This was true. Poor Dryas was hoping to get ship from Athens and save himself in the Islands. He was terrified at the certain impending destruction of Delphi. He had ever pleaded to accompany the party. “Very well, Dryas,” they said at last. “You stay. We’ll send you help. You can leave Eëtíon at Daulis. Then follow quickly. Do you hear?” So they cantered away. Dryas started off for water, but Eëtíon called him back again, allowing himself to revive. “Get me on my horse,” he faltered. “I must get to Daulis if I can.” “Dear Eëtíon, dear, dear fellow,” said the affectionate Dryas. They remounted, and soon the distance was doubling between Theria’s brother and the killers of his soul. At the edge of Daulis Eëtíon drove his horse close so as to touch Dryas’s arm. “Dryas,” he said in a low voice, “do you want to do that vile deed?” Dryas started violently, and Eëtíon caught his wrist. Eëtíon could throw Dryas at a wrestle like a child. “What deed?” Dryas asked between chattering teeth. “You know very well what deed. Will you let your father and your mother die without lifting your hand to help, while you save yourself—a renegade, a Persian serf?” “Let me go, let me go!” cried Dryas wildly. “Yes, I shall let you go, I will not bring you back against your will. That would be folly. But think. Perhaps your father already knows this. If so, he longs to die. Think of the shame, Dryas.” Dryas began to breathe as if weeping. “Think of the glory of fighting for Delphi,” went on Eëtíon’s low voice. “The rich glory. And if you will fight I will make you my brother-at-arms. Yes, even knowing what I know. You are a skilful fighter, Dryas. You will not fail in the fight.” Suddenly the sobbing breaths stopped and Dryas sat up straight and urged his horse forward. “Quick, quick,” he said, “before they come back after me.” Then he reined in the gallop. “Eëtíon, forgive me. Your wound!” he said. “My wound is red paint,” said Eëtíon, laughing. “Thus I was wounded for your sake.” “And, and you came out for my sake——” At this Dryas began to weep indeed. They passed Daulis, and hurried on under the setting moon. Dryas was silent now, only urging his horse so fast that Eëtíon had to check him for fear of accident. In the dark they met a party of men hurrying toward Athens as if mad. Eëtíon knew what they were and Dryas guessed, and he hid his face in his cloak as they rushed by. They were Nikander’s kinsmen riding to intercept those who would withhold the good oracle from Athens. Toward dawn the two riders neared Delphi, and at the familiar road-sights Dryas lifted his face, saying to himself: “Safe, safe!” “Safe?” asked Eëtíon, “where the Persians will certainly come to harry and destroy?” “Yes, safe,” answered Dryas, “safe from worse than the Persians!” and with Greek affection he reached for Eëtíon’s hand and kissed it. CHAPTER XXX SHEPHERD WISDOM