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heard them discussing Benedick’s love for her. They followed much the same lines as the three men had done with regard to Beatrice. They spoke of Benedick’s hopeless affection, of his many good qualities, and of his fear of exciting Beatrice’s scorn if he should say anything of his devotion. They said it was a great pity that the lady Beatrice was so proud and hard-hearted, and that they certainly would never tell her of Benedick’s feelings towards her, for she would only laugh at him and treat him with cruel scorn.

      “Yet tell her of it; hear what she will say,” Ursula pretended to urge Hero.

      “No,” said Hero, “I would rather go to Benedick and counsel him to fight against his passion.”

      Having skilfully performed their task, the ladies retired, leaving Beatrice overcome with wonder at what she had heard, and with all her pride melting into a strange new feeling of love.

      The Night before the Wedding

      It was not likely that Benedick’s changed behaviour should escape notice, and Don Pedro and Claudio pretended to think he was in love, and began to tease him unmercifully. Benedick met their raillery with an air of lofty scorn, but nothing would stop the shafts of wit which the light-hearted gentlemen levelled at their deluded companion, and they continued to twit him on his pensive demeanour, and the new air of fashion which he was adopting.

      But all gladness and gaiety were suddenly clouded over with heavy gloom.

      Having carefully prepared his villainous plot by the aid of his follower Borachio, Don John came to Claudio and the Prince of Arragon, and told them what had been agreed – namely, that Hero was unworthy to be the wife of Claudio, for she was already in love with Borachio, and that if the Prince and Count Claudio wished to prove the truth of his statement they had only to go that night to the street outside Leonato’s palace, where they would see Hero speaking out of a window to Borachio.

      Don Pedro and Claudio were, of course, at first stunned and incredulous, but Don John never faltered in the terrible lie he was relating.

      “If you will follow me I will show you enough,” he concluded, “and when you have heard more and seen more, proceed accordingly.”

      “If I see anything to-night why I should not marry her to-morrow,” said Claudio, “in the congregation where I should wed, there will I shame her.”

      “And as I helped you to woo her, I will join with you to disgrace her,” said Don Pedro.

      Now, the watchmen who kept the streets of Messina were a set of silly old men, whose only idea of duty was to potter about the streets, and keep as far as possible out of the way of anyone who was likely to give them any trouble. Chief of them was a constable called Dogberry, whose ignorance and stupidity were only equalled by his enormous self-conceit. On the night before the wedding, however, these brilliant watchmen actually did contrive to effect a capture which led to the happiest results.

      Dogberry had finished his string of ridiculous instructions to the band, and had just taken his departure, when two wayfarers came along from opposite directions, and stopped to speak to each other. These were Borachio and Conrade, the two followers of the wicked Don John.

      The street was quite dark, and apparently deserted, and as at that moment it began to drizzle with rain, the two men took shelter under a convenient pent-house. Suspicious of some treason, the watchmen concealed themselves near, and thus overheard the whole tale of villainy which Borachio confessed to Conrade.

      “Know that I have to-night wooed Margaret, the lady Hero’s gentlewoman, by the name of Hero,” he said. “She leans out of the window to me, she bids me a thousand times good-night. But I should first tell you how the Prince, Claudio, and my master, placed and instructed by my master Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this affectionate interview.”

      “And did they think Margaret was Hero?”

      “Two of them did – the Prince and Claudio – but the devil, my master, knew she was Margaret. Deceived partly by the darkness of the night, but chiefly by my villainy, which confirmed any slander that Don John invented, away went Claudio enraged, swore he would meet her as was appointed next morning at the church, and there, before the whole congregation, shame her with what he had seen, and send her home again without a husband.”

      Borachio had scarcely finished speaking when the watchmen pounced on the two villains. Surprised by the suddenness of the onslaught, they were quickly overpowered, and, finding any attempt at resistance useless, they had to submit to being led ignominiously away.

      “Done to Death by Slanderous Tongues”

      Next morning a brilliant company were assembled in the great church at Messina to see the wedding of Count Claudio and the lady Hero. Beatrice, of course, was there with her cousin, and Leonato to give his daughter away. The young maiden, in her snowy robe and veil, stood ready, and facing her was the gallant young Count, in his bridal splendour of white and gold.

      “You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady?” said the Friar.

      “No,” said Claudio.

      The bystanders were astonished at this curt response, but Leonato corrected the Friar’s words.

      “To be married to her; Friar, you come to marry her.”

      “Lady, you come hither to be married to this Count?”

      “I do,” said Hero, in a low but steady voice.

      “If either of you know any inward impediment why you should not be conjoined, I charge you on your souls to utter it,” said the Friar.

      “Know you any, Hero?” demanded Claudio sternly.

      “None, my lord,” came the slightly wondering but unfaltering answer.

      “Know you any, Count?”

      “I dare make his answer, none,” interposed Leonato.

      “Oh, what men dare do! what men may do! what men daily do, not knowing what they do!” cried Claudio, in a burst of bitter scorn. Then, turning to Leonato, he said: “Will you with free soul give me this maid, your daughter?”

      “As freely, son, as God gave her to me,” said Leonato.

      “And what have I to give you that shall equal in worth this rare and precious gift?” said Claudio.

      “Nothing, unless you render her again,” said Don Pedro.

      “Sweet Prince, you teach me noble thankfulness. There, Leonato, take her back again.”

      And then Claudio, as he had sworn, in the presence of the whole congregation, brought forth his terrible accusations against Hero, and declared he would not marry her. Stung to fury by what he considered her wickedness and deceit – for the young girl’s blushing modesty and grace appeared to him nothing but seeming – he related what he and the Prince had seen the night before, and how Hero had spoken out of her window with a ruffian. It was useless for Hero to protest her innocence; nothing could destroy the evidence of their own eyes.

      Unable to endure this cruel and astounding calumny, Hero sank fainting to the ground. Don Pedro, Claudio, and Don John left the church; the amazed wedding guests dispersed; and Leonato, Beatrice, Benedick, and the Friar were left alone with the unhappy Hero.

      “How doth the lady?” asked Benedick, approaching the spot where Beatrice was eagerly trying to recall her cousin to consciousness.

      “Dead, I think,” cried Beatrice in despair. “Help, uncle! Hero – why, Hero! Uncle! Signor Benedick! Friar!”

      “Death is the fairest cover for her shame that can be wished for,” said the heart-broken father.

      “How now, Cousin Hero!” said Beatrice, as the young girl slowly opened her dazed eyes.

      “Have comfort, lady,” said the Friar tenderly.

      “Do you look up?” said Leonato.

      “Yes; wherefore should she not?” said the Friar.

      In his terrible grief, not questioning the truth of the story, Leonato declared

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