of Argos, but in front of it now is seen the tomb of Agamemnon. We seem to breathe a lighter, freer atmosphere than that which echoed to the dread choruses of the Argive elders or the shriek of the dying king. A brighter, more beautiful vision is before us. Orestes comes upon the scene in his pride of youth, which sadness cannot obscure. His face and his dress may betoken mourning, but in his whole person shines out the symmetry and the brilliance of white skin and lustrous hair which is seen in the young Greek in the wrestling-schools of Athens. He comes forward to his father's tomb, and solemnly offers there two locks of his hair,—the first to Inachus, the river-god of his home, a sign of gratitude for life and nurture; the second to his dead father, as an offering of love, instead of that which he was not allowed to pay at the time of his funeral. This done, he stands apart, and with him Pylades, his faithful companion, who all this time has remained in silence at his side. They stand apart to watch, for the palace-gates are opened, and a train of black-robed women comes out, led by Electra. They are bearing urns with mixed meal and oil and honey, to be poured as libations, or drink-offerings, on the tomb. Orestes at once recognises his sister, and guesses the object of their coming.
Electra remains upon the stage close by the tomb; while the Chorus, these captive women, walk down the broad steps which lead from the stage into the orchestra, and take their stations there to sing. They remain, however, so near the stage as to be at all times
