The priestess Saronia was thoughtful and calm. Not a ripple of agitation crossed her face as she gave her orders to a sacred slave:
'Summon seven of the Melissæ—my bees, my virgin priestesses.'
She said to them:
'Prepare sacrifice for to-night. I offer to Hecate in the Sacred Grove. Take there a lamb, black as night, and honey of the rarest kind bear ye. Let the slaves dig a new pit, and place an altar therein, that all may be ready when I come. I leave the Temple gate when the watch tells out the hour before midnight. Merina and Smyrna shall accompany me to the confines of the grove.'
That night Chios quietly stole along under the stars until the old road to Smyrna intersected his path; but he did not swerve from his course until he reached the Cayster. Following its sinuous banks, disturbing the wild-fowl as he went, and treading on a carpeting of sweet-scented night-flowers, he soon reached the bend of the river which laved the grove.
There he rested on a block of white marble, brought to be set up as a memorial.
He gazed over the dark and silent stream. He arose, and paced to and fro. Not a sound was heard, save his own footfall and the nightingale's song.
He did not wait long ere he saw the form of a woman moving towards him.
Stealthily she came.