“Oh, Mistress, it is Castaly,” spoke the Delphic slave. “I’d know Castalia water anywhere. The dear nymph has come under the sea to greet us here.” And Theria believed him.
“Eëtíon, come, look! Is not the hill defensible from every side? Is not the plain near enough for tillage? You know so much better than I. Is it not better to be here hidden among the hills than down on the shore where the enemy will find us too soon?”
She was serious (no laughter now) and sharp as a hawk.
“Yes, yes,” said Eëtíon. Busily, carefully they searched the place.
Then they halted as if at some command.
The mist had been drawing off, and suddenly borne upon the clouds the glorious snowy crest of Ætna stood in the sky, its white steam floating from it as if it itself would float away into nothingness.
Then far below the rugged coast-line trembled into view and all the blue sea.
Theria closed her eyes at the pain of the too-great beauty.
“The gods have spoken,” said Eëtíon softly. “We will go back and tell our people. We have found the site of our city.”