out of
sight of some person whom she knew was devoted to Lentulus, or rather
to Phaon and his patron. She received no letters save those from her
mother, uncle, or Ahenobarbus; she saw no visitors; she was not
allowed to go outside of the walls of the villa, nor indeed upon any
of its terraces where she would be exposed to sight from without,
whether by land or sea. At every step, at every motion, she was
confronted with the barriers built around her, and by the
consciousness that, so long as she persisted in her present attitude,
her durance was likely to continue unrelaxed.

Cornelia was thirsty for the news from the world without. Her keepers
were dumb to the most harmless inquiry. Her mother wrote more of the
latest fashions than of the progress of events in the Senate and in
the field; besides, Claudia--as Cornelia knew very well--never took
her political notions from any one except her brother-in-law, and
Cornelia noted her mother's rambling observations accordingly.
Lentulus studiously refrained from adverting to politics in letters to
his niece. Ahenobarbus wrote of wars and rumours of wars, but in a
tone of such partisan venom and overreaching sarcasm touching all
things Caesarian, that Cornelia did not need her prejudices to tell her
that Lucius was simply abusing her credulity.

Then at last all the letters stopped. Phaon had no explanation to
give. He would not suffer his evil, smiling lips to tell the story of
the flight of the oligarchs from Rome, and confess that Lentulus and
Claudia were no farther off than Capua. The consul had ordered that
his niece should not know of their proximity and its cause,--lest she
pluck up hope, and all his coercion be wasted. So there was silence,
and that was all. Even her mother did not write to her. Cornelia grew
very, very lonely and desolate--more than words may tell. She had one
consolation--Drusus was not dead, or she would have been informed of
it! Proof that her lover was dead would have been a most delightful
weapon in Lentulus's hands, too delightful to fail to use instantly.
And so Cornelia hoped on.

She tried again to build a world of fantasy, of unreal delight, around
her; to close her eyes, and wander abroad with her imagination. She
roamed in reverie over land and sea, from Atlantis to Serica; and
dwelt in the dull country of the Hyperboreans and saw the gold-sanded
plains of the Ethiops. She took her Homer and fared with Odysseus into
Polyphemus's cave