threatening looks from forefathers or kinsfolk. No need to turn their faces to the wall.
[Rises again.
Ay, 'twas well that I took heart at last. We shall conquer;—and then am I at the goal of all my longings. I shall have my child again.
[Takes up the light as if to go, but stops and says musingly:
At the goal? The goal? To have him back? Is that all?—is there nought further?
[Sets the light down on the table.
That heedless word that Nils Lykke threw forth at random—. How could he see my unborn thought?
[More softly.
A king's mother? A king's mother, he said—And why not? Have not my fathers before me ruled as kings, even though they bore not the kingly name? Has not my son as good a title as the other to the rights of the house of Sture? In the sight of God he has—if so be there is justice in Heaven.
And in an hour of terror I have signed away his rights. I have recklessly squandered them, as a ransom for his freedom.
If they could be recovered?—Would Heaven be angered, if I—? Would it call down fresh troubles on my head if I were to—? Who knows;—who knows! It may be safest to refrain. [Takes up the light again.] I shall have my child again. That must content me. I will try to rest. All these desperate thoughts,—I will sleep them away.
