“_Light thee, sweet my husband From this high seat: yet set not on bare earth Thy foot, great King, the foot that trampled Troy! Ho thralls, why tarry ye, whose task is set To carpet the King’s way? Bring priceless crimson: Let all his path be red, and Justice guide him, Who saw his deeds, at last, unhoped for, home._“[14] Self-control is clearly returning. There is profound significance in her closing words, an invocation to Justice to lead Agamemnon to his doom. There is an inner motive, too, as well as awful irony, in the invitation to the king to walk on ‘priceless crimson.’ She must contrive that he will commit himself still further before the people, who are already stirred by faction and chilled by his hauteur. In the full light of what she is about to do, she sees that this is Agamemnon’s last public act; and has determined that the man of blood shall walk to his death along a crimson path. The deed is almost sacrilege; but after some protest, Agamemnon yields to her entreaties. “_If you must have it so, let some one loose The shoe that like a slave supports my tread; Lest, trampling o’er these royal dyes, some god Smite me with envious glances from afar._“[15] He has a consciousness of what he is doing, and his mind misgives him; but he who could deny to the mother the life of her child, cannot refuse this indulgence to his pride. Clytemnestra, in exultation that she can hardly conceal, reassures him. In lines of exquisite poetic beauty, but weighted with a meaning that he does not see, she declares that this honour is his due; that it is a sacrifice for his return. Then, as Agamemnon passes within the palace, she remains for one instant outside. The fire of exultation dies away. She forgets the people standing round, the need for dissimulation, the danger of discovery. One thought sweeps everything else away—the thought of the stupendous deed that she is about to attempt, its horror and its peril. She raises her hands and utters an awful prayer: “_Zeus—thou fulfillest all—fulfil my prayer! And take good heed of all thou doest herein!_“[15] Then she follows Agamemnon into the palace. But there remains one person whom she has overlooked, Cassandra, priestess and prophetess of Apollo. As the Chorus takes up a lovely song full of foreboding, the queen returns and calls to Cassandra to come within. But there has fallen upon Cassandra a prophetic vision of the crime. She is distraught with fear and horror, and can find no answer to the imperious queen. Clytemnestra, to whom every moment is of infinite importance, suddenly loses all her dignity in mere rage at the silent, helpless girl.