Eëtíon sprang to his feet. Fool, fool, that he was to bring his darling where she could get no help from leech or magic. If she died here it would be he who had killed her. The fear of Apollo now came over him. Apollo would blast them both if he took her away for his own. Again he lifted Theria in his arms and carried her back toward the path where he hoped Baltè might meet him. Baltè did not appear at the head of the Kaka Skala, but presently came Delphic citizens bearing their household treasures to hide in the hills. These, seeing the dying maiden, helped him gladly. “Did the Persians hurt her? Are they already come?” they asked, terrified. “No,” said Eëtíon. “The maid was lost and fell upon a rock.” They gave their litter on which they had carried their burdens and upon this Eëtíon and a slave of the Delphians bore her down toward her old bitter fate again, toward the priesthood and the torture. If she should live at all, she would not live long in that Pythia House. Eëtíon’s heart was dead within him as he made the slow descent. CHAPTER XXXI NIKANDER’S NEAREST OF KIN Meanwhile, Nikander and Dryas of the easy confidence came to the temple of Athena Forethought where this time no Theria was to be found. Dryas looked into his father’s grieving face. “Theria ought to be ashamed of herself,” he said stoutly, “to give you such trouble now.” “Be silent, Dryas,” said his father sternly. “You know nothing about your sister or her reason for this. Try to find her. Try.” “Father, I am sorry,” said the wondering Dryas, taking his father’s hand. “I want you to search now in the slave quarter,” said Nikander hurriedly. “I will go to the Precinct whence I will send messengers to Daulis.” Wearily Nikander climbed the Precinct hill. His memory was playing him curious tricks. His harsh words, which at first he could in no wise recall, now came back deadly clear, “No place in the Pythia House. No place for you at the home hearth, Bringer of vile tales.” Great Zeus! he had been god maddened, blind! The girl had risked her life and reputation to save her brothers from disgrace. Theria was always doing the unexpected, poor child, always bringing down wrath upon her own head, and as he now saw it, doing something either interesting or noble. What a Nikander she was, how true in every instinct to her ancient race. While these thoughts beset him Nikander was hastening from treasury to treasury, hastening through the hidden paths and secret places of the Precinct. Each familiar statue, tripod, each quiet, chapel-like treasury room pierced him with the thought of her intense love of everything in Delphi. Her very deceptions on the tripod had been only from her too great love for Delphi and for Greece. And her lover; poor little daughter, if he had but kept closer to her in daily life (ah, she had tried so wistfully to keep close to him), she would have told him of this lover long ago.