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. [Illustration: “A thousand times good-night.”] “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.