Theria’s fingers trembled as she helped to fasten the robe.
“Eëtíon is coming,” she whispered. “Oh, he may be here any moment.”
But many moments passed and even hours. Theria went now to the upper window, now down to the door, thinking she had seen Eëtíon on the road, now back into the court.
“Why doesn’t he come?” she said despairingly. “Oh, he is against the colony. Father is trying to persuade him. That is what keeps them. It could be nothing else. Perhaps Eëtíon will not let me go at all.”
Theria had lived so long in half serfdom that she could not, save in certain burning moments, credit her freedom to do this thing. At last Baltè tried to persuade her to eat her breakfast.
“You are famished, darling,” quoth the nurse. “How pale you are. Your lover must not see you so pale.”
But Theria could not eat. She was sitting hopeless at the little table in the court when, with quiet suddenness, the door opened and Eëtíon was there. She rose, trembling, paler than ever. She did not move. Eëtíon ran to her.
“You are ill, darling? Why did you send for me? Ah, Theria, Theria, to see you, to see you!” And he kissed her again and again, so that she had no time to answer.
He had been out hunting, Eëtíon told her. He had returned to find the slave with her message. Oh, why had she given him this unlooked-for joy?