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."

"I can rely on you alone," replied Cornelia. "You must arrange
everything. If you are untrue, be sure that it is not I who will in
the end punish, but Master Drusus, whose memory is long. You have more
schemes than I, now that Agias is not here to devise for me. You must
make up any stories that are necessary to save us from interruption,
and see that no one discovers anything or grows suspicious. My hands
are tied. I cannot see to plan. I will go to the library, and leave
everything to you."

And with this stoical resolve to bear with equanimity whatever the
Fates flung in her way for good or ill, Cornelia tried to bury herself
in her Lucretius. Vain resolution! What care for the atomic theory
when in a day, an hour, a moment, she might be straining to her heart
another heart that was reaching out toward hers, as hers did toward
it. It was useless to read; useless to try to admire the varying
shades of blu