She comes hastily forth, knowing instinctively that the hour of her retribution is arrived; but, calling for an axe—the weapon with which she killed Agamemnon—is determined to defend herself to the last. But when Orestes appears, she assumes the guise of tenderness. The avenger says:—
"Dost love this man? With him, in the same tomb,
Then shalt thou lie;—still faithful found in death."
"Hold! hold! my son;" she cries:—
"Revere, my child, this breast
From which, a sleeping infant, thou full oft,
With toothless gums, thy nurture-milk hast sucked."
For one moment Orestes wavers and turns to Pylades, but his friend reminds him of Apollo's command and his own vows, and bids him "choose all for foemen rather than the gods." His momentary hesitation is dispelled. He gives short replies to his mother's pretences of affection, and rejects her excuse with the most solemn answer. She pleads that Fate compelled her to her crime; and Fate, he replies, now ordains her death. He is at least as much the instrument of heaven as she was. Then he drags her into the palace.
While the terrible deed is being done, according to the decorous taste of the Greek theatre, out of sight, the Chorus sings a hymn of unmixed exultation:—
