“I have learned nothing there,” he said to himself. “Truly, a servant of Lygdus would not know whither his master would go. Sejanus and his accomplices leave no traces. Ah! a charioteer’s mind works slowly on a clue to an infernal plot! But is this an infernal plot? Gannon wrote: ‘Have done wrong. Read a letter from L to S,’” A new idea suddenly entered the mind of Gyges. “The letter was from ‘L to S,’” he continued to reason. “Can it be that the ‘L’ is for Livilla? Psyche mentioned that name as we were walking together. Ay, I should have gone to the house of Drusus with my inquiry. I will go there immediately.” There came to his mind, as he walked towards the Esquiline Hill, soothing recollections of the day spent with Psyche. He remembered her graceful dancing, the applause of the other dancers, and the praise of the master. He recalled her joyful exclamations as she passed the shops on the Via Sacra. Psyche’s childish delight at the sight of her new home came to him like the memory of a sweet melody. Like the iridescence of a sunbeam in a crystal dew-drop was the remembrance of the blissful moments spent with her amid the flowers of the peristyle. Again he felt the same pang that he felt when the dead fish checked the flow of the fountain. “But the fountain played again,” he said to himself. He recalled the walk into the Campagna, the meeting of the happy friends, and the walk to Psyche’s home. But suddenly the fearful events that had succeeded broke these happy recollections. He remembered her surprise and fear at the sight of the soldiers, her nervousness as she requested a little time to go to her room, her courage when she heard the terrible news of Gannon’s death. He remembered how lovingly she had kissed Gannon’s tunic, how tenderly she had caressed the little scrap of cloth on which Gannon had painfully inscribed his last sad words to his family. He pictured her as she walked to the barracks, sad but not crushed. His last words to her were a caution against revealing any knowledge of the writing on Gannon’s tunic. She had replied, “I promise thee, O my Gyges.” “Would that Gannon had not written that message!” he said to himself. “Would that we had not seen it! Ay, would also that Psyche had gone directly home from the theatre! Then she would have seen Gannon. Perchance she would now be free.” But such wishes were worse than useless. In one short day the happiness of the family of Alcmaeon had been utterly destroyed. Gannon had been killed; Alcmaeon, Hera, and Psyche were prisoners. “Had Alcmaeon and Hera seen that writing?” he questioned. “What if Psyche should be tempted to an admission? What if Sejanus and the brutes in the camp should torture her and make her confess? Would she, too, be killed? Perhaps Alcmaeon and Hera were already murdered!” He trembled as he groaned aloud, “It cannot be! It cannot be!”