“Father, it is a robber,” Dryas was saying excitedly. “I caught him by the outer temples. See, he had the silver temple cups.”
“My son,” said Nikander. “My son!”
At sound of Nikander’s voice the man fell down again, howling like an animal in fear. And strangely, Dryas, too, broke into hysterical weeping.
“Don’t let them kill him, Father. Don’t let them kill the man!”
“But he has committed sacrilege.”
“Oh, no—no, if they kill him I’ll die, too. Oh, I’m afraid! Oh, he would haunt me.”
“Nonsense, Dryas.”
Here the man tried to get upon his feet but tumbled down again.
“Pitiful Hermes!” cried Nikander. “The wretch is starving.”
Dryas, still sobbing, caught nervously at the man’s bonds and pulled them off.