"Mother, calm yourself. Oh, surely there's no need of all this!
Let us wait until to-morrow, and talk it over then. I'll hear
all you have to say. Come in, dear."
Thyra loosened her arms from about him, and stepped back into a
moon-lit space. Looking at him tragically, she extended her arms
and spoke slowly and solemnly.
"Chester, choose between us. If you choose her, I shall go from
you to-night, and you will never see me again!"
"Mother!"
"Choose!" she reiterated, fiercely.
He felt her long ascendancy. Its influence was not to be shaken
off in a moment. In all his life he had never disobeyed her.
Besides, with it all, he loved her more deeply and
understandingly than most sons love their mothers. He realized
that, since she would have it so, his choice was already
made--or, rather that he had no choice.
"Have your way," he said sullenly.
She ran to him and caught him to her heart. In the reaction of
her feeling she was half laughing, half crying. All was well
again--all would be well; she never doubted this, for she knew he
would keep his ungracious promise sacredly.
"Oh, my son, my son," she murmured, "you'd have sent me to my
death if you had chosen otherwise. But now you are mine again!"
She did not heed that he was sullen--that he resented her
unjustice with all her own intensity. She did not heed his
silence as they went into the house together.
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