“Oh, I have wandered out of the valley,” she thought. “I must hasten back with these lovely flowers. What beauties I have found!”
She turned to run toward the bank where her companions were sitting, when she heard a queer rumbling noise. What could it be! It sounded exactly like distant thunder, yet there was not a cloud in the blue sky overhead. There was another rumbling. Was it coming nearer? The earth beneath her feet quivered! Then in breathless fear she saw a great crack in the field! She was too frightened to move or speak. The flowers she had gathered dropped from her trembling hands. Out of the great cavity which seemed to widen every moment Proserpina saw dashing toward her four jet black horses with flashing eyes and quivering nostrils. At their heels whirled a wonderful golden chariot with jewelled wheels. Standing in this splendid car was a dark-browed man whose iron-crown was studded with precious stones of many colours. In one hand he lightly held the reins and guided the fiery steeds; in the other, he held a two-pronged fork.
“King Pluto!” gasped Proserpina. In a twinkling the King of the Underworld leaped from his chariot, seized Proserpina in his arms, mounted his chariot again and sped away over the hills.
Proserpina’s low cry of “Help! help! Mother! Mother Ceres!” was too faint to reach the ears of the merry companions who were very busy with their flowers.
“What has become of Proserpina?” cried one of them when she had finished her garland.
They looked in the direction where but a moment ago Proserpina was gathering flowers, but they could not see her.
“I wonder where she has gone,” said another. “Surely she has not wandered out of the valley!”
“Proserpina! Proserpina!” called the little companions becoming alarmed.
But no answer could come from the captured maiden who was whirling along beyond the distant hills. In vain did the dark-browed King try to calm his captive by declaring that no harm should come to her. In vain did he promise that she should share his throne and his riches.