Enter Chrysothemis.
Chr. Driven by delight, dear sister, I am come,
Reckless of dignity, with headlong speed.
For news I bear of joy and sweet relief
From ills that drew from thee thy ceaseless moan.
El. Whence couldst thou hear of succour for my woes,
That close in darkness without hope of dawn?
Chr. Here is Orestes, learn it from my mouth,
As certainly as you now look on me.
El. What? Art thou mad, unhappy one, to laugh
Over thine own calamity and mine?
Chr. No, by our father’s hearth, I say not this
In mockery. I tell you he is come.
El. Me miserable! Who hath given thine ear
The word that so hath wrought on thy belief?
Chr. Myself am the eyewitness; no one else
Gained my belief, but proofs I clearly saw.
El. What sign hath so engrossed thine eye, poor girl?
What sight hath fired thee with this quenchless glow?
Chr. But list to me, I pray thee, that henceforth
Thou mayest account me clear-eyed, or a fool!
El. By all means, if it pleasure thee, say on.
Chr. Well, I will tell thee all I saw:—I came
Unto the ancient tomb that holds our sire;
And from the topmost mound I marked a stream
Of milk fresh-flowing, and his resting-place
Ringed round with garlands of all flowers that blow.
I marvelled at the sight, and peered about,
Lest some one might be nearer than we knew.
But finding all was quiet in the spot,
I ventured closer to the tomb, and there,
Hard by the limit, I beheld a curl
Of hair new-shorn, with all the gloss of youth.
And straight it struck my heart, as with a sense
Of something seen, ah me! long, long ago,
And told me that my sight encountered here
The token of Orestes, dearest soul.
Then, clasping it, I did not cry aloud,
But straight mine eyes were filled with tears of joy.
