found the matter difficult to explain. The
+girl there on her bed looked so tender, so young! A<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_280"></a>[280]</span>
+creature to cherish and protect. Hardly to send over
+seas to contend with men and fate. He sat down beside
+her and took her slender hand—that feminine hand
+so curiously like his own.</p>
+
+<p>“It is a brand-new colony,” he began, “a city that is
+to be founded or rather refounded in Sicily.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes; what has that to do with me?” How infinitely
+far she was from guessing the outcome!</p>
+
+<p>Nikander went back to the beginning, told of Hyllos
+and his difficult oracle, of the Council, of the proposal
+of Karamanor and Agis, of Dryas. She grew keenly
+interested.</p>
+
+<p>“No, no, those could not be leaders, Father. I cannot
+think of any one who could, any one big enough.
+Let me see, let me see——”</p>
+
+<p>She looked away, knitting her pretty brows.</p>
+
+<p>“The priests are not in such doubt, Daughter,” said
+Nikander tenderly. “They have chosen you!”</p>
+
+<p>“Me!” She turned such an amazed face that
+Nikander had to laugh.</p>
+
+<p>“What on earth do you mean? Why are you joking,
+Father?”</p>
+
+<p>The same question which Melas had asked.</p>
+
+<p>“I am not joking, dear heart. The priests are in
+earnest. They chose you because you have seen
+Apollo. No one in our generation has done that, my
+child.”</p>
+
+<p>“The vision! How strange. How strange. And
+the priests chose me, you say? The priests—me!”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander went on explaining as if to dreaming ears.
+She seemed not to hear him.</p>
+
+<p>“Would Eëtíon go?” she queried.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, he would help you, but he would not be the
+leader. That is for you.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_281"></a>[281]</span></p>
+
+<p>“For me! Oh, Father,” she suddenly cried out.
+“How could you suppose I could do it? Think of the
+wisdom, the strength to command men where no laws
+command them, to know, oh, to know everything for a
+city’s good. I am not great enough. I am not—not
+even <em>good</em> enough, Father.”</p>
+
+<p>“But I think you are,” he told her.</p>
+
+<p>She leaned toward him, her lips quivering, very
+woman, veritable child.</p>
+
+<p>“I would have to go away from Delphi. I would
+never see Delphi again! I would never see <em>you</em> again!
+Dear, dear Father, that would be like death!”</p>
+
+<p>He put both arms about her and was not astonished
+when she began to sob as if from some great shock or
+strain.</p>
+
+<p>“You will not command me to go,” she pleaded.
+“Do not command me to go.”</p>
+
+<p>“My dear child! Of course not against your will.
+But do you not see the honour, the splendour of doing
+this thing? Of making a city which shall be your
+own, upon which you can stamp what character you
+will?”</p>
+
+<p>“I am not great enough to stamp character upon a
+city. Oh, no, oh, no! Think if I should make some
+mistake which would harm it, harm the people for
+perhaps a hundred years. And, oh, I could never
+think of any city as <em>my</em> city except my Delphi—my
+Delphi,” she repeated with all the hereditary love,
+the life-long worship sounding in the word.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander was utterly puzzled.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you only a woman, after all?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, yes, Father, what should I be?” she asked
+with innocent stare.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t you want your freedom?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_282"></a>[282]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Freedom! oh, Father, at the price of exile?”</p>
+
+<p>“Exile it is, if you so consider it,” he said. “There,
+go to sleep again. I don’t believe you are half awake,
+anyway.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, yes, I am, I am awake.”</p>
+
+<p>So he left her. Nikander’s mind was strangely
+divided between relief and disappointment. Only a
+woman, after all. Evidently Timon’s heroics were all
+misplaced. She cared only for home and loved ones.
+What young man but would have leaped to the task,
+seen the honour, joyed in the responsibility? And
+what should he say to the priests? How they would
+laugh! He could hear Melas’s gibes. Timon would
+get the brunt of it for proposing her name. Well,
+after all, they both deserved it for believing such high
+things of a mere girl.</p>
+
+<p>Yet as Nikander composed himself to sleep he was
+amazed at his curious sense of relief, an escape out of
+sorrow. How lovingly she had flung herself into his
+arms, and what an actual protection he had felt in
+that love of hers—protection from loneliness, old age
+... greyness of life.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>Thus strangely did Theria receive the news of her
+freedom. Like a bird born in a cage, she did not recognize
+the open door. This amazing proposal had come
+to Theria at the most sentimental hour of her life,
+when the bride leaving her old home looks with vivid
+tenderness upon it. These days the dear old home
+did not imprison Theria. And the new one! With
+what intense hope and wonder did that draw her on!</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps she had not been fully awake talking with
+her father. But surely she was awake now. She
+began to toss and toss upon her bed. She was a little<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_283"></a>[283]</span>
+hurt that her father should so easily plan her departure
+from Delphi.</p>
+
+<p>“I thought he knew how I loved the Oracle,” she
+reflected. “But he does not know. Because I am
+not Dryas, nor Timon—because I am not a man,
+Father thinks I cannot feel as he does. But I do, I do.”</p>
+
+<p>She sat up in bed, gazing into the dark.</p>
+
+<p>“I have helped Delphi,” she murmured, rather
+miserably. “At least I thought I had helped Delphi by
+my oracles. Shall I not love my city that I have
+helped?”</p>
+
+<p>The miraculous saving of Delphi after days of
+danger, Theria’s vision on the mountain—all had intensified
+her already ardent love of home. Even her
+god Apollo was locally peculiar to his shrine. Gods
+were never quite the same when worshipped in distant
+temples. Apollo of Delphi was nearer to Theria than
+Apollo anywhere else. No, no, how strange of her father
+to propose her going away. And he wanted her to
+found a city! The greatness of the task appalled her.
+She lay back with a sigh.</p>
+
+<p>Inessa! What did the city look like, lying ruined
+on its distant shore?—“The most beautiful shore in the
+world,” her father had called it. Apollo himself must
+love that city since he so insisted upon its rebuilding.
+A great mountain rose behind it, greater than Parnassos.
+This also her father had told her. She began
+again to wonder who could be selected to rebuild it.
+No doubt the priests had looked over the whole field
+and found no one. That was why they had chosen
+her. There could be no other reason for such choosing.
+Well, they would fall back upon Karamanor. Karamanor
+had commercial talent. Theria had always
+heard of that, and how from a little boy he had always<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_284"></a>[284]</span>
+got the best of it in every enterprise. Karamanor
+would make Inessa prosperous, send her ships over
+farthest waters, and make her rich as Sybaris. Oh,
+but that was not what the god wanted! There were
+plenty of rich colonies in the west. No, surely Apollo
+had some great entity for Inessa. An <i>eidolon</i> she
+called it, a spiritual ideal or image containing the
+force and character of the god himself. Beauty rising
+from it to meet the beauty of the divine mind. Song
+in abundance fostered, almost worshipped, there.
+Beauty of dance and of perfectly formed high-hearted
+youths. Justice, yes, even to the poor who expect no
+just dealings. And perhaps some new Philosophy
+which the god had stored in his heart to give to some
+philosopher yet unborn and who could be born only
+in this new place of free speech and high ideals, this
+place untrammelled by old-world mistakes. She thought
+of Pythagoras, Parmenides. Yes, it was from the
+west that the philosopher came and awakened the
+minds of men.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, who could tell what the god of pure, unutterable
+beauty might do if only the place were prepared?
+Inessa was a god-appointed place, a god-appointed task.
+But Karamanor could not do it.</p>
+
+<p>Then? What then?</p>
+
+<p>It was <em>her</em> task. <em>Theria’s!</em> God-given!</p>
+
+<p>She was unworthy, unable! Yes, yes, but the god
+would help her. Had he not always helped? Ah, out
+of such difficulties, such despairs, always that hand
+reached down, always that sudden brightness of mind
+which was the god’s presence.</p>
+
+<p>She seemed to see Inessa on its shore forlorn, waiting
+for her!</p>
+
+<p>She leaped from her bed and stood trembling in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_285"></a>[285]</span>
+darkness. What had she done? She had sent her
+father away; she had refused! A sentimental, maudlin
+refusal! Oh, if her father had only shaken her. He
+was too gentle these days, was Father. She must tell
+him quickly, quickly. She must tell him she would go.</p>
+
+<p>She felt her way to the door, then hurried along the
+balcony to her father’s room. He was in the heavy first
+sleep of night, and when she spoke to him he did not
+arouse, but only sighed wearily. Melantho sat up.
+“Are you ill? Is it robbers?” she asked. And learning
+it was neither she rated Theria in wrathful whispers
+for disturbing the head of the house.</p>
+
+<p>So Theria perforce went back to her room, there to
+toss, to plan, to wonder, until nearly dawn when she
+fell, as with a sudden stumble, into slumber.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>When she awoke again the full sun was shining
+brightly into the court. Inessa, the new wonderful
+colony, met her awaking mind. She had been walking
+in its streets of dream with Eëtíon.</p>
+
+<p>But she knew that Nikander always rose with the
+dawn. Already he might be gone from the house to
+tell the priests to choose another leader. In mad haste
+she threw on her chiton and hurried down into the
+aula. Paian be praised! Nikander was still there, but
+all dressed and sandalled going toward the door.</p>
+
+<p>“Father, Father!” she cried breathlessly. “Wait a
+moment. Oh, I must see you alone.”</p>
+
+<p>“What has happened?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Inessa! Oh, Father, I am going to Inessa. I must
+go.”</p>
+
+<p>“What,” he smiled at her vehemence. “Changeable
+woman! Do you expect me to veer about with all
+your moods?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_286"></a>[286]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I didn’t listen. I was blind. I——”</p>
+
+<p>“But perhaps I, too, have changed mood. I am not
+nearly so eager as I was last night, my daughter.”</p>
+
+<p>He was not teasing. He meant it! There were longing
+and affection in his face before which she was utterly
+silent.</p>
+
+<p>Then he looked into her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Does the colony seem more possible this morning?”
+he asked seriously.</p>
+
+<p>“Possible! Oh, the wonderful task! God-given.
+Are you sure, sure the priests meant it for me?”</p>
+
+<p>“Quite sure. It was a long, serious discussion.”</p>
+
+<p>“There is no one else,” she said humbly. “That is
+why they chose me. And that is why I must go.
+Inessa seems as if it were my own child, lonely, ruined,
+waiting for me.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hmm—so that is your meaning this morning.”</p>
+
+<p>She began to pace up and down. “Father, it is a
+thousand-fold task, the founding of a city.”</p>
+
+<p>“I should rather think so,” he smiled.</p>
+
+<p>“Would I have the choice of men who are to go?
+It should be but a few men at first, and the right men.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, the choice would be yours.”</p>
+
+<p>“And the present site of the city. May I choose
+another? If the old site be unhealthful, or melancholy,
+or not beautiful, or haunted by some fate?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, with the consent of the colonists.”</p>
+
+<p>“And the laws of the city. Would I select the code
+and even annul laws that proved unsuited in the new
+land? Oh, Father, you will have to teach me. I will
+have to work every moment to grow wiser and better.”</p>
+
+<p>“I will teach you,” he responded, wondering at her.</p>
+
+<p>“Think, if we could make a new city where better
+justice would be meted out than ever before, where<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_287"></a>[287]</span>
+even the poor man could keep up heart and courage.
+And where orphans would be nurtured. Oh, nobody
+should care for the little fatherless children but me.
+I would let no one else do that.”</p>
+
+<p>She stopped her pacing and faced him. He was
+amazed at the change in her—a look of release, of
+purpose in her face that had never been there before.
+Seeing her eyes so shining, he realized that always heretofore
+they had held a bafflement, a look of discouragement
+and hunger. That look was gone. Now she was
+strangely creative, maternal onward-moving. The very
+lift of her head was free. He seemed to see a new
+Theria.</p>
+
+<p>“Daughter,” Nikander said, “I did not, no, I did
+not realize it would mean all this to you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Dear Father, dear Father,” she said.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>Nikander at once plunged into the further details of
+the colony. Theria’s enthusiasm was contagious. She
+listened to him, absorbed. Suddenly she stopped him.</p>
+
+<p>“Of course Eëtíon knows of my leadership? He approves?”</p>
+
+<p>“I did not see him, Daughter. I came hot-foot to
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“But Eëtíon should have known it first of all.” Her
+eyes looked startled, then deep trouble entered into
+them. “Suppose he does not wish to go?”</p>
+
+<p>“But he will go, Daughter. I am sure he will.”</p>
+
+<p>“I am not sure, not sure,” was her troubled answer.
+“Eëtíon has been so beaten about the world. He is
+so pathetically glad to be here at home in Hellas.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll make him go,” laughed Nikander.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, but that is not what I want. No, Eëtíon, too,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_288"></a>[288]</span>
+must be happy. If he were saddened, all the joy would
+go out of the work; I would lose my luck.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, but he’ll go for your sake.”</p>
+
+<p>She seemed not to hear him.</p>
+
+<p>“Father”—she turned to him with sudden pleading—“may
+I not see Eëtíon? I long to see him now—<em>now</em>.
+What foolishness to keep us apart. We are
+betrothed, Eëtíon and I.”</p>
+
+<p>“But I can tell him about the colony.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, no, I must tell him myself. Please, Father,
+please!”</p>
+
+<p>He could not resist her pleading. He kissed her.
+“Impetuous daughter,” he called her. But he went
+forth to find Eëtíon.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_289"></a>[289]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLIV">CHAPTER XLIV<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE METIC</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Theria</span> was heroic no longer. She ran to find
+Baltè.</p>
+
+<p>“Baltè, dress me quick, quick,” she commanded.
+“No, in my festival dress, the white one
+with the purple-flowered border. And I want the
+lovely big necklace, too, with the golden shells and
+amethysts.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria’s fingers trembled as she helped to fasten the
+robe.</p>
+
+<p>“Eëtíon is coming,” she whispered. “Oh, he may
+be here any moment.”</p>
+
+<p>But many moments passed and even hours. Theria
+went now to the upper window, now down to the door,
+thinking she had seen Eëtíon on the road, now back
+into the court.</p>
+
+<p>“Why doesn’t he come?” she said despairingly.
+“Oh, he is against the colony. Father is trying to
+persuade him. That is what keeps them. It could be
+nothing else. Perhaps Eëtíon will not let me go at all.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria had lived so long in half serfdom that she
+could not, save in certain burning moments, credit her
+freedom to do this thing. At last Baltè tried to
+persuade her to eat her breakfast.</p>
+
+<p>“You are famished, darling,” quoth the nurse.
+“How pale you are. Your lover must not see you so
+pale.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_290"></a>[290]</span></p>
+
+<p>But Theria could not eat. She was sitting hopeless
+at the little table in the court when, with quiet suddenness,
+the door opened and Eëtíon was there. She
+rose, trembling, paler than ever. She did not move.
+Eëtíon ran to her.</p>
+
+<p>“You are ill, darling? Why did you send for me? Ah,
+Theria, Theria, to see you, to see you!” And he
+kissed her again and again, so that she had no time to
+answer.</p>
+
+<p>He had been out hunting, Eëtíon told her. He had
+returned to find the slave with her message. Oh,
+why had she given him this unlooked-for joy?</p>
+
+<p>Then brokenly, trying not to plead either in voice
+or look, Theria told him of the colony and that her
+father wished to make her <i>oekist</i>—the leader of the
+colony.</p>
+
+<p>“We must not go unless you wish to go, Eëtíon,” she
+finished. “It will mean hardships again for you, pioneer
+life away from your art and the beautiful things
+that are your very life. It would put you far from
+Hellas when you have had to wander so many years.”</p>
+
+<p>For his sake she saw Inessa as it really was—a ruin
+on a desolate shore, a struggle for mere subsistence,
+a fight with Nature and with human foes.</p>
+
+<p>But Eëtíon noted only one thing.</p>
+
+<p>“You would be <i>oekist</i>?” he asked, amazed.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, you and I together.”</p>
+
+<p>“They would place that great task in your hands?
+Would the priests really do that?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” she breathed.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh,” he broke out. “It is better than anything I
+ever hoped for you. It is——”</p>
+
+<p>She glanced up at him with such sudden relief that
+her eyes filled with tears.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_291"></a>[291]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Look here, you little child,” spoke Eëtíon quickly.
+“What have you been thinking?”</p>
+
+<p>“I thought——” Theria stopped.</p>
+
+<p>“You thought I might take away your gift? That I,
+your lover, your betrothed, and therefore your lawful
+master, would snatch your freedom away?”</p>
+
+<p>He took her right hand, holding it against his breast,
+now bending to kiss it.</p>
+
+<p>“Theria,” he said soberly, “you haven’t begun to
+understand my love, not even begun to understand
+it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you mean that you really wish me to reach out—to—to
+find joy in something beyond my home and
+children—beyond you, you, too?”</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon paused a moment in a sort of amazed impatience
+with her.</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t that what I have been telling you in as many
+ways as I knew how, ever since I first caught sight of
+you?” he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>“I didn’t believe you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you now?”</p>
+
+<p>She looked, her eyes so deep with gratitude that he
+caught his breath.</p>
+
+<p>“It will never be beyond you, Eëtíon. My whole life
+goes to you and there rests.”</p>
+
+<p>“And you gave me my freedom. It’s there that my
+love rests.”</p>
+
+<p>“But that was so easy to do. Who would not have
+done it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Nobody but you, Theria. And with what quickness
+you did it, so spontaneously, so effectively—just you,
+you! Darling, I would live my life on a frozen coast
+if that were the only way to give you, too, the gift of
+freedom.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_292"></a>[292]</span></p>
+
+<p>“But you must be happy,” she insisted. “Can’t
+you see I cannot be glad unless——”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, yes, I am happy,” he interrupted her. “Theria,
+have you ever thought how humiliating it is to be a
+metic? In Argos I belonged to an honoured clan. Here
+in Delphi I am a metic, an alien, nor can I ever be otherwise.
+In the new city I will be a citizen—the first
+citizen of all.”</p>
+
+<p>“Eëtíon!” she exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>He drew her close, speaking low and earnestly:</p>
+
+<p>“And our children will be citizens also. They will
+inherit. In the new city my sons shall hold up their
+heads.”</p>
+
+<p>When Nikander came in a half hour later he found the
+two lovers bending over a pottery tile on which was a
+map.</p>
+
+<p>Theria leaped up, clapping her hands like a child.</p>
+
+<p>“He will go, he will go,” she cried.</p>
+
+<p>“Did I not tell you that he would?” answered Nikander
+quietly.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_293"></a>[293]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLV">CHAPTER XLV<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE MARRIAGE</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">In the</span> pleasant sunset hour there was great excitement
+in Delphi village. Men and women of the
+aristocratic families of the town were all upon the
+street. Since women were abroad, it could be nothing
+other than a wedding. Nikander’s daughter to be
+married! And the circumstances were so unusual that
+not one relative would miss it. Nikander was marrying
+her to a foreigner, a strange choice where Delphic
+youths abounded. But it was said that the choice was
+the girl’s own, that she loved the young man.</p>
+
+<p>She had managed to see him, and the young man had
+seen Theria’s face not once, but twice. This, however,
+was stoutly denied by the nearest of kin. The bridegroom
+had some wealth. That was a comfort; but he
+was as peculiar as the girl herself.</p>
+
+<p>The girl had seen Apollo in a vision and was now
+going to carry the god’s worship over seas to a place
+where Polyphemus, the one-eyed giant, still lived and
+might at any time sally forth from some sequestered
+forest. Where also were men with heads turned backward.
+This from the women. The men knew better.</p>
+
+<p>So they all gathered to the festive house with laughter,
+cousinly greetings, and jests. Nikander, richly clad
+and crowned with myrtle, received them at the door.
+Ah, there was the bridegroom, too. He was certainly
+handsome even though no Delphian. His dark head<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_294"></a>[294]</span>
+was crowned. He was clad in the crimson purple so
+dear to the Greeks. And here was Dryas, limping from
+his honourable wounds and greeting them all in his
+friendly way. How bright the torches burned in the
+aula! The smell of roast lamb was wafted from the
+kitchen to mingle with the odour of rose garlands everywhere.
+The slaves were bringing in the wine. Would
+the bride come soon?</p>
+
+<p>In the midst of this worldly clatter the love that was
+between the pair burned, a thing apart like an altar
+flame on a still day, clear, unswerving toward the sky.</p>
+
+<p>The ceremonies had begun in the morning when Nikander
+sacrificed the lamb to Hera Teleia. In the afternoon
+had come Theria’s maiden cousin bearing a
+pitcher of pure water from Castalia spring. Theria
+had received her bridal bath knowing that at the spring
+itself Eëtíon likewise was being purified.</p>
+
+<p>Theria had been all joy, full of excited laughter,
+pranks, and dancing. But now her joy swept into an
+exaltation which kept her still and wistfully kind to all
+who served her.</p>
+
+<p>As said her own Greek poet:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">Young life grows in those sheltered regions of its own,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">And the sungod’s heat vexes it not,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Nor rain nor any wind</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">But it rejoices in its sweet untroubled being.</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Toward evening her mother and Baltè dressed
+Theria in her robes. They draped her beauty in the
+bridal saffron in which it glowed, they crowned her
+dark head with myrtle, accenting its symmetry. Then
+they covered all with the bridal veil and took her below
+into the torch-lighted aula.</p>
+
+<p>Sorry might those well be who missed the wonder of
+her hidden eyes.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_295"></a>[295]</span></p>
+
+<p>The guests received her with shouts and laughter.
+For the wedding was a revel and a romp, the subject
+of raillery and joke. The women sat at table apart;
+the men at their feast table. How merrily they
+laughed when Eëtíon kept glancing away from the
+board toward his bride and forgot to talk. It was not
+the bride’s beauty but Eëtíon’s which was remarked
+by the guests.</p>
+
+<p>So they drank the wine and poured it to the gods,
+and flung it each in turn from his glass into a whirling
+cup. Whoever flung without spilling won a prize.</p>
+
+<p>The young couple, in spite of their curious history,
+made a good impression upon the guests, and several
+that evening asked to become members of the new
+colony.</p>
+
+<p>Then in the midst of the <i>kottabus</i> game went up the
+shout:</p>
+
+<p>“The marriage car at the door!”</p>
+
+<p>Only a moment had Theria to gaze about her at
+the dear familiar place seen all dimly through her veil.
+Then her mother took her hand and led her out into
+the coolness of the night.</p>
+
+<p>There the full round of the marriage-moon made a
+whiter day. Eëtíon lifted his bride, a slim, swathed
+figure, into the chariot, then sat at her side. Karamanor,
+as paranymphos, sat with them.</p>
+
+<p>The procession started, Melantho behind the chariot
+carrying the marriage torches whose ruddy burning
+sent aloft the mystic smoke. Out from the house into
+the silvery radiance of the moon-lit road poured forth
+the youths and maidens, singing, shouting:</p>
+
+<p>“Ho Hymen! Hymen Hymenæos. Io!”</p>
+
+<p>Up the Delphi highroad they danced toward the little
+house beyond the Precinct, which Nikander had given<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_296"></a>[296]</span>
+to the pair. A mad and merry rout, they followed the
+jolting car. One played the sounding pipes, and behind
+him a boy clashed aloft the thin, glittering cymbals.
+In a burst of joyous music they stopped at the
+bridegroom’s door.</p>
+
+<p>There stood Baltè with torches to receive them.
+Eëtíon’s mother should have been the one to hold that
+welcoming torch. No doubt she guessed this in her
+dark house of Hades and wept with tearless eyes to be
+near her son upon his marriage night.</p>
+
+<p>Now Eëtíon lifts his bride from the chariot, carries
+her carefully over the high threshold that no stumble
+of her foot may bring ill luck. And they go into the
+marriage chamber. The door is shut and Eëtíon with
+reverent hand lifts the bridal veil to behold at last the
+wondering, half-frightened, yet happy face for which
+he has longed these many days.</p>
+
+<p>Soberly he gives to her the quince, symbolic food of
+those who are to be the mothers of men. Her hands, as
+she eats, tangle in the long enmeshing veil, and with a
+quick breath Eëtíon sweeps it off upon the floor. Her
+comely head is liberate, her shoulders and arms free.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he catches her away from ritual into a
+high shining reality. He folds her in his arms, kissing
+her forehead and mouth.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, be free,” he whispers. “Your hands to act,
+your eyes to see, my Theria, giver of my freedom.”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>Meanwhile, the guests outside the closed door make
+merry, chanting the epithalamion, calling rudely to the
+bridal pair as the ancient custom is, but they—they
+hear it not.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_297"></a>[297]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLVI">CHAPTER XLVI<br />
+<span class="smaller">THE DOOR OF ESCAPE</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">Then</span> followed a busy, happy winter. All the
+months must be passed in making ready the
+colony which was to start with the early navigation
+of the spring. Eëtíon journeyed to his old home
+in Argos, and found there, as he had expected, certain
+citizens who were faithful to Hellas and secretly grieving
+over Argos’s faithless stand in the war.</p>
+
+<p>Xerxes, the Persian king, was gone from Greece.
+But a formidable army of Persians yet lingered in
+Greece. Before these were vanquished fighting was
+yet to be—and these few Argive men were horrified
+at the prospect of fighting against their own. They
+returned with Eëtíon to Delphi. Theria tested these
+men, shrewdly asking them questions, watching their
+faces. Eëtíon, spite of experience, was a less keen
+judge than she. From wrong premises she was
+continually drawing right conclusions. After trying to
+help her Eëtíon gave up, laughing. The feminine way
+was new.</p>
+
+<p>In Delphi itself, Karamanor and Agis and a number
+of other kinsmen were glad to go. Those who were not
+married took brides forthwith. The new generation
+in the colony would have a strong Delphic stamp.
+Here was more business for the <i>œkist</i>, for not a bride
+among them wanted to go. Theria visited from one to
+the other, picturing the new life, persuading them.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_298"></a>[298]</span></p>
+
+<p>“No one in the colony shall be homesick if I can
+help it,” she told them. And remembering her own
+first reluctance to go, she could not be hard upon their
+timidity. Theria had never known girl-friends, but in
+these earnest conferences she acquired them. One
+little wife in particular—a girl of fourteen years, delicate,
+pale, whose father had been very severe and
+whose husband was now taking his turn at severity—Theria
+took to her heart with great tenderness. She
+was herself astonished at the way the little creature
+bloomed and grew strong under the new encouragement.</p>
+
+<p>And now Theria must receive the grain to be laden
+in the ships, grain both for food and for planting.
+Theria tended the tiny grape-vines and treasured the
+seeds of useful herbs and vegetables to be carried over
+seas. No seeds of flowers, for the Greeks did not
+plant them. Besides, were not the slopes and capes of
+Sicily one far-flung flowerland?</p>
+
+<p>As for Nikander, the days were not long enough for
+him to teach his daughter all she now must know: the
+Delphic laws, the modes of city government, precautions
+for city health, religious customs in which she
+must be vigilant and exacting. Her hungry learning
+brought tears to Nikander’s eyes. But often these
+were tears of pride for the quickness of her mind, her
+strong opinion so intimately his own, her quick refusal
+of wrong methods or shallow reasoning.</p>
+
+<p>But it was perhaps Melantho who in these days noted
+the greatest change in Theria. Theria had always been
+haughty toward her mother, disobedient, and sharp of
+answer.</p>
+
+<p>Melantho’s commonplaceness, her willingness for the
+jog-trot woman’s life exasperated her daughter; and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_299"></a>[299]</span>
+when Melantho had tried to make the daughter keep
+to the same dull pace there had arisen quarrels and
+bitterness.</p>
+
+<p>But in these days of free outlet Theria grew gentle
+toward her mother. Affectionate, though a little condescending
+withal as daughters are apt to be. Then
+while Theria was yet unaware the affection grew into
+respect for the stubby little figure that went pottering
+around the house making content out of such meagre
+materials. Homespuns, tapestries, embroidered things—these
+were Melantho’s joy. These like the gay
+patch-work quilts of a later day were the spirit-outlets
+for a housed woman.</p>
+
+<p>One day timidly she brought forth to her daughter a
+balcony hanging—a gorgeous thing. The little human
+figures wrought upon it told an ancient legend lost
+save that this ancient woven design preserved it to
+memory and men’s eyes. The little men and women
+were archaic, almost grotesque, but perfect in decorative
+value. For in Hellas even such delicate, perishable
+things took on the inevitable beauty which flowed from
+Greek souls through their fingers.</p>
+
+<p>Melantho spread it before Theria on a table.</p>
+
+<p>“Do you like it?” she asked.</p>
+
+<p>“It is beautiful—beautiful,” said Theria, passing a
+caressing hand over the deep reds and gorgeous peacock-blues.
+“Do you know, Mother, whenever this was
+hung from the balcony when I was a little child I used
+to shout and prance with joy. Many a time you
+punished me and did not know why I was noisy.”</p>
+
+<p>Melantho looked down.</p>
+
+<p>“How strange,” she said. “It always makes me
+feel that way, too.”</p>
+
+<p>“You, Mother! <em>You!</em>”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_300"></a>[300]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Of course,” corrected Melantho, “I never did it. I
+never pranced.”</p>
+
+<p>Theria laughed a thrill of affectionate laughter. “I
+wish you had,” she declared.</p>
+
+<p>“I was wondering,” said Melantho, hesitating, “if
+you would not take this with you to your new home.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wouldn’t think of taking it,” said Theria. “It is
+too precious. And it belongs here in the dear old home
+where it has always been.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” said Melantho. “The ship will be crowded
+with useful things which you really need.”</p>
+
+<p>Something in Melantho’s face, as she gathered the
+folds together, caught Theria.</p>
+
+<p>“Mother! Do you really want me to take it? You
+are willing to part with it?” she exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p>Melantho paused in her timid way.</p>
+
+<p>“You dear Mother,” said Theria, shaking her
+mother’s shoulders in affectionate protest. “Don’t
+you suppose I’d rather have it than a hundred merely
+useful things? I hated to be selfish.”</p>
+
+<p>Melantho’s face shone. “I have so many more.”</p>
+
+<p>“But none so glorious as this one, Mother. Oh, at
+first, when I have only a little hut, and hang this in it,
+it will be home. And, Mother, I’ll feel, when my babies
+are born and see this, that they will be seeing something
+that is really Delphi!—Delphi!”</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps other children,” ventured Melantho,
+“other children of the colony will see it, too. The
+town will be so poor and bare at first. Nothing
+beautiful, nothing——” Melantho was quite unresigned
+to Theria’s going, could see no possible reason for it.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” Theria conceded. “It will be all of that,
+huts and mere shelters at first. But it will never look
+like that to me.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_301"></a>[301]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but the children who are too little to remember
+Delphi,” objected Melantho. “How will it look to
+them?”</p>
+
+<p>“I will bring them to see this. Yes, I will. Until
+our temples are built and my dear Eëtíon makes
+statues of gods and men. Only think, Mother, it will be
+your gift—the gift of your fingers—which will keep
+alive our heritage of beauty, until the town brings it to
+life again in itself.”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>Many a long hour did Nikander, Eëtíon, and Theria
+together study the maps of the western colonies.</p>
+
+<p>“You see,” said Nikander one day, “by this map
+how near Inessa lies to her unkind neighbour, Catana.
+That is a problem for you, Theria, for you also, Eëtíon.”</p>
+
+<p>But Eëtíon was studying the map with knitted brows.</p>
+
+<p>“I wish it showed whether marble is found there,”
+he said. “Do you suppose Syracuse would furnish
+bronze?”</p>
+
+<p>Nikander clapped him on the shoulder, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, incorrigible sculptor, what did you promise
+me?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon blushed like a boy. “In the new city,” he
+pleaded, “surely my fault will be overlooked.”</p>
+
+<p>“As leader in the new city,” responded Nikander,
+“you should set an example to all.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t that rather <em>an</em> undertaking, Nikander?”
+sighed the rueful artist.</p>
+
+<p>But Theria took Eëtíon’s brown, skilful hand in hers.</p>
+
+<p>“Nay, Father,” she said defensively. “Deny him not.
+He is a born sculptor, his gift is from the gods. We cannot
+stop it. As for me, I have been inquiring among the
+colonists. I have found several bronze workers, and
+workers of marble. These shall be Eëtíon’s helpers.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_302"></a>[302]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLVII">CHAPTER XLVII<br />
+<span class="smaller">ALIEN MEADOWS</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">In the</span> early spring six good ships rode at anchor in
+the harbour of Kirrha. They were the small craft
+of that day. Hardy the folk who would put to sea
+in them.</p>
+
+<p>In Delphi the good-byes were earnest and tearful.
+Many were the anxious sacrifices paid for the safe
+voyaging, many the omens taken, peering into the
+future. It is said that in those days more than a third
+of all navigation went to the bottom. It was a far
+journey. The smallness and slowness of the craft
+multiplied the distance a hundred-fold.</p>
+
+<p>At last one bright spring morning Eëtíon and Theria,
+hand in hand, and the little band of colonists following
+them, started down the hill road toward Kirrha.
+Melantho could not bring herself to go to the port,
+could not bear to see her daughter actually lose herself
+upon the sea. But Nikander walked wordless beside
+his daughter.</p>
+
+<p>Here was Theria’s first viewing of the sea, a small
+stretch of intense blue far on the horizon between the
+hills. In the journey down from Delphi the dreamy
+hills unfold and stand aside in delicate succession
+until all the violet Gulf of Corinth is open to the view.
+Eëtíon quietly put aside Theria’s veil as the first
+glimpse of it opened.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_303"></a>[303]</span></p>
+
+<p>“The sea!” he said with that love in his voice that
+every Greek understood.</p>
+
+<p>The little company passed slowly down the steep
+olive grove and came at last to the small port of Kirrha.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, how impatient the bright ships pull at their anchors—birds
+impatient to be gone! Bright they are as
+birds in their plumage—red and peacock-blue. The
+grotesque prows dance as if alive. One prow is a
+boar, another a goose, another a huge bird, all dipping
+in the waves. At the hawse holes of each ship are two
+bright orange-coloured eyes—how else can they see their
+way across the misty deep? Four are merchant vessels,
+the so-called “round ships,” built for cargo and for
+steady going. These have a single oblong sail and
+eight or ten long sweeps to help the windless days or
+days of contrary winds.</p>
+
+<p>The other two ships are triremes, necessary for defense
+in those western waters where pirates are to be
+dealt with. These long narrow ships, with three tiers
+of oars either side and a sharp beak, are built for war.
+Indeed, one of them has fought in the battle of Salamis,
+an actual helper in the freedom of Greece and well-nigh
+sacred. Theria, Eëtíon, and their kinsfolk are to go in
+her.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander kisses his daughter and weeps like a child
+now in this last moment of good-bye. Theria clings to
+him in the sharpest sorrow she has ever known.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>With laughter and tears the colonists set forth in
+tiny rowboats and climb aboard. Theria as <i>œkist</i>,
+a figure of white fluttering garments, standing on the
+deck of her ship, lights the incense upon the little altar
+there. The oarmasters lift their hands as one would
+start a chorus, the flute player begins to play a wild,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_304"></a>[304]</span>
+rhythmic tune. Now a shout! and the three tiers of
+oars either side the ship lift—grating, groaning, creaking—a
+mighty noise. Then all together, like huge
+powerful wings, they smite down upon the water which
+whitens into spray.</p>
+
+<p>Forth springs the trireme like a hound, half lost in
+its own glittering spume. Up go the yellow sails of the
+round boats. A cry of love and longing goes up from
+the dear ones ashore, and the colonists are off!</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>All that day the little fleet coasted along the Gulf of
+Corinth, one of the most picturesque inland waters in
+the world. At night they drew up their ships upon
+the shore and slept under the stars. Sunrise saw them
+off again, the round boats using their long sweeps in
+that still, golden hour.</p>
+
+<p>All the way, as was the Greek fashion, they hugged
+the shore along Ætolia, Akarnania, Epeiros, keeping
+within the islands for safety, arriving at Corcyra, that
+western outlook-isle of Greece, the fourth day.</p>
+
+<p>From Corcyra they made the bold voyage across
+the Ionian Sea to Italy.</p>
+
+<p>Theria’s mind, so cultivated yet unspoiled, so educated
+yet starved, viewed all things with an eagerness
+usual to a child of seven. Partly her cloistering had
+done this, partly it was a racial characteristic. The
+Hellene was always young, and in this the Nikander
+family were true Hellenes.</p>
+
+<p>Day after day she stood at the prow, never tiring of
+the broad and changing sea, of the islands, white peaked
+or lying like brazen shields on the glancing deep, of the
+dolphins that played about the ship—symbols of her
+god—of the rise of the moon like a full-opened lonely
+flower above the waste of waters. She asked questions<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_305"></a>[305]</span>
+of Eëtíon constantly like a child, and who so glad as he
+to answer? Eëtíon was her Odysseus who knew all
+the wonders of travel, its dangers and its joys.</p>
+
+<p>In the Gulf of Tarentum they met storms which
+drove the fleet apart. One of the ships was lost and
+Theria wept for it as for close kindred. They reached
+Italy, coasted down to the point of it, sighted Sicily the
+great Isle of Snowy Peaks and came at evening, as is the
+wondrous way of ships, into the tiny bay of their desire.</p>
+
+<p>It was Eëtíon and Theria who stepped down first
+from the galley and waded through the shallows to the
+shore. Together they stooped and kissed the alien
+land which was to become their own. In spite of all
+their cultivation, they were not farther from the soil
+than the hidden creatures of wood and field.</p>
+
+<p>Then the ships were beached. What sound is so
+exquisite of far meaning as this grating of a glad prow
+upon new sands? The Greeks climbed the shore
+talking eagerly, laughing, looking about them as only
+new emigrants look, with hope of future generations
+in their eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Karamanor and Agis, as priests of Apollo, builded an
+altar, scattered barley and poured wine, lighting the
+fire with the sacred flames which they had brought from
+Delphi and had carefully guarded all the voyage
+through. But this done, Theria made them hide their
+fire for fear of being seen. Their foe, alas, was no
+Sicilian, but the Greek town Catana which flourished
+farther up the coast. So they ate a frugal supper and
+wearily, thankfully, slept on the lonely sand.</p>
+
+<p>Next morning, before sunrise, Theria awoke and
+spoke to Eëtíon.</p>
+
+<p>“Come,” she whispered. “Let us go into the land
+and see what we may see.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_306"></a>[306]</span></p>
+
+<p>“We must leave Karamanor in charge,” answered
+Eëtíon. “They must not think us lost.”</p>
+
+<p>This matter accomplished, they stole hand in hand
+out of the sleeping camp and up the overgrown paths
+toward the ruined town. The enemy had done his
+work well. The town was a pitiful sight. Greek, and
+ruined by Greeks.</p>
+
+<p>They passed beyond the town into the upland meadows
+where carpets of anemones—purple, white, and
+pink—reminded them that here the maid Persephone
+had gathered flowers what time the dark steeds of
+Hades and his yet darker chariot came rattling down
+upon her. The place seemed utterly deserted. All
+distances were hid in mists. The dews and high
+grasses drenched them to the knees. Theria had to
+kirtle her dress as she had done in the glen at home.
+But with this freedom her spirit rose. She began to go
+more eagerly, leaping along the way, clapping her hands
+at each new stretch of bloom, breaking into snatches of
+old Delphic song. Eëtíon began almost to fear that
+she was too much a child, that no responsibility had
+really touched her.</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, well,” he thought tenderly, “I can take the
+care. After all, her years are child years only.”</p>
+
+<p>They began to climb the hills and into a brightening
+world. Now turning they could see the beach with its
+faint dark patch where was their camp. But the ships
+were hid in the little river which here emptied into the
+sea.</p>
+
+<p>Full morning now. They came to a pleasant hill.
+It jutted out like a headland into a fertile, untilled vale.
+A forest of cypress and wild olive crowned the hill,
+and the shade received them with a sense of rest.</p>
+
+<p>But Theria did not rest. She began to explore. And<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_307"></a>[307]</span>
+in a depression of the hillside she came upon a full
+flowing spring. With a hasty invocation she knelt to
+drink and as she did so, the birds flew up in flocks with
+a whir of wings.</p>
+
+<p>Instantly she recalled the oracle which had been
+given to the Sicilian youth, Hyllos.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">Rebuild your city upon a hill,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent0">Where trees invite the birds.</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>“Eëtíon, Eëtíon,” she called, and as he and the slave
+came running:</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I have found the site of our city, truly, I think
+I have found it!”</p>
+
+<p>Reverently they drank of the spring. How unbelievably
+sweet after the stale water of the ship.</p>
+
+<p>“It tastes like our own Castalia water,” she said.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Mistress, it <em>is</em> Castaly,” spoke the Delphic slave.
+“I’d know Castalia water anywhere. The dear nymph
+has come under the sea to greet us here.” And Theria
+believed him.</p>
+
+<p>“Eëtíon, come, look! Is not the hill defensible
+from every side? Is not the plain near enough for
+tillage? You know so much better than I. Is it not
+better to be here hidden among the hills than down on
+the shore where the enemy will find us too soon?”</p>
+
+<p>She was serious (no laughter now) and sharp as a
+hawk.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, yes,” said Eëtíon. Busily, carefully they
+searched the place.</p>
+
+<p>Then they halted as if at some command.</p>
+
+<p>The mist had been drawing off, and suddenly borne
+upon the clouds the glorious snowy crest of Ætna stood
+in the sky, its white steam floating from it as if it itself
+would float away into nothingness.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_308"></a>[308]</span></p>
+
+<p>Then far below the rugged coast-line trembled into
+view and all the blue sea.</p>
+
+<p>Theria closed her eyes at the pain of the too-great
+beauty.</p>
+
+<p>“The gods have spoken,” said Eëtíon softly. “We
+will go back and tell our people. We have found the
+site of our city.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_309"></a>[309]</span></p>
+
+<h3 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLVIII">CHAPTER XLVIII<br />
+<span class="smaller">TOWN MAKERS</span></h3>
+
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="word1">How</span> eagerly the colonists heard the story. How
+impatiently they hurried up to the place themselves.</p>
+
+<p>Some were at first not satisfied with the site—those
+who had always lived directly upon the seashore. But
+in the council which met under the trees the Delphian
+mountain dwellers prevailed.</p>
+
+<p>Next day all began to carry their goods to Theria’s
+hill and started their work.</p>
+
+<p>First must come the wall. All laboured at this, slave
+and free; for the thing was of moment. Huts and
+shelters of branches must serve the people for this first
+while.</p>
+
+<p>Then the temple of Apollo was begun at once and of
+marble. In this work Eëtíon was perfectly happy.
+He it was who selected the temple-site. With true
+Greek instinct he made the temple the focus of the
+landscape, the place toward which everything centred,
+hill and vale and reverent climbing path.</p>
+
+<p>It was Eëtíon who later modelled the sculptures of
+the pediment and the bronze image of the youthful
+Apollo which was to stand within.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed the town was a place of youth. No grey
+heads anywhere, no blasted hopes nor pent-up desires.
+And when these are absent no one can believe that they
+ever will come!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_310"></a>[310]</span></p>
+
+<p>So well did the sequestered situation serve them that
+their enemy, the Catanan neighbours, found them not
+until months had passed. And when they did find
+them, the new colonists drove them off in a quick
+fight.</p>
+
+<p>Theria’s hours were full. Those hours which at
+home used to drag in hated vacancy. The colonists
+themselves were Theria’s constant care. To one she
+gave ardent praise, to another, merited rebuke.</p>
+
+<p>The choosing of laws, the unexpected setting aside
+of old laws which in this new land were found to be
+ill-fitted, the keeping of the council high purposed and
+pure. These were her duties. Theria did not sit with
+the council, but her advice was paramount. As former
+priestess of Apollo and seer of a vision, she exercised a
+power which as mere woman she could never have
+attained.</p>
+
+<p>And strangely enough, her poet quality did not suffer
+in this public activity, but, as is frequent with the
+Greek, rather thrived and flowered in it.</p>
+
+<p>Late in the winter her first child was born. The
+colonists thought it was misfortune that the child
+should be a girl. But Eëtíon took this dispensation of
+the gods with good heart. He lifted the darling creature
+in his arms, gazing into the tiny face which, from its
+first hour, knew how to smile.</p>
+
+<p>Then, smiling himself, he draped the little thing in a
+long, old-fashioned string of pearls and laid her softly
+beside her mother.</p>
+
+<p>“But what is this?” asked Theria. “In what strange
+fashion have you decked my child?”</p>
+
+<p>He laughed with happiness. “Do you not recognize
+them, dear Theria? The jewels of my freedom which
+your eldest daughter must wear. Did I not purchase<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_311"></a>[311]</span>
+them from Apollo and bring them over seas in hope of
+her?”</p>
+
+<p>And Theria realized how Eëtíon loved his little girl.</p>
+
+<p>In the second spring came a shipload of Athenians to
+join the colony. They gave the town a new impress
+from the first moment of arrival. For who should
+arrive with them but Nikander himself.</p>
+
+<p>Theria was sitting crooning happily to her child when
+he stepped over her high threshold as casually and unannounced
+as though he had come from next door.
+Theria came near fainting at such unlooked-for joy.
+Absence in those days was deathlike in its completeness
+and disconnection. It seemed to Theria as though her
+dear father had come from the dead.</p>
+
+<p>Then with what happy tears and soft laughter did
+she lift up the baby Theria to show him. With what
+pride did she lead her father out into her town.</p>
+
+<p>Eëtíon met them at the doorway. Then with what
+seriousness and pride did the two lead Nikander about
+the new streets, to the market place, to their pure
+Castalian spring, to their Akropolis. Here was the
+temple, Eëtíon’s own. It stood unfinished, without
+cella or roof, with distant Ætna and the violet horizon
+of sea glimpsing between the white new columns. It
+seemed a spirit thing, not yet quite of this earth. Indeed
+it was never to be other than a heavenly, unbelievable
+beauty.</p>
+
+<p>In Eëtíon’s workshop stood his clay Apollo
+watching as with wistful, marvelling eyes while the
+craftsmen brought him to life in bronze. Beside it was
+another model at sight of which Nikander exclaimed
+aloud with pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>“It is a Victory,” explained Eëtíon, “which I made
+after our battle with the Catanans.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_312"></a>[312]</span></p>
+
+<p>It was a slender elastic figure, winged, the accepted
+victory form. Like the Ladas model she was moving
+strongly forward, moving as it seemed into the wind
+which swept back her long draperies in lovely, free,
+yet simple lines. She held her victory trumpet but
+had forgotten to sound it. Her dreamy face seemed
+looking through some parting of the mists and she was
+walking straight into her vision. She had forgotten present
+victory in victories to be. The figure, the countenance,
+the clean-shaped, filleted head were Theria’s
+own.</p>
+
+<p>“How did you ever capture her?” cried Nikander.
+“The very spirit of my Theria.”</p>
+
+<p>“She stood so at the prow of the ship,” said Eëtíon
+happily. “Day after day, questioning, questioning always
+and so full of joy. I did not put my hand to the
+clay until she was complete in my mind.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ah,” laughed Theria, “so that is the reason you
+looked at me so strangely and sometimes did not answer
+me. I thought it was because you loved me.”</p>
+
+<p>“And was it not?” Eëtíon retorted, kissing her.</p>
+
+<p>“This statue,” said Nikander, “shall be put at once
+into marble. And I require it as your first city-gift to
+Delphi.”</p>
+
+<p>Centuries afterward a sculptor of the Island of
+Samothrace turned to this pure statue of the earlier
+day for the type of his Winged Victory. In his later
+hands the draperies were more boisterous in the breeze,
+the figure more robust, the skill of handling more complete.
+But he never caught the far, sweet dreaminess
+of the face which Eëtíon knew.</p>
+
+<p>Nikander’s visit to the colony gave the citizens great
+courage and conviction. His praise was ardent, his
+criticism unsparing. Thus no doubt many a time had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_313"></a>[313]</span>
+men of the mother city helped and inspired the little
+cities beyond the misty deep. Communication between
+Delphi and the colonies was astonishingly constant.</p>
+
+<p>As years went by Eëtíon and Theria journeyed back
+and forth over the sea carrying the city gifts to Delphi,
+bringing back Delphi’s encouragement and advice.</p>
+
+<p>Upon these journeys they took their children, the
+glorious children of whom Nikander had prophesied
+long before. During the first of these journeys, Theria
+longed with almost painful intensity for the arrival in
+Delphi. But once there, though she loved her “Place
+of Golden Tripods” more deeply than ever, she chafed
+at old restrictions, and, the sojourn over, she turned her
+face toward her western home feeling that it was home
+indeed.</p>
+
+<p>In this western home life was simple but very rich.
+From here the young victors went forth to the Pythian
+and Olympic games. It was of such western boys
+mainly that Pindar sang. Many such a boy was
+brought back to the little mountain place by his townsmen
+and celebrated almost as a god. Of these, three
+in succession were Theria’s own sons. It was
+easy to worship such youths not merely for their
+strength and outward beauty, but for their nimble wit
+and their delicate, fine-trained imagination. They
+were gentle seeming but strong as tempered steel.</p>
+
+<p>In this little hill town of Inessa poets and hymn
+makers were born, and one of those early scientists
+who amaze us by what they fathomed without instruments
+or scientific gear. Several young philosophers
+who were claimed as being from the more famous towns
+and schools were here born and bred.</p>
+
+<p>The city flourished. Its modesty kept it for many<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_314"></a>[314]</span>
+years from being drawn into the terrible wars which
+wrecked Sicily. It tilled the fertile plain below its
+Akropolis, and rebuilt the old town on the shore for
+a port. But farther than this it did not go. Theria
+and her colonists had the Delphic tradition which was
+neither conquest nor dominion, but an intensive perfecting
+of the life within the town.</p>
+
+<p>And after the passing of the original builders, the
+town was, for many generations, the same.</p>
+
+<p>For it is curiously true that a town will retain for
+hundreds of years the spirit of its founders. Men may
+flock in and overwhelm it in numbers, but the original
+subtile spirit, be it good or bad, absorbs the newcomers.
+In this lies the immortal glory of the pioneer.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>All is silent now. The hillock lies as ever beholding
+the infinite glory of the smoking mountain, the violet
+vivid sea, the far-flung island coast where headland after
+headland sweeps outward in majestic successive distances,
+and between are sheltered bays, sickle-shaped,
+untenanted and pure.</p>
+
+<p>Anemones and violets nod in the sea winds growing
+in the very cella of the temple. Sheep polish the marble
+pillars with their fleeces as they pass, or leave white
+woolly wisps upon the brambles in the market place
+for birds to gather for their nests.</p>
+
+<p>But who knows whether the godlike young Sicilians
+who here still tend their flocks may not show us, shadowed
+and dulled with ignorance, some gesture of
+Eëtíon’s beauty, some glow of Eleutheria’s grace?</p>
+
+<p class="titlepage">THE END</p>
+
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author	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-01-22 08:56:30 -0800
committer	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-01-22 08:56:30 -0800
commit	eaae8e26438f13136c828bb9a4b46719ba5b76a0 (patch)
tree	f3959c6eb07ea81fbbe781eddc20eaeddee3947d