DIANA AND THE LIONS





In the darkest hour before the dawn, Diana floated away from her
Garden Tower and came down between the Lions on the Library Steps.

At first, she did not know they were Lions. She thought they were
Cats, and so she was afraid. For she was very lightly clad; and
(except in Egypt) Cats are terrible to undomesticated goddesses.
Diana shivered as she strung her bow for defense. She felt that
she was divine, but she knew that she had cold feet.

In truth, the Library Steps were wet and glistening, for there had
been a shower after midnight. But now the gibbous moon was giving
a silent imitation of an arc-light high in the western heaven.
Her beams silver-plated the weird architecture of the shrines of
Commerce which face the great Temple dedicated to the Three Muses
of New York--Astor, Lenox, and Tilden.

But on the awful animals guarding the steps the light was florid,
like a flush of sunburn discovered by the ablution of a warranted
complexion cream. They were wonderfully pink, and Diana hastened
to draw an arrow from her quiver, for it seemed to her as if her