She would not believe it possible that he should love any one but herself , who loved him so much . And now the possibility invaded her mind as subtly and coldly and remorselessly as a sea-fog stealing landward . Chester had been born to her at an age when most women are letting their children slip from them into the world , with some natural tears and heartaches , but content to let them go , after enjoying their sweetest years . Thyra 's late-come motherhood was all the more intense and passionate because of its very lateness . She had been very ill when her son was born , and had lain helpless for long weeks , during which other women had tended her baby for her . She had never been able to forgive them for this . Her husband had died before Chester was a year old . She had laid their son in his dying arms and received him back again with a last benediction . To Thyra that moment had something of a sacrament in it . It was as if the child had been doubly given to her , with a right to him solely that nothing could take away or transcend . Marrying ! She had never thought of it in connection with him . He did not come of a marrying race . His father had been sixty when he had married her , Thyra Lincoln , likewise well on in life . Few of the Lincolns or Carewes had married young , many not at all . And , to her , Chester was her baby still . He belonged solely to her . And now another woman had dared to look upon him with eyes of love . Damaris Garland ! Thyra now remembered seeing her .
She was a new-comer XXXXX Avonlea , having come to live with her uncle and aunt after the death of her mother .
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