characters, and sauced their broth, as if Juno had been sick, and Fidele
were her dieter. 'And then,' said Polydore to his brother, 'how angel-
like he sings!'

They also remarked to each other, that though Fidele smiled so
sweetly, yet so sad a melancholy did overcloud his lovely face, as if
grief and patience had together taken possession of him.

For these her gentle qualities (or perhaps it was their near relationship,
though they knew it not) Imogen (or, as the boys called her, Fidele)
became the doting-piece of her brothers, and she scarcely less loved
them, thinking that but for the memory of her dear Posthumus, she
could live and die in the cave with these wild forest youths; and she
gladly consented to stay with them, till she was enough rested from
the fatigue of travelling to pursue her way to Milford-Haven.

When the venison they had taken was all eaten and they were going
out to hunt for more. Fidele could not accompany them because she
was unwell. Sorrow, no doubt, for her husband's cruel usage, as well
as the fatigue of wandering in the forest, was the cause of her illness.

They then bid her farewell, and went to their hunt, praising all the way
the noble parts and graceful demeanour of the youth Fidele.

Imogen was no sooner left alone then she recollected the cordial
Pisanio had given her, and drank it off, and presently fell into a sound
and deathlike sleep.

When Bellarius and her brothers returned from hunting, Polydore
went first into the cave, and supposing her asleep, pulled off his heavy