Little Ethelred had tried
and failed repeatedly, then at last, with hands and head firmly planted
on the sward, he had succeeded in throwing his legs up and keeping them
in a vertical position for a few seconds, this feat being loudly
applauded by his young instructor.
Elfrida, who had witnessed this display from her seat, burst out
laughing, then said to herself: O how I love these two beautiful boys
almost with an equal love, albeit one is not mine! But Edward must be
ever dear to me because of his sweetness and his love of me and, even
more, his love and tender care of my darling. Yet am I not wholly free
from an anxious thought of the distant future. Ah, no, let me not think
of such a thing! This sweet child of a boy-father and girl-mother--the
frail mother that died in her teens--he can never grow to be a proud,
masterful, ambitious man--never aspire to wear his father's crown!
Edgar's first-born, it is true, but not mine, and he can never be king.
For Edgar and I are one; is it conceivable that he should oppose me in
this--that we that are one in mind and soul shall at the last be divided
and at enmity? Have we not said it an hundred times that we are one? One
in all things except in passion.
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