“Yes, yes, I am happy,” he interrupted her. “Theria, have you ever thought how humiliating it is to be a metic? In Argos I belonged to an honoured clan. Here in Delphi I am a metic, an alien, nor can I ever be otherwise. In the new city I will be a citizen—the first citizen of all.” “Eëtíon!” she exclaimed. He drew her close, speaking low and earnestly: “And our children will be citizens also. They will inherit. In the new city my sons shall hold up their heads.” When Nikander came in a half hour later he found the two lovers bending over a pottery tile on which was a map. Theria leaped up, clapping her hands like a child. “He will go, he will go,” she cried. “Did I not tell you that he would?” answered Nikander quietly. CHAPTER XLV THE MARRIAGE In the pleasant sunset hour there was great excitement in Delphi village. Men and women of the aristocratic families of the town were all upon the street. Since women were abroad, it could be nothing other than a wedding. Nikander’s daughter to be married! And the circumstances were so unusual that not one relative would miss it. Nikander was marrying her to a foreigner, a strange choice where Delphic youths abounded. But it was said that the choice was the girl’s own, that she loved the young man. She had managed to see him, and the young man had seen Theria’s face not once, but twice. This, however, was stoutly denied by the nearest of kin. The bridegroom had some wealth. That was a comfort; but he was as peculiar as the girl herself. The girl had seen Apollo in a vision and was now going to carry the god’s worship over seas to a place where Polyphemus, the one-eyed giant, still lived and might at any time sally forth from some sequestered forest. Where also were men with heads turned backward. This from the women. The men knew better. So they all gathered to the festive house with laughter, cousinly greetings, and jests. Nikander, richly clad and crowned with myrtle, received them at the door. Ah, there was the bridegroom, too. He was certainly handsome even though no Delphian. His dark head was crowned. He was clad in the crimson purple so dear to the Greeks. And here was Dryas, limping from his honourable wounds and greeting them all in his friendly way. How bright the torches burned in the aula! The smell of roast lamb was wafted from the kitchen to mingle with the odour of rose garlands everywhere. The slaves were bringing in the wine. Would the bride come soon? In the midst of this worldly clatter the love that was between the pair burned, a thing apart like an altar flame on a still day, clear, unswerving toward the sky. The ceremonies had begun in the morning when Nikander sacrificed the lamb to Hera Teleia. In the afternoon had come Theria’s maiden cousin bearing a pitcher of pure water from Castalia spring. Theria had received her bridal bath knowing that at the spring itself Eëtíon likewise was being purified.