As the ill news spread, other Avonlea women kept
dropping in all through the day to condole with
Thyra. Many of them came in real sympathy, but
some out of mere curiosity to see how she took it.
Thyra knew this, but she did not resent it, as she
would once have done. She listened very quietly
to all the halting efforts at consolation, and the little
platitudes with which they strove to cover the nakedness of bereavement.
When darkness came Cynthia said she must go home, but would send one of her girls over for the night.
“You won't feel like staying alone,’ she said.
Thyra looked up steadily.
“No. But I want you to send for Damaris Garland.”
“Damaris Garland!” Cynthia repeated the name as if disbelieving her own ears. There was never any knowing what whim Thyra might take, but Cynthia had not expected this.
“Yes. Tell her I want her — tell her she must come. She must hate me bitterly; but I am punished enough to satisfy even her hate. Tell her to come to me for Chester’s sake.”
Cynthia did as she was bid, she sent her daughter, Jeanette, for Damaris. Then she waited. No matter what duties were calling for her at home she inust see the interview between Thyra and Damaris,
