house
is its own daylight, having no need of the sun. Well might it seem a
place fashioned for the conversation of gods with men!

Psyche, drawn forward by the delight of it, came near, and, her courage
growing, stood within the doorway. One by one, she admired the
beautiful things she saw; and, most wonderful of all! no lock, no
chain, nor living guardian protected that great treasure house. But as
she gazed there came a voice--a voice, as it were unclothed of bodily
vesture--"Mistress!" it said, "all these things are thine. Lie down,
and relieve thy weariness, and rise again for the bath when thou wilt.
We thy servants, whose [67] voice thou hearest, will be beforehand with
our service, and a royal feast shall be ready."

And Psyche understood that some divine care was providing, and,
refreshed with sleep and the Bath, sat down to the feast. Still she
saw no one: only she heard words falling here and there, and had voices
alone to serve her. And the feast being ended, one entered the chamber
and sang to her unseen, while another struck the chords of a harp,
invisible with him who played on it. Afterwards the sound of a company
singing together came to her, but still so that none were present to
sight; yet it appeared that a great multitude of singers was there.

And the hour of evening inviting her, she climbed into the bed; and as
the night was far advanced, behold a sound of a certain clemency
approaches her. Then, fearing for her maidenhood in so great solitude,
she trembled, and more than any evil she knew dreaded that she knew
not. And now the husband, that unknown husband, drew near, and
ascended the couch, and made her his wife; and lo! before the rise of
dawn he had departed hastily. And the attendant voices ministered to
the needs of the newly married. And so it happened with her for a long
season. And as nature has willed, this new thing, by continual use,
became a delight to her: the sound of the voice grew to be her solace
in that condition of loneliness and uncertainty.

[68] One night the bridegroom spoke thus to his beloved, "O Psyche,
most pleasant bride! Fortune is grown stern with us, and threatens
thee with mortal peril. Thy sisters, troubled at the report of thy
death and seeking some trace of thee, will come to the mountain's top.
But if by chance their cries reach thee, answer not, neither look forth
at all, lest thou bring sorrow upon me and destruction upon thyself."
Then Psych