THE LION.
The great iron gate was opened up. Into the arena proudly leaped a
glowing-eyed gigantic brute, with tawny coat and heavy mane, the hungry
king of the forest.
All eyes were directed towards him, but Pathema moved not.
"Now may her God help her!" exclaimed Myrtis, bending her head and
burying her face in her hands; but unable to bear the strain, she rose
up and left, leaving her companion absorbed and pained, and her husband
down on the _podium_, transfixed yet ashamed.
No wild-beast fighter having appeared--no one to gratify the craving
for excitement--a great hum of disappointment soon ascended and rolled
round the amphitheatre.
The lion raised his massive head as if in defiance, and uttered a
mighty, vibrant roar.
The hum of voices stopped.
Pathema's heart trembled in the balance, as a topmast twig before the
first breath of darkening storm. The mere finite fabric would surely
have given way. But if the tremor lasted in varying degree, hesitation
had perched for a moment only. Prolonged habit, woven in as metal
cord, called forth the virtue told in the oft-read words--"What time I
am afraid, I will trust in thee." Strengthened from above, she calmly
turned her head and, as if also in defiance, fixed her eyes full upon
the distant savage brute.
The hungry lion saw the human form--ah! this was strange choice game.
He trod forward with swaying tail--he crept--he crouched low--he would
soon spring--and that fair image of the divine would be struck down,
torn asunder, bled and crunched in pieces!
Was there no eye to pity, none to save?
"Oh that I were a soldier, a gladiator,--no, just a man, a man!" said
Coryna from the depth of a throbbing heart, "then would I rush to the
rescue and save her or die!"
The shepherd could not stand the sight, and as he rose to go away his
face was ghastly white. As he turned with vacant eyes to walk up the
_scalaria_ or steps to the door in the _balteus_ or wall behind, a
voice at his elbow said in the Greek language--
"Here! take this true dagger, friend."
"Why?" replied the shepherd, looking bewildered.
"Dost thou not know the terms?" answered the Greek.
"I am a stranger. What terms?" Orestes asked eagerly.
"Oh, I thought thou hadst resolved to go to the woman's aid," replied
the man, disappointed.
"Give me the dagger," said the shepherd, a red flush rushing into his
cheek. He had now grasped the situation at a glance, and seizing the
weapon without ceremony or further word, he sprang up three or four
steps and passed through the vomitory of the wall to the stairs leading
down to the lower part of the building.
Coryna heard and saw with joy, but with the racking pain of suspense,
for the shepherd might be--(she dared not think it) would likely
be--too late!
There was a brief, awful lull.
The lion would not leap while those calm heavenly eyes shone full upon
him, and he would not as long as they retained strength. But if
Pathema's head would bow down or turn aside, or if her vital force
would go, and it could not last long, there would then be the sure and
fatal spring.
During this critical pause, Carnion returned. He gave a
half-expectant, eager glance down into the arena. Had there been a
mere wild-beast battle--had the lion been face to face with an Indian
tiger, the sight to the boy would naturally have been grand; but now it
was perplexing and sore. He saw his thread-like hope of rescue
broken--the monster glared upon a frail beautiful woman, and, as yet,
there was no man. Turning aside, he bent his head on the back of the
young officer's empty chair, and hid his tearful eyes, saying to
himself despairingly--
"Will no brave man come, before it is too late?"