Then he was gone. Before she could answer or think of answer he was gone. He knew that to linger might likely be her death. Theria’s thoughts whirled like a falling star. She must send for her father. Yet her father could not have speech with her. Eëtíon did not know this, not being Delphian. And even if Nikander could have speech, would Tuchè send for him? Tuchè refused regularly her every request. And Theria could not give reason for this request without betraying her brothers. Meanwhile, Lycophron and Dryas were hastening to their doom and to the doom of Hellas. For Theria ardently believed now that the prayer to the winds would avail. What could she do? Like a sword’s stroke came the thought: “Run home yourself, Theria. Now while Tuchè yet lingers in the house. There is no time to lose.” Aristonikè was sleeping again. Theria snatched a dark himation which lay for cover on the couch and wrapping herself, head and all, ran to the protection of the temple-colonnade, along this she hurried, the columns would conceal her, soon an angle of the cella would intervene. Then she reached the Sacred Way and walked not too fast so as to avoid question. Her weakness from yesterday’s ordeal was instantly gone. She only prayed that Nikander might be at home, that his action might be swift. And now for the highroad; now for the familiar street; now for the dearest house which she had thought never to see again! Medon tottered to his feet at sight of her. More natural would it have been to see the ghost of his little mistress than herself. “Is Father within?” she asked, but did not stay for answer. She sped into the aula and, oh, thanks be to Kairos, Nikander was there. He, too, looked upon her as upon a dire spirit. Only madness could have brought her. But more terrible than his wildest conjecture were her words. “Father, Father, it is bitter news I bring. Lycophron, Dryas. They have Medized and are fled with Persian spies. They are gone to hold back the Oracle message from all the Hellenes.” Nikander sprang up, seizing her wrist, searching her face. “Child, what madness! They are not gone away.” “Oh, are they in the house—now?” She almost sobbed with relief. “I saw them both only an hour ago.” “Oh, but within the hour they are gone far. Dryas to Athens, Lycophron to Thermopylæ. Father, search the house. Send after them quick, quick.” She seized both his shoulders, shaking them as if to waken him to the sorrow. “Where did you get this information?” Nikander was pitiful of her strange mistake. “I cannot tell you. It came, it came.” Her eyes looked so strange and glittering, her whole aspect so bordering on delirium or even ecstasy, that Nikander touched her gently. “Was it by some prophetic power?—vision?” Theria was so upwrought that she spoke out her first instinctive thought. “No—no prophecy. Do not speak of prophecy. I am not deceiving. This is real, real.”