“Oh, unkind gods,” breathed Nikander. His heart had ached every time his daughter was set upon the terrible high seat of the god. Now how much more would it ache knowing how she had deceived. She must not go there again. Must never again give an oracle. She was no fit subject for the ecstasy. He must find some chance to tell her this. Must command her to resist the trance no matter what rites were practised. But oh, what a terrible fate for the poor child. Back to the Pythia House. Of course she must go back. He started to meet her before she could come downstairs. But here Dryas returned with amazed face, and Melantho with him, running down into the forbidden aula because of her anxiety. “How could you think Theria was in the house?” asked Dryas. “She has not been here. She is nowhere here,” urged Melantho. Again Nikander paused, confused. What had he said to the child? What harsh words? He had not meant them. Of course he had not meant them. But surely she had not gone forth from the house. Melantho was bringing in old Medon who knew all who came and went. “What is it? What?” asked the poor deaf man. “Yes, little mistress was here, but she went away—back to the Pythia House. Yesterday evening early. Very sad she looked, and staggered as she went.” So at last they knew that Theria was abroad. Nikander’s face hardened with bitter anxiety. “Come, Dryas,” he said. “We must find her at once.” Dryas turned to Eëtíon, “Dearest Eëtíon, you will help us?” As for Eëtíon, through what a range of feeling had he been carried in these moments? First, joy like an unbidden melody, because his beloved was in the house; then strong joy because he might see her as she passed; then horror at her disappearance. Why had she gone? What had Nikander done to her to make her run away? What cruel thing had he said? But there was no time even to be angry. Theria must be found and that quickly before the Persians should arrive. Eëtíon looked at Nikander, begging for a boon. “If I might help to find her,” he ventured; “but let me go my own way while you go another. We must search everywhere at once.” Nikander read his unspoken fear. Women must not be abroad when the Persians were in the country. There was not an instant to lose. “Nikander, I am presumptuous to give advice,” said Eëtíon. “But send also messengers to the port. I beg you do that.” It seemed to Nikander that he was sending messengers to the four quarters of the earth for his vanished children. He answered hurriedly: “Dear Eëtíon, you are wise, I can hardly think out this thing.” He was too occupied to notice Eëtíon’s emotion. Dryas had meantime fetched a fresh chiton for his friend. “You cannot go forth in that stained cloak,” he told him. “Dear Eëtíon, how excited you are, how like a kinsman you care for us. We’ll find her in a half hour. She ran away once before, you know. I know exactly where she’s run to.”