Wearily Nikander climbed the Precinct hill. His memory was playing him curious tricks. His harsh words, which at first he could in no wise recall, now came back deadly clear, “No place in the Pythia House. No place for you at the home hearth, Bringer of vile tales.” Great Zeus! he had been god maddened, blind! The girl had risked her life and reputation to save her brothers from disgrace.
Theria was always doing the unexpected, poor child, always bringing down wrath upon her own head, and as he now saw it, doing something either interesting or noble. What a Nikander she was, how true in every instinct to her ancient race.
While these thoughts beset him Nikander was hastening from treasury to treasury, hastening through the hidden paths and secret places of the Precinct. Each familiar statue, tripod, each quiet, chapel-like treasury room pierced him with the thought of her intense love of everything in Delphi. Her very deceptions on the tripod had been only from her too great love for Delphi and for Greece.
And her lover; poor little daughter, if he had but kept closer to her in daily life (ah, she had tried so wistfully to keep close to him), she would have told him of this lover long ago.
Why had he not warned his child when he was making her a priestess? He had put her on the perilous seat of the tripod without one thought of her. He had left her aidless and lonely. He was to blame, to blame!
Near the Great Temple Dryas met him again, saying that his search had been fruitless—asking where now to go. Nikander caught his son’s hand convulsively.
“Go nowhere,” he pleaded. “Stay with me.”
But even as he clung to his boy he thought how impossible it would be for Theria to do what Dryas had done. No spies could have dragged her away on such an errand. And oh, dear Paian, she would not have companioned with them at all nor left her father lonely through these terrible days. She would have entered with him into every struggle for Delphi’s honor if her father had only allowed her. How wistful she was when she met him returning from Council. What a sly little puss in her questioning, finding out his problems which he did not mean to tell! Nikander smiled, but in his smiling found himself blinded with tears.
Dryas was sure that it was anxiety for Lycophron which unmanned his father thus.
Long after nightfall the two came home again. The slaves brought supper, and all unwilling they sat down to eat. Then footsteps were heard in the doorway—Eëtíon and the slave with Theria white on her litter.