Many are our wishes.  Some flit through our hearts like birds darting under the foliage of trees, then out again, lost in the sunshine; others linger awhile and we nestle them in our bosoms until we forget that they are there, and the noble desire, the craving for something dear, for something that bears for us as it were a divine image, is gone—­we are the poorer that we no longer wish to wish it.  But some things there are—­some things too high or too deep for speech, too secret for really conscious thought, too holy to call from the innermost shrines of the heart; and there they linger and hover, demanding to be satisfied, and until they are satisfied there is void and dreariness within, be the sunshine never so bright without.  And so Cornelia was a-hungered.  She could fight against herself to save Drusus’s life no longer; she could build around herself her dream castles no more; she must see him face to face, must hold his hand in hers, must feel his breath on her cheek.

Is it but a tale that is told, that soul can communicate to distant soul?  That through two sundered hearts without visible communication can spring up, unforewarned, a single desire, a single purpose?  Is there no magnetism subtle beyond all thought, that bounds from spirit to spirit, defying every bond, every space?  We may not say; but if Cornelia longed, she longed not utterly in vain.  One morning, as she was dressing, Cassandra, who was moving around the room aiding her mistress, let fall a very tiny slip of papyrus into Cornelia’s lap, and with it a whisper, “Don’t look; but keep it carefully.”  The injunction was needed, for several other serving-women were in the room, and Cornelia more than suspected that they were ready to spy on her to prevent unauthorized correspondence with Drusus.  When she was dressed, and could walk alone on the terrace overlooking the sea, she unrolled the papyrus and read:—­

“Delectissima, I have come from Rome to Puteoli.  I cannot live longer without seeing you.  Great things are stirring, and it may well be that ere long, if your uncle and his friends have their way, I may be a proscribed fugitive from Italy, or a dead man.  But I must talk with your dear self first.  Agias was known by the familia, and had no difficulty in seeing you quietly; but I have no such facility.  I cannot remain long.  Plan how we may meet and not be interrupted.  I have taken Cassandra into my pay, and believe that she can be trusted. Vale.”

There was no name of the sender; but Cornelia did not need to question.  Cassandra, who evidently knew that her mistress would require her services, came carelessly strolling out on to the terrace.

“Cassandra,” said Cornelia, “the last time I saw Quintus, you betrayed us to my uncle; will you be more faithful now?”

The woman hung down her head.

“A! domina, your uncle threatened me terribly.  I did not intentionally betray you!  Did I not receive my beating?  And then Master Drusus is such a handsome and generous young gentleman.”