THE LION In the low balcony where,sat the Jewish council, old Father Marcus raised a withered, trembling hand to touch his neighbor. "I pray thee," he asked quaveringly, "what business today?'' The one addressed turned, revealing a broad, white brow and a fine, delicately carved contour. There was something in the hauteur of the gently lifted chin, in the regal bearing of the head that marked him with the brand of Jewish aristocracy. He was Leander, whom men called "The Lion". "Some Nazarene," he said in answer to the rabbi's question, "who would be judged by Pilate and this council. 1 am told he is accused of blasphemy." "But why do they bring him here?" the old rabbi queried. "Do they not know we do not judge blasphemers?" "Thou dost not understand, Father," spoke Leander condescendingly. "He is filling this people with false notions of his divinity, saying that he is King of the Jews. Lo, they bring him hither crowned with a plate of thorns. Aha! I'll wager he's enough of being King." The old man turned his eyes toward the portals of the court. "Leander." he said, and there was compassion in the quaking voce. "See how they mock and jeer and abuse him. Hear them clamoring for his life. Yet see, Leander, how calm, how self-possessed, how courageous he is in his suffering. Methinks there is something noble in him. I pray thee, let us show him mercy." Leander clenched his fists. "There will be no mercy!" he growled fiercely. "Away with him! Crucify him!" Immediately the mob took up the cry until it echoed like a death knell over all the building. "Crucify him! Crucify him!" until it sounded, with increasing volume down through the ages. "Whom would ye that I would release," said Pilate, "Barabbas, who is a robber, or Jesus?" For a moment all was confusion; then someone arose. "Fellow countrymen-" he began. All eyes were turned upon him. His voice had startled them with its rich, commanding tone. "Who is it?" someone asked. " 'Tis Leander, 'the Lion'," his neighbor replied. "Hush, he speaketh." "This pale and cowering man whom ye have brought doth say that he is King of the Jews. I ask you, where is his scepter, his royal robes, his palaces? The King of the Jews must have power to ride the storm, to raise up armies at his command, to free us from the mighty clutch of Rome. Where is this. I pray thee? It needs not your wisdom to reveal the folly in him. This lowly Nazarene, King of the Jews? He mocks the royal title. Then again he dares to say he is the Son of God. Oh. my friend, I quake in such great blasphemy against the most High Jehovah. He stands before you, Jesus of Nazareth. What say you we should do to him?" Like a mighty thunder clap from a darkened cloud came the reply: "Crucify him!" "I wash my hands of his blood," said Pilate, and the Jews, not realizing the full significance of the curse they uttered, cried, "His blood be upon us and our children " "Master." a hand touched Leander's sleeve, "Wilt thou hasten?" Thy little daughter is very ill." THE LION On a couch, rich with plush and velvet hangings, little Myrnon lay, one chubby hand convulsively clutching the pillow, snow white against the brilliant flush of her cheeks. By the bedside stood Leander, his proud head bent low. The poise and bearing of the aristocrat was all gone now. He was no longer Leander, the Lion; he was Leander, the man, melted, softened by grief. Slowly a night and day dragged by, but still the child showed no signs of recovery. "Althea, dear," Leander spoke in a choked voice to his wife as together they stood by the bed chamber, "is there not something we can do?" She ran her fingers carressingly across his brow. "Leander," she spoke gently and with emotion, "They have called thee mighty, 'the Lion' and have praised thy power to move multitudes to thy command. Yet hads't thou ten times thy strength, thou coulds't not heal our child." Not many days later the old servant maid, Myra, crept softly to the bed chamber and found them in each other's arm, weeping. Althea raised a tear- stained face. "Her breathing is heavy, and she does not know us," she said. "We fear that she will soon be gone." "Dear Mistress," said Myra, as she wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of a roughened hand, "I have a friend whose child was stricken with a dreadful fever. A lowly fisherman was called in who healed the child instantly." Leander had been listening intently and as she finished he sprang to his feet. A new light was in his eye and a joy seemed to envelop him,-if there was someone who could heal her- "Go!" he said hoarsely. "I bid thee hasten thither. Bring him at any cost. All that I have is his if he will heal my child." But shortly Myra returned alone with blanched and streaming eyes. " 'Tis useless," she said. "O master they have crucified him." "What?" he gasped. Cold drops of sweat stood on his brow as the calm, pale face of the Nazarene came before him. "Myra, who was this doer of miracles who might have saved my child?" Why master, did you not know?" said Myra, sadly. " 'Twas Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews." -Jennie Brown