She had laid a snare to get
Chester and he, like a fool, was entangled in it, thinking,
man-fashion, only of her 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. "He ain't home yet.
Likely he's snug at Blairs'.
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