Even her mother did not write to her.

Cornelia grew very, very lonely and desolate--more than words may tell.

She had one consolation--Drusus was not dead, or she would have been informed of it! Proof that her lover was dead would have been a most delightful weapon in Lentulus's hands, too delightful to fail to use instantly.
And so Cornelia hoped on.
She tried again to build a world of fantasy, of unreal delight, around her; to close her eyes, and wander abroad with her imagination.

She roamed in reverie over land and sea, from Atlantis to Serica; and dwelt in the dull country of the Hyperboreans and saw the gold-sanded plains of the Ethiops.

She took her Homer and fared with Odysseus into Polyphemus's cave, and out to the land of Circe; and heard the Sirens sing, and abode on Calypso's fairy isle; and saw the maiden Nausicaa and her maids at the ball-play on the marge of the stream.