“Oh, the ecstasy of the tripod,” she whispered, frightened.
“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.”
Again the little claws caught at her, but in a sort of protection.
“No, no, not you!”
“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.”
And presently beyond hope, the tired little priestess, with her hands clasped in Theria’s strong ones, fell asleep.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE HIGH, PERILOUS SEAT
When 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.
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.”