Then the ships were beached. What sound is so exquisite of far meaning as this grating of a glad prow upon new sands? The Greeks climbed the shore talking eagerly, laughing, looking about them as only new emigrants look, with hope of future generations in their eyes. Karamanor and Agis, as priests of Apollo, builded an altar, scattered barley and poured wine, lighting the fire with the sacred flames which they had brought from Delphi and had carefully guarded all the voyage through. But this done, Theria made them hide their fire for fear of being seen. Their foe, alas, was no Sicilian, but the Greek town Catana which flourished farther up the coast. So they ate a frugal supper and wearily, thankfully, slept on the lonely sand. Next morning, before sunrise, Theria awoke and spoke to Eëtíon. “Come,” she whispered. “Let us go into the land and see what we may see.” “We must leave Karamanor in charge,” answered Eëtíon. “They must not think us lost.” This matter accomplished, they stole hand in hand out of the sleeping camp and up the overgrown paths toward the ruined town. The enemy had done his work well. The town was a pitiful sight. Greek, and ruined by Greeks. They passed beyond the town into the upland meadows where carpets of anemones—purple, white, and pink—reminded them that here the maid Persephone had gathered flowers what time the dark steeds of Hades and his yet darker chariot came rattling down upon her. The place seemed utterly deserted. All distances were hid in mists. The dews and high grasses drenched them to the knees. Theria had to kirtle her dress as she had done in the glen at home. But with this freedom her spirit rose. She began to go more eagerly, leaping along the way, clapping her hands at each new stretch of bloom, breaking into snatches of old Delphic song. Eëtíon began almost to fear that she was too much a child, that no responsibility had really touched her. “Ah, well,” he thought tenderly, “I can take the care. After all, her years are child years only.” They began to climb the hills and into a brightening world. Now turning they could see the beach with its faint dark patch where was their camp. But the ships were hid in the little river which here emptied into the sea. Full morning now. They came to a pleasant hill. It jutted out like a headland into a fertile, untilled vale. A forest of cypress and wild olive crowned the hill, and the shade received them with a sense of rest. But Theria did not rest. She began to explore. And in a depression of the hillside she came upon a full flowing spring. With a hasty invocation she knelt to drink and as she did so, the birds flew up in flocks with a whir of wings. Instantly she recalled the oracle which had been given to the Sicilian youth, Hyllos. Rebuild your city upon a hill, Where trees invite the birds. “Eëtíon, Eëtíon,” she called, and as he and the slave came running: “Oh, I have found the site of our city, truly, I think I have found it!”