Before nightfall Nikander took Melantho and Theria out through a small gate of the Precinct wall, which was just back of the Pythia House. He gave Theria the gate key. Then he led them up a little path amid the talus of the cliff to where there was a tomb against the hillside. Nikander had caused a narrow hole to be made in the side of the tomb where a thick laurel bush would hide it. The door of the tomb itself presented a sealed front. Hither Nikander had brought provisions and here—so near by and yet secure—he told Theria she must come with her mother should the Persians enter the Precinct.
As they turned back toward the Pythia House he gave Theria a small sharp dagger.
“You will not use it too soon I know, for you are brave. You will know the moment if it comes. It is for both of you.”
With a strange sense that all this was quite a usual thing to do, they came back through the gate.
At twilight Nikander, passing Theria’s door, saw her with her head down, weeping quietly. He came and sat beside her, questioning her.
“It is Lycophron,” she said through her tears. “Oh, Father, I loved him! He was so good to me!”
Now Nikander’s grief for Lycophron had been bitter and lonely. He could hardly share it with Dryas, and Melantho knew nothing of the truth. So the grief haunted him like a hovering Erinyes.
“We must remind ourselves that it is best as it is,” he said dryly.
“Yes, best for him, but I miss his goodness. No matter who is kind to me I shall miss his kindness.”