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1885.] is dead, and so awakening Claudio's remorse, will not wipe out the wrong done to her cousin or the indignity offered to her kin. Therefore she lets her friends retire, lingering behind, to the surprise, possibly, of some who might expect that she would go with them to comfort Hero. She is bent on finding for her a better comfort than lies in words. Benedick, she feels sure, will remain if she does. And he, how could he do otherwise? This beautiful woman, whom he has hitherto known all joyousness, and seeming indifference to the feelings of others, has revealed herself under a new aspect, and one that has drawn him towards her more than he has ever been drawn towards woman before. He has noted how all through this terrible scene she has been the only one to stand by, to defend, to try to cheer the slandered Hero. Her courage and her tenderness have roused the chivalry of his nature. So deeply is he moved, that I believe, even if he had not previously been influenced by what he had been told of Beatrice's love, he would from that time have been her lover and devoted servant.

There is tenderness in his voice as he accosts her. "Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?" But it is only when she hears him say, "Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is wronged," that she dashes her tears aside, and can give voice to the thought that has for some time been uppermost in her mind.

"Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would right her!

Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship?

Beat. A very even way, but no such friend.

Bene. May a man do it?

Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours."

These words are not to be interpreted, as by some they have been, as spoken in Beatrice's usually sarcastic vein. She only means that, being neither a kinsman, nor in any way connected with Hero's family, he cannot step forward to do her right. In this sense the words are understood by Benedick, who takes the most direct way of removing the difficulty by the avowal of his love. "I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that strange?" After what she has overheard, this makes her smile, but it causes her no surprise. With the thought of Hero's vindication uppermost in her heart, what can she do but answer Benedick's avowal by her own? And yet to make it is by no means easy, as we see by her words, somewhat in the old vein –

"As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as you, – but believe me not" (half confessing, and then withdrawing); "and yet I lie not" (again yielding, and again falling back). "I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing."

To extricate herself from her embarrassment, she turns away from the subject with the words, spoken with tremulous emotion, "I am sorry for my cousin." But Benedick is impatient for a clearer assurance. Observe how skilfully, even while she humours him, she leads him on to the point on which she has set her mind: –

"Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.

Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it.

Bene. I will swear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it that says I love not you.

Beat. Will you not eat your word?

Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest I love thee.

Beat. Why, then, God forgive me!

Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice?

Beat. You have stayed me in a