“But for Electra she could not have borne it.”
“Electra!” In spite of her weakness the queen half arose to stare at him in doubt and terror.
“Yea, Electra. She is a handmaid, and was called with Æole.”
“Electra a handmaid! She is a princess—is of our blood. Hellen, thou art wrong.”
“Dear Queen, Electra, the niece of Oltis, is she that I mean—a maiden most fair, most bright. There could be but one Electra with such eyes, such a smile, such a grand spirit. To look upon her is to fall at her feet.”
The queen lay back and moaned: “Electra it is—it is.” Then clasping her hands she implored: “O Poseidon, is this the next? And canst thou look on? O Amen, hast thou no shafts of fire?”
Hellen was awestricken at the intense despair of her tone, the reproach even.
“Dear, dear Queen, be not so wrought. Thou wilt die.”
“Nay, Hellen.” To his amazement, she again half arose. “Nay, I shall not die. I will live—live to bring to naught these fiends—these monsters of false dealing. Yet, ah, Atlano, Atlano!” She began to weep in a way that rent him.
After a little, with the hope to divert her, he said: