He reached a valley full of fir trees and lofty cypresses, called Gargaphia, which was sacred to Artemis. Deep in a corner of the valley he found a leafy grotto. The rocky arch seemed to be the product of human skill, but was the work of nature. A stream murmured gently along, whose clear water, bordered by green turf, broadened out into a wide pool. This was the spot where the goddess, tired with the chase, bathed her sacred limbs. She was in the grotto, attended by her nymphs, one of whom took her hunting spear and bow. Another relieved the goddess of her cloak, and two of them unloosed her sandals. The beautiful Crocale, cleverest of them all, fastened her tresses together in a knot. Then her attendants filled urns with water and poured it over the goddess. While the goddess was thus enjoying her bath, Actæon approached through the bushes by an untrodden way. Evil destiny led him to the sacred haunt of Artemis’ grotto. Unsuspecting any harm, he entered, delighted to have found such a cool resting place. When the nymphs beheld a man, they cried aloud and crowded about their mistress to conceal her with their bodies; but being a head taller, the goddess towered above them all. Her glowing face wore a wrathful look, and her eyes were sternly fixed upon the intruder, who stood motionless, surprised, and dazzled by the wondrous sight. It would have been better for the unfortunate Actæon had he fled at once, for the goddess suddenly bent her head, dipped up water with her hand, sprinkled it over the face and hair of the youth, and said in a threatening tone: “What thou hast seen, now tell to men, if thou canst.” Hardly had the last word been uttered when unspeakable distress seized him. Swiftly he dashed off, and in his running was amazed by his speed. The unfortunate one did not notice that antlers sprang from his head, that his neck was longer, that his ears were pointed, his arms changed to legs, and his hands to hoofs. His limbs were covered with a dappled skin. He was no longer a man, but had been changed by the wrathful goddess to a stag. As he fled, he saw his image mirrored in the water. “Woe is me,” he would have cried, but his voice was mute and no word escaped from his groaning breast. He could only utter a sigh of despair. Tears poured from his eyes, but not upon human cheeks. Only his heart, his old recollection, remained.