Nikander’s gratitude beamed from his face. “The gods bless you,” he said, “for giving the girl her chance.” CHAPTER XLIII THE BIRD IN THE CAGE Nikander came hurrying into the house. “Where is Theria?” he demanded. Time was when Nikander coming in had invariably asked, “Where is Dryas?” Now it was always, “Where is Theria?” looking about restlessly as though home were not home until Theria appeared. “Theria? She has gone to bed,” answered her mother. “To bed! But the sun has not yet set,” said Nikander. “Yes, but that’s where she is all the same. She said there was nothing more to do in the house so she had better sleep. Of course there _is_ more to do,” complained Melantho. “You’d think she’d take more interest in her bridal spinning. She says there are already more linens and woollens than she can use in twenty years if she had twenty children.” “Well, aren’t there?” laughed Nikander. “I should think she would like some more just to put away. But she is so listless.” Nikander smiled happily. Listless! Ah, the dear child! She would be listless no longer now that this supreme task had been thrust into her hands. How strangely that had been done, as if the god had done it beyond all human planning. Ah, what a task! The eloquent statements of the afternoon had set the colony glowing in Nikander’s mind. That Theria his child had been chosen leader still filled him with an amazed joy. And Timon’s words! They thrilled back upon Nikander like a triumphal song. He was newly proud, newly tender toward his child who, unaided, had faced death from the god. But Timon had recognized the real power of the girl which had quite escaped the father who loved her. Nikander wondered at this so-common experience. Theria was as good as a son to him now. Had this happened to Lycophron or Dryas could he be any happier than he was at this moment? He turned impatiently to Melantho. “Think you she is asleep?” he asked. “Who, Theria? No, hardly yet. Have you something for her to do?” “By the gods, yes,” answered Nikander, and strode off like a boy to Theria’s room. Yes, she was asleep. How strange to see her bright face so quieted. Gods! What a quantity of dark hair she had spreading out over her pillow. What a young child she was, after all. “Theria,” he said, touching her shoulder. Her eyes opened wide and alarmed. “Father, what has happened?” “Something wonderful, dear child, but you can never guess it. Are you awake enough to understand?” Theria sat up rubbing her eyes, dizzy from the depths of sleep. “About Eëtíon?” she murmured. “No, not your lover. Yourself, yourself. Though, by Hermes, Eëtíon comes into it, too.” Suddenly Nikander found the matter difficult to explain. The girl there on her bed looked so tender, so young! A creature to cherish and protect. Hardly to send over seas to contend with men and fate. He sat down beside her and took her slender hand—that feminine hand so curiously like his own.