One evening she was sitting in her room, “gazing into space” as Tuchè had described it, when the old slave who had tried to wait on her that first day brought her her supper. Now Theria had never received this woman. Tuchè had been obliged to send her a young girl whom finally, because Theria needed such service, she accepted. Now why did the old slave come again? Doubtless Tuchè had sent her merely as an annoyance. Tuchè disliked the new Pythoness. “How dare you come here again?” Theria said to the old slave. “I will not see you; I——” She rose to her feet. But the old slave, trembling much, set aside the supper tray and threw off her cloak. “Baltè!” Theria cried, and with outstretched arms ran to Baltè’s bosom. “Be quiet! There, there, my darlin’, don’t cry so, blessèd, blessèd—my little bird!” whispered Baltè, stroking the dark hair. And Theria gradually brought herself into control, but her heart seemed breaking with joy. “Baltè, Baltè, I never thought I could be so glad again. I never thought——” “And just for seein’ old Baltè’s face,” said the slave proudly. “Here, eat your supper. Ye’re that thin and white.” They talked in whispers, or rather in low, even tones, for Baltè well knew that whispers are most conspicuous of all sounds. “How did you get to me, Baltè; how, in Apollo’s name?” Even the divine name seemed strange to Theria now. “Been tryin’ ever since that old Chimera took me away from you. What’s she, to be takin’ care o’ my darling?” “Yes—go on.” “I couldn’t get in. The slaves were that pitickilar. Then I went to Lycophron and I begged him. I says, ‘Give me money to get to my darlin’. She’s dyin’ for the sight of a home face.’ “‘How do you know that?’ says he. “‘You know yourself,’ I says. ‘Could she feel any other way?’ “Then his eyes grew soft like and he gave me not silver, but gold. “‘Bribe ’em, Baltè, and get in,’ says he, laughin’. You know the way he does. ‘There’s no slave in the world but will take a bribe. When that’s gone come to me for more’.” “Good, dear Lycophron,” said Theria, loving him tenderly. She leaned closer. Already her face was changed by this touch of home. She asked lovingly after father and mother, even each slave of the household. “Tell me, Baltè——” she said at last, then stopped. It was the first time she had ever spoken this name to any one. “Did he ever come again—Eëtíon who met me in the lane?” “Shame upon you. Do you think I’d be bringin’ you love messages, you, a priestess of Apollo?” Theria hid her face, shivering. “No—no. Oh, Baltè, I would not want messages. How can you think that of me? And I did not mean to ask.” Poor child, only her own sense of right would uphold her now. She had no longer any fear of the god. When Baltè rose to go Theria threw arms about her. “You’ll come again. Promise that you’ll come again.”