"Mother" (ever his first word), "you have let me sleep too long."
"Thou didst wake too long, I fear me."
"I hoped you knew it not. Yes, my wound throbbed sore, and the
wonders of the day whirled round my brain like the wild huntsman's
chase."
"And, cruel boy, thou didst not call to me."
"What, with such a yesterday, and such a morrow for you? while,
chance what may, I can but lie still. I thought I must call, if I
were still so wretched, when the last moonbeam faded; but, behold,
sleep came, and therewith my Friedel sat by me, and has sung songs of
peace ever since."
"And hath lulled thee to content, dear son?"
"Content as the echo of his voice and the fulfilment of his hope can
make me," said Ebbo.
And so Christina made her son ready for the day's solemnities,
arraying him in a fine holland shirt with exquisite broidery of her
own on the collar and sleeves, and carefully disposing his long
glossy, dark brown hair so as to fall on his shoulders as he lay
propped up by cushions. She would have thrown his crimson mantle
round him, but he repelled it indignantly.
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