How? And stole from death thy brother? Sayest thou? ELECTRA. This man was his deliverer, if it be Deliverance. ORESTES. How his old eye pierceth me, As one that testeth silver and alloy! Sees he some likeness here? ELECTRA. Perchance 'tis joy, To see Orestes' comrade, that he feels. ORESTES. None dearer.--But what ails the man? He reels Dizzily back. ELECTRA. I marvel. I can say No more. OLD MAN (_in a broken voice_). Electra, mistress, daughter, pray! Pray unto God! ELECTRA. Of all the things I crave, The thousand things, or all that others have, What should I pray for? OLD MAN. Pray thine arms may hold At last this treasure-dream of more than gold God shows us! ELECTRA. God, I pray thee!... Wouldst thou more? OLD MAN. Gaze now upon this man, and bow before Thy dearest upon earth! ELECTRA. I gaze on thee! O, hath time made thee mad? OLD MAN. Mad, that I see Thy brother? ELECTRA. My ... I know not what thou say'st: I looked not for it... OLD MAN. I tell thee, here confessed Standeth Orestes, Agamemnon's son! ELECTRA. A sign before I trust thee! O, but one! How dost thou know...? OLD MAN. There, by his brow, I see The scar he made, that day he ran with thee Chasing thy fawn, and fell. ELECTRA (_in a dull voice_). A scar? 'Tis so. I see a scar. OLD MAN. And fearest still to throw Thine arms round him thou lovest? ELECTRA. O, no more! Thy sign hath conquered me.... (_throwing herself into_ ORESTES' _arms_). At last, at last! Thy face like light! And do I hold thee fast, Unhoped for? ORESTES. Yea, at last! And I hold thee. ELECTRA. I never knew... ORESTES. I dreamed not. ELECTRA. Is it he, Orestes? ORESTES. Thy defender, yea, alone To fight the world! Lo, this day have I thrown A net, which once unbroken from the sea Drawn home, shall ... O, and it must surely be! Else men shall know there is no God, no light In Heaven, if wrong to the end shall conquer right. CHORUS. Comest thou, comest thou now, Chained by the years and slow, O Day long sought? A light on the mountains cold Is lit, yea, a fire burneth, 'Tis the light of one that turneth From roamings manifold, Back out of exile old To the house that knew him not. Some spirit hath turned our way, Victory visible, Walking at thy right hand, Belovèd; O lift this day Thine arms, thy voice, as a spell; And pray for thy brother, pray, Threading the perilous land, That all be well! ORESTES.