If nothing else, Cassio considered himself to be an empathetic man. He regarded with pride his ability to comfort and commiserate, and never begrudged a burdened soul the benefit of his ear, if he could lend it to them at a time opportune. Despite all this, however, he would speak false to himself if he did not admit that Iago's lachrymose confession discomfited him most profoundly. The ensign- former ensign, he reminded himself, having heard confirmation of the man's relegation from the poor devil's own lips- was a man Cassio had always observed to be calm, composed. Firmly in control of his actions and emotions. Too strong, too nearly stoic, to shed tears. He was not even often inclined to raise his voice, let alone lose control in this way.
To see him now, a weary, battered suppliant, with the tracks of tears and shadows of grief marring his dirty, ashen face, Cassio would fain believe him to be a man of spirit broken beyond help or hope of repair, consumed with guilt over his cowardly malefactions to the point of being unable to bid himself return to his place of castigation...and truly, the sight moved him. Not quite to compassion for, in troth, his misdeeds, so freely admitted even now, were too grave to be so easily forgiven, but to pity, verily...but to sound disconcertment, too.
For once, the cultured, polished Michael Cassio found himself sorely cowed. He knew not what he could possibly to to ameliorate this delicate situation...and the other soldier Lucentio, evidently, would be of no help, for he, too, seemed shocked by this passionate display.
With an anxiety wrought of mortification more poignant than he could remember feeling for a long time, the young lieutenant placed a cautious hand upon Iago's lean shoulder, not at all certain if the older man would prove amenable to the consoling gesture. In faith, the man's wife had spurned him earlier for such an action...
"Do not despair," he said quietly...though he supposed there was little he could do to keep Iago from doing exactly that... "Relegated you may have been...and I cannot deny that your discipline was wrought of just cause...but you have not been dismissed entirely, have you? Surely we still will have need of your skill among the ranks; that in itself is reason enough to return. ...And if you do not return for yourself, do it for Emilia; I cannot think that she should be made to suffer unsupported."
None of this, though, seemed meet to have spoken; he felt, in hindsight, as though he had dismissed Iago's torment as something inconsequential, though to that end his words had aimed not. Thinking on this, he forced himself to meet the aggrieved pale eyes, hoping to convey unto them a conviction his befuddled tongue could not so well express.
"And know this," he continued, solemn and resolute. "Your wife bears you no ill will for aught that you have done. In faith, she weeps not out of grief for her own misfortune, but for fear of your safety. None of this talk of her wishing not to see you, I pray. ...Verily, I think that the opposite is all that she wishes at this moment. She longs for your reunion, be you a damned man or not." And for that, she is a truer being than you could ever hope to be, villain that you are.