In a burst of joyous music they passed within the house door below her, and Theria heard the pleasant confusion as they took their seats at the board and the scurry of the slaves beginning to serve them.
Then after a time came a faint tuning of a lyre, a pause, and Dryas started once more to sing his song—her song. He faltered. Oh, would her rumpus of the afternoon make him fail? She was in a panic—family pride, family affection were strong in the Nikander household—but after a little flickering Dryas’s flame burned bright. He even imitated his sister’s dramatic singing of the afternoon.
Theria could not hear Pindar’s exclamation of wonder that the lad should sing the song this evening with an entirely new meaning. She heard only the hand clappings, the mingled voices, the chitter of the silver cups—cups treasured many a year by successive Nikander housewives. A wave of loneliness swept over her—a Wave of fear, remembering her father’s purpose. And shrinking back from the window she made her way through the darkness to her room and bed.
BOOK II
A CHILDHOOD IN DELPHI
CHAPTER III
THERIA, SEVEN YEARS OLD
A little girl in an ancestral house—a slender, vivid, flashing little girl whom yet the rich traditions of her line filled to the brim with dreams—such had been Theria in her childhood.