OLD MAN.

Out on the pastures where his horses stray.

ORESTES.

What did he there so far?—­A gleam of day
Crosseth our darkness.

OLD MAN.

’Twas a feast, methought,
Of worship to the wild-wood nymphs he wrought.

ORESTES.

The watchers of men’s birth?  Is there a son
New born to him, or doth he pray for one
That cometh? [Movement of ELECTRA.

OLD MAN.

More I know not; he had there
A wreathed ox, as for some weighty prayer.

ORESTES.

What force was with him?  Not his serfs alone?

OLD MAN.

No Argive lord was there; none but his own
Household.

ORESTES.

Not any that aught know my face,
Or guess?

OLD MAN.

Thralls, thralls; who ne’er have seen thy face.

ORESTES.

Once I prevail, the thralls will welcome me!

OLD MAN.

The slaves’ way, that; and no ill thing for thee!

ORESTES.

How can I once come near him?

OLD MAN.

Walk thy ways
Hard by, where he may see thee, ere he slays
His sacrifice.

ORESTES.

How?  Is the road so nigh?

OLD MAN.

He cannot choose but see thee, passing by,
And bid thee stay to share the beast they kill.

ORESTES.

A bitter fellow-feaster, if God will!

OLD MAN.

And then ... then swift be heart and brain, to see
God’s chances!

ORESTES.

Aye.  Well hast thou counselled me. 
But ... where is she?

OLD MAN.

In Argos now, I guess;
But goes to join her husband, ere the press
Of the feast.

ORESTES.

Why goeth not my mother straight
Forth at her husband’s side?

OLD MAN.

She fain will wait
Until the gathered country-folk be gone.

ORESTES.

Enough!  She knows what eyes are turned upon
Her passings in the land!

OLD MAN.

Aye, all men hate
The unholy woman.

ORESTES.

How then can I set
My snare for wife and husband in one breath?

ELECTRA (coming forward).

Hold!  It is I must work our mother’s death.

ORESTES.

If that be done, I think the other deed
Fortune will guide.

ELECTRA.

This man must help our need,
One friend alone for both.

OLD MAN.

He will, he will! 
Speak on.  What cunning hast thou found to fill
Thy purpose?

ELECTRA.

Get thee forth, Old Man, and quick
Tell Clytemnestra ... tell her I lie sick,
New-mothered of a man-child.

OLD MAN.

Thou hast borne
A son!  But when?

ELECTRA.

Let this be the tenth morn. 
Till then a mother stays in sanctity,
Unseen.