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friend, – whom could I trust, when the one nearest my heart is perjured? Proteus, I am sorry I must never trust thee more, but for thy sake count the whole world a stranger. Alas, that amongst all foes a friend should be the worst!”

      Proteus’s easily-moved nature was struck to the heart by Valentine’s just reproaches. With deepest remorse, he implored Valentine’s pardon, and so noble and generous was Valentine that he forgave him on the spot. Nay, more, in the impulse of the moment he even offered to resign his own claim on Silvia. The thought that Proteus would now really be lost to her for ever, struck Julia like a blow, and she fell fainting to the ground.

      “Look to the boy,” said Proteus.

      “Why, boy, how now? What’s the matter? Look up! Speak!” said Valentine.

      “Oh, good sir, my master charged me to deliver a ring to Madam Silvia, which because of my neglect was never done,” said Julia, in her guise of the little page.

      “Where is that ring, boy?” asked Proteus.

      “Here it is – this is it.”

      “How? Let me see. Why, this is the ring I gave to Julia.”

      “Oh, cry you mercy, sir, I have made a mistake,” said Julia, pretending to discover her error, and holding out another one. “This is the ring you sent to Silvia.”

      “But how did you come by this ring?” asked Proteus, looking at the first one. “When I left Verona I gave this to Julia.”

      “And Julia herself gave it to me, and Julia herself has brought it here.”

      “How? Julia!”

      “Behold her to whom you swore so many vows, and who kept them tenderly in her heart! How often have you perjured yourself!” cried Julia, throwing off her disguise. “Oh, Proteus, let these clothes make you blush! Are you ashamed that I have put on the raiment of a boy? I tell you, it is less shameful for women to change their guise than men their minds!”

      “Than men their minds!” echoed the conscience-stricken Proteus. “That is true.”

      “Come, come, give me each your hand,” interposed Valentine. “Let me be blest in making a happy ending. It were pity that two such friends should be long foes.”

      “Bear witness, Heaven, I have my wish for ever!” said Proteus solemnly.

      “And I mine,” said Julia.

      And it is to be hoped that this time the fickle gentleman kept faithful to his lady.

      Matters had scarcely come to this happy conclusion, when the outlaws approached, bringing as captives the Duke of Milan and Sir Thurio.

      “A prize! a prize! a prize!” shouted the outlaws.

      “Forbear, forbear, I say! It is my lord, the Duke of Milan,” said Valentine. “Your Grace is welcome to a man disgraced,” he added courteously.

      “Sir Valentine!”

      “Yonder is Silvia, and Silvia’s mine!” interrupted Sir Thurio, pressing rudely forward.

      “Stand back!” commanded Valentine. “Come near, at your peril! Do not dare to call Silvia yours! Here she stands: I dare you to touch her, or even to come near.”

      “Sir Valentine, I care not for her – I!” said Thurio, quite cowed. “I hold him but a fool who will endanger himself for a girl who does not love him. I claim her not, and therefore she is yours.”

      “The more base of you to act as you have done, and then to leave her on such slight excuse!” said the Duke indignantly. “Now, by the honour of my ancestry, I applaud your spirit, Valentine; you are worthy of an Empress’s love. Know, then, I cancel here all that has passed, and summon you home again Sir Valentine, you are a gentleman. Take you your Silvia, for you have deserved her.”

      “I thank your Grace; the gift has made me happy. I now beg you, for your daughter’s sake, to grant one boon that I shall ask of you.”

      “I grant it you for your own, whatever it be,” said the Duke.

      Then Valentine begged him to pardon the band of outlaws and recall them from exile.

      “They are reformed, civil, full of good, and fit for great employment,” he said.

      The Duke willingly granted his pardon, and then the whole party returned happily to Milan, where the same day wedding feasts were appointed for the two marriages – Valentine with Silvia, and Proteus with Julia.

      Much Ado about Nothing

      “Dear Lady Disdain”

      There was rejoicing in Messina, for the war was over, and Don Pedro, the victorious Prince of Arragon, was returning in triumph. Tidings were sent to Leonato, the Governor, to expect his speedy approach; and Leonato himself, with his daughter Hero and his niece Beatrice, received the Prince’s messenger, and questioned him eagerly as to the welfare of their friends.

      “How many gentlemen have you lost in this action?” inquired Leonato.

      “But few of any sort, and none of name,” replied the messenger.

      “I find in this letter that Don Pedro has bestowed much honour on a young Florentine called Claudio,” said Leonato.

      “Much deserved on his part and equally remembered by Don Pedro,” answered the messenger. “He has indeed borne himself gallantly, doing in the figure of a lamb the feats of a lion.”

      When she heard this outspoken praise of the young Florentine, Hero, the Governor’s daughter, felt a warm thrill of joy, but she only smiled and blushed with pleasure.

      “I pray you,” put in Beatrice, the Governor’s niece, who lived in her uncle’s house, and was the dear companion of his only daughter, “is Signor Mountanto returned from the wars or no?”

      “I know none of that name, lady,” said the messenger, looking rather puzzled; “there was none such in the army of any sort.”

      “Who is he that you ask for niece?”

      “My cousin means Signor Benedick of Padua,” explained Hero.

      “Oh, he has returned, and as pleasant as ever he was,” said the messenger.

      “I pray you, how many has he killed and eaten in these wars?” said Beatrice mockingly. “But no, how many has he killed? For, indeed, I promised to eat all of his killing.”

      “Faith, niece, you are too hard on Signor Benedick,” said Leonato. “But he will be even with you, I do not doubt.”

      “He has done good service, lady, in these wars,” said the messenger; and then he went on to praise warmly the valour and noble qualities of the young lord; but Beatrice would do nothing but laugh and mock at all he said.

      “You must not, sir, mistake my niece,” said Leonato at last. “There is a kind of merry war betwixt Signor Benedick and her; they never meet but there is a skirmish of wit between them.”

      While they were still speaking, the Prince of Arragon, with his train of noble gentlemen, arrived. Leonato welcomed them most warmly. Count Claudio and Signor Benedick were old friends, and had previously stayed at the Governor’s palace; indeed, before starting for the wars Claudio had looked with more than an eye of favour on the gentle lady Hero. As for Beatrice and Benedick, they pretended to have a great aversion to each other, but, strange to say, instead of avoiding each other’s society, they seemed to delight in seizing every opportunity to plague and tease each other as much as possible.

      On the present occasion Beatrice had not long to wait, and on Benedick’s making some jesting remark to Don Pedro and Leonato, she plunged into the fray.

      “I wonder that you will still be talking, Signor Benedick; nobody marks you.”

      “What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?” retorted Benedick.

      “Is it possible that Disdain should die while she has such meet food to feed it as Signor Benedick? Courtesy

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