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.