Ha, old Dragoness, dost thou possess it— Oracle meet for the voice of a God? Nay, for our archer God comes to redress it. Already are trod The dear paths of Delphi by feet mysterious, divine. Apollo, we shall be thine! Coils of the Python lie over the place Of Loxias’s[1] grace The heartening word Is choked in the depth, Unheard. Dark dark is Delphi, Dark is the dell, There in the murk the birds of ill-omen, softly horribly fly, And like waters of hell Castaly streams from her gorge and is lost in Castaly’s well. That _gleam_ in the gorge! That glint in Phaëdriades cleft! Like a golden spool in the weft Like a golden bird which flits ’Mong solemn crags of the ghostly place: Before the God cometh, cometh his grace. Ha! flash of silver bright as a bolt from the sky A piercing cry And straight to the heart of the monster The arrows of Loxias fly! Writhe, O Monster, lifting on high. Now thou must die! And now from Castaly’s gorge like the beauty of day Steppeth the God with bow bent broad to the fray Drawing with lifted arm the shaft to the tip. Paian, Paian, the pure! Thou art here, thou art sure, Immortally tall, fair tressed, crowned with bay. God of the far-borne voice, So dost thou capture with valiance the place of thy choice— Delphi, murmuring, golden. Hail to thee—God of Day! [1] Loxias, Son of Leto, Archer God, Paian, son of Zeus—all are affectionate, worshipful names of Apollo. To the end she sang it. Not with Dryas’s sensitive handling but with a dramatic power, possessive, from within, making it inalienably her own. Then she seemed to waken. She looked around. Her father stood with bowed head and hidden face. Melantho was weeping. Lycophron motioned a slave to shut the door lest someone come upon them, and Dryas sat gazing at the ground with an expression of misery and defeat which scattered the last vestige of Theria’s creative joy. Suddenly she would have given worlds not to have sung. All kept silence as if they were all guilty. And like a guilty thing, Theria gave the lyre back to the slave and went up the stair. CHAPTER II PARENTAL JUSTICE Theria was gone. Yet in the room the awkward silence held. Then by some hidden sympathy Nikander’s hand beckoned to Dryas and Dryas himself started forward at the same moment. “I wanted,” faltered Dryas, “oh, I wanted you to be proud.” “I would have been proud anyway,” said Nikander loyally. Dryas began to sob. “Son, why did you deceive me? There was no need. I would never have told the judges.” “I don’t care for the judges. It was you—you!” With sorrowful affection Nikander kissed him, then went slowly up the stair to Theria’s room. He found her pacing up and down the narrow place. She was talking aloud.