Now Nikander’s grief for Lycophron had been bitter and lonely. He could hardly share it with Dryas, and Melantho knew nothing of the truth. So the grief haunted him like a hovering Erinyes. “We must remind ourselves that it is best as it is,” he said dryly. “Yes, best for him, but I miss his goodness. No matter who is kind to me I shall miss _his_ kindness.” “Was he so kind to you?” said Nikander. For there in the house, as so often happens, the father had not guessed the bond between these youngsters. “Yes. Always he would stop and tell me the news I was hungry to know. He would spend time upon me when no one else thought of me. And, Father, when I was here dying of loneliness Lycophron sent Baltè to me—I know it was disobedient, but it was so kind. He gave Baltè money to use for bribes so she could get in and as if that were not enough, he sent me messages, just the ones that he knew I wanted most. He had a heart of gold!” Suddenly Nikander bowed his head low in a passion of weeping. The unexpected praise—the unexpected bringing back of his son into the sweetness of the family life, broke him down completely. Theria threw her arms about him, frightened at her thoughtlessness. “Oh, Father, I should have thought of you before I said it,” she faltered. “Dear child, you have given me something that I thought was for ever lost,” he answered. He went out readier for the hard to-morrow than he had deemed possible. BOOK IV THE GOD WILL CARE FOR HIS OWN CHAPTER XXXVII THE PERSIAN COMES The night was deepening. Eëtíon and Dryas, fully armed, stood guard together on the temple platform not far from the Pythia House. Nikander, at their insistence, had gone within the house. He was sleeping, worn out by his anxieties for children and state. “Do you think,” spoke Dryas in a low voice, “that even now the host may go on toward Athens and leave us out of their march?” “It is possible,” returned Eëtíon. “The Persians have no time to lose in the direction of Athens. Their marching to Abai is a good sign for Delphi.” Meanwhile, Delphi was armed for the Medes’ immediate coming. Most of the Precinct guards were stationed at the great gate. The small gates facing the highway had a few men each, but the gates in the back wall were entirely without guard—a pitiful preparation truly for the coming of a hundred myriads of men. It was a showing forth of the Delphians’ despair. The best they could do was so far short of adequate defence that this seemed nor less nor more. Suddenly, as the two friends stood there in the night, they saw a glow break on the far heights east of Pleistos Valley, very red and brightening, brightening! “Look,” said Dryas, between lips which hardly parted. “Eëtíon, that light up there!” One of the old temple guardsmen approached. “That will be up Daulis way,” he said. “They’ve set fire to Daulis.” Neither Dryas nor Eëtíon made comment. They knew only too well what it meant.