Nikander’s brain whirled as this verdict was pronounced. But a still further joy awaited him. Kobon, who had always been his bitterest antagonist, now rose in the Council and proposed to elect Dryas, son of Nikander, to the priesthood, also to give Dryas the crown for the best warrior in yesterday’s battle. CHAPTER XL AGAIN HOME On leaving the Council, Nikander did what no other father in Hellas would have done: He went first to release his daughter before bringing the good news to his son. He could not bear that Theria should learn her freedom from any but himself. Old Akeretos went with him to confirm his authority in the Pythia House. To tell the truth, they ascended the Precinct with no little trepidation. If you had asked who ruled the priests in Delphi not one would have answered: “The old peasant woman Tuchè.” Yet such was the case. Tuchè had a tongue of fire. Akeretos knocked faintly, and the authoritative one herself appeared. But she told the news quite otherwise than they had expected. “Theria? No Pythoness, ye say? An’ did it take all ye men in day-long council to find that out? _I_ knew it from the first. She’s no Pythia, no, not if she gave the best oracles ever. Take her away, do—before she puts notions into the heads of the two new ones, good as gold.” Nikander did not wait for the finish. He ran past Tuchè to Theria’s room. Theria sat there on her couch staring at nothing in the same melancholy apathy which before had so troubled the temple women. She did not rouse until her father stood quite before her. Then up went her longing hands. “Father, Father,” she whispered amazedly. But Nikander in his delight threw both arms about her. “You are free, my own darling Theria, you are free,” he said. “The Council has freed you.” But he should have been more careful with his news. “No,” she said wildly. “Oh, I have to stay here. Here all my life—all my life.” “Not one further minute,” he asserted. “Dear child, I have come to take you home.” At this dear telling she burst into uncontrollable weeping. “Tuchè will not let me,” she kept saying like a frightened child. “No, she will not let me.” “By the gods she will. Theria, quiet yourself. There, dear little one, Father will care for you now.” He was like a tender nurse comforting her. He called the temple slave. “Get this Pythia robe off my daughter at once,” he commanded. “Where is the white robe in which she came?” He himself helped to fasten the shoulder pins, unheard-of service for a father. Often he kissed her when her tears ran down afresh. By his excitement he made it the harder for her to grow calm. Then he threw the himation over her head and face and hurried her out. They reached home after a happy walk hand in hand. The open air was always tonic to Theria. She was her bright self again when they had reached the threshold. Melantho and Eëtíon were tending Dryas in the aula.