After an interval of a few days, Sextus Tarquinius, without the knowledge of Collatinus, came to Collatia with one attendant only:  there he was made welcome by them, as they had no suspicion of his design, and, having been conducted after supper into the guest chamber, burning with passion, when all around seemed sufficiently secure, and all fast asleep, he came to the bedside of Lucretia, as she lay asleep, with a drawn sword, and with his left hand pressing down the woman’s breast, said:  “Be silent, Lucretia; I am Sextus Tarquinius.  I have a sword in my hand.  You shall die if you utter a word.”  When the woman, awaking terrified from sleep, saw there was no help, and that impending death was nigh at hand, then Tarquin declared his passion, entreated, mixed threats with entreaties, tried all means to influence the woman’s mind.  When he saw she was resolved, and uninfluenced even by the fear of death, to the fear of death he added the fear of dishonour, declaring that he would lay a murdered slave naked by her side when dead, so that it should be said that she had been slain in base adultery.  When by the terror of this disgrace his lust (as it were victorious) had overcome her inflexible chastity, and Tarquin had departed, exulting in having triumphed over a woman’s honour by force, Lucretia, in melancholy distress at so dreadful a misfortune, despatched one and the same messenger both to her father at Rome, and to her husband at Ardea, bidding them come each with a trusty friend; that they must do so, and use despatch, for a monstrous deed had been wrought.  Spurius Lucretius came accompanied by Publius Valerius, the son of Volesus, Collatinus with Lucius Junius Brutus, in company with whom, as he was returning to Rome, he happened to be met by his wife’s messenger.  They found Lucretia sitting in her chamber in sorrowful dejection.  On the arrival of her friends the tears burst from her eyes; and on her husband inquiring, whether all was well, “By no means,” she replied, “for how can it be well with a woman who has lost her honour?  The traces of another man are on your bed, Collatinus.  But the body only has been violated, the mind is guiltless; death shall be my witness.  But give me your right hands, and your word of honour, that the adulterer shall not come off unpunished.  It is Sextus Tarquinius, who, an enemy last night in the guise of a guest has borne hence by force of arms, a triumph destructive to me, and one that will prove so to himself also, if you be men.”  All gave their word in succession; they attempted to console her, grieved in heart as she was, by turning the guilt of the act from her, constrained as she had been by force, upon the perpetrator of the crime, declaring that it is the mind sins, not the body; and that where there is no intention, there is no guilt.  “It is for you to see,” said she, “what is due to him.  As for me, though I acquit myself of guilt, I do not discharge myself from punishment; nor shall any woman survive her dishonour by pleading the example of Lucretia.”  She plunged a knife, which she kept concealed beneath her garment, into her heart, and falling forward on the wound, dropped down expiring.  Her husband and father shrieked aloud.