It stood on a high ledge of the cliff, its four bronze steeds prancing with that lightness of poise just learned by Greek craftsmen. In the car stood the naked chariot victor and just behind him the charioteer holding the reins, his living eyes watchful of his steeds. But to Theria it seemed that he was driving them over the ledge, was driving them into the sheer abyss and that he did not care. Would the gods so drive her Delphi to destruction? Would Atè (doomed Fate) tread Delphi down? Whose feet are delicate because she steps upon the heads of men, and on whom she steps she bows to the dust. Ah, the Persians were so near! At Thermopylæ. Were they victorious? If so, they would march directly upon Delphi. They were not one week’s time away. The doom of Delphi pressed so close, so sure. Even the temple guardsman seemed to feel it as he paced his beat. Now he walked slowly, dignified in his armour, now he hastened with nervous steps to and fro. Aristonikè awoke, complaining. “The thirst, the thirst. Tuchè, bring water. Not warm water; cold, fresh from the spring.” Tuchè rose up, flattered that her dear one had asked this of her, and went upon the errand. No sooner had she disappeared than the guard halted short in his beat, looked about him—then almost ran toward the Pythia House. He touched Theria’s shoulder and she rose with a cry. It seemed as though her thoughts had suddenly become visible, for there beneath the helmet was the face of Eëtíon. Pale white he was. Then flushed with unbidden joy as he touched her. “Eleutheria,” he whispered. “I had to come. Your oracle to the Winds. The Delphians have sent it to Artemisium and the fleet and also to Athens. It is precious beyond words, for it will hearten men to victory. Nay, the winds themselves will answer it; for what god could resist so insistent a prayer.” “Yes,” she whispered—wondering that he should come to tell her this. “But your brothers! Oh, beloved, it is no happy tidings I bring you. Your brothers are in league with the Persians. They are with the Persian spies. They have gone after our Delphian messengers to kill them on the road.” “Oh, Eëtíon, no, no!” she interrupted him in low voice. “Not my Lycophron! Not my Dryas!” “Yes, it is true. I saw them start: Lycophron toward Thermopylæ and Dryas toward Athens. If it become known in Delphi it will mean the ruin of Nikander’s house. But your father will have to know in order to stop them. He would not believe me. But you he will believe because you are Pythia. Send for him at once, Theria, tell him to dispatch swift horsemen to save the oracle for Greece. I go now on instant business.” He paused for a moment, gazing into her face. “Hera be thanked that I have seen thee. O thou peer of gods, thou sister of the dawn.” He bent and kissed the edge of her sleeve. He dared no more. She was priestess of Apollo.