The watchman had been put up on a scaffold to look out for the beacon, and had been there for years day and night, without being once allowed to quit his post--even on his birthday. It was expected that Clytemnestra would have let him come down for good when she was informed of Agamemnon's death on such excellent authority, but she would not hear of such a thing. She knew people would think it very foolish and sentimental of her, she said, but to take the watchman down would seem so like giving up all hope! So she kept him up, a proof of her conjugal devotion which touched everyone--except perhaps the watchman himself. Clytemnestra and Ægisthus, who had happened to come out while all this excitement was at its height, found themselves absolutely ignored. 'Not a single cap off--not one solitary hurray,' cried the Queen with majestic anger. '_What_ have you been doing to make yourself so unpopular with my loyal Argives?' she demanded suspiciously. 'I don't think it's anything to do with _me_, really,' protested Ægisthus, feebly. 'They're only looking the other way just now, and--can't you see why?' he added suddenly, '_they've lit the beacon on the top of Arachnæus_!' Clytemnestra looked, and started violently, as on the mountain-top in question a red tongue of flame shot up through the gathering dusk: 'What does it mean?' she whispered, clutching him convulsively by the arm. 'Well,' said Ægisthus, 'it looks to me, do you know, rather as if your late lamented husband has changed his mind about dying, and is on his way to your arms.' 'Then he is not dead!' exclaimed Clytemnestra. 'He is coming home. I shall look upon that face, hear that voice, press that hand once again! How excessively annoying!' 'Confounded nuisance!' he agreed heartily, but his irritation sounded slightly overdone, somehow. 'Well, it's all over with the betrothal after this; don't you think it would be as well to get all the arches, and fireworks, and things out of the way? We shan't want them _now_, you know.' 'Why not?' said the Queen; 'they will all do for him; _he_ won't know. Ye gods!' she cried, stretching out her arms with a tragic groan. 'Must _I_, too, do for him?' 'Any way,' said Ægisthus, with an attempted ease, 'you won't want _me_ any longer, and so, if you will kindly excuse me, I--I think I'll retire to some quiet spot whither I can drag myself with my broken heart and bleed to death, like a wounded deer, don't you know!' 'You can do all that just as well here,' she replied. 'I wish you to stay. Who knows what may happen?'--she added, with a sinister smile, 'We may be happy yet!' Clytemnestra's sinister smiles always made Ægisthus feel exactly as if something was disagreeing with him--so he stayed.