elancholy Hecate, were she ten times sadder than ever she was yet." So
she stepped into the cave, and sat down on the withered leaves by the
dog-headed woman's side. In all the world, since her daughter's loss,
she had found no other companion.

"O Hecate," said she, "if ever you lose a daughter, you will know
what sorrow is. Tell me, for pity's sake, have you seen my poor child
Proserpina pass by the mouth of your cavern?"

"No," answered Hecate, in a cracked voice, and sighing betwixt every
word or two; "no, Mother Ceres, I have seen nothing of your daughter.
But my ears, you must know, are made in such a way, that all cries of
distress and affright all over the world are pretty sure to find their
way to them; and nine days ago, as I sat in my cave, making myself very
miserable, I heard the voice of a young girl, shrieking as if in great
distress. Something terrible has happened to the child, you may rest
assured. As well as I could judge, a dragon, or some other cruel
monster, was carrying her away."

"You kill me by saying so," cried Ceres, almost ready to faint. "Where
was the sound, and which way did it seem to go?"

"It passed very swiftly along," said Hecate, "and, at the same time,
there was a heavy rumbling of wheels towards the eastward. I can tell
you nothing more, except that, in my honest opinion, you will never see
your daughter again. The best advice I can give you is, to take up your
abode in this cavern, where we will be the two most wretched women in
the world."

"Not yet, dark Hecate," replied Ceres. "But do you first come with your
torch, and help me to seek for my lost child. And when there shall be no
more hope of finding her (if that black day is ordained to come), then,
if you will give me room to fling myself down, either on these withered
leaves or on the naked rock, I will show what it is to be miserable.
But, until I know that she has perished from the face of the earth, I
will not allow myself space even to grieve."

The dismal Hecate did not much like the idea of going abroad into the
sunny world. But then she reflected that the sorrow of the disconsolate
Ceres would be like a gloomy twilight round about them both, let the
sun shine ever so brightly, and that therefore she might enjoy her bad
spirits quite as well as if she were to stay in the cave. So she finally
consented to go, and they set out together, both carrying torches,
although it was broad daylight and clear sunshine. The