'Arrest Chios the Greek!' cried the chief.
Chios put up his dagger into its sheath, and, surrounded by the torch-bearing priests and the hounds following, he walked towards the Temple of Hecate. They led him to the rear of the building, and opening the door of a cell cut into the solid rock, they thrust him in, and the hounds wailed and kept guard the long night through.
How long he slept he knew not. When he awoke, a ray of light pierced through between the joints of the doorway, and he knew the day had come, and probably his fate.
It was about the ninth hour, and by this time the priests and priestesses of Diana's fane knew of the arrest of the Greek for penetrating the mysterious grove of Hecate, and slaying the sacred hounds.
What could this strange proceeding mean? All were horror-stricken. None could solve the reason of his being there.
Chios, above all others—Chios, one of the best beloved in Ephesus, guilty of such a thing!
The news of this strange adventure flew from tongue to tongue until it penetrated the conversation of all the people, from the place where the philosophers gathered to the Acropolis on the summit of Mount Pion, where the Roman soldiers guarded the heights.
From the Temple of Apollo at Claros to the shrines at Phygela nothing was so much spoken about as the sin of Chios the Greek.