Theria gave a low-toned order to the slave, who presently brought hot milk. To Theria in her hunger it smelt like nectar itself. Aristonikè at sight of it hid her eyes. “But if you will take it,” pleaded Theria, “I will send out your slave to buy a little living bird for you, a linnet in a cage.” Aristonikè uncovered her eyes. “Will it sing?” “Ah, how it will sing! high and low and chittery. But you must awake early in the morning for then it will sing best.” As Theria talked she fed her the milk and Aristonikè sipped it before she knew. They were still at this when the old dame Tuchè appeared. “Mistress Theria here! What are you doing in this room?” “You see what I am doing!” Theria answered. “You are to keep your own room. I supposed you knew that.” Theria rose in alarm. “Have I broken the ritual? Oh, I hope I have not broken it.” Aristonikè began to moan again. “Do not go, oh, lady, do not go.” She caught Theria’s dress, clinging to it as with little claws. “I did not think the god would mind,” spoke Theria anxiously. “Is it not for his priestess to heal if she can?” Old Tuchè’s armour was not without its flaw. She loved the little priestess child. She gazed at Aristonikè and her face curiously changed as if some sweet were trying to mitigate its sour. “Well, mayhap ye can stay, Mistress Theria,” she grudgingly consented. “I don’t say it’s not irregular. But, well, it’s to-morrow an’ next day for your silence. Is the child eatin’?” “When you stopped her she was eating,” Theria made answer. So Theria stayed. Aristonikè gazed at her, and slow tears began to pour down sideways from eyes upon her pillow. “What use is it to be better?” she said fatally. “Whenever I am better they come again and, oh, they put me in the smoke and then it begins.” “What begins?” questioned Theria. “Oh, the ecstasy of the tripod,” she whispered, frightened. “But, Aristonikè, I am Pythia, too. Did you not know that? I am going to the tripod in your stead. Then you will grow well.” Again the little claws caught at her, but in a sort of protection. “No, no, not you!” “Yes,” said Theria, nodding confidently. “I am strong. Me it will not hurt. Think not of the tripod, little one. There, there. You will not weep any more.” And presently beyond hope, the tired little priestess, with her hands clasped in Theria’s strong ones, fell asleep. CHAPTER XXIV THE HIGH, PERILOUS SEAT When Theria awoke next morning she did not at first remember where she was. For the first time in her life she opened her eyes upon a room not her own. Then she noted over in the corner a woman dressed in the yellow robe of the temple. As Theria turned her awakened face the woman solemnly advanced, holding aloft two golden vessels. She offered one, a cup of water. Theria knew that this water was from the sacred spring Cassotis, which bubbled forth near the temple.