Aye, child; I know thy heart, from long ago. Thou hast alway loved him best. 'Tis oft-time so: One is her father's daughter, and one hot To bear her mother's part. I blame thee not.... Yet think not I am happy, child; nor flown With pride now, in the deeds my hand hath done.... [_Seeing_ ELECTRA _unsympathetic, she checks herself_. But thou art all untended, comfortless Of body and wild of raiment; and thy stress Of travail scarce yet ended!... Woe is me! 'Tis all as I have willed it. Bitterly I wrought against him, to the last blind deep Of bitterness.... Woe's me! ELECTRA. Fair days to weep, When help is not! Or stay: though he lie cold Long since, there lives another of thy fold Far off; there might be pity for thy son? CLYTEMNESTRA. I dare not!... Yes, I fear him. 'Tis mine own Life, and not his, comes first. And rumour saith His heart yet burneth for his father's death. ELECTRA. Why dost thou keep thine husband ever hot Against me? CLYTEMNESTRA. 'Tis his mood. And thou art not So gentle, child! ELECTRA. My spirit is too sore! Howbeit, from this day I will no more Hate him. CLYTEMNESTRA (_with a flash of hope_). O daughter!--Then, indeed, shall he, I promise, never more be harsh to thee! ELECTRA. He lieth in my house, as 'twere his own. 'Tis that hath made him proud. CLYTEMNESTRA. Nay, art thou flown To strife again so quick, child? ELECTRA. Well; I say No more; long have I feared him, and alway Shall fear him, even as now! CLYTEMNESTRA. Nay, daughter, peace! It bringeth little profit, speech like this... Why didst thou call me hither? ELECTRA. It reached thee, My word that a man-child is born to me? Do thou make offering for me--for the rite I know not--as is meet on the tenth night. I cannot; I have borne no child till now. CLYTEMNESTRA. Who tended thee? 'Tis she should make the vow. ELECTRA. None tended me. Alone I bare my child. CLYTEMNESTRA What, is thy cot so friendless? And this wild So far from aid? ELECTRA. Who seeks for friendship sake A beggar's house? CLYTEMNESTRA. I will go in, and make Due worship for thy child, the Peace-bringer. To all thy need I would be minister. Then to my lord, where by the meadow side He prays the woodland nymphs. Ye handmaids, guide My chariot to the stall, and when ye guess The rite draws near its end, in readiness Be here again. Then to my lord!... I owe My lord this gladness, too. [_The Attendants depart;_ CLYTEMNESTRA, _left alone, proceeds to enter the house_. ELECTRA.