s yours, lady. Therefore, bathe
yourself, if you will, or rest your limbs upon silken cushions, till the
feast is prepared, and we your handmaids clothe you in fine raiment. You
have only to command, and we obey you.'

By this time all fear had departed from Psyche, and with gladness she
bathed herself and slept. When she opened her eyes she beheld in front
of her a table covered with dishes of every kind, and with wines of
purple and amber hues. As before, she could see no one, though she heard
the sound of voices, and when she had finished, and lay back on her
cushions, unseen fingers struck a lyre, and sang the songs that she
loved.

So the hours flew by, and the sun was sinking, when suddenly a veil of
golden tissue was placed on her head, and at the same time a voice that
she had not heard spoke thus:

'Dip your hands in this sacred water'; and Psyche obeyed, and, as her
fingers sank into the basin she felt a light touch, as if other fingers
were there also.

'Break this cake and eat half,' said the voice again; and Psyche did so,
and she saw that the rest of the cake vanished bit by bit, as if someone
else were eating it also.

'Now you are my wife, Psyche,' whispered the voice softly; 'but take
heed to what I say, if you would not bring ruin on yourself, and cause
me to leave you for ever. Your sisters, I well know, will soon seek you
out, for they think they love you, though their love is of the kind that
quickly turns to hate. Even now they are with your parents weeping over
your fate, but a few days hence they will go to the rock, hoping to
gather tidings of your last moments. It may chance that at last they may
wander to this enchanted place, but as you value your happiness and your
life do not answer their questions, or lift your eyes towards them.'

Psyche promised she would do her unseen husband's bidding, and the weeks
slipped swiftly by, but one morning she felt suddenly lonely and broke
into wailing that she might never look on her sisters' faces again, or
even tell them that she was alive. All the long bright hours she sat in
her palace weeping, and when darkness fell, and she heard her husband's
voice, she put out her arms and drew him to her.

'What is it?' he asked gently, and she felt soft fingers stroking her
hair.

Then Psyche poured out all her woe. How could she be happy, even in this
lovely place, when her sisters were grieving for her loss? If she might
only see them once, if she mi