“My poor wicked Theria. What place is there for you anywhere? Not at home here, not in the Pythia House. Oh, I know not what to do for you. No, I will never believe that story. Leave me before I go mad!” He was so beside himself that he did not notice when she shrank away from him and staggered out of the door. Indeed he continued to speak in the same words, “Leave me—I will not believe you. Leave me!” Suddenly she touched his arm again, or so he thought. He uncovered his face to find Medon standing before him—Medon with eyes astream with tears. “Master, Master, I knew that if the little mistress appeared it was some terrible thing. Master, I know what she has told you. You called so bitter loud upon your sons. I know, I know!” “Leave me, Medon,” said Nikander angrily. He was still pacing up and down. But Medon did not leave. “Master, I had not the courage to tell you. But I can follow the little mistress’s telling. Lycophron, Dryas, oh, you must haste to save them.” Nikander stopped his pacing, and gazed into Medon’s face as though he comprehended not a word of what the old man was saying. Medon piteously went on, “Lycophron and Dryas thought I could not hear, but I heard them talking; oh, I heard too well. And the men who have been with them, they are spies, Master. The slaves have long been whispering that those men were Persian spies. To-day I was very anxious. All day I have watched. And this afternoon I followed Lycophron to where he had swift horses waiting and those men were there. I do not know where they were going, but it was on some wicked errand. For when Master Lycophron saw me, he caught me. He threatened to kill me if I told. The men wanted to kill me at once. Oh, Master, haste! haste, there is no time to lose.” “Yes—yes,” said Nikander, dazed into bitter quietness. “Yes, Medon, thank you.” He stood quite still while his thoughts raced. Then he ran out of the house to summon youths of the nearest kin who owned the swiftest horses. CHAPTER XXVIII AN OUTCAST ON PARNASSOS Theria stood still in front of the house. She was stunned as one must be when life turns a sharp corner and shows undreamed-of paths of dread. “No place in the Pythia House, no place at home—anywhere.” Her father’s words were true. She did not feel sad nor terrified. She did not feel at all. She looked down the twilit road toward Kirrha, the port. No, in Kirrha they would find her and kill her publicly. She must not die that way. The Pleistos glen also was out of the question. The hills! Her true hiding place was the hills. She turned swiftly into the little lane and threaded its shadows to the cliff. A steep climb brought her to a height above the house-roofs. Here at once she was in the wilds, on a slant hillside where grew laurel, wild olive, and the hemlock. Here the twilight was silvered by the rising moon, the same full round under which the Thermopylæ soldiers were keeping their heroic guard.