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 Psyche promised that she would do according to
his will. But the bridegroom was fled away again with the night.