But if Nikander should come, would she dare to question him and his state policies? Never in her life had she doubted her father’s wisdom. Theria had in some way gleaned a knowledge of Nikander’s far-reaching powers—Nikander who seldom thought in terms of the individual but nearly always in terms of the state. But now his statecraft was bringing him into personal danger. That very danger made him seem to her in the wrong. Yet to question him face to face, that seemed to Theria the height of impiety. What could she, an ignorant girl, say to so wise a statesman? Yet persuade him she must. He was in danger—in danger! From this perturbation Theria found her old solitary place in the back storeroom an only refuge. Here she could at least breathe the air, could see the turbulent stream, could watch the gradual increase of nooning light or its golden decline. CHAPTER XVII A YOUTH UNDER THE WINDOW One evening she had sat there until the violet twilight gathered and the stream down in the lane ran uproarious among the damp mists. Presently she heard footsteps and looking down saw emerge from the hill a youth, a beautiful lithe fellow, walking with that swift grace that youth is heir to. He looked directly to her window and threw out both arms as if in surprise and greeting. Theria retired at once. She was quick enough for adventure, but not this sort of adventure. She had no taste for romantic secrecies. But the youth stopped under her window. “Lady,” he called, low but intensely. “For love of the gods do not go away! I have not come to harm you.” Something in his tone—earnestness, a tragic need—brought her back to the window. There he was standing with upturned face, beautiful in the twilight. But now having her in sight he did not speak. He only lifted up his hands toward her with an energy as though he would spring upward. Could this be her cousin Agis or Caramanor, one of those with whom she had played as a child? Was he bringing her news of her father? He seemed to have come with purpose. “What news have you, Cousin?” she asked anxiously. “The news that I see your face—your face!” answered the astonishing fellow. “Oh, all my happiness harks back to you. All my freedom to be a man is of your making. Do not wonder that I thank you—that I must see you and speak my thanks to your face. Every breath waking and sleeping I thank you.” “But who are you?” asked Theria, amazed. “Are you mad? You have nothing to thank me for.” He was the more delighted. “Ahai, my lady! you do not recognize me. Nay, forget the one you saw before. You with your jewels have made me a new man.” Then Theria’s mind leaped back over the two weeks and she guessed. “But, love of Leto, you cannot be that slave!” “No, no; I am not he, I am free!” “I don’t believe you are that slave. You have no look of him. You are straight. You are young.”