ELECTRA.
Hast thou gone mad, unhappy one, that thus
Thou mockest at my miseries and thy own?
CHRYSOTHEMIS.
By our ancestral hearth I swear to thee
I say not this in mockery; he is here.
ELECTRA.
O misery, from what mortal hast thou heard
This story that has gained thy fond belief?
CHRYSOTHEMIS.
It is no hearsay: mine own eyes have seen
The certain proofs of that which I believe.
ELECTRA.
What is the token? What has met thy gaze
To fire thy silly heart with fevered hope?