“Of course not, Fool! Go quickly, you will be caught. Go!”
He flung his hands upward again. Poor creature, the gesture was a very speech of gratitude. Then he slipped back to the enfolding rocks.
Theria suddenly recalled how once she had found a bird in the court and had taken it to this window to set 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.
She went off to bed singing softly a little tune.
Next afternoon Olen, her father’s slave, came into Theria’s room. He seemed furtive in his errand.
“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.
“What is this, Olen?” she asked.
“You know best, Mistress,” he said, hiding a smile.
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.
“Who gave you this bowl, Olen?” asked Theria, puzzled.