ould have been
only a dusky twilight; but it so happened that a torch was burning
there. It flickered, and struggled with the duskiness, but could not
half light up the gloomy cavern with all its melancholy glimmer. Ceres
was resolved to leave no spot without a search; so she peeped into the
entrance of the cave, and lighted it up a little more by holding her own
torch before her. In so doing, she caught a glimpse of what seemed to be
a woman, sitting on the brown leaves of the last autumn, a great heap of
which had been swept into the cave by the wind. This woman (if woman it
were) was by no means so beautiful as many of her sex; for her head,
they tell me, was shaped very much like a dog's, and, by way of
ornament, she wore a wreath of snakes around it. But Mother Ceres, the
moment she saw her, knew that this was an odd kind of a person, who put
all her enjoyment in being miserable, and never would have a word to say
to other people, unless they were as melancholy and wretched as she
herself delighted to be.

"I am wretched enough now," thought poor Ceres, "to talk with this
melancholy 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 toward the eastward. I can tell you
nothing more, except that, in my honest opinion, you will never see your
daug