I LADY.

How say’st thou?

ELECTRA.

IS left of all my hopes of aid,

From him, the heir, born of one birth with me.

II. 2.

I LADY.

All have their fate.

ELECTRA.

Meet all such fate as his,

Dragged in a cleft of the reins, poor hapless one,

Among fleet emulous hoofs?

I LADY.

Strange, the mishap!

ELECTRA.

How otherwise, when without care of mine,

A stranger —

I LADY.

Out, alas!

ELECTRA.

He passed away,

Meeting no burial, no lament, from me.

Enter CHRYSOTHEMIS.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

My dearest, I am driven, for delight,

To throw decorum to the winds, and run!

For I bring pleasure, and an end of ills

You suffered from before, and sorrowed for.

ELECTRA.

Whence would you fetch assistance for my woes,

Whereof all healing is impossible?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

ORESTES is at hand! I tell you so!

He’s here, in sight, plainly as you see me!

ELECTRA.

Fie, are you frantic, wretch, and do you jest

At your own sorrows, and at mine?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Not I,

By the house-altar! I do not say this

For wantonness; but he is come, indeed!

ELECTRA.

O wretched that I am! and from whose mouth

Did you receive this tale, that you believe

So over fondly?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

It is proved to me

By my own eyes, none other; for I see

Clear evidence.

ELECTRA.

See proof? O wretch, what proof?

What did you see, to inflame you all at once

With this mad fever?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Listen, in Heaven’s name,

That you may learn; and call me, afterwards,

Crazed, if you like, or sober.

ELECTRA.

Say your say,

If it affords you any pleasure.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

I

Am telling you exactly what I saw.

As I approached our sire’s ancestral grave,

I observed streams upon the pillar’s top

Of milk fresh-running, and the sepulchre

Circled with garlands of all flowers in bloom.

I was surprised to see it, and looked round,

To see that no one near laid hand on me.

But when I found all quiet about the place,

I crept up to the tombstone, and perceived,

Upon the very corner of the pile,

A severed ringlet of a young man’s hair.

No sooner did I see it, than there darts

Into my heart an image —ah! well known,

This that I was beholding was the token

Of my most dear Orestes! No light word

I uttered; but I took it in my hands,

And my eyes filled with tears at once, for joy.

And well I know, and well I knew it then,

How from no other came that ornament.

For whose, work should it be, save yours or mine?

And I at least, I am certain, did it not,

Nor yet did you; how could you? when you know

You cannot even with impunity

Go out of doors to worship at a shrine;

Nor can it be our mother who would care

To do it, or have done it unperceived.

No, ’twas Orestes made those offerings.

But O dear heart, take courage! The same Power