ELECTRA
51
Electra.
Of Argive anguish!—Brother, is it thou?
Leader.
I know not. Many confused voices cry . . .
Electra.
Death, then for me! That answer bids me die.
Leader.
Nay, wait! We know not yet thy fortune. Wait!
Electra.
No messenger from him!—Too late, too late!
Leader.
The message yet will come. 'Tis not a thing
So light of compass, to strike down a king.
Enter a Messenger, running.
Messenger.
Victory, Maids of Argos, Victory!
Orestes . . . all that love him, list to me! . . .
Hath conquered! Agamemnon's murderer lies
Dead! O give thanks to God with happy cries!
Electra.
Who art thou? I mistrust thee. . . . 'Tis a plot!
Messenger.
Thy brother's man. Look well. Dost know me not?
