You may see, by this, that Phoenix's conscience never quite
ceased to trouble him, for giving up the quest of his dear
sister, and sitting himself down to be comfortable, while his
mother and her companions went onward.

But often and often, at the close of a weary day's journey, did
Telephassa and Cadmus, Cilix, and Thasus, remember the pleasant
spot in which they had left Phoenix. It was a sorrowful
prospect for these wanderers, that on the morrow they must
again set forth, and that, after many nightfalls, they would
perhaps be no nearer the close of their toilsome pilgrimage
than now. These thoughts made them all melancholy at times, but
appeared to torment Cilix more than the rest of the party. At
length, one morning, when they were taking their staffs in hand
to set out, he thus addressed them:

"My dear mother, and you, good brother Cadmus, and my friend
Thasus, methinks we are like people in a dream. There is no
substance in the life which we are leading. It is such a dreary
length of time since the white bull carried off my sister
Europa, that I have quite forgotten how she looked, and the
tones of her voice, and, indeed, almost doubt whether such a
little girl ever lived in the world. And whether she once lived
or no, I am convinced that she no longer survives, and that
therefore it is the merest folly to waste our own lives and
happiness in seeking her. Were we to find her, she would now be
a woman grown, and would look upon us all as strangers. So, to
tell you the truth, I have resolved to take up my abode here;
and I entreat you, mother, brother, and friend, to follow my
example."