With tearful eyes she would recall the happy days spent with her lover. In imagination she would see his strong, quick, and handsome figure. She would hear whispered words of love that would come to her like distant music from the doors of a temple. So ardent were her recollections, that she seemed to feel again his actual caresses. The last afternoon they had passed together appeared like some sunny day that would never come again. She would take the necklace he had given her and fondle it as if she saw in the gems his eyes, and in the little golden links the visible tokens of the ties which had bound their hearts together during many happy days. She pictured their lives like two votive candles, waiting to be lighted upon the altar in the temple of love. On the second day of her imprisonment she asked the keeper, “Knowest thou of a Greek man and wife imprisoned in the camp?” The keeper made no reply. “Canst thou tell me whether a young man named Gyges has been arrested?” There was no reply. “Tell me, O keeper, when shall I be free?” Still there was no reply. Her words seemed to die in the air before they reached him. Again and again she repeated her questions, but received no satisfaction. Her jailer was deaf and dumb. With gestures she tried to procure a tablet and stylus; but the jailer worked like an automaton and she accomplished nothing. With no words to break the stillness, she became like a daughter of silence surrounded by profound solitude. In her loneliness she would approach the thrones of the gods, with offerings and prayers. The ways were quiet along which her thoughts danced, marched, and fell. Yes, in her world of silence her spirit would hear celestial melodies and human sobs; it would see bright thrones of her hopes and dark beds of her sorrows; it would taste the sweet juices of joy and the bitter acid of torment; it would breathe the perfume of peace and the exhalation of strife; it would gently touch a living form and a dead body. But all these things were the works of imagination. No messages from her loved ones reached her through the impenetrable and silent walls of her cell. She sat as if immersed in oblivion. Harrowed by the uncertainty regarding the fate of Gyges and her parents, she passed her days in hope, fear, and despair. One morning she was surprised to hear a commanding voice give an order in the corridor. These were the first words she had heard since her imprisonment. When she recognized the voice of Sejanus, she gave a start. She heard him stop before her door and order that no one should be allowed to walk in the corridor while he was there. When he had entered and locked the door, he noticed that Psyche had retreated to the farther end of the cell. “Thou fearest me?” he said. Psyche made no reply. She stood upright and clenched her hands. “Thou dost not fear me,” he said, answering his own question as he sat down upon her bed. Still Psyche remained silent.