can laugh, and reach forth his hands to take hold of me.—and he knows me already.
[Smoothes out the bed-clothes tenderly.
Duke Skule.
Håkon will have sons, the Bishop foretold.
Margrete.
To me this little child is a thousand times dearer than all Norway's land—and to Håkon too. Meseems I cannot rightly believe my happiness; I have the cradle standing by my bedside; every night, as often as I waken, I look to see if it be there—I am fearful lest it should prove to be all a dream
Duke Skule.
[Listens and goes to the window.] Is not that the King? Margrete. Ay; he is going up the other stair; I will bring him. [Takes her father's hand and leads him playfully up to the cradle.] Duke Skule! Keep watch over the King-child the while—for he is a King-child too—though I can never remember it! Should he wake, then bow deeply before him, and hail him as men hail kings! Now will I bring Håkon. Oh, God, God! now at last come light and peace over our house. [Goes out to the right.
Duke Skule.
[After a short and gloomy silence.] Håkon has a son. His race shall live after him. If he die, he leaves an heir who stands nearer the throne than all others. All things thrive with Håkon. Mayhap he is not the rightful king; but his faith in
