“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?” [Illustration: There, Leonato, take her back again.] “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 that death was the happiest thing that could happen to Hero after such dishonour, and that if her spirit had strength enough to survive such shame, he could almost be tempted to kill her with his own hands. “Sir, sir, be patient!” pleaded Benedick. “For my part, I am so attired in wonder I do not know what to say.” “Upon my soul, my cousin is belied!” exclaimed Beatrice.