“I will not tell, Despoina.”
“You,” she laughed. “No, of course not, you will 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!”
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.
“How strange,” he said. “How strange—I never thought——”
“What is strange?” she demanded.
“I never thought, Despoina, that wives and maidens cared to walk abroad. They keep the house and seem all content.”
It was the same comment that the lad Sophocles had made, the very same. It roused her sudden anger and flood of speech.
“Oh, yes. Be content, be content! Even a slave dare mock me with that. And you yourself, what do you want with your 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?”
The man fairly trembled before her outburst.
“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.