The Persians were heading for Delphi! And were now not two hours away! Dryas hurriedly sent a slave to fetch wine. “Don’t do that,” advised Eëtíon. “The wine will help you now, but later it will weaken your arm.” Dryas clapped his hands together in pitiful misery. “Why don’t you hate me, kick me out for the dog I am? Why did you ever try to save me?” “Hush, hush,” said Eëtíon. He laid his hand on Dryas’s arm. “Your father must not hear you.” “Why, Eëtíon! Your hand is cold as ice.” “Of course it is, foolish boy, do you suppose other men are made of wood and only you feel what must be hid?” “Oh, Eëtíon, forgive—forgive me,” pleaded the emotional Dryas. “This inaction now, this waiting,” said Eëtíon soberly, “is the hardest part of the battle. I have not been in battles myself, but old soldiers tell me so. Think, Dryas, you have father, mother, sister to protect. I have no one I can call my own—and no city.” “Father would give you Theria,” whispered Dryas, “if he could get her free. And oh, Eëtíon, I know he feels that Delphi is your city. I feel that Delphi is your city.” All night long Dryas had been assailed by a horrible picture of his own death. His highly developed imagination swept the thing through him like a reality. It was a spear-thrust in his side, keen and fatal, the grinning face of a Persian triumphing over him. Dryas tried to think other thoughts, but this thing returned again and again, sometimes with an actual pain where the weapon was thrust in. Dryas could have conquered it but for the fear-producing chant which old Akeretos kept up near the Great Altar. All night long the old prophet moved to and fro—making sacrifices, trying omens of all sorts, seeing portents where none were, an eerie, aged figure in the starlight with his white beard wagging and his hands lifted on high. Dawn began to break in the slow beautiful way as if the day were to be all gentleness instead of the most dreadful day these hills had ever known. At full morning Nikander came out refreshed, to share with Dryas and Eëtíon the morning meal. He was in armour, for Nikander was yet in full fighting strength. They were eating in silence when Dryas with a cry jumped to his feet. “Look, look,” he said. “There on the uppermost road!” The road from Daulis, winding down the distant mountains among the crags, was several times visible and lost again ere it reached Delphi. Now on its highest, farthest stretch the Delphians saw moving spots, like groups of ants, carrying ant burdens. Even as the Delphians were gazing, the spots became a solid mass, which filled the road from end to end of its visible stretch. They could not tell now that the mass was moving. Simply the road at that point was curiously black. Dryas’s cry brought Theria from the house. She noted the looks and gestures of the men, then stole over to Eëtíon’s side. The others were too intent to notice what she did. “What is it?” she asked.