Dryas stirred with a moan of pain.
“Yes, wife,” said Nikander decisively. “I know that we should go.”
He went over to where Theria and Eëtíon together were binding up the leg of a stout young guardsman, he howling with true Greek ardour.
Nikander touched Theria’s arm.
“Daughter,” he said, “Dryas is growing worse and I fear we must take him home.”
“Yes; and, Father, we must see that the litter-slaves walk slowly and very steadily. I will try——”
Tears filled Nikander’s eyes.
“Dear heart, I wish I could take you with us. I do not dare to take you,” he said.
Theria whitened as sorrow stole over and fixed itself upon her face.
She moved close to him.