Page:Further Chronicles of Avonlea (1920).djvu/202

170 great eyes and red lips. Thyra thought savagely of Damaris’ beauty.

“She shall not have him,” she said, with slow emphasis. “I will never give him up to any other woman, and, least of all, to her. She would leave me no place in his heart at all — me, his mother, who almost died to give him life. He belongs to me! Let her look for the son of some other woman — some woman who has many sons. She shall not have my only one!”

She got up, wrapped a shawl about her head, and went out into the darkly golden evening. The clouds had cleared away, and the moon was shining. The air was chill, with a bell-like clearness. The alders by the river rustled eerily as she walked by them and out upon the bridge. Here she paced up and down, peering with troubled eyes along the road beyond, or leaning over the rail, looking at the sparkling silver ribbon of moonlight that garlanded the waters. Late travelers passed her, and wondered at her presence and mien. Carl White saw her, and told his wife about her when he got home.

“Striding to and fro over the bridge like mad! At first I thought it was old, crazy May Blair. What do you suppose she was doing down there at this hour of the night?”

“Watching for Ches, no doubt,” said Cynthia.