“I should rather think so,” he smiled.
“Would I have the choice of men who are to go? It should be but a few men at first, and the right men.”
“Yes, the choice would be yours.”
“And the present site of the city. May I choose another? If the old site be unhealthful, or melancholy, or not beautiful, or haunted by some fate?”
“Yes, with the consent of the colonists.”
“And the laws of the city. Would I select the code and even annul laws that proved unsuited in the new land? Oh, Father, you will have to teach me. I will have to work every moment to grow wiser and better.”
“I will teach you,” he responded, wondering at her.
“Think, if we could make a new city where better justice would be meted out than ever before, where even the poor man could keep up heart and courage. And where orphans would be nurtured. Oh, nobody should care for the little fatherless children but me. I would let no one else do that.”
She stopped her pacing and faced him. He was amazed at the change in her—a look of release, of purpose in her face that had never been there before. Seeing her eyes so shining, he realized that always heretofore they had held a bafflement, a look of discouragement and hunger. That look was gone. Now she was strangely creative, maternal onward-moving. The very lift of her head was free. He seemed to see a new Theria.
“Daughter,” Nikander said, “I did not, no, I did not realize it would mean all this to you.”