"As long as you please, dear mother," answered Cadmus.

Telephassa bade him sit down on the turf beside her, and then
she took his hand.

"My son," said she, fixing her dim eyes most lovingly upon him,
"this rest that I speak of will be very long indeed! You must
not wait till it is finished. Dear Cadmus, you do not
comprehend me. You must make a grave here, and lay your
mother's weary frame into it. My pilgrimage is over."

Cadmus burst into tears, and, for a long time, refused to
believe that his dear mother was now to be taken from him. But
Telephassa reasoned with him, and kissed him, and at length
made him discern that it was better for her spirit to pass away
out of the toil, the weariness, and grief, and disappointment
which had burdened her on earth, ever since the child was lost.
He therefore repressed his sorrow, and listened to her last
words.

"Dearest Cadmus," said she, "thou hast been the truest son that
ever mother had, and faithful to the very last. Who else would
have borne with my infirmities as thou hast! It is owing to thy
care, thou tenderest child, that my grave was not dug long
years ago, in some valley, or on some hillside, that lies far,
far behind us. It is enough. Thou shalt wander no more on this
hopeless search. But, when thou hast laid thy mother in the
earth, then go, my son, to Delphi, and inquire of the oracle
what thou shalt do next."