“What on earth do you mean? Why are you joking, Father?”
The same question which Melas had asked.
“I am not joking, dear heart. The priests are in earnest. They chose you because you have seen Apollo. No one in our generation has done that, my child.”
“The vision! How strange. How strange. And the priests chose me, you say? The priests—me!”
Nikander went on explaining as if to dreaming ears. She seemed not to hear him.
“Would Eëtíon go?” she queried.
“Yes, he would help you, but he would not be the leader. That is for you.”
“For me! Oh, Father,” she suddenly cried out. “How could you suppose I could do it? Think of the wisdom, the strength to command men where no laws command them, to know, oh, to know everything for a city’s good. I am not great enough. I am not—not even good enough, Father.”
“But I think you are,” he told her.