Part 7

"I am too big a girl," she said to herself, "to be such a baby--and tears will rust on a sword."

As she wiped the sword clean with her sleeve, the new-comer advanced and touched her gently on the shoulder. The girl swung round with a cry of joy. She leaned the sword against a tree, and, running to the man, clasped him in her arms, the strong young girl clinging to the strong elder like some beautiful creeper encircling an ancient, stalwart tree.

"Oh, father!" she cried. "I am so glad you have come! I have been so lonely."

Theron's brown hand rested gently on the girl's head, and his brown face smiled love. There was trouble in his eyes, there was trouble in the lines of his forehead, but the sight of his daughter softened them, and she read nothing but greeting.

"Lonely, little eagle?" he asked, with surprise in his voice. The girl noted the surprise and laughed a little as she answered.

"I never knew what it was to be lonely before. You and I and the sword, and our songs, and the holy men, and the trees and the flowers and the furred and feathered woodlanders"--she ran through the sum of her companionships--"they seemed to make a perfect world of peace."

Theron heard the change in the child's voice, Theron saw the change in the child's eyes.

"Who has disturbed this world of peace?" he asked, and a frown grew on his face.

"Strangers," the girl answered, turning a little away, while the old man caught at the word and echoed it in fear and anger, while his hand went to the hilt of his knife.

"Strangers?"

"There was one here but now," Perpetua answered, "a fugitive from the city, whose coming troubled me. He said the world was as wicked as a sick dream, and my heart grew cold in the sunshine."

The lines on Theron's face deepened dangerously. "Had I been by I would have twitched his tongue out," he said, fiercely. Perpetua pressed her hand upon his lips.

"No, father, you could not have touched him, for he was deformed and twisted--a hideous, helpless thing."

Theron stamped his foot upon the ground. "I set my heel upon a scorpion!" he cried. Perpetua shook her head.

"I am sorry for the things that are made to bite and sting. Let us think no more of it. Tell me of the Golden Age, father, when heroes roamed through the world, beautiful youths with eyes like mountain lakes."

Theron turned moodily from his daughter, and, going to the edge of the hill, looked down upon the distant city.

"The Golden Age is over long ago," he said, gloomily, "and we have come to the end of time."

Perpetua saw that her father was agitated, and wondered why the passing of Diogenes should move him so much. She yearned to tell him her sweet secret of the other comer, the beautiful hunter with the bright eyes and the bright hair, yet when she strove to speak words seemed to be denied her. In all the years of her young life, in all the years of love for her father, and of a friendship, a comradeship wellnigh more wonderful than love, there had been no secret shut in her heart from him. Now there was, and it seemed as if she could not set it free. While she hesitated, Theron turned to her again, and asked, abruptly, "Was this the only intruder to-day?"

Perpetua felt her cheeks burn as she answered, "Ay," but Theron did not notice her confusion, for he was again gazing down upon the city, and, though he questioned anew, his voice was listless.

"I thought you said strangers?"

"There has been no one else to-day," Perpetua answered. She purposely set some stress on the last word, that her father might, if he chose, make further question, but he seemed to be absorbed in heavy thoughts. He turned from his view of the city and came to her with a grave face.

"There will be others," he said. "The new King--"

"Robert the Bad?" Perpetua interrupted.

Theron stared at her. "Where did you learn that?"

"The withered fool called the King so."

"The fool yelped wisdom," Theron said, bitterly.

Perpetua came up to him and touched him on the arm. "Father," she said. "You did not tell me that there was a new king in Sicily."

The executioner looked down upon his daughter's face with a smile of grim pity. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he led her to the fallen column, and they sat there side by side.