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Rh for indeed in the halls of Apollo such angry powers cannot easily be awake. But are they to remain indifferent? Is a mother slain to lose the satisfaction which her murderer owes? Rather than this, she comes herself to stir up the executors of her vengeance. From the inner part of the temple, clad in dark robes, with her bare neck still showing the wound that her son inflicted, arises the ghost of Clytemnestra; and with bitter reproaches she urges the Furies, by gratitude for the gifts she has offered them, by their own honour lost if he escape, to pursue the matricide. Her words are not unheard. They wake slowly with hideous groans and mutterings; and at length, crying like hounds to one another, the savage note running round the semicircle, they rouse them gradually to their task. As they awake, the ghost again and constantly repeats her exhortations, till, when they are thoroughly excited to renew their chase, she vanishes away. Thus it is that the energy of these cruel powers may always, by the will of those on whose behalf they act, be quickened against the guilty or the representative of a guilty race; just as conscience, ever and anon calling up remembrance of a crime, stirs in a sinner's breast the tortures of remorse. At last, each waking her neighbour, they all start up, and, ranging themselves in chorus-fashion on the stage, utter their angry expressions of baffled rage and disappointment; especially complaining of the arrogance of Apollo, who has dared, an upstart god, to trample on their ancient prerogatives. But Apollo stands up, wrathful and beautiful, his silver bow bent in his hand, as when he slew the Python,