Chester was uncomfortable.  Much as he loved his mother, he felt, and always had felt, an awe of her and an impatient dislike of her dramatic ways of speaking and acting.  He reflected, resentfully, that no other young man in Avonlea, who had been paying a friendly call, would be met by his mother at midnight and held up in such tragic fashion to account for himself.  He tried vainly to loosen her hold upon his arm, but he understood quite well that he must give her an answer.  Being strictly straight-forward by nature and upbringing, he told the truth, albeit with more anger in his tone than he had ever shown to his mother before.

“Yes,” he said shortly.

Thyra released his arm, and struck her hands together with a sharp cry.  There was a savage note in it.  She could have slain Damaris Garland at that moment.

“Don’t go on so, mother,” said Chester, impatiently.  “Come in out of the cold.  It isn’t fit for you to be here.  Who has been tampering with you?  What if I did go to see Damaris?”

“Oh—­oh—­oh!” cried Thyra.  “I was waiting for you—­alone—­and you were thinking only of her!  Chester, answer me—­do you love her?”

The blood rolled rapidly over the boy’s face.  He muttered something and tried to pass on, but she caught him again.  He forced himself to speak gently.

“What if I do, mother?” It wouldn’t be such a dreadful thing, would it?”

“And me?  And me?” cried Thyra.  “What am I to you, then?”

“You are my mother.  I wouldn’t love you any the less because I cared for another, too.”

“I won’t have you love another,” she cried.  “I want all your love—­all!  What’s that baby-face to you, compared to your mother?  I have the best right to you.  I won’t give you up.”

Chester realized that there was no arguing with such a mood.  He walked on, resolved to set the matter aside until she might be more reasonable.  But Thyra would not have it so.  She followed on after him, under the alders that crowded over the lane.

“Promise me that you’ll not go there again,” she entreated.  “Promise me that you’ll give her up.”

“I can’t promise such a thing,” he cried angrily.

His anger hurt her worse than a blow, but she did not flinch.

“You’re not engaged to her?” she cried out.

“Now, mother, be quiet.  All the settlement will hear you.  Why do you object to Damaris?  You don’t know how sweet she is.  When you know her—­”

“I will never know her!” cried Thyra furiously.  “And she shall not have you!  She shall not, Chester!”

He made no answer.  She suddenly broke into tears and loud sobs.  Touched with remorse, he stopped and put his arms about her.

“Mother, mother, don’t!  I can’t bear to see you cry so.  But, indeed, you are unreasonable.  Didn’t you ever think the time would come when I would want to marry, like other men?”