In her excitement last night she had eaten almost nothing. Now she must fast for three days to come.
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.
“What do I care for hunger?” she kept saying proudly. “For mere hunger when Athens is in danger of burning!”
But it was only by an effort that she could hold her mind on Athens. Her thoughts kept rising, floating away like clouds.
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.
Suddenly with a wrench she brought her thoughts back to the present.
“Love of Leto, how the poor little Pythia moaned in her room across the court.”
It was impossible for Theria to be near suffering and not try to help.
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.