“I was the fool to allow you. But remember, Daughter, always remember the deed which priesthood let you do. Your Prayer to the Winds was answered, abundantly answered. You helped to save the fleet, my darling. And you did it thinking you must die for doing it.” His praise took her by surprise, but it only made it more impossible to part from him. She stole into his arms like a frightened child. He dared not tell her the hope he had for her. It was too faint a hope for that. He knew well that his best comforting was to remind her of what her priesthood had accomplished. “Your Salamis oracle. We have yet to hear from that. The battle must even now be raging at Athens. They tell me that never would Themistokles have kept the Athenians to their task but for that oracle to hearten them. You gave the oracle as being your own, but you know now it was the god’s.” She was trembling with the sobs she must keep still. “And, Daughter, never go to the tripod again,” he urged. “Promise me that.” “Never, never the tripod,” she answered. “No matter how they push you, no matter what rites.” “No—no.” Here Eëtíon came over to them, asking, “What is it?” and before they answered knowing what it was. “But no, no, no, Nikander. Not the Pythia House again,” he pleaded. Nikander had to take charge with decision. “It must be, Eëtíon. It must be. Go, Eëtíon, and take Dryas home. I will care for Theria.” There was no chance for good-bye in what the lovers felt to be the last parting. As for Nikander, mounting the Sacred Way with his arm about his child, the joy of victory, the safety of Delphi, were lost in bitter heartaches and self-reproach. CHAPTER XXXIX NIKANDER PLEADS FOR HIS DAUGHTER Early next morning Nikander returned to the Precinct. The smoke of the Great Altar was lifting in a glorious column. Not one priest of Delphi but had promised gifts to the Far-Darter if he would but save them. And now they were offering those gifts. Nikander mingled with the crowd on the temple platform. He was heavy hearted where all were gay. Old Akeretos was sitting on the temple steps worn out with hours of ritual. A little squat Delphic farmer was talking to him. Near by stood two cloaked females. “And, Akeretos,” said the eager little man, as if driving a bargain, “you can’t get any better anywhere. The two of ’em at once and portents to both of ’em.” “Bring them here,” said the old shrine president. The man pushed the two females to the front and without ceremony flicked off their veils. He showed two girls as alike as two peas. They were peasant-built but flabby. Their faces, brown because the sun had made them so, had somehow a look of paleness under the brown. The eyes of both were large and haunted as if with ill-health. They were simpering with the excitement.