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.
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