They were a frolicsome kind of creature but grew as sad as their cheerful dispositions would allow , when Ceres inquired for her daughter , and they had no good news to tell . But sometimes she same suddenly upon a rude gang of satyrs , who had faces like monkeys , and horses ' tails behind them , and who were generally dancing in a very boisterous manner , with shouts of noisy laughter . When she stopped to question them , they would only laugh the louder , and make new merriment out of the lone woman 's distress . How unkind of those ugly satyrs ! And once , while crossing a solitary sheep pasture , she saw a personage named Pan , seated at the foot of a tall rock , and making music on a shepherd 's flute . He , too , had horns , and hairy ears , and goats ' feet ; but , being acquainted with Mother Ceres , he answered her question as civilly as he knew how , and invited her to taste some milk and honey out of a wooden bowl . But neither could Pan tell her what had become of Proserpina , any better than the rest of these wild people . And thus Mother Ceres went wandering about for nine long days and nights , finding no trace of Proserpina , unless it were now and then a withered flower ; and these she picked up and put in her bosom , because she fancied that they might have fallen from her poor child 's hand . All day she traveled onward through the hot sun ; and , at night again , the flame of the torch would redden and gleam along the pathway , and she continued her search by its light , without ever sitting down to rest . On the tenth day , she chanced to espy the mouth of a cavern within which -LRB- though it was bright noon everywhere else -RRB- there would 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 -LRB- if woman it were -RRB- 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 XXXXX your daughter .
So at in of since that up with within without