The attendant priests glanced at each other in surprise, but none of them dared to reply.
"Speak, Thrasybulus; I am an old man," the chief priest said.
"Thrasybulus has been dead these fifty years, Father," Agias said. "This is Clearchus, an Athenian, who comes as a suppliant to the oracle."
"He is like Thrasybulus!" the old man muttered, bowing his head. "It seems but yesterday that he stood before me." He paused for a moment and then continued with an effort: "Art thou pure of heart? Art thou free from the sins of the flesh?"
"I am," Clearchus replied firmly.
"Then pass into the presence of the God who knoweth all and who doth not forget!" said the patriarch, closing his eyes wearily.
Clearchus bowed and was about to turn away, when the old man roused himself once more.
"Come hither, boy, and let me look at thee!" he said. "My sight is growing dim."
Clearchus knelt at his feet, and the aged priest placed his hand on his head, stroking his hair and peering into his face.
"So like Thrasybulus! It was only yesterday!" he said to himself. "The storm comes and the world is changing. Thou shalt see thrones made empty and nations perish; but the God will remain until a greater cometh. Clearchus art thou called? It may be so; but to me thou art Thrasybulus. Go thy ways. The God will be kind to thee."