“Lady,” he called, low but intensely. “For love of the gods do not go away! I have not come to harm you.”
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.
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.
“What news have you, Cousin?” she asked anxiously.
“The news that I see your face—your face!” answered 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.”
“But who are you?” asked Theria, amazed. “Are you mad? You have nothing to thank me for.”
He was the more delighted.
“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.”
Then Theria’s mind leaped back over the two weeks and she guessed.
“But, love of Leto, you cannot be that slave!”