We can imagine the scene in the cave that evening. When they have supped, they would "mannerly demand" the story of the boy, which, we hear afterwards, was told in a very guarded way :

Gui. He said he was gentle, but unfortunate;

Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.

Arv. Thus did he answer me; yet said, hereafter
I might know more."

What that " 'more was, how little could they guess! By this time they would have found their softest skins to make a couch for one so delicate, which she, with all a woman's instinct, would wrap well around her limbs. Then, forgetting fatigue, she would sing or recite to them some tale, of which we know she had many well stored in her memory. How the charm her presence had wrought would deepen upon them as the night wore away, and how the dreams that filled their sleep would carry on the sweet dream of the waking hours which they had passed by her side!

How long Imogen remains their guest we are not told—some days it must have been, else all the things they speak of could not have happened. For the first time, their cave is felt to be a home. On their return from their day's sport, a fresh smell of newly strewn rushes, we may imagine, pervades it. Where the light best finds its way into the cavern are seen such dainty wild-flowers as she has found in her solitary rambles. Fresh water from the brook is there. The vegetables are washed, and cut into quaint "characters" to garnish the dishes; a savoury odour of herbs comes from the "sauced" broth, and a smile, sweet in their eyes beyond all other sweetness, salutes them as they hurry in, each vying with the other who first shall catch it. When the meal is ready, they wait upon Fidele, trying with the daintiest morsels to tempt her small appetite; and, when it is over, and she is couched upon their warmest skins, they lie down at her feet, while she sings, "angel-like," to them, or tells them tales of "high emprise and chivalry," such as become a king's daughter. Even the old Belarius feels the subtle charm, and wonders, yet not grudgingly, to see how this stranger takes a place in the hearts of his two boys even before himself:

"I'm not their father; yet who this should be

Doth miracle itself, loved before me."

Meanwhile great events have taken place at Cymbeline's Court. He has refused to acknowledge the claim for tribute presented from the Roman Emperor by his envoy Caius Lucius, who, after announcing that it will be claimed at the point of the sword, craves and receives a safe-conduct for himself overland to Milford-Haven. Cymbeline has prepared for the eventuality of war, and his preparations are so far advanced that he looks forward with confidence to the issue. The kingly qualities of the man are well shown, and contrast with his weakness in his domestic relations. And now he misses his daughter, whom he has not had time to think of for some days :

"My gentle queen,

Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd

The duty of the day."

An attendant is despatched to summon her to the presence; while the queen, continuing to play the part of a seeming tender mother to her, who, as we know, "was as a scorpion to her sight"—to her whose life she had intended to have "ta'en off by poison," explains, that since the exile of Posthumus, Imogen has kept in close retirement, the cure whereof

""Tis Time must do. Beseech your majesty,
Forbear sharp speeches to her. She's a lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes,
And strokes death to her."

When the attendant returns after finding the princess's chambers locked and tenantless, the king is seriously alarmed. His conscience smites him when he thinks to what his unkindness may have led :

--

"Her doors lock'd?

Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear

Prove false !"

And he rushes away, followed by Cloten, to find his worst fears confirmed. Pisanio gone, and Imogen! In this the queen sees a step gained in her plot to raise her son to the throne. Pisanio's

absence, she hopes, may be caused by his having swallowed the drug-a poison, as she believes-which she had given him. As for Imogen, she is gone

"To death or to dishonour; and my end

Can make good use of either: she being down,

I have the placing of the British crown.'

The king, Cloten tells her on his return, is so wild with rage, that "none dare come about him." The fitter, then, to fall an easy prey to her cajoling! Accordingly she hurries away to reinforce her sway over him, "by watching, weeping, tendance," and affectation of sympathy, and so to move him by her craft "to work her son into the adoption of the crown."

Meantime this son is working for himself a very different ending to his ignoble life. Seeing Pisanio, who has just returned, he accosts him with his usual braggart air :

"Where is thy lady?

Close villain !

I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip

Thy heart to find it!"

:

Pisanio, not knowing how else to account for Imogen's absence, and to mislead Cloten, gives him the letter from Posthumus, appointing the meeting at Milford-Haven,-one of those "scriptures of the loyal Leonatus," which he had picked up when she tore them from her breast.

"Or this," he says to himself, "or perish!"

"She's far enough; and what he learns by this

May prove his travel, not her danger.

I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen,
Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!"

Cloten, who meantime has been reading and re-reading the letter for we have been told how dull his wits are-sees in it an opening for the revenge on Posthumus and Imogen on which he has set his heart. He will get from Pisanio a suit of his master's clothes; and Pisanio, who has no reason to withhold them from the silly fellow, agrees to let him have the same suit that Posthumus wore when he took leave of Imogen. Thus, in the very garment which she had lately told him she held "in more respect

than his noble and natural person," will he pursue the princess to Milford-Haven, kill Posthumus before her eyes, and "knock her back to the Court-foot her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge."

When we next see Cloten, he has reached the spot to which Pisanio, believing Imogen to be by this time in the service of the Roman general, felt he might safely direct him as the meetingplace of the lovers. It is near the cave of Belarius. Cloten is more than ever enamoured of his personal appearance in the garments of Posthumus. "The lines of my body," he says, "are as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong "-sentences skilfully introduced by the poet to account for his body being presently mistaken by Imogen, when she sees it lying headless, for that of Posthumus. Drawing his sword, he goes off in search of those who, he fancies, vapouring fool as he is, will be his easy victims. Straightway from the cave comes forth the group that inhabit it. Imogen, with all their care, is still sick-and who can wonder, with mind and body so sore? Belarius would have her remain in the cave until they return from hunting. "Brother," says Arviragus, "stay here; are we not brothers?" At their first meeting he had said he would love her as a brother, and every hour since had deepened the feeling on his part. Imogen can but answer ambiguously

"So man and man should be;

But clay and clay differs in dignity,

Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick."

Upon this Guiderius, who, though of a more robust, is yet evidently of a more sensitive nature, and who from the first had wished Fidele were a woman, offers to remain behind to tend him. But now Imogen makes light of her ailment, being in truth only too glad to be left alone with her heart-sickness, to which she can then give way. Gentle and kind as her companions are, she is upon the stretch when they are by, dreading to be further questioned as to her story, and, by reason of her natural disposition to lose herself in others, desiring also in their absence to do her utmost to contribute to their comfort and enjoyment. She cannot deny that she is ill—

"But your being by me

Cannot amend me: society is no comfort

To one not sociable."

Then she adds playfully, to set them at ease in leaving her—

Since I can reason of it.
I'll rob none but myself."

"I am not very sick,

Pray you, trust me here;

Again do both the boys proffer in warmest terms the assurance of their love, avowing it to be deeper than that for their supposed father-the only love they have ever known; but as she still deprecates their absenting themselves from the chase, they yield to her wish. Their tenderness and perfect courtesy have gone to her very heart; and as she moves lingeringly back towards the cave, she says

"These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I have heard!
Our courtiers say all's savage but at Court.
Experience, oh, thou disprov'st report!

I am sick still-heart-sick. Pisanio,
I'll now taste of thy drug."

Her companions watch her as she retires.

There is something

so touching, so especially and mysteriously sad about her look and movements to-day, that they will not go without a fresh assurance to her that they will soon be back—

"Arv. We'll not be long away.

Bel.

For you must be our housewife."

Pray, be not sick,

"Well or ill, I am bound to you!" are Imogen's words, as she disappears into the cave, with a wistful smile that insensibly awakens fresh perplexity in their hearts, as we see by what follows:

"Bel. This youth, howe'er distress'd, appears he hath had Good ancestors.

Gui. But his neat cookery! He cut our roots in characters,
And sauc'd our broths, as Juno had been sick

And he her dieter.