And with loud cries settle ever onward——”
“What a picture!” he commented. “I never realized before how fine it is.”
Did his nearness to the ardent Theria bring this realization? Who can tell how mind may leap toward mind?
So they were sitting when Olen, the slave boy, came and stood beside them.
“Master, a consultant,” he announced, “at the street door. He will not come in.”
Nikander rose from the bench, strangely refreshed, and went to the outer aula. As Olen was following, Theria made him an imperious gesture and the slave reluctantly left ajar the dividing door. Then Theria moved to sit where she could command the outer room.
She saw enter a man with white, wrecked face.
“But I must not come in,” he objected. “O priest, I might bring it upon your house.”
“My house is not afraid,” said Nikander. He sat down, indicating the bench beside him, and the man sat down fearfully, like one unclean, at the farther end.
“It is a curse, O priest,” he said. “I am under a curse.”