Andromache.
Who are you that speak like this? And what will my death profit you?
Orestes.
Spoke I not loud enough in my enemy's hall? I am Orestes.
Andromache.
[Amazed.] Clytæmnestra's son! [Coming towards him.] Oh, now I understand your face! Give me your hand. Whether that old stain be yet purged or no——
Orestes.
'Tis hidden and buried, rather, with much new blood over it. [Keeping back his hand.
Andromache.
It is such a one as you I have long prayed for, to be a friend to my child and me.