CHAPTER X.
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.