Doth any deem me fool, to hold a fair
Maid in my room and seek no joy, but spare
Her maidenhood?  If any such there be,
Let him but look within.  The fool is he
In gentle things, weighing the more and less
Of love by his own heart’s untenderness.

[As he ceases ELECTRA comes out of the hut.  She is in mourning garb, and carries a large pitcher on her head.  She speaks without observing the PEASANT’S presence.

ELECTRA.

Dark shepherdess of many a golden star,
Dost see me, Mother Night?  And how this jar
Hath worn my earth-bowed head, as forth and fro
For water to the hillward springs I go? 
Not for mere stress of need, but purpose set,
That never day nor night God may forget
Aegisthus’ sin:  aye, and perchance a cry
Cast forth to the waste shining of the sky
May find my father’s ear....  The woman bred
Of Tyndareus, my mother—­on her head
Be curses!—­from my house hath outcast me;
She hath borne children to our enemy;
She hath made me naught, she hath made Orestes naught....

[As the bitterness of her tone increases, the PEASANT comes forward.

PEASANT.

What wouldst thou now, my sad one, ever fraught
With toil to lighten my toil?  And so soft
Thy nurture was!  Have I not chid thee oft,
And thou wilt cease not, serving without end?

ELECTRA (turning to him with impulsive affection).

O friend, my friend, as God might be my friend,
Thou only hast not trampled on my tears. 
Life scarce can be so hard, ’mid many fears
And many shames, when mortal heart can find
Somewhere one healing touch, as my sick mind
Finds thee....  And should I wait thy word, to endure
A little for thine easing, yea, or pour
My strength out in thy toiling fellowship? 
Thou hast enough with fields and kine to keep;
’Tis mine to make all bright within the door. 
’Tis joy to him that toils, when toil is o’er,
To find home waiting, full of happy things.

PEASANT.

If so it please thee, go thy way.  The springs
Are not far off.  And I before the morn
Must drive my team afield, and sow the corn
In the hollows.—­Not a thousand prayers can gain
A man’s bare bread, save an he work amain.

[ELECTRA and the PEASANT depart on their several ways.  After a few moments there enter stealthily two armed men, ORESTES and PYLADES.

ORESTES.

Thou art the first that I have known in deed
True and my friend, and shelterer of my need. 
Thou only, Pylades, of all that knew,
Hast held Orestes of some worth, all through
These years of helplessness, wherein I lie
Downtrodden by the murderer—­yea, and by
The murderess, my mother!...  I am come,
Fresh from the cleansing of Apollo, home
To Argos—­and my coming no man yet
Knoweth—­to pay the bloody twain their debt