Håkon.
You might have been so good a foster-sister to me, through all the years when we were growing up together.
Margrete.
But it fell out otherwise.
Håkon.
Ay, it fell out otherwise;—we looked at each other, I from my corner, you from yours, but we seldom spoke[Impatiently.] What is keeping him? [Ivar Bodde comes with the writing materials.] Are you there? Give me the things!
[Håkon seats himself at the table and writes. A little while after, Earl Skule comes in; then Dagfinn the Peasant, Bishop Nicholas and Vegard Væradal.
Håkon.
[Looks up and lays down his pen.] Know you, Sir Earl, what I am writing here? [The Earl approaches.] This is to my mother; I thank her for all her love, and kiss her a thousand times—here in the letter you understand. She is to be sent eastward to Borgasyssel, there to live with all queenly honours.
Earl Skule.
You will not keep her in the palace?
Håkon.
She is too dear to me, Earl;—a king must have none about him whom he loves too well. A king must act with free hands; he must stand alone
