These were many. Theria could think of nothing but her father’s worried words: “The Medes are at our door.” The phrase rang over and over again in her ears. The Medes were the Persians. Did Father mean that the Medes were in Phokis—or on Mount Parnassos itself? How soon would they fall upon Delphi? Oh, if she could only question her mother. But her mother would know nothing about it. In the midst of her worry her promise to the slave concerning the jewels flashed across her mind. “But it was last night I was to give him the jewels, last night, poor slave. He must have come—and gone away again. Will he come to-night? Oh, surely he will.” She went immediately to her room and took from her jewel box a necklace. It was of pearls strung upon horsehair. A mother-of-pearl amulet depended from it. This she tried to remove, for it was characteristic, easily identified. But a sound along the corridor made her swiftly hide the necklace and all in her bosom. Moments alone were rare to-day. She must have the jewels ready. Of course the adventure pleased her. She was young and she was—Theria! After the family had dispersed from the last meal of the day she sped away to the back storeroom. There at the window she waited. Never had so many steps sounded in the house, coming near the door, passing and repassing; never had the lane reëchoed so loudly the footsteps from the highway. Again and again she thought people must be entering the lane itself. Once Nerea came into the storeroom to fetch wheat for the kitchen. But it was by no means unusual to find the little mistress sitting at that window, and Nerea went innocently away. Down in the lane the shadows crept closer. Deep twilight now. There among the jagged rocks at the lane’s end was a denser shadow. Suddenly bird-swift the shadow darted forward and stopped under her window. She leaned out. “Hist! is it you, slave?” The bearded face uplifted itself, the hands as well. She could see this in the dimness. “Oh, marvel of kindness,” came the low voice, “I knew you could not fail.” “But I forgot yesterday. Hold your hands up close together. Careful, now.” She dropped the pearls and he caught them easily. But he stood still in his place. “They did not whip you yesterday, Despoina? Tell me they did not,” he whispered. “Of course not, Fool! Go quickly, you will be caught. Go!” He flung his hands upward again. Poor creature, the gesture was a very speech of gratitude. Then he slipped back to the enfolding rocks. Theria suddenly recalled how once she had found a bird in the court and had taken it to this window to set it free. Even so had it flung itself off and was gone. Her fancy pictured the slave hiding for the night among the rocks; then, at break of day, hurrying down to the Precinct to purchase freedom from the god. Ah, by to-morrow he would be miles and miles away. He would not wait for the jewels to be questioned. That problem would be hers. She went off to bed singing softly a little tune.