“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 toward 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 you 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 torchlight seemed to make a gloom; so that the people whom they met along the road could not very distinctly see their figures; and, indeed, if they once caught a glimpse of Hecate, with the wreath of snakes round her forehead, they generally thought it prudent to run away without waiting for a second glance.

As the pair travelled along in this woebegone manner, a thought struck Ceres.

“There is one person,” she exclaimed, “who must have seen my poor child, and can doubtless tell what has become of her.  Why did not I think of him before?  It is Phoebus.”

“What,” said Hecate, “the young man that always sits in the sunshine?  Oh, pray do not think of going near him.  He is a gay, light, frivolous young fellow, and will only smile in your face.  And besides, there is such a glare of the sun about him that he will quite blind my poor eyes, which I have almost wept away already.”

“You have promised to be my companion,” answered Ceres.  “Come, let us make haste, or the sunshine will be gone, and Phoebus along with it.”

Accordingly, they went along in quest of Phoebus, both of them sighing grievously, and Hecate, to say the truth, making a great deal worse lamentation than Ceres; for all the pleasure she had, you know, lay in being miserable, and therefore she made the most of it.  By and by, after a pretty long journey, they arrived at the sunniest spot in the whole world.  There they beheld a beautiful young man, with long, curling ringlets, which seemed to be made of golden