Or. Doth this delight them, or how went the talk?
Old M. I will report, when all is done. Meanwhile,
Know, all is well with them, even what is evil.
El. Who is this, brother? I beseech thee, tell.
Or. Dost not perceive?
El. I cannot even imagine.
Or. Know’st not into whose hands thou gav’st me once?
El. Whose hands? How say you?
Or. His, who through thy care
Conveyed me secretly to Phocis’ plain.
El. What! is this he, whom I, of all the band,
Found singly faithful in our father’s death?
Or. He is that man. No more!
El. O gladsome day!
Dear only saviour of our father’s house,
How earnest thou hither? Art thou he indeed,
That didst preserve Orestes and myself
From many sorrows? O dear hands, kind feet,
Swift in our service,—how couldst thou so long
Be near, nor show one gleam, but didst destroy
My heart with words, hiding the loveliest deeds?
Father!—in thee methinks I see my father.
O welcome! thou of all the world to me
Most hated and most loved in one short hour.
Old M. Enough, dear maiden! Many nights and days
Are circling hitherward, that shall reveal
In clear recountment all that came between.
But to you two that stand beside I tell,
Now is your moment, with the Queen alone,
And none of men within; but if you pause,
Know that with others of profounder skill
You’ll have to strive, more than your present foes.
Or. Then, Pylades, we need no more to dwell
On words, but enter on this act with speed,
First worshipping the holy shrines o’ the Gods
That were my father’s, harboured at the gate.
[They pass within. Electra remains in
an attitude of prayer
