“What money, sir?” asked Viola. “Because of the kindness you have shown me here, and partly prompted by your present trouble, I will lend you something out of my own very small means; I have not much. I will divide with you what I have. Hold! there is half my purse.”
Antonio was deeply wounded by such apparent ingratitude from one for whom he had done so much. He was reluctant to proclaim his own good deeds, but when Viola persisted in declaring that she did not know him, he could not help relating how he had saved the youth from shipwreck, and what devotion he had lavished on him afterwards. In telling this, he called him by his name, as he thought—“Sebastian”—but he was hurried away by the officers before Viola had time to answer.
This name “Sebastian” filled her with sudden hope; she knew how closely she resembled her brother, and she had imitated the same fashion, colour, and ornament which he was accustomed to wear. Perhaps, then, the tempests had been kind and Sebastian was really saved.
“A very dishonest, paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare,” was Sir Toby’s disgusted comment, as Viola walked off. “His dishonesty appears in leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying him; and for his cowardice, ask Fabian.”
“A coward—a most devout coward,” agreed Fabian.
“Ha, I’ll after him again, and beat him,” said the valiant Sir Andrew.
“Do, cuff him soundly, but never draw your sword,” said Sir Toby.
“If I do not——” bragged Sir Andrew, swaggering away.
“Come, let us see what happens,” said Fabian.
“I dare lay any money, it will be nothing, after all,” said Sir Toby shrewdly.