Ah me, my ruin! It would be far better to leave life this very night, here in my room, by a death no one expects, and escape every reproach, before I do these shameful things that cannot be named."

So she settles on the quickest way out: to die tonight, in her room, "by a fate of mystery," as Mooney renders πότμῳ ἀνωίστῳ, before she does the deeds she cannot bring herself to name. The thing she cannot name is helping a stranger against her father. The speech ends where it began, in her own room, at night.