“Father—but why?” A troubled look crossed the boy’s rapt face.
“I am not quite well. Just for a moment. I’ll be with you soon, my son.”
Theria darted out and touched his hand.
“Never mind, Daughter,” he said. “Make haste, all of you.”
Obediently the family formed in a sort of procession and left the house.
Oh, the golden sunshine of that early morning! The sweet cool air with the blessing of the stars still upon it! Theria took thirsty draughts of it as she went along.
The cliffs towered nobly about as if in prayer and along their face the mists, white spirits new risen from the vale, came shouldering, sinking, lifting, dreamily alive. So tall are the cliffs at Delphi that they meet the blue and cut off from sight the snowy peak of Parnassos which is back above them.
Now the procession turned the shoulder of a cliff. The Precinct burst into view—the Precinct, a golden and many-hued Elysium lying on the slope above the road within its quadrate wall.
It slanted against the hillside in the sunshine. Theria could see the bright little fanes, the golden tripods, the zig-zag of the Sacred Way dividing it in the midst, and the great Apollo temple at the top. The Precinct seemed to spread itself generously before her sight—all of it at once—as though knowing how dearly she loved it.