Chapter 1 SCARLETT O’HARA was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charmas the Tarleton twins were. In her face were too sharply blended the delicate features of her mother,a Coast aristocrat of French descent, and the heavy ones of her florid Irish father. But it was anarresting face, pointed of chin, square of jaw. Her eyes were pale green without a touch of hazel,starred with bristly black lashes and slightly tilted at the ends. Above them, her thick black browsslanted upward, cutting a startling oblique line in her magnolia-white skin—that skin so prized bySouthern women and so carefully guarded with bonnets, veils and mittens against hot Georgiasuns.   Seated with Stuart and Brent Tarleton in the cool shade of the porch of Tara, her father’splantation, that bright April afternoon of 1861, she made a pretty picture. Her new green flowered-muslin dress spread its twelve yards of billowing material over her hoops and exactly matched theflat-heeled green morocco slippers her father had recently brought her from Atlanta. The dress set off to perfection the seventeen-inch waist, the smallest in three counties, and the tightly fittingbasque showed breasts well matured for her sixteen years. But for all the modesty of her spreadingskirts, the demureness of hair netted smoothly into a chignon and the quietness of small whitehands folded in her lap, her true self was poorly concealed. The green eyes in the carefully sweetface were turbulent, willful, lusty with life, distinctly at variance with her decorous demeanor. Hermanners had been imposed upon her by her mother’s gentle admonitions and the sterner disciplineof her mammy; her eyes were her own.   On either side of her, the twins lounged easily in their chairs, squinting at the sunlight throughtall mint-garnished glasses as they laughed and talked, their long legs, booted to the knee and thickwith saddle muscles, crossed negligently. Nineteen years old, six feet two inches tall, long of boneand hard of muscle, with sunburned faces and deep auburn hair, their eyes merry and arrogant,their bodies clothed in identical blue coats and mustard-colored breeches, they were as much alikeas two bolls of cotton.   Outside, the late afternoon sun slanted down in the yard, throwing into gleaming brightness thedogwood trees that were solid masses of white blossoms against the background of new green. Thetwins’ horses were hitched in the driveway, big animals, red as their masters’ hair; and around thehorses’ legs quarreled the pack of lean, nervous possum hounds that accompanied Stuart and Brentwherever they went. A little aloof, as became an aristocrat, lay a black-spotted carriage dog,muzzle on paws, patiently waiting for the boys to go home to supper.   Between the hounds and the horses and the twins there was a kinship deeper than that of theirconstant companionship. They were all healthy, thoughtless young animals, sleek, graceful, high-spirited, the boys as mettlesome as the horses they rode, mettlesome and dangerous but, withal,sweet-tempered to those who knew how to handle them.   Although born to the ease of plantation life, waited on hand and foot since infancy, the faces ofthe three on the porch were neither slack nor soft. They had the vigor and alertness of countrypeople who have spent all their lives in the open and troubled their heads very little with dullthings in books. Life in the north Georgia county of Clayton was still new and, according to thestandards of Augusta, Savannah and Charleston, a little crude. The more sedate and older sectionsof the South looked down their noses at the up-country Georgians, but here in north Georgia, alack of the niceties of classical education carried no shame, provided a man was smart in the thingsthat mattered. And raising good cotton, riding well, shooting straight, dancing lightly, squiring theladies with elegance and carrying one’s liquor like a gentleman were the things that mattered.   In these accomplishments the twins excelled, and they were equally outstanding in theirnotorious inability to learn anything contained between the covers of books. Their family had moremoney, more horses, more slaves than any one else in the County, but the boys had less grammarthan most of their poor Cracker neighbors.   It was for this precise reason that Stuart and Brent were idling on the porch of Tara this Aprilafternoon. They had just been expelled from the University of Georgia, the fourth university thathad thrown them out in two years; and their older brothers, Tom and Boyd, had come home withthem, because they refused to remain at an institution where the twins were not welcome. Stuartand Brent considered their latest expulsion a fine joke, and Scarlett, who had not willingly opened a book since leaving the Fayetteville Female Academy the year before, thought it just as amusingas they did.   “I know you two don’t care about being expelled, or Tom either,” she said. “But what aboutBoyd? He’s kind of set on getting an education, and you two have pulled him out of the Universityof Virginia and Alabama and South Carolina and now Georgia. He’ll never get finished at thisrate.”   “Oh, he read law in Judge Parmalee’s office over in Fayetteville,” answered Brent carelessly.“Besi(can) des, it don’t matter much. We’d have had to come home before the term was outanyway.”   “Why?”   “The war, goose! The war’s going to start any day, and you don’t suppose any of us would stayin college with a war going on, do you?”   “You know there isn’t going to be any war,” said Scarlett, bored. “It’s all just talk. Why, AshleyWilkes and his father told Pa just last week that our commissioners in Washington would come to—to—an—amicable agreement with Mr. Lincoln about the Confederacy. And anyway, theYankees are too scared of us to fight. There won’t be any war, and I’m tired of hearing about it.”   “Not going to be any war!” cried the twins indignantly, as though they had been defrauded.   “Why, honey, of course there’s going to be a war,” said Stuart. The Yankees may be scared of us,but after the way General Beauregard shelled them out of Fort Sumter day before yesterday, they’llhave to fight or stand branded as cowards before the whole world. Why, the Confederacy—”   Scarlett made a mouth of bored impatience.   If you say ‘war’ just once more, I’ll go in the house and shut the door. I’ve never gotten so tiredof any one word in my life as ‘war,’ unless it’s ‘secession.’ Pa talks war morning, noon and night,and all the gentlemen who come to see him shout about Fort Sumter and States’ Rights and AbeLincoln till I get so bored I could scream! And that’s all the boys talk about, too, that and their oldTroop. There hasn’t been any fun at any party this spring because the boys can’t talk aboutanything else. I’m mighty glad Georgia waited till after Christmas before it seceded or it wouldhave ruined the Christmas parties, too. If you say ‘war’ again, I’ll go in the house.”   She meant what she said, for she could never long endure any conversation of which she wasnot the chief subject. But she smiled when she spoke, consciously deepening her dimple andfluttering her bristly black lashes as swiftly as butterflies’ wings. The boys were enchanted, as shehad intended them to be, and they hastened to apologize for boring her. They thought none the lessof her for her lack of interest. Indeed, they thought more. War was men’s business, not ladies’, andthey took her attitude as evidence of her femininity.   Having maneuvered them away from the boring subject of war, she went back with interest totheir immediate situation.   “What did your mother say about you two being expelled again?”   The boys looked uncomfortable, recalling their mother’s conduct three months ago when theyhad come home, by request, from the University of Virginia.   “Well,” said Stuart, “she hasn’t had a chance to say anything yet. Tom and us left home earlythis morning before she got up, and Tom’s laying out over at the Fontaines’ while we came overhere.”   “Didn’t she say anything when you got home last night?”   “We were in luck last night. Just before we got home that new stallion Ma got in Kentucky lastmonth was brought in, and the place was in a stew. The big brute—he’s a grand horse, Scarlett;you must tell your pa to come over and see him right away—he’d already bitten a hunk out of hisgroom on the way down here and he’d trampled two of Ma’s darkies who met the train atJonesboro. And just before we got home, he’d about kicked the stable down and half-killedStrawberry, Ma’s old stallion. When we got home, Ma was out in the stable with a sackful of sugarsmoothing him down and doing it mighty well, too. The darkies were hanging from the rafters,popeyed, they were so scared, but Ma was talking to the horse like he was folks and he was eatingout of her hand. There ain’t nobody like Ma with a horse. And when she saw us she said: ‘InHeaven’s name, what are you four doing home again? You’re worse than the plagues of Egypt!’   And then the horse began snorting and rearing and she said: ‘Get out of here! Can’t you see he’snervous, the big darling? I’ll tend to you four in the morning!’ So we went to bed, and this morningwe got away before she could catch us. and left Boyd to handle her.”   “Do you suppose she’ll hit Boyd?” Scarlett, like the rest of the County, could never get used tothe way small Mrs. Tarleton bullied her grown sons and laid her riding crop on their backs if theoccasion seemed to warrant it.   Beatrice Tarleton was a busy woman, having on her hands not only a large cotton plantation, ahundred negroes and eight children, but the largest horse-breeding farm in the state as well. Shewas hot-tempered and easily plagued by the frequent scrapes of her four sons, and while no onewas permitted to whip a horse or a slave, she felt that a lick now and then didn’t do the boys anyharm.   “Of course she won’t hit Boyd. She never did beat Boyd much because he’s the oldest andbesides he’s the runt of the litter,” said Stuart, proud of his six feet two. “That’s why we left him athome to explain things to her. God’lmighty, Ma ought to stop licking us! We’re nineteen and Tom’stwenty-one, and she acts like we’re six years old.”   “Will your mother ride the new horse to the Wilkes barbecue tomorrow?”   “She wants to, but Pa says he’s too dangerous. And, anyway, the girls won’t let her. They saidthey were going to have her go to one party at least like a lady, riding in the carriage.”   “I hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow,” said Scarlett. “It’s rained nearly every day for a week. There’snothing worse than a barbecue turned into an indoor picnic.”   “Oh, it’ll be clear tomorrow and hot as June,” said Stuart. “Look at Oat sunset I never saw oneredder. You can always tell weather by sunsets.”   They looked out across the endless acres of Gerald O’Hara’s newly plowed cotton fields towardthe red horizon. Now that the sun was setting in a welter of crimson behind tin lulls across the FlintRiver, the warmth of the April day was ebbing into a faint but balmy chill.   Spring had come early that year, with warm quick rains and sudden frothing of pink peachblossoms and dogwood dappling with white stars the dark river swamp and far-off hills. Alreadythe plowing was nearly finished, and the bloody glory of the sunset colored the fresh-cut furrowsof red Georgia clay to even redder hues. The moist hungry earth, waiting upturned for the cottonseeds, showed pinkish on the sandy tops of furrows, vermilion and scarlet and maroon whereshadows lay along the sides of the trenches. The whitewashed brick plantation house seemed anisland set in a wild red sea, a sea of spiraling, curving, crescent billows petrified suddenly at themoment when the pink-tipped waves were breaking into surf. For here were no long, straightfurrows, such as could be seen in the yellow clay fields of the flat middle Georgia country or in thelush black earth of the coastal plantations. The rolling foothill country of north Georgia wasplowed in a million curves to keep the rich earth from washing down into the river bottoms.   It was a savagely red land, blood-colored after rains, brick dust in droughts, the best cotton landin the world. It was a pleasant land of white houses, peaceful plowed fields and sluggish yellowrivers, but a land of contrasts, of brightest sun glare and densest shade. The plantation clearingsand miles of cotton fields smiled up to a warm sun, placid, complacent. At their edges rose thevirgin forests, dark and cool even in the hottest noons, mysterious, a little sinister, the soughingpines seeming to wait with an age-old patience, to threaten with soft sighs: “Be careful! Be careful!   We had you once. We can take you back again.”   To the ears of the three on the porch came the sounds of hooves, the jingling of harness chainsand the shrill careless laughter of negro voices, as the field hands and mules came in from thefields. From within the house floated the soft voice of Scarlett’s mother, Ellen O’Hara, as shecalled to the little black girl who carried her basket of keys. The high-pitched, childish voiceanswered “Yas’m,” and there were sounds of footsteps going out the back way toward thesmokehouse where Ellen would ration out the food to the home-coming hands. There was the clickof china and the rattle of silver as Pork, the valet-butler of Tara, laid the table for supper.   At these last sounds, the twins realized it was time they were starting home. But they were loathto face their mother and they lingered on the porch of Tara, momentarily expecting Scarlett to givethem an invitation to supper.   “Look, Scarlett. About tomorrow,” said Brent. “Just because we’ve been away and didn’t knowabout the barbecue and the ball, that’s no reason why we shouldn’t get plenty of dances tomorrownight. You haven’t promised them all, have you?”   “Well, I have! How did I know you all would be home? I couldn’t risk being a wallflower justwaiting on you two.”   “You a wallflower!” The boys laughed uproariously.   “Look, honey. You’ve got to give me the first waltz and Stu the last one and you’ve got to eatsupper with us. We’ll sit on the stair landing like we did at the last ball and get Mammy Jincy tocome tell our fortunes again.”   “I don’t like Mammy Jincy’s fortunes. You know she said I was going to marry a gentlemanwith jet-black hair and a long black mustache, and I don’t like black-haired gentlemen.”   “You like ‘em red-headed, don’t you, honey?” grinned Brent “Now, come on, promise us all the waltzes and the supper.”   “If you’ll promise, we’ll tell you a secret,” said Stuart.   “What?” cried Scarlett, alert as a child at the word.   “Is it what we heard yesterday in Atlanta, Stu? If it is, you know we promised not to tell.”   “Well, Miss Pitty told us.”   “Miss Who?”   “You know, Ashley Wilkes’ cousin who lives in Atlanta, Miss Pittypat Hamilton—Charles andMelanie Hamilton’s aunt.”   “I do, and a sillier old lady I never met in all my life.”   “Well, when we were in Atlanta yesterday, waiting for the home train, her carriage went by thedepot and she stopped and talked to us, and she told us there was going to be an engagementannounced tomorrow night at the Wilkes ball.”   “Oh, I know about that,” said Scarlett in disappointment. “That silly nephew of hers, CharlieHamilton, and Honey Wilkes. Everybody’s known for years that they’d get married some time,even if he did seem kind of lukewarm about it.”   “Do you think he’s silly?” questioned Brent. “Last Christmas you sure let him buzz round youplenty.”   “I couldn’t help him buzzing,” Scarlett shrugged negligently. “I think he’s an awful sissy.”   “Besides, it isn’t his engagement that’s going to be announced,” said Stuart triumphantly. “It’sAshley’s to Charlie’s sister, Miss Melanie!”   Scarlett’s face did not change but her lips went white—like a person who has received astunning blow without warning and who, in the first moments of shock, does not realize what hashappened. So still was her face as she stared at Stuart that he, never analytic, took it for grantedthat she was merely surprised and very interested.   “Miss Pitty told us they hadn’t intended announcing it till next year, because Miss Melly hasn’tbeen very well; but with all the war talk going around, everybody in both families thought it wouldbe better to get married soon. So it’s to be announced tomorrow night at the supper intermission.   Now, Scarlett, we’ve told you the secret, so you’ve got to promise to eat supper with us.”   “Of course I will,” Scarlett said automatically.   “And all the waltzes?”   “All.”   “You’re sweet! I’ll bet the other boys will be hopping mad.”   “Let ‘em be mad,” said Brent. “We two can handle ‘em. Look, Scarlett. Sit with us at thebarbecue in the morning.”   “What?”   Stuart repeated his request.   “Of course.”   The twins looked at each other jubilantly but with some surprise. Although they consideredthemselves Scarlett’s favored suitors, they had never before gained tokens of this favor so easily.   Usually she made them beg and plead, while she put them off, refusing to give a Yes or No answer,laughing if they sulked, growing cool if they became angry. And here she had practically promisedthem the whole of tomorrow—seats by her at the barbecue, all the waltzes (and they’d see to it thatthe dances were all waltzes!) and the supper intermission. This was worth getting expelled fromthe university.   Filled with new enthusiasm by their success, they lingered on, talking about the barbecue andthe ball and Ashley Wilkes and Melanie Hamilton, interrupting each other, making jokes andlaughing at them, hinting broadly for invitations to supper. Some time had passed before theyrealized that Scarlett was having very little to say. The atmosphere had somehow changed. Justhow, the twins did not know, but the fine glow had gone out of the afternoon. Scarlett seemed to bepaying little attention to what they said, although she made the correct answers. Sensing somethingthey could not understand, baffled and annoyed by it, the twins struggled along for a while, andthen rose reluctantly, looking at their watches.   The sun was low across the new-plowed fields and the tall woods across the river were loomingblackly in silhouette. Chimney swallows were darting swiftly across the yard, and chickens, ducksand turkeys were waddling and strutting and straggling in from the fields.   Stuart bellowed: “Jeems!” And after an interval a tall black boy of their own age ran breathlesslyaround the house and out toward the tethered horses. Jeems was their body servant and, like thedogs, accompanied them everywhere. He had been their childhood playmate and had been given tothe twins for their own on their tenth birthday. At the sight of him, the Tarleton hounds rose up outof the red dust and stood waiting expectantly for their masters. The boys bowed, shook hands andtold Scarlett they’d be over at the Wilkeses’ early in the morning, waiting for her. Then they wereoff down the walk at a rush, mounted their horses and, followed by Jeems, went down the avenueof cedars at a gallop, waving their hats and yelling back to her.   When they had rounded the curve of the dusty road that hid them from Tara, Brent drew hishorse to a stop under a clump of dogwood. Stuart halted, too, and the darky boy pulled up a fewpaces behind them. The horses, feeling slack reins, stretched down their necks to crop the tenderspring grass, and the patient hounds lay down again in the soft red dust and looked up longingly atthe chimney swallows circling in the gathering dusk. Brent’s wide ingenuous face was puzzled andmildly indignant.   “Look,” he said. “Don’t it look to you like she would of asked us to stay for supper?”   “I thought she would,” said Stuart. I kept waiting for her to do it, but she didn’t. What do youmake of it?”   “I don’t make anything of it But it just looks to me like she might of. After all, it’s our first dayhome and she hasn’t seen us in quite a spell. And we had lots more things to tell her.”   “It looked to me like she was mighty glad to see us when we came.”   “I thought so, too.”   “And then, about a half-hour ago, she got kind of quiet, like she had a headache.”   “I noticed that but I didn’t pay it any mind then. What do you suppose ailed her?”   “I dunno. Do you suppose we said something that made her mad?”   They both thought for a minute.   “I can’t think of anything. Besides, when Scarlett gets mad, everybody knows it. She don’t holdherself in like some girls do.”   “Yes, that’s what I like about her. She don’t go around being cold and hateful when she’s mad—she tells you about it. But it was something we did or said that made her shut up talking and looksort of sick. I could swear she was glad to see us when we came and was aiming to ask us tosupper.”   “You don’t suppose it’s because we got expelled?”   “Hell, no! Don’t be a fool. She laughed like everything when we told her about it. And besidesScarlett don’t set any more store by book learning than we do.”   Brent turned in the saddle and called to the negro groom.   “Jeems!”   “Suh?”   “You heard what we were talking to Miss Scarlett about?”   “Nawsuh, Mist’ Brent! Huccome you think Ah be spyin’ on w’ite folks?”   “Spying, my God! You darkies know everything that goes on. Why, you liar, I saw you with myown eyes sidle round the corner of the porch and squat in the cape jessamine bush by the wall.   Now, did you hear us say anything that might have made Miss Scarlett mad—or hurt her feelings?”   Thus appealed to, Teems gave up further pretense of not having overheard the conversation andfurrowed his black brow.   “Nawsuh, Ah din’ notice y’all say anything ter mek her mad. Look ter me lak she sho glad tersee you an’ sho had missed you, an’ she cheep along happy as a bird, tell ‘bout de time y’all got tertalkin’ ‘bout Mist’ Ashley an’ Miss Melly Hamilton gittin’ mah’ied. Den she quiet down lak a birdw’en de hawk fly ober.”   The twins looked at each other and nodded, but without comprehension.   “Jeems is right. But I don’t see why,” said Stuart. “My Lord! Ashley don’t mean anything to her,‘cept a friend. She’s not crazy about him. It’s us she’s crazy about.”   Brent nodded an agreement.   “But do you suppose,” he said, “that maybe Ashley hadn’t told her he was going to announce ittomorrow night and she was mad at him for not telling her, an old friend, before he told everybodyelse? Girls set a big store on knowing such things first.”   “Well, maybe. But what if he hadn’t told her it was tomorrow? It was supposed to be a secretand a surprise, and a man’s got a right to keep his own engagement quiet, hasn’t he? We wouldn’thave known it if Miss Melly’s aunt hadn’t let it out. But Scarlett must have known he was going tomarry Miss Melly sometime. Why, we’ve known it for years. The Wilkes and Hamiltons alwaysmarry their own cousins. Everybody knew he’d probably marry her some day, just like HoneyWilkes is going to marry Miss Melly’s brother, Charles.”   “Well, I give it up. But I’m sorry she didn’t ask us to supper. I swear I don’t want to go homeand listen to Ma take on about us being expelled. It isn’t as if this was the first time.”   “Maybe Boyd will have smoothed her down by now. You know what a slick talker that littlevarmint is. You know he always can smooth her down.”   “Yes, he can do it, but it takes Boyd time. He has to talk around in circles till Ma gets soconfused that she gives up and tells him to save his voice for his law practice. But he ain’t had timeto get good started yet. Why, I’ll bet you Ma is still so excited about the new horse that she’ll nevereven realize we’re home again till She sits down to supper tonight and sees Boyd. And beforesupper is over she’ll be going strong and breathing fire. And it’ll be ten o’clock before Boyd gets achance to tell her that it wouldn’t have been honorable for any of us to stay in college after the waythe Chancellor talked to you and me. And it’ll be midnight before he gets her turned around towhere she’s so mad at the Chancellor she’ll be asking Boyd why he didn’t shoot him. No, we can’tgo home till after midnight”   The twins looked at each other glumly. They were completely fearless of wild horses, shootingaffrays and the indignation of their neighbors, but they had a wholesome fear of their red-hairedmother’s outspoken remarks and the riding crop that she did not scruple to lay across theirbreeches.   “Well, look,” said Brent. “Let’s go over to the Wilkes’. Ashley and the girls’ll be glad to have usfor supper.”   Stuart looked a little discomforted.   “No, don’t let’s go there. They’ll be in a stew getting ready for the barbecue tomorrow andbesides—”   “Oh, I forgot about that,” said Brent hastily. “No, don’t let’s go there.”   They clucked to their horses and rode along in silence for a while, a flush of embarrassment onStuart’s brown cheeks. Until the previous summer, Stuart had courted India Wilkes with theapprobation of both families and the entire County. The County felt that perhaps the cool andcontained India Wilkes would have a quieting effect on him. They fervently hoped so, at any rate.   And Stuart might have made the match, but Brent had not been satisfied. Brent liked India but hethought her mighty plain and tame, and he simply could not fall in love with her himself to keepStuart company. That was the first time the twins’ interest had ever diverged, and Brent wasresentful of his brother’s attentions to a girl who seemed to him not at all remarkable.   Then, last summer at a political speaking in a grove of oak trees at Jonesboro, they bothsuddenly became aware of Scarlett O’Hara. They had known her for years, and, since theirchildhood, she had been a favorite playmate, for she could ride horses and climb trees almost as well as they. But now to their amazement she had become a grown-up young lady and quite themost charming one in all the world.   They noticed for the first time how her green eyes danced, how deep her dimples were when shelaughed, how tiny her hands and feet and what a small waist she had. Their clever remarks sent herinto merry peals of laughter and, inspired by the thought that she considered them a remarkablepair, they fairly outdid themselves.   It was a memorable day in the life of the twins. Thereafter, when they talked it over, they alwayswondered just why they had failed to notice Scarlett’s charms before. They never arrived at thecorrect answer, which was that Scarlett on that day had decided to make them notice. She wasconstitutionally unable to endure any man being in love with any woman not herself, and the sightof India Wilkes and Stuart at the speaking had been too much for her predatory nature. Not contentwith Stuart alone, she had set her cap for Brent as well, and with a thoroughness that overwhelmedthe two of them.   Now they were both in love with her, and India Wilkes and Letty Munroe, from Lovejoy, whomBrent had been half-heartedly courting, were far in the back of their minds. Just what the loserwould do, should Scarlett accept either one of them, the twins did not ask. They would cross thatbridge when they came to it. For the present they were quite satisfied to be in accord again aboutone girl, for they had no jealousies between them. It was a situation which interested the neighborsand annoyed their mother, who had no liking for Scarlett.   “It will serve you right if that sly piece does accept one of you,” she said. “Or maybe she’llaccept both of you, and then you’ll have to move to Utah, if the Mormons’ll have you—which Idoubt. ... All that bothers me is that some one of these days you’re both going to get lickered upand jealous of each other about that two-faced, little, green-eyed baggage, and you’ll shoot eachother. But that might not be a bad idea either.”   Since the day of the speaking, Stuart had been uncomfortable in India’s presence. Not that Indiaever reproached him or even indicated by look or gesture that she was aware of his abruptlychanged allegiance. She was too much of a lady. But Stuart felt guilty and ill at ease with her. Heknew he had made India love him and he knew that she still loved him and, deep in his heart, hehad the feeling that he had not played the gentleman. He still liked her tremendously and respectedher for her cool good breeding, her book learning and all the sterling qualities she possessed. But,damn it, she was just so pallid and uninteresting and always the same, beside Scarlett’s bright andchangeable charm. You always knew where you stood with India and you never had the slightestnotion with Scarlett. That was enough to drive a man to distraction, but it had its charm.   “Well, let’s go over to Cade Calvert’s and have supper. Scarlett said Cathleen was home fromCharleston. Maybe she’ll have some news about Fort Sumter that we haven’t heard.”   “Not Cathleen. I’ll lay you two to one she didn’t even know the fort was out there in the harbor,much less that it was full of Yankees until we shelled them out. All she’ll know about is the ballsshe went to and the beaux she collected.”   “Well, it’s fun to hear her gabble. And it’ll be somewhere to hide out till Ma has gone to bed.”   “Well, hell! I like Cathleen and she is fun and I’d like to hear about Caro Rhett and the rest of the Charleston folks; but I’m damned if I can stand sitting through another meal with that Yankeestepmother of hers.”   “Don’t be too hard on her, Stuart. She means well.”   “I’m not being hard on her. I feel sorry for her, but I don’t like people I’ve got to feel sorry for.   And she fusses around so much, trying to do the right thing and make you feel at home, that shealways manages to say and do just exactly the wrong thing. She gives me the fidgets! And shethinks Southerners wild barbarians. She even told Ma so. She’s afraid of Southerners. Wheneverwe’retheres(are) he always looks scared to death. She reminds me of a skinny hen perchedon a chair, her eyes kind of bright and blank and scared, all ready to flap and squawk at theslightest move anybody makes.”   “Well, you can’t blame her. You did shoot Cade in the leg.”   “Well, I was lickered up or I wouldn’t have done it,” said Stuart. “And Cade never had any hardfeelings. Neither did Cathleen or Raiford or Mr. Calvert. It was just that Yankee stepmother whosqualled and said I was a wild barbarian and decent people weren’t safe around uncivilizedSoutherners.”   “Well, you can’t blame her. She’s a Yankee and ain’t got very good manners; and, after all, youdid shoot him and he is her stepson.”   “Well, hell! That’s no excuse for insulting me! You are Ma’s own blood son, but did she take onthat time Tony Fontaine shot you in the leg? No, she just sent for old Doc Fontaine to dress it andasked the doctor what ailed Tony’s aim. Said she guessed licker was spoiling his marksmanship.   Remember how mad that made Tony?”   Both boys yelled with laughter.   “Ma’s a card!” said Brent with loving approval. “You can always count on her to do the rightthing and not embarrass you in front of folks.”   “Yes, but she’s mighty liable to talk embarrassing in front of Father and the girls when we gethome tonight,” said Stuart gloomily. “Look, Brent. I guess this means we don’t go to Europe. Youknow Mother said if we got expelled from another college we couldn’t have our Grand Tour.”   “Well, hell! We don’t care, do we? What is there to see in Europe? I’ll bet those foreigners can’tshow us a thing we haven’t got right here in Georgia. I’ll bet their horses aren’t as fast or their girlsas pretty, and I know damn well they haven’t got any rye whisky that can touch Father’s.”   “Ashley Wilkes said they had an awful lot of scenery and music. Ashley liked Europe. He’salways talking about it.”   “Well—you know how the Wilkes are. They are kind of queer about music and books andscenery. Mother says it’s because their grandfather came from Virginia. She says Virginians setquite a store by such things.”   “They can have ‘em. Give me a good horse to ride and some good licker to drink and a good girlto court and a bad girl to have fun with and anybody can have their Europe. ... What do we careabout missing the Tour? Suppose we were in Europe now, with the war coming on? We couldn’tget home soon enough. I’d heap rather go to a war than go to Europe.”   “So would I, any day. ... Look, Brent! I know where we can go for supper. Let’s ride across theswamp to Abel Wynder’s place and tell him we’re all four home again and ready for drill.”   “That’s an idea!” cried Brent with enthusiasm. “And we can hear all the news of the Troop andfind out what color they finally decided on for the uniforms.”   “If it’s Zouave, I’m damned if I’ll go in the troop. I’d feel like a sissy in those baggy red pants.   They look like ladies’ red flannel drawers to me.”   “Is y’all aimin’ ter go ter Mist’ Wynder’s? ‘Cause ef you is, you ain’ gwine git much supper,”   said Jeems. “Dey cook done died, an’ dey ain’ bought a new one. Dey got a fe’el han’ cookin’, an’   de niggers tells me she is de wustest cook in de state.”   “Good God! Why don’t they buy another cook?”   “Huccome po’ w’ite trash buy any niggers? Dey ain’ never owned mo’n fo’ at de mostes’.”   There was frank contempt in Jeems’ voice. His own social status was assured because theTarletons owned a hundred negroes and, like all slaves of large planters, he looked down on smallfarmers whose slaves were few.   “I’m going to beat your hide off for that,” cried Stuart fiercely. “Don’t you call Abel Wynder‘po’ white.’ Sure he’s poor, but he ain’t trash; and I’m damned if I’ll have any man, darky orWhite, throwing off on him. There ain’t a better man in this County, or why else did the Troopelect him lieutenant?”   “Ah ain’ never figgered dat out, mahseff,” replied Jeems, undisturbed by his master’s scowl.   “Look ter me lak dey’d ‘lect all de awficers frum rich gempmum, ‘stead of swamp trash.”   “He ain’t trash! Do you mean to compare him with real white trash like the Slatterys? Abel justain’t rich. He’s a small farmer, not a big planter, and if the boys thought enough of him to elect himlieutenant, then it’s not for any darky to talk impudent about him. The Troop knows what it’sdoing.”   The troop of cavalry had been organized three months before, the very day that Georgia secededfrom the union, and since then the recruits had been whistling for war. The outfit was as yetunnamed, though not for want of suggestions. Everyone had his own idea on that subject and wasloath to relinquish it, just as everyone had ideas about the color and cut of the uniforms. “ClaytonWild Cats,” “Fire Eaters,” “North Georgia Hussars,” “Zouaves,” “The Inland Rifles” (although theTroop was to be armed with pistols, sabers and bowie knives, and not with rifles), “The ClaytonGrays,” “The Blood and Thunderers,” “The Rough and Readys,” all had their adherents. Untilmatters were settled, everyone referred to the organization as the Troop and, despite the high-sounding name finally adopted, they were known to the end of their usefulness simply as “TheTroop.”   The officers were elected by the members, for no one in the County had had any militaryexperience except a few veterans of the Mexican and Seminole wars and, besides, the Troop wouldhave scorned a veteran as a leader if they had not personally liked him and trusted him. Everyoneliked the four Tarleton boys and the three Fontaines, but regretfully refused to elect them, becausethe Tarletons got lickered up too quickly and liked to skylark, and the Fontaines had such quick, murderous tempers. Ashley Wilkes was elected captain, because he was the best rider in theCounty and because his cool head was counted on to keep some semblance of order. RaifordCalvert was made first lieutenant, because everybody liked Raif, and Abel Wynder, son of aswamp trapper, himself a small farmer, was elected second lieutenant.   Abel was a shrewd, grave giant, illiterate, kind of heart, older than the other boys and with asgood or better manners in the presence of ladies. There was little snobbery in the Troop. Too manyof their fathers and grandfathers had come up to wealth from the small farmer class for that.   Moreover, Abel was the best shot in the Troop, a real sharpshooter who could pick out the eye of asquirrel at seventy-five yards, and, too, he knew all about living outdoors, building fires in the rain,tracking animals and finding water. The Troop bowed to real worth and moreover, because theyliked him, they made him an officer. He bore the honor gravely and with no untoward conceit, asthough it were only his due. But the planters’ ladies and the planters’ slaves could not overlook thefact that he was not born a gentleman, even if their men folks could.   In the beginning, the Troop had been recruited exclusively from the of planters, agentleman’s outfit, each supplying his own horse,arms,equipment,unif(sons) orm and body servant.Butrichplanterswere(man) few in the young county of Clayton, and, in order to muster a full-strength troop, it had been necessary to raise more recruits among the sons of small farmers,hunters in the backwoods, swamp trappers, Crackers and, in a very few cases, even poor whites, ifthey were above the average of their class.   These latter young men were as anxious to fight the Yankees, should war come, as were theirricher neighbors; but the delicate question of money arose. Few small farmers owned horses. Theycarried on their farm operations with mules and they had no surplus of these, seldom more thanfour. The mules could not be spared to go off to war, even if they had been acceptable for theTroop, which they emphatically were not. As for the poor whites, they considered themselves welloff if they owned one mule. The backwoods folks and the swamp dwellers owned neither horsesnor mules. They lived entirely off the produce of their lands and the game in the swamp,conducting their business generally by the barter system and seldom seeing five dollars in cash ayear, and horses and uniforms were out of their reach. But they were as fiercely proud in theirpoverty as the planters were in their wealth, and they would accept nothing that smacked of charityfrom their rich neighbors. So, to save the feelings of all and to bring the Troop up to full strength,Scarlett’s father, John Wilkes, Buck Munroe, Jim Tarleton, Hugh Calvert, in fact every largeplanter in the County with the one exception of Angus Macintosh, had contributed money to completelyoutfit the Troop, horse and man. The upshot of the matter was that every planter agreed topay for equipping his own sons and a certain number of the others, but the manner of handling thearrangements was such that the less wealthy members of the outfit could accept horses anduniforms without offense to their honor.   The Troop met twice a week in Jonesboro to drill and to pray for the war to begin. Arrangementshad not yet been completed for obtaining the full quota of horses, but those who had horsesperformed what they imagined to be cavalry maneuvers in the field behind the courthouse, kickedup a great deal of dust, yelled themselves hoarse and waved the Revolutionary-war swords that hadbeen taken down from parlor walls. Those who, as yet, had no horses sat on the curb in front ofBullard’s store and watched their mounted comrades, chewed tobacco and told yarns. Or else engaged in shooting matches. There need to teach any of the men to shoot. Most Southernerswerebornwithgunsintheirha(was) nds,(no) and lives spent in hunting had made marksmen ofthem all.   From planters’ homes and swamp cabins, a varied array of firearms came to each muster. Therewere long squirrel guns that had been new when first the Alleghenies were crossed, old muzzle-loaders that had claimed many an Indian when Georgia was new, horse pistols that had seenservice in 1812, in the Seminole wars and in Mexico, silver-mounted dueling pistols, pocketderringers, double-barreled hunting pieces and handsome new rifles of English make with shiningstocks of fine wood.   Drill always ended in the saloons of Jonesboro, and by nightfall so many fights had broken outthat the officers were hard put to ward off casualties until the Yankees could inflict them. It wasduring one of these brawls that Stuart Tarleton had shot Cade Calvert and Tony Fontaine had shotBrent. The twins had been at home, freshly expelled from the University of Virginia, at the timethe Troop was organized and they had joined enthusiastically; but after the shooting episode, twomonths ago, their mother had packed them off to the state university, with orders to stay there.   They had sorely missed the excitement of the drills while away, and they counted education welllost if only they could ride and yell and shoot off rifles in the company of their friends.   “Well, let’s cut across country to Abel’s,” suggested Brent. “We can go through Mr. O’Hara’sriver bottom and the Fontaine’s pasture and get there in no time.”   “We ain’ gwine git nothin’ ter eat ‘cept possum an’ greens,” argued Jeems.   “You ain’t going to get anything,” grinned Stuart “Because you are going home and tell Ma thatwe won’t be home for supper.”   “No, Ah ain’!” cried Jeems in alarm. “No, Ah ain’! Ah doan git no mo’ fun outer havin’ MissBeetriss lay me out dan y’all does. Fust place she’ll ast me huccome Ah let y’all git expelled agin.   An’ nex’ thing, huccome Ah din’ bring y’all home ternight so she could lay you out An’ den she’lllight on me lak a duck on a June bug, an’ fust thing Ah know Ah’ll be ter blame fer it all. Ef y’alldoan tek me ter Mist’ Wynder’s, Ah’ll lay out in de woods all night an’ maybe de patterollers gitme, ‘cause Ah heap ruther de patterollers git me dan Miss Beetriss when she in a state.”   The twins looked at the determined black boy in perplexity and indignation.   “He’d be just fool enough to let the patterollers get him and that would give Ma something elseto talk about for weeks. I swear, darkies are more trouble. Sometimes I think the Abolitionists havegot the right idea.”   “Well, it wouldn’t be right to make Jeems face what we don’t want to face. We’ll have to takehim. But, look, you impudent black fool, if you put on any airs in front of the Wynder darkies andhint that we all the time have fried chicken and ham, while they don’t have nothing but rabbit andpossum, I’ll—I’ll tell Ma. And we won’t let you go to the war with us, either.”   “Airs? Me put on airs fo’ dem cheap niggers? Nawsuh, Ah got better manners. Ain’ MissBeetriss taught me manners same as she taught y’all?”   “She didn’t do a very good job on any of the three of us,” said Stuart. “Come on, let’s get going.”   He backed his big red horse and then, putting spurs to his side, lifted him easily over the splitrail fence into the soft field of Gerald O’Hara’s plantation. Brent’s horse followed and then Jeems’,with Jeems clinging to pommel and mane. Jeems did not like to jump fences, but he had jumpedhigher ones than this in order to keep up with his masters.   As they picked their way across the red furrows and down the hill to the river bottom in thedeepening dusk, Brent yelled to his brother:   “Look, Stu! Don’t it seem like to you that Scarlett would have asked us to supper?”   “I kept thinking she would,” yelled Stuart “Why do you suppose ...”   思嘉•奥哈拉长得并不漂亮,但是男人们像塔尔顿家那对孪生兄弟为她的魅力所迷住时,就不会这样想了。她脸上有着两种特征,一种是她母亲的娇柔,来自法兰西血统的海滨贵族;一种是她父亲的粗犷,来自浮华俗气的爱尔兰人,这两种特征混在一起显得不太协调,但这张脸上尖尖的下巴和四方的牙床骨,是很引人注意的,她那双淡绿色的眼睛纯净得没有一丝褐色,配上乌黑的睫毛和翘起的眼角,显得韵味十足,上面是两条墨黑的浓眉斜在那里,给她木兰花般白皙的肌肤划上十分分明的斜线,这样白皙的皮肤对南方妇女是极其珍贵的。她们常常用帽子、面纱和手套把皮肤保护起来,以防受到佐治亚炎热太阳的暴晒。 1861年四月一个晴朗的下午,思嘉同塔尔顿家的孪生兄弟斯图尔特和布伦特坐在她父亲的塔拉农场阴凉的走廊里,她的美貌显得更明媚如画了。她穿一件新绿花布衣裳,长长的裙子在裙箍上舒展着,配上她父亲从亚特兰大给她带来的新绿羊皮便鞋,显得很相称。她的腰围不过17英寸,是附近三个县里最细小的了,而这身衣裳更把腰肢衬托得更完整,加上里面那件绷得紧紧的小马甲,使她的只有16岁但已发育得很好的乳房便跃然显露了。不过,无论她散开的长裙显得多么老实,发髻梳在后面显得多么端庄,那双交叠在膝头上的小手显得多么文静,她的本来面目终归是藏不住的。那双绿色的眼睛生在一张甜美的脸上,却仍然是任性的,充满活力的,与她的装束仪表很不相同。她的举止是由她母亲和嬷嬷的严厉管教强加给她的,但她的眼睛属于她自己。 她的两旁,孪生兄弟懒懒地斜靠在椅子上,斜望着从新装的玻璃窗透过来的阳光谈笑着,四条穿着高统靴和因经常骑马而鼓胀的长腿交叠在那里。他们现有19岁,身高六英尺二英寸,长长骨骼,肌肉坚实,晒得黑黑的脸膛,深褐色的头发,眼睛里闪着快乐的神色。他们穿着同样的蓝上衣和深黄色裤子,长相也像两个棉桃似的。 外面,阳光斜照到场地上,映照着一簇簇的白色花朵在绿色的背景中显得分外鲜艳。孪生兄弟起来的马就拴在车道上,那是两匹高头大马,毛色红得象主人的头发;马腿旁边有一群吵吵嚷嚷一直跟随着主人的猎犬。稍稍远一点的地方躺着一条白色带有黑花斑的随车大狗,它把鼻子贴在前爪上,耐心等待着两个小伙子回家去吃晚饭。 在这些猎犬、马匹和两个孪生兄弟之间,有着一种比通常更亲密的关系。他们都是年轻、健康而毫无思想的动物,也同样圆滑、优雅,两个小伙子和他们所骑的马一样精神,但都带有危险性,可同时对于那些知道怎样驾驭他们的人又是可爱的。 虽然坐在走廊里的人,都同生在优裕的庄园主家庭,从小由仆人细心服侍着,但他们的脸显得并不懒散。他们像一辈子生活在野外、很少在书本上的乡巴佬一样,显得强壮而畗有活力。生活在北佐治亚的克莱顿县,与奥古斯塔、萨凡纳和查尔斯顿比较起来还有一点粗犷风味。南部开化得较早的文静居民不逊内地佐治亚人,可在北佐亚这儿,人们并不以缺乏高雅的传统文化教育为耻,只要在那些在他们认为重要的事情上学得精明就行了。他们心目中所关注的事,就是种好棉花,骑马匹得好,打枪打得准,跳舞跳得轻快,善于体面地追逐女人,像个温文尔雅的绅士喝酒。 这对孪生兄弟在这些方面都很精通,但他们学习书本知识的无能也是出众的。他们家拥有比全县其他人家更多的钱、更多的马和更多的奴隶,可是两兄弟同他们的大多数穷邻居比起来,胸中的文墨更少得多。 正是这个缘故,斯图尔特和布伦特在塔拉农场走廊里聊天,消磨这四月傍晚的大好时光。他们刚被佐治亚大学开除,而这是过去两年中把他们撵走的第四所大学了。于是他们的两个哥哥,汤姆和博伊德,也同他们一起回到了家里,因为在这所学校既然不欢迎那些孪生兄弟,两位做哥哥的也就不高兴在那里待下去了。斯图尔特和布伦特把他们最近一次的除名当做一个有趣的玩笑;而思嘉呢,她自从去年离开费耶特维尔女子学校以后就一直懒得去摸书本,所以也像他们那样觉得这是令人高兴的事。 “我认为你们俩一点也不在乎被学校除名,汤姆也是这样,”她说。"可是博伊德怎么办?他一心想受教育,而你们俩接连把他从弗吉尼亚大学、亚拉巴马大学、南卡罗来纳大学拖了出来,如今又从佐治亚大学回来了。这样下去,他永远也将完不成他的学业!”“唔,他可以到费耶特维尔那边的帕马利法官事务所去学法律嘛,”布伦特漫不经心地答道。"并且,这没有什么关系。 反正在学习结束之前我们不得不回家的。”“为什么?”“战争嘛!傻瓜!战争随时可能开始,战争打响之后难道你认为我们还会留在学校里吗?”“你明明知道不会有什么战争的,”思嘉生气地说。"那只是嘴上谈谈罢了。就在上个星期,艾希礼•威尔克斯和他父亲还对我爸说,咱们派驻华盛顿的专员将要同林肯先生达成--达成一个关于南部联盟的协议呢。况且不管怎样,北方佬从小害怕我们,根本不会有什么战争,谈它干什么,我讨厌听到关于战争的事情。”“不会有什么战争!"孪生兄弟如同他们被欺负了似的地喊起来。 “亲爱的,战争当然会打起来的啊!"斯图尔特说。"北方佬可能害怕咱们,可是自从前天波尔格将军把他们赶出萨姆特要塞以后,他们只好打起来了,要不就会作为胆小鬼在全世界面前丢脸。什么,南部联盟--"听到这里,思嘉很不耐烦地嘟起嘴来。 “只要你再说一声‘战争’,我就进屋去,把门关上,我这辈子还从来没有像对‘战争’这个词感到讨厌,除非那个词意味着'脱离联邦'。爸爸总是从早到晚谈论战争,战争,所有来看他的绅士们也叫嚷着什么萨姆特要塞、州权、亚伯•林肯,简直烦得我要大喊大叫!而且所有的男孩子也都在谈这些,还有他们的军队。今年春天,任何晚会上也没有听到这什么快乐的事情,因为男孩子再不谈别的了。我最高兴的是佐治亚要等到过了圣诞节以后才宣布脱离联邦,要不然会把圣诞晚会也糟蹋了。要是你再谈‘战争’我就马上进屋去了。”她说到做到,因为她从来就忍受不了不以她为主题的谈话。不过她说话时总是面带微笑,刻意加深脸的酒窝,同时把像蝴蝶翅膀似的两圈又硬又黑的睫毛迅速地扇动起来。小伙子们给迷住了,这正中她的心意,于是他们向她道歉,他们并不因为她对战争不感兴趣而丝毫轻视她。相反,他们更敬重她了。战争原来是男人的事,与女人无关,因此他们便把她的态度当成是女人味十足的特征。 把他们从讨厌战争的话题支使开以后,她便饶有兴趣地回到他们当前的环境上来。 “对于你俩再一次开除的事你母亲说了些什么呀?"小伙子显得有点不自在,想起三个月前他们从弗吉尼亚大学被请回家时母亲的那番表现。 “唔,她还没有机会说呢,”斯图尔特答道。"今天一清早她还没起床,汤姆和我俩便出门了。汤姆半路上去方丹家了,我们便径直到这儿来了。”“昨天晚上你们到家时难道她什么话也没说吗?”“昨晚我们可有运气了。在我们快要到家的时候,上个月我妈在肯塔基买下的那匹公马给送来了,家里正热闹着呢。原来那畜生--它长得可真威武,思嘉,你一定得告诉你爸,叫他赶快去看看,那畜生一路上已经把马夫咬了两大口,而且踏坏了我妈的两个黑小子,他们是在琼斯博罗遇上的。而且,就在我们刚要到家的时候,它差点儿把我们的马棚给踢倒了,还捎带把我妈的那匹老公马草莓也踢了个半死。我们到家时,妈正在妈棚里拿着一口袋糖哄它,让它慢慢平静下来,还真起作用了。黑奴们躲得远远的,瞪着眼睛简直给吓坏了,可妈还在跟那畜生亲切说话,仿佛跟它是一家人似的,它正在吃她手里的东西呢。世界上谁也比不上我妈那样会跟马打交道,那时她看见了我们,便说:‘天哪,你们四个又回来干什么呀?你们简直比埃及的瘟疫还让人讨厌!'这时那匹公马开始喷鼻子直立起来,她赶紧说:‘从这里滚开罢,难道你们没看见这个大宝贝在生气了吗?等明天早晨我再来服侍你们四个!'于是,我们便上床睡觉了。今天一早,趁她还来不及抓住我们,我们便溜了出来,只留下博伊德一个人去对付她。”“你们认为她会打博伊德吗?”思嘉知道,瘦小的塔尔顿太太对她那几个已长大成人的儿子还是很粗暴的,她认为必要的时候还会用鞭子抽他们的脊背,对于这种情形,思嘉和县里的其他人都有点不大习惯。 比阿特里斯•塔尔顿是个忙人,她经营一大片棉花地,一百个黑奴和八个孩子,而且还有个养马常她生性暴躁,非常容易就四个儿子经常吵架而大发雷霆。她一方面不许任何人打她的一骑马或一个黑奴,另一方面却认为偶尔打打她的孩子们,对他们并没有什么坏处。 “她从来没有打过博伊德。这不仅因为他年龄最大,还是因为他是个矮子,”斯图尔特这样说,对自己那六英尺的个头儿自豪。"这是我们为什么把他留在家里去向妈交代一切的原因。老天爷明白,我们都19了,汤姆21了,可她还把我们当六岁孩子看待。妈应当不再打我们!”“你母亲明天会骑那匹新买来的马去参加威尔克斯家的野宴?”“她想骑的,但是爷说骑那匹太危险了。而且,无论如何,姑娘不会同意她骑。她们说,要让她至少像个贵妇人那样乘坐马车去参加宴会。”“希望明天别下雨,”思嘉说。"一星期几乎天天下雨。要是把野宴改成家餐,那才是扫兴不过的事呢。”“唔,明天准晴,还会像六月天那样炎热,”斯图尔特说。 “你看那落日,我还从没过比这更红的太阳呢。用落日来判断天气,往往是不会错的。”他们都朝远方望去,越过奥哈拉家无边无际的新翻耕的棉花地,直到红红的地平线上。如今太阳在弗林特河对岸的群山后面一起汹涌的红霞中缓缓降落,四月白天的温暖也渐渐消退,隐隐透出丝丝的凉意。 春天来得很早,伴随来的是几场温暖的春雨,这时粉红的桃花突然纷纷绽放,山茱萸雪白也似的繁花将河边湿地和山冈装点起来。春耕已快要结束,湿润的土地饥饿似的等待着人们把它翻开并撒上棉籽,它在犁沟的顶上显出是淡红色,在沟道两旁的地方则呈现出猩红和栗色来。农场那座粉刷白了的砖房如同落在茫茫红海中的一个岛屿,那是一起由新月形巨浪组成的大海,但是当那些带粉红红尖顶的水波分裂为浪花时,它立即僵化了。因为这里没有像佐治亚中部的黄土地或海滨种植场滋润的黑土地那样的长长的笔直的犁沟。北佐治亚连绵起伏的山麓地带被犁成了无数弯弯曲曲地垅沟,这样说,对自己那使肥沃的土壤不致被冲洗到河床里去。 这一片土地红得耀眼,雨后更红得像鲜血一般,干旱时便成了满地的红砖粉,这是世界上最好的产棉地。这里有洁白的房屋,翻耕过的田地,缓缓流过的黄泥河水,但同时也是一个由阳光灿烂和阴翳深浓形成对比的地方。尚待种植的空地和绵延数英里的棉花田微笑着袒露在阳光之中。在这些田地的边缘上有着一片处女林,即使在最炎热的中午它们也是幽暗而清凉的,而且显得有点神秘,有点不那么和善,其中那些飕飕作响的松树好像怀着老年人的耐心在等待着,好像轻轻的叹息:“当心呀!你们原先是我们的。我们能够把你们要回来。”坐在走廊里的三个年轻人听到得得的马蹄声,马具链环的丁当声和黑奴们的欢笑声;那些干农活的人和骡马从地里回来了。这时从屋子里传来思嘉的母亲爱伦•奥哈拉温和的声音,她在呼唤提着钥匙、篮子的黑女孩,后者用尖脆的声调答道:“太太,来啦,”于是便传来从后面过道里走向薰腊室的脚步声,爱伦要到那里去给回家的田间劳动者分配食物。接着便听到瓷器当当和银餐具丁丁的响声,这时管衣着和膳事的男仆波克已经在摆桌子开晚饭了。 听到这些声响,这对孪生兄弟知道他们该动身回家了。但是他们不想回去见母亲的面,便在塔拉农场的走廊里徘徊,盼望着思嘉邀请他们留下来吃晚饭。 “思嘉,我们谈谈明天的事吧,”布伦特说。"不能因为我们不在,不了解野宴和舞会的事,就凭这理由不让咱们明儿晚上多多地跳舞。你没有答应他们大家吧,是不是?”“唔,我答应了!我怎么知道你们都会回来呢?我哪能冒险在一边等着,等着专门伺候你们两位呀?”“你在一边等着?"两个小伙子放声大笑。 “亲爱的,你得跟我跳第一个华尔兹,末了跟斯图跳最后一个,然后我们一起吃晚饭。像上次舞会那样坐在楼梯平台上,让金西嬷嬷再来给咱们算命。”“我不可喜欢听金西嬷嬷算命。你知道她说过我会嫁给一个头发鸟亮、黑胡子很长的男人,但我是不喜欢黑头发男人的。”“亲爱的,你喜欢红头发的吗?”布伦特傻笑着说。"现在,快说吧,答应跟我们跳所有的华尔兹,跟我们一道吃晚饭。”“你要是肯答应,我们便告诉你一个秘密。"斯图尔特说。 “什么?”思嘉叫着,一听到"秘密"这个词便像个孩子似地活跃起来。 “斯图,是不是我们昨天在亚特兰大听到的那个消息?如果是,那你知道,我们答应过不告诉别人的。”“嗯,那是皮蒂小姐告诉我们的。”“什么小姐?”“就是艾希礼•威尔克斯的表姐。你知道,皮蒂帕特•波密尔顿的小姐,查尔斯和媚兰的姑妈,她住在亚特兰大。”“这我知道,一个傻老太婆,我一辈子也没见过比她更傻的了。”“对,我们昨天在亚特兰大等着搭火车回家时,她的马车正好从车站经过,她停下来跟我们说话,告诉我们明天晚上的威尔克斯家的舞会上要宣布一门亲事。” “唔,我也听说过,”思嘉失望说,“她的那位傻侄儿查理•汉密尔顿和霍妮•威尔克斯。这几年谁都在说他们快要结婚了,虽然他本人对这件事似乎有点不冷不热似的。” “你认为他傻吗?”布伦特问。“去年圣诞节你可让他在你身边转了个够呢。” “我没法不让他转呀,”思嘉毫不在意地耸了耸肩膀。“我觉得他这个人太娘娘腔了。” “但是,明晚要宣布的并不是他的亲事,”斯图尔特得意地说。“那是艾希礼和查理的妹妹媚兰小姐订婚的事哩!” 虽然她脸色没有变,可是嘴唇发白了。就像冷不防受到当头一击。思嘉在震动的最初几秒钟还不明白那是怎么回事。注视斯图尔特时思嘉的脸色还那么平静,以致这位毫无分析头脑的人还以为她仅仅感到惊讶和很有兴趣。 “皮蒂小姐告诉我们,他们原准备明年才宣布订婚,因为媚兰小姐近来身体不怎么好;可周围都在谈论战争,两家人都觉腹不如赶快成婚的好。所以决定明天晚上在宴会上宣布。我们把秘密告诉你了,你看,思嘉,你也得答应跟我们一起吃晚饭呀。” “当然,我会的。”思嘉下意识地说。 “并且跳所有的华尔兹吗?” “所有的。”  “你真好!我敢打赌,别的小伙子们准要疯了。” “让他们去发疯好了,”布伦特说。“我们俩能对付他们的。瞧瞧吧,思嘉。明天上午的野宴也跟我们坐在一起好吗?” “什么?”斯图尔特将请求重复了一遍。 “当然。” 哥儿俩心里美滋滋的但也有些惊异。尽管他们把自己看做思嘉所嘉许的追求者,但以前他们从没这么轻易得到过这一嘉许的表示。她经常只让他们倾诉、乞求,敷衍他们,不明确表示可否,他们气恼时便报以笑颜,他们发怒时则略显冷淡。但现在她实际上已经把明天全部的活动都许给了他们——答应野宴时跟他们坐在一起,跟他们跳所有的华尔兹(而且他们决意要使每一个舞都是华尔兹!),并且一道吃晚饭。就为这些,被大学开除也是值得的。 成功给他们带来了满腔热情。使他们愈加留连忘返,谈论着明天的野宴,舞会和艾希礼•威克斯与汉•媚兰,抢着说话,开着玩笑,然后大笑不已,看来是在多方暗示要人家挽留他们吃晚饭。他们闹了好一会儿,才发现思嘉已没有什么要说的,这时气氛有点变了。哥儿俩并不知道是怎么变的,只觉得那番高兴的光景已经在眼前消失。思嘉好像并不注意他们在说些什么,尽管她的一些回答也还得体。他们意识到某种难以理解的事,为此感到沮丧和不安,末了又赖着待了一会儿才看看手表,勉强站起身来。 在新翻耕过的田地那边,太阳已经西下,河对岸高高的树林已经在幽暗的暮色中渐渐模糊。家燕轻快地在院场上空飞来飞去,小鸡、鸭子和火鸡都纷纷从田地里回家来了。 斯图尔特大喊一声:“吉姆斯!”不一会一个和他们年龄相仿的高个儿黑孩子气喘吁吁地从房子附近跑出来,向两匹拴着的马走去,吉姆斯是贴身佣人,像那些狗一样到哪里都伴随着主人。他曾是他们儿时的玩伴,到他们十岁生日那一天便归他们自己所有了。塔尔顿家的猎犬一见他便从红灰土中跳起来,站在那里恭敬主子们驾到。两个小伙子同思嘉握手告别,告诉她明早他们将赶到威尔克斯家去等候她。然后他们走下人行道,骑上马,由吉姆斯跟随着一口气跑上柏树夹道,一面回过头来,挥着帽子向思嘉高声叫喊。 他们在尘土飞扬的大道上拐过那个看不见塔拉农场的弯以后,布伦特勒住马,在一丛山茱萸下站住了。斯图尔特跟着停下来,黑小子也紧跑几步跟上了他们。两匹马觉得缰绳松了,便伸长脖子去啃柔嫩的春草,猎犬们重新在灰土中躺下,贪馋地仰望着在愈来愈浓的暮色中回旋飞舞的燕子。布伦特那张老实巴交的宽脸上呈现迷惑神情。 “听我说,”他说,“你不觉得她好像要请我们留下吃饭吗?”  “我本来以为她会的,”斯图尔特答道。“我一直等着她说出来,但是她没有说。你想这是为什么?” “我一点也不明白。不过据我看,她应当留我们的。毕竟这是我们回家后的第一天,她跟我们又好久没见面。何况我们还有许许多多的事情没跟她说呢。” “据我看,我们刚来时她好像很高兴见到我们。” “本来我也这样想。” “可后来,大约半个钟头以前吧,她就不怎么说话了,好像有点头痛。” “我看到这一点了,可我当时并不在意。你想她是哪儿不舒服了呢?” “我不知道。你认为我们说了什么让她生气的话吗?” 他们两人思量了一会儿。 “我什么也想不起来。况且,思嘉一生气,谁都看得出来。她可从不像那样闷声不响的女孩子。” “对,这就是我喜欢她的地方。她生气时那么冷冷的抑制着性子绕来绕去——她会痛痛快快告诉你。不过,一定是我们说了或做了什么事,使得她默不作声,并装出不舒服的样子。我敢担保,我们刚来时她是很高兴并且有意要留我们吃晚饭的。” “你不认那是因为我们被开除了吗?” “决不会的!见鬼,别那么傻。我们告诉她这消息时,她还若无其事地笑呢。再说,思嘉对读书的事也不比我们重视呀。” 布伦特在马鞍上转过身头唤那个黑人马夫:“吉姆斯!” “唔。” “你听见我们和思嘉小姐的话了吗?” “没有呀,布伦特先生!您怎么怀疑俺偷听白人老爷的话呢?” “我的上帝!偷听,你们这些小黑鬼什么事都知道。怎么,你这不是撒谎吗?我亲眼看见你偷偷绕过走廊的拐角,蹲在墙边茉莉花底下呢。好,你听见我们说什么惹思嘉小姐生气——或者叫她伤心的话了吗?” 他这一说,吉姆斯打消了假装不曾偷听的主意,皱着眉头回想起来。 “没什么,俺没听见您讲啥惹她生气的话。俺看她挺高兴见到你们,还嘁嘁喳喳像只小鸟儿乐个不停呢。后来你们谈起艾希礼先生和媚兰小姐的结亲的事,她才不作声了,像只雀儿看见老鹰打头上飞过一般。” 哥儿俩面面相觑,同时点了点头,可是并不了解其中的奥妙。 “吉姆说得对,但我不明白那究竟是为什么,”斯图尔特说。“我的上帝!艾希礼对她有什么意义?只不过是个朋友罢了。她感兴趣的只是我们,她对他不怎么感兴趣。” 布伦特点点头表示同意。 “可是,你想过没有,”他说,“也许艾希礼没告诉她明天晚上要宣布那件事,而她觉得不先告诉老朋友便对别的人都说了,因此生气了呢?姑娘们总是非常看重首先听到这种事情的。” “唔,可能,就算没有告诉她又怎样呢?本来是要保密,叫人大吃一惊的嘛,一个男人就没有权利对自己订婚的计划秘而不宣吗?要不是媚兰小姐的姑妈泄漏出来,我们也不会知道呀。而且思嘉一定早已知道他总是要娶媚兰的。你想,我们知道也有好几年了。威尔克斯家和汉密尔顿家向来是姑表联姻。他总有一天要娶她的,这谁都知道,就像霍妮•威尔克斯要同媚兰小姐的兄弟查尔斯结婚一样。” “好了,我不想谈下去了。不过,我对于她不留我们吃晚饭这一点,总是感到遗憾。老实说,我不想回家听妈妈对我们被学校开除的事大发脾气,不能当做第一次那样看待了。” “说不定博伊德已经把她的火气平息下来了。你明白那个讨厌的矮鬼是多么伶牙俐齿。他每次都能把她说得心平气和的。” “是呀,他办得到,不过那要花博伊德许多时间。他要拐弯抹角绕来绕去,直到妈妈给弄得实在糊涂了,情愿让步,才肯放他省下点嗓子去干律师的事。可是眼下,他恐怕还没来得及准备好开场白呢。我敢跟你打赌,你看,妈妈一定还在为那匹新来的马感到兴奋呢,说不定要到坐下来吃晚饭和看博伊德的时候才会想起我们又回家了。只要不吃完晚饭,她的怒火就会愈来愈旺。因此要到十点钟左右博伊德才有机会去告诉她,既然咱们校长采取了那样态度斥责你我两人,我们中间谁要是还留在学校也就太不光彩了。而要他把她扭过来转而对校长大发脾气,责问博伊德干吗不开枪把他打死,那就非到半夜不行。因经,我们要半夜过后才能回家。” 哥儿俩你瞧着我,我瞧着你,不知说什么是好。他们对于烈性的野马,对于行凶斗殴,以及邻里的公愤,都毫不畏惧,惟独那们红头发母亲的痛责和有时不惜抽打在他们屁股上的马鞭,才让他们感到不寒而栗。 “那么,就这样吧,”布伦特说。“我们到威尔克斯家去。艾希礼和姑娘们会乐意让我们在那里吃饭的。” 斯图尔特显得有些不舒服的样子。 “不,别到那里去。他们一定在忙着准备明天的野宴呢,而且……” “唔,我忘记了,”布伦特连忙解释说。“不,我们别到那里去。” 他们对自己的马吆喝了两声,然后默无言语地骑着向前跑了一阵,这时斯图尔特褐色的脸膛上泛起了一抹红晕。到去年夏天为止,斯图尔特曾经在双方家庭和全县的赞许下追求过英迪亚•威尔克斯。县里的人觉得也许那位冷静含蓄的英迪亚会对他起一种镇定作用。无论如何,他们热切地希望这样。斯图尔特本来是可以匹配的,但布伦特不满意。布伦特也喜欢英迪亚,可是觉得她太平谈也太过分柔顺,他看书简直无法对她产生爱情,因此在这一点上就无法与斯图尔特作伴了。这是哥儿俩头一次在兴趣上发生分歧,而且布伦特对于他兄弟居然会看上一个他认为毫不出色的姑娘,觉得很恼火。 后来,在去年夏天琼斯博罗橡树林里一个政治讲演会上,他们两人突然发现了思嘉。他们认识她已多年了,并且从童年时代起,她就是一个讨人喜欢的游伴,她会骑马,会爬树,几乎比男孩子毫不逊色。可现在他们惊奇地发现她已经是个成年姑娘,而且可以称得上是全世界最迷人的一个呢。 他们第一次注意到她那双绿眼睛在怎样跳舞,她笑起来两个酒窝有多么深,她的手和脚是寻么娇小,而那腰肢又是那么纤细呀!他们对她的巧妙赞扬使她乐得放声大笑,同时,一想到她已把他们当做一对出众的小伙子,他们自己也不禁有点飘飘然了。 那是哥儿俩一生中值得纪念的一天。自那以后,每当他们谈起这件事来都觉得奇怪,为什么从前意没有注意到思嘉的美。他们至今没有找到确切的答案,来解释为什么思嘉偏偏决定要在那一天引起他们的注意。原来思嘉不能容忍任何男人同别的女人恋爱,因此她一见到英迪亚和斯图尔特在一起说话便觉得受不了,便会产生掠夺之心。她并不满足于单单占有斯图尔特,还要把布伦特也夺过来,并且用一种十分巧妙的手腕把他们两个控制住。 现在他们两人双双坠入情网,而英迪亚•威尔斯和布伦特曾经半心半意追求过的那样来自洛夫乔伊的莱蒂•芒罗,都被他们远远地抛在脑后了。至于如果思嘉选择他们中的一个时,落选的那个该怎么办,这个问题哥儿俩并不考虑。到了河边再过桥吧。眼下他们对一位姑娘取得了一致的看法,这就相当满意了,因为他们中间并没有什么嫉妒之心。这种情形引起了左邻右舍的注意,并叫他们的母亲苦恼不堪——她是不怎么喜欢思嘉的。 “如果那个小精灵挑上了你们中间的哪一个,那就够他受的了,”她说。“可一她把你俩都挑上呢,那时你们就得到犹他州去做摩门教徒——我怀疑人家会不会要你们……我唯一担心的是过不了几天,你们俩就会被这个虚情假意的绿眼小妖精给弄得迷迷糊糊,互相嫉妒甚至用枪自相残杀起来。然而,要真是弄到那步田地倒也不是坏事。” 从演讲会那天开始,斯图尔特每次见到英迪亚便觉得不是滋味。这不是因为英迪亚责怪了他,或者在脸色姿态之间暗示过她已经发觉他突然改变了原来的忠诚,她这个地道的正派姑娘决不会这样做。可是跟她在一起时斯图特总感到内心有愧,很不自在。他明白是自己设法让英迪亚爱上了他,也知道她现在仍然爱他,所以内心深处隐隐觉得自己的行为不大像个有教养的人。他仍然十分爱她,对她的那种文静贤淑的仪态,她的学识和她所肯的种种高尚品质,他都十分尊敬。但是,糟糕的是,一跟思嘉的光彩照人和娇媚比起来。她就显得那么暗淡无味和平庸呆板了。你跟英迪亚在一起时永远头脑清醒,而跟思嘉在一起就迥然不同了。光凭这一点就足以叫一个男人心烦意乱了,可这种烦乱还真有魅力呢。 “那么,咱们到凯德•卡尔佛特家去吃晚饭。思嘉说过凯瑟已经从查尔斯顿回来了。也许她那儿有什么我们还没听到的关于萨姆特要塞的消息呢。” “凯瑟琳不会有的。我敢和你打赌,她甚至连要塞在海港里都不清楚,哪里还知道那儿本来挤满了北方佬,后来被咱们全部轰走了。她唯一知道的就是舞会和她招来的那些情人。” “那么,去听听她的那套胡扯也挺有趣呀。况且那也是个藏身之地,可以让我们等妈妈上床睡了再回家去。” “唔,好极了!我喜欢凯瑟琳,她很好玩,我也想打听打听卡罗•莱特和其他查尔斯顿的人消息;可是要再去跟她的北方佬继母坐在一起吃顿饭,那才真要我的命呢!” “别对她太苛求了,斯图。她还是怀有好意的。” “我并不是苛求她。倒是为她难过,可是我不喜欢那种让我为她难过的人。她在你周围转来转去,总想叫你感到舒适自在,可是她所做的和说的偏偏使你反感。简直让我坐立不安!她还把南方人当做蛮子。她甚至跟妈妈这样说过。她害怕南方人。每次我们在她家,她都像吓得要死似的。她让我想起一只蹲在椅子上的瘦母鸡,瞪着两只又亮又呆板的怯生生的眼睛,仿佛一听到有什么动静就要扇着翅膀咯咯地叫起来。” “这个你也不能怪她。你曾经开枪打伤过凯德的腿哩。” “对,但那次是我喝醉了,否则也不会干出那样的事来,”斯图尔特为自己辩护,“而且凯德自己从不怀恨。凯瑟琳和雷福德或者卡尔费特先生也没有什么恶感。就是那个北方佬继母,她却大声嚷嚷,说我是个蛮子,说文明人跟粗野的南方人在一起很不安全。” “不过,你不能怪她。她是个北方佬,不很懂礼貌,而且你毕竟打伤了她的继子呀。” “可是,呸!那也不能作为侮辱我的理由啊!你是妈妈的亲生儿子,但那次托尼•方丹打伤了你的腿,她发过火吗?没有,她只请老方丹大夫来给你包扎了一下,还问他托尼的枪怎么会找不准哪。你还记得那句话使托尼多么难过的吧?” 哥儿俩都大笑起来。 “妈妈可真有办法!”布伦特衷心赞赏地说。“你可以永远指望她处事得当,不让你在众人面感到难堪。” “对,但是今晚我们回家时,她很可能要当着父亲和姑娘们的面让我们丢脸呢,”斯图尔特闷闷不乐地说。“听我说,布伦特。我看这意味着咱们不能到欧洲去了。你记得妈妈说过,要是咱们再被学校开除,便休想参加大旅游了。” “这个嘛,咱们不管它,见鬼去嘛!是不是?欧洲有什么好玩的?我敢打赌,那些外国人拿不出一样在咱们佐治亚还没有的东西来。我敢打赌,他们的马不如咱们的跑得快,他们的姑娘不如咱们的漂亮,并且我十分清楚,他们的哪一种梨麦威士忌都不能跟咱爸的酒相比。” “但艾希礼•威尔克斯说过,他们那里有非常丰富的自然风景和音乐。艾希礼喜欢欧洲。他经常谈起欧洲。” “唔,你该知道威尔克期家的是些什么样的人。他们对音乐、书籍和风景都喜爱得出奇。妈妈说那是因为他们的祖母是弗吉尼亚人。她说弗吉尼亚人是十分重视这类东西的。” “让他们重视去吧。我只要有好马骑,有好酒喝,有好的姑娘追求,还有个坏姑娘开玩笑,就任凭别人赏玩他们的欧洲好了……咱们干吗要惋惜什么大旅游呢?就算我们如今是在欧洲,可战争发生了怎么办?要回家也来不及呀。我宁愿去打仗也不想到欧洲去。” “我也是这样,随时都可以……喏,布伦特,我想起可以到哪儿去吃晚饭了。咱们骑马越过沼泽地,到艾布尔•温德那里去,告诉他我们四人又都回到了家里,准备去参加操练。” “这个主意好!”布伦特兴奋得叫起来。“而且咱们能听听军营里所有的消息,弄清楚他们最后决定采用哪种颜色做制服。” “要是采用法国步兵服呢,那我再去参军就活该了。穿上那种口袋似的红裤子,我会觉得自己像个娘儿们了。我看那跟女人穿的红法兰绒衬裤一模一样。” “您少爷们想到温德先生家去吗?”吉姆斯问。“要是您想去,您就吃不上好晚饭了。他们的厨子死啦,还没找到新的呢。他们随便找了个女人在做吃的,那些黑小子告诉我她做得再糟不过了。” “他们干吗不买个新厨子呀!我的上帝!” “这帮下流坯穷白人,还买得起黑人?他们家历来最多也只有四个。” 吉姆斯的口气中充满色然的蔑视。他自己的社会地位是坚牢的,因为塔尔顿家拥有上百个黑奴,而且像所有大农场的奴隶那样,他瞧不起那些只有少数几个奴隶的小农场主。 “你说这话,看我剥你的皮!”斯图尔特厉声喊道:“你怎么能叫艾布尔•温德‘穷白人’呢。他虽然穷,可并不是什么下流坯。任何人,无论黑人白人,谁要是瞧不起他,我可决不答应。全县没有比他更好的人了,要不军营里怎么会推举他当尉官呢? “俺可弄不懂这个道理,”吉姆不顾主人的斥责硬是顶嘴回答说。“俺看他们的军官全是从有钱人里边挑的,谁也不会挑肮脏的下流货。” “他不是下流货呀!你是要拿他跟真正的白人下流坯像斯莱特里那种人相比吗?艾布尔只不过没有钱罢了。他不是大农场主,但毕竟是个小农场主。既然那些新入伍的小伙子认为可以选举他当尉官,那么哪个黑小子也不能肆意讲他的坏话。营里自有公论嘛。” 骑兵营是三个月前佐治亚州脱离联邦那天成立起来的,从那以后那些入伍的新兵便一直在盼望打仗。至今这个组织还没有命名,尽管已经有了种种方案。对于这个问题,正像对于军服的颜色和式样什么的,每个人都有自己的主张,并且都不愿意放弃。什么“克莱顿野猫”啦,“暴躁人”啦,“北佐治亚轻骑兵”啦,“义勇军”,“内地步枪兵”啦(尽管这个营将是用手枪、军刀和单刃猎刀而不是用步枪来装备的),“克莱顿灰衣人”啦,“血与怒吼者”啦,“莽汉和应声出击者”啦,所有这些名称都不乏附和者。在问题没有解决之前,大家都称呼这个组织为“营”,而且,不管最终采用的名称多么响亮,他们始终用的是简简单单的一个“营”字。 军官由大家选举,因为全县除了参加过墨西哥战争和塞米诺尔战争的少数几个老兵外,谁也没有军事经验;而且,如果大家并不喜欢和不信任他,要让一个老兵当头领也只会引起全营的蔑视。大家全都喜欢塔尔顿家四个小伙子和方丹家三兄弟,不过令人遗憾的是都不愿意选举他们,因为塔尔顿家的人太容易喝醉酒和喜欢玩乐,钽方丹兄弟又非常性急和暴躁。结果艾希礼•威尔克斯被选做队长了,因为是他是县里最出色的骑手,而且头脑冷静,大伙相信他还能维持某种表面的秩序。雷弗德•卡尔弗特是人人都喜爱的,被任命为上尉,而艾布尔•温德,那个沼泽地捕猎手的儿子(他本人是小农),则被选做中尉了。 艾布尔是个精明沉着的大个儿,不识字,心地和善,比别的小伙子年龄大些,在妇女面前也表现得较有礼貌。“营”里很少有骄下媚上的现象。他们的父亲和祖父大多是以小农致富的,不会有那种势利眼。而且艾布尔是“营”里最好的射击手,一杆真正的“神枪”,他能够在75码外瞄准一只松鼠的眼睛,也熟悉野外生活,会在雨地里生火,会捕捉野兽,会寻找水源。“营”里很尊重有本事的人,而且由于大伙喜欢他,所以让他当了军官。他严肃对待这种荣誉,不骄傲自大,好像这不过是他的本份。可是那些农场主太太们和他们的农奴们却不能宽恕他并非生来就是上等人这一事实,尽管她们的男人都做到了。 开始,这个“营”只从农场主的子弟中招募营丁,因而可以说是个上层的组织;他们每人自备马匹、武器、装备、制服和随身仆人。但是有钱的农场主在克莱顿这个新辟的县毕竟很少,同时为了建立一支充实的武装力量,便必须从小农户和森林地带的猎户、沼泽地捕兽者、山地居民,有时甚至穷白人(只要他们在本阶级的一般水平之上)的子弟中招募更多的新兵。 后一部分青年人也和他们的富裕邻居一样,褐望着战争一爆发便去找北方佬,但金钱这个微妙的问题却随之产生了。小农中很少有人是有马的。他们是使用骡子耕作,也没有富余的,最多不过四头骡子。这些骡子即使营里同意接受,也不能从田里拉到战场呀,何况营里还口口声声说不要呢。至于那些穷白人,他们只要有一头骡子便自以为满不错了。边远林区的人和沼泽地带的居民既无马也没有骡子。他们完全靠林地里的出产和沼泽中的猎物过活,做生意也是以物换物,一年看不见五元现金,要自备马匹、制服是办不到的。可是这些人身处贫困仍非常骄傲,就像那些拥有财富的农场主一样;他们决不接受来自富裕邻居的任何带施舍意味的东西。在这种局面下,为了保持大家的感情和把军营建成一个充实的组织,思嘉的父亲,约翰•威尔克斯,巴克•芒罗,吉姆•塔尔顿,休•卡尔弗特,实际除宁格斯•麦金托什以外,全县每个大农场主,都捐钱把军营全面装面起来,马匹和人员也一样。这件事是由每个农场主同意出钱装备自己的儿子和别的若干人开始的,但经过适当的安排以后,营里那些不怎么富裕的成员也就能够坦然接受他们的马匹和制服而不觉得有失体面了。 营队每周在琼斯博罗集合两次,进行操练和祈祷战争早日发生。马匹还没有备齐,但那些有马的人已经在县府背后的田野里搞起了他们想象中的骑兵演习,掀起满天灰尘土,扯着嘶哑的嗓子叫喊着,挥舞着从客厅墙上取下来的革命战争时代的军刀。那些还没有马匹的人只好坐布拉德仓库前面的镶边石上一面观看,一面嚼着烟草闲聊。要不他们就比赛打靶。谁也用不着你去教他打枪。因为大多数南方人生来就是玩枪的,他们平日消磨在打猎中的时间把他们全都练成了好射手。 从农场主家里和沼泽地的棚屋里,一队一队的年轻人携带着武器奔向每个集合点。其中有初次越过阿勒格尼山脉时还很新的用来打松鼠的长杆枪,有佐治亚新开辟时打死过许多印地安人的老式毛瑟枪,有在1812年以及墨西哥和塞米诺尔战争中服过役的马上用的手枪,还有决斗用的镶银手枪、短筒袖珍手枪、双筒猎枪,漂亮的带有硬木枪托的英制新式来福枪,等等。 结束操练时,常常要在琼斯博罗一些酒馆里演出最后的一幕。到了傍晚,争斗纷纷发生,使得军官们十分棘手,不得不在北方佬打来之前便忙着处理伤亡事件了。就是在这样一场斗殴中,斯图尔特•塔尔顿开枪伤了凯德•卡尔弗特,托尼•方丹打伤了布伦特。那时这对孪生兄弟刚刚被弗吉尼亚大学开除回到家里,同时营队成立的时候,他们热情地参加了。可是枪伤事件发生以后,也就是说两个月前,他们的母亲打发他们去进了州立大学,命令他们留在那里不要回来。他们痛苦地怀念着操练时那股兴奋劲儿,觉得只要能够和伙伴们一起骑着马,嘶喊,射击,哪怕牺牲上学的机会也值得。 “这样,咱们就直接过去找艾布尔吧,”布伦特提议说。“咱们可以穿过奥哈拉先生家的河床和方丹家的草地,很快就能赶到那里。” “到那里俺什么好的也吃不着,只有吃负鼠和青菜了,”吉姆斯不服气地说。 “你什么也别想吃,”斯图尔特奸笑道。“因为你得回家去,告诉妈妈我们不回去吃晚饭了。” “不,俺不回去!”吉姆斯惊慌地嚷道。“不,俺不回去!回去给比阿特里斯小姐打个半死可不是好玩的。首先她会问俺你们怎么又给开除了?然后又问,俺怎么今晚没带你们回家,好让她好好揍你们一顿?末了,她还会突然向我扑过来,像鸭子扑一只无花果虫一般。俺很清楚,她会把这件事通通怪在俺头上。要是你们带俺到到温德先生家去,俺就整夜蹲在外边林子里,没准儿巡逻队会逮住俺的,因为俺宁愿给巡逻队带走,也不要在太太生气时落到她的手中。” 哥儿俩瞧着这个倔犟的黑孩子,感到又困惑又气恼。 “这傻小子可是做得出来,会叫巡逻队给带走。果真这样,便又妈妈添了个话柄,好唠叨几个星期了。我说这些黑小子们是最麻烦的。有时我甚至想,那帮废奴主义者的主意倒不错呢。”“不过嘛,总不能让吉斯去应付咱们自己不敢应付的场面吧。看来咱们只好带着他。可是,当心,不要脸的黑傻瓜,你要是敢在温德家的黑人面前摆架子,敢夸口说咱们常常吃烤鸡和火腿,而他们除了兔子和负鼠什么也吃不上,那我——我就要告诉妈妈去。而且,也不让你跟我们一起去打仗喽。” “摆架子?俺在那些不值钱的黑小子跟前摆架子?不,先生们,俺还讲点礼貌呢。比阿特里斯小姐不是像教育你们那样也教育俺要有礼貌吗?” “可她在咱们三人身上都没有做得很好呀,”斯图尔特说。“来吧,咱们继续赶路。” 他迫使自己的大红马向后退几步,然后用马刺在它腰上狠狠踢下,叫它跳起来轻易越过篱栏,跨人杰拉尔德•奥哈拉农场那片松软的田地。随后布伦特的马跟着跳过,接着是吉姆斯的,他跳时紧紧抓住鞍头和马鬃。吉姆斯不喜欢跳篱栏,然而他为了赶上自己的两位主人,还跳过比这更高的地方。 他们在越来越浓的暮色中横过那些红土垅沟,跑下山麓向河床走去。这时布伦特向他兄弟喊道: “我说,斯图!你觉得思嘉本来想留咱们吃晚饭吗?” “我始终认为她会的,”斯图尔特高声答道。“你说呢……” Chapter 2 WHEN THE TWINS left Scarlett standing on the porch of Tara and the last sound of flyinghooves had died away, she went back to her chair like a sleepwalker. Her face felt stiff as frompain and her mouth actually hurt from having stretched it, unwillingly, in smiles to prevent thetwins from learning her secret. She sat down wearily, tucking one foot under her, and her heartswelled up with misery, until it felt too large for her bosom. It beat with odd little jerks; her handswere cold, and a feeling of disaster oppressed her. There were pain and bewilderment in her face,the bewilderment of a pampered child who has always had her own way for the asking and whonow, for the first time, was in contact with the unpleasantness of life.   Ashley to marry Melanie Hamilton!   Oh, it couldn’t be true! The twins were mistaken. They were playing one of their jokes on her.   Ashley couldn’t, couldn’t be in love with her. Nobody could, not with a mousy little person likeMelanie. Scarlett recalled with contempt Melanie’s thin childish figure, her serious heart-shapedface that was plain almost to homeliness. And Ashley couldn’t have seen her in months. He hadn’tbeen in Atlanta more than twice since the house party he gave last year at Twelve Oaks. No,Ashley couldn’t be in love with Melanie, because—oh, she couldn’t be mistaken!—because hewas in love with her! She, Scarlett, was the one he loved—she knew it!   Scarlett heard Mammy’s lumbering tread shaking the floor of the hall and she hastily untuckedher foot and tried to rearrange her face in more placid lines. It would never do for Mammy tosuspect that anything was wrong. Mammy felt that she owned the O’Haras, body and soul, thattheir secrets were her secrets; and even a hint of a mystery was enough to set her upon the trail asrelentlessly as a bloodhound. Scarlett knew from experience that, if Mammy’s curiosity were notimmediately satisfied, she would take up the matter with Ellen, and then Scarlett would be forcedto reveal everything to her mother, or think up some plausible lie.   Mammy emerged from the hall, a huge old woman with the small, shrewd eyes of an elephant.   She was shining black, pure African, devoted to her last drop of blood to the O’Haras, Ellen’smainstay, the despair of her three daughters, the terror of the other house servants. Mammy wasblack, but her code of conduct and her sense of pride were as high as or higher than those of herowners. She had been raised in the bedroom of Solange Robillard, Ellen O’Hara’s mother, a dainty, cold, high-nosed Frenchwoman, who spared neither her children nor her servants their justpunishment for any infringement of decorum. She had been Ellen’s mammy and had come withher from Savannah to the up-country when she married. Whom Mammy loved, she chastened.   And, as her love for Scarlett and her pride in her were enormous, the chastening process waspractically continuous.   “Is de gempmum gone? Huccome you din’ ast dem ter stay fer supper, Miss Scarlett? Ah donetole Poke ter lay two extry plates fer dem. Whar’s yo’ manners?”   “Oh, I was so tired of hearing them talk about the war that I couldn’t have endured it throughsupper, especially with Pa joining in and shouting about Mr. Lincoln.”   “You ain” got no mo’ manners dan a fe’el han’, an’ affer Miss Ellen an’ me done labored widyou. An’ hyah you is widout yo’ shawl! An’ de night air fixin’ ter set in! Ah done tole you an’ toleyou ‘bout gittin’ fever frum settin’ in de night air wid nuthin’ on yo’ shoulders. Come on in dehouse, Miss Scarlett.”   Scarlett turned away from Mammy with studied nonchalance, thankful that her face had beenunnoticed in Mammy’s preoccupation with the matter of the shawl.   “No, I want to sit here and watch the sunset. It’s so pretty. You run get my shawl. Please,Mammy, and I’ll sit here till Pa comes home.”   “Yo’ voice soun’ lak you catchin’ a cole,” said Mammy suspiciously.   “Well, I’m not,” said Scarlett Impatiently. “You fetch me my shawl.”   Mammy waddled back into the hall and Scarlett heard her call softly up the stairwell to theupstairs maid.   “You, Rosa! Drap me Miss Scarlett’s shawl.” Then, more loudly: “Wuthless nigger! She ain’   never whar she does nobody no good. Now, Ah got ter climb up an’ git it mahseff.”   Scarlett heard the stairs groan and she got softly to her feet. When Mammy returned she wouldresume her lecture on Scarlett’s breach of hospitality, and Scarlett felt that she could not endureprating about such a trivial matter when her heart was breaking. As she stood, hesitant, wonderingwhere she could hide until the ache in her breast subsided a little, a thought came to her, bringing asmall ray of hope. Her father had ridden over to Twelve Oaks, the Wilkes plantation, that afternoonto offer to buy Dilcey, the broad wife of his valet, Pork. Dilcey was head woman and midwife atTwelve Oaks, and, since the marriage six months ago, Pork had deviled his master night and day tobuy Dilcey, so the two could live on the same plantation. That afternoon, Gerald, his resistanceworn thin, had set out to make an offer for Dilcey.   Surely, thought Scarlett, Pa will know whether this awful story is true. Even if he hasn’t actuallyheard anything this afternoon, perhaps he’s noticed something, sensed some excitement in theWilkes family. If I can just see him privately before supper, perhaps I’ll find out the truth—that it’sjust one of the twins’ nasty practical jokes.   It was time for Gerald’s return and, if she expected to see him alone, there was nothing for her todo except meet him where the driveway entered the road. She went quietly down the front steps,looking carefully over her shoulder to make sure Mammy was not observing her from the upstairs windows. Seeing no broad black face, turbaned in snowy white, peering disapprovingly from betweenfluttering curtains, she boldly snatched up her green flowered skirts and sped down the pathtoward the driveway as fast as her small ribbon-laced slippers would carry her.   The dark cedars on either side of the graveled drive met in an arch overhead, turning the longavenue into a dim tunnel. As soon as she was beneath the gnarled arms of the cedars, she knew shewas safe from observation from the house and she slowed her swift pace. She was panting, for herstays were laced too tightly to permit much running, but she walked on as rapidly as she could.   Soon she was at the end of the driveway and out on the main road, but she did not stop until shehad rounded a curve that put a large clump of trees between her and the house.   Flushed and breathing hard, she sat down on a stump to wait for her father. It was past time forhim to come home, but she was glad that he was late. The delay would give her time to quiet herbreathing and calm her face so that his suspicions would not be aroused. Every moment sheexpected to hear the pounding of his horse’s hooves and see him come charging up the hill at hisusual breakneck speed. But the minutes slipped by and Gerald did not come. She looked down theroad for him, the pain in her heart swelling up again.   “Oh, it can’t be true!” she thought. “Why doesn’t he come?”   Her eyes followed the winding road, blood-red now after the morning rain. In her thought shetraced its course as it ran down the hill to the sluggish Flint River, through the tangled swampybottoms and up the next hill to Twelve Oaks where Ashley lived. That was all the road meant now—a road to Ashley and the beautiful white-columned house that crowned the hill like a GreekTemple.   “Oh, Ashley! Ashley!” she thought, and her heart beat faster.   Some of the cold sense of bewilderment and disaster that had weighted her down since theTarleton boys told her their gossip was pushed into the background of her mind, and in its placecrept the fever that had possessed her for two years.   It seemed strange now that when she was growing up Ashley had never seemed so veryattractive to her. In childhood days, she had seen him come and go and never given him a thought.   But since that day two years ago when Ashley, newly home from his three years’ Grand Tour inEurope, had called to pay his respects, she had loved him. It was as simple as that.   She had been on the front porch and he had ridden up the long avenue, dressed in graybroadcloth with a wide black cravat setting off his frilled shirt to perfection. Even now, she couldrecall each detail of his dress, how brightly his boots shone, the head of a Medusa in cameo on hiscravat phi, the wide Panama hat that was instantly in his hand when he saw her. He had alightedand tossed his bridle reins to a pickaninny and stood looking up at her, his drowsy gray eyes widewith a smile and the sun so bright on his blond hair that it seemed like a cap of shining silver. Andhe said, “So you’ve grown up, Scarlett.” And, coming lightly up the steps, he had kissed her hand.   And his voice! She would never forget the leap of her heart as she heard it, as if for the first time,drawling, resonant, musical.   She had wanted him, in that first instant, wanted him as simply and unreasoningly as she wantedfood to eat, horses to ride and a soft bed on which to lay herself.   For two years he had squired her about the County, to balls, fish fries, picnics and court days,never so often as the Tarleton twins or Cade Calvert, never so importunate as the younger Fontaineboys, but, still, never the week went by that Ashley did not come calling at Tara.   True, he never made love to her, nor did the clear gray eyes ever glow with that hot light Scarlettknew so well in other men. And yet—and yet—she knew he loved her. She could not be mistakenabout it. Instinct stronger than reason and knowledge born of experience told her that he loved her.   Too often she had surprised him when his eyes were neither drowsy nor remote, when he looked ather with a yearning and a sadness which puzzled her. She knew he loved her. Why did he not tellher so? That she could not understand. But there were so many things about him that she did notunderstand.   He was courteous always, but aloof, remote. No one could ever tell what he was thinking about,Scarlett least of all. In a neighborhood where everyone said exactly what he thought as soon as hethought it, Ashley’s quality of reserve was exasperating. He was as proficient as any of the otheryoung men in the usual County diversions, hunting, gambling, dancing and politics, and was thebest rider of them all; but he differed from all the rest in that these pleasant activities were not theend and aim of life to him. And he stood alone in his interest in books and music and his fondnessfor writing poetry.   Oh, why was he so handsomely blond, so courteously aloof, so maddeningly boring with his talkabout Europe and books and music and poetry and things that interested her not at all—and yet sodesirable? Night after night, when Scarlett went to bed after sitting on the front porch in the semidarknesswith him, she tossed restlessly for hours and comforted herself only with the thought thatthe very next time he saw her he certainly would propose. But the next time came and went, andthe result was nothing—nothing except that the fever possessing her rose higher and hotter.   She loved him and she wanted him and she did not understand him. She was as forthright andsimple as the winds that blew over Tara and the yellow river that wound about it, and to the end ofher days she would never be able to understand a complexity. And now, for the first time in herlife, she was facing a complex nature.   For Ashley was born of a line of men who used their leisure for thinking, not doing, for spinningbrightly colored dreams that had in them no touch of reality. He moved in an inner world that wasmore beautiful than Georgia and came back to reality with reluctance. He looked on people, and heneither liked nor disliked them. He looked on life and was neither heartened nor saddened. Heaccepted the universe and his place in it for what they were and, shrugging, turned to his music andbooks and his better world.   Why he should have captivated Scarlett when his mind was a stranger to hers she did not know.   The very mystery of him excited her curiosity like a door that had neither lock nor key. The thingsabout him which she could not understand only made her love him more, and his odd, restrainedcourtship only served to increase her determination to have him for her own. That he wouldpropose some day she had never doubted, for she was too young and too spoiled ever to haveknown defeat. And now, like a thunderclap, had come this horrible news. Ashley to marry Melanie!   It couldn’t be true!   Why, only last week, when they were riding home at twilight from Fairhill, he had said:   “Scarlett, I have something so important to tell you that I hardly know how to say it.”   She had cast down her eyes demurely, her heart beating with wild pleasure, thinking the happymoment had come. Then he had said: “Not now! We’re nearly home and there isn’t time. Oh,Scarlett, what a coward I am!” And putting spurs to his horse, he had raced her up the hill to Tara.   Scarlett, sitting on the stump, thought of those words which had made her so happy, andsuddenly they took on another meaning, a hideous meaning. Suppose it was the news of hisengagement he had intended to tell her!   Oh, if Pa would only come home! She could not endure the suspense another moment Shelooked impatiently down the road again, and again she was disappointed. The sun was now belowthe horizon and the red glow at the rim of the world faded into pink. The sky above turned slowlyfrom azure to the delicate blue-green of a robin’s egg, and the unearthly stillness of rural twilightcame stealthily down about her. Shadowy dimness crept over the countryside. The red furrows andthe gashed red road lost their magical blood color and became plain brown earth. Across the road,in the pasture, the horses, mules and cows stood quietly with heads over the split-rail fence,waiting to be driven to the stables and supper. They did not like the dark shade of the thicketshedging the pasture creek, and they twitched their ears at Scarlett as if appreciative of humancompanionship.   In the strange half-light, the tall pines of the river swamp, so warmly green in the sunshine, wereblack against the pastel sky, an impenetrable row of black giants hiding the slow yellow water attheir feet. On the hill across the river, the tall white chimneys of the Wilkes, home faded graduallyinto the darkness of the thick oaks surrounding them, and only far-off pin points of supper lampsshowed that a house was here. The warm damp balminess of spring encompassed her sweetly withthe moist smells of new-plowed earth and all the fresh green things pushing up to the air.   Sunset and spring and new-fledged greenery were no miracle to Scarlett. Their beauty sheaccepted as casually as the air she breathed and the water she drank, for she had never consciouslyseen beauty in anything bat women’s faces, horses, silk dresses and like tangible things. Yet theserene half-light over Tara’s well-kept acres brought a measure of quiet to her disturbed mind. Sheloved this land so much, without even knowing she loved it, loved it as she loved her mother’s faceunder the lamp at prayer time.   Still there was no sign of Gerald on the quiet winding road. If she had to wait much longer,Mammy would certainly come in search of her and bully her into the house. But even as shestrained her eyes down the darkening road, she heard a pounding of hooves at the bottom of thepasture hill and saw the horses and cows scatter in fright. Gerald O’Hara was coming home acrosscountry and at top speed.   He came up the hill at a gallop on his thick-barreled, long-legged hunter, appearing in thedistance like a boy on a too large horse. His long white hair standing out behind him, he urged thehorse forward with crop and loud cries.   Filled with her own anxieties, she nevertheless watched him with affectionate pride, for Geraldwas an excellent horseman.   “I wonder why he always wants to jump fences when he’s had a few drinks,” she thought. “And after that fall he had right here last year when he broke his knee. You’d think he’d learn. Especiallywhen he promised Mother on oath he’d never jump again.”   Scarlett had no awe of her father and felt him more her contemporary than her sisters, forjumping fences and keeping it a secret from his wife gave him a boyish pride and guilty glee thatmatched her own pleasure in outwitting Mammy. She rose from her seat to watch him.   The big horse reached the fence, gathered himself and soared over as effortlessly as a bird, hisrider yelling enthusiastically, his crop beating the air, his white curls jerking out behind him.   Gerald did not see his daughter in the shadow of the trees, and he drew rein in the road, patting hishorse’s neck with approbation.   “There’s none in the County can touch you, nor in the state,” he informed his mount, with pride,the brogue of County Meath still heavy on his tongue in spite of thirty-nine years in America. Thenhe hastily set about smoothing his hair and settling his ruffled shirt and his cravat which hadslipped awry behind one ear. Scarlett knew these hurried preenings were being made with an eyetoward meeting his wife with the appearance of a gentleman who had ridden sedately home from acall on a neighbor. She knew also that he was presenting her with just the opportunity she wantedfor opening the conversation without revealing her true purpose.   She laughed aloud. As she had intended, Gerald was startled by the sound; then he recognizedher, and a look both sheepish and defiant came over his florid face. He dismounted with difficulty,because his knee was stiff, and, slipping the reins over his arm, stumped toward her.   “Well, Missy,” he said, pinching her cheek, “so, you’ve been spying on me and, like your sisterSuellen last week, you’ll be telling your mother on me?”   There was indignation in his hoarse bass voice but also a wheedling note, and Scarlett teasinglyclicked her tongue against her teeth as she reached out to pull his cravat into place. His breath inher face was strong with Bourbon whisky mingled with a faint fragrance of mint. Accompanyinghim also were the smells of chewing tobacco, well-oiled leather and horses—a combination ofodors that she always associated with her father and instinctively liked in other men.   “No, Pa, I’m no tattletale like Suellen,” she assured him, standing off to view his rearrangedattire with a judicious air.   Gerald was a small man, little more than five feet tall, but so heavy of barrel and thick of neckthat his appearance, when seated, led strangers to think him a larger man. His thickset torso wassupported by short sturdy legs, always incased in the finest leather boots procurable and alwaysplanted wide apart like a swaggering small boy’s. Most small people who take themselvesseriously are a little ridiculous; but the bantam cock is respected in the barnyard, and so it was withGerald. No one would ever have the temerity to think of Gerald O’Hara as a ridiculous little figure.   He was sixty years old and his crisp curly hair was silver-white, but his shrewd face was unlinedand his hard little blue eyes were young with the unworried youthfulness of one who has nevertaxed his brain with problems more abstract than how many cards to draw in a poker game. Hiswas as Irish a face as could be found in the length and breadth of the homeland he had left so longago—round, high colored, short nosed, wide mouthed and belligerent.   Beneath his choleric exterior Gerald O’Hara had the tenderest of hearts.” He could not bear to see a slave pouting under a reprimand, ho matter how well deserved, or hear a kitten mewing or achild crying; but he had a horror of having this weakness discovered. That everyone who met himdid discover his kindly heart within five minutes was unknown to him; and his vanity would havesuffered tremendously if he had found it out, for he liked to think that when he bawled orders atthe top of his voice everyone trembled and obeyed. It had never occurred to him that only onevoice was obeyed on the plantation—the soft voice of his wife Ellen. It was a secret he wouldnever learn, for everyone from Ellen down to the stupidest field hand was in a tacit and kindlyconspiracy to keep him believing that his word was law.   Scarlett was impressed less than anyone else by his tempers and his roarings. She was his oldestchild and, now that Gerald knew there would be no more sons to follow the three who lay in thefamily burying ground, he had drifted into a habit of treating her in a man-to-man manner whichshe found most pleasant. She was more like her father than her younger sisters, for Carreen, whohad been born Caroline Irene, was delicate and dreamy, and Suellen, christened Susan Elinor,prided herself on her elegance and ladylike deportment.   Moreover, Scarlett and her father were bound together by a mutual suppression agreement. IfGerald caught her climbing a fence instead of walking half a mile to a gate, or sitting too late onthe front steps with a beau, he castigated her personally and with vehemence, but he did notmention the fact to Ellen or to Mammy. And when Scarlett discovered him jumping fences after hissolemn promise to his wife, or learned the exact amount of his losses at poker, as she always didfrom County gossip, she refrained from mentioning the fact at the supper table in the artfullyartless manner Suellen had. Scarlett and her father each assured the other solemnly that to bringsuch matters to the ears of Ellen would only hurt her, and nothing would induce them to wound hergentleness.   Scarlett looked at her father in the fading light, and, without knowing why, she found itcomforting to be in his presence. There was something vital and earthy and coarse about him thatappealed to her. Being the least analytic of people, she did not realize that this was because shepossessed in some degree these same qualities, despite sixteen years of effort on the part of Ellenand Mammy to obliterate them.   “You look very presentable now,” she said, “and I don’t think anyone will suspect you’ve beenup to your tricks unless you brag about them. But it does seem to me that after you broke yourknee last year, jumping that same fence—”   “Well, may I be damned if I’ll have me own daughter telling me what I shall jump and notjump,” he shouted, giving her cheek another pinch. “It’s me own neck, so it is. And besides, Missy,what are you doing out here without your shawl?”   Seeing that he employing familiar maneuvers to extricate himself from unpleasant conversation,sheslippe(was) d her arm through his and said: “I was waiting for you. I didn’t know youwould be so late. I just wondered if you had bought Dilcey.”   “Bought her I did, and the price has ruined me. Bought her and her little wench, Prissy. JohnWilkes was for almost giving them away, but never will I have it said that Gerald O’Hara usedfriendship in a trade. I made him take three thousand for the two of them.”   “In the name of Heaven, Pa, three thousand! And you didn’t need to buy Prissy!”   “Has the time when own daughters sit in judgment on me?” shouted Gerald rhetorically. “Prissy is a l(come) ikely little w(me) ench and so—”   “I know her. She’s a sly, stupid creature,” Scarlett rejoined calmly, unimpressed by his uproar.   “And the only reason you bought her was because Dilcey asked you to buy her.”   Gerald looked crestfallen and embarrassed, as always when caught in a kind deed, and Scarlettlaughed outright at his transparency.   “Well, what if I did? Was there any use buying Dilcey if she was going to mope about the child?   Well, never again will I let a darky on this place marry off it. It’s too expensive. Well, come on,Puss, let’s go in to supper.”   The shadows were falling thicker now, the last greenish tinge had left the sky and a slight chillwas displacing the balminess of spring. But Scarlett loitered, wondering how to bring up thesubject of Ashley without permitting Gerald to suspect her motive. This was difficult, for Scarletthad not a subtle bone in her body; and Gerald was so much like her he never failed to penetrate herweak subterfuges, even as she penetrated his. And he was seldom tactful in doing it.   “How are they all over at Twelve Oaks?”   “About as usual. Cade Calvert was there and, after I settled about Dilcey, we all set on thegallery and had several toddies. Cade has just come from Atlanta, and it’s all upset they are thereand talking war and—”   Scarlett sighed. If Gerald once got on the subject of war and secession, it would be hours beforehe relinquished it She broke in with another line.   “Did they say anything about the barbecue tomorrow?”   “Now that I think of it they did. Miss—what’s-her-name—the sweet little thing who was herelast year, you know, Ashley’s cousin—oh, yes, Miss Melanie Hamilton, that’s the name—she andher brother Charles have already come from Atlanta and—”   “Oh, so she did come?”   “She did, and a sweet quiet thing she is, with never a word to say for herself, like a womanshould be. Come now, daughter, don’t lag. Your mother will be hunting for us.”   Scarlett’s heart sank at the news. She had hoped against hope that something would keepMelanie Hamilton in Atlanta where she belonged, and the knowledge that even her father approvedof her sweet quiet nature, so different from her own, forced her into the open.   “Was Ashley there, too?”   “He was.” Gerald let go of his daughter’s arm and turned, peering sharply into her face. “And ifthat’s why you came out here to wait for me, why didn’t you say so without beating around thebush?”   Scarlett could think of nothing to say, and she felt her face growing red with annoyance.   “Well, speak up.”   Still she said nothing, wishing that it was permissible to shake one’s father and tell him to hushhis mouth.   “He was there and he asked most kindly after you, as did his sisters, and said they hoped nothingwould keep you from the barbecue tomorrow. I’ll warrant nothing will,” he said shrewdly. “Andnow, daughter, what’s all this about you and Ashley?”   “There is nothing,” she said shortly, tugging at his arm. “Let’s go in, Pa.”   “So now ‘tis you wanting to go in,” he observed. “But here I’m going to stand till I’munderstanding you. Now that I think of it ‘tis strange you’ve been recently. Has he been triflingwith you? Has he asked to marry you?”   “No,” she said shortly.   “Nor will he,” said Gerald.   Fury flamed in her, but Gerald waved her quiet with a hand.   “Hold your tongue, Miss! I had it from John Wilkes this afternoon in the strictest confidence thatAshley’s to marry Miss Melanie. It’s to be announced tomorrow.”   Scarlett’s hand fell from his arm. So it was true!   A pain slashed at her heart as savagely as a wild animal’s fangs. Through it all, she felt herfather’s eyes on her, a little pitying, a little annoyed at being faced with a problem for which heknew no answer. He loved Scarlett, but it made him uncomfortable to have her forcing her childishproblems on him for a solution. Ellen knew all the answers. Scarlett should have taken her troublesto her.   “Is it a spectacle you’ve been making of yourself—of all of us?” he bawled, his voice rising asalways in moments of excitement. “Have you been running after a man who’s not in love with you,when you could have any of the bucks in the County?”   Anger and hurt pride drove out some of the pain.   “I haven’t been running after him. It—it just surprised me.”   “It’s lying you are!” said Gerald, and then, peering at her stricken face, he added in a burst ofkindliness: “I’m sorry, daughter. But after all, you are nothing but a child and there’s lots of otherbeaux.”   “Mother was only fifteen when she married you, and I’m sixteen,” said Scarlett, her voicemuffled.   “Your mother was different,” said Gerald. “She was never flighty like you. Now come, daughter,cheer up, and I’ll take you to Charleston next week to visit your Aunt Eulalie and, what with all thehullabaloo they are having over there about Fort Sumter, you’ll be forgetting about Ashley in aweek.”   “He thinks I’m a child,” thought Scarlett, grief and anger choking utterance, “and he’s only gotto dangle a new toy and I’ll forget my bumps.”   “Now, don’t be jerking your chin at me,” warned Gerald. “If you had any sense you’d have married Stuart or Brent Tarleton long ago. Think it over, daughter. Marry one of the twins and thenthe plantations will run together and Jim Tarleton and I will build you a fine house, right wherethey join, in that big pine grove and—”   “Will you stop treating me like a child!” cried Scarlett. “I don’t want to go to Charleston or havea house or marry the twins. I only want—” She caught herself but not in time.   Gerald’s voice was strangely quiet and he spoke slowly as if drawing his words from a store ofthought seldom used.   “It’s only Ashley you’re wanting, and you’ll not be having him. And if he wanted to marry you,‘twould be with misgivings that I’d say Yes, for an the fine friendship that’s between me and JohnWilkes.” And, seeing her startled look, he continued: “I want my girl to be happy and you wouldn’tbe happy with him.”   “Oh, I would! I would!”   “That you would not, daughter. Only when like marries like can there be any happiness.”   Scarlett had a sudden treacherous desire to cry out, “But you’ve been happy, and you andMother aren’t alike,” but she repressed it, fearing that he would box her ears for her impertinence.   “Our people and the Wilkes are different,” he went on slowly, fumbling for words. “The Wilkesare different from any of our neighbors—different from any family I ever knew. They are queerfolk, and it’s best that they marry their cousins and keep their queerness to themselves.”   “Why, Pa, Ashley is not—”   “Hold your whist, Puss! I said nothing against the lad, for I like him. And when I say queer, it’snot crazy I’m meaning. He’s not queer like the Calverts who’d gamble everything they have on ahorse, or the Tarletons who turn out a drunkard or two in every litter, or the Fontaines who are hotheadedlittle brutes and after murdering a man for a fancied slight. That kind of queerness is easyto understand, for sure, and but for the grace of God Gerald O’Hara would be having all thosefaults! And I don’t mean that Ashley would run off with another woman, if you were his wife, orbeat you. You’d be happier if he did, for at least you’d be understanding that. But he’s queer inother ways, and there’s no understanding him at all. I like him, but it’s neither heads nor tails I canmake of most he says. Now, Puss, tell me true, do you understand his folderol about books andpoetry and music and oil paintings and such foolishness?”   “Oh, Pa,” cried Scarlett impatiently, “if I married him, I’d change all that!”   “Oh, you would, would you now?” Said Gerald testily, shooting a sharp look at her. “Then it’slittle enough you are knowing of any man living, let alone Ashley. No wife has ever changed ahusband whit, and don’t you be forgetting that. And as for changing a Wilkes—God’snightgown,d(one) aughter! The whole family is that way, and they’ve always been that way. Andprobably always will. I tell you they’re born queer. Look at the way they go tearing up to NewYork and Boston to hear operas and see oil paintings. And ordering French and German books bythe crate from the Yankees! And there they sit reading and dreaming the dear God knows what,when they’d be better spending their time hunting and playing poker as proper men should.”   “There’s nobody in the County sits a horse better than Ashley,” said Scarlett, furious at the slur of effeminacy flung on Ashley, “nobody except maybe his father. And as for poker, didn’t Ashleytake two hundred dollars away from you just last week in Jonesboro?”   “The Calvert boys have been blabbing again,” Gerald said resignedly, “else you’d not beknowing the amount. Ashley can ride with the best and play poker with the best—that’s me, Puss!   And I’m not denying that when he sets out to drink he can put even the Tarletons under the table.   He can do all those things, but his heart’s not in it. That’s why I say he’s queer.”   Scarlett was silent and her heart sank. She could think of no defense for this last, for she knewGerald was right. Ashley’s heart was in none of the pleasant things he did so well. He was nevermore than politely interested in any of the things that vitally interested every one else.   Rightly interpreting her silence, Gerald patted her arm and said triumphantly: “There now,Scarlett! You admit ‘tis true. What would you be doing with a husband like Ashley? ‘Tismoonstruck they all are, all the Wilkes.” And then, in a wheedling tone: “When I was mentioningthe Tarletons the while ago, I wasn’t pushing them. They’re fine lads, but if it’s Cade Calvertyou’re setting your cap after, why, ‘tis the same with me. The Calverts are good folk, all of them,for all the old man marrying a Yankee. And when I’m gone—Whist, darlin’, listen to me! I’ll leaveTara to you and Cade—”   “I wouldn’t have Cade on a silver tray,” cried Scarlett in fury. “And I wish you’d quit pushinghim at me! I don’t want Tara or any old plantation. Plantations don’t amount to anything when—”   She was going to say “when you haven’t the man you want,” but Gerald, incensed by thecavalier way in which she treated his proffered gift, the thing which, next to Ellen, he loved best inthe whole world uttered a roar.   “Do you stand there, Scarlett O’Hara, and tell me that Tara—that land—doesn’t amount toanything?”   Scarlett nodded obstinately. Her heart was too sore to care whether or not she put her father in atemper.   “Land is the only thing in the world that amounts to anything,” he shouted, his thick, short armsmaking wide gestures of indignation, “for ‘tis the only thing in this world that lasts, and don’t yoube forgetting it! ‘Tis the only thing worth working for, worth fighting for—worth dying for.”   “Oh, Pa,” she said disgustedly, “you talk like an Irishman!”   “Have I ever been ashamed of it? No, ‘tis proud I am. And don’t be forgetting that you are halfIrish, Miss! And to anyone with a drop of Irish blood in them the land they live on is like theirmother. ‘Tis ashamed of you I am this minute. I offer you the most beautiful land in the world—saving County Meath in the Old Country—and what do you do? You sniff!”   Gerald had begun to work himself up into a pleasurable shouting rage when something inScarlett’s woebegone face stopped him.   “But there, you’re young. ‘Twill come to you, this love of land. There’s no getting away from it,if you’re Irish. You’re just a child and bothered about your beaux. When you’re older, you’ll beseeing how ‘tis. ... Now, do you be making up your mind about Cade or the twins or one of EvanMunroe’s young bucks, and see how fine I turn you out!”   “Oh, Pa!”   By this time, Gerald was thoroughly tired of the conversation and thoroughly annoyed that theproblem should be upon his shoulders. He felt aggrieved, moreover, that Scarlett should still lookdesolate after being offered the best of the County boys and Tara, too. Gerald liked his gifts to bereceived with clapping of hands and kisses.   “Now, none of your pouts, Miss. It doesn’t matter who you marry, as long as he thinks like youand is a gentleman and a Southerner and prideful. For a woman, love comes after marriage.”   “Oh, Pa, that’s such an Old Country notion!”   “And a good notion it is! All this American business of running around marrying for love, likeservants, like Yankees! The best marriages are when the parents choose for the girl. For how can asilly piece like yourself tell a good man from a scoundrel? Now, look at the Wilkes. What’s keptthem prideful and strong all these generations? Why, marrying the likes of themselves, marryingthe cousins their family always expects them to marry.”   “Oh,” cried Scarlett, fresh pain striking her as Gerald’s words brought home the terribleinevitability of the truth. Gerald looked at her bowed head and shuffled his feet uneasily.   “It’s not crying you are?” he questioned, fumbling clumsily at her chin, trying to turn her faceupward, his own face furrowed with pity.   “No,” she cried vehemently, jerking away.   “It’s lying you are, and I’m proud of it. I’m glad there’s pride in you, Puss. And I want to seepride in you tomorrow at the barbecue. I’ll not be having the County gossiping and laughing at youfor mooning your heart out about a man who never gave you a thought beyond friendship.”   “He did give me a thought,” thought Scarlett, sorrowfully in her heart. “Oh, a lot of thoughts! Iknow he did. I could tell. If I’d just had a little longer, I know I could have made him say—Oh, if itonly wasn’t that the Wilkes always feel that they have to marry their cousins!”   Gerald took her arm and passed it through his.   “We’ll be going in to supper now, and all this is between us. I’ll not be worrying your motherwith this—nor do you do it either. Blow your nose, daughter.”   Scarlett blew her nose on her torn handkerchief, and they started up the dark drive arm in arm,the horse following slowly. Near the house, Scarlett was at the point of speaking again when shesaw her mother in the dim shadows of the porch. She had on her bonnet, shawl and mittens, andbehind her was Mammy, her face like a thundercloud, holding in her hand the black leather bag inwhich Ellen O’Hara always carried the bandages and medicines she used in doctoring the slaves.   Mammy’s lips were large and pendulous and, when indignant, she could push out her lower one totwice its normal length. It was pushed out now, and Scarlett knew that Mammy was seething oversomething of which she did not approve.   “Mr. O’Hara,” called Ellen as she saw the two coming up the driveway—Ellen belonged to ageneration that was formal even after seventeen years of wedlock and the bearing of six children—”Mr. O’Hara, there is illness at the Slattery house. Emmie’s baby has been born and is dying andmust be baptized. I am going there with Mammy to see what I can do.”   Her voice was raised questioningly, as though she hung on Gerald’s assent to her plan, a mereformality but one dear to the heart of Gerald.   “In the name of God!” blustered Gerald. “Why should those white trash take you away just atyour supper hour and just when I’m wanting to tell you about the war talk that’s going on inAtlanta! Go, Mrs. O’Hara. You’d not rest easy on your pillow the night if there was trouble abroadand you not there to help.”   “She doan never git no res’ on her piller fer hoppin’ up at night time nursin’ niggers an po’ w’itetrash dat could ten’ to deyseff,” grumbled Mammy in a monotone as she went down the stairstoward the carriage which was waiting in the side drive.   “Take my place at the table, dear,” said Ellen, patting Scarlett’s cheek softly with a mittenedhand.   In spite of her choked-back tears, Scarlett thrilled to the never-failing magic of her mother’stouch, to the faint fragrance of lemon verbena sachet that came from her rustling silk dress. ToScarlett, there was something breath-taking about Ellen O’Hara, a miracle that lived in the housewith her and awed her and charmed and soothed her.   Gerald helped his wife into the carriage and gave orders to the coachman to drive carefully.   Toby, who had handled Gerald’s horses for twenty years, pushed out his lips in mute indignation atbeing told how to conduct his own business. Driving off, with Mammy beside him, each was aperfect picture of pouting African disapproval.   “If I didn’t do so much for those trashy Slatterys that they’d have to pay money for elsewhere,”   fumed Gerald, “they’d be willing to sell me their miserable few acres of swamp bottom, and theCounty would be well rid of them.” Then, brightening, in anticipation of one of his practical jokes:   “Come daughter, let’s go tell Pork that instead of buying Dilcey, I’ve sold him to John Wilkes.”   He tossed the reins of his horse to a small pickaninny standing near and started up the steps. Hehad already forgotten Scarlett’s heartbreak and his mind was only on plaguing his valet. Scarlettslowly climbed the steps after him, her feet leaden. She thought that, after all, a mating betweenherself and Ashley could be no queerer than that of her father and Ellen Robillard O’Hara. Asalways, she wondered how her loud, insensitive father had managed to marry a woman like hermother, for never were two people further apart in birth, breeding and habits of mind.   思嘉站在塔拉农场的走廊上目送那对孪生兄弟离开,直到飞跑的马蹄声已隐隐消失,她才如梦游人似地回到椅子上去。她觉得得脸颊发僵仿佛有什么痛处,但嘴巴却真的酸痛了,因为是刚才很长一段时间她在咧着嘴假装微笑,为了不让那对孪生子发觉她内心的秘密。她疲惫地坐下,将一条腿盘起来,这时心脏难受得发胀,好像快要从胸膛里爆出来一般似的。它古怪地轻轻跳着;她的两手冰凉,一种大祸临头的感觉沉重地压迫着她。她脸上流露出痛苦和惶惑的神情,这种惶惑说明,她这个娇宠惯了、经常有求必应的孩子如今可碰到生活中不愉快的事了。 艾希礼将同媚兰•汉密尔顿结婚了! 唔,这不可能是真的!那对孪生子准搞错了。他们又在找她开玩笑呢。艾希礼不会爱上她。谁也不会的。同媚兰这样一个耗子似的小个儿。思嘉怀着轻蔑的情绪想起媚兰瘦小得像孩子的身材,她那张严肃而平淡得几乎有点丑的鸡心形的脸,而且可能艾希礼是好几个月没见到她了。自从去年“十二橡树”村举行家中大宴会以来,她顶多只到过亚特兰大两次。不,艾希礼不可能同媚兰恋爱,因为----唔,她决不会错的----因为他在爱她呀!她思嘉才是他所爱的那个人呢—-她知道! 思嘉听见嬷嬷的脚步笨重地在堂屋里把地板踩得嘎嘎响,便迅速将盘着的那条腿伸下来,并设法放松脸部的表情,尽量显得平静一些。万万不能让嬷嬷怀疑到出了什么事呀! 嬷嬷总觉得奥哈拉家的人连身子带灵魂都是她的,他们的秘密就是她的秘密。只要有一丝神秘的味道,她就会像条警犬似的无情地追踪嗅迹。根据已往的经验,思嘉知道如果嬷嬷的好奇心不能立即满足,她就会去跟妈妈一起嘀咕,那时便只好向母亲交代一切,要不就得编出一个像样的谎话来。 嬷嬷从堂屋里走出来,她是个大块头老婆子,但眼睛细小而精明,活像一头大象。她长得黑不溜秋,是纯粹的非洲人,把整个身心毫无保留地献给了奥哈拉一家,成了爱伦的左右手、三个女孩子的煞星和其他家人的阎罗王。虽然嬷嬷是个黑人,但她的行为规范和自豪感却与她主人一样高或者还要高些。她是在爱伦•奥哈拉的母亲索兰吉•罗毕拉德的卧室里养育大的,那位老太太是个文雅的高鼻子法兰西人,无论对自己的儿女或者仆人只要触犯法规便不惜给以应得的惩罚。她曾经做过爱伦的嬷嬷,后来爱伦结婚时跟着她从萨凡纳来到了内地。嬷嬷要是宠爱谁,就会严加管教。正由于她是那样宠爱思嘉和因思嘉而感到骄傲,她对思嘉的管教也就没完没了。 “那两位少爷走了吗?你怎么没留他们吃晚饭呀,思嘉小姐?俺告诉了波克叫他添两份饭啦。你的礼貌到哪里去了呢?”“唔,他们尽谈论战争,我都听得烦了,再也忍受不了同他们一起吃晚饭,尤其怕爸爸也参加进来大叫大嚷,议论林肯先生。”“你可像个女孩一般不知礼了,亏你妈妈和俺还辛辛苦苦教你呢。还有,你怎么没披上你的披肩呀?夜风快吹起来了! 俺一次又一次告诉你,光着肩膀坐在夜风里要感冒发烧的。思嘉小姐快进屋里来。"思嘉故意装出一副冷淡的样子掉过头去,幸喜嬷嬷正一个劲儿唠叨披肩的事,不曾看见她的脸。 “不,我想坐在这里看落日。它多美呀。你去给我把披肩拿来。劳驾了,嬷嬷,让我坐在这里,等爸爸回家来我再进屋去。”“俺听你这声音像是着凉了,"嬷嬷怀疑地说。 “唔,没有,"思嘉不耐烦地说。"你去把我的披肩拿来吧。"嬷嬷蹒跚地走回堂屋,这时思嘉听到她轻声呼唤着上楼去找楼上的那个女佣人。 “罗莎!听着,把思嘉小姐的披肩给我扔下来。"接着,她的声音更响了,"不中用的黑鬼!她总是什么忙也带不上的。 又得俺亲自爬上楼去取了。” 听到楼梯格格作响,思嘉便轻轻站起身来。嬷嬷一回来又要重复那番责备她不懂礼貌的话了,可思嘉觉得正当自己心酸的时候,实在无法忍受叨叨这种鸡毛蒜皮的小事。她就犹豫不定地站着,不知该躲到哪里去让痛苦的心情略略平息,这时她忽然起了一个念头,这给她带来了一线微弱的希望。原来那天下午她父亲骑马到威尔克斯家的农场“十二橡树”村去了,是为了商量购买他那位管家波克的迪尔茜。迪尔茜是“十二橡树”村的女领班,自从六个月前结婚以来,波克就没日没夜地缠着要主人把她买过来,好让他们两口子住在一起。那天下午杰拉尔德实在已抵挡不住,只得动身到那边去商量购买迪尔茜的事。 当然,思嘉想,爸爸会知道这个可怕的传闻不是真的。就算今天下午他的确没有听到什么消息,他也可能注意到了某些迹象,感觉到威尔克斯家有什么叫人兴奋的事情吧。要是我能在吃晚饭前一个人看见他,说不定就能弄个明白----原来不过是那哥儿俩的一个缺德的玩笑罢了。 杰拉尔德该回来了。如果她想单独见他,她也无须麻烦,只要在车道进入大路的口子上迎接他就行了。她悄悄地走下屋前的台阶,又回过头来仔细看看,要弄清楚嬷嬷的确没有在楼上窗口观望。她没有看见那张围着雪白头巾的黑色阔脸在晃动的窗帘间不满地窥探,便大胆地撩起那件绿花布裙,沿着石径向车道快快地跑去,只要那又镶有锻带的小便鞋允许,她是能跑多快就跑多快的。 沿着碎石的车道两边,茂密的柏树枝叶交错,形成天然的拱顶,使那长长的林荫路变成了一条阴暗的甬道。一跑进这甬道里,她便觉得自己已经安全了,家里的人望不见了,这才放慢脚步,她气喘吁吁,因为她的胸衣箍得太紧,不容许她这样飞跑,不过她还是尽可能迅速走去。她很快便到了车道尽头,走上了大路,可是她并不停步,直到拐了个弯,那里有一大丛树遮掩着她,使家里人再也不能看见了。 她两颊发红,呼吸急促,坐在一个树桩上等待父亲。往常这时候,他已经回来了,不过她高兴今天他晚一些,这样她才有时间喘过气来,使脸色恢复平静,不致引起父亲的猜疑。她分分秒秒地期待着听到得得的马蹄声,看到父亲用他那吓死人的速度驰上山冈。可是一分钟又一分钟过去了,杰拉尔德还是不见回来。顺着大路望去,想找到他的影子,这时心里的痛楚又膨胀起来了。 “唔,那不可能是真的!"她心想。"他为什么不来呢?"她的眼光沿着那条因早晨下过雨而变得血红的大路沉思着,在心里跟踪着这段路程奔下山冈,到那懒洋洋的弗林特河畔,越过荆榛杂乱的沼泽谷底,再爬上下一个山冈到达“十二橡树”村。艾希礼就住在那里。此时,这条路的全部意义就在这里----它是通向艾希礼和那幢美丽的像希腊神殿般高踞于山冈上的白圆柱房子。 “啊,艾希礼!艾希礼!"她心里喊着,心脏跳得更快了。 自从塔尔顿家那对孪生子把他们的闲话告诉她以后,一种惶惑和灾祸的冷酷感一直沉重地压抑着她,可如今这种意识已被推到她心灵的后壁去,代之而的是两年以来始终支配着她的那股狂热之情。 现在看来很有些奇怪,当她还没有长大成人的时候,为什么从不觉得艾希礼有什么动人之处呢?童年时,她看见他走来走去,可一次也不曾想过他。直到两年前那一天,当时艾希礼为期三年的欧洲大陆旅游刚回来,到她家来拜望,她才爱上了他。事情就这么简单。 她那时正在屋前走廊上,他沿着马从林荫道上远远而来,身穿灰色细棉布上衣,领口打着个宽大的黑蝴蝶结,与那件皱领衬衫很相配,直到今天,她还记得他那穿着上的每一个细节,那双马靴多亮啊,还有蝴蝶结别针上那个浮雕宝石的蛇发女妖的头,那顶宽边巴拿马帽子----他一看见她就立即把帽子拿在手里了。他跳下马,把缰绳扔给一个黑孩子,站在那里朝她望着,那双朦胧的灰色眼睛瞪得大大的,流露着微笑;他的金黄色头发在阳光下闪烁,像一顶灿烂的王冠。那时他温和地说:“思嘉,你都长大了。"然后轻轻地走上台阶,吻了吻她的手。还有他的声音啊!她永远也忘不了她听到时那怦然心动的感觉,仿佛她是第一次听到这样慢吞吞的、响亮的、音乐般的声音! 就在这最初一刹那,她觉得她需要他,像要东西吃,买马匹,要温软的床睡觉那样简单,那样说不出原因地需要他。 两年以来,都是他陪着她在县里各处走动,参加舞会、炸鱼宴、野餐,甚至法庭开庭日的听审,等等,虽然从来不像塔尔顿兄弟那样纷繁,也不像方丹家的年轻小伙儿那样纠缠不休,可每星期都要到塔拉农场来拜访,从未间断过。 确实,他从来没有向她求过爱,他那清澈的眼睛也从来没有流露过像思嘉在其他男人身上熟悉的那种炽热的光芒。 可是仍然----仍然----思嘉知道他在爱她。在这点上她是不会错的。直觉比理智更可信赖,而从经验中产生的认识也告诉她他爱她。她几乎常常中他吃惊,那时他的眼睛显得既不朦胧也不疏远,带着热切而凄楚的神情望着她,使她不知所措。她知道他在爱她。他为什么不对她说明呢?这一点她无法理解。但是她无法理解他的地方还多着呢。 他常常很客气,但又那么冷淡、疏远。谁也不明白他在想些什么,而思嘉是最不明白的。在那一带,人人都是一想到什么就说什么,因此艾希礼的谨慎性格便更加使人看不惯了。他对县里的种种娱乐,如打猎、赌博、跳舞和议论政治等方面,都跟任何别的青年人一样精通;可是他跟大家有不同之处,那就是这些愉快的活动对于他来说,都不是人生的目的。他仅仅对书本和音乐感兴趣,而且很爱写诗。 啊,为什么他要长得这么漂亮,可又这么客气而不好亲近,而且一谈起欧洲,书本、音乐、诗歌以及那些她根本不感兴趣的东西来,他就那么兴奋得令人生厌----可是又那么令人爱慕呢?一个晚上又一个晚上,当思嘉同他坐在前门半明半暗的走廊上闲谈过以后,每次上床睡觉时,总要翻来覆去好几个钟头,最后只得自我安慰地设想下次他再来看她时一定会向她求婚,这才慢慢地睡着。可是,下次来了又走了,结果还是一场空----只是那股令她着迷的狂热劲却升得更高更热了。 她爱他,她需要他,但是她不了解他。她是那么直率、简单,就像吃过塔拉上空的风和从塔拉身边流过的河流一样,而且即使活到老她也不可能理解一件错综复杂的事。如今,她生气第一次碰上了一个性格复杂的人。 因为艾希礼天生属于那种类型,一有闲暇不是用来做事,而是用来思想,用来编织色彩斑斓而毫无现实内容的幻梦。他生活在一个比佐治亚美好得多的内心世界里留连忘返。他对人冷眼旁观,既不喜欢也不厌恶。他对生活漠然视之,无所动心,也无所忧虑。他对宇謅e以及他在其中的地位,无论适合与否都坦然接受,有时耸耸肩,回到他的音乐、书本和那个更好的世界里去。 思嘉弄不明白,既然他的心对她的心是那样陌生,那么为什么他竟会迷住她呢?就是他的这个秘密像一扇既没有锁也没有钥匙的门引起了她的好奇心。他身上那些她所无法理解的东西只有使她更加爱他,他那种克制的求爱态度只能鼓励她下更大的决心去把他占为己有。她从未怀疑他有一天会向她求婚,因为她实太年轻太娇惯了,从来不懂得失内是怎么回事。现在,好比晴天霹雳,这个可怕的消息突然降临。这不可能是真的呀!艾希礼要娶媚兰了! 为什么,就在上周一个傍晚他们骑马从费尔黑尔回家时,他还对她说过:“思嘉,我有件十分重要的事要告诉你,但是不知怎么说好。"她那时假装正经地低下头来,可高兴得心怦怦直跳,觉得那个愉快的时刻来了。接着他又说:“可现在不行啊!没有时间了。咱们快到家了,唔,思嘉,你看我多么胆怯呀!"他随即用靴刺在马肋上踢了几下,赶快送思嘉越过山冈回塔拉来了。 思嘉坐在树桩上,回想着那几句曾叫她十分高兴的话,可这时它们突然有另一种意思,一种可怕的意思。也许他找算告诉她的就是他要订婚的消息呢! 啊,只要爸爸回来就好了!这个疑团她实在再也忍受不了啦。她又一次焦急地沿着大路向前望去,又一次大失所望。 这时太阳已经沉到地平线以下,大地边沿那片红霞已褪成了淡粉郄的暮霭。天空渐渐由浅蓝变为知更鸟蛋般淡淡的青绿,田园薄暮中那超尘绝俗的宁静也悄悄在她周围降落。朦胧夜色把村庄笼罩起来了。那些红土垅沟和那条仿佛刚被节开的红色大路,也失掉了神奇的血色而变成平凡的褐色土地了。大路对观的牧场上,牛、马和骡子静静地站在那里,把头颈从篱栏上伸出去,等待着被赶回棚里去享受晚餐。它们不喜欢那些灌木丛的黑影把牧地小溪遮蔽,同时抽动双耳望着思嘉,仿佛很欣赏人类的陪伴似的。 河边湿地上那些在阳光下郁郁葱葱的高大松树,在奇异的朦胧暮色中,如今已变得黑糊糊的,与暗淡的天色两相映衬,好像一排黑色巨人站在那里,把脚下缓缓流过的黄泥河水给遮住了。河对面的山冈上,威尔克斯家的白色烟囱在周围的茂密的橡树林中渐渐隐去,只有远处点点的晚餐灯火还能照见那所房子依稀犹在。暖和且柔润的春天气息,带着新翻的泥土和蓬勃生长的草木的潮温香味温馨地包围着她。 对于思嘉来说,落日、春天和新生的草木花卉,都没有什么奇异之处。她接受它们的美都毫不在意。犹如呼吸空和饮用泉水一样,因为除了女人的相貌、马、丝绸衣服和诸如此类的具体东西以外,她从来也不曾有意识地在任何事物身上看到过美。不过,塔拉农场照料得很好的田地上空这一静穆的暮景却给她那纷乱的心情带来了一定程度的安宁。她是如此热爱这片土地,以致好像并没发觉自己在爱它,就像爱她母亲在灯光下祈祷时的面容一般。 蜿蜒的大路上仍然没有杰拉尔德的影子。如果她还要等候很久,嬷嬷就一定会来寻找她,并把她赶回家去。可是就在她眯着眼睛向那愈来愈黑暗的大路前头细看时,她听到了草地脚下得得的马蹄声,同时看见牛马正慌张地散开。杰拉尔德•奥哈拉向家飞奔而来。 他骑着那匹腰壮腿长的猎马驰上山冈,远远看去就像个孩子骑在一匹过于高大的马上。长长的头发在他脑后飞扬着,他举着鞭子,吆喝着加速前进。 尽管思嘉心中充满了焦急不安的情绪,但她仍然怀着无比的自豪感观望父亲,因为杰拉尔德是个真正出色的猎手。 “我不明白他为什么一旦喝了点酒便要跳篱笆,"思嘉心想。"而且去年他就是在这里把膝头摔坏的呀。你以为他会记住这教训吧,尤其是他还对母亲发过誓,答应再不跳了。"思嘉不怕父亲,并且觉得他比他的姐妹们更像是一个同辈,因为跳篱笆和向他妻子保密这件事使他感到一种孩子气的骄傲和略带内疚的愉悦,而这是可以和思嘉干了坏事瞒过嬷嬷时的高兴心情相比的。现在她从树桩上站起身来看他。 那匹大马跑到篱笆边,弯着前腿纵身一跃,便像只鸟儿般毫不费力地飞了过去,它的骑手也高兴地叫喊着,将鞭子在空中抽得噼啪响,长长的白发在脑后飞扬。杰拉尔德并没有看见在树木黑影中的女儿,他在大路上勒住缰绳,赞赏地轻拍着马的颈项。 “在咱们县里没有谁比得上你,就是州里也没有,"他得意洋洋地对自己的马说。他那爱尔兰米思地方的口音依然很重,尽管到美国了39年了。接着他赶快理了理头发,把揉皱的衬衫和扭到耳背后的领结也整理好。思嘉知道这些修整工夫是为了让自己像个讲究的上等人模样去见母亲,假装是拜访邻居以后安安稳稳骑马回来的。她知道自己的机会到了,她可以开始同他谈话而不必担心泄露真实的用意了。 她这时大声笑起来。不出所料,杰拉尔德听见笑声大吃一惊,但随即便认出了她,红润的脸上堆满了边讨好边挑战的神情。他艰难地跳下马来,因为双膝已经麻木了;然后把缰绳搭在胳臂上、蹒跚地向她走来。 “小姐,好啊,"他说着,拧了一下她的面颊,"那么,你是在偷看我了,而且像你的苏伦妹妹上星期干过的那样,准备到你母亲面前去告我的状了吧?"他那沙破低沉的声音里含有怒意,同时也带有讨好的意味,这时思嘉便挑剔而又嗲声嗲气地伸出手来将他领结拉正了。他扑面而来的的呼吸让她嗅到了一股强烈的混和薄荷香味的波旁威士忌酒味。他身上还散发着咀嚼烟草和擦过油的皮革以及马汗的气味----这是一股各种味道的混杂,她经常把它同父亲联系起来,以致在别人身上闻到时也本能地喜欢。 “爸,不会的,我不是苏伦那种搬弄是非的人,"她请他放心,一面略略向后退了一下,带着嬷嬷的神气端详他的服饰。 杰拉尔德身高只有五英尺多,是个矮个儿,但腰身很壮,脖子很粗,坐着时那模样叫陌生人看了还以为他是个比较高大的人。他那十分笨重的躯干由经常裹在头等皮靴里的短粗的双腿支撑着,而且经常大大分开站着,像个摇摇摆摆的孩子。凡是自己以为了不起的矮人,那模样大都是有点可笑的;可是一只矮脚的公鸡在场地上却备受尊敬,杰拉尔德也就是这样。谁也没有胆量把杰拉尔德当作可笑的矮个儿看待。 他60岁了,一头波浪式的鬈发已经白如银丝,但是他那精明的脸上还没有一丝皱纹,两只蓝眼睛也焕发着青年人无忧无虑的神采,这说明他从来不为什么抽象的问题伤脑筋,只想些简单实际的事,如打扑克时要抓几张牌,等等。他那张纯粹爱尔兰型的脸,同他已离别多年的故乡的那些脸一模一样,是圆圆的、深色的、短鼻子,宽嘴巴,满脸好战的神情。   虽然杰拉尔德•奥哈拉外表粗暴,但心地却十分善良。他不忍心看到奴隶们受惩罚时的可怜相,即使是应该的也罢;也不喜欢听到猫叫或小孩蹄哭。不过他很害怕别人发现他的这个弱点。他还不知道人家遇到他不过五分钟就明白他是好心肠的人了。可是如果他觉察到这一点,他的虚荣心就要大受伤害,因为他喜欢设想,只要自己大喊大叫地发号施令,谁都会战战兢兢地服从呢。他从来不曾想到过,在这个农场里人人都服从的只有一个声音,那就是太太爱伦的柔和的声音。他永远也不会知道这个秘密,因为自爱伦以下直到最粗笨的大田劳工,都在暗中串通一气,让他始终相信自己的话便是圣旨。   思嘉比谁都更不在乎他的脾气和吼叫。她是他的头生孩子,而且杰拉尔德也清楚,在三个儿子相继向进了家庭墓地之后,他不会再有儿子了,因此他已逐渐养成习惯,以男人对男人的态度来对待她,而这是她最乐意接受的。她比几个妹妹更像父亲,因为卡琳生来体格纤弱,多愁善感,而苏伦又自命不凡,总觉得自己文雅,有贵妇人派头。   另个,还有一个相互制约的协议把思嘉和父亲彼此联系在一起。要是杰拉尔德看见女儿爬篱笆而不愿绕道到大门口去,他便当面责备她,但事后并不向爱伦或嬷嬷提起。而思嘉要是发现他在向太太郑重保证之后还照样骑着马跳篱笆,或者从县里人的闲谈中听说他打扑克时输了多少钱,她也不在吃晚饭时像苏伦那样直统统地说起这件事。思嘉和她父亲认真地彼此交代过:谁要是把这种搬到母亲耳边,那只会使她伤心,而无论如何他们也是犯不着这样做的。   如今在擦黑的微光中思嘉望着父亲,也不知为什么她觉得一到他面前心里就舒服了。他身上有一种生气勃勃的粗俗味儿吸引着她。她作为一个最没有分析头脑的人,并不明白这是由于她自己身上也或多或少有着同样品性的缘故,尽管爱伦和嬷嬷花了16年的心血想它抹掉,也终归徒然。   “好了,现在你完全可以出台了,”她说,“我想除非你自己吹牛,谁也不会怀疑你玩过这种花招的。不过我觉得,你去年已经摔坏了膝盖,现在又跳这同一道篱笆——”   “唔,如果我还得靠自己的女儿来告诉我什么地方该跳或不该跳,那可太糟糕了,”他叫嚷着,又在她脸颊上拧了一把。“颈脖了是我自己的,就是这样。另外,姑娘,你光着肩膀在这儿干什么?”   她看到父亲在玩弄他惯用的手法来回避眼前一次不愉快的谈话,便轻轻挽住他的胳臂,一边说:“我在等你呢!没想到你会这么晚才回来。我还以为你把迪尔茜买下来了。”   “买是买下来了,可价钱真要了我的命。买了她和她的小妞儿普里茜。约翰•威尔克斯几乎想把她们送掉,可我决不让人家说杰拉尔德•奥哈拉在买卖中凭友情占了便宜。我叫他把两人共卖了三千。”   “爸爸,我的天,三千哪!再说,你也用不着买普里茜呀!”   “难道该让我自己的女儿公然来评判我?”杰拉尔德用幽默的口吻喊道:“普里茜是个蛮可爱的小妞儿,所以——”   “我知道。她是个又鬼又笨的小家伙,”思嘉不顾父亲的吼叫,只平静地接下去说。“而且,你买下她的主要理由是,迪尔茜英求你买她。”   杰拉尔德似乎倒了威风,显得很尴尬,就像他平常做好事时给抓住了那样,这时思嘉便乐呵呵地笑话起他那伪装的坦率来了。   “不过,就算我这样做了又怎么样?只买来迪尔茜,要是她整天惦记孩子,又有什么用呢?好了,从此我再也不让这里的黑小子跟别处的女人结婚了。那太费钱。来吧,淘气包,咱们进屋去吃晚饭。”   周围的黑影越来越浓,最后一丝绿意也从天空中消失了,春天的温馨已被微微的寒意所取代。可是思嘉还在踌躇,不知怎样才能把话题转到艾希礼身上而又不让杰拉尔德怀疑她的用意。这是困难的,因为从思嘉身上找不出一根随机应变的筋来;同时杰拉尔德也与她十分相似,没有哪一次不识破她的诡计,犹如猜透了他的一样。何况他这样做时是很少拐弯抹角的。   “‘十二橡树’村那边的人都怎样了?”   “大体和往常一样。凯德•卡尔弗特也在那里。我办完迪尔茜的事以后,大家在走廊上喝了几盅棕榈酒。凯德刚刚从亚特兰大来,他们正兴致勃勃,在那里谈论战争,以及——”   思嘉叹了一口气。只要杰拉尔德一谈起战争和脱离联邦这个话题,他不扯上几个小时是不会停下的。她连忙拿另一个话题来岔开。   “他们有没有谈起明天的全牛野宴?”   “我记得是谈起过的。那位小姐——她叫什么名字来着?——就是去年到这里来过的那个小妮子,你知道,艾希礼的表妹——啊,对了,媚兰•汉密尔顿小姐,就叫这个名字——她和她哥哥查尔斯已经从亚特兰大来了,并且——”   “唔,她果真来了?”   “真是个可爱的文静人儿,她来了,总是不声不响,女人家就该这样嘛。走吧,女儿,别磨蹭了,你妈会到处找咱们的。”   思嘉一听到这消息心就沉了。她曾经不顾事实地一味希望会有什么事情把媚兰•汉密尔顿留在亚特兰大,因为她就是那里的人呀;而且听到连父亲也完全跟她的看法相反,满口赞赏媚兰那文静的品性,这就迫使她不得不摊开来谈了。   “艾希礼也在那里吗?”   “他在那里。”杰拉尔德松开女儿的胳膊,转过身来,用犀利的眼光凝视着她的脸。“如果你就是为了这个才出来等我的,那你为什么不直截了当说,却要兜这么大个圈子呢?”   思嘉不知说什么好,只觉得心中一片纷乱,脸都涨得通红了。   “好,说下去。”   她仍是什么也不说,真希望在这种局面下能使劲摇晃自己的父亲叫他闭嘴算了。   “他在,并且像他的几个妹妹那样十分亲切地问候了你,还说希望不会有什么事拖住你不去参加明天的大野宴呢。我当然向他们保证绝不会的,”他机灵地说。“现在你说,女儿,关于你和艾希礼,这到底是怎么回事呀?”   “没什么,”她简地答道,一面拉着他的胳臂。“爸,我们进去吧。”   “现在你倒是要进去了,”他说。“可是我偏要要站在这里,直到我明白你是怎么回事。唔,我想起来了,你最近显得有点奇怪,难道他跟你胡闹来着?他向你求婚了吗?”   “没有,”她简单地回答。   “他是不会的,”杰拉尔德说。   她心中顿时火起,可是杰拉尔德摆了摆手,叫她平静些。   “姑娘!别说了,今天下午我从约翰•威尔克斯那里听说,艾希礼千真万确要跟媚兰小姐结婚。明天晚上就要宣布。”   思嘉的手从他的胳臂上滑下来。果然是真的呀!   她的心头一阵剧痛,仿佛一只野兽用尖牙在咬着她。就在这当儿,她父亲的眼睛死死盯住她,由于面对一个他不知该怎样回答的问题而觉得有点可怜,又颇为气恼。他爱思嘉,可是现在她意把她那些孩子气的问题向他提出来,强求他解决,这就使他很不舒服。爱伦懂得怎样回答这些问题。思嘉本来应当到她那里去诉苦的。   “你这不是在出自己的洋相——出咱们大家的洋相吗?”他厉声说,声音高得像平日发脾气时一样了。“你是在追求一个不爱你的男人了?可这县里有那么多哥儿公你是谁都可以挑选的呀!”   愤怒和受伤的自尊感反而把思嘉心中的痛苦驱走了一部分。   “我并没有追他。只不过——感到吃惊而已。”   “你这是在撒谎!”杰拉尔德大声说,接着,他凝视着她的脸,又突然显得十分慈祥地补充道:“我很难过,女儿。但毕竟你还是个孩子,而且别的小伙子还多着呢。”   “妈妈嫁给你时才15岁呀,现在我都16了,”思嘉嘟嘟哝哝地说。   “你妈妈可不一样,”杰拉尔德说。“她从来不像你这样胡思乱想。好了,女儿,高兴一点,下星期我带你到查尔斯顿去看尤拉莉姨。看看他们那里怎样闹腾萨姆特要塞的事,包你不到一星期就艾希礼忘了。”   “他还把我当孩子看,”思嘉心里想,悲伤和愤怒憋得她说不出话来,“以为只要拿着新玩具在我面前晃两下,我就会把伤痛全忘了呢。”   “好,别跟我作对了,”杰拉尔德警告说。“你要是懂点事,早就该同斯图尔特或者布伦特结婚了。考虑考虑吧,女儿,同这对双胞胎中无论哪一个结婚,两家的农场便可以连成一片,吉姆•塔尔顿和我便会给你们盖一幢漂亮房子,就在两家农场连接的地方,那一大片松林里,而且——”   “别把我当小孩看待了,好吗?”思嘉嚷道。“我不去查尔斯顿,也不要什么房子,或同双胞胎结婚。我只要——”说到这里,她停顿了,但已经为时过晚。   杰拉尔德的声音出奇地平静,他慢吞吞地说着,仿佛是从一个很少使用的思想匣子里把话一字一句地抽出来似的。   “你唯一要的是艾希礼,可是却得不到他。而且即使他要和你结婚,我也未必就乐意应许,无论我同约翰•威尔克斯家有多好的交情。”这时他看到她惊惶的神色,便接着说:“我要让我的女儿幸福,可你同他在一起是不会幸福的。”   “啊,我会的,我会的!”   “女儿,你不会的。只有同一类型的人两相匹配,才有幸福可言。”   思嘉忽然心里起了种恶意,想大声喊出来:“可你不是一直很幸福呀,尽管你和妈并不是同类的人,”不过她把这念头压下去了,生怕他容忍不了这种卤莽行为,给她妈一耳光。   “咱们家的人跟威尔克斯家的人不一样,”他字斟句酌地慢慢说。“威尔克斯家跟咱们所有的邻居——跟我所认识的每家邻居都不一样。他们是些古古怪怪的人,最好是和他们的表姐妹去结婚,让他们一起保持自己的古怪去吧。”   “怎么,爸爸,艾希礼可不是——”   “姑娘!别急呀,我并没说这个年轻人的坏话嘛,因为我喜欢他。我说的古怪,并不就是疯狂的意思。他的古怪并不像卡尔弗特家的人那样,把所有的一切都押在一匹马身上,也不像塔尔顿家的孩子那样每次都喝得烂醉如泥,而且跟方丹家那些狂热的小畜牲也不一样,他们动不动就行凶杀人。那种古怪是容易理解的,而且,老实说吧,要不是上帝保佑,杰拉尔德•奥哈拉很可能样样俱全呢。我也不是说,你如果做了他的妻子,艾希礼会跟别的女人私奔,或者揍你。要是那样,你反而会幸福些,因为你至少懂得那是怎么回事。但他的古怪归于另一种方式,它使你对艾希礼根本无理解可言。我喜欢他,可是对于他所说的那些东西,我几乎全都摸不着头脑。好了,姑娘,老实告诉我,你理解他关于书本、诗歌、音乐、油画以及诸如此类的傻事所说的那些废话吗?”   “啊,爸爸,”思嘉不耐烦地说,“如果我跟他结了婚,我会把这一切都改变过来的!”   “唔,你会,你现在就会?”杰拉尔德暴躁地说,狠狠地瞪了她一眼。“这说明你对世界上任何一个男人都知道得还很少,更何况对艾希礼呢。你可千万别忘了哪个妻子也不曾把丈夫改变一丁点儿啊。至于说改变威尔克斯家的某个人,那简直是笑话,女儿。他们全家都那样,且历来如此。并且大概会永远这样下去了。我告诉你,他们生来就这么古怪。瞧他们今天跑纽约,明天跑波士顿,去听什么歌剧,看什么油画,那个忙乎戏儿!还要从北方佬那儿一大箱一大箱地订购法文和德文书呢!然后他们就坐下来读,坐下来梦想天知道什么玩意儿,这样的大好时光要是像正常人那样用来打猎和玩扑克,该多好呀!”   “可是县里没有骑马得比艾希礼更好的呢,”思嘉对这些尽是诬蔑艾希礼的话十分恼火,便开始辩护起来。“也许他父亲不算,此外一个人也没有。至于打扑克,艾希礼不是上星期在琼期博罗还赢走了你二百美元吗?”   “卡尔佛特家的小子们又在胡扯了,”杰拉尔德不加辩解地说,“要不然你怎会知道这个数目。艾希礼能够跟最出色的骑手骑马,也能跟最出色的牌友玩扑克——我就是最出色的,姑娘!而且我不否认,他喝起酒来能使甚至塔尔顿家的人也醉倒了桌子底下。所有这些他都行,可是他的心不在这上面。这就是我说他为人古怪的原因。”   思嘉默不作声,她的心在往下沉。对于这最后一点,她想不出辩护的话来了,因为她知道杰拉尔德是对的。艾希礼的心不在所有这些他玩得最好的娱乐上。对于大家所最感兴趣的任何事物,他最多只不过出于礼貌,表示爱好而已。   杰拉尔德明白她这的沉默的意思,便拍拍她的臂膀得意地说:“思嘉!好啦!你承认我这话说对了。你要艾希礼这样一个丈夫干什么呢?他们全都是疯疯癫癫的,所有威尔克斯家的人。”接着,他又用讨好的口气说:“刚才我提到塔尔顿家的小伙子们,那可不是挤对他们呀。他们是些好小子,不过,如果你在设法猎取的是,凯德•卡尔弗特,那么,这对我也完全一样。卡尔费特家的人是好样的,他们都是这样,尽管那老头娶了北方佬。等到我过世的时候——别响呀,亲爱的,听我说嘛!我要把塔拉农场留给你和凯德——”   “把凯德用银盘托着送给我,我也不会要,”思嘉气愤地喊道。“我求求你不要硬把他推给我吧!我不要塔拉或别的什么农场。农场一钱不值,要是——”   她正要说“要是你得不到你所想要的人,”可这时杰拉尔德被她那种傲慢的态度激怒了——她居然那样对待他送给他的礼品,那是除爱伦以外他在世界上最宠爱的东西呢,于是他大吼了一声。   “思嘉,你真敢公然对我说,塔拉——这块土地——一钱不值吗?”   思嘉固执地点点头。已经顾不上考虑这是否会惹她父亲大发脾气。因为她内心太痛苦了。   “土地是世界上唯一最值钱的东西啊!”他一面嚷,一面伸开两只又粗又短的胳臂做了非常气愤的姿势,“因为它是世界上唯一持久的东西,而且你千万别忘了,它是唯一值得你付出劳动,进行战斗——牺牲性命的东西啊!”   “啊,爸,”她厌恶地说,“你说这话真像个爱尔兰人哪!”   “我难道为这感到羞耻过吗?不。我感到自豪呢。姑娘可别忘了你是半个爱尔兰人,对于每一个上有一滴爱尔兰血液的人来说,他们居住在土地就像他们的母亲一样。此刻我是在为你感到羞耻啊。我把世界上——咱们祖国的米思除外——最美好的土地给你,可你怎么样呢?你嗤之以鼻嘛!”   杰拉尔德正准备痛痛快快发泄一下心中的怒气。这时他看见思嘉满脸悲伤的神色,便止住了。   “不过,你还年轻。将来你会懂得爱这块土地的。只要你做了爱尔兰人,你是没法摆脱它的。现在你还是个孩子,还只为自己的意中人操心哪。等到你年纪大一些,你就会懂得——现在你要下定决心,究竟是挑选凯德还是那对双胞胎,或者伊凡•芒罗家的一个小伙子,无论谁,到时候看我让你们过得舒舒服服的。”   “啊,爸!”   杰拉尔德这时觉得这番谈话实在厌烦透了,而且一想到这个问题还得由他来解决,便十分恼火。另外,由于思嘉对他所提供的最佳对象和塔拉农场居然无动于衷,还是那么郁郁不乐,也感到委屈得很。他多么希望这些礼物被女儿用鼓掌,亲吻来接受啊!   “好,别撅着嘴生气了。姑娘,无论你嫁给谁,这都没有关系,只要他跟你情投意合,是上等人,又是个有自尊心的南方人就行。女人嘛,结了婚便会产生爱情的。”   “啊,爸!你看你这观念有多旧多土啊!”   “这才是个好观念啊!那种美国式的做法,到处跑呀找呀,要为爱情结婚呀,像些佣人似的,像北方佬似的,有什么意思呢。最好的婚姻是凭父母给女儿选择对象。不然,像你这样的傻丫头,怎能分清楚好人和坏蛋呢。好吧,你看看威尔克斯家。他们凭什么世世代代保持了自己的尊严和兴旺呢?那不就凭的是跟自己的同类人结婚,跟他们家庭所希望的那些表亲结婚啊。”   “啊!”思嘉叫起来,由于杰拉尔德的话把事实的不可避免性说到家了,她心中产生了新的痛苦。杰拉尔德看看她低下的头,很不自在地把两只脚反复挪动着。   “你不是在哭吧?”他问她,笨拙地摸摸她的下巴,想叫她仰起脸来,这时他自己的脸由于怜悯而露出深深的皱纹来了。   “没有!”她猛寺把头扭开,激怒地大叫了。   “你是在撒谎,但我很喜欢这样。我巴不得你为人骄傲一些,姑娘。但愿在明天的大野宴上也看到你的骄傲。我不要全县的人都谈论你和笑话你,说你成天痴心想着一个男人,而那个人却根本无意于你,只维持一般的友谊罢了。”   “他对我是有意的呀,”思嘉想,心里十分难过。“啊,情意深着呢!我知道他真的是这样。我敢断定,只要再有一点点时间,我相信便能叫他亲自说出来——啊,要不是威尔克斯家的人总觉得他们只能同表亲结婚,那就好了!”   杰拉尔德把她的臂膀挽起来。   “咱们要进去吃晚饭了,这件事就不声张,只咱们知道行了。我不会拿它去打扰你妈妈——你也不着跟他说。擤擤鼻涕吧,女儿。”   思嘉用她的破手绢擤了擤鼻涕,然后他们彼此挽着胳臂走上黑暗的车道,那匹马在后面缓缓地跟着。走近屋子时,思嘉正要开口说什么,忽然看见走廊暗影中的母亲。她戴着帽子、披肩和手套,嬷嬷跟在后面,脸色像满天乌云阴沉,手里拿着一个黑皮袋,那是爱伦出去给农奴们看病时经常带着装药品和绷带用的。嬷嬷那片又宽又厚的嘴唇向下耷拉着,她生起来会把下嘴唇拉得有平时两倍那么大。这张嘴现在正撅着,所以思嘉明白嬷嬷正在为什么不称心的事生气呢。   “奥哈拉先生,”爱伦一见父女俩在车道上走来便叫了一声——爱伦是地道的老一辈人,她尽管结结婚17年了,生育了六个孩子,可仍然讲究礼节——她说:“奥哈拉先生,斯莱特里那边有人病了。埃米的新生婴儿快要死了,可是还得他施洗礼。我和嬷嬷去看看还有没有什么办法。”   她的声音带有明显的询问口气,仿佛在征求杰拉尔德的同意,这无非是一种礼节上的表示,但从杰拉尔德看来却是非常珍贵的。   “真的天知道!”杰拉尔德一听便嚷嚷开了,“为什么这些下流白人偏偏在吃晚饭的时候把你叫走呢?而且我正要告诉你亚特兰大那边人们在怎样谈论战争呀!去吧,奥拉太太。我知道,只要外边出了点什么事,你不去帮忙是整夜也睡不好觉的。”   “她总是一点也不休息,深更半夜为黑人和穷白人下流坯子看病,好像他们就照顾不了自己。”嬷嬷自言自语咕哝着下了台阶,向等在道旁的马车走去。   “你就替我照管晚饭吧,亲爱的,”爱伦说,一面用戴手套的手轻轻摸了摸思嘉的脸颊。   不管思嘉怎样强忍着眼中的泪水,她一接触母亲的爱抚,从她绸衣上隐隐闻到那个柠檬色草编香囊中的芳馨,便被那永不失效的魅力感动得震颤起来。对于思嘉来说,爱伦•奥哈拉周围有一种令人吃惊的东西,房子里有一种不可思议的东西同她在一起,使她敬畏、着迷,也使她平静。   杰拉尔德扶他的太太上了马车,吩咐车夫一路小心。车夫托比驾驭杰拉尔德的马已经20年了,他撅着嘴对这种吩咐表示抗议——还用得着你来提醒我这个老把式哪!他赶着车动身子,嬷嬷坐在他身旁,刚好构成一副非洲人撅嘴使气的绝妙图画。   “要是我不给斯莱特里那些下流坯帮那么大的忙——换了别人本来是要报酬的。”杰拉尔德气愤地说,“他们就会愿意把沼泽边上那几英亩赖地卖给我,县里也就会把他们摆脱了。”随后,他面露喜色,想起一个有益的玩笑来:“女儿,来吧,咱们去告诉波克,说我没有买下迪尔茜,而是把他卖给约翰•威尔克斯了。”   他把缰绳扔给站在旁边的一个黑小子,然后大步走上台阶,他已经忘记了思嘉的伤心事,一心想去捉弄他的管家。思嘉跟在他后面,慢腾腾地爬上台阶,两只脚沉重得像铅一般。她想,无论如何,要是她自己和艾希礼结为夫妻,至少不会比她父亲这一对显得更不相称的。如往常那样,她觉得奇怪,怎么这位大喊大叫,没心计的父亲会设法娶上了像她母亲那样的一个女人呢?因为从出身、教养和性格来说,世界上再没有比他们彼此距离更远的两个人了。 Chapter 3 ELLEN O’HARA was thirty-two years old, and, according to the standards of her day, she was amiddle-aged woman, one who had borne six children and buried three. She was a tall woman,standing a head higher than her fiery little husband, but she moved with such quiet grace in herswaying hoops that the height attracted no attention to itself. Her neck, rising from the black taffetasheath of her basque, was creamy-skinned, rounded and slender, and it seemed always tiltedslightly backward by the weight of her luxuriant hair in its net at the back of her head. From herFrench mother, whose parents had fled Haiti in the Revolution of 1791, had come her slanting darkeyes, shadowed by inky lashes, and her black hair; and from her father, a soldier of Napoleon, she had her long straight nose and her square-cut jaw that was softened by the gentle curving of hercheeks. But only from life could Ellen’s face have acquired its look of pride that had nohaughtiness, its graciousness, its melancholy and its utter lack of humor.   She would have been a strikingly beautiful woman had there been any glow in her eyes, anyresponsive warmth in her smile or any spontaneity in her voice that fell with gentle melody on theears of her family and her servants. She spoke in the soft slurring voice of the coastal Georgian,liquid of vowels, kind to consonants and with the barest trace of French accent. It was a voicenever raised in command to a servant or reproof to a child but a voice that was obeyed instantly atTara, where her husband’s blustering and roaring were quietly disregarded.   As far back as Scarlett could remember, her mother had always been the same, her voice softand sweet whether in praising or in reproving, her manner efficient and unruffled despite the dailyemergencies of Gerald’s turbulent household, her spirit always calm and her back unbowed, evenin the deaths of her three baby sons. Scarlett had never seen her mother’s back touch the back ofany chair on which she sat. Nor had she ever seen her sit down without a bit of needlework in herhands, except at mealtime, while attending the sick or while working at the bookkeeping of theplantation. It was delicate embroidery if company were present, but at other times her hands wereoccupied with Gerald’s ruffled shirts, the girls’ dresses or garments for the slaves. Scarlett couldnot imagine her mother’s hands without her gold thimble or her rustling figure unaccompanied bythe small negro girl whose sole function in life was to remove basting threads and carry therosewood sewing box from room to room, as Ellen moved about the house superintending thecooking, the cleaning and the wholesale clothes-making for the plantation.   She had never seen her mother stirred from her austere placidity, nor her personal appointmentsanything but perfect, no matter what the hour of day or night. When Ellen was dressing for a ballor for guests or even to go to Jonesboro for Court Day, it frequently required two hours, two maidsand Mammy to turn her out to her own satisfaction; but her swift toilets in times of emergencywere amazing.   Scarlett, whose room lay across the hall from her mother’s, knew from babyhood the soft soundof scurrying bare black feet on the hardwood floor in the hours of dawn, the urgent tappings on hermother’s door, and the muffled, frightened negro voices that whispered of sickness and birth anddeath in the long row of whitewashed cabins in the quarters. As a child, she often had crept to thedoor and, peeping through the tiniest crack, had seen Ellen emerge from the dark room, whereGerald’s snores were rhythmic and untroubled, into the flickering light of an upheld candle, hermedicine case under her arm, her hair smoothed neatly place, and no button on her basqueunlooped.   It had always been so soothing to Scarlett to hear her mother whisper, firmly butcompassionately, as she tiptoed down the hall: “Hush, not so loudly. You will wake Mr. O’Hara.   They are not sick enough to die.”   Yes, it was good to creep back into bed and know that Ellen was abroad in the night andeverything was right.   In the mornings, after all-night sessions at births and deaths, when old Dr. Fontaine and youngDr. Fontaine were both out on calls and could not be found to help her, Ellen presided at the breakfast table as usual, her dark eyes circled with weariness but her voice and manner revealingnone of the strain. There was a steely quality under her stately gentleness that awed the wholehousehold, Gerald as well as the girls, though he would have died rather than admit it.   Sometimes when Scarlett tiptoed at night to kiss her tall mother’s cheek, she looked up at themouth with its too short, too tender upper lip, a mouth too easily hurt by the world, and wonderedif it had ever curved in silly girlish giggling or whispered secrets through long nights to intimategirl friends. But no, that wasn’t possible. Mother had always been just as she was, a pillar ofstrength, a fount of wisdom, the one person who knew the answers to everything.   But Scarlett wrong, for, years before, Ellen Robillard of Savannah had giggled as inexplicablyasany(was) fifteen-year-old in that charming coastal city and whispered the long nightsthrough with friends, exchanging confidences, telling all secrets but one. That was the year whenGerald O’Hara, twenty-eight years older than she, came into her life—the year, too, when youthand her black-eyed cousin, Philippe Robillard, went out of it. For when Philippe, with his snappingeyes and his wild ways, left Savannah forever, he took with him the glow that was in Ellen’s heartand left for the bandy-legged little Irishman who married her only a gentle shell.   But that was enough for Gerald, overwhelmed at his unbelievable luck in actually marrying her.   And if anything was gone from her, he never missed it. Shrewd man that he was, he knew that itwas no less than a miracle that he, an Irishman with nothing of family and wealth to recommendhim, should win the daughter of one of the wealthiest and proudest families on the Coast. ForGerald was a self-made man.   Gerald had come to America from Ireland when he was twenty-one. He had come hastily, asmany a better and worse Irishman before and since, with the clothes he had on his back, twoshillings above his passage money and a price on his head that he felt was larger than his misdeedwarranted. There was no Orangeman this side of hell worth a hundred pounds to the Britishgovernment or to the devil himself; but if the government felt so strongly about the death of anEnglish absentee landlord’s rent agent, it was time for Gerald O’Hara to be leaving and leavingsuddenly. True, he had called the rent agent “a bastard of an Orangeman,” but that, according toGerald’s way of looking at it, did not give the man any right to insult him by whistling the openingbars of “The Boyne Water.”   The Battle of the Boyne had been fought more than a hundred years before, but, to the O’Harasand their neighbors, it might have been yesterday when their hopes and their dreams, as well astheir lands and wealth, went off in the same cloud of dust that enveloped a frightened and fleeingStuart prince, leaving William of Orange and his hated troops with their orange cockades to cutdown the Irish adherents of the Stuarts.   For this and other reasons, Gerald’s family was not inclined to view the fatal outcome of thisquarrel as anything very serious, except for the fact that it was charged with serious consequences.   For years, the O’Haras had been in bad odor with the English constabulary on account of suspectedactivities against the government, and Gerald was not the first O’Hara to take his foot in his handand quit Ireland between dawn and morning. His two oldest brothers, James and Andrew, he hardlyremembered, save as close-lipped youths who came and went at odd hours of the night on mysterious errands or disappeared for weeks at a time, to their mother’s gnawing anxiety. They hadcome to America years before, after the discovery of a small arsenal of rifles buried under theO’Hara pigsty. Now they were successful merchants in Savannah, “though the dear God aloneknows where that may be,” as their mother always interpolated when mentioning the two oldest ofher male brood, and it was to them that young Gerald was sent.   He left home with his mother’s hasty kiss on his cheek and her fervent Catholic blessing in hisears, and his father’s parting admonition, “Remember who ye are and don’t be taking nothing offno man.” His five tall brothers gave him good-by with admiring but slightly patronizing smiles, forGerald was the baby and the little one of a brawny family.   His five brothers and their father stood six feet and over and broad in proportion, but littleGerald, at twenty-one, knew that five feet four and a half inches was as much as the Lord in Hiswisdom was going to allow him. It was like Gerald that he never wasted regrets on his lack ofheight and never found it an obstacle to his acquisition of anything he wanted. Rather, it wasGerald’s compact smallness that made him what he was, for he had learned early that little peoplemust be hardy to survive among large ones. And Gerald was hardy.   His tall brothers were a grim, quiet lot, in whom the family tradition of past glories, lost forever,rankled in unspoken hate and crackled out in bitter humor. Had Gerald been brawny, he wouldhave gone the way of the other O’Haras and moved quietly and darkly among the rebels againstthe government But Gerald was “loud-mouthed and bullheaded,” as his mother fondly phrased it,hair trigger of temper, quick with his fists and possessed of a chip on his shoulder so large as to bealmost visible to the naked eye. He swaggered among the tall O’Haras like a strutting bantam in abarnyard of giant Cochin roosters, and they loved him, baited him affectionately to hear him roarand hammered on him with their large fists no more than was necessary to keep a baby brother inhis proper place.   If the educational equipment which Gerald brought to America was scant, he did not even knowit. Nor would he have cared if he had been told. His mother had taught him to read and to write aclear hand. He was adept at ciphering. And there his book knowledge stopped. The only Latin heknew was the responses of the Mass and the only history the manifold wrongs of Ireland. He knewno poetry save that of Moore and no music except the songs of Ireland that had come downthrough the years. While he entertained the liveliest respect for those who had more book learningthan he, he never felt his own lack. And what need had he of these things in a new country wherethe most ignorant of bogtrotters had made great fortunes? in this country which asked only that aman be strong and unafraid of work?   Nor did James and Andrew, who took him into their store in Savannah, regret his lack ofeducation. His clear hand, his accurate figures and his shrewd ability in bargaining won theirrespect, where a knowledge of literature and a fine appreciation of music, had young Gerald possessedthem, would have moved them to snorts of contempt. America, in the early years of thecentury, had been kind to the Irish. James and Andrew, who had begun by hauling goods incovered wagons from Savannah to Georgia’s inland towns, had prospered into a store of their own,and Gerald prospered with them.   He liked the South, and he soon became, in his own opinion, a Southerner. There was much about the South—and Southerners—that he would never comprehend; but, with thewholeheartedness that was his nature, he adopted its ideas and customs, as he understood them, forhis own—poker and horse racing, red-hot politics and the code duello, States’ Rights anddamnation to all Yankees, slavery and King Cotton, contempt for white trash and exaggeratedcourtesy to women. He even learned to chew tobacco. There was no need for him to acquire a goodhead for whisky, he had been born with one.   But Gerald remained Gerald. His habits of living and his ideas changed, but his manners hewould not change, even had he been able to change them. He admired the drawling elegance of thewealthy rice and cotton planters, who rode into Savannah from their moss-hung kingdoms,mounted on thoroughbred horses and followed by the carriages of their equally elegant ladies andthe wagons of their slaves. But Gerald could never attain elegance. Their lazy, blurred voices fellpleasantly on his ears, but his own brisk brogue clung to his tongue. He liked the casual grace withwhich they conducted affairs of importance, risking a fortune, a plantation or a slave on the turn ofa card and writing off their losses with careless good humor and no more ado than when theyscattered pennies to pickaninnies. But Gerald had known poverty, and he could never learn to losemoney with good humor or good grace. They were a pleasant race, these coastal Georgians, withtheir soft-voiced, quick rages and their charming inconsistencies, and Gerald liked them. But therewas a brisk and restless vitality about the young Irishman, fresh from a country where winds blewwet and chill, where misty swamps held no fevers, that set him apart from these indolent gentlefolkof semi-tropical weather and malarial marshes.   From them he learned what he found useful, and the rest he dismissed. He found poker the mostuseful of all Southern customs, poker and a steady head for whisky; and it was his natural aptitudefor cards and amber liquor that brought to Gerald two of his three most prized possessions, hisvalet and his plantation. The other was his wife, and he could only attribute her to the mysteriouskindness of God.   The, valet. Pork by name, shining black, dignified and trained in all the arts of sartorialelegance, was the result of an all-night poker game with a planter from St. Simons Island, whosecourage in a bluff equaled Gerald’s but whose head for New Orleans rum did not. Though Pork’sformer owner later offered to buy him back at twice his value, Gerald obstinately refused, for thepossession of his first slave, and that slave the “best damn valet on the Coast,” was the first stepupward toward his heart’s desire, Gerald wanted to be a slave owner and a landed gentleman.   His mind was made up that he was not going to spend all of his days, like Tames and Andrew, inbargaining, or all his nights, by candlelight, over long columns of figures. He felt keenly, as hisbrothers did not, the social stigma attached to those “in trade.” Gerald wanted to be a planter. Withthe deep hunger of an Irishman who has been a tenant on the lands his people once had owned andhunted, he wanted to see his own acres stretching green before his eyes. With a ruthless singlenessof purpose, he desired his own house, his own plantation, his own horse, his own slaves. And herein this new country, safe from the twin perils of the land he had left—taxation that ate up crops andbarns and the ever-present threat of sudden confiscation—he intended to have them. But havingthat ambition and bringing it to realization were two different matters, he discovered as time wentby. Coastal Georgia was too firmly held by an entrenched aristocracy for him ever to hope to winthe place he intended to have.   Then the hand of Fate and a hand of poker combined to give him the plantation which heafterwards called Tara, and at the same time moved him out of the Coast into the upland country ofnorth Georgia.   It was in a saloon in Savannah, on a hot night in spring, when the chance conversation of astranger sitting near by made Gerald prick up his ears. The stranger, a native of Savannah, had justreturned after twelve years in the inland country. He had been one of the winners in the land lotteryconducted by the State to divide up the vast area in middle Georgia, ceded by the Indians the yearbefore Gerald came to America. He had gone up there and established a plantation; but, now thehouse had burned down, he was tired of the “accursed place” and would be most happy to get it offhis hands.   Gerald, his mind never free of the thought of owning a plantation of his own, arranged anintroduction, and his interest grew as the stranger told how the northern section of the state wasfilling up with newcomers from the Carolinas and Virginia. Gerald had lived in Savannah longenough to acquire a viewpoint of the Coast—that all of the rest of the state was backwoods, withan Indian lurking in every thicket. In transacting business for O’Hara Brothers, he had visitedAugusta, a hundred miles up the Savannah River, and he had traveled inland far enough to visit theold towns westward from that city. He knew that section to be as well settled as the Coast, but fromthe stranger’s description, his plantation was more than two hundred and fifty miles inland fromSavannah to the north and west, and not many miles south of the Chattahoochee River. Geraldknew that northward beyond that stream the land was still held by the Cherokees, so it was withamazement that he heard the stranger jeer at suggestions of trouble with the Indians and narratehow thriving towns were growing up and plantations prospering in the new country.   An hour later when the conversation began to lag, Gerald, with a guile that belied the wideinnocence of his bright blue eyes, proposed a game. As the night wore on and the drinks wentround, there came a time when all the others in the game laid down their hands and Gerald and thestranger were battling alone. The stranger shoved in all his chips and followed with the deed to hisplantation. Gerald shoved in all his chips and laid on top of them his wallet. If the money itcontained happened to belong to the firm of O’Hara Brothers, Gerald’s conscience was notsufficiently troubled to confess it before Mass the following morning. He knew what he wanted,and when Gerald wanted something he gained it by taking the most direct route. Moreover, suchwas his faith in his destiny and four deuces that he never for a moment wondered just how themoney would be paid back should a higher hand be laid down across the table.   “It’s no bargain you’re getting and I am glad not to have to pay more taxes on the place,” sighedthe possessor of an “ace full,” as he called for pen and ink. “The big house burned a year ago andthe fields are growing up in brush and seedling pine. But it’s yours.”   “Never mix cards and whisky unless you were weaned on Irish poteen,” Gerald told Porkgravely the same evening, as Pork assisted him to bed. And the valet, who had begun to attempt abrogue out of admiration for his new master, made requisite answer in a combination of Geecheeand County Meath that would have puzzled anyone except those two alone.   The muddy Flint River, running silently between walls of pine and water oak covered withtangled vines, wrapped about Gerald’s new land like a curving arm and embraced it on two sides.   To Gerald, standing on the small knoll where the house had been, this tall barrier of green was asvisible and pleasing an evidence of ownership as though it were a fence that he himself had built tomark his own. He stood on the blackened foundation stones of the burned building, looked downthe long avenue of trees leading toward the road and swore lustily, with a joy too deep for thankfulprayer. These twin lines of somber trees were his, his the abandoned lawn, waist high in weeds underwhite-starred young magnolia trees. The uncultivated fields, studded with tiny pines andunderbrush, that stretched their rolling red-clay surface away into the distance on four sidesbelonged to Gerald O’Hara—were all his because he had an unbefuddled Irish head and thecourage to stake everything on a hand of cards.   Gerald closed his eyes and, in the stillness of the unworked acres, he felt that he had comehome. Here under his feet would rise a house of whitewashed brick. Across the road would be newrail fences, inclosing fat cattle and blooded horses, and the red earth that rolled down the hillside tothe rich river bottom land would gleam white as eiderdown in the sun—cotton; acres and acres ofcotton! The fortunes of the O’Haras would rise again.   With his own small stake, what he could borrow from his unenthusiastic brothers and a neat sumfrom mortgaging the land, Gerald bought his first field hands and came to Tara to live in bachelorsolitude in the four-room overseer’s house, till such a time as the white walls of Tara should rise.   He cleared the fields and planted cotton and borrowed more money from James and Andrew tobuy more slaves. The O’Haras were a clannish tribe, clinging to one another in prosperity as wellas in adversity, not for any overweening family affection but because they had learned throughgrim years that to survive a family must present an unbroken front to the world. They lent Geraldthe money and, in the years that followed, the money came back to them with interest. Graduallythe plantation widened out, as Gerald bought more acres lying near him, and in time the whitehouse became a reality instead of a dream.   It was built by slave labor, a clumsy sprawling building that crowned the rise of groundoverlooking the green incline of pasture land running down to the river; and it pleased Geraldgreatly, for, even when new, it wore a look of mellowed years. The old oaks, which had seenIndians pass under their limbs, hugged the house closely with their great trunks and towered theirbranches over the roof in dense shade. The lawn, reclaimed from weeds, grew thick with cloverand Bermuda grass, and Gerald saw to it that it was well kept. From the avenue of cedars to therow of white cabins in the slave quarters, there was an air of solidness, of stability and permanenceabout Tara, and whenever Gerald galloped around the bend in the road and saw his own roof risingthrough green branches, his heart swelled with pride as though each sight of it were the first sight.   He had done it all, little, hard-headed, blustering Gerald.   Gerald, was on excellent terms with all his neighbors in the County, except the MacIntoshswhose land adjoined his on the left and the Slatterys whose meager three acres stretched on hisright along the swamp bottoms between the river and John Wilkes’ plantation.   The MacIntoshs were Scotch-Irish and Orangemen and, had they possessed all the saintlyqualities of the Catholic calendar, this ancestry would have damned them forever in Gerald’s eyes.   True, they had lived in Georgia for seventy years and, before that, had spent a generation in theCarolinas; but the first of the family who set foot on American shores had come from Ulster, and that was enough for Gerald.   They a close-mouthed and stiff-necked family, who kept strictly to themselves andintermarriedw(were) ith their Carolina relatives, and Gerald was not alone in disliking them, for theCounty people were neighborly and sociable and none too tolerant of anyone lacking in those samequalities. Rumors of Abolitionist sympathies did not enhance the popularity of the Macintoshes.   Old Angus had never manumitted a single slave and had committed the unpardonable social breachof selling some of his negroes to passing slave traders en route to the cane fields of Louisiana, butthe rumors persisted.   “He’s an Abolitionist, no doubt,” observed Gerald to John Wilkes. “But, in an Orangeman, whena principle comes up against Scotch tightness, the principle fares ill.”   The Slatterys were another affair. Being poor white, they were not even accorded the” grudgingrespect that Angus Macintosh’s dour independence wrung from neighboring families. Old Slattery,who clung persistently to his few acres, in spite of repeated offers from Gerald and John Wilkes,shiftless and whining. His wife snarly-haired woman, sickly and washed-out of appe(was) arance,themotherofabroodofsulle(was) n(a) and rabbity-looking children—a brood which wasincreased regularly every year. Tom Slattery owned no slaves, and he and his two oldest boysspasmodically worked their few acres of cotton, while the wife and younger children tended whatwas supposed to be a vegetable garden. But, somehow, the cotton always failed, and the garden,due to Mrs. Slattery’s constant childbearing, seldom furnished enough to feed her flock.   The sight of Tom Slattery dawdling on his neighbors’ porches, begging cotton seed for plantingor a side of bacon to “tide him over,” was a familiar one. Slattery hated his neighbors with whatlittle energy he possessed, sensing their contempt beneath their courtesy, and especially did he hate“rich folks’ uppity niggers.” The house negroes of the County considered themselves superior towhite trash, and their unconcealed scorn stung him, while their more secure position in life stirredhis envy. By contrast with his own miserable existence, they were well-fed, well-clothed andlooked after in sickness and old age. They were proud of the good names of their owners and, forthe most part, proud to belong to people who were quality, while he was despised by all.   Tom Slattery could have sold his farm for three times its value to any of the planters in theCounty. They would have considered it money well spent to rid the community of an eyesore, buthe was well satisfied to remain and to subsist miserably on the proceeds of a bale of cotton a yearand the charity of his neighbors.   With all the rest of the County, Gerald was on terms of amity and some intimacy. The Wilkeses,the Calverts, the Tarletons, the Fontaines, all smiled when the small figure on the big white horsegalloped up their driveways, smiled and signaled for tall glasses in which a pony of Bourbon hadbeen poured over a teaspoon of sugar and a sprig of crushed mint. Gerald was likable, and theneighbors learned in time what the children, negroes and dogs discovered at first sight, that a kindheart, a ready and sympathetic ear and an open pocketbook lurked just behind his. bawling voiceand his truculent manner.   His arrival was always amid a bedlam of hounds barking and small black children shouting asthey raced to meet him, quarreling for the privilege of holding his horse and squirming andgrinning under his good-natured insults. The white children clamored to sit on his knee and be trotted, while he denounced to their elders the infamy of Yankee politicians; the daughters of hisfriends took him into their confidence about their love affairs, and the youths of the neighborhood,fearful of confessing debts of honor upon the carpets of their fathers, found him a friend in need.   “So, you’ve been owning this for a month, you young rascal!” he would shout “And, in God’sname, why haven’t you been asking me for the money before this?”   His rough manner of speech was too well known to give offense, and it only made the youngmen grin sheepishly and reply: “Well, sir, I hated to trouble you, and my father—”   “Your father’s a good man, and no denying it, but strict, and so take this and let’s be hearing nomore of it”   The planters’ ladies were the last to capitulate. But, when Mrs. Wilkes, “a great lady and with arare gift for silence,” as Gerald characterized her, told her husband one evening, after Gerald’shorse had pounded down the driveway. “He has a rough tongue, but he is a gentleman,” Gerald haddefinitely arrived.   He did not know that he had taken nearly ten years to arrive, for it never occurred to him that hisneighbors had eyed him askance at first. In his own mind, there had never been any doubt that hebelonged, from the moment he first set foot on Tara.   When Gerald was forty-three, so thickset of body and florid of face that he looked like a huntingsquire out of a sporting print, it came to him that Tara, dear though it was, and the County folk,with their open hearts and open houses, were not enough. He wanted a wife.   Tara cried out for a mistress. The fat cook, a yard negro elevated by necessity to the kitchen,never had the meals on time, and the chambermaid, formerly a field hand, let dust accumulate onthe furniture and never seemed to have clean linen on hand, so that the arrival of guests was alwaysthe occasion of much stirring and to-do. Pork, the only trained house negro on the place, had generalsupervision over the other servants, but even he had grown slack and careless after severalyears of exposure to Gerald’s happy-go-lucky mode of living. As valet, he kept Gerald’s bedroomin order, and, as butler, he served the meals with dignity and style, but otherwise he pretty well letmatters follow their own course.   With unerring African instinct, the negroes had all discovered that Gerald had a loud bark andno bite at all, and they took shameless advantage of him. The air was always thick with threats ofselling slaves south and of direful whippings, but there never had been a slave sold from Tara andonly one whipping, and that administered for not grooming down Gerald’s pet horse after, a longday’s hunting.   Gerald’s sharp blue eyes noticed how efficiently his neighbors’ houses were run and with whatease the smooth-haired wives in rustling skirts managed their servants. He had no knowledge ofthe dawn-till-midnight activities of these women, chained to supervision of cooking, nursing,sewing and laundering. He only saw the outward results, and those results impressed him.   The urgent need of a wife became clear to him one morning when he was dressing to ride totown for Court Day. Pork brought forth his favorite ruffled shirt, so inexpertly mended by thechambermaid as to be unwearable by anyone except his valet “Mist’ Gerald,” said Pork, gratefully rolling up the shirt as Gerald fumed, “whut you needs is awife, and a wife whut has got plen’y of house niggers.”   Gerald upbraided Pork for his impertinence, hut he knew that he was right He wanted a wife andhe wanted children and, if he did not acquire them soon, it would be too late. But he was not goingto marry just anyone, as Mr. Calvert had done, taking to wife the Yankee governess of hismotherless children. His wife must be a lady and a lady of blood, with as many airs and graces asMrs. Wilkes and the ability to manage Tara as well as Mrs. Wilkes ordered her own domain.   But there were two difficulties in the way of marriage into the County families. The first was thescarcity of girls of marriageable age. The second, and more serious one, was that Gerald was a“new man,” despite his nearly ten years’ residence, and a foreigner. No one knew anything abouthis family. While the society of up-country Georgia was not so impregnable as that of the Coastaristocrats, no family wanted a daughter to wed a man about whose grandfather nothing wasknown.   Gerald knew that despite the genuine liking of the County men with whom he hunted, drank andtalked politics there was hardly one whose daughter he could marry. And he did not intend to haveit gossiped about over supper tables that this, that or the other father had regretfully refused to letGerald O’Hara pay court to his daughter. This knowledge did not make Gerald feel inferior to hisneighbors: Nothing could ever make Gerald feel that he was inferior in any way to anyone. It wasmerely a quaint custom of the County that daughters only married into families who had lived inthe South much longer than twenty-two years, had owned land and slaves and been addicted onlyto the fashionable vices during that time.   “Pack up. We’re going to Savannah,” he told Pork. “And if I hear you say ‘Whist!’ or ‘Faith!’   but once, it’s selling you I’ll be doing, for they are words I seldom say meself.”   James and Andrew might have some advice to offer on this subject of marriage, and there mightbe daughters among their old friends who would both meet his requirements and find himacceptable as a husband. James and Andrew listened to his story patiently but they gave him littleencouragement. They had no Savannah relatives to whom they might look for assistance, for theyhad been married when they came to America. And the daughters of their old friends had longsince married and were raising small children of their own.   “You’re not a rich man and you haven’t a great family,” said James.   “I’ve made me money and I can make a great family. And I won’t be marrying just anyone.”   “You fly high,” observed Andrew, dryly.   But they did their best for Gerald. James and Andrew were old men and they stood well inSavannah. They had many friends, and for a month they carried Gerald from home to home, tosuppers, dances and picnics.   “There’s only one who takes me eye,” Gerald said finally. “And she not even born when Ilanded here.”   “And who is it takes your eye?”   “Miss Ellen Robillard,” said Gerald, trying to speak casually, for the slightly tilting dark eyes of Ellen Robillard had taken more than his eye. Despite a mystifying listlessness of manner, sostrange in a girl of fifteen, she charmed him. Moreover, there was a haunting look of despair abouther that went to his heart and made him more gentle with her than he had ever been with any personin all the world.   “And you old enough to be her father!”   “And me in me prime!” cried Gerald stung.   James spoke gently.   “Jerry, there’s no girl in Savannah you’d have less chance of marrying. Her father is a Robillard,and those French are proud as Lucifer. And her mother—God rest her soul—was a very greatlady.”   “I care not,” said Gerald heatedly. “Besides, her mother is dead, and old man Robillard likesme.”   “As a man, yes, but as a son-in-law, no.”   “The girl wouldn’t have you anyway,” interposed Andrew. “She’s been in love with that wildbuck of a cousin of hers, Philippe Robillard, for a year now, despite her family being at hermorning and night to give him up.”   “He’s been gone to Louisiana this month now,” said Gerald.   “And how do you know?”   “I know,” answered Gerald, who did not care to disclose that Pork had supplied this valuable bitof information, or that Philippe had departed for the West at the express desire of his family. “AndI do not think she’s been so much in love with him that she won’t forget him. Fifteen is too youngto know much about love.”   “They’d rather have that breakneck cousin for her than you.”   So, James and Andrew were as startled as anyone when the news came out that the daughter ofPierre Robillard was to marry the little Irishman from up the country. Savannah buzzed behind itsdoors and speculated about Philippe Robillard, who had gone West, but the gossiping brought noanswer. Why the loveliest of the Robillard daughters should marry a loud-voiced, red-faced littleman who came hardly up to her ears remained a mystery to all.   Gerald himself never quite knew how it all came about. He only knew that a miracle hadhappened. And, for once in his life, he was utterly humble when Ellen, very white but very calm,put a light hand on his arm and said: “I will marry you, Mr. O’Hara.”   The thunderstruck Robillards knew the answer in part, but only Ellen and her mammy everknew the whole story of the night when the girl sobbed till the dawn like a broken-hearted childand rose up in the morning a woman with her mind made up.   With foreboding, Mammy had brought her young mistress a small package, addressed in astrange hand from New Orleans, a package containing a miniature of Ellen, which she flung to thefloor with a cry, four letters in her own handwriting to Philippe Robillard, and a brief letter from aNew Orleans priest, announcing the death of her cousin in a barroom brawl.   “They drove him away. Father and Pauline and Eulalie. They drove him away. I hate them. Ihate them all. I never want to see them again. I want to get away. I will go away where I’ll neversee them again, or this town, or anyone who reminds me of—of—him.”   And when the night was nearly spent, Mammy, who had cried herself out over her mistress’ darkhead, protested, “But, honey, you kain do dat!”   “I will do it. He is a kind man. I will do it or go into the convent at Charleston.”   It was the threat of the convent that finally won the assent of bewildered and heart-strickenPierre Robillard. He was staunchly Presbyterian, even though his family were Catholic, and thethought of his daughter becoming a nun was even worse than that of her marrying Gerald O’Hara.   After all, the man had nothing against him but a lack of family.   So, Ellen, no longer Robillard, turned her back on Savannah, never to see it again, and with amiddle-aged husband, Mammy, and twenty “house niggers” journeyed toward Tara.   The next year, their first child was born and they named her Katie Scarlett, after Gerald’smother. Gerald was disappointed, for he had wanted a son, but he nevertheless was pleased enoughover his small black-haired daughter to serve rum to every slave at Tara and to get roaringly,happily drunk himself.   If Ellen had ever regretted her sudden decision to marry him, no one ever knew it, certainly notGerald, who almost burst with pride whenever he looked at her. She had put Savannah and itsmemories behind her when she left that gently mannered city by the sea, and, from the moment ofher arrival in the County, north Georgia was her home.   When she departed from her father’s house forever, she had left a home whose lines were asbeautiful and flowing as a woman’s body, as a ship in full sail; a pale pink stucco house built in theFrench colonial style, set high from the ground in a dainty manner, approached by swirling stairs,banistered with wrought iron as delicate as lace; a dim, rich house, gracious but aloof.   She had left not only that graceful dwelling but also the entire civilization that was behind thebuilding of it, and she found herself in a world that was as strange and different as if she hadcrossed a continent.   Here in north Georgia was a rugged section held by a hardy people. High up on the plateau atthe foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains, she saw rolling red hills wherever she looked, with hugeoutcroppings of the underlying granite and gaunt pines towering somberly everywhere. It allseemed wild and untamed to her coast-bred eyes accustomed to the quiet jungle beauty of the seaislands draped in their gray moss and tangled green, the white stretches of beach hot beneath asemitropic sun, the long flat vistas of sandy land studded with palmetto and palm.   This was a section that knew the chill of winter, as well as the heat of summer, and there was avigor and energy in the people that was strange to her. They were a kindly people, courteous,generous, filled with abounding good nature, but sturdy, virile, easy to anger. The people of theCoast which she had left might pride themselves on taking all their affairs, even their duels andtheir feuds, with a careless air but these north Georgia people had a streak of violence in them. Onthe coast, life had mellowed—here it was young and lusty and new.   All the people Ellen had known in Savannah might have been cast from the same mold, sosimilar were their view points and traditions, but here was a variety of people. North Georgia’ssettlers were coming in from many different places, from other parts of Georgia, from theCarolinas and Virginia, from Europe and the North. Some of them, like Gerald, were new peopleseeking their fortunes. Some, like Ellen, were members of old families who had found lifeintolerable in their former homes and sought haven in a distant land. Many had moved for noreason at all, except that the restless blood of pioneering fathers still quickened in their veins.   These people, drawn from many different places and with many different backgrounds, gave thewhole life of the County an informality that was new to Ellen, an informality to which she neverquite accustomed herself. She instinctively knew how Coast people would act in any circumstance.   There was never any telling what north Georgians would do.   And, quickening all of the affairs of the section, was the high tide of prosperity then rolling overthe South. All of the world was crying out for cotton, and the new land of the County, unworn andfertile, produced it abundantly. Cotton was the heartbeat of the section, the planting and thepicking were the diastole and systole of the red earth. Wealth came out of the curving furrows, andarrogance came too—arrogance built on green bushes and the acres of fleecy white. If cotton couldmake them rich in one generation, how much richer they would be in the next!   This certainty of the morrow gave zest and enthusiasm to life, and the County people enjoyedlife with a heartiness that Ellen could never understand. They had money enough and slavesenough to give them time to play, and they liked to play. They seemed never too busy to drop workfor a fish fry, a hunt or a horse race, and scarcely a week went by without its barbecue or ball.   Ellen never would, or could, quite become one of them—she had left too much of herself inSavannah—but she respected them and, in time, learned to admire the frankness and forthrightnessof these people, who had few reticences and who valued a man for what he was.   She became the best-loved neighbor in the County. She was a thrifty and kind mistress, a goodmother and a devoted wife. The heartbreak and selflessness that she would have dedicated to theChurch were devoted instead to the service of her child, her household and the man who had takenher out of Savannah and its memories and had never asked any questions.   When Scarlett was a year old, and more healthy and vigorous than a girl baby had any right tobe, in Mammy’s opinion, Ellen’s second child, named Susan Elinor, but always called Suellen, wasborn, and in due time came Carreen, listed in the family Bible as Caroline Irene. Then followedthree little boys, each of whom died before he had learned to walk—three little boys who now layunder the twisted cedars in the burying ground a hundred yards from the house, beneath threestones, each bearing the name of “Gerald O’Hara, Jr.”   From the day when Ellen first came to Tara, the place had been transformed. If she was onlyfifteen years old, she was nevertheless ready for the responsibilities of the mistress of a plantation.   Before marriage, young girls must be, above all other things, sweet, gentle, beautiful and ornamental,but, after marriage, they were expected to manage households that numbered a hundredpeople or more, white and black, and they were trained with that in view.   Ellen had been given this preparation for marriage which any well-brought-up young lady received, and she also had Mammy, who could galvanize the most shiftless negro into energy. Shequickly brought order, dignity and grace into Gerald’s household, and she gave Tara a beauty it hadnever had before.   The house had been built according to no architectural plan whatever, with extra rooms addedwhere and when it seemed convenient, but, with Ellen’s care and attention, it gained a charm thatmade up for its lack of design. The avenue of cedars leading from the main road to the house—thatavenue of cedars without which no Georgia planter’s home could be complete—had a cool darkshadiness that gave a brighter tinge, by contrast, to the green of the other trees. The wistariatumbling over the verandas showed bright against the whitewashed brick, and it joined with thepink crêpe myrtle bushes by the door and the white-blossomed magnolias in the yard to disguisesome of the awkward lines of the house.   In spring time and summer, the Bermuda grass and clover on the lawn became emerald, soenticing an emerald that it presented an irresistible temptation to the flocks of turkeys and whitegeese that were supposed to roam only the regions in the rear of the house. The elders of the flockscontinually led stealthy advances into the front yard, lured on by the green of the grass and theluscious promise of the cape jessamine buds and the zinnia beds. Against their depredations, asmall black sentinel was stationed on the front porch. Armed with a ragged towel, the little negroboy sitting on the steps was part of the picture of Tara—and an unhappy one, for he was forbiddento chunk the fowls and could only flap the towel at them and shoo them.   Ellen set dozens of little black boys to this task, the first position of responsibility a male slavehad at Tara. After they had passed their tenth year, they were sent to old Daddy the plantationcobbler to learn his trade, or to Amos the wheelwright and carpenter, or Phillip the cow man, orCuffee the mule boy. If they showed no aptitude for any of these trades, they became field handsand, in the opinion of the negroes, they had lost their claim to any social standing at all.   Ellen’s life was not easy, nor was it happy, but she did not expect life to be easy, and, if it wasnot happy, that was woman’s lot. It was a man’s world, and she accepted it as such. The manowned the property, and the woman managed it. The man took the credit for the management, andthe woman praised his cleverness. The man roared like a bull when a splinter was in his finger, andthe woman muffled the moans of childbirth, lest she disturb him. Men were rough of speech andoften drunk. Women ignored the lapses of speech and put the drunkards to bed without bitterwords. Men were rude and outspoken, women were always kind, gracious and forgiving.   She had been reared in the tradition of great ladies, which had taught her how to carry herburden and still retain her charm, and she intended that her three daughters should be great ladiesalso. With her younger daughters, she had success, for Suellen was so anxious to be attractive shelent an attentive and obedient ear to her mother’s teachings, and Carreen was shy and easily led.   But Scarlett, child of Gerald, found the road to ladyhood hard.   To Mammy’s indignation, her preferred playmates were not her demure sisters or the wellbrought-up Wilkes girls but the negro children on the plantation and the boys of the neighborhood,and she could climb a tree or throw a rock as well as any of them. Mammy was greatly perturbedthat Ellen’s daughter should display such traits and frequently adjured her to “ack lak a lil lady.”   But Ellen took a more tolerant and long-sighted view of the matter. She knew that from childhood playmates grew beaux in later years, and the first duty of a girl was to get married. She told herselfthat the child was merely full of life and there was still time in which to teach her the arts andgraces of being attractive to men.   To this end, Ellen and Mammy bent their efforts, and as Scarlett grew older she became an aptpupil in this subject, even though she learned little else. Despite a succession of governesses andtwo years at the near-by Fayetteville Female Academy, her education was sketchy, but no girl inthe County danced more gracefully than she. She knew how to smile so that her dimples leaped,how to walk pigeon-toed so that her wide hoop skirts swayed entrancingly, how to look up into aman’s face and then drop her eyes and bat the lids rapidly so that she seemed a-tremble with gentleemotion. Most of all she learned how to conceal from men a sharp intelligence beneath a face assweet and bland as a baby’s.   Ellen, by soft-voiced admonition, and Mammy, by constant carping, labored to inculcate in herthe qualities that would make her truly desirable as a wife.   “You must be more gentle, dear, more sedate,” Ellen told her daughter. “You must not interruptgentlemen when they are speaking, even if you do think you know more about matters than theydo. Gentlemen do not like forward girls.”   “Young misses whut frowns an pushes out dey chins an’ says ‘Ah will’ and ‘Ah woan’ mos’   gener’ly doan ketch husbands,” prophesied Mammy gloomily. “Young misses should cas’ downdey eyes an’ say, Well, suh, Ah mout’ an’ ‘Jes’ as you say, suh.’ ”   Between them, they taught her all that a gentlewoman should know, but she learned only theoutward signs of gentility. The inner grace from which these signs should spring, she never learnednor did she see any reason for learning it. Appearances were enough, for the appearances ofladyhood won her popularity and that was all she wanted. Gerald bragged that she was the belle offive counties, and with some truth, for she had received proposals from nearly all the young men inthe neighborhood and many from places as far away as Atlanta and Savannah.   At sixteen, thanks to Mammy and Ellen, she looked sweet, charming and giddy, but she was, inreality, self-willed, vain and obstinate. She had the easily stirred passions of her Irish father andnothing except the thinnest veneer of her mother’s unselfish and forbearing nature. Ellen neverfully realized that it was only a veneer, for Scarlett always showed her best face to her mother,concealing her escapades, curbing her temper and appearing as sweet-natured as she could inEllen’s presence, for her mother could shame her to tears with a reproachful glance.   But Mammy was under no illusions about her and was constantly alert for breaks in the veneer.   Mammy’s eyes were sharper than Ellen’s, and Scarlett could never recall in all her life havingfooled Mammy for long.   It was not that these two loving mentors deplored Scarlett’s high spirits, vivacity and charm.   These were traits of which Southern women were proud. It was Gerald’s headstrong and impetuousnature in her that gave them concern, and they sometimes feared they would not be able to concealher damaging qualities until she had made a good match. But Scarlett intended to marry—andmarry Ashley—and she was willing to appear demure, pliable and scatterbrained, if those were thequalities that attracted men. Just why men should be this way, she did not know. She only knew that such methods worked. It never interested her enough to try to think out the reason for it, forshe knew nothing of the inner workings of any human being’s mind, not even her own. She knewonly that if she did or said thus-and-so, men would unerringly respond with the complementarythus-and-so. It was like a mathematical formula and no more difficult, for mathematics was the onesubject that had come easy to Scarlett in her schooldays.   If she knew little about men’s minds, she knew even less about the minds of women, for theyinterested her less. She had never had a girl friend, and she never felt any lack on that account. Toher, all women, including her two sisters, were natural enemies in pursuit of the same prey—man.   All women with the one exception of her mother.   Ellen O’Hara was different, and Scarlett regarded her as something holy and apart from all therest of humankind. When Scarlett was a child, she had confused her mother with the Virgin Mary,and now that she was older she saw no reason for changing her opinion. To her, Ellen representedthe utter security that only Heaven or a mother can give. She knew that her mother was theembodiment of justice, truth, loving tenderness and profound wisdom—a great lady.   Scarlett wanted very much to be like her mother. The only difficulty was that by being just andtruthful and tender and unselfish, one missed most of the joys of life, and certainly many beaux.   And life was too short to miss such pleasant things. Some day when she was married to Ashley andold, some day when she had time for it, she intended to be like Ellen. But, until then …   爱伦•奥哈拉现年32岁,依当时的标准已是个中年妇人,她生有六个孩子,但其中三个已经夭折。她高高的,比那位火爆性子的矮个儿丈夫高出一头,不过她的举止是那么文静,走起路来只见那条长裙子轻盈地摇摆,这样也就不显得怎么高了。她那奶酪色的脖颈圆圆的,细细的,从紧身上衣的黑绸圆领中端端正正地伸出来,但由于脑后那把戴着网套的丰盈秀发颇为浓重,便常常显得略后向仰。她母亲是法国人,是一对从1791年革命中逃亡到海地来的夫妇所生,她给爱伦遗传了这双在墨黑睫毛下略略倾斜的黑眼睛和这一头黑发。她父亲是拿破仑军队中的一名士兵,传给她一个长长的、笔直的鼻子和一个有棱有角的方颚,只不过后者在她两颊的柔美曲线的调和下显得不那么惹眼了。同时爱伦的脸也仅仅通过生活才养马了现在这副庄严而并不觉得傲慢的模样,这种优雅,这种忧郁而毫无幽默感的神态。   如果她的眼神中有一点焕发的光采,她的笑容中带有一点殷勤的温煦,她那使儿女和仆人听来感到轻柔的声音中有一点自然的韵味,那她便是一个非常漂亮的女人了。她说话用的是海滨佐治亚人那种柔和而有点含糊的口音,元音是流音,子音咬得不怎么准,略略带法语腔调。这是一种即使命令仆人或斥责儿女时也从不提高的声音,但也是在塔拉农场人人都随时服从的声音,而她的丈夫的大喊大叫在那里却经常被悄悄地忽略了。   从思嘉记得的最早时候起,她母亲便一直是这个样子,她的声音,无论在称赞或者责备别人时,总是那么柔和而甜蜜;她的态度,尽管杰拉尔德在纷纷扰扰的家事中经常要出点乱子,却始终是那么沉着,应付自如;她的精神总是平静的,脊背总是挺直的,甚至在她的三个幼儿夭折时也是这样。思嘉从没见过母亲坐着时将背靠在椅子背上,也从没见过她手里不拿点针线活儿便坐下来(除了吃饭),即使是陪伴病人或审核农场账目的时候。在有客人在场时,她手里是精巧的刺绣,别的时候则是缝制杰拉尔德的衬衫、女孩子的衣裳或农奴们的衣服。思嘉很难想象母亲手上不戴那个金顶针,或者她那一路啊啊啊啊的身影后面没有那个黑女孩,后者一生中唯一的任务是给她拆绷线,以及当爱伦为了检查烹饪、洗涤和大批的缝纫活儿而在满屋子四处乱跑动时,捧着那个红木针线拿儿从一个房间走到另一个房间。   思嘉从未见过母亲庄重安谦的神态被打扰的时候,她个人的衣着也总是那么整整嬷嬷,无论白天黑夜都毫无二致。每当爱伦为了参加舞会,接待客人或者到琼斯博罗去旁听法庭审判而梳妆时,那就得花上两个钟头的时间,让两位女仆和嬷嬷帮着打扮,直到自己满意为止;不过到了紧急时刻,她的梳妆功夫便惊人地加快了。   思嘉的房间在她母亲房间的对面,中间隔着个穿堂。她从小就熟悉了:在天亮前什么时候一个光着脚的黑人急促脚步在硬木地板上轻轻走过,接着是母亲房门上匆忙的叩击声,然后是黑人那低沉而带惊慌的耳语,报告本地区那长排白棚屋里有人生病了,死了,或者养了孩子。那时她还很小,常常爬到门口去,从狭窄的门缝里窥望,看到爱伦从黑暗的房间里出来,同时听到里面杰拉尔德平静而有节奏的鼾声;母亲让黑人手中的蜡烛照着,臂下挟着药品箱,头发已梳得熨熨贴贴,紧身上衣的钮扣也会扣好了。   思嘉听到母亲踮着脚尖轻轻走过厅堂,并坚定而怜悯地低声说:“嘘,别这么大声说话。会吵醒奥哈拉先生的。他们还不至于病得要死吧。"此时,她总有一种安慰的感觉。   是的,她知道爱伦已经摸黑外出,一切正常,便爬回去重新躺到床上睡了。   早晨,经过抢救产妇和婴儿的通宵忙乱----那时老方丹大夫和年轻的方丹大夫都已外出应诊,没法来帮她的忙----然后,爱伦又像通常那样作为主妇在餐桌旁出现了,她那黝黑的眼圆略有倦色,可是声音和神态都没有流露丝毫的紧张感。她那庄重的温柔下面有一种钢铁般的品性,它使包托杰拉尔德和姑娘们在内的全家无不感到敬畏,虽然杰拉尔德宁死也不愿承认这一点。   思嘉有时夜里轻轻走去亲吻高个子母亲的面颊,她仰望着那张上唇显得太短太柔嫩的嘴,那张太容易为世人所伤害的嘴,她不禁暗想它是否也曾像娇憨的姑娘那样格格地笑过,或者同知心的女友通宵达旦喁喁私语。可是,不,这是不可能的。母亲从来就是现在这个模样,是一根力量的支柱,一个智慧的源泉,一位对任何问题都能够解答的人。   但是思嘉错了,因为多年以前,萨凡纳州的爱伦•罗毕拉德也曾像那个迷个的海滨城市里的每一位15岁的姑娘那样格格地笑过,也曾同朋友们通宵达旦喁喁私语,互谈理想,倾诉衷肠,只有一个秘密除外。就是在那一年,比她大28岁的杰拉尔德•奥哈拉闯进了她的生活----也是那一年,青春和她那黑眼睛表兄菲利普•罗毕拉德从她的生活中消退了。   因为,当菲利普连同他那双闪闪发光的眼睛和那种放荡不羁的习性永远离开萨凡纳时,他把爱伦心中的光辉也带走了,只给后来娶她的这位罗圈腿矮个儿爱尔兰人留下了一个温驯的躯壳。   不过对杰拉尔德这也就够了,他还因为真正娶上了她这一难以相信的幸运而吓坏了呢。而且,如果她身上失掉了什么,他也从不觉得可惜。他是个精明人,懂得像他这样一个既无门第又无财产但好吹嘘的爱尔兰人,居然娶到海滨各洲中最富有最荣耀人家的女儿,也算得上是一个奇迹了。要知道,杰拉尔德是个白手起家的人。   21岁那年杰拉尔德来到美国。他是匆匆而来像以前或以后许多好好坏坏的爱尔兰人那样,因为他只带着身上穿的衣服和买船票剩下的两个先令,以及悬赏捉拿他的那个身价,而且他觉得这个身价比他的罪行所应得的还高了一些。世界上还没有一个奥兰治派分子值得英国政府或魔鬼本身出一百镑的;但是如果政府对于一个英国的不在地主地租代理人的死会那么认真,那么杰拉尔德•奥哈拉的突然出走便是适时的了。的确,他曾经称呼过地租代理人为"奥兰治派野崽子"不过,按照杰拉尔德对此事的看法,这并不使那个人就有权哼着《博因河之歌》那开头几句来侮辱他。   博因河战役是一百多年以前的事了,但是在奥哈拉家族和他们的邻里看来,就像昨天发生的事,那时他们的希望和梦想,他们的土地和钱财,都在那团卷着一位惊惶逃路的斯图尔特王子的魔雾中消失了,只留下奥兰治王室的威廉和他那带着奥兰治帽徽的军队来屠杀斯图尔特王朝的爱尔兰依附者了。   由于这个以及别的原因,杰拉尔德的家庭并不想把这场争吵的毁灭结果看得十分严重,只把它看作是一桩有严重影响的事而已。多年来,奥哈拉家与英国警察部门的关系很不好,原因是被怀疑参与了反政府活动,而杰拉尔德并不是奥哈拉家族中头一个暗中离开爱尔兰的人。他几乎想不其他的两个哥哥詹姆斯和安德鲁,只记得两个闷声不响的年轻人,他们时常在深夜来来去去,干一些神秘的钩当,或者一走就是好几个星期,使母亲焦急万分。他们是许多年前人们在奥哈拉家猪圈里发现在一批理藏的来福枪之到美国的。现在他们已在萨凡纳作生意发了家,"虽然只有上帝才知道那地方究竟在哪里"----他们母亲提起这两个大儿子时老是这样说,年轻的杰拉尔德就是给送到两位哥哥这里来的。   离家出走时,母亲在他脸上匆匆吻了一下,并贴着耳朵说了一声天主教的祝福,父亲则给了临别赠言,"要记住自己是谁,不要学别人的样。"他的五位高个子兄弟羡慕而略带关注地微笑着向他道了声再见,因为杰拉尔德在强壮的一家人中是最小和最矮的一个。   他父亲和五个哥哥都身六英尺以上,其粗壮的程度也很相称,可是21岁的小个子杰拉尔德懂得,五英尺四英寸半便是上帝所能赐给他的最大高度了。对杰拉尔德来说,他从不以自己身材矮小而自怨自艾,也从不认为这会阻碍他去获得自己所需要的一切。更确切些不如说,正是杰拉尔德的矮小精干使他成为现在这样,因为他早就明白矮小的人必须在高大者中间顽强地活下去。而杰拉尔德是顽强的。   他那些高个儿哥哥是些冷酷寡言的人,在他们身上,历史光荣的传统已经永远消失,沦落为默默的仇恨,爆裂出痛苦的幽默来了。要是杰拉尔德也生来强壮,他就会走上向奥哈拉家族中其他人的道路,在反政府的行列中悄悄地、神秘地干起来。可杰拉尔德像他母亲钟爱地形容的那样,是个"高嗓门,笨脑袋",嬷嬷暴躁,动辄使拳头,并且盛气凌人,叫人见人怕。他在那些高大的奥哈拉家族的人中间,就像一只神气十足的矮脚鸡在满院子大个儿雄鸡中间那样,故意昂首阔步,而他们都爱护他,亲切地怂恿地高声喊叫,必要时也只伸出他们的大拳头敲他几下,让这位小弟弟不要太得意忘形了。   到美国来之前,杰拉尔德没有受过多少教育,可是他对此并不怎么有自知之明。其实,即使别人给他指出,他也不会在意。他母亲教过他读书写字。他很善于作算术题。他的书本知识就只这些。他唯一懂得的拉丁文是作弥撒时应答牧师的用语,唯一的历史知识则是爱尔兰的种种冤屈。他在诗歌方面,只知道穆尔的作品,音乐则限于历代流传下来的爱尔兰歌曲。他尽管对那些比他较有学问的人怀有敬意,可是从来也不感觉到自己的缺陷。而且,在一个新的国家,在一个连那些最愚昧的爱尔兰人也在此发了大财的 Chapter 4 THAT NIGHT AT SUPPER, Scarlett went through the motions of presiding over the table in hermother’s absence, but her mind was in a ferment over the dreadful news she had heard aboutAshley and Melanie. Desperately she longed for her mother’s return from the Slatterys’, for,without her, she felt lost and alone. What right had the Slatterys and their everlasting sickness totake Ellen away from home just at this time when she, Scarlett, needed her so much?   Throughout the dismal meal, Gerald’s booming voice battered against her ears until she thoughtshe could endure it no longer. He had forgotten completely about his conversation with her thatafternoon and was carrying on a monologue about the latest news from Fort Sumter, which hepunctuated by hammering his fist on the table and waving his arms in the air. Gerald made a habitof dominating the conversation at mealtimes, and usually Scarlett, occupied with her ownthoughts, scarcely heard him; but tonight she could not shut out his voice, no matter how much shestrained to listen for the sound of carriage wheels that would herald Ellen’s return.   Of course, she did not intend to tell her mother what was so heavy on her heart, for Ellen wouldbe shocked and grieved to know that a daughter of hers wanted a man who was engaged to anothergirl. But, in the depths of the first tragedy she had ever known, she wanted the very comfort of hermother’s presence. She always felt secure when Ellen was by her, for there was nothing so bad thatEllen could not better it, simply by being there.   She rose suddenly from her chair at the sound of creaking wheels in the driveway and then sankdown again as they went on around the house to the back yard. It could not be Ellen, for she would alight at the front steps. Then there was an excited babble of negro voices in the darkness of theyard and high-pitched negro laughter. Looking out the window, Scarlett saw Pork, who had left theroom a moment before, holding high a flaring pine knot, while indistinguishable figures descendedfrom a wagon. The laughter and talking rose and fell in the dark night air, pleasant, homely,carefree sounds, gutturally soft, musically shrill. Then feet shuffled up the back-porch stairs andinto the passageway leading to the main house, stopping in the hall just outside the dining room.   There was a brief interval of whispering, and Pork entered, his usual dignity gone, his eyes rollingand his teeth a-gleam.   “Mist’ Gerald,” he announced, breathing hard, the pride of a bridegroom all over his shiningface, “you’ new ‘oman done come.”   “New woman? I didn’t buy any new woman,” declared Gerald, pretending to glare.   “Yassah, you did, Mist’ Gerald! Yassah! An’ she out hyah now wanting ter speak wid you,”   answered Pork, giggling and twisting his hands in excitement.   “Well, bring in the bride,” said Gerald, and Pork, turning, beckoned into the hall to his wife,newly arrived from the Wilkes plantation to become part of the household of Tara. She entered,and behind her, almost hidden by her voluminous calico skirts, came her twelve-year-old daughter,squirming against her mother’s legs.   Dilcey was tall and bore herself erectly. She might have been any age from thirty to sixty, sounlined was her immobile bronze face. Indian blood was plain in her features, overbalancing thenegroid characteristics. The red color of her skin, narrow high forehead, prominent cheek bones,and the hawk-bridged nose which flattened at the end above thick negro lips, all showed themixture of two races. She was self-possessed and walked with a dignity that surpassed evenMammy’s, for Mammy had acquired her dignity and Dilcey’s was in her blood.   When she spoke, her voice was not so slurred as most negroes’ and she chose her words morecarefully.   “Good evenin’, young Misses. Mist’ Gerald, I is sorry to ‘sturb you, but I wanted to come hereand thank you agin fo’ buyin’ me and my chile. Lots of gentlemens might a’ bought me but theywouldn’t a’ bought my Prissy, too, jes’ to keep me frum grievin’ and I thanks you. I’m gwine domy bes’ fo’ you and show you I ain’t forgettin’.”   “Hum—hurrump,” said Gerald, clearing his throat in embarrassment at being caught openly inan act of kindness.   Dilcey turned to Scarlett and something like a smile wrinkled the corners of her eyes. “MissScarlett, Poke done tole me how you ast Mist Gerald to buy me. And so I’m gwine give you myPrissy fo’ yo’ own maid.”   She reached behind her and jerked the little girl forward. She was a brown little creature, withskinny legs like a bird and a myriad of pigtails carefully wrapped with twine sticking stiffly outfrom her head. She had sharp, knowing eyes that missed nothing and a studiedly stupid look on herface.   “Thank you, Dilcey,” Scarlett replied, “but I’m afraid Mammy will have something to say about that. She’s been my maid ever since I was born.”   “Mammy getting ole,” said Dilcey, with a calmness that would have enraged Mammy. “She agood mammy, but you a young lady now and needs a good maid, and my Prissy been maidin’ fo’   Miss India fo’ a year now. She kin sew and fix hair good as a grown pusson.”   Prodded by her mother, Prissy bobbed a sudden curtsy and grinned at Scarlett, who could nothelp grinning back.   “A sharp little wench,” she thought, and said aloud: “Thank you, Dilcey, we’ll see about it whenMother comes home.”   “Thankee, Ma’m. I gives you a good night,” said Dilcey and, turning, left the room with herchild, Pork dancing attendance. The supper things cleared away, Gerald resumed his oration, butwith little satisfaction to himself and none at all to his audience. His thunderous predictions ofimmediate war and his rhetorical questions as to whether the South would stand for further insultsfrom the Yankees only produced faintly bored, “Yes, Papas” and “No, Pas.” Carreen, sitting on ahassock under the big lamp, was deep in the romance of a girl who had taken the veil after herlover’s death and, with silent tears of enjoyment oozing from her eyes, was pleasurably picturingherself in a white coif. Suellen, embroidering on what she gigglingly called her “hope chest,” waswondering if she could possibly detach Stuart Tarleton from her sister’s side at the barbecuetomorrow and fascinate him with the sweet womanly qualities which she possessed and Scarlettdid not. And Scarlett was in a tumult about Ashley.   How could Pa talk on and on about Fort Sumter and the Yankees when he knew her heart wasbreaking? As usual in the very young, she marveled that people could be so selfishly oblivious toher pain and the world rock along just the same, in spite of her heartbreak.   Her mind was as if a cyclone had gone through it, and it seemed strange that the dining roomwhere they sat should be so placid, so unchanged from what it had always been. The heavymahogany table and sideboards, the massive silver, the bright rag rugs on the shining floor were allin their accustomed places, just as if nothing had happened. It was a friendly and comfortable roomand, ordinarily, Scarlett loved the quiet hours which the family spent there after supper; but tonightshe hated the sight of it and, if she had not feared her father’s loudly bawled questions, she wouldhave slipped away, down the dark hall to Ellen’s little office and cried out her sorrow on the oldsofa.   That was the room that Scarlett liked the best in all the house. There, Ellen sat before her tallsecretary each morning, keeping the accounts of the plantation and listening to the reports of JonasWilkerson, the overseer. There also the family idled while Ellen’s quill scratched across herledgers, Gerald in the old rocker, the girls on the sagging cushions of the sofa that was too batteredand worn for the front of the house. Scarlett longed to be there now, alone with Ellen, so she couldput her head in her mother’s lap and cry in peace. Wouldn’t Mother ever come home?   Then, wheels ground sharply on the graveled driveway, and the soft murmur of Ellen’s voicedismissing the coachman floated into the room. The whole group looked up eagerly as she enteredrapidly, her hoops swaying, her face tired and sad. There entered with her the faint fragrance oflemon verbena sachet, which seemed always to creep from the folds of her dresses, a fragrance that was always linked in Scarlett’s mind with her mother. Mammy followed at a few paces, the leatherbag in her hand, her underlip pushed out and her brow lowering. Mammy muttered darkly toherself as she waddled, taking care that her remarks were pitched too low to be understood butloud enough to register her unqualified disapproval.   “I am sorry I am so late,” said Ellen, slipping her plaid shawl from drooping shoulders andhanding it to Scarlett, whose cheek she patted in passing.   Gerald’s face had brightened as if by magic at her entrance.   “Is the brat baptized?” he questioned.   “Yes, and dead, poor thing,” said Ellen. “I feared Emmie would die too, but I think she willlive.”   The girls’ faces turned to her, startled and questioning, and Gerald wagged his headphilosophically.   “Well, ‘tis better so that the brat is dead, no doubt, poor fatherle—”   “It is late. We had better have prayers now,” interrupted Ellen so smoothly that, if Scarlett hadnot known her mother well, the interruption would have passed unnoticed.   It would be interesting to know who was the father of Emmie Slattery’s baby, but Scarlett knewshe would never learn the truth of the matter if she waited to hear it from her mother. Scarlettsuspected Jonas Wilkerson, for she had frequently seen him walking down the road with Emmie atnightfall. Jonas was a Yankee and a bachelor, and the fact that he was an overseer forever barredhim from any contact with the County social life. There was no family of any standing into whichhe could marry, no people with whom he could associate except the Slatterys and riffraff like them.   As he was several cuts above the Slatterys in education, it was only natural that he should not wantto marry Emmie, no matter how often he might walk with her in the twilight.   Scarlett sighed, for her curiosity was sharp. Things were always happening under her mother’seyes which she noticed no more than if they had not happened at all. Ellen ignored all thingscontrary to her ideas of propriety and tried to teach Scarlett to do the same, but with poor success.   Ellen had stepped to the mantel to take her rosary beads from the small inlaid casket in whichthey always reposed when Mammy spoke up with firmness.   “Miss Ellen, you gwine eat some supper befo’ you does any prayin’.”   “Thank you. Mammy, but I am not hungry.”   “Ah gwine fix yo’ supper mahseff an’ you eats it,” said Mammy, her brow furrowed withindignation as she started down the hall for the kitchen. “Poke!” she called, “tell Cookie stir up defiah. Miss Ellen home.”   As the boards shuddered under her weight, the soliloquy she had been muttering in the front hallgrew louder and louder, coming clearly to the ears of the family in the dining room.   “Ah has said time an’ again, it doan do no good doin’ nuthin’ fer w’ite trash. Dey is deshiflesses, mos’ ungrateful passel of no-counts livin’. An’ Miss Ellen got no bizness weahin’   herseff out waitin’ on folks dat did dey be wuth shootin’ dey’d have niggers ter wait on dem. An’ Ah has said—”   Her voice trailed off as she went down the long open passageway, covered only by a roof, thatled into the kitchen. Mammy had her own method of letting her owners know exactly where shestood on all matters. She knew it was beneath the dignity of quality white folks to pay the slightestattention to what a darky said when she was just grumbling to herself. She knew that to uphold thisdignity, they must ignore what she said, even if she stood in the next room and almost shouted. Itprotected her from reproof, and it left no doubt in anyone’s mind as to her exact views on anysubject.   Pork entered the room, bearing a plate, silver and a napkin. He was followed closely by Jack, ablack little boy of ten, hastily buttoning a white linen jacket with one hand and bearing in the othera fly-swisher, made of thin strips of newspaper tied to a reed longer than he was. Ellen had abeautiful peacock-feather fly-brusher, but it was used only on very special occasions and then onlyafter domestic struggle, due to the obstinate conviction of Pork, Cookie and Mammy that peacockfeathers were bad luck.   Ellen sat down in the chair which Gerald pulled out for her and four voices attacked her.   “Mother, the lace is loose on my new ball dress and I want to wear it tomorrow night at TwelveOaks. Won’t you please fix it?”   “Mother, Scarlett’s new dress is prettier than mine and I look like a fright in pink. Why can’t shewear my pink and let me wear her green? She looks all right in pink.”   “Mother, can I stay up for the ball tomorrow night? I’m thirteen now—”   “Mrs. O’Hara, would you believe it— Hush, you girls, before I take me crop to you! CadeCalvert was in Atlanta this morning and he says—will you be quiet and let me be hearing me ownvoice?—and he says it’s all upset they are there and talking nothing but war, militia drilling, troopsforming. And he says the news from Charleston is that they will be putting up with no moreYankee insults.”   Ellen’s tired mouth smiled into the tumult as she addressed herself first to her husband, as a wifeshould.   “If the nice people of Charleston feel that way, I’m sure we will all feel the same way soon,” shesaid, for she had a deeply rooted belief that, excepting only Savannah, most of the gentle blood ofthe whole continent could be found in that small seaport city, a belief shared largely byCharlestonians.   “No, Carreen, next year, dear. Then you can stay up for balls and wear grown-up dresses, andwhat a good time my little pink cheeks will have! Don’t pout, dear. You can go to the barbecue,remember that, and stay up through supper, but no balls until you are fourteen.”   “Give me your gown, Scarlett, I will whip the lace for you after prayers.   “Suellen, I do not like your tone, dear. Your pink gown is lovely and suitable to yourcomplexion, Scarlett’s is to hers. But you may wear my garnet necklace tomorrow night.”   Suellen, behind her mother’s back, wrinkled her nose triumphantly at Scarlett who had beenplanning to beg the necklace for herself. Scarlett put out her tongue at her. Suellen was an annoying sister with her whining and selfishness, and had it not been for Ellen’s restraining hand,Scarlett would frequently have boxed her ears.   “Now, Mr. O’Hara, tell me more about what Mr. Calvert said about Charleston,” said Ellen.   Scarlett knew her mother cared nothing at all about war and politics and thought them masculinematters about which no lady could intelligently concern herself. But it gave Gerald pleasure to airhis views, and Ellen was unfailingly thoughtful of her husband’s pleasure.   While Gerald launched forth on his news. Mammy set the plates before her mistress, golden-topped biscuits, breast of fried chicken and a yellow yam open and steaming, with melted butterdripping from it. Mammy pinched small Jack, and he hastened to his business of slowly swishingthe paper ribbons back and forth behind Ellen. Mammy stood beside the table, watching everyforkful that traveled from plate to mouth, as though she intended to force the food down Ellen’sthroat should she see signs of flagging. Ellen ate diligently, but Scarlett could see that she was tootired to know what she was eating. Only Mammy’s implacable face forced her to it.   When the dish was empty and Gerald only midway in his remarks on the thievishness ofYankees who wanted to free darkies and yet offered no penny to pay for their freedom, Ellen rose.   “We’ll be having prayers?” he questioned, reluctantly.   “Yes. It is so late—why, it is actually ten o’clock,” as the clock with coughing and tinny thumpsmarked the hour. “Carreen should have been asleep long ago. The lamp, please. Pork, and myprayer book, Mammy.”   Prompted by Mammy’s hoarse whisper. Jack set his fly-brush in the corner and removed thedishes, while Mammy fumbled in the sideboard drawer for Ellen’s worn prayer book. Pork,tiptoeing, reached the ring in the chain and drew the lamp slowly down until the table top wasbrightly bathed in light and the ceiling receded into shadows. Ellen arranged her skirts and sank tothe floor on her knees, laying the open prayer book on the table before her and clasping her handsupon it Gerald knelt beside her, and Scarlett and Suellen took their accustomed places on theopposite side of the table, folding their voluminous petticoats in pads under their knees, so theywould ache less from contact with the hard floor. Carreen, who was small for her age, could notkneel comfortably at the table and so knelt facing a chair, her elbows on the seat. She liked thisposition, for she seldom failed to go to sleep during prayers and, in this posture, it escaped hermother’s notice.   The house servants shuffled and rustled in the hall to kneel by the doorway, Mammy groaningaloud as she sank down, Pork straight as a ramrod, Rosa and Teena, the maids, graceful in theirspreading bright calicoes, Cookie gaunt and yellow beneath her snowy head rag, and Jack, stupidwith sleep, as far away from Mammy’s pinching fingers as possible. Their dark eyes gleamedexpectantly, for praying with their white folks was one of the events of the day. The old andcolorful phrases of the litany with its Oriental imagery meant little to them but it satisfied somethingin their hearts, and they always swayed when they chanted the responses: “Lord, have mercyon us,” “Christ, have mercy on us.”   Ellen closed her eyes and began praying, her voice rising and falling, lulling and soothing.   Heads bowed in the circle of yellow light as Ellen thanked God for the health and happiness of her home, her family and her negroes.   When she had finished her prayers for those beneath the roof of Tara, her father, mother, sisters,three dead babies and “all the poor souls in Purgatory,” she clasped her white beads between longfingers and began the Rosary, like the rushing of a soft wind, the responses from black throats andwhite throats rolled back:   “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death.”   Despite her heartache and the pain of unshed tears, a deep sense of quiet and peace fell uponScarlett as it always did at this hour. Some of the disappointment of the day and the dread of themorrow departed from her, leaving a feeling of hope. It was not the lifting up of her heart to Godthat brought this balm, for religion went no more than lip deep with her. It was the sight of hermother’s serene face upturned to the throne of God and His saints and angels, praying for blessingson those whom she loved. When Ellen intervened with Heaven, Scarlett felt certain that Heavenheard.   Ellen finished and Gerald, who could never find his beads at prayer time, began furtivelycounting his decade on his fingers. As his voice droned on Scarlett’s thoughts strayed, in spite ofherself. She knew she should be examining her conscience. Ellen had taught her that at the end ofeach day it was her duty to examine her conscience thoroughly, to admit her numerous faults andpray to God for forgiveness and strength never to repeat them. But Scarlett was examining herheart.   She dropped her head upon her folded hands so that her mother could not see her face, and herthoughts went sadly back to Ashley. How could he be planning to marry Melanie when he reallyloved her, Scarlett? And when he knew how much she loved him? How could he deliberately breakher heart?   Then, suddenly, an idea, shining and new, flashed like a comet through her brain.   “Why, Ashley hasn’t an idea that I’m in love with him!”   She almost gasped aloud in the shock of its unexpectedness. Her mind stood still as if paralyzedfor a long, breathless instant, and then raced forward.   “How could he know? I’ve always acted so prissy and ladylike and touch-me-not around him heprobably thinks I don’t care a thing about him except as a friend. Yes, that’s why he’s neverspoken! He thinks his love is hopeless. And that’s why he’s looked so—”   Her mind went swiftly back to those times when she had caught him looking at her in thatstrange manner, when the gray eyes that were such perfect curtains for his thoughts had been wideand naked and had in them a look of torment and despair.   “He’s been broken hearted because he thinks I’m in love with Brent or Stuart or Cade. Andprobably he thinks that if he can’t have me, he might as well please his family and marry Melanie.   But if he knew I did love him—”   Her volatile spirits shot up from deepest depression to excited happiness. This was the answer toAshley’s reticence, to his strange conduct. He didn’t know! Her vanity leaped to the aid of herdesire to believe, making belief a certainty. If he knew she loved him, he would hasten to her side.   She had only to—“Oh!” she thought rapturously, digging her fingers into her lowered brow. “What a fool I’vebeen not to think of this till now! I must think of some way to let him know. He wouldn’t marryher if he knew I loved him! How could he?”   With a start, she realized that Gerald had finished and her mother’s eyes were on her. Hastily shebegan her decade, telling off the beads automatically but with a depth of emotion in her voice thatcaused Mammy to open her eyes and shoot a searching glance at her. As she finished her prayersand Suellen, then Carreen, began their decades, her mind was still speeding onward with herentrancing new thought.   Even now, it wasn’t too late! Too often the County had been scandalized by elopements whenone or the other of the participating parties was practically at the altar with a third. And Ashley’sengagement had not even been announced yet! Yes, there was plenty of time!   If no love lay between Ashley and Melanie but only a promise given long ago, then why wasn’tit possible for him to break that promise and marry her? Surely he would do it, if he knew that she,Scarlett loved him. She must find some way to let him know. She would find some way! And then—Scarlett came abruptly out of her dream of delight, for she had neglected to make the responsesand her mother was looking at her reprovingly. As she resumed the ritual, she opened her eyesbriefly and cast a quick glance around the room. The kneeling figures, the soft glow of the lamp,the dim shadows where the negroes swayed, even the familiar objects that had been so hateful toher sight an hour ago, in an instant took on the color of her own emotions, and the room seemedonce more a lovely place. She would never forget this moment or this scene!   “Virgin most faithful,” her mother intoned. The Litany of the Virgin was beginning, andobediently Scarlett responded: “Pray for us,” as Ellen praised in soft contralto the attributes of theMother of God.   As always since childhood, this was, for Scarlett, a moment for adoration of Ellen, rather thanthe Virgin. Sacrilegious though it might be, Scarlett always saw, through her closed eyes, theupturned face of Ellen and not the Blessed Virgin, as the ancient phrases were repeated. “Health ofthe Sick,” “Seat of Wisdom,” “Refuge of Sinners,” “Mystical Rose”—they were beautiful becausethey were the attributes of Ellen. But tonight became of the exaltation of her own spirit, Scarlettfound in the whole ceremonial, the softly spoken words, the murmur of the responses, a surpassingbeauty beyond any that she had ever experienced before. And her heart went up to God in sincerethankfulness that a pathway for her feet had been opened—out of her misery and straight to thearms of Ashley.   When the last “Amen” sounded, they all rose, somewhat stiffly, Mammy being hauled to her feetby the combined efforts of Teena and Rosa. Pork took a long spiller from the mantelpiece, lit itfrom the lamp flame and went into the hall. Opposite the winding stair stood a walnut sideboard,too large for use in the dining room, bearing on its wide top several lamps and a long row ofcandles in candlesticks. Pork lit one lamp and three candles and, with the pompous dignity of afirst chamberlain of the royal bedchamber lighting a king and queen to their rooms, he led the procession up the stairs, holding the light high above his head. Ellen, on Gerald’s arm, followedhim, and the girls, each taking her own candlestick, mounted after them.   Scarlett entered her room, set the candle on the tall chest of drawers and fumbled in the darkcloset for the dancing dress that needed stitching. Throwing it across her arm, she crossed the hallquietly. The door of her parents’ bedroom was slightly ajar and, before she could knock, Ellen’svoice, low but stern, came to her ears.   “Mr. O’Hara, you must dismiss Jonas Wilkerson.”   Gerald exploded, “And where will I be getting another overseer who wouldn’t be cheating meout of my eye-teeth?”   “He must be dismissed, immediately, tomorrow morning. Big Sam is a good foreman and he cantake over the duties until you can hire another overseer.”   “Ah, ha!” came Gerald’s voice. “So, I understand! Then the worthy Jonas sired the—”   “He must be dismissed.”   “So, he is the father of Emmie Slattery’s baby,” thought Scarlett “Oh, well. What else can youexpect from a Yankee man and a white-trash girl?”   Then, after a discreet pause which gave Gerald’s splutterings time to die away, she knocked onthe door and handed the dress to her mother.   By the time Scarlett had undressed and blown out the candle, her plan for tomorrow had workeditself out in every detail. It was a simple plan, for, with Gerald’s single-mindedness of purpose, hereyes were centered on the goal and she thought only of the most direct steps by which to reach it.   First, she would be “prideful,” as Gerald had commanded. From the moment she arrived atTwelve Oaks, she would be her gayest, most spirited self. No one would suspect that she had everbeen downhearted because of Ashley and Melanie. And she would flirt with every man there. Thatwould be cruel to Ashley, but it would make him yearn for her all the more. She wouldn’t overlooka man of marriageable age, from ginger-whiskered old Frank Kennedy, who was Suellen’s beau,on down to shy, quiet, blushing Charles Hamilton, Melanie’s brother. They would swarm aroundher like bees around a hive, and certainly Ashley would be drawn from Melanie to join the circle ofher admirers. Then somehow she would maneuver to get a few minutes alone with him, away fromthe crowd. She hoped everything would work out that way, because it would be more difficultotherwise. But if Ashley didn’t make the first move, she would simply have to do it herself.   When they were finally alone, he would have fresh in his mind the picture of the other menthronging about her, he would be newly impressed with the fact that every one of them wanted her,and that look of sadness and despair would be in his eyes. Then she would make him happy againby letting him discover that popular though she was, she preferred him above any other man in allthe world. And when she admitted it, modestly and sweetly, she would look a thousand thingsmore. Of course, she would do it all in a ladylike way. She wouldn’t even dream of saying to himboldly that she loved him—that would never do. But the manner of telling him was a detail thattroubled her not at all. She had managed such situations before and she could do it again.   Lying in the bed with the moonlight streaming dimly over her, she pictured the whole scene in her mind. She saw the look of surprise and happiness that would come over his face when herealized that she really loved him, and she heard the words he would say asking her to be his wife.   Naturally, she would have to say then that she simply couldn’t think of marrying a man when hewas engaged to another girl, but he would insist and finally she would let herself be persuaded.   Then they would decide to run off to Jonesboro that very afternoon and—Why, by this time tomorrow night, she might be Mrs. Ashley Wilkes!   She sat up in bed, hugging her knees, and for a long happy moment she was Mrs. Ashley Wilkes—Ashley’s bride! Then a slight chill entered her heart. Suppose it didn’t work out this way?   Suppose Ashley didn’t beg her to run away with him? Resolutely she pushed the thought from hermind.   “I won’t think of that now,” she said firmly. “If I think of it now, it will upset me. There’s noreason why things won’t come out the way I want them—if he loves me. And I know he does!”   She raised her chin and her pale, black-fringed eyes sparkled in the moonlight. Ellen had nevertold her that desire and attainment were two different matters; life had not taught her that the racewas not to the swift. She lay in the silvery shadows with courage rising and made the plans that asixteen-year-old makes when life has been so pleasant that defeat is an impossibility and a prettydress and a clear complexion are weapons to vanquish fate.   那天吃晚饭时,思嘉因母亲不在代为主持了全部的用餐程序,但是她心中一起纷扰,说什么也放不下她所听到的关于艾希礼和媚兰的那个可怕的消息。她焦急地盼望母亲从斯莱特里家回来,因为母亲一不在场,她便感到孤单和迷惘了。   斯莱特里家和他们闹个不停的病痛,有什么权利就在她思嘉正那么迫切需要母亲的时候把爱伦从家中拉走呢?   这顿不愉快的晚餐自始自终只听见杰拉尔德那低沉的声音在耳边回响,直到她发觉自己已实在无法忍受了为止。他已经完全忘记了那天下午同思嘉的谈话,一个劲儿地在唱独脚戏,讲那个来自萨姆特要塞的最新消息,一面配合声调用拳头在餐桌上敲击,同时不停地挥舞臂膀。杰拉尔德已养成了餐桌上垄断谈话的习惯,但往往思嘉不去听他,只默默地琢磨自己的心事。可是今晚她再也挡不住他的声音了,不管她仍多么紧张地在倾听是否有马车辚辚声说明爱伦回来了。   当然,她并不想将自己心头的沉重负担向母亲倾诉,因为爱伦如果知道了她的女儿想嫁给一个已经同别人订婚的男人,一定会大为震惊和十分痛苦的。不过,她此刻正沉浸在一个前所未有的悲剧中,很需要母亲在一在场便能给予她的那点安慰,每当母亲在身边时,思嘉总觉得安全可靠,因为只要爱伦在,什么糟糕的事都可以弄得好好的。   一听到车道上吱吱的车轮声她便忽地站起身来,接着又坐下,因为马车显然已走到屋后院子里去了。那不可能是爱伦,她是会在前面台阶旁下车的。这时,从黑暗的院子里传来了黑人位兴奋的谈话声和尖利的笑声,思嘉朝窗外望去,看见刚才从屋里出去的波克高擎着一个火光熊熊的松枝火把,照着几个模糊的人影从大车上下来了。笑声和谈话声在黑沉沉的夜雾中时高时低,显得愉快、亲切、随便,这些声音有的沙破而缓和,有的如音乐般嘹亮。接着是后面走廊阶梯上嘈杂的脚步声,渐渐进入通向主楼的过道,直到餐厅外面的穿堂里才停止了。然后,经过片刻的耳语,波克进来了,他那严肃的神气已经消失,眼睛滴溜溜直转,一口雪白的牙齿闪闪发光。   “杰拉尔德先生,"他气喘吁吁地喊道,满脸焕发着新郎的喜气,"您新买的那个女人到了。”“新买的女人?我可不曾买过女人呀!"杰拉尔德声明,装出一副瞠目结舌的模样。   “是有,杰拉尔德先生!您买的,是的!她就在外面,要跟您说话呢。"波克回答说,激动得搓着两只手,吃吃地笑着。   “好,把新娘引进来,"杰拉尔德说。于是波克转过身去,招呼他老婆走进饭厅,这就是刚刚从威尔克斯农场赶来,要在塔拉农场当一名家属的那个女人。她进来了,后面跟随着她那个12岁的女儿----她怯生生地紧挨着母亲的腿,几乎被那件肥大的印花布裙子给遮住了。   身材高大迪尔茜的腰背挺直。她的年纪从外表看不清楚,少到30,多到60,怎么都行。她那张呆板的紫铜色脸上还没有皱纹呢。她的面貌显然带有印第安人血统,这比非洲黑人的特征更为突出。她那红红的皮肤,窄而高的额头,高耸的颧骨,以及下端扁平的鹰钩鼻子(再下面是肥厚的黑人嘴唇),所以这些都说明她是两个种族的混种。她显得神态安祥,走路时的庄重气派甚至超过了嬷嬷,因为嬷嬷的气派是学来的,而迪尔茜却是生成的。   她说话的声音不像大多数黑人那样含糊不清,而且更注意选择字眼。   “小姐,您好。杰拉尔德先生,很抱歉打扰您了,不过俺要来再次谢谢您把俺和俺的孩子一起给买过来。有许多先生要买俺来着,可就不想把俺的百里茜也买下,这会叫俺伤心的。所以俺要谢谢您。俺要尽力给您干活儿,好让您知道俺没有忘记你的大德。”“嗯----嗯,"杰拉尔德应着,不好意思地清了清嗓子,因为他做的这番好事被当众揭开了。   迪尔茜转向思嘉,眼角皱了皱,仿佛露出了一丝微笑。   “思嘉小姐,波克告诉了俺,您要求杰拉尔德先生把俺买过来。   今儿个俺要把俺的百里茜送给您,做您的贴身丫头。"她伸手往后把那个小女孩拉了出来。那是个棕褐色的小家伙,两条腿细得像鸡脚,头上矗立着无数条用细绳精心缠住的小辫儿。她有一双尖利而懂事的、不会漏掉任何东西的眼睛,脸上却故意装出一副傻相。   “迪尔茜,谢谢你!"思嘉答道,“不过我怕嬷嬷要说话的。   我一生来就由她一直在服侍着呢。”   “嬷嬷也老啦,"迪尔茜说,她那平静的语调要是嬷嬷听见了准会生气的。”她是个好嬷嬷,不过像您这样一位大小姐,如今应当有个使唤的丫头才是。俺的百里茜倒是在英迪亚小姐跟前干过一年了。她会缝衣裳,会梳头,能干得像个大人呢。"在母亲的怂恿下百里茜突然向思嘉行了个屈膝礼,然后咧着嘴朝她笑了笑;思嘉也只她回报她一丝笑容。   “好一个机灵的小娼妇,"她想,于是便大声说:“迪尔茜,谢谢你了,等嬷嬷回来之后咱们再谈这事吧。”“小姐,谢谢您。这就请您晚安了,"迪尔茜说完便转过身去,带着她的孩子走了,波克蹦蹦跳跳地跟在后面。   晚餐桌上的东西已收拾完毕,杰拉尔德又开始他的讲演,但好像连自己也并不怎么满意,就更不用说听的人。他令人吃惊地预告战争既将爆发,同时巧妙地询问听众:南方是否还要忍受北方佬的侮辱呢?他所引起的只是些颇不耐烦的回答----"是的,爸爸",或者"不,爸爸,"如此而已。这时卡琳坐在灯底下的矮登上,深深沉浸于一个姑娘在情人死后当尼姑的爱情故事里,同时,眼中噙着欣赏的泪花在惬意地设想自己戴上护士帽的姿容。苏伦一面在她自己笑嘻嘻地称之为"嫁妆箱"的东西上剌绣,一面思忖着在明天的全牲大宴上她可不可能把斯图尔特•塔尔顿从她姐姐身边拉过来,并以她所特有而思嘉恰恰缺少的那种妩媚的女性美把他迷祝思嘉呢,她则早已被艾希礼的问题搅得六神无主了。   爸爸既然知道了她的伤心事,他怎么还能这样喋喋不休地尽谈萨姆特要塞和北方佬呢?像小时候惯常有过的那样,她奇怪人们居然会那样自私,毫不理睬她的痛苦,而且不管她多么伤心,地球仍照样安安稳稳地转动。   仿佛她心里刚刮过了一阵旋风,奇怪的是他们坐着的这个饭厅意显得那么平静,这么与平常一样毫无变化。那张笨重的红木餐桌和那些餐具柜,那块铺在光滑地板上的鲜艳的旧地毯,全都照常摆在原来的地方,就好像什么事也不曾发生似的。这是一间亲切而舒适的餐厅,平日思嘉很爱一家人晚餐后坐在这里时那番宁静的光景;可是今晚她恨它的这副模样,而且,要不是害怕父亲的厉声责问,她早就溜走,溜过黑暗的穿堂到爱伦的小小办事房去了,她在那里可以倒在旧沙发上痛哭一场啊!   整个住宅里那是思嘉最喜爱的一个房间。在那儿,爱伦每天早晨坐在高高的写字台前写着农场的账目,听着监工乔纳斯•威尔克森的报告。那儿也是全家休憩的地方,当爱伦忙着在账簿上刷刷写着时,杰拉尔德躺在那把旧摇椅里养神,姑娘们则坐下陷的沙发势子上----这些沙发已破旧得不好摆在前屋里了。此刻思嘉渴望到那里去,单独同爱伦在一起,好让她把头搁在母亲膝盖上,安安静静地哭一阵子,难道母亲就不回来了吗?   不久,传来车轮轧着石子道的嘎嘎响声,接着是爱伦打发车夫走的声音,她随即就进屋里来了。大家一起抬头望着她迅速走近的身影,她的裙箍左可摇摆,脸色显得疲倦而悲伤。她还带进来一股淡淡的柠檬香味,她的衣服上好像经常散发出这种香味,因此在思嘉心目中它便同母亲连在一起了。   嬷嬷相隔几步也进了饭厅,手里拿着皮包,有意把声音放低到不让人听懂,同时又保持一定的高度,好叫人家知道她反正是不满意。   “这么晚才回来,很抱歉。"爱伦说,一面将披巾从肩头取下来,递给思嘉,同时顺手在她面颊上摸了摸。   杰拉尔德一见她进来便容光焕发了,仿佛施了魔术似的。   “那娃娃给施了洗礼了?”   “可怜的小东西,施了,也死了。"爱伦回答说。"我本来担心埃米也会死,不过现在我想她会活下去的。"姑娘们都朝她望着,满脸流露出惊疑的神色,杰拉尔德却表示达观地摇了摇头。   “唔,对,还是孩子死了好,可怜的没爹娃----”“不早了,现在咱们做祈祷吧,"爱伦那么机灵地打断的杰拉尔德的话,要不是思嘉很了解母亲,谁也不会注意她这一招的用意呢。   究竟谁是埃米•斯莱特里的婴儿的父亲呢?这无颖是个很有趣的问题。但思嘉心里明白,要是等待母亲来说明,那是永远也不会弄清事实真相的。思嘉怀疑是乔纳斯•威尔克森,因为她常常在天快黑时看见他同埃米一起在大路上走。乔纳斯是北方佬,没有老婆,而他既当了监工,便一辈子也参加不了县里的社交活动。正经人家都不会招他做女婿,除了像斯莱特里的那一类的下等人之外,也没有什么人,会愿意同他交往的。由于他在文化程度上比斯莱特里家的人高出一头,他自然不想娶埃米,尽管他也不妨常常在暮色苍茫中同她一起走走。   思嘉叹了口气,因为她的好奇心实太大了。事情常常在她母亲的眼皮底下发生,可是她从不注意,仿佛根本没有发生过似的。对于那些自认为不正当的事情爱伦总是不屑一顾,并且想教导思嘉也这样做,可是没有多大效果。   爱伦向壁炉走去,想从那个小小的嵌花匣子里把念珠取来,这时嬷嬷大声而坚决地说:“爱伦小姐,你还是先吃点东西再去做你的祷告吧!”“嬷嬷,谢谢你,可是我不饿。”“你准备吃吧,俺这就给你弄晚饭,"嬷嬷说,她烦恼地皱着眉头,走出饭厅要到厨房去,一路上喊道:“波克,叫厨娘把火捅一捅。爱伦小姐回来了。”地板在她脚下一路震动,她在前厅唠叨的声音也越来越高以致饭厅里全家人都清清楚楚听见了。   “给那些下流白人做事没啥意思。俺说过多回了,他们全是懒虫,不识好歹。爱伦小姐犯不着辛辛苦苦去伺候这些人。   他们果真值得人伺候,怎么没买几个黑人来使唤呢。俺还说过----"她的声音随着她一路穿过那条长长的、只有顶篷滑栏杆的村道,那是通向厨房的必经之路。嬷嬷总有她自己的办法来让主子们知道她对种种事情究竟抱什么态度。就在她独自嘟囔时她也清楚,要叫上等白人来注意一个黑人的话是有失身份的,她知道,为了保持这种尊严,他们必须不理睬她所说的那些话,即使是站在隔壁房间里大声嚷嚷。如此既可以保证她不受责备,同时又能使任何人都心中明白她在每个问题上都有哪些想法。   波克手里拿着一个盘子、一副刀叉和一条餐巾进来了。他后面紧跟着杰克,一个十岁的黑人男孩,他一只手忙着扣白色的短衫上的钮扣,另一手拿了个拂尘,那是用细细的报纸条儿绑在一根比他还高的苇秆上做成的。爱伦有个只在特殊场合使用的精美的孔雀毛驱蝇帚,而且由于波克、厨娘和嬷嬷都坚信孔雀毛不吉利,给之派上用场是经过一番家庭斗争的。   爱伦在杰拉尔德递过来的哪把椅子上坐下,这时四个声音一起向他发起了攻势。   “妈,我那件新跳舞衣的花边掉了,明天晚上上'十二橡树'村我得穿呀。请给我钉钉好吗?”“妈,思嘉的新舞衣比我的漂亮。我穿那件粉红的太难看了。怎么她就不能穿我那件粉的,让我穿那件绿的呢?她穿粉的很好看嘛。”“妈,明天晚上我也等到散了舞会才走行吗,现在我都13了----”“你相不个信,噢哈拉太太----姑娘们,别响,我要去拿鞭子了!凯德•卡尔弗特今天上午在亚特兰大对我说----你们安静一点好吗?我连自己的声音都听不见了----他说他们那边简直闹翻了天,大家都在谈战争、民兵训练和组织军队一类的事。还说从查尔斯顿传来了消息,他们再也不会容忍北方佬的欺凌了。"爱伦对这场七嘴八舌的喧哗只微微一笑,不过作为妻子,她得首先跟丈夫说几句。   “要是查尔斯顿那边的先生们都这样想,那么我相信咱们大家也很快就会这样看的,"她说,因为她有个根深蒂固的信念,即除了萨凡纳以外,整个大陆的大多数上等人都能在那个小小的海港城市找到,而这个信念查尔斯顿人也大都有的。   “卡琳,不行,亲爱的,明年再说吧。明年你就可以留下来参加舞会,并且穿成人服装,那时我的小美人该多么光彩呀!别撅嘴了,亲爱的。你可以去参加全牲野宴,请记住这一点,并且一直待到晚餐结束;至于舞会满14岁才行。”“把你的衣服给我吧。思嘉,做完祷告我就替你把花边缝上。”“苏伦,我不喜欢你这种腔调,亲爱的。你那件粉红舞衣挺好看,同你的肤色也很相配,就像思嘉配她的那件一样。不过,明晚你可以戴上我的那条石榴红的项链。"苏伦在她母亲背后向思嘉得意地耸了耸鼻子,因为做姐姐的正打算恳求戴那条项链呢。思嘉也无可奈何地对她吐吐舌头,苏伦是个喜欢抱怨而自私得叫人厌烦的妹妹,要不是爱伦管得严,思嘉不知会打她多少次耳光了。   “奥哈拉先生,好了,现在再给我讲讲卡尔费特先生关于查尔斯顿都谈了些什么吧,"爱伦说。   思嘉知道母亲根本不关心战争和政治,并且认为这是男人的事,哪个妇女都不乐意伤这个脑筋。不过杰拉尔德倒是乐得亮亮自己的观点。而爱伦对于丈夫的乐趣总是很认真的。   杰拉尔德正发布他的新闻时,嬷嬷把几个盘子推到女主人面前,里面有焦皮饼干、油炸鸡脯和切开了的热气腾腾的黄甘薯,上面还淌着融化了的黄油呢。嬷嬷拧了小杰克一下,他才赶紧走到爱伦背后,将那个纸条帚儿缓缓地前后摇拂着。   嬷嬷站在餐桌旁,观望着一叉叉食品从盘子里送到爱伦口中,仿佛只要她发现有点迟疑的迹象,便要强迫将这些吃的塞进爱伦的喉咙里。爱伦努力地吃着,但思嘉看得出她,根本不知道自己在吃什么,她实在太疲乏了,只不过嬷嬷那毫不通融的脸色上迫她这样做罢了。   盘子空了,可杰拉尔德才讲了一半呢,他在批评那些要解放黑奴可又不支付出任何代价的北方佬做起事来那么偷偷摸摸时,爱伦站起身来了。   “咱们要做祷告了?"他很不情愿地问。   “是的。这么晚了----已经十点了,你看,"时钟恰好咳嗽似的闷声闷气地敲着钟点。"卡琳早就该睡了。请把灯放下来;波克,还有我的《祈祷书》,嬷嬷。”嬷嬷用沙破的嗓音低声吩咐了一句,杰克便将驱蝇帚放在屋角里,动手收拾桌上的杯盘,嬷嬷也到碗柜抽屉里去摸爱伦那本破旧的《祈祷书》。波克踮着脚尖去开灯,他抓住链条上的铜环把灯慢慢放下,直到桌面上一起雪亮而天花板变得阴暗了为止。爱伦散开裙裾,在地板上屈膝跪下,然后把打开的《祈祷书》放在面前的桌上,再合着双手搁在上面。杰拉尔德跪在她旁边,思嘉和苏伦也在桌子对面各就各位地跪着,把宽大的衬裙折起来盘在膝头下面,免得与地板硬碰硬时更难受。卡琳年纪小,跪在桌旁不方便,因此就面对一把椅子跪下,两只臂肘搁在椅上。她喜欢这个位置,因为每缝作祈祷时她很少不打瞌睡的,而这样的姿势却不容易让母亲发现。   家仆们挨挨挤挤地拥进穿堂,跪在门道里。嬷嬷大声哼哼着倒伏在地上,波克的腰背挺直得像很通条,罗莎和丁娜这两个女仆摆开漂亮的印花裙子,有很好看的跪姿。厨娘戴着雪白的头巾,更加显得面黄肌瘦了。杰克正瞌睡得发傻,可是为了躲避嬷嬷那几只经常拧他的手指,他没有忘记尽可能离她远些。他们的黑眼睛都发出期待的光芒,因为同白人主子们一起做祈祷是一天中的一桩大事呢。至于带有东方意象的祷文中那些古老而生动的语句,对他们并没有多大意义,但能够给予他们内心以各种满足。因此当他们念到"主啊,怜悯我们",“基督啊,怜悯我们"时,也总浑身摇摆,仿佛极为感动。   爱伦闭上眼睛开始祷告,声音时高时低,像催眠又像抚慰。当她为自己的家庭成员和黑人们的健康与幸福而感谢上帝时,那昏黄灯光下的每一个人都把头低了下来。   接着她又为她的父母、姐妹,三个夭折的婴儿以及"涤罪所里所有的灵魂"祈祷,然后用细长的手指握着念珠开始念《玫瑰经》。宛如清风流水,所有黑人和白人的喉咙里都唱出了应答的圣歌声:“圣母马利亚,上帝之母,为我们罪人祈祷吧,现在,以及我们死去的时候。"尽管这个时候思嘉正在伤心和噙着眼泪,她还是深深领略到了往常这个时刻所有的那种宁静的和平。白天经历的部分失望和对明天的恐惧立刻消失了,留下来的一种希望的感觉。但这种安慰不是她那颗升腾到上帝身边的心带来的,因为对于她来说,宗教只不过停留在嘴皮子上而已。给她带来安慰的是母亲仰望上帝圣座和他的圣徒天使们、祈求赐福于她所爱的人时那张宁静的脸。当爱伦同上帝对话时,思嘉坚信上帝一定听见了。   爱伦祷告完,便轮到杰拉尔德。他经常在这种时候找不到念珠,只好偷偷沿着指头计算自己祷告的遍数。他正在嗡嗡地念着时,思嘉的思想便开了小差,自己怎么也控制不住了。她明白应当检查自己的良心。爱伦教育过她,每一天结束时都必须把自己的良心彻底检查一遍,承认自己所有的过失,祈求上帝宽恕并给以力量,做到永不重犯。但是思嘉只检查她的心事。   她把头搁在叠合着的双手上,使母亲无法看见她的脸,于是她的思想便伤心地跑回到艾希礼那儿去了。当他真正爱她的思嘉的时候,他又怎么打算娶媚兰呢?何况他也知道她多么爱他?他怎么能故意伤她的心啊?   接着,一个崭新的念头像颗彗星似的突然在她脑子里掠过。   “怎么,艾希礼并不知道我在爱他呀!”   这个突如起来的念头几乎把她震动得要大声喘息起来。   她的思想木然不动,默无声息,仿佛瘫痪了似的。好一会才继续向前奔跑。   “他怎么能知道呢?我在他面前经常装得那么拘谨,那么庄重,一副'别碰我'的神气,所以他也许认为我一点不把他放在心上,只当作品通朋友而已。对,这就是他从不开口的原因了!他觉得他爱而无望,所以才会显得那样----"她的思路迅速回到了从前的好几次情景,那时她发现他在用一种奇怪的态度瞧着她,那双最善于掩藏思想的灰色眼睛睁得大大的,毫无掩饰,里面饱含着一种痛苦绝望的神情。   “他的心已经伤透了,因为他觉得我在跟布伦特或斯图尔特或凯德恋爱呢。也许他以为如果得不到我,便同媚兰结婚也一样可以叫他家里高兴的。可是,如果他也知道我在爱他----"她轻易多变的心情从沮丧的深渊飞升到快乐的云霄中去了。这就是对于艾希礼的沉默和古怪行为的解释。只因为他不明白呀!她的虚荣心赶来给她所渴望的信念帮忙了,使这一信念变成了千真万确的故事。如果他知道她爱他,他就会赶忙到她身边来。她只消----“啊!”她乐不可支地想,用手指拧着低垂的额头。"瞧我多傻,竟一直没有想到这一层!我得想个办法让他知道。他要是知道我爱他,便不会去娶媚兰了呀!他怎么会呢?"这时,她猛地发觉杰拉尔德的祷告完了,母亲的眼睛正盯着她呢。她赶快开始她那十遍的诵祷,机械地沿着手里的念珠,不过声音中带有深厚的激情,引得嬷嬷瞪着眼睛仔细地打量她。她念完祷告后,苏伦和卡琳相继照章办事,这时她的心仍在那条诱惑人的新思路上向前飞跑。   即使现在,也还不太晚哩!在这个县,那种所谓丢人的私奔事件太常见了,那时当事人的一方或另一方实际上已和一个第三者站到了婚礼台上。何况艾希礼的事连订婚还没有宣布呢?是的,还有的是时间!   假设艾希礼和媚兰之间没有爱情而只有很久以前许下的一个承诺,那他为什么不可能废除那个诺言来同她结婚呢?他准会这么办的,要是他知道她思嘉爱他的话。她必须想法让知道。她一定要想出个办法来!然后----思嘉忽然从欢乐梦中惊醒过来,她疏忽了没有接腔,她母亲正用责备的眼光瞧着她呢。她一面重新跟上仪式,一面睁开眼睛迅速环顾周围,那些跪着的身影,那柔和的灯光,黑人摇摆时那些阴暗的影子,甚至那些在一个钟头之前她看来还很讨厌的熟悉家具,一时之间都涂上了她自己的情绪的色彩,整个房间又显得很可爱了!她永远也不会忘记这个时刻和这番景象!   “最最忠贞的圣母,"母亲吟诵着。现在开始念圣母连祷文了,爱伦用轻柔的低音赞颂圣母的美德,思嘉便随声应答:“为我们祈祷吧。"对思嘉而言,从小以来,这个时刻与其说是崇敬圣母还不如说是崇敬爱伦。尽管这有点亵渎神圣的味道,思嘉阖着眼睛经常看见的还是爱伦那张仰着的脸,而不是古老颂词所反复提到的圣母面容。"病人的健康"、"智慧的中心"、"罪人的庇护"、"神奇的玫瑰"----这些词语之所以美好,就因为它们是爱伦的品性。然而今晚,由于她自己意气昂扬,思嘉发现整个仪式中这些低声说出的词语和含糊不清的答应声有一种她从未经历过的崇高的美。所以她的心升腾到了上帝的身边,并且真诚地感谢为她脚下开辟了一条道路----一条摆脱痛苦和径直走向艾希礼怀抱的道路。   说过最后一声"阿门",大家有点僵痛地站起身来,嬷嬷还是由丁娜和罗莎合力拉起来的。波克从炉台上拿来一根长长的纸捻儿,在灯上点燃了,然后走入穿堂。那螺旋形楼梯的对面摆着个胡桃木碗柜,在饭厅里显得有点大而无当,宽阔的柜顶上放着几只灯盏和插在烛台上的长长一排蜡烛。波克点燃一盏灯和三支蜡烛,然后以一个皇帝寝宫中头等待从照着皇帝和皇后进卧室的庄严神情,高高举起灯盏领着这一群人上楼去。爱伦挎着杰拉尔德的臂膀跟在他后面,姑娘们也各自端着烛台陆续上楼了。   思嘉走进自己房里,把烛台放在高高的五斗柜上,然后在漆黑的壁橱里摸索那件需要修改的舞衣。她把衣服搭在胳臂上,悄悄走过穿堂。她父母卧室的门半开着,她正要去敲门,忽然听到爱伦很低,也很严肃的声音。   “杰拉尔德先生,你得把乔纳斯•威尔克森开除。"杰拉尔德一听便发作起来,”那叫我再到哪里去找个不在我跟着搞鬼的监工呢?”“必须立即开除他,明天早晨就开除。大个儿萨姆是个不错的工头,在找到新的监工以前,可以让他暂时顶替一下。”“啊哈!"杰拉尔德大声说,"我这才明白,原来是这位宝贝乔纳斯生下了----”“必须开除他。”“如此说来,他就是埃米•斯莱特里那个婴儿的父亲喽,”思嘉心想。"唔,好呀。一个北方佬跟一个下流白人的女孩,他们还能干出什么好事来呢?"稍稍停顿了一会,让杰拉尔德的唾沫星子消失之后,思嘉才敲门进去,把衣裳交给母亲。   到思嘉脱掉衣服、吹熄了蜡烛时,她明天准备实行的那个计划已经被安排得十分周密了。这个计划很简单,因为她怀有杰拉尔德那种刻意追求的精神,把注意力集中在那个目标上,只考虑达到这个目标所能采取的最直接的步骤。   第一,她要像杰拉尔德所吩咐的那样,装出一副"傲慢"的神气,从到达“十二橡树”村那一刻起,她就要摆出自己最快乐最豪爽的本性来。谁也不会想到她曾经由于艾希礼和媚兰的事而沮丧过。她还要跟那个县里的每一个男人调情。这会使得艾希礼无法忍受,但却越发爱慕她。她不会放过一个处于结婚年龄的男人,从苏伦的意中人黄胡子的老弗兰克•肯尼迪,一直到羞怯寡言、容易脸红的查尔斯•汉密尔顿,即媚兰的哥哥。他们会聚在她周围,像蜜蜂围着蜂房一样,而且艾希礼也一定会被吸引从媚兰那边跑过来,加入这个崇拜她的圈子。然后,她当然要耍点手腕,按排他离开那一伙,单独同她待几分钟。她希望一切都会进行得那样顺利,要不然就困难了。可是,如果艾希礼不首先行动起来呢,那她就只好干脆自己动手了。   待到他们终于单独在一起时,他对于别的男人挤在她周围那番情景当然记忆犹新,当然会深深感到他们每个人确实很想要她,于是他便会流露出那种悲伤绝望的神色。那时她要叫他发现,尽管受到那么多人爱慕,她在世界上却只喜欢他一个人,这样他便会重新愉快起来。她只要又娇媚又含蓄地承认了这一点,她便会显得身价百倍,更叫人看重了。当然,她要以一种很高尚的姿态来做这些。她连做梦也不会公然对他说她爱他----这是绝对不行的啊!不过,究竟用什么样的态度告诉他,这只是枝节问题,根本用不着太操心。她以前不知道处理过多少这样的场面,现在再来一次就是了。   躺在床上,她全身沐浴着朦胧的月光,心里揣摩着通盘的情景。她仿佛看见他明白真正爱他时脸上流露的那种又惊又喜的表情,还仿佛听见他身她求婚时要说的那番话。   自然,那时她就得说,既然一个男人已经跟别的姑娘订婚,她便根本谈不上同他结婚了,不过他会坚持不放,最后她只得让自己说服了。于是他们决定当天下午逃到琼斯博罗去,并且----瞧,明天晚上这时候她也许已经是艾希礼•威尔克斯夫人了!   她这时索性翻身坐起来,双手紧抱着膝盖,一味神往地想象着,有好一会俨然做起艾希礼•威尔克斯夫人----艾希礼的新娘来了!接着,一丝凉意掠过她的心头。假如事情不照这个样子发展呢?假如艾希礼并不恳求她一起逃走呢?她断然把这个想法从心里推出去了。   “现在我不去想它,"她坚定地说。"要是我现在就想到这一点,它便会推翻我的整套计划。没有任何理由不让事情按照我所要求的方式去发展----要是他爱我的话。而我知道他是爱我的!"她抬起下巴,月光下闪烁着那双暗淡而带黑圈的眼睛。爱伦从没告诉过她愿望和实瑞是两件不同的事;生活也没教育过她捷足者不一定先登。她躺在银白的月色中怀着高涨的勇气,设想自己的计划,这个计划出自一个16岁的姑娘,那时她已过惯了惬意的日子,认为根本不可能有什么失败,认为只要有一件新的衣裳和一张清舶的面孔当武器,就能击溃命运! Chapter 5 IT WAS TEN O’CLOCK in the morning. The day was warm for April and the golden sunlightstreamed, brilliantly into Scarlett’s room through the blue curtains of the wide windows. Thecream-colored walls glowed with light and the depths of the mahogany furniture gleamed deep redlike wine, while the floor glistened as if it were glass, except where the rag rugs covered it andthey were spots of gay color.   Already summer was in the air, the first hint of Georgia summer when the high tide of springgives way reluctantly before a fiercer heat. A balmy, soft warmth poured into the room, heavy withvelvety smells, redolent of many blossoms, of newly fledged trees and of the moist, freshly turnedred earth. Through the window Scarlett could see the bright riot of the twin lanes of daffodilsbordering the graveled driveway and the golden masses of yellow jessamine spreading flowerysprangles modestly to the earth like crinolines. The mockingbirds and the jays, engaged in their oldfeud for possession of the magnolia tree beneath her window, were bickering, the jays strident,acrimonious, the mockers sweet voiced and plaintive.   Such a glowing morning usually called Scarlett to the window, to lean arms on the broad sill anddrink in the scents and sounds of Tara. But, today she had no eye for sun or azure sky beyond ahasty thought, “Thank God, it isn’t raining.” On the bed lay the apple-green, watered-silk balldress with its festoons of ecru lace, neatly packed in a large cardboard box. It was ready to becarried to Twelve Oaks to be donned before the dancing began, but Scarlett shrugged at the sight ofit. If her plans were successful, she would not wear that dress tonight. Long before the ball began,she and Ashley would be on their way to Jonesboro to be married. The troublesome question was —what dress should she wear to the barbecue?   What dress would best set off her charms and make her most irresistible to Ashley? Since eighto’clock she had been trying on and rejecting dresses, and now she stood dejected and irritable inlace pantalets, linen corset cover and three billowing lace and linen petticoats. Discarded garmentslay about her on the floor, the bed, the chairs, in bright heaps of color and straying ribbons.   The rose organdie with long pink sash was becoming, but she had worn it last summer whenMelanie visited Twelve Oaks and she’d be sure to remember it. And might be catty enough tomention it. The black bombazine, with its puffed sleeves and princess lace collar, set off her whiteskin superbly, but it did make her look a trifle elderly. Scarlett peered anxiously in the mirror at hersixteen-year-old face as if expecting to see wrinkles and sagging chin muscles. It would never doto appear sedate and elderly before Melanie’s sweet youthfulness. The lavender barred muslin wasbeautiful with those wide insets of lace and net about the hem, but it had never suited her type. Itwould suit Carreen’s delicate profile and wishy-washy expression perfectly, but Scarlett felt that itmade her look like a schoolgirl. It would never do to appear schoolgirlish beside Melanie’s poisedself. The green plaid taffeta, frothing with flounces and each flounce edged in green velvet ribbon,was most becoming, in fact her favorite dress, for it darkened her eyes to emerald. But there wasunmistakably a grease spot on the front of the basque. Of course, her brooch could be pinned overthe spot, but perhaps Melanie had sharp eyes. There remained varicolored cotton dresses whichScarlett felt were not festive enough for the occasion, ball dresses and the green sprigged muslinshe had worn yesterday. But it was an afternoon dress. It was not suitable for a barbecue, for it hadonly tiny puffed sleeves and the neck was low enough for a dancing dress. But there was nothingelse to do but wear it. After all she was not ashamed of her neck and arms and bosom, even if itwas not correct to show them in the morning.   As she stood before the mirror and twisted herself about to get a side view, she thought thatthere was absolutely nothing about her figure to cause her shame. Her neck was short but roundedand her arms plump and enticing. Her breasts, pushed high by her stays, were very nice breasts.   She had never had to sew tiny rows of silk ruffles in the lining of her basques, as most sixteenyear-old girls did, to give their figures the desired curves and fullness. She was glad she hadinherited Ellen’s slender white hands and tiny feet, and she wished she had Ellen’s height, too, buther own height pleased her very well. What a pity legs could not be shown, she thought, pulling upher petticoats and regretfully viewing them, plump and neat under pantalets. She had such nicelegs. Even the girls at the Fayetteville Academy had admitted as much. And as for her waist—therewas no one in Fayetteville, Jonesboro or in three counties, for that matter, who had so small awaist.   The thought of her waist brought her back to practical matters. The green muslin measuredseventeen inches about the waist, and Mammy had laced her for the eighteen-inch bombazine.   Mammy would have to lace her tighter. She pushed open the door, listened and heard Mammy’sheavy tread in the downstairs hall. She shouted for her impatiently, knowing she could raise hervoice with impunity, as Ellen was in the smokehouse, measuring out the day’s food to Cookie.   “Some folks thinks as how Ah kin fly,” grumbled Mammy, shuffling up the stairs. She enteredpuffing, with the expression of one who expects battle and welcomes it. In her large black handswas a tray upon which food smoked, two large yams covered with butter, a pile of buckwheat cakes dripping syrup, and a large slice of ham swimming in gravy. Catching sight of Mammy’sburden, Scarlett’s expression changed from one of minor irritation to obstinate belligerency. In theexcitement of trying on dresses she had forgotten Mammy’s ironclad rule that, before going to anyparty, the O’Hara girls must be crammed so full of food at home they would be unable to eat anyrefreshments at the party.   “It’s no use. I won’t eat it. You can just take it back to the kitchen.”   Mammy set the tray on the table and squared herself, hands on hips.   “Yas’m, you is! Ah ain’ figgerin’ on havin’ happen whut happen at dat las’ barbecue w’en Ahwuz too sick frum dem chittlins Ah et ter fetch you no tray befo’ you went. You is gwine eat eve’ybite of dis.”   “I am not! Now, come here and lace me tighter because we are late already. I heard the carriagecome round to the front of the house.”   Mammy’s tone became wheedling.   “Now, Miss Scarlett, you be good an’ come eat jes’a lil. Miss Carreen an’ Miss Suellen done eatall dey’n.”   “They would,” said Scarlett contemptuously. “They haven’t any more spirit than a rabbit. But Iwon’t! I’m through with trays. I’m not forgetting the time I ate a whole tray and went to theCalverts’ and they had ice cream out of ice they’d brought all the way from Savannah, and Icouldn’t eat but a spoonful. I’m going to have a good time today and eat as much as I please.”   At this defiant heresy, Mammy’s brow lowered with indignation. What a young miss could doand what she could not do were as different as black and white in Mammy’s mind; there was nomiddle ground of deportment between. Suellen and Carreen were clay in her powerful hands andharkened respectfully to her warning. But it had always been a struggle to teach Scarlett that mostof her natural impulses were unladylike. Mammy’s victories over Scarlett were hard-won andrepresented guile unknown to the white mind.   “Ef you doan care ‘bout how folks talks ‘bout dis fambly, Ah does,” she rumbled. “Ah ain’   gwine stand by an’ have eve’ybody at de pahty sayin’ how you ain’ fotched up right. Ah has toleyou an’ tole you dat you kin allus tell a lady by dat she eat lak a bird. An’ Ah ain’ aimin’ ter haveyou go ter Mist’ Wilkes’ an’ eat lak a fe’el han’ an’ gobble lak a hawg.”   “Mother is a lady and she eats,” countered Scarlett.   “W’en you is mahied, you kin eat, too,” retorted Mammy. “Wen Miss Ellen yo’ age, she never etnuthin’ w’en she went out, an’ needer yo’ Aunt Pauline nor yo’ Aunt Eulalie. An’ dey all donemahied. Young misses whut eats heavy mos’ generly doan never ketch husbands.”   “I don’t believe it. At that barbecue when you were sick and I didn’t eat beforehand, AshleyWilkes told me he liked to see a girl with a healthy appetite.”   Mammy shook her head ominously.   “Whut gempmums says an’ whut dey thinks is two diffunt things. An’ Ah ain’ noticed Mist’   Ashley axing fer ter mahy you.”   Scarlett scowled, started to speak sharply and then caught herself. Mammy had her there andthere was no argument. Seeing the obdurate look on Scarlett’s face, Mammy picked up the trayand, with the bland guile of her race, changed her tactics. As she started for the door, she sighed.   “Well’m, awright. Ah wuz tellin’ Cookie w’ile she wuz a-fixin’ dis tray, ‘You kin sho tell a ladyby whut she doan eat,’ an’ Ah say ter Cookie, ‘Ah ain’ seed no w’ite lady who et less’n Miss MellyHamilton did las’ time she wuz visitin’ Mist’ Ashley’—Ah means, visitin’ Miss India.”   Scarlett shot a look of sharp suspicion at her, but Mammy’s broad face carried only a look ofinnocence and of regret that Scarlett was not the lady Melanie Hamilton was.   “Put down that tray and come lace me tighter,” said Scarlett irritably. “And I’ll try to eat a littleafterwards. If I ate now I couldn’t lace tight enough.”   Cloaking her triumph, Mammy set down the tray.   “Whut mah lamb gwine wear?”   “That,” answered Scarlett, pointing at the fluffy mass of green flowered muslin. InstantlyMammy was in arms.   “No, you ain’. It ain’ fittin’ fer mawnin’. You kain show yo’ buzzum befo’ three o’clock an’ datdress ain’ got no neck an’ no sleeves. An’ you’ll git freckled sho as you born, an’ Ah ain’ figgerin’   on you gittin’ freckled affer all de buttermilk Ah been puttin’ on you all dis winter, bleachin’ demfreckles you got at Savannah settin’ on de beach. Ah sho gwine speak ter yo’ Ma ‘bout you.”   “If you say one word to her before I’m dressed I won’t eat a bite,’ said Scarlett coolly. “Motherwon’t have time to send me back to change once I’m dressed.”   Mammy sighed resignedly, beholding herself outguessed. Between the two evils, it was better tohave Scarlett wear an afternoon dress at a morning barbecue than to have her gobble like a hog.   “Hole onter sumpin’ an’ suck in yo’ breaf,” she commanded.   Scarlett obeyed, bracing herself and catching firm hold of one of the bedposts. Mammy pulledand jerked vigorously and, as the tiny circumference of whalebone-girdled waist grew smaller, aproud, fond look came into her eyes.   “Ain’ nobody got a wais’ lak mah lamb,” she said approvingly. “Eve’y time Ah pulls MissSuellen littler dan twenty inches, she up an’ faint.”   “Pooh!” gasped Scarlett, speaking with difficulty. “I never fainted in my life.”   “Well, ‘twouldn’ do no hahm ef you wuz ter faint now an’ den,” advised Mammy. “You is sobrash sometimes, Miss Scarlett. Ah been aimin’ ter tell you, it jes’ doan look good de way you‘doan faint ‘bout snakes an’ mouses an’ sech. Ah doan mean round home but w’en you is out incomp’ny. An’Ah has tole you an’—”   “Oh, hurry! Don’t talk so much. I’ll catch a husband. See if I don’t, even if I don’t scream andfaint. Goodness, but my stays are tight! Put on the dress.”   Mammy carefully dropped the twelve yards of green sprigged muslin over the mountainouspetticoats and hooked up the back of the tight, low-cut basque.   “You keep yo’ shawl on yo’ shoulders w’en you is in de sun, an’ doan you go takin’ off yo’ hatw’en you is wahm,” she commanded. “Elsewise you be comin’ home lookin’ brown lak Ole MizSlattery. Now, you come eat, honey, but doan eat too fas’. No use havin’ it come right back upagin.”   Scarlett obediently sat down before the tray, wondering if she would be able to get any food intoher stomach and still have room to breathe. Mammy plucked a large towel from the washstand andcarefully tied it around Scarlett’s neck, spreading the white folds over her lap. Scarlett began onthe ham, because she liked ham, and forced it down.   “I wish to Heaven I was married,” she said resentfully as she attacked the yams with loathing.   ‘Tin tired of everlastingly being unnatural and never doing anything I want to do. I’m tired ofacting like I don’t eat more than a bird, and walking when I want to run and saying I feel faint aftera waltz, when I could dance for two days and never get tired. I’m tired of saying, ‘How wonderfulyou are!’ to fool men who haven’t got one-half the sense I’ve got, and I’m tired of pretending Idon’t know anything, so men can tell me things and feel important while they’re doing it ... I can’teat another bite.”   “Try a hot cake,” said Mammy inexorably.   “Why is it a girl has to be so silly to catch a husband?”   “Ah specs it’s kase gempmums doan know whut dey wants. Dey jes’ knows whut dey thinks deywants. An’ givin’ dem whut dey thinks dey wants saves a pile of mizry an’ bein’ a ole maid. An’   dey thinks dey wants mousy lil gals wid bird’s tastes an’ no sense at all. It doan make a gempmumfeel lak mahyin’ a lady ef he suspicions she got mo’ sense dan he has.”   “Don’t you suppose men get surprised after they’re married to find that their wives do havesense?”   “Well, it’s too late den. Dey’s already mahied. ‘Sides, gempmums specs dey wives ter havesense.”   “Some day I’m going to do and say everything I want to do and say, and if people don’t like it Idon’t care.”   “No, you ain’,” said Mammy grimly. “Not while Ah got breaf. You eat dem cakes. Sop dem inde gravy, honey.”   “I don’t think Yankee girls have to act like such fools. When we were at Saratoga last year, Inoticed plenty of them acting like they had right good sense and in front of men, too.”   Mammy snorted.   “Yankee gals! Yas’m, Ah guess dey speaks dey minds awright, but Ah ain’ noticed many of demgittin’ proposed ter at Saratoga.”   “But Yankees must get married,” argued Scarlett. “They don’t just grow. They must get marriedand have children. There’s too many of them.”   “Men mahys dem fer dey money,” said Mammy firmly.   Scarlett sopped the wheat cake in the gravy and put it in her mouth. Perhaps there was something to what Mammy said. There must be something in it, for Ellen said the same things, indifferent and more delicate words. In fact, the mothers of all her girl friends impressed on theirdaughters the necessity of being helpless, clinging, doe-eyed creatures. Really, it took a lot of senseto cultivate and hold such a pose. Perhaps she had been too brash. Occasionally she-had arguedwith Ashley and frankly aired her opinions. Perhaps this and her healthy enjoyment of walking andriding had turned him from her to the frail Melanie. Perhaps if she changed her tactics— But shefelt that if Ashley succumbed to premeditated feminine tricks, she could never respect him as shenow did. Any man who was fool enough to fall for a simper, a faint and an “Oh, how wonderfulyou are!” wasn’t worth having. But they all seemed to like it.   If she had used the wrong tactics with Ashley in the past—well, that was the past and done with.   Today she would use different ones, the right ones. She wanted him and she had only a few hoursin which to get him. If fainting, or pretending to faint, would do the trick, then she would faint. Ifsimpering, coquetry or empty-headedness would attract him, she would gladly play the flirt and bemore empty-headed than even Cathleen Calvert. And if bolder measures were necessary, she wouldtake them. Today was the day!   There was no one to tell Scarlett that her own personality, frighteningly vital though it was, wasmore attractive than any masquerade she might adopt. Had she been, told, she would have beenpleased but unbelieving. And the civilization of which she was a part would have been unbelievingtoo, for at no time, before or since, had so low a premium been placed on feminine naturalness.   As the carriage bore her down the red road toward the Wilkes plantation, Scarlett had a feeling ofguilty pleasure that neither her mother nor Mammy was with the party. There would be no one atthe barbecue who, by delicately lifted brows or out-thrust underlip, could interfere with her plan ofaction. Of course, Suellen would be certain to tell tales tomorrow, but if an went as Scarlett hoped,the excitement of the family over her engagement to Ashley or her elopement would more thanoverbalance their displeasure. Yes, she was very glad Ellen had been forced to stay at home.   Gerald, primed with brandy, had given Jonas Wilkerson his dismissal that morning and Ellenhad remained at Tara to go over the accounts of the plantation before he took his departure. Scarletthad kissed her mother good-by in the little office where she sat before the tall secretary with itspaper-stuffed pigeonholes. Jonas Wilkerson, hat in hand, stood beside her, his sallow tight-skinnedface hardly concealing the fury of hate that possessed him at being so unceremoniously turned outof the best overseer’s job in the County. And all because of a bit of minor philandering. He hadtold Gerald over and over that Emmie Slattery’s baby might have been fathered by any one of adozen men as easily as himself—an idea in which Gerald concurred—but that had not altered hiscase so far as Ellen was concerned. Jonas hated all Southerners. He hated their cool courtesy tohim and their contempt for his social status, so inadequately covered by their courtesy. He hatedEllen O’Hara above anyone else, for she was the epitome of all that he hated in Southerners.   Mammy, as head woman of the plantation, had remained to help Ellen, and it was Dilcey whorode on the driver’s seat beside Toby, the girls’ dancing dresses in a long box across her lap. Geraldrode beside the carriage on his big hunter, warm with brandy and pleased with himself for havinggotten through with the unpleasant business of Wilkerson so speedily. He had shoved the re sponsibility onto Ellen, and her disappointment at missing the barbecue and the gathering of herfriends did not enter his mind; for it was a fine spring day and his fields were beautiful and thebirds were singing and he felt too young and frolicsome to think of anyone else. Occasionally heburst out with “Peg in a Low-backed Car” and other Irish ditties or the more lugubrious lament forRobert Emmet, “She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps.”   He was happy, pleasantly excited over the prospect of spending the day shouting about theYankees and the war, and proud of his three pretty daughters in their bright spreading hoop skirtsbeneath foolish little lace parasols. He gave no thought to his conversation of the day before withScarlett, for it had completely slipped his mind. He only thought that she was pretty and a greatcredit to him and that, today, her eyes were as green as the hills of Ireland. The last thought madehim think better of himself, for it had a certain poetic ring to it, and so he favored the girls with aloud and slightly off-key rendition of “The Wearin’ o’ the Green.”   Scarlett, looking at him with the affectionate contempt that mothers feel for small swaggeringsons, knew that he would be very drunk by sundown. Coming home in the dark, he would try, asusual, to jump every fence between Twelve Oaks and Tara and, she hoped, by the mercy ofProvidence and the good sense of his horse, would escape breaking his neck. He would disdain thebridge and swim his horse through the river and come home roaring, to be put to bed on the sofa inthe office by Pork who always waited up with a lamp in the front hall on such occasions.   He would ruin his new gray broadcloth suit, which would cause him to swear horribly in themorning and tell Ellen at great length how his horse fell off the bridge in the darkness—a palpablelie which would fool no one but which would be accepted by all and make him feel very clever.   Pa is a sweet, selfish, irresponsible darling, Scarlett thought, with a surge of affection for him.   She felt so excited and happy this morning that she included the whole world, as well as Gerald, inher affection. She was pretty and she knew it; she would have Ashley for her own before the daywas over; the sun was warm and tender and the glory of the Georgia spring was spread before hereyes. Along the roadside the blackberry brambles were concealing with softest green the savagered gulches cut by the winter’s rains, and the bare granite boulders pushing up through the redearth were being draped with sprangles of Cherokee roses and compassed about by wild violets ofpalest purple hue. Upon the wooded hills above the river, the dogwood blossoms lay glistening andwhite, as if snow still lingered among the greenery. The flowering crab trees were bursting theirbuds and rioting from delicate white to deepest pink and, beneath the trees where the sunshinedappled the pine straw, the wild honeysuckle made a varicolored carpet of scarlet and orange androse. There was a faint wild fragrance of sweet shrub on the breeze and the world smelted goodenough to eat.   “I’ll remember how beautiful this day is till I die,” thought Scarlett. “Perhaps it will be mywedding day!”   And she thought with a tingling in her heart how she and Ashley might ride swiftly through thisbeauty of blossom and greenery this very afternoon, or tonight by moonlight, toward Jonesboroand a preacher. Of course, she would have to be remarried by a priest from Atlanta, but that wouldbe something for Ellen and Gerald to worry about. She quailed a little as she thought how whitewith mortification Ellen would be at hearing that her daughter had eloped with another girl’s fiancé, but she knew Ellen would forgive her when she saw her happiness. And Gerald wouldscold and bawl but, for all his remarks of yesterday about not wanting her to marry Ashley, hewould be pleased beyond words at an alliance between his family and the Wilkes.   “But that’ll be something to worry about after I’m married,” she thought, tossing the worry fromher.   It was impossible to feel anything but palpitating joy in this warm sun, in this spring, with thechimneys of Twelve Oaks just beginning to show on the hill across the river.   “I’ll live there all my life and I’ll see fifty springs like this and maybe more, and I’ll tell mychildren and my grandchildren how beautiful this spring was, lovelier than any they’ll ever see.”   She was so happy at this thought that she joined in the last chorus of “The Wearin’ o’ the Green”   and won Gerald’s shouted approval.   “I don’t know why you’re so happy this morning,” said Suellen crossly, for the thought stillrankled in her mind that she would look far better in Scarlett’s green silk dancing frock than itsrightful owner would. And why was Scarlett always so selfish about lending her clothes andbonnets? And why did Mother always back her up, declaring green was not Suellen’s color? “Youknow as well as I do that Ashley’s engagement is going to be announced tonight. Pa said so thismorning. And I know you’ve been sweet on him for months.”   “That’s all you know,” said Scarlett, putting out her tongue and refusing to lose her good humor.   How surprised Miss Sue would be by this time tomorrow morning!   “Susie, you know that’s not so,” protested Carreen, shocked. “It’s Brent that Scarlett caresabout.”   Scarlett turned smiling green eyes upon her younger sister, wondering how anyone could be sosweet. The whole family knew that Carreen’s thirteen-year-old heart was set upon Brent Tarleton,who never gave her a thought except as Scarlett’s baby sister. When Ellen was not present, theO’Haras teased her to tears about him.   “Darling, I don’t care a thing about Brent,” declared Scarlett, happy enough to be generous.   “And he doesn’t care a thing about me. Why, he’s waiting for you to grow up!”   Carreen’s round little face became pink, as pleasure struggled with incredulity.   “Oh, Scarlett, really?”   “Scarlett, you know Mother said Carreen was too young to think about beaux yet, and there yougo putting ideas in her head.”   “Well, go and tattle and see if I care,” replied Scarlett. “You want to hold Sissy back, becauseyou know she’s going to be prettier than you in a year or so.”   “You’ll be keeping civil tongues in your heads this day, or I’ll be taking me crop to you,”   warned Gerald. “Now whist! Is it wheels I’m hearing? That’ll be the Tarletons or the Fontaines.”   As they neared the intersecting road that came down the thickly wooded hill from Mimosa andFairhill, the sound of hooves and carriage wheels became plainer and clamorous feminine voicesraised in pleasant dispute sounded from behind the screen of trees. Gerald, riding ahead, pulled up his hone and signed to Toby to stop the carriage where the two roads met.   “ ‘Tis the Tarleton ladies,” he announced to his daughters, his florid face abeam, for exceptingEllen there was no lady in the County he liked more than the red-haired Mrs. Tarleton. “And ‘tisherself at the reins. Ah, there’s a woman with fine hands for a horse! Feather light and strong asrawhide, and pretty enough to kiss for all that. More’s the pity none of you have such hands,” headded, casting fond but reproving glances at his girls. “With Carreen afraid of the poor beasts andSue with hands tike sadirons when it comes to reins and you, Puss—”   “Well, at any rate I’ve never been thrown,” cried Scarlett indignantly. “And Mrs. Tarleton takesa toss at every hunt.”   “And breaks a collar bone like a man,” said Gerald. “No fainting, no fussing. Now, no more ofit, for here she comes.”   He stood up in his stirrups and took off his hat with sweep, as the Tarleton carriage, overflowing with girls in bright dresses and parasols and flutteri(a) ng veils, came into view, with Mrs.   Tarleton on the box as Gerald had said. With her four daughters, their mammy and their balldresses in long cardboard boxes crowding the carriage, there was no room for the coachman. And,besides, Beatrice Tarleton never willingly permitted anyone, black or white, to hold reins when herarms were out of slings. Frail, fine-boned, so white of skin that her flaming hair seemed to havedrawn all the color from her face into its vital burnished mass, she was nevertheless possessed ofexuberant health and untiring energy. She had borne eight children, as red of hair and as full of lifeas she, and had raised them most successfully, so the County said, because she gave them all theloving neglect and the stem discipline she gave the colts she bred. “Curb them but don’t break theirspirits,” was Mrs. Tarleton’s motto.   She loved horses and talked horses constantly. She understood them and handled them betterthan any man in the County. Colts overflowed the paddock onto the front lawn, even as her eightchildren overflowed the rambling house on the hill, and colts and sons and daughters and huntingdogs tagged after her as she went about the plantation. She credited her horses, especially her redmare, Nellie, with human intelligence; and if the cares of the house kept her busy beyond the timewhen she expected to take her daily ride, she put the sugar bowl in the hands of some smallpickaninny and said: “Give Nellie a handful and tell her I’ll be out terrectly.”   Except on rare occasions she always wore her riding habit, for whether she rode or not shealways expected to ride and in that expectation put on her habit upon arising. Each morning, rainor shine, Nellie was saddled and walked up and down in front of the house, waiting for the timewhen Mrs. Tarleton could spare hour away from her duties. But Fairhill was a difficult plantationtomanageandsparetime(an) hard to get, and more often than not Nellie walked up anddown riderless hour after hour, while Beatrice Tarleton went through the day with the skirt of herhabit absently looped over her arm and six inches of shining boot showing below it.   Today, dressed in dull black silk over unfashionably narrow hoops, she still looked as though inher habit, for the dress was as severely tailored as her riding costume and the small black hat withHa long black plume perched over one warm, twinkling, brown eye was a replica of the batteredold hat she used for hunting.   She waved her whip when she saw Gerald and drew her dancing pair of red horses to a halt, andthe four girls in the back of the carriage leaned out and gave such vociferous cries of greeting thatthe team pranced in alarm. To a casual observer it would seem that years had passed since theTarletons had seen the O’Haras, instead of only two days. But they were a sociable family andliked their neighbors, especially the O’Hara girls. That is, they liked Suellen and Carreen. No girlin the County, with the possible exception of the empty-headed Cathleen Calvert, really likedScarlett.   In summers, the County averaged a barbecue and ball nearly every week, but to the red-hairedTarletons with their enormous capacity for enjoying themselves, each barbecue and each ball wasas exciting as if it were the fast they had ever attended. They were a pretty, buxom quartette, socrammed into the carriage that their hoops and flounces overlapped and their parasols nudged andbumped together above their wide leghorn sun hats, crowned with roses and dangling with blackvelvet chin ribbons. All shades of red hair were represented beneath these hats, Hetty’s plain redhair, Camilla’s strawberry blonde, Randa’s coppery auburn and small Betsy’s carrot top.   “That’s a fine bevy. Ma’m,” said Gerald gallantly, reining his horse alongside the carriage. “Butit’s far they’ll go to beat their mother.”   Mrs. Tarleton rolled her red-brown eyes and sucked in her tower lip in burlesqued appreciation,and the girls cried, “Ma, stop making, eyes or well tell Pa!” “I vow, Mr. O’Hara, she never gives usa chance when there’s a handsome man like you around!”   Scarlett laughed with the rest at these sallies but, as always, the freedom with which theTarletons treated their mother came as a shock. They acted as if she were one of themselves andnot a day over sixteen. To Scarlett, the very idea of saying such things to her own mother was almostsacrilegious. And yet—and yet—there was something very pleasant about the Tarleton girls’   relations with their mother, and they adored her for all that they criticized and scolded and teasedher. Not, Scarlett loyally hastened to tell herself, that she would prefer a mother like Mrs. Tarletonto Ellen, but still it would be fun to romp with a mother. She knew that even that thought wasdisrespectful to Ellen and felt ashamed of it. She knew no such troublesome thoughts everdisturbed the brains under the four flaming thatches in the carriage and, as always when she feltherself different from her neighbors, an irritated confusion fell upon her.   Quick though her brain was, it was not made for analysis, but she half-consciously realized that,for all the Tarleton girls were as unruly as colts and wild as March hares, there was an unworriedsingle-mindedness about them that was part of their inheritance. On both their mother’s and theirfather’s side they were Georgians, north Georgians, only a generation away from pioneers. Theywere sure of themselves and of their environment. They knew instinctively what they were about,as did the Wilkeses, though in widely divergent ways, and in them there was no such conflict asfrequently raged in Scarlett’s bosom where the blood of a soft-voiced, overbred Coast aristocratmingled with the shrewd, earthy blood of an Irish peasant. Scarlett wanted to respect and adore hermother like an idol and to rumple her hair and tease her too. And she knew she should bealtogether one way or the other. It was the same conflicting emotion that made her desire to appeara delicate and high-bred lady with boys and to be, as well, a hoyden who was not above a fewkisses.   “Where’s Ellen this morning?” asked Mrs. Tarleton.   “She’s after discharging our overseer and stayed home to go over the accounts with him.   Where’s himself and the lads?”   “Oh, they rode over to Twelve Oaks hours ago—to sample the punch and see if it was strongenough, I dare say, as if they wouldn’t have from now till tomorrow morning to do it! I’m going toask John Wilkes to keep them overnight, even if he has to bed them down in the stable. Five menin their cups are just too much for me. Up to three, I do very well but—”   Gerald hastily interrupted to change the subject He could feel his own daughters snickeringbehind his back as they remembered in what condition he had come home from the Wilkeses’ lastbarbecue the autumn before.   “And why aren’t you riding today, Mrs. Tarleton? Sure, you don’t look yourself at all withoutNellie. It’s a stentor, you are.”   “A stentor, me ignorant broth of a boy!” cried Mrs. Tarleton, aping his brogue. “You mean acentaur. Stentor was a man with a voice like a brass gong.”   “Stentor or centaur, ‘tis no matter,” answered Gerald, unruffled by his error. “And ‘tis a voicelike brass you have, Ma’m, when you’re urging on the hounds, so it is.”   “That’s one on you, Ma,” said Hetty. “I told you you yelled like a Comanche whenever you sawa fox.”   “But not as loud as you yell when Mammy washes your ears,” returned Mrs. Tarleton. “And yousixteen! Well, as to why I’m not riding today, Nellie foaled early this morning.”   “Did she now!” cried Gerald with real interest, his Irishman’s passion for horses shining in hiseyes, and Scarlett again felt the sense of shock in comparing her mother with Mrs. Tarleton. ToEllen, mares never foaled nor cows calved. In fact, hens almost didn’t lay eggs. Ellen ignored thesematters, completely. But Mrs. Tarleton had no such reticences.   “A little filly, was it?”   “No, a fine little stallion with legs two yards long. You must ride over and see him, Mr. O’Hara.   He’s a real Tarleton horse. He’s as red as Hetty’s curls.”   “And looks a lot like Hetty, too,” said Camilla, and then disappeared shrieking amid a welter ofskirts and pantalets and bobbing hats, as Hetty, who did have a long face, began pinching her.   “My fillies are feeling their oats this morning,” said Mrs. Tarleton. “They’ve been kicking uptheir heels ever since we heard the news this morning about Ashley and that little cousin of hisfrom Atlanta. What’s her name? Melanie? Bless the child, she’s a sweet little thing, but I can neverremember either her name or her face. Our cook is the broad wife of the Wilkes butler, and he wasover last night with the news that the engagement would be announced tonight and Cookie told usthis morning. The girls are all excited about it, though I can’t see why. Everybody’s known foryears that Ashley would marry her, that is, if he didn’t marry one of his Burr cousins from Macon.   Just like Honey Wilkes is going to marry Melanie’s brother, Charles. Now, tell me, Mr. O’Hara, isit illegal for the Wilkes to marry outside of their family? Because if—”   Scarlett did not hear the rest of the laughing words. For one short instant, it was as though thesun had ducked behind a cool cloud, leaving the world in shadow, taking the color out of things.   The freshly green foliage looked sickly, the dogwood pallid, and the flowering crab, so beautifullypink a moment ago, faded and dreary. Scarlett dug her fingers into the upholstery of the carriageand for a moment her parasol wavered. It was one thing to know that Ashley was engaged but itwas another to hear people talk about it so casually. Then her courage flowed strongly back and thesun came out again and the landscape glowed anew. She knew Ashley loved her. That was certain.   And she smiled as she thought how surprised Mrs. Tarleton would be when no engagement wasannounced that night—how surprised if there were an elopement. And she’d tell neighbors what asly boots Scarlett was to sit there and listen to her talk about Melanie when all the time she andAshley—She dimpled at her own thoughts and Hetty, who had been watching sharply the effect ofher mother’s words, sank back with a small puzzled frown.   “I don’t care what you say, Mr. O’Hara,” Mrs. Tarleton was saying emphatically. “It’s all wrong,this marrying of cousins. It’s bad enough for Ashley to be marrying the Hamilton child, but forHoney to be marrying that pale-looking Charles Hamilton—”   “Honey’ll never catch anybody else if she doesn’t marry Charlie,” said Randa, cruel and securein her own popularity. “She’s never had another beau except him. And he’s never acted very sweeton her, for all that they’re engaged. Scarlett, you remember how he ran after you last Christmas—”   “Don’t be a cat, Miss,” said her mother. “Cousins shouldn’t marry, even second cousins. Itweakens the strain. It isn’t like horses. You can breed a mare to a brother or a sire to a daughter andget good results if you know your blood strains, but in people it just doesn’t work. You get goodlines, perhaps, but no stamina. You—”   “Now, Ma’m, I’m taking issue with you on that! Can you name me better people than theWilkes? And they’ve been intermarrying since Brian Boru was a boy.”   “And high time they stopped it, for it’s beginning to show. Oh, not Ashley so much, for he’s agood-looking devil, though even he— But look at those two washed-out-looking Wilkes girls, poorthings! Nice girls, of course, but washed out And look at little Miss Melanie. Thin as a rail anddelicate enough for the wind to blow away and no spirit at all. Not a notion of her own. ‘No,Ma’m!’ ‘Yes, Ma’m!’ That’s all she has to say. You see what I mean? That family needs new blood,fine vigorous blood like my red heads or your Scarlett. Now, don’t misunderstand me. The Wilkesare fine folks in their way, and you know I’m fond of them all, but be frank! They are overbred andinbred too, aren’t they? They’ll do fine on a dry track, a fast track, but mark my words, I don’tbelieve the Wilkes can run on a mud track. I believe the stamina has been bred out of them, andwhen the emergency arises I don’t believe they can run against odds. Dry-weather stock. Give mea big horse who can run in any weather! And their intermarrying has made them different fromother folks around here. Always fiddling with the piano or sticking their heads in a book. I dobelieve Ashley would rather read than hunt! Yes, I honestly believe that, Mr. O’Hara! And just lookat the bones on them. Too slender. They need dams and sires with strength—”   “Ah-ah-hum,” said Gerald, suddenly and guiltily aware that the conversation, a most interestingand entirely proper one to him, would seem quite otherwise to Ellen. In fact, he knew she wouldnever recover should she learn that her daughters had been exposed to so frank a conversation. But Mrs. Tarleton was, as usual, deaf to all other ideas when pursuing her favorite topic, breeding,whether it be horses or humans.   “I know what I’m talking about because I had some cousins who married each other and I giveyou my word their children all turned out as popeyed as bullfrogs, poor things. And when myfamily wanted me to marry a second cousin, I bucked like a colt. I said, ‘No, Ma. Not for me. Mychildren will all have spavins and heaves.’ Well, Ma fainted when I said that about spavins, but Istood firm and Grandma backed me up. She knew a lot about horse breeding too, you see, and saidI was right. And she helped me run away with Mr. Tarleton. And look at my children! Big andhealthy and not a sickly one or a runt among them, though Boyd is only five feet ten. Now, theWilkes—”   “Not meaning to change the subject, Ma’m,” broke in Gerald hurriedly, for he had noticedCarreen’s bewildered look and the avid curiosity on Suellen’s face and feared lest they might askEllen embarrassing questions which would reveal how inadequate a chaperon he was. Puss, he wasglad to notice, appeared to be thinking of other matters as a lady should.   Hetty Tarleton rescued him from his predicament.   “Good Heavens, Ma, do let’s get on!” she cried impatiently. “This sun is broiling me and I canjust hear freckles popping out on my neck.”   “Just a minute, Ma’m, before you go,” said Gerald. “But what have you decided to do aboutselling us the horses for the Troop? War may break any day now and the boys want the mattersettled. It’s a Clayton County troop and it’s Clayton County horses we want for them. But you,obstinate creature that you are, are still refusing to sell us your fine beasts.”   “Maybe there won’t be any war,” Mrs. Tarleton temporized, her mind diverted completely fromthe Wilkeses’ odd marriage habits.   “Why, Ma’m, you can’t—”   “Ma,” Hetty interrupted again, “can’t you and Mr. O’Hara talk about the horses at Twelve Oaksas well as here?”   “That’s just it, Miss Hetty,” said Gerald, “And I won’t be keeping you but one minute by theclock. We’ll be getting to Twelve Oaks in a little bit, and every man there, old and young, wantingto know about the horses. Ah, but it’s breaking me heart to see such a fine pretty lady as yourmother so stingy with her beasts! Now, where’s your patriotism, Mrs. Tarleton? Does theConfederacy mean nothing to you at all?”   “Ma,” cried small Betsy, “Randa’s sitting on my dress and I’m getting all wrinkled.”   “Well, push Randa off you, Betsy, and hush. Now, listen to me, Gerald O’Hara,” she retorted,her eyes beginning to snap. “Don’t you go throwing the Confederacy in my face! I reckon theConfederacy means as much to me as it does to you, me with four boys in the Troop and you withnone. But my boys can take care of themselves and my horses can’t. I’d gladly give the horses freeof charge if I knew they were going to be ridden by boys I know, gentlemen used to thoroughbreds.   No, I wouldn’t hesitate a minute. But let my beauties be at the mercy of backwoodsmen andCrackers who are used to riding mules! No, sir! I’d have nightmares thinking they were being ridden with saddle galls and not groomed properly. Do you think I’d let ignorant fools ride my tender-mouthed darlings and saw their mouths to pieces and beat them till their spirits were broken? Why,I’ve got goose flesh this minute, just thinking about it! No, Mr. O’Hara, you’re mighty nice to wantmy horses, but you’d better go to Atlanta and buy some old plugs for your clodhoppers. They’llnever know the difference.”   “Ma, can’t we please go on?” asked Camilla, joining the impatient chorus. “You know mightywell you’re going to end up giving them your darlings anyhow. When Pa and the boys get throughtalking about the Confederacy needing them and so on, you’ll cry and let them go.”   Mrs. Tarleton grinned and shook the lines.   “I’ll do no such thing,” she said, touching the horses lightly with the whip. The carriage went offswiftly.   “That’s a fine woman,” said Gerald, putting on his hat and taking his place beside his owncarriage. “Drive on, Toby. We’ll wear her down and get the horses yet. Of course, she’s right. She’sright. If a man’s not a gentleman, he’s no business on a horse. The infantry is the place for him.   But more’s the pity, there’s not enough planters’ sons in this County to make up a full troop. Whatdid you say, Puss?”   “Pa, please ride behind us or in front of us. You kick up such a heap of dust that we’re choking,”   said Scarlett, who felt that she could endure conversation no longer. It distracted her from herthoughts and she was very anxious to arrange both her thoughts and her face in attractive linesbefore reaching Twelve Oaks. Gerald obediently put spurs to his horse and was off in a red cloudafter the Tarleton carriage where he could continue his horsy conversation.   早晨十点。那是暖和的四月天,金色的阳光穿过宽大的窗户上的天蓝色帷帘灿烂地照入思嘉的房间,使那些奶油色墙壁都闪闪发亮,桃花心木家具也泛出葡萄酒一般深红的光辉,地板也像玻璃似的耀眼,让连沿着旧地毯的地方也洒满了灰色光点。   空气里已经有点夏天的感觉,佐治亚初夏的来临了,春季的高潮恋恋不舍地让给比较炎热的气候了。芬芳柔和的暖意已注满房间,它饱含着种种花卉、刚抽枝叶的树木和润温的新翻红土的香味。从窗口思嘉能看到沿着石子车道和两行水仙花和一丛丛像花裙子般纷披满地的黄茉莉在那里竞相怒放,争奇斗妍。模仿鸟和啊鸟为争夺她窗下的一棵山茱萸又打了起来,在那里斗嘴,啊鸟的声音尖锐而昂扬,模仿鸟则娇柔而凄婉。   这般明朗的早晨常常总会把思嘉引到窗口,倚在窗棂上领略塔拉农场的花香鸟语。可是今天早晨她无暇欣赏旭日和蓝天,心头只有一个想法匆匆掠过:“谢谢老天爷,总算没有下雨。"她床上一个匣子里放着一件苹果绿的镶着淡褐色边的纹绸舞衣,折叠得整整嬷嬷。这是准备带到“十二橡树”村去,等舞会开场时穿的,但是思嘉一起见它便不由得耸了耸肩膀。如果她的计划成功,今晚她就用不着穿这件衣裳了。等不到舞会开始,她和艾希礼早就启程到琼斯博罗结婚去了。这是现在的麻烦----她穿什么衣裳参加野宴呢?   什么样的衣裳使她窈窕的身材更显得更为动人和最使艾希礼倾倒呢?从八点钟开始她一直在试衣裳,试一件丢一件,此刻又灰心又恼火,穿着镶边的宽松内裤,紧身布褡和三条波浪式的镶边布衬裙站在那里。那些被她舍弃的衣服成堆地丢在地板上、床上、椅子上,五彩缤纷,一起凌乱。   配有粉红长饰带的那件玫瑰红薄棉布衣裳很合身,可是去年夏天媚兰去“十二橡树”村时已经穿过了,她一定还记得的,也许还会提起呢。那件泡泡袖、花边领的黑羽缎衣裳同她白皙的皮肤十分相称,不过她穿在自上显得老成了一点。   思嘉瞅着她那16岁的面容,好像生怕看到皱纹和松驰的下巴肉似的。可千万不能在媚兰那娇嫩的姿色前显得稳重和老气呀!那件淡紫色的条纹细棉面的,配上宽宽的镶边和网缘,倒是十分漂亮,可是这对她的身段很不合适。它最好配卡琳那种纤细的身材和淡漠的容貌,可思嘉觉得要是她穿起来便个女学生了。在媚兰那泰然自若的姿态旁边,显得学生气可绝对不行呀!还有一件绿方格丝纹绸的,饰着荷叶边,每条荷叶边都镶入一根绿色鹅绒带子,这是最适合的,事实上是她最中意的一件衣裳,因为它能叫她的眼睛显得黑一点,像绿宝石似的,只可惜紧身上衣的胸口部分有块显而易见的油渍。   当然,她可以把别针别在那上面,但眼尖的媚兰,可能会看出来。如今只剩下几件杂色棉布的了,思嘉觉得这些都不够鲜丽,不适宜在野宴上穿。此外便是些舞衣和她昨天穿过的那件绿衣布衫了。但这件花布衫是下午穿的衣服,不好在上午的野宴上派用场,因为它只有小小的泡袖,领口低得像牛舞衣呢。可是,除了这件外,就再也没有别的好穿了。即使在上午穿这种袒胸露臂的衣服不怎么合适,但她并不怕将自己的脖子、臂膀和胸脯露出来。   站在镜前她扭着身子端详自己的身影,心想实在看不出浑身上下有何值得惋惜之处。她的脖子短,但浑圆可爱;两臂丰腴,也很动人。她的两个乳房被紧身褡撑得隆然突起,非常可爱。她从来不用像大多数16岁的姑娘们那样,在胸衣的衬里中缝上小排小排的丝棉来使乳房显得更加丰满和曲线分明。她很高兴自己继承了爱伦那纤细白嫩的双手和小巧玲珑的双足,并且希望还能长到爱伦那样的身高,不过目前的高度已叫她很满意了。不能把腿显露出来,多可惜,她想着,一面提起衬裙遗憾地打量宽松内裤里那双丰腴而白净的腿。她天生有这样两条腿呀!甚至连费耶特维尔学院的姑娘们也那样羡慕呢!至于谈到她的腰肢,在费耶特维尔,琼斯博罗,或者所有三个县里,谁也没有她这样纤腰袅袅,令人着迷呢!   想到腰肢,她就又回到实际问题上来了。那件绿花布衫的腰围是17英寸,但嬷嬷却按照那析羽缎衣服把她的腰身作为18英寸来束了。嬷嬷本应该她束得更紧紧的。她推开门一听,嬷嬷沉重的脚步声在楼下穿堂里轰轰震响,便连忙高声喊她,因为她知道这时爱伦正在薰腊间给厨子分配当天的食物,即使放声也不碍事。   “有人以为俺会飞呢,"嬷嬷抱怨着爬上楼来。她撅着跟走进屋里,那表情像是巴不得要跟谁打架似的。她那双又大又黑的手里端着个托盘,上面放着热气腾腾的食物,那是两只涂满黄油的大山芋、一摞淌着糖浆的荞麦面饼和一大片泡在肉汤里的火腿。一看见嬷嬷手上的东西,思嘉那颇为恼火的神气便立即变得非要大干一仗不可了。她当时正忙着试衣裳,忘记了嬷嬷的铁硬规矩,即奥哈拉家的女孩子动身去赴宴会之前,必须先在家里把肚子填得满满的,这样她们在宴会上就吃不下什么了。   “我不吃,这没有用。你索性它拿回厨房去吧。"嬷嬷把托盘放到桌上,然后两手叉腰,摆出一副架势。   “你就得吃,前次野宴上发生的那种事俺不想再看见了。   那次俺吃了猪肠子病得厉害,没在你们出发前拿吃的来。今番你可得给俺全吃下去。”“我不要吃嘛!过来,快给我把腰扎得更紧一点,咱们眼看已经晚了。我听见马车都走到前门来了。"嬷嬷的口气像是在哄孩子了。   “那么,思嘉小姐,就吃,听俺的话,一点点吧。卡琳小姐和苏伦小姐可全都吃了。”“她们要吃就吃去,"思嘉不屑地说。"她们像只兔子一点骨片也没有,可我不行!我再也不吃这种打垫的东西了。我没有忘记那次到卡尔弗特家去之前吃了一整盘,谁知他们家有冰淇琳,还是用从萨凡纳带来的冰做的,结果我只吃了一勺,我今天可要好好享受一番,高兴吃多少就吃多少。"听了这番不伦不类的犟话,嬷嬷烦恼得皱紧了眉头。在嬷嬷心目中,一个年轻姑娘该做什么和不该做什么,那是黑白分明的两个方面,中间没有可以通融的余地。苏伦和卡琳是她手中的两团熟泥,任凭她强劲的双手随意搓捏,对于她的告诫也总是侧耳恭听。可是要开导思嘉,指出她那感情用事的做法大都有违上流衬会的风习,那就会引起一场争斗。   嬷嬷对思嘉的每次胜利都是好不容易才赢得的,这中间还得归功于一种白人所不知道的狡狯心计。   “即使你并不在乎人们怎样谈论这个家庭,但俺还在乎呢,"她嘟囔着。"俺不想站在一旁,让宴会上的每个人都说你那么没有家教。俺一次又一次告诉过你,你只要看见某人吃东西像小雀子那样斯斯文文的,你就能断定她是个上等人。   可俺不打算叫你到威尔克斯先生家去,在那儿粗鲁地猛吃猛喝,馋得像只老鹰。”“母亲是上等人,但她照样吃呢。"思嘉表示反对。   “等你嫁了人,你也可以吃,”嬷嬷辩驳说。"爱伦在你这个年龄,从来在外面不吃东西,你波琳姨妈和尤拉莉姨妈也不吃。现在她们都嫁人了。凡是馋嘴的年轻姑娘们,大都找不到男人。”“我就不信。在你生病时举行的那次野宴上,我事先并没有吃东西,艾希礼•威尔克斯还告诉我,看见一个姑娘胃口好他很高兴呢。   嬷嬷不祥地摇着头。   “男人家嘴里说和心里想的是两回事。俺看不出艾希礼先生有多大的意思要娶你。"思嘉顿时皱起眉头,眼看要发作了,但随即克制住自己。   在这一点上打中了她,没有什么好辩驳的了。嬷嬷看见思嘉一脸的不服气,嬷嬷便端起托盘,用一种出自本能的温和而狡狯的方式改变了策略。她边叹息边向门口走去。   “好吧。刚才厨娘装这盘了时俺就跟她说了,'一个女孩子是不是上等人,看她吃什么就知道。'俺又对她说,俺还没有见一个白人小姐比媚兰小姐吃的更少的呢,像她一次去看艾希礼先生----俺的意思是去看英迪亚小姐时那样。"思嘉用十分怀疑的眼光瞪了她一眼,可是嬷嬷那张宽脸上只流露出天真而惋惜的神情,似乎在惋惜思嘉不知媚兰•汉密尔顿那样像个大家闺秀。   “把盘子放下,过来替我把腰扎紧点儿,"思嘉很不耐烦地说。"我想过会儿再吃一点。要是现在就吃,那就扎不紧了。"嬷嬷掩饰着得意之情,立刻放下盘子。   “俺的小宝贝儿打算穿哪一件呀?”   “那件,"思嘉答道,一面指着那团蓬乱的绿布花。这时嬷嬷立即起来反对了。   “你不能穿,不行。那不是早晨的衣服。你不到下午三点不能露出胸口,况且那件衣服既没领,也没袖。你要是穿上,皮肤上就会出斑点,好像生来就这样似的。去年你在萨凡纳海滩上出了那些斑点,俺整个冬天都在用奶油擦呢。如今俺可不想再让你出了。你要穿,俺就告诉你妈去。”“要是你在我穿好衣裳之前去对她说一句半句,我就一口也不吃你的了,”思嘉冷冷地说。"要是我已经穿好了,妈就来不及叫我再回来换呢。"嬷嬷发现自己输在算计上了,只好通融地叹了口气。比较起来,与其让思嘉到野宴上去狼吞虎咽,还不如任凭她在早上穿起下午的衣裳来算了。   “给我紧紧抓住个什么,使劲儿往里吸气,"她命令道。   思嘉照她的吩咐,紧紧抓住一根床柱,站稳了身子。嬷嬷狠狠地使劲拉着,抽着,直到束着鲸须带的小小的腰围收得更小了,她眼睛里才露出骄傲而喜悦的神色。   “谁也没有俺小宝贝儿这样的腰身,"她赞赏地说。"每回俺给苏伦小姐扎到20英寸以下,她就要晕过去了。”“呸!"思嘉喘着气,同时带着轻蔑的神气说,”我这一辈子可还从未晕过呢。”“唔,偶尔晕那么几回也不碍事,"嬷嬷告诉她。”你有时候太性急了,思嘉小姐。俺几次对你说,你见了蛇和耗子也不晕,那样子并不体面。当然,俺不是说在你家里,而是说在外边大伙面前,俺还跟你说过----”“唔,快!别说这么多废话了。我会抓到男人的。我就是不嚷嚷也不昏倒,看我能不能抓到。天啊,我的胸褡太紧了!   快穿上衣裳吧。”   嬷嬷小心地把那件12码细纱布做的绿花裙子加在小山似的衬裙上,然后把低领胸衣的后背钩上。   “在太阳底下你要把披巾披在肩上,热了也不要把帽子摘下来,"她吩咐说。”不然,你回家时就果得像老斯莱特里小姐一样黑了。现在来吃罢,亲爱的,可别吃得太急,要是吃了马上吐出来,那可不行埃"思嘉听话地面对托盘坐下来,要是再塞进去一点东西不知自己肚子还能不能呼吸空气。嬷嬷从盥洗架上摘下一条大毛巾,小心地将它的一端系在思嘉脖子上。另一端盖住她的膝头。思嘉从那片火腿开始,因为她喜欢吃火腿,但也只能勉强咽下去。   “我真恨不得早就结婚了,"她反悔似地说,一面厌烦地吃着山芋。"我再也忍受不了这样无休止地的勉强自己,永远不能赁自己高兴做事。在自己很想吃东西时期装得小雀子那样只能吃一点点,真是太腻烦了。在自己想跑时期要慢慢地走,在自己能够连跳两天也不觉得累时期要装得跳完一场华尔兹就晕倒了,这真叫人腻烦透了!我再也不想说'您真了不起呀!'来愚弄那些比我还无知得多的男人;再也不假装自己什么都不懂,让男人们对我讲些什么,而且感到自命不凡……我实在不能再吃了。”“试试吃个热饼,"嬷嬷好像求她似的。   “一个女孩子要找男人为什么就该装得那么傻呀?”“俺想,那是因为他们男人都有自己的主张。他们都知道自己要哪样的人,只要你给了他们想要的东西,你就省掉了一大堆苦恼,也省得一辈子当处女。他们想要的是耗子般的小姑娘,胃口小得像雀子,一点儿见识也没有。要如果一位先生怀疑你比他更有见识,他就不乐意同你这位大家小姐结婚了。”“要是男人们结婚之后发现他们的太太是有见识的,你以为他们会感到惊奇吗?”“是呀,可那就晚了。他们已经结婚了。况且先生们总是提防着他们的老婆会有见识。”“到时候我可偏要照我所想做的去做,说我所想说的话,不管人家怎样不喜欢我。”“不行,你不能这样,”嬷嬷担忧地说。"只要俺还有一口气,就不许你这样。现在吃饼吧。泡着肉汤吃,亲爱的。”“我看北方佬姑娘用不着做这种傻瓜。我们去年在萨拉托加时,我注意到她们有许多人在男人面前也显得很有见识似的。"嬷嬷轻蔑地一笑。   “北方佬姑娘嘛!当然,俺看她们想啥说啥,不过俺没见她们哪几个在萨拉托加人向她们求婚的。”“可是北方佬也得结婚呀,"思嘉争辩说。"她们并非长大就行了。她们也要结婚,生孩子。她们的孩子多着呢。”“是为了钱男人家才娶她们的,"嬷嬷断然说。   思嘉把烤饼放在肉汤里泡了泡,再拿起来吃。也许嬷嬷说的有些道理吧,一定有点道理,因为爱伦也说过同样的话,不过说法不大一样,也更委婉一些。实际上,她那些女友的母亲全都教给自己的女儿必须做那种不能自立的、依恋别人的、小牝兔般怯生生的可怜虫。其实,要养成和保持这个模样,也需要不少的知识。也许她是太鲁莽了。她常见艾希礼争论,坦白地说出自己的意见。她许就是这种态度和她喜欢散步骑马的有益于健康的习惯,使艾希礼害怕同她接近而转向娇弱的媚兰那边去了。也许,要是她变换一下策略----可是她觉得,如果艾希礼意屈服于这种预先策划好的女人手段,她就再也不能像现在这样敬佩他了。任何一个男人,只要他愚蠢到了居然为一个假笑、一次晕倒和一声"你真了不起呀"所诱惑,便是不值得要的人。可是好像他们全都喜欢这一套呢。   如果她以前对艾希礼也采用了这种错误的策略----当然,算 Chapter 6 THEY CROSSED the river and the carriage mounted the hill. Even before Twelve Oaks cameinto view Scarlett saw a haze of smoke hanging lazily in the tops of the tall trees and smelled themingled savory odors of burning hickory logs and roasting pork and mutton.   The barbecue pits, which had been slowly burning since last night, would now be long troughsof rose-red embers, with the meats turning on spits above them and the juices trickling down andhissing into the coals. Scarlett knew that the fragrance carried on the faint breeze came from thegrove of great oaks in the rear of the big house. John Wilkes always held his barbecues there, onthe gentle slope leading down to the rose garden, a pleasant shady place and a far pleasanter place,for instance, than that used by the Calverts. Mrs. Calvert did not like barbecue food and declaredthat the smells remained in the house for days, so her guests always sweltered on a flat unshadedspot a quarter of a mile from the house. But John Wilkes, famed throughout the state for hishospitality, really knew how to give a barbecue.   The long trestled picnic tables, covered with the finest of the Wilkeses’ linen, always stoodunder the thickest shade, with backless benches on either side; and chairs, hassocks and cushionsfrom the house were scattered about the glade for those who did not fancy the benches. At adistance great enough to keep the smoke away from the guests were the long pits where the meats cooked and the huge iron wash-pots from which the succulent odors of barbecue sauce andBrunswick stew floated. Mr. Wilkes always had at least a dozen darkies busy running back andforth with trays to serve the guests. Over behind the barns there was always another barbecue pit,where the house servants and the coachmen and maids of the guests had their own feast ofhoecakes and yams and chitterlings, that dish of hog entrails so dear to negro hearts, and, inseason, watermelons enough to satiate.   As the smell of crisp fresh pork came to her, Scarlett wrinkled her nose appreciatively, hopingthat by the time it was cooked she would feel some appetite. As it was, she was so full of food andso tightly laced that she feared every moment she was going to belch. That would be fatal, as onlyold men and very old ladies could belch without fear of social disapproval.   They topped the rise and the white house reared its perfect symmetry before her, tall of columns,wide of verandas, flat of roof, beautiful as a woman is beautiful who is so sure of her charm thatshe can be generous and gracious to all. Scarlett loved Twelve Oaks even more than Tara, for it hada stately beauty, a mellowed dignity that Gerald’s house did not possess.   The wide curving driveway was full of saddle horses and carriages and guests alighting andcalling greetings to friends. Grinning negroes, excited as always at a party, were leading theanimals to the barnyard to be unharnessed and unsaddled for the day. Swarms of children, blackand white, ran yelling about the newly green lawn, playing hopscotch and tag and boasting howmuch they were going to eat. The wide hall which ran from front to back of the house wasswarming with people, and as the O’Hara carriage drew up at the front steps, Scarlett saw girls incrinolines, bright as butterflies, going up and coming down the stairs from the second floor, armsabout each other’s waists, stopping to lean over the delicate handrail of the banisters, laughing andcalling to young men in the hall below them.   Through the open French windows, she caught glimpses of the older women seated in thedrawing room, sedate in dark silks as they sat fanning themselves and talking of babies andsicknesses and who had married whom and why. The Wilkes butler, Tom, was hurrying through thehalls, a silver tray in his hands, bowing and grinning, as he offered tall glasses to young men infawn and gray trousers and fine ruffled linen shirts.   The sunny front veranda was thronged with guests. Yes, the whole County was here, thoughtScarlett. The four Tarleton boys and their father leaned against the tall columns, the twins, Stuartand Brent, side by side inseparable as usual, Boyd and Tom with their father, James Tarleton. Mr.   Calvert was standing close by the side of his Yankee wife, who even after fifteen years in Georgianever seemed to quite belong anywhere. Everyone was very polite and kind to her because he feltsorry for her, but no one could forget that she had compounded her initial error of birth by beingthe governess of Mr. Calvert’s children. The two Calvert boys, Raiford and Cade, were there withtheir dashing blonde sister, Cathleen, teasing the dark-faced Joe Fontaine and Sally Munroe, hispretty bride-to-be. Alex and Tony Fontaine were whispering in the ears of Dimity Munroe andsending her into gales of giggles. There were families from as far as Lovejoy, ten miles away, andfrom Fayetteville and Jonesboro, a few even from Atlanta and Macon. The house seemed burstingwith the crowd, and a ceaseless babble of talking and laughter and giggles and shrill femininesqueaks and screams rose and fell.   On the porch steps stood John Wilkes, silver-haired, erect, radiating the quiet charm andhospitality that was as warm and never failing as the sun of Georgia summer. Beside him HoneyWilkes, so called because she indiscriminately addressed everyone from her father to the fieldhands by that endearment, fidgeted and giggled as she called greetings to the arriving guests.   Honey’s nervously obvious desire to be attractive to every man in sight contrasted sharply withher father’s poise, and Scarlett had the thought that perhaps there was something in what Mrs.   Tarleton said, after all. Certainly the Wilkes men got the family looks. The thick deep-gold lashesthat set off the gray eyes of John Wilkes and Ashley were sparse and colorless in the faces ofHoney and her sister India. Honey had the odd lashless look of a rabbit, and India could bedescribed by no other word than plain.   India was nowhere to be seen, but Scarlett knew she probably was in the kitchen giving finalinstructions to the servants. Poor India, thought Scarlett, she’s had so much trouble keeping housesince her mother died that she’s never had the chance to catch any beau except Stuart Tarleton, andit certainly wasn’t my fault if he thought I was prettier than she.   John Wilkes came down the steps to offer his arm to Scarlett. As she descended from thecarriage, she saw Suellen smirk and knew that she must have picked out Frank Kennedy in thecrowd.   If I couldn’t catch a better beau than that old maid in britches! she thought contemptuously, asshe stepped to the ground and smiled her thanks to John Wilkes.   Frank Kennedy was hurrying to the carriage to assist Suellen, and Suellen was bridling in a waythat made Scarlett want to slap her. Frank Kennedy might own more land than anyone in theCounty and he might have a very kind heart, but these things counted for nothing against the factthat he was forty, slight and nervous and had a thin ginger-colored beard and an old-maidish, fussyway about him. However, remembering her plan, Scarlett smothered her contempt and cast such aflashing smile of greeting at him that he stopped short, his arm outheld to Suellen and goggled atScarlett in pleased bewilderment.   Scarlett’s eyes searched the crowd for Ashley, even while she made pleasant small talk withJohn Wilkes, but he was not on the porch. There were cries of greeting from a dozen voices andStuart and Brent Tarleton moved toward her. The Munroe girls rushed up to exclaim over herdress, and she was speedily the center of a circle of voices that rose higher and higher in efforts tobe heard above the din. But where was Ashley? And Melanie and Charles? She tried not to beobvious as she looked about and peered down the hall into the laughing group inside.   As she chattered and laughed and cast quick glances into the house and the yard, her eyes fell ona stranger, standing alone in the hall, staring at her in a cool impertinent way that brought her upsharply with mingled feeling of feminine pleasure that she had attracted and embarrassed sen(a) sationthatherdresswastoolowinthebosom.Helookedquiteold,(a) atlea(man) st thirty-(an) five. He was a tall man and powerfully built. Scarlett thought she had never seen a man with suchwide shoulders, so heavy with muscles, almost too heavy for gentility. When her eye caught his, hesmiled, showing animal-white teeth below a close-clipped black mustache. He was dark of face,swarthy as a pirate, and his eyes were as bold and black as any pirate’s appraising a galleon to bescuttled or a maiden to be ravished. There was a cool recklessness in his face and a cynical humor in his mouth as he smiled at her, and Scarlett caught her breath. She felt that she should be insultedby such a look and was annoyed with herself because she did not feel insulted. She did not knowwho he could be, but there was undeniably a look of good blood in his dark face. It showed in thethin hawk nose over the full red lips, the high forehead and the wide-set eyes.   She dragged her eyes away from his without smiling back, and he turned as someone called:   “Rhett! Rhett Butler! Come here! I want you to meet the most hard-hearted girl in Georgia.”   Rhett Butler? The name had a familiar sound, somehow connected with something pleasantlyscandalous, but her mind was on Ashley and she dismissed the thought.   “I must run upstairs and smooth my hair,” she told Stuart and Brent, who were trying to get hercornered from the crowd. “You boys wait for me and don’t run off with any other girl or I’ll befurious.”   She could see that Stuart was going to be difficult to handle today if she flirted with anyone else.   He had been drinking and wore the arrogant looking-for-a-fight expression that she knew fromexperience meant trouble. She paused in the hall to speak to friends and to greet India who wasemerging from the back of the house, her hair untidy and tiny beads of perspiration on herforehead. Poor India! It would be bad enough to have pale hair and eyelashes and a hitting chinthat meant a stubborn disposition, without being twenty years old and an old maid in the bargain.   She wondered if India resented very much her taking Stuart away from her. Lots of people said shewas still in love with him, but then you could never tell what a Wilkes was thinking about. If shedid resent it, she never gave any sign of it, treating Scarlett with the same slightly aloof, kindlycourtesy she had always shown her.   Scarlett spoke pleasantly to her and started up the wide stairs. As she did, a shy voice behind hercalled her name and, turning, she saw Charles Hamilton. He was a nice-looking boy with a riot ofsoft brown curls on his white forehead and eyes as deep brown, as clean and as gentle as a colliedog’s. He was well turned out in mustard-colored trousers and black coat and his pleated shirt wastopped by the widest and most fashionable of black cravats. A faint blush was creeping over hisface as she turned, for he was timid with girls. Like most shy men he greatly admired airy,vivacious, always-at-ease girls like Scarlett. She had never given him more than perfunctorycourtesy before, and so the beaming smile of pleasure with which she greeted him and the twohands outstretched to his almost took his breath away.   “Why Charles Hamilton, you handsome old thing, you! I’ll bet you came all the way down herefrom Atlanta just to break my poor heart!”   Charles almost stuttered with excitement, holding her warm little hands in his and looking intothe dancing green eyes. This was the way girls talked to other boys but never to him. He neverknew why but girls always treated him like a younger brother and were very kind, but neverbothered to tease him. He had always wanted girls to flirt end frolic with him as they did with boysmuch less handsome and less endowed with this world’s goods than he. But on the few occasionswhen this had happened he could never think of anything to say and he suffered agonies ofembarrassment at his dumbness. Then he lay awake at night thinking of all the charminggallantries he might have employed; but he rarely got a second chance, for the girls left him aloneafter a trial or two.   Even with Honey, with whom he had an unspoken understanding of marriage when he came intohis property next fall, he was diffident and silent. At times, he had an ungallant feeling thatHoney’s coquetries and proprietary airs were no credit to him, for she was so boy-crazy heimagined she would use them on any man who gave her the opportunity. Charles was not excitedover the prospect of marrying her, for she stirred in him none of the emotions of wild romance thathis beloved books had assured him were proper for a lover. He had always yearned to be loved bysome beautiful, dashing creature full of fire and mischief.   And here was Scarlett O’Hara teasing him about breaking her heart!   He tried to think of something to say and couldn’t, and silently he blessed her because she keptup a steady chatter which relieved him of any necessity for conversation. It was too good to betrue.   “Now, you wait right here till I come back, for I want to eat barbecue with you. And don’t yougo off philandering with those other girls, because I’m mighty jealous,” came the incredible wordsfrom red lips with a dimple on each side; and briskly black lashes swept demurely over green eyes.   “I won’t,” he finally managed to breathe, never dreaming that she was thinking he looked like acalf waiting for the butcher.   Tapping him lightly on the arm with her folded fan, she turned to start up the stairs and her eyesagain fell on the man called Rhett Butler who stood alone a few feet away from Charles. Evidentlyhe had overheard the whole conversation, for he grinned up at her as maliciously as a tomcat, andagain his eyes went over her, in a gaze totally devoid of the deference she was accustomed to.   “God’s nightgown!” said Scarlett to herself in indignation, using Gerald’s favorite oath. “Helooks as if—as if he knew what I looked like without my shimmy,” and, tossing her head, she wentup the steps.   In the bedroom where the wraps were laid, she found Cathleen Calvert preening before themirror and biting her lips to make them look redder. There were fresh roses in her sash thatmatched her cheeks, and her cornflower-blue eyes were dancing with excitement.   “Cathleen,” said Scarlett, trying to pull the corsage of her dress higher, “who is that nasty mandownstairs named Butler?”   “My dear, don’t you know?” whispered Cathleen excitedly, a weather eye on the next roomwhere Dilcey and the Wilkes girls’ mammy were gossiping. “I can’t imagine how Mr. Wilkes mustfeel having him here, but he was visiting Mr. Kennedy in Jonesboro—something about buyingcotton—and, of course, Mr. Kennedy had to bring him along with him. He couldn’t just go off andleave him.”   “What is the matter with him?”   “My dear, he isn’t received!”   “Not really!”   “No.”   Scarlett digested this in silence, for she had never before been under the same roof with anyone who was not received. It was very exciting.   “What did he do?”   “Oh, Scarlett, he has the most terrible reputation. His name is Rhett Butler and he’s fromCharleston and his folks are some of the nicest people there, but they won’t even speak to him.   Caro Rhett told me about him last summer. He isn’t any kin to her family, but she knows all abouthim, everybody does. He was expelled from West Point. Imagine! And for things too bad for Caroto know. And then there was that business about the girl he didn’t marry.”   “Do tell me!”   “Darling, don’t you know anything? Caro told me all about it last summer and her mama woulddie if she thought Caro even knew about it. Well, this Mr. Butler took a Charleston girl out buggyriding. I never did know who she was, but I’ve got my suspicions. She couldn’t have been verynice or she wouldn’t have gone out with him in the late afternoon without a chaperon. And, mydear, they stayed out nearly all night and walked home finally, saying the horse had run away andsmashed the buggy and they had gotten lost in the woods. And guess what—”   “I can’t guess. Tell me,” said Scarlett enthusiastically, hoping for the worst.   “He refused to marry her the next day!”   “Oh,” said Scarlett, her hopes dashed.   “He said he hadn’t—er—done anything to her and he didn’t see why he should marry her. And,of course, her brother called him out, and Mr. Butler said he’d rather be shot than marry a stupidfool. And so they fought a duel and Mr. Butler shot the girl’s brother and he died, and Mr. Butlerhad to leave Charleston and now nobody receives him,” finished Cathleen triumphantly, and just intime, for Dilcey came back into the room to oversee the toilet of her charge.   “Did she have a baby?” whispered Scarlett in Cathleen’s ear.   Cathleen shook her head violently. “But she was ruined just the same,” she hissed back.   I wish I had gotten Ashley to compromise me, thought Scarlett suddenly. He’d be too much of agentleman not to marry me. But somehow, unbidden, she had a feeling of respect for Rhett Butlerfor refusing to marry a girl who was a fool.   Scarlett sat on a high rosewood ottoman, under the shade of a huge oak in the rear of the house,her flounces and ruffles billowing about her and two inches of green morocco slippers—all that alady could show and still remain a lady—peeping from beneath them. She had scarcely touchedplate in her hands and seven cavaliers about her. The barbecue had reached its peak and the warmair was full of laughter and talk, the click of silver on porcelain and the rich heavy smells ofroasting meats and redolent gravies. Occasionally when the slight breeze veered, puffs of smokefrom the long barbecue pits floated over the crowd and were greeted with squeals of mock dismayfrom the ladies and violent flappings of palmetto fans.   Most of the young ladies were seated with partners on the long benches that faced the tables, butScarlett, realizing that a girl has only two sides and only one man can sit on each of these sides,had elected to sit apart so she could gather about her as many men as possible.   Under the arbor sat the married women, their dark dresses decorous notes in the surroundingcolor and gaiety. Matrons, regardless of their ages, always grouped together apart from the bright-eyed girls, beaux and laughter, for there were no married belles in the South. From GrandmaFontaine, who was belching frankly with the privilege of her age, to seventeen-year-old AliceMunroe, struggling against the nausea of a first pregnancy, they had their heads together in theendless genealogical and obstetrical discussions that made such gatherings very pleasant andinstructive affairs.   Casting contemptuous glances at them, Scarlett thought that they looked like a clump of fatcrows. Married women never had any fun. It did not occur to her that if she married Ashley shewould automatically be relegated to arbors and front parlors with staid matrons in dull silks, asstaid and dull as they and not a part of the fun and frolicking. Like most girls, her imaginationcarried her just as far as the altar and no further. Besides, she was too unhappy now to pursue anabstraction.   She dropped her eyes to her plate and nibbled daintily on a beaten biscuit with an elegance andan utter lack of appetite that would have won Mammy’s approval. For all that she had a superfluityof beaux, she had been miserable in her life. In some way that she could not understand,herplansofl(never) astnightha(more) d failed utterly so far as Ashley was concerned. She hadattracted other beaux by the dozens, but not Ashley, and all the fears of yesterday afternoon weresweeping back upon her, making her heart beat fast and then slow, and color flame and whiten inher cheeks.   Ashley had made no attempt to join the circle about her, in fact she had not had a word alonewith him since arriving, or even spoken to him since their first greeting. He had come forward towelcome her when she came into the back garden, but Melanie had been on his arm then, Melaniewho hardly came up to his shoulder.   She was a tiny, frailly built girl, who gave the appearance of a child masquerading in hermother’s enormous hoop skirts—an illusion that was heightened by the shy, almost frightened lookin her too large brown eyes. She had a cloud of curly dark hair which was so sternly repressedbeneath its net that no vagrant tendrils escaped, and this dark mass, with its long widow’s peak,accentuated the heart shape of her face. Too wide across the cheek bones, too pointed at the chin, itwas a sweet, timid face but a plain face, and she had no feminine tricks of allure to make observersforget its plainness. She looked—and was—as simple as earth, as good as bread, as transparent asspring water. But for all her plainness of feature and smallness of stature, there was a sedate dignityabout her movements that was oddly touching and far older than her seventeen years.   Her gray organdie dress, with its cherry-colored satin sash, disguised with its billows and ruffleshow childishly undeveloped her body was, and the yellow hat with long cherry streamers made hercreamy skin glow. Her heavy earbobs with their long gold fringe hung down from loops of tidilynetted hair, swinging close to her brown eyes, eyes that had the still gleam of a forest pool inwinter when brown leaves shine up through quiet water.   She had smiled with timid liking when she greeted Scarlett and told her how pretty her greendress was, and Scarlett had been hard put to be even civil in reply, so violently did she want to speak alone with Ashley. Since then, Ashley had sat on a stool at Melanie’s feet, apart from theother guests, and talked quietly with her, smiling the slow drowsy smile that Scarlett loved. Whatmade matters worse was that under his smile a little sparkle had come into Melanie’s eyes, so thateven Scarlett had to admit that she looked almost pretty. As Melanie looked at Ashley, her plainface lit up as with an inner fire, for if ever a loving heart showed itself upon a face, it was showingnow on Melanie Hamilton’s.   Scarlett tried to keep her eyes from these two but could not, and after each glance she redoubledher gaiety with her cavaliers, laughing, saying daring things, teasing, tossing her head at theircompliments until her earrings danced. She said “fiddle-dee-dee” many times, declared that thetruth wasn’t in any of them, and vowed that she’d never believe anything any man told her. ButAshley did not seem to notice her at all. He only looked up at Melanie and talked on, and Melanielooked down at him with an expression that radiated the fact that she belonged to him.   So, Scarlett was miserable.   To the outward eye, never had a girl less cause to he miserable. She was undoubtedly the belleof the barbecue, the center of attention. The furore she was causing among the men, coupled withthe heart burnings of the other girls, would have pleased her enormously at any other time.   Charles Hamilton, emboldened by her notice, was firmly planted on her right, refusing to bedislodged by the combined efforts of the Tarteton twins. He held her fan in one hand and hisuntouched plate of barbecue in the other and stubbornly refused to meet the eyes of Honey, whoseemed on the verge of an outburst of tears. Cade lounged gracefully on her left, plucking at herskirt to attract her attention and staring up with smoldering eyes at Stuart Already the air waselectric between him and the twins and rude words had passed. Frank Kennedy fussed about like ahen with one chick, running back and forth from the shade of the oak to the tables to fetch daintiesto tempt Scarlett, as if there were not a dozen servants there for that purpose. As a result, Suellen’ssullen resentment had passed beyond the point of ladylike concealment and she glowered atScarlett Small Carreen could have cried because, for all Scarlett’s encouraging words that morning,Brent had done no more than say “Hello, Sis” and jerk her hair ribbon before turning his fullattention to Scarlett. Usually he was so kind and treated her with a careless deference that madeher feel grown up, and Carreen secretly dreamed of the day when she would put her hair up andher skirts down and receive him as a real beau. And now it seemed that Scarlett had him. TheMunroe girls were concealing their chagrin at the defection of the swarthy Fontaine boys, but theywere annoyed at the way Tony and Alex stood about the circle, jockeying for a position nearScarlett should any of the others arise from their places.   They telegraphed their disapproval of Scarlett’s conduct to Hetty Tarleton by delicately raisedeyebrows. “Fast” was the only word for Scarlett. Simultaneously, the three young ladies raised lacyparasols, said they had had quite enough to eat thank you, and, laying light fingers on the arms ofthe men nearest them, clamored sweetly to see the rose garden, the spring and the summerhouse.   This strategic retreat in good order was not lost on a woman present or observed by a man.   Scarlett giggled as she saw three men dragged out of the line of her charms to investigatelandmarks familiar to the girls from childhood, and cut her eye sharply to see if Ashley had takennote. But he was playing with the ends of Melanie’s sash and smiling up at her. Pain twisted Scarlett’s heart. She felt that she could claw Melanie’s ivory skin till the blood ran and takepleasure in doing it.   As her eyes wandered from Melanie, she caught the gaze of Rhett Butler, who was not mixingwith the crowd but standing apart talking to John Wilkes. He had been watching her and when shelooked at him he laughed outright. Scarlett had an uneasy feeling that this man who was notreceived was the only one present who knew what lay behind her wild gaiety and that it wasaffording him sardonic amusement. She could have clawed him with pleasure too.   “If I can just live through this barbecue till this afternoon,” she thought, “all the girls will goupstairs to take naps to be fresh for tonight and I’ll stay downstairs and get to talk to Ashley.   Surely he must have noticed how popular I am.” She soothed her heart with another hope: “Ofcourse, he has to be attentive to Melanie because, after all, she is his cousin and she isn’t popular atall, and if he didn’t look out for her she’d just be a wallflower.”   She took new courage at this thought and redoubled her efforts in the direction of Charles,whose brown eyes glowed down eagerly at her. It was a wonderful day for Charles, a dream day,and he had fallen in love with Scarlett with no effort at all. Before this new emotion, Honeyreceded into a dim haze. Honey was a shrill-voiced sparrow and Scarlett a gleaming hummingbird.   She teased him and favored him and asked him questions and answered them herself, so that heappeared very clever without having to say a word. The other boys were puzzled and annoyed byher obvious interest in him, for they knew Charles was too shy to hitch two consecutive words together,and politeness was being severely strained to conceal their growing rage. Everyone wassmoldering, and it would have been a positive triumph for Scarlett, except for Ashley.   When the last forkful of pork and chicken and mutton had been eaten, Scarlett hoped the timehad come when India would rise and suggest that the ladies retire to the house. It was two o’clockand the sun was warm overhead, but India, wearied with the three-day preparations for thebarbecue, was only too glad to remain sitting beneath the arbor, shouting remarks to a deaf oldgentleman from Fayetteville.   A lazy somnolence descended on the crowd. The negroes idled about, clearing the long tables onwhich the food had been laid. The laughter and talking became less animated and groups here andthere fell silent. All were waiting for their hostess to signal the end of the morning’s festivities.   Palmetto fans were wagging more slowly, and several gentlemen were nodding from the heat andoverloaded stomachs. The barbecue was over and all were content to take their ease while sun wasat its height.   In this interval between the morning party and the evening’s ball, they seemed a placid, peacefullot. Only the young men retained the restless energy which had filled the whole throng a shortwhile before. Moving from group to group, drawling in their soft voices, they were as handsome asblooded stallions and as dangerous. The languor of midday had taken hold of the gathering, but underneathlurked tempers that could rise to killing heights in a second and flare out as quickly. Menand women, they were beautiful and wild, all a little violent under their pleasant ways and only alittle tamed.   Some time dragged by while the sun grew hotter, and Scarlett and others looked again towardIndia. Conversation was dying out when, in the lull, everyone in the grove heard Gerald’s voice raised in furious accents. Standing some little distance away from the barbecue tables, he was atthe peak of an argument with John Wilkes.   “God’s nightgown, man! Pray for a peaceable settlement with the Yankees. After we’ve fired onthe rascals at Fort Sumter? Peaceable? The South should show by arms that she cannot be insultedand that she is not leaving the Union by the Union’s kindness but by her own strength!”   “Oh, my God!” thought Scarlett. “He’s done it! Now, we’ll all sit here till midnight.”   In an instant, the somnolence had fled from the lounging throng and something electric wentsnapping through the air. The men sprang from benches and chain, arms in wide gestures, voicesclashing for the right to be heard above other voices. There had been no talk of politics orimpending war all during the morning, because of Mr. Wilkes’ request that the ladies should not bebored. But now Gerald had bawled the words “Fort Sumter,” and every man present forgot hishost’s admonition.   “Of course we’ll fight—” “Yankee thieves—” “We could lick them in a month—” “Why, oneSoutherner can lick twenty Yankees—” “Teach them lesson they won’t soon forget—”   “Peaceably? They won’t let goinpeace—”“No,l(a) ook how Mr. Lincoln insulted our Commissioners!”“Yes,keptthe(us) m hanging around for weeks—swearing he’d have Sumterevacuated!” They want war; we’ll make them sick of war—” And above all the voices, Gerald’sboomed. All Scarlett could hear was “States’ rights, by God!” shouted over and over. Gerald washaving an excellent time, but not his daughter.   Secession, war—these words long since had become acutely boring to Scarlett from muchrepetition, but now she hated the sound of them, for they meant that the men would stand there forhours haranguing one another and she would have no chance to corner Ashley. Of course therewould be no war and the men all knew it. They just loved to talk and hear themselves talk.   Charles Hamilton had not risen with the others and, finding himself comparatively alone withScarlett, he leaned closer and, with the daring born of new love, whispered a confession.   “Miss O’Hara—I—I had already decided that if we did fight, I’d go over to South Carolina andjoin a troop there. It’s said that Mr. Wade Hampton is organizing a cavalry troop, and of course Iwould want to go with him. He’s a splendid person and was my father’s best friend.”   Scarlett thought, “What am I supposed to do—give three cheers?” for Charles’ expressionshowed that he was baring his heart’s secrets to her. She could think of nothing to say and somerely looked at him, wondering why men were such fools as to think women interested in suchmatters. He took her expression to mean stunned approbation and went on rapidly, daringly—“If I went—would—would you be sorry, Miss O’Hara?”   “I should cry into my pillow every night,” said Scarlett, meaning to be flippant, but he took thestatement at face value and went red with pleasure. Her hand was concealed in the folds of herdress and he cautiously wormed his hand to it and squeezed it, overwhelmed at his own boldnessand at her acquiescence.   “Would you pray for me?”   “What a fool!” thought Scarlett bitterly, casting a surreptitious glance about her in the hope of being rescued from the conversation.   “Would you?”   “Oh—yes, indeed, Mr. Hamilton. Three Rosaries a night, at least!”   Charles gave a swift look about him, drew in his breath, stiffened the muscles of his stomach.   They were practically alone and he might never get another such opportunity. And, even givenanother such Godsent occasion, his courage might fail him.   “Miss O’Hara—I must tell you something. I—I love you!”   “Um?” said Scarlett absently, trying to peer through the crowd of arguing men to where Ashleystill sat talking at Melanie’s feet.   “Yes!” whispered Charles, in a rapture that she had neither laughed, screamed nor fainted, as hehad always imagined young girls did under such circumstances. “I love you! You are the most—the most—” and he found his tongue for the first time in his life. “The most beautiful girl I’ve everknown and the sweetest and the kindest, and you have the dearest ways and I love you with all myheart. I cannot hope that you could love anyone like me but, my dear Miss O’Hara, if you can giveme any encouragement, I will do anything in the world to make you love me. I will—”   Charles stopped, for he couldn’t think of anything difficult enough of accomplishment to reallyprove to Scarlett the depth of his feeling, so he said simply: “I want to marry you.”   Scarlett came back to earth with a jerk, at the sound of the word “marry.” She had been thinkingof marriage and of Ashley, and she looked at Charles with poorly concealed irritation. Why mustthis calf-like fool intrude his feelings on this particular day when she was so worried she was aboutto lose her mind? She looked into the pleading brown eyes and she saw none of the beauty of a shyboy’s first love, of the adoration of an ideal come true or the wild happiness and tenderness thatwere sweeping through him like a flame. Scarlett was used to men asking her to marry them, menmuch more attractive than Charles Hamilton, and men who had more finesse than to propose at abarbecue when she had more important matters on her mind. She only saw a boy of twenty, red asa beet and looking very silly. She wished that she could tell him how silly he looked. Butautomatically, the words Ellen had taught her to say in such emergencies rose to her lips andcasting down her eyes, from force of long habit, she murmured: “Mr. Hamilton, I am not unawareof the honor you have bestowed on me in wanting me to become your wife, but this is all sosudden that I do not know what to say.”   That was a neat way of smoothing a man’s vanity and yet keeping him on the string, and Charlesrose to it as though such bait were new and he the first to swallow it.   “I would wait forever! I wouldn’t want you unless you were quite sure. Please, Miss O’Hara, tellme that I may hope!”   “Um,” said Scarlett, her sharp eyes noting that Ashley, who had not risen to take part in the wartalk, was smiling up at Melanie. If this fool who was grappling for her hand would only keep quietfor a moment, perhaps she could hear what they were saying. She must hear what they said. Whatdid Melanie say to him that brought that look of interest to his eyes?   Charles’ words blurred the voices she strained to hear.   “Oh, hush!” she hissed at him, pinching his hand and not even looking at him.   Startled, at first abashed, Charles blushed at the rebuff and then, seeing how her eyes werefastened on his sister, he smiled. Scarlett was afraid someone might hear his words. She wasnaturally embarrassed and shy, and in agony lest they be overheard. Charles felt a surge of masculinitysuch as he had never experienced, for this was the first time in his life that he had everembarrassed any girl. The thrill was intoxicating. He arranged his face in what he fancied was anexpression of careless unconcern and cautiously returned Scarlett’s pinch to show that he was manof the world enough to understand and accept her reproof.   She did not even feel his pinch, for she could hear clearly the sweet voice that was Melanie’schief charm: “I fear I cannot agree with you about Mr. Thackeray’s works. He is a cynic. I fear beis not the gentleman Mr. Dickens is.”   What a silly thing to say to a man, thought Scarlett, ready to giggle with relief. Why, she’s nomore than a bluestocking and everyone knows what men think of bluestockings. ... The way to geta man interested and to hold his interest was to talk about him, and then gradually lead theconversation around to yourself—and keep it there. Scarlett would have felt some cause for alarmif Melanie had been saying: “How wonderful you are!” or “How do you ever think of such things?   My little ole brain would bust if I even tried to think about them!” But here she was, with a man ather feet, talking as seriously as if she were in church. The prospect looked brighter to Scarlett, sobright in fact that she turned beaming eyes on Charles and smiled from pure joy. Enraptured at thisevidence of her affection, he grabbed up her fan and plied it so enthusiastically her hair began toblow about untidily.   “Ashley, you have not favored us with your opinion,” said Jim Tarleton, turning from the groupof shouting men, and with an apology Ashley excused himself and rose. There was no one there sohandsome, thought Scarlett, as she marked how graceful was his negligent pose and how the sungleamed on his gold hair and mustache. Even the older men stopped to listen to his words.   “Why, gentlemen, if Georgia fights. I’ll go with her. Why else would I have joined the Troop?”   he said. His gray eyes opened wide and their drowsiness disappeared in an intensity that Scarletthad never seen before. “But, like Father, I hope the Yankees will let us go in peace and that therewill be no fighting—” He held up his hand with a smile, as a babel of voices from the Fontaine andTarleton boys began, “Yes, yes, I know we’ve been insulted and lied to—but if we’d been in theYankees’ shoes and they were trying to leave the Union, how would we have acted? Pretty muchthe same. We wouldn’t have liked it.”   “There he goes again,” thought Scarlett. “Always putting himself in the other fellow’s shoes.”   To her, there was never but one fair side to an argument. Sometimes, there was no understandingAshley.   “Let’s don’t be too hot headed and let’s don’t have any war. Most of the misery of the world hasbeen caused by wars. And when the wars were over, no one ever knew what they were all about.”   Scarlett sniffed. Lucky for Ashley that he had an unassailable reputation for courage, or elsethere’d be trouble. As she thought this, the clamor of dissenting voices rose up about Ashley,indignant, fiery.   Under the arbor, the deaf old gentleman from Fayetteville punched India.   “What’s it all about? What are they saying?”   “War!” shouted India, cupping her hand to his ear. “They want to fight the Yankees!”   “War, is it?” he cried, fumbling about him for his cane and heaving himself out of his chair withmore energy than he had shown in years. “I’ll tell ‘um about war. I’ve been there.” It was not oftenthat Mr. McRae had the opportunity to talk about war, the way his women folks shushed him.   He stumped rapidly to the group, waving his cane and shouting and, because he could not hearthe voices about him, he soon had undisputed possession of the field.   “You fire-eating young bucks, listen to me. You don’t want to fight. I fought and I know. Wentout in the Seminole War and was a big enough fool to go to the Mexican War, too. You all don’tknow what war is. You think it’s riding a pretty horse and having the girls throw flowers at you andcoming home a hero. Well, it ain’t. No, sir! It’s going hungry, and getting the measles andpneumonia from sleeping in the wet. And if it ain’t measles and pneumonia, if s your bowels. Yessir, what war does to a man’s bowels—dysentery and things like that—”   The ladies were pink with blushes. Mr. McRae was a reminder of a cruder era, like GrandmaFontaine and her embarrassingly loud belches, an era everyone would like to forget.   “Run get your grandpa,” hissed one of the old gentleman’s daughters to a young girl standingnear by. “I declare,” she whispered to the fluttering matrons about her, “he gets worse every day.   Would you believe it, this very morning he said to Mary—and she’s only sixteen: ‘Now, Missy ...’   ” And the voice went off into a whisper as the granddaughter slipped out to try to induce Mr.   McRae to return to his seat in the shade.   Of all the group that milled about under the trees, girls smiling excitedly, men talkingimpassionedly, there was only one who seemed calm. Scarlett’s eyes turned to Rhett Butler, wholeaned against a tree, his hands shoved deep in his trouser pockets. He stood alone, since Mr.   Wilkes had left his side, and had uttered no word as the conversation grew hotter. The red lipsunder the close-clipped black mustache curled down and there was a glint of amused contempt inhis black eyes—contempt, as if he listened to the braggings of children. A very disagreeable smile,Scarlett thought. He listened quietly until Stuart Tarleton, his red hair tousled and his eyesgleaming, repeated: “Why, we could lick them in a month! Gentlemen always fight better thanrabble. A month—why, one battle—”   “Gentlemen,” said Rhett Butler, in a flat drawl that bespoke his Charleston birth, not movingfrom his position against the tree or taking his hands from his pockets, “may I say a word?”   There was contempt in his manner as in his eyes, contempt overlaid with an air of courtesy thatsomehow burlesqued their own manners.   The group turned toward him and accorded him the politeness always due an outsider.   “Has any one of you gentlemen ever thought that there’s not a cannon factory south of theMason-Dixon Line? Or how few iron foundries there are in the South? Or woolen mills or cottonfactories or tanneries? Have you thought that we would not have a single warship and that theYankee fleet could bottle up our harbors in a week, so that we could not sell our cotton abroad?   But—of course—you gentlemen have thought of these things.”   “Why, he means the boys are a passel of fools!” thought Scarlett indignantly, the hot bloodcoming to her cheeks.   Evidently, she was not the only one to whom this idea occurred, for several of the boys werebeginning to stick out their chins. John Wilkes casually but swiftly came back to his place besidethe speaker, as if to impress on all present that this man was his guest and that, moreover, therewere ladies present.   “The trouble with most of us Southerners,” continued Rhett Butler, “is that we either don’t travelenough or we don’t profit enough by our travels. Now, of course, all you gentlemen are welltraveled. But what have you seen? Europe and New York and Philadelphia and, of course, theladies have been to Saratoga” (he bowed slightly to the group under the arbor). “You’ve seen thehotels and the museums and the balls and the gambling houses. And you’ve come home believingthat there’s no place like the South. As for me, I was Charleston born, but I have spent the last fewyears in the North.” His white teeth showed in a grin, as though he realized that everyone presentknew just why he no longer lived in Charleston, and cared not at all if they did know. “I have seenmany things that you all have not seen. The thousands of immigrants who’d be glad to fight for theYankees for food and a few dollars, the factories, the foundries, the shipyards, the iron and coalmines—all the things we haven’t got. Why, all we have is cotton and slaves and arrogance. They’dlick us in a month.”   For a tense moment, there was silence. Rhett Butler removed a fine linen handkerchief from hiscoat pocket and idly flicked dust from his sleeve. Then an ominous murmuring arose in the crowdand from under the arbor came a humming as unmistakable as that of a hive of newly disturbedbees. Even while she felt the hot blood of wrath still in her cheeks, something in Scarlett’s practicalmind prompted the thought that what this man said was right, and it sounded like common sense.   Why, she’d never even seen a factory, or known anyone who had seen a factory. But, even if itwere true, he was no gentleman to make such a statement—and at a party, too, where everyonewas having a good time.   Stuart Tarleton, brows lowering, came forward with Brent close at his heels. Of course, theTarleton twins had nice manners and they wouldn’t make a scene at a barbecue, even thoughtremendously provoked. Just the same, all the ladies felt pleasantly excited, for it was so seldomthat they actually saw a scene or a quarrel. Usually they had to hear of it third-hand.   “Sir,” said Stuart heavily, “what do you mean?”   Rhett looked at him with polite but mocking eyes.   “I mean,” he answered, “what Napoleon—perhaps you’ve heard of him?—remarked once, ‘Godis on the side of the strongest battalion!’ ” and, turning to John Wilkes, he said with courtesy thatwas unfeigned: “You promised to show me your library, sir. Would it be too great a favor to ask tosee it now? I fear I must go back to Jonesboro early this afternoon where a bit of business callsme.”   He swung about, facing the crowd, clicked his heels together and bowed like a dancing master, abow that was graceful for so powerful a man, and as full of impertinence as a slap in the face. Then he walked across the lawn with John Wilkes, his black head in the air, and the sound of hisdiscomforting laughter floated back to the group about the tables.   There was a startled silence and then the buzzing broke out again. India rose tiredly from herseat beneath the arbor and went toward the angry Stuart Tarleton. Scarlett could not hear what shesaid, but the look in her eyes as she gazed up into his lowering face gave Scarlett something like atwinge of conscience. It was the same look of belonging that Melanie wore when she looked atAshley, only Stuart did not see it. So India did love him. Scarlett thought for an instant that if shehad not flirted so blatantly with Stuart at that political speaking a year ago, he might have marriedIndia long ere this. But then the twinge passed with the comforting thought that it wasn’t her faultif other girls couldn’t keep their men.   Finally Stuart smiled down at India, an unwilling smile, and nodded his head. Probably Indiahad been pleading with him not to follow Mr. Butler and make trouble. A polite tumult broke outunder the trees as the guests arose, shaking crumbs from laps. The married women called to nursesand small children and gathered their broods together to take their departure, and groups of girlsstarted off, laughing and talking, toward the house to exchange gossip in the upstairs bedrooms andto take their naps.   All the ladies except Mrs. Tarleton moved out of the back yard, leaving the shade of oaks andarbor to the men. She was detained by Gerald, Mr. Calvert and the others who wanted an answerfrom her about the horses for the Troop.   Ashley strolled over to where Scarlett and Charles sat, a thoughtful and amused smile on hisface.   “Arrogant devil, isn’t he?” he observed, looking after Butler. “He looks like one of the Borgias.”   Scarlett thought quickly but could remember no family in the County or Atlanta or Savannah bythat name.   “I don’t know them. Is he kin to them? Who are they?”   An odd look over Charles’ face, incredulity and shame struggling with love. Love triumphedasherealize(came) d that it was enough for a girl to be sweet and gentle and beautiful, withouthaving an education to hamper her charms, and he made swift answer: “The Borgias wereItalians.”   “Oh,” said Scarlett, losing interest, “foreigners.”   She turned her prettiest smile on Ashley, but for some reason he was not looking at her. He waslooking at Charles, and there was understanding in his face and a little pity.   Scarlett stood on the landing and peered cautiously over the banisters into the hall below. It wasempty. From the bedrooms on the floor above came an unending hum of low voices, rising andfalling, punctuated with squeaks of laughter and, “Now, you didn’t, really!” and “What did he saythen?” On the beds and couches of the six great bedrooms, the girls were resting, their dresses off,their stays loosed, their hair flowing down their backs. Afternoon naps were a custom of thecountry and never were they so necessary as on the all-day parties, beginning early in the morning and culminating in a ball. For half an hour, the girls would chatter and laugh, and then servantswould pull the shutters and in the warm half-gloom the talk would die to whispers and finallyexpire in silence broken only by soft regular breathing.   Scarlett had made certain that Melanie was lying down on the bed with Honey and HettyTarleton before she slipped into the hall and started down the stairs. From the window on thelanding, she could see the group of men sitting under the arbor, drinking from tall glasses, and sheknew they would remain there until late afternoon. Her eyes searched the group but Ashley was notamong them. Then she listened and she heard his voice. As she had hoped, he was still in the frontdriveway bidding good-by to departing matrons and children.   Her heart in her throat, she went swiftly down the stairs. What if she should meet Mr. Wilkes?   What excuse could she give for prowling about the house when all the other girls were getting theirbeauty naps? Well, that had to be risked.   As she reached the bottom step, she heard the servants moving about in the dining room underthe butler’s orders, lifting out the table and chairs in preparation for the dancing. Across the widehall was the open door of the library and she sped into it noiselessly. She could wait there untilAshley finished his adieux and then call to him when he came into the house.   The library was in semidarkness, for the blinds had been drawn against the sun. The dim roomwith towering walls completely filled with dark books depressed her. It was not the place whichshe would have chosen for a tryst such as she hoped this one would be. Large numbers of booksalways depressed her, as did people who liked to read large numbers of books. That is—all peopleexcept Ashley. The heavy furniture rose up at her in the half-light, high-backed chairs with deepseats and wide arms, made for the tall Wilkes men, squatty soft chairs of velvet with velvethassocks before them for the girls. Far across the long room before the hearth, the seven-foot sofa,Ashley’s favorite seat, reared its high back, like some huge sleeping animal.   She closed the door except for a crack and tried to make her heart beat more slowly. She tried toremember just exactly what she had planned last night to say to Ashley, but she couldn’t recallanything. Had she thought up something and forgotten it—or had she only planned that Ashleyshould say something to her? She couldn’t remember, and a sudden cold fright fell upon her. If herheart would only stop pounding in her ears, perhaps she could think of what to say. But the quickthudding only increased as she heard him call a final farewell and walk into the front hall.   All she could think of was that she loved him—everything about him, from the proud lift of hisgold head to his slender dark boots, loved his laughter even when it mystified her, loved hisbewildering silences. Oh, if only he would walk in on her now and take her in his arms, so shewould be spared the need of saying anything. He must love her—”Perhaps if I prayed—” Shesqueezed her eyes tightly and began gabbling to herself “Hail Mary, full of grace—”   “Why, Scarlett!” said Ashley’s voice, breaking in through the roaring in her ears and throwingher into utter confusion. He stood in the hall peering at her through the partly opened door, aquizzical smile on his face.   “Who are you hiding from—Charles or the Tarletons?”   She gulped. So he had noticed how the men had swarmed about her! How unutterably dear he was standing there with his eyes twinkling, all unaware of her excitement. She could not speak, butshe put out a hand and drew him into the room. He entered, puzzled but interested. There was atenseness about her, a glow in her eyes that he had never seen before, and even in the dim light hecould see the rosy flush on her cheeks. Automatically be closed the door behind him and took herhand.   “What is it?” he said, almost in a whisper.   At the touch of his hand, she began to tremble. It was going to happen now, just as she haddreamed it. A thousand incoherent thoughts shot through her mind, and she could not catch a singleone to mold into a word. She could only shake and look up into his face. Why didn’t he speak?   “What is it?” he repeated. “A secret to tell me?”   Suddenly she found her tongue and just as suddenly all the years of Ellen’s teachings fell away,and the forthright Irish blood of Gerald spoke from his daughter’s lips.   “Yes—a secret I love you.”   For an instance there was a silence so acute it seemed that neither of them even breathed. Thenthe trembling fell away from her, as happiness and pride surged through her. Why hadn’t she donethis before? How much simpler than all the ladylike maneuverings she had been taught. And thenher eyes sought his.   There was a look of consternation in them, of incredulity and something more—what was it?   Yes, Gerald had looked that way the day his pet hunter had broken his leg and he had had to shoothim. Why did she have to think of that now? Such a silly thought. And why did Ashley look sooddly and say nothing? Then something like a well-trained mask came down over his face and hesmiled gallantly.   “Isn’t it enough that you’ve collected every other man’s heart here today?” he said, with the old,teasing, caressing note in his voice. “Do you want to make it unanimous? Well, you’ve always hadmy heart, you know. You cut your teeth on it.”   Something was wrong—all wrong! This was not the way she had planned it. Through the madtearing of ideas round and round in her brain, one was beginning to take form. Somehow—forsome reason—Ashley was acting as if he thought she was just flirting with him. But he knewdifferently. She knew he did.   “Ashley—Ashley—tell me—you must—oh, don’t tease me now! Have I your heart? Oh, mydear, I lo—”   His hand went across her lips, swiftly. The mask was gone.   “You must not say these things, Scarlett! You mustn’t. You don’t mean them. You’ll hateyourself for saying them, and you’ll hate me for hearing them!”   She jerked her head away. A hot swift current was running through her.   “I couldn’t ever hate you. I tell you I love you and I know you must care about me because—”   She stopped. Never before had she seen so much misery in anyone’s face. “Ashley, do you care—you do, don’t you?”   “Yes,” he said dully. “I care.”   If he had said he loathed her, she could not have been more frightened. She plucked at hissleeve, speechless.   “Scarlett,” he said, “can’t we go away and forget that we have ever said these things?”   “No,” she whispered. “I can’t. What do you mean? Don’t you want to—to marry me?”   He replied, I’m going to marry Melanie.”   Somehow she found that she was sitting on the low velvet chair and Ashley, on the hassock ather feet, was holding both her hands in his, in a hard grip. He was saying things—things that madeno sense. Her mind was quite blank, quite empty of all the thoughts that had surged through it onlya moment before, and his words made no more impression than rain on glass. They fell onunhearing ears, words that were swift and tender and full of pity, like a father speaking to a hurtchild.   The sound of Melanie’s name caught in her consciousness and she looked into his crystal-grayeyes. She saw in them the old remoteness that had always baffled her—and a look of self-hatred.   “Father is to announce the engagement tonight. We are to be married soon. I should have toldyou, but I thought you knew. I thought everyone knew—had known for years. I never dreamed thatyou— You’ve so many beaux. I thought Stuart—”   Life and feeling and comprehension were beginning to flow back into her.   “But you just said you cared for me.”   His warm hands hurt hers.   “My dear, must you make me say things that will hurt you?”   Her silence pressed him on.   “How can I make you see these things, my dear. You who are so young and unthinking that youdo not know what marriage means.”   “I know I love you.”   “Love isn’t enough to make a successful marriage when two people are as different as we are.   You would want all of a man, Scarlett, his body, his heart, his soul, his thoughts. And if you did nothave them, you would be miserable. And I couldn’t give you all of me. I couldn’t give all of me toanyone. And I would not want an of your mind and your soul. And you would be hurt, and thenyou would come to hate me—how bitterly! You would hate the books I read and the music I loved,because they took me away from you even for a moment And I—perhaps I—”   “Do you love her?”   “She is like me, part of my blood, and we understand each other. Scarlett! Scarlett! Can’t I makeyou see that a marriage can’t go on in any sort of peace unless the two people are alike?”   Some one else had said that: “Like must marry like or there’ll be no happiness.” Who was it? Itseemed a million years since she had heard that, but it still did not make sense.   “But you said you cared.”   “I shouldn’t have said it.”   Somewhere in her brain, a slow fire rose and rage began to blot out everything else.   “Well, having been cad enough to say it—”   His face went white.   “I was a cad to say it, as I’m going to marry Melanie. I did you a wrong and Melanie a greaterone. I should not have said it, for I knew you wouldn’t understand. How could I help caring foryou—you who have all the passion for life that I have not? You who can love and hate with aviolence impossible to me? Why you are as elemental as fire and wind and wild things and I—”   She thought of Melanie and saw suddenly her quiet brown eyes with their far-off look, herplacid little hands in their black lace mitts, her gentle silences. And then her rage broke, the samerage that drove Gerald to murder and other Irish ancestors to misdeeds that cost them their necks.   There was nothing in her now of the well-bred Robillards who could bear with white silenceanything the world might cast.   “Why don’t you say it, you coward! You’re afraid to marry me! You’d rather live with thatstupid little fool who can’t open her mouth except to say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ and raise a passel of mealy-mouthed brats just like her! Why—”   “You must not say these things about Melanie!”   “ ‘I mustn’t’ be damned to you! Who are you to tell me I mustn’t? You coward, you cad, you—You made me believe you were going to marry me—”   “Be fair,” his voice pleaded. “Did I ever—”   She did not want to be fair, although she knew what he said was true. He had never once crossedthe borders of friendliness with her and, when she thought of this fresh anger rose, the anger ofhurt pride and feminine vanity. She had run after him and he would have none of her. He preferreda whey-faced little fool like Melanie to her. Oh, far better that she had followed Ellen andMammy’s precepts and never, never revealed that she even liked him& Chapter 7 WITHIN TWO WEEKS Scarlett had become a wife, and within two months more she was awidow. She was soon released from the bonds she had assumed with so much haste and so littlethought, but she was never again to know the careless freedom of her unmarried days. Widowhoodhad crowded closely on the heels of marriage but, to her dismay, motherhood soon followed.   In after years when she thought of those last days of April, 1861, Scarlett could never quiteremember details. Time and events were telescoped, jumbled together like a nightmare that had noreality or reason. Till the day she died there would be blank spots in her memories of those days.   Especially vague were her recollections of the time between her acceptance of Charles and herwedding. Two weeks! So short an engagement would have been impossible in times of peace.   Then there would have been a decorous interval of a year or at least six months. But the South wasaflame with war, events roared along as swiftly as if carried by a mighty wind and the slow tempoof the old days was gone. Ellen had wrung her hands and counseled delay, in order that Scarlettmight think the matter over at greater length. But to her pleadings, Scarlett turned a sullen face and a deaf ear. Marry she would! and quickly too. Within two weeks.   Learning that Ashley’s wedding had been moved up from the autumn to the first of May, so hecould leave with the Troop as soon as it was called into service, Scarlett set the date of herwedding for the day before his. Ellen protested but Charles pleaded with new-found eloquence, forhe was impatient to be off to South Carolina to join Wade Hampton’s Legion, and Gerald sidedwith the two young people. He was excited by the war fever and pleased that Scarlett had made sogood a match, and who was he to stand in the way of young love when there was a war? Ellen,distracted, finally gave in as other mothers throughout the South were doing. Their leisured worldhad been turned topsy-turvy, and their pleadings, prayers and advice availed nothing against thepowerful forces sweeping them along.   The South was intoxicated with enthusiasm and excitement. Everyone knew that one battlewould end the war and every young man hastened to enlist before the war should end—hastened tomarry his sweetheart before he rushed off to Virginia to strike a blow at the Yankees. There weredozens of war weddings in the County and there was little time for the sorrow of parting, foreveryone was too busy and excited for either solemn thoughts or tears. The ladies were makinguniforms, knitting socks and rolling bandages, and the men were drilling and shooting. Train loadsof troops passed through Jonesboro daily on their way north to Atlanta and Virginia, Some detachmentswere gaily uniformed in the scarlets and light blues and greens of select social-militiacompanies; some small groups were in homespun and coonskin caps; others, ununiformed, were inbroadcloth and fine linen; all were half-drilled, half-armed, wild with excitement and shouting asthough en route to a picnic. The sight of these men threw the County boys into a panic for fear thewar would be over before they could reach Virginia, and preparations for the Troop’s departurewere speeded.   In the midst of this turmoil, preparations went forward for Scarlett’s wedding and, almost beforeshe knew it, she was clad in Ellen’s wedding dress and veil, coming down the wide stairs of Taraon her father’s arm, to face a house packed full with guests. Afterward she remembered, as from adream, the hundreds of candles flaring on the walls, her mother’s face, loving, a little bewildered,her lips moving in a silent prayer for her daughter’s happiness, Gerald flushed with brandy andpride that his daughter was marrying both money, a fine name and an old one—and Ashley,standing at the bottom of the steps with Melanie’s arm through his.   When she saw the look on his face, she thought: “This can’t be real. It can’t be. It’s a nightmare.   I’ll wake up and find it’s all been a nightmare. I mustn’t think of it now, or I’ll begin screaming infront of all these people. I can’t think now. I’ll think later, when I can stand it—when I can’t seehis eyes.”   It was all very dreamlike, the passage through the aisle of smiling people, Charles’ scarlet faceand stammering voice and her own replies, so startlingly clear, so cold, And the congratulationsafterward and the kissing and the toasts and the dancing—all, all like a dream. Even the feel ofAshley’s kiss upon her cheek, even Melanie’s soft whisper, “Now, we’re really and truly sisters,”   were unreal. Even the excitement caused by the swooning spell that overtook Charles’ plumpemotional aunt, Miss Pittypat Hamilton, had the quality of a nightmare.   But when the dancing and toasting were finally ended and the dawn was coming, when all the Atlanta guests who could be crowded into Tara and the overseer’s house had gone to sleep on beds,sofas and pallets on the floor and all the neighbors had gone home to rest in preparation for thewedding at Twelve Oaks the next day, then the dreamlike trance shattered like crystal beforereality. The reality was the blushing Charles, emerging from her dressing room in his nightshirt,avoiding the startled look she gave him over the high-pulled sheet.   Of course, she knew that married people occupied the same bed but she had never given thematter a thought before. It seemed very natural in the case of her mother and father, but she hadnever applied it to herself. Now for the first time since the barbecue she realized just what she hadbrought on herself. The thought of this strange boy whom she hadn’t really wanted to marrygetting into bed with her, when her heart was breaking with an agony of regret at her hasty actionand the anguish of losing Ashley forever, was too much to be borne. As he hesitatingly approachedthe bed she spoke in a hoarse whisper.   “I’ll scream out loud if you come near me. I will! I will—at the top of my voice! Get away fromme! Don’t you dare touch me!”   So Charles Hamilton spent his wedding night in an armchair in the corner, not too unhappily, forhe understood, or thought he understood, the modesty and delicacy of his bride. He was willing towait until her fears subsided, only—only— He sighed as he twisted about seeking a comfortableposition, for he was going away to the war so very soon.   Nightmarish as her own wedding had been, Ashley’s wedding was even worse. Scarlett stood inher apple-green “second-day” dress in the parlor of Twelve Oaks amid the blaze of hundreds ofcandles, jostled by the same throng as the night before, and saw the plain little face of MelanieHamilton glow into beauty as she became Melanie Wilkes. Now, Ashley was gone forever. HerAshley. No, not her Ashley now. Had he ever been hers? It was all so mixed up in her mind and hermind was so tired, so bewildered. He had said he loved her, but what was it that had separatedthem? If she could only remember. She had stilled the County’s gossiping tongue by marryingCharles, but what did that matter now? It had seemed so important once, but now it didn’t seemimportant at all. All that mattered was Ashley. Now he was gone and she was married to a man shenot only did not love but for whom she had an active contempt.   Oh, how she regretted it all. She had often heard of people cutting off their noses to spite theirfaces but heretofore it had been only a figure of speech. Now she knew just what it meant Andmingled with her frenzied desire to be free of Charles and safely back at Tara, an unmarried girlagain, ran the knowledge that she had only herself to blame. Ellen had tried to stop her and shewould not listen.   So she danced through the night of Ashley’s wedding in a daze and said things mechanically andsmiled and irrelevantly wondered at the stupidity of people who thought her a happy bride andcould not see that her heart was broken. Well, thank God, they couldn’t see!   That night after Mammy had helped her undress and had departed and Charles had emergedshyly from the dressing room, wondering if he was to spend a second night in the horsehair chair,she burst into tears. She cried until Charles climbed into bed beside her and tried to comfort her,cried without words until no more tears would come and at last she lay sobbing quietly on his If there had not been a war, there would have been a week of visiting about the County, withballs and barbecues in honor of the two newly married couples before they set off to Saratoga orWhite Sulphur for wedding trips. If there had not been a war, Scarlett would have had third-dayand fourth-day and fifth-day dresses to wear to the Fontaine and Calvert and Tarleton parties in herhonor. But there were no parties now and no wedding trips. A week after the wedding Charles leftto join Colonel Wade Hampton, and two weeks later Ashley and the Troop departed, leaving thewhole County bereft.   In those two weeks, Scarlett never saw Ashley alone, never had a private word with him. Noteven at the terrible moment of parting, when he stopped by Tara on his way to the train, did shehave a private talk. Melanie, bonneted and shawled, sedate in newly acquired matronly dignity,hung on his arm and the entire personnel of Tara, black and white, turned out to see Ashley off tothe war.   Melanie said: “You must kiss Scarlett, Ashley. She’s my sister now,” and Ashley bent andtouched her cheek with cold lips, his face drawn and taut. Scarlett could hardly take any joy fromthat kiss, so sullen was her heart at Melly’s prompting it. Melanie smothered her with an embraceat parting.   “You will come to Atlanta and visit me and Aunt Pittypat, won’t you? Oh, darling, we want tohave you so much! We want to know Charlie’s wife better.”   Five weeks passed during which letters, shy, ecstatic, loving, came from Charles in SouthCarolina telling of his love, his plans for the future when the war was over, his desire to become ahero for her sake and his worship of his commander, Wade Hampton. In the seventh week, therecame a telegram from Colonel Hampton himself, and then a letter, a kind, dignified letter ofcondolence. Charles was dead. The colonel would have wired earlier, but Charles, thinking hisillness a trifling one, did not wish to have his family worried. The unfortunate boy had not onlybeen cheated of the love he thought he had won but also of his high hopes of honor and glory onthe field of battle. He had died ignominiously and swiftly of pneumonia, following measles,without ever having gotten any closer to the Yankees than the camp in South Carolina.   In due time, Charles’ son was born and, because it was fashionable to name boys after theirfathers’ commanding officers, he was called Wade Hampton Hamilton. Scarlett had wept withdespair at the knowledge that she was pregnant and wished that she were dead. But she carried thechild through its time with a minimum of discomfort, bore him with little distress and recovered soquickly that Mammy told her privately it was downright common—ladies should suffer more. Shefelt little affection for the child, hide the fact though she might. She had not wanted him and sheresented his coming and, now that he was here, it did not seem possible that he was hers, a part ofher.   Though she recovered physically from Wade’s birth in a disgracefully short time, mentally shewas dazed and sick. Her spirits drooped, despite the efforts of the whole plantation to revive them.   Ellen went about with a puckered, worried forehead and Gerald swore more frequently than usualand brought her useless gifts from Jonesboro. Even old Dr. Fontaine admitted that he was puzzled,after his tonic of sulphur, molasses and herbs failed to perk her up. He told Ellen privately that itwas a broken heart that made Scarlett so irritable and listless by turns. But Scarlett, had she wished to speak, could have told them that it was a far different and more complex trouble. She did not tellthem that it was utter boredom, bewilderment at actually being a mother and, most of all, theabsence of Ashley that made her look so woebegone.   Her boredom was acute and ever present. The County had been devoid of any entertainment orsocial life ever since the Troop had gone away to war. All of the interesting young men were gone—the four Tarletons, the two Calverts, the Fontaines, the Munroes and everyone from Jonesboro,Fayetteville and Lovejoy who was young and attractive. Only the older men, the cripples and thewomen were left, and they spent their time knitting and sewing, growing more cotton and corn,raising more hogs and sheep and cows for the army. There was never a sight of a real man exceptwhen the commissary troop under Suellen’s middle-aged beau, Frank Kennedy, rode by everymonth to collect supplies. The men in the commissary were not very exciting, and the sight ofFrank’s timid courting annoyed her until she found it difficult to be polite to him. If he and Suellenwould only get it over with!   Even if the commissary troop had been more interesting, it would not have helped her situationany. She was a widow and her heart was in the grave. At least, everyone thought it was in the graveand expected her to act accordingly. This irritated her for, try as she would, she could recallnothing about Charles except the dying-calf look on his face when she told him she would marryhim. And even that picture was fading. But she was a widow and she had to watch her behavior.   Not for her the pleasures of unmarried girls. She had to be grave and aloof. Ellen had stressed thisat great length after catching Frank’s lieutenant swinging Scarlett in the garden swing and makingher squeal with laughter. Deeply distressed, Ellen had told her how easily a widow might getherself talked about. The conduct of a widow must be twice as circumspect as that of a matron.   “And God only knows,” thought Scarlett, listening obediently to her mother’s soft voice,“matrons never have any fun at all. So widows might as well be dead.”   A widow had to wear hideous black dresses without even a touch of braid to enliven them, noflower or ribbon or lace or even jewelry, except onyx mourning brooches or necklaces made fromthe deceased’s hair. And the black crêpe veil on her bonnet had to reach to her knees, and only afterthree years of widowhood could it be shortened to shoulder length. Widows could never chattervivaciously or laugh aloud. Even when they smiled, it must be a sad, tragic smile. And, mostdreadful of all, they could in no way indicate an interest in the company of gentlemen. And shoulda gentleman be so ill bred as to indicate an interest in her, she must freeze him with a dignified butwell-chosen reference to her dead husband. Oh, yes, thought Scarlett, drearily, some widows doremarry eventually, when they are old and stringy. Though Heaven knows how they manage it,with their neighbors watching. And then it’s generally to some desperate old widower with a largeplantation and a dozen children.   Marriage was bad enough, but to be widowed—oh, then life was over forever! How stupidpeople were when they talked about what a comfort little Wade Hampton must be to her, now thatCharles was gone. How stupid of them to say that now she had something to live for! Everyonetalked about how sweet it was that she had this posthumous token of her love and she naturally didnot disabuse their minds. But that thought was farthest from her mind. She had very little interestin Wade and sometimes it was difficult to remember that he was actually hers.   Every morning she woke up and for a drowsy moment she was Scarlett O’Hara again and thesun was bright in the magnolia outside her window and the mockers were singing and the sweetsmell of frying bacon was stealing to her nostrils. She was carefree and young again. Then sheheard the fretful hungry wail and always—always there was a startled moment when she thought:   “Why, there’s a baby in the house!” Then she remembered that it was her baby. It was all verybewildering.   And Ashley! Oh, most of all Ashley! For the first time in her life, she hated Tara, hated the longred road that led down the hill to the river, hated the red fields with springing green cotton. Everyfoot of ground, every tree and brook, every lane and bridle path reminded her of him. He belongedto another woman and he had gone to the war, but his ghost still haunted the roads in the twilight,still smiled at her from drowsy gray eyes in the shadows of the porch. She never heard the soundof hooves coming up the river road from Twelve Oaks that for a sweet moment she did not think—Ashley!   She hated Twelve Oaks now and once she had loved it. She hated it but she was drawn there, soshe could hear John Wilkes and the girls talk about him—hear them read his letters from Virginia.   They hurt her but she had to hear them. She disliked the stiff-necked India and the foolish prattlingHoney and knew they disliked her equally, but she could not stay away from them. And every timeshe came home from Twelve Oaks, she lay down on her bed morosely and refused to get up forsupper.   It was this refusal of food that worried Ellen and Mammy more than anything else. Mammybrought up tempting trays, insinuating that now she was a widow she might eat as much as shepleased, but Scarlett had no appetite.   When Dr. Fontaine told Ellen gravely that heartbreak frequently led to a decline and womenpined away into the grave, Ellen went white, for that fear was what she had carried in her heart.   “Isn’t there anything to be done, Doctor?”   “A change of scene will be the best thing in the world for her,” said the doctor, only too anxiousto be rid of an unsatisfactory patient.   So Scarlett, unenthusiastic, went off with her child, first to visit her O’Hara and Robillardrelatives in Savannah and then to Ellen’s sisters, Pauline and Eulalie, in Charleston. But she wasback at Tara a month before Ellen expected her, with no explanation of her return. They had beenkind in Savannah, but James and Andrew and their wives were old and content to sit quietly andtalk of a past in which Scarlett had no interest. It was the same with the Robillards, and Charlestonwas terrible, Scarlett thought.   Aunt Pauline and her husband, a little old man, with a formal, brittle courtesy and the absent airof one living in an older age, lived on a plantation on the river, far more isolated than Tara. Theirnearest neighbor was twenty miles away by dark roads through still jungles of cypress swamp andoak. The live oaks with their waving curtains of gray moss gave Scarlett the creeps and alwaysbrought to her mind Gerald’s stories of Irish ghosts roaming in shimmering gray mists. There wasnothing to do but knit all day and at night listen to Uncle Carey read aloud from the improvingworks of Mr. Bulwer-Lytton.   Eulalie, hidden behind a high-walled garden in a great house on the Battery in Charleston, wasno more entertaining. Scarlett, accustomed to wide vistas of rolling red hills, felt that she was inprison. There was more social life here than at Aunt Pauline’s, but Scarlett did not like the peoplewho called, with their airs and their traditions and their emphasis on family. She knew very wellthey all thought she was a child of a mésalliance and wondered how a Robillard ever married anewly come Irishman. Scarlett felt that Aunt Eulalie apologized for her behind her back. Thisaroused her temper, for she cared no more about family than her father. She was proud of Geraldand what he had accomplished unaided except by his shrewd Irish brain.   And the Charlestonians took so much upon themselves about Fort Sumter! Good Heavens,didn’t they realize that if they hadn’t been silly enough to fire the shot that started the war someother fools would have done it? Accustomed to the brisk voices of upland Georgia, the drawlingflat voices of the low country seemed affected to her. She thought if she ever again heard voicesthat said “paams” for “palms” and “hoose” for “house” and “woon’t” for “won’t” and “Maa andPaa” for “Ma and Pa,” she would scream. It irritated her so much that during one formal call sheaped Gerald’s brogue to her aunt’s distress. Then she went back to Tara. Better to be tormentedwith memories of Ashley than Charleston accents.   Ellen, busy night and day, doubling the productiveness of Tara to aid the Confederacy, wasterrified when her eldest daughter came home from Charleston thin, white and sharp tongued. Shehad known heartbreak herself, and night after night she lay beside the snoring Gerald, trying tothink of some way to lessen Scarlett’s distress. Charles’ aunt, Miss Pittypat Hamilton, had writtenher several times, urging her to permit Scarlett to come to Atlanta for a long visit, and now for thefirst time Ellen considered it seriously.   She and Melanie were alone in a big house “and without male protection,” wrote Miss Pittypat,“now that dear Charlie has gone. Of course, there is my brother Henry but he does not make hishome with us. But perhaps Scarlett has told you of Henry. Delicacy forbids my putting moreconcerning him on paper. Melly and I would feel so much easier and safer if Scarlett were with us.   Three lonely women are better than two. And perhaps dear Scarlett could find some ease for hersorrow, as Melly is doing, by nursing our brave boys in the hospitals here—and, of course, Mellyand I are longing to see the dear baby. …”   So Scarlett’s trunk was packed again with her mourning clothes and off she went to Atlanta withWade Hampton and his nurse Prissy, a headful of admonitions as to her conduct from Ellen andMammy and a hundred dollars in Confederate bills from Gerald. She did not especially want to goto Atlanta. She thought Aunt Pitty the silliest of old ladies and the very idea of living under thesame roof with Ashley’s wife was abhorrent. But the County with its memories was impossiblenow, and any change was welcome.   不过两星期工夫,思嘉便由一位小姐变成了人家的妻子,再过两个月又变成了寡妇,她很快便从她那么匆促而很少思索地给自己套上的羁绊中解脱出来,可是从那以后她再也没有尝过未婚日子那种无忧无虑的自由滋味了。寡居生活紧随着新婚而来,更叫她惊慌的是很快便做了母亲。   在往后的岁月中,每当她想起1861年四月未的那些日子,思嘉总是记不清当时的细节了。时间和事件奔涌而来,又混杂在一起,像个没有什么真实和理性可言的恶梦。直到她死的那一天,关于这些日子的回忆中仍留下不少的空白点,尤其模糊不清的是从她接受查尔斯的求婚到举行婚礼的那段时间的记忆。两个星期啊!在太平年月这么短暂的订婚是不可能的。那时总得有一年或至少六个月的间隙才说得过去。可是南方已普遍热中于战争,凡事都像风驰电掣般呼啸着滚滚向前,往昔那种慢条斯理的节奏已经一去不复返了。爱伦曾急得不住地搓手,想要缓一点办婚事,为的是让思嘉能比较从容地将事情考虑一下。可是思嘉对母亲的建议报以愠色,置若罔闻。她要结婚!而且马上就要。在两周之内。   听说艾希礼的婚期已经从秋天提前到五月一日,以便在营队应招服役时他能立即随同出发,思嘉这时便把自己的婚礼定在他的前一天。爱伦表示反对,但是查尔斯提出了新的理由来恳请同意,因为他急于要动身去南卡罗纳加入韦德•汉普顿的兵团,同时杰拉尔德也支持这两个年轻人。杰拉尔德已被战争激动得坐卧不宁,也很高兴思嘉选中了这么好的配偶,他怎么在战机已发时给这对青年恋人挡路呢?爱伦心乱如麻,终于像整个南方的其他母亲那样只得让步。她们的悠闲生活已经天翻地覆,她们的开导、祈求和忠告已毫无用处,怎么也抵挡不住那股势如狂澜将她们席卷而去的巨大力量了。   南方沉醉在热情和激动之中。谁都知道只消一个战役便能结束战争,生怕战争很快结束了。每个青年人都急急忙忙去报名投军,他们同样急急忙忙跟自己的心上人结婚,好立即赶到弗吉尼亚去给北方佬打一捧子。县里举行了好几十桩这样的战时婚礼,而且很少有时间来为送别伤心,因为谁都太忙、太激动,来不及认真考虑和相对流泪了。太太小姐们在缝制军服、编织袜子,卷绷带,男人们在操练和打靶。一列列满载军队的火车每天经过琼斯博罗往北向亚特兰大和弗吉尼亚驶去。有些分队穿着漂亮的深红色军服,有些是浅蓝色的,也有穿着民兵连绿色服装的;有些一小群一小群的穿着家织布军衣,戴着浣熊皮帽子;另一些则不穿制服,穿的是细毛织品和精美的亚麻布衣裳。他们全都是些操练未熟、武装不全的队伍,但同样粗野和激动,同样地高声喊叫,仿佛是到什么地方去赴野宴似的,这番情景使县里的小伙子们陷入恐慌,生怕在他们到达弗吉尼亚之前战争已经打完了,因此军营出发前的准备活动在加速进行。   在这起混乱中,思嘉的婚礼的准备工作也在进行,而且她几乎还没来得及弄清,母亲的结婚服和披纱已经穿戴在她身上,她已经从塔拉农场的宽阔楼梯上走下来,去面对那满屋的宾客了。事后她仿佛从梦中回忆起:墙壁上点着成百上千支辉煌的蜡烛,母亲的脸上充满怜爱而略显昏乱,她的嘴唇微微颤动,为女儿的幸福暗暗的祈祷;父亲因喝了白兰地,对于女儿嫁给一个有钱、有名望又有卓越门第的女婿感到骄傲,乐得满脸绯红了。----还有艾希礼他扶着媚兰站在楼梯口。   她看见他脸上的表情,心想:“这不可能,这不可能是真的。这是一个恶梦。我会醒过来并发现这纯粹是一场恶梦。我现在决不去想它,不然我就会在这些人面前喊叫起来。我现在不能想。我要到以后再想,到那时我就受得了----那时我就看不见他的眼睛了!"一切都很像是在梦里,从那排微笑的人中一路穿过,查尔斯的绯红的脸和结结巴巴的声音,以及她自己的回答,那么惊人地清晰和那么冷漠的回答。然后是祝贺,是干杯,是亲吻,是跳舞----一切的一切都像是在梦中。甚至连艾希礼在她脸颊上的轻吻,连媚兰的低语----"你看,我们已经是真正的姑嫂了"----也不是真实的。甚至连查尔斯的矮胖姑妈因过度兴奋而晕过去时引起的那阵纷扰,也带有恶梦的色彩。   但是,到跳舞和祝酒都终于结束,黎明开始降临时,当所有那些塔垃农场尽可能挤得下的亚特兰大宾客都到床上,沙发上和地板草垫上去睡觉了,所有的邻居都回家休息了,为了准备参加第二天"十二像树"村的婚礼时,那种梦一般的恍惚状态便在现实面前像玻璃似的粉碎了,现实是从她梳妆室里出来的穿着睡衣,满脸绯红的查尔斯,他看见思嘉从拉得很高的被单边缘上惊奇地望着他时还赶忙回避呢。   当然,她知道新婚夫妻是要在同一张床上睡觉的,可是以前她从未想到过这件事。就她母亲和父亲的情况来说,那是很自然的,不过她从来没有把它应用到自己身上。自从野宴过后,她才头一次明白她给自己招来了什么样的后果。一想到这个她并没真正想和他结婚的陌生的小伙子就要钻进她被窝里来,而这时候她自己的心还在为过去的卤莽行为痛悔,为永远失掉艾希礼感到分外难过,这叫她如何承受得了啊?因此当他犹豫不决慢慢挨近床来时,她粗鲁地低声喝住了他。   “我就大声喊,你真要挨近,我会喊的!我要----放开喉咙喊!给我走开!看你敢碰我一下!"这样,查尔斯便坐在椅子上度过了这个新婚之夜,当然不怎么愉快,因为他了解,或者自以为了解,他的新娘是多么羞怯,多么娇嫩。他愿意等待,直到她的恐惧心里慢慢消失,只不过----只不过----他在圈椅里将身子扭过来扭过去总觉得不舒服,便不由得叹了口气,因为他很快就要出发上前线去了。   思嘉自己的婚礼已经是恶梦一般够受的了,可艾希礼的还要坏,思嘉穿着那件苹果绿的二朝服站在"十二像树"村的大客厅里,周围是几百支明晃晃的蜡烛和头天晚上那同一群拥挤的人。她看见媚兰•汉密尔顿那张平淡而娇小的脸竟显得容光焕发,好像因做了威尔克斯家的媳妇而无比高兴。如今,艾希礼是永远不在了。她的艾希礼呀!不,现在可不是她的了。那么,他曾经是她的?这一切在她的心里已经是一团乱麻,而她的心情又那么厌烦,那么惶惑不安。他曾经说过他爱她,可又是什么把他们分开了呢?要是她能够记起来,那该多好啊!她由于跟查尔斯结婚而将县里闲言碎语压了下去,可现在看来那又有什么要紧呢?那在当时显得很重要,不过现在已无足轻重了。要紧的是艾希礼。可他已经不在了,而她呢,已经跟一个她不仅不爱而且委实有些轻视的男人结婚了。   她常常听说有人为了要害别人反而害了自己,从今以后这已经不仅仅是个比喻了。如今她已懂得了它真正含意。啊,她对于这一切多么后悔!,如今,当她迫切希望能摆脱查尔斯,自己一个人作为未婚闺女平平安安地回到塔拉去,这时才明白真的是自作自受,无话可说了。母亲曾设法阻止她,可她就是不听呢。   就这样,思嘉在艾希礼结婚的那天晚上迷迷糊糊地跳了一个通宵的舞,机械地说着,微笑着,同时好像与己无关似的感到奇怪,不知为什么人们会那样愚蠢,居然把她当做一个幸福的新娘而看不出她是多么伤心。好吧,感谢上帝,他们看不出来呢!   那天晚上,嬷嬷服侍她脱了衣裳之后自己走了,查尔斯又羞涩地从梳妆室出来了,心里正在纳闷要不要到那张马鬃椅子上去睡一夜,这时她哭起来了。她一言不发地哭着,一直哭到查尔斯钻进被窝,试着安慰她,在她身边躺下,同时她的眼泪也哭干了,她这才终于将头枕在查尔斯的肩头静静地抽泣。   要是没有战争,他们就会有一星期时间到县里各处转转,各地也将举会舞会和野宴来祝贺这对新婚夫妇,然后他们才动身到萨拉托加或者白萨尔弗去作蜜月旅行。要是没有战争,思嘉就会得到三套、四套、五套的衣服,穿着去出席方丹家、卡尔弗特家和塔尔顿家为她举办的晚会。可是现在没有晚会,也没有蜜月旅行了。结婚一星期后,查尔斯便动身去参加韦德•汉普顿上校的部队了。再过两星期,艾希礼和军营便出发开赴前线,使全县都陷入送别亲人的悲恸之中了。   在那两个星期里,思嘉从没有单独见过艾希礼,从未私下跟他说过一句话。甚至在可怕的告别时刻,那时他在去火车站的途中经过塔拉停留了片刻,她也没有私下跟他谈话的机会。媚兰戴着帽子,围着围巾,挽着他的肩膀,俨然一副新少奶奶端庄文静的模样。塔拉农场所有的人,无论白人黑人,全都来为艾希礼送行。   媚兰说:“艾希礼你得亲亲思嘉。她现在已经是我的嫂子。"艾希礼弯下腰用冰冷的嘴唇在她脸上亲了亲,他的面孔是板着的,绷紧的。思嘉从这一吻中几乎没有感到什么喜悦,因为媚兰的怂恿反而使她郁郁不乐了。媚兰临别时给他的拥抱更叫她闷得透不过起来。   “你要到亚特兰大来看看我和皮蒂姑妈呀,好不好?啊,亲爱的,我们都很想念你!我们很想更多地了解查尔斯的太太呢。"五个星期过去了,这期间查尔斯从南卡罗来纳写了不少羞怯、狂喜和亲昵的信,倾诉他的爱情、他要为她而当英雄的渴望,他对战争结束后的计划、以及他对他的司令韦德•汉普顿的崇拜,等等。到第七个星期,汉普顿上校以他个人的名义发来一个电报,接着又寄来一封信,一封亲切、庄严的吊唁信。查尔斯死了。上校本来要早些来电报的,可是查尔斯觉得他的病不要紧,不愿意让家里担忧。这个不幸的小伙子,他不仅被剥夺了他自以为赢得的爱情,而且要在战场上获得荣誉的崇高理想也被夺走了。他先是患肺炎,接着是麻疹,很快便屈辱地死去了,连北方佬的影子也没看见就在南卡罗来纳边营里死了。   后来,查尔斯的儿子也在"适当的"时候诞生了,因为当时流行按孩子父亲的司令官命名,他取名为韦德•汉普顿•汉密尔顿。思嘉曾因发觉自己怀孕而绝望地哭泣,并宁愿自己死掉。可是她在整个妊娠期间很少有不舒服的感觉,分娩时也没有多大痛苦,而且产后那么快便恢复了,所以嬷嬷私下告诉她这是很平常的事--女人就该多受些磨难嘛。她对孩子不怎么钟爱,尽管嘴里不这样说。她本来是不想要他的,对他的出世感到懊恼,现在虽然孩子已在眼前,却好像这不可能是她的,不是她身上的一块肉似的。   尽管她生了韦德以后,在一个短得有点不怎么体面的时间内身体便复元了,但是心理上有些恍惚和病态。她精神萎靡,即使全农场的人都没法要让她振作起来,爱伦整天蹙额皱眉地转来转去,杰瓣尔德动辄骂人,同时从琼斯博罗给她带来些无用的礼物。连方丹大夫在给她服用一些含滋补品的糖浆、草药而没有见效之后,也承认他已束手无策了。他暗暗告诉爱伦,那是因为伤透了心才使思嘉这样时而性急暴怒,时而无精打采,反复无常。可是思嘉本人,要是她高兴说话,她会告诉他们,这个问题远非如此,要复杂得多呢。她没有告诉他们说,那是因为她对于做母亲一事感到非常厌烦和十分困恼,最重要的是因为艾希礼走了,才使她显得这亲愁苦不堪。   她的厌烦情绪是强烈而经常的。自从军营开赴前方以后,县里就没什么娱乐和社交生活了。所有有趣的年轻男子会都走了----包括塔尔顿家四兄弟、卡尔弗特家哥儿俩、方丹家和芒罗家的小伙子们,以及从琼斯博罗、弗耶特维尔和洛夫乔伊来的每一个年轻而逗人喜爱的小伙子。只有那些年纪较大的男人、残疾人和妇女留了下来,他们整天编织缝纫,加紧种植棉花和玉米,为军队饲养更多的猪羊牛马。除了由苏伦的中年情人弗兰克•肯尼迪率领的那支补给队为了收集军品每月经过里一次之外,就再也看不见一个真正的男子汉了。   补给队的那些男人也并不怎么令人兴奋,而弗兰克那种缩手缩脚的求爱方式,思嘉一见便恼火,直到她觉得已很难对他客气了。她恨不得叫苏伦和他了结他们的事算了。   即使补给队更加有趣些,也不会给她的处境带来任何变化。她是一个寡妇,她的心已经进入坟墓。至少别人认为她的心已经在坟墓里,并期望她就这样处世行事。这使她很恼火,因为她虽然尽了自己的力量也记不想查尔斯的什么来,只记得当她答应可以同他结婚时他脸上那种死牛犊的表情。现在连这个印象也愈来愈模糊了。不过她毕竟是个寡妇,不得不遵守寡妇的规矩。未婚姑娘的那些娱乐已经没她的份儿了。   她必须严肃而冷漠。爱伦自从看见弗兰克的一个副官在花园里推她荡秋千并荡得尖声大笑起来以后,便长期大论地向她说明了这一点多么重要。爱伦对此深感痛苦。曾经告诉她做寡妇最容易遭人非议,所以她的行为举止必须比一个少奶奶更加倍小心才好。   “只有天晓得,"思嘉想,一面顺从地听着母亲的谆谆教诲,"做了少奶奶便已经毫无乐趣了,那么寡妇就简直像死人哪。"一个寡妇必须穿难看的黑色衣服,上面连一点点装饰也不能有,不能有花、丝带或镶边,乃至珠宝,只能有条纹玛瑙的丧服胸针或用死者头发做的项链。而她帽子上缀着的那幅黑纱必须到垂到膝盖,要到守寡满三年之后才能缩短到肩头的部位。寡妇决不能开怀畅谈和放声大笑,连微笑也只能是愁苦的,悲戚的。还有,最可怕是的是,她们不能露出一点乐意跟先生们在一起的样子。要是有位先生缺乏教养,竟至于表示对她感兴趣,她就得措辞适当地严肃谈起她的亡夫,使对方听了肃然恭敬,并从此死了这条心。啊,是的,思嘉纳闷地想,有些寡妇到年老色衰时还是再嫁了,虽然谁也不知道在周围邻居的监视下她们是怎么谈成的。而且通常都是嫁给一些拥有大农场和大群孩子的老鳏夫呢。   结婚就够倒霉的了,可是当寡妇----哦,那就一切都完了!人们谈到,查尔斯死了以后韦德•汉普顿对她是一个多好的安慰,这话多么愚蠢!他们还愚蠢地说什么现在她活着有了指望呢!谁都说她这个已故爱情的象征多么幸福,她自然也不去纠正他们的看法。可是这种思想距离她自己的心境实在太远了!其实她对韦德几乎毫无兴趣,有时甚至要记起他确实是她的孩子也不容易哩。   每天早晨醒来后,有那么一个朦胧的片刻她又成了思嘉•奥哈拉,那时太阳灿烂地照着窗外的山茱萸,模仿鸟在愉快地歌唱,炒腌猪肉的香味轻轻扑入她的鼻孔里。她又是个无忧无虑的少女了。接着她听见焦急的饥饿的哭叫声,并且常常----常常还要经过片刻的惊讶,这才想起:“怎么,屋里有个小毛头呢!"于是她记起这是她的婴儿。这一切都令人迷惑不解,不知究竟是怎么回事。   然后就是艾希礼!啊,最难忘的是艾希礼,有生以来第一次,她恨起塔拉农场来了,恨那条长长的通向山冈、通内河边的红土大道,恨那些密植着棉苗的红色田地。每英尺土地,每一颗树和每一道小溪,每一条小径和驰马的大路,都使她想起艾希礼来。他已经打仗去了,他属于另一个女人,但是他的幽灵还时常在暮色中的这些道路上出没逡巡,还在走廊上的阴影里眯着一双睡意朦胧的灰眼睛对她微笑。她只要听见马蹄声在那条从“十二橡树”村过来的河边大道上一路得得而至,便没有一次不想起艾希礼的!   “十二橡树"村这个她曾经爱过的地方,如今她也恨起它来了。她恨它,但是她的心给拴在那里,所以她听得见约翰•威尔克斯和姑娘们谈其他----听得见他们在读他从佛吉尼亚寄来的信。这些使她伤心,但是非听不可。她不喜欢挺着脖子的英迪亚和蠢话连篇的霍妮,并且知道她们也同样不喜欢她,可是她离不开她们。而且她每次从“十二橡树”村回到家里,都要怏怏不乐地躺在床上,拒不起来吃晚饭。   就是这种拒不吃饭的态度使母亲和嬷嬷急得不行。嬷嬷端来了盛着美味的托盘,哄着她说,如今她已是寡妇,可以凭自己兴趣尽量吃了,可是思嘉一点食欲也没有。   方丹大夫严肃地告诉爱伦,伤心忧郁症往往导致身心衰退,女人便会渐渐消耗而死。爱伦听得脸都白了,因为这正是她早已在担心的事。   “难道就没有办法了吗,大夫?”   “最好的办法是让她换一下环境,"大夫说,他巴不得把一个棘手的病人赶快摆脱掉。   这样,思嘉便勉强带着孩子离开了塔拉,先是去走访在萨凡纳的奥哈拉和罗毕拉德两家的亲戚,然后去看在查尔斯顿的爱伦的两个姐妹,波琳和尤拉莉。不过她比爱伦的安排提早一个月便回来了,也没有说明原因。萨凡纳的两位伯伯还是很殷勤,只是詹姆斯和安德鲁以及他们的夫人都上了年纪,喜欢静静地坐着谈过去的事,而思嘉对此不感兴趣。罗毕拉德家也是这样。至于查尔斯顿,思嘉觉得那个地方实在太可怕了。   波琳姨妈和她丈夫住在河边一个农场里,那里比塔拉要平静得多。姨父是个小老头儿,表面上还算客气,可是也有了老年人那种漠不关心的神态。他们的最近一家邻居也在20英里以外,中间隔着满是柏树和橡树的茂密丛林,只有阴暗的道路可以来往。那些活橡树身上挂着像迎风摇摆的帘帷般的灰色苔藓,思嘉看了觉得很不舒服,仿佛浑身有虫子在爬似的。它们往往使她想起杰拉尔德给她讲过的那些在茫茫灰雾中漫游的爱尔兰鬼怪的故事。在波琳姨妈家,除了白天编织,晚上听凯里姨父朗读布尔瓦•李顿的作品之外,就没有什么事好做了。   尤拉莉姨妈家的住宅是坐落在查尔斯顿"炮台"上的一所大房子,前面有个墙壁高耸的园子荫蔽着,可是也并不怎么好玩。思嘉习惯于连绵起伏的红土丘陵地带那样开阔的视野,因此在这里觉得被禁锢起来了。这儿尽管比波琳姨妈家有较多的交往,但思嘉不喜欢那些来访的人,不喜欢他们的传统风俗和装模作样,讲究门第的心气。她很清楚,他们知道她是一个不门当户对的人家的孩子,并且诧异为什么一位罗毕拉德家的小姐会嫁给一个新来的爱尔兰人。思嘉感觉到尤拉莉姨妈还在背地里替她辩护呢。这种情况把她惹火了,因为她和父亲一样是不怎么重视门第的。他为杰拉尔德和他单凭自己作为一个爱尔兰人的精明头脑而白手起家的成就感到骄傲。   那些查尔斯顿人太看重他们自己在萨姆特要塞事件中所起的作用了!难道他们就不明白,要是他们不那么傻,不打响开战的第一枪,别的某些傻瓜也会打的呀!思嘉听惯了佐治亚高地人的脆亮声音,觉得沿海地区的语音有点假里假气,她甚至想只要她再听到这种声音,她就会被刺激得尖叫起来了。她有时实在忍不住了,以致在一次正式拜会中她故意模仿杰拉尔德的土腔,叫她姨妈感到十分尴尬,不久她就回到了塔拉。与其整天去听查尔斯顿的口音,还不如在这里为回忆艾希礼而痛苦呢。   爱伦在昼夜忙碌,要加倍提高塔拉农场的生产力来支援南部联盟。她看见她的长女从查尔斯顿回来显得这样消瘦、苍白而又语言尖利时,不禁吓坏了。她自己也尝到过伤心的滋味,便夜夜躺在鼾声如雷的杰拉尔德的身旁思量,要想出个办法来减轻思嘉的愁苦。查尔斯的姑妈皮蒂帕特•汉密而顿小姐已经来过好几次信,要求她让思嘉到亚特兰大去住一个较长的时间,现在爱伦第一次在认真考虑了。   皮蒂帕特小姐在信中说,她同媚兰住在一所大宅子里,"没有一个可以保护的男人,"所以觉得很孤单。"如今亲爱的查理已经去世。当然,我哥哥享利还在,不过他和我们不在一起祝也许思嘉跟你们谈到过有关享利的事了,我这里不便多写。要是思嘉跟我们住在一起,媚兰和我都会觉得方便得多,安全得多。三个单身女人毕竟比两个强一些。而且亲爱的思嘉也许在这里能找到某种消愁解忧的办法。比如,看护这边医院的勇敢的小伙子们,就像媚兰那样----并且,当然喽,媚兰和我都急于想看看那个亲爱的小乖乖。……"这样,思嘉又把她居丧用的那些衣服重新装进箱子里,然后带着韦德•汉普顿和他的小保姆百里茜,还有满脑子母亲和嬷嬷给她的嘱咐以及杰拉尔德给的一百元联盟纸币,动身到亚特兰大去了。她认为皮蒂姑妈是世界上最愚蠢的老太太,而且一想到要跟艾希礼的老婆同室而居,她就觉得恶心死了。   所以她不怎么愿意到那里去。不过,目前她已不能再住在县里想起那些伤心事,所以换换环境总是好的。 Chapter 8 AS THE TRAIN carried Scarlett northward that May morning in 1862, she thought that Atlantacouldn’t possibly be so boring as Charleston and Savannah had been and, in spite of her distastefor Miss Pittypat and Melanie, she looked forward with some curiosity toward seeing how the town had fared since her last visit, in the winter before the war began.   Atlanta had always interested her more than any other town because when she was a childGerald had told her that she and Atlanta were exactly the same age. She discovered when she grewolder that Gerald had stretched the truth somewhat, as was his habit when a little stretching wouldimprove a story; but Atlanta was only nine years older than she was, and that still left the placeamazingly young by comparison with any other town she had ever heard of. Savannah andCharleston had the dignity of their years, one being well along in its second century and the otherentering its third, and in her young eyes they had always seemed like aged grandmothers fanningthemselves placidly in the sun. But Atlanta was of her own generation, crude with the crudities ofyouth and as headstrong and impetuous as herself.   The story Gerald had told her was based on the fact that she and Atlanta were christened in thesame year. In the nine years before Scarlett was born, the town had been called, first, Terminus andthen Marthasville, and not until the year of Scarlett’s birth had it become Atlanta.   When Gerald first moved to north Georgia, there had been no Atlanta at all, not even thesemblance of a village, and wilderness rolled over the site. But the next year, in 1836, the State hadauthorized the building of a railroad northwestward through the territory which the Cherokees hadrecently ceded. The destination of the proposed railroad, Tennessee and the West, was clear anddefinite, but its beginning point in Georgia was somewhat uncertain until, a year later, an engineerdrove a stake in the red clay to mark the southern end of the line, and Atlanta, born Terminus, hadbegun.   There were no railroads then in north Georgia, and very few anywhere else. But during the yearsbefore Gerald married Ellen, the tiny settlement, twenty-five miles north of Tara, slowly grew intoa village and the tracks slowly pushed northward. Then the railroad building era really began.   From the old city of Augusta, a second railroad was extended westward across the state to connectwith the new road to Tennessee. From the old city of Savannah, a third railroad was built first toMacon, in the heart of Georgia, and then north through Gerald’s own county to Atlanta, to link upwith the other two roads and give Savannah’s harbor a highway to the West. From the samejunction point, the young Atlanta, a fourth railroad was constructed southwestward to Montgomeryand Mobile.   Born of a railroad, Atlanta grew as its railroads grew. With the completion of the four lines,Atlanta was now connected with the West, with the South, with the Coast and, through Augusta,with the North and East. It had become the crossroads of travel north and south and east and west,and the little village leaped to life.   In a space of time but little longer than Scarlett’s seventeen years, Atlanta had grown from asingle stake driven in the ground into a thriving small city of ten thousand that was the center ofattention for the whole state. The older, quieter cities were won’t to look upon the bustling newtown with the sensations of a hen which has hatched a duckling. Why was the place so differentfrom the other Georgia towns? Why did it grow so fast? After all, they thought, it had nothingwhatever to recommend it—only its railroads and a bunch of mighty pushy people.   The people who settled the town called successively Terminus, Marthasville and Atlanta, were apushy people. Restless, energetic people from the older sections of Georgia and from more distant states were drawn to this town that sprawled itself around the junction of the railroads in its center.   They came with enthusiasm. They built their stores around the five muddy red roads that crossednear the depot. They built their fine homes on Whitehall and Washington streets and along the highridge of land on which countless generations of moccasined Indian feet had beaten a path calledthe Peachtree Trail. They were proud of the place, proud of its growth, proud of themselves formaking it grow. Let the older towns call Atlanta anything they pleased. Atlanta did not care.   Scarlett had always liked Atlanta for the very same reasons that made Savannah, Augusta andMacon condemn it. Like herself, the town was a mixture of the old and new in Georgia, in whichthe old often came off second best in its conflicts with the self-willed and vigorous new. Moreover,there was something personal, exciting about a town that was born—or at least christened—thesame year she was christened.   The night before had been wild and wet with rain, but when Scarlett arrived in Atlanta a warmsun was at work, bravely attempting to dry the streets that were winding rivers of red mud. In theopen space around the depot, the soft ground had been cut and churned by the constant flow oftraffic in and out until it resembled an enormous hog wallow, and here and there vehicles weremired to the hubs in the ruts. A never-ceasing line of army wagons and ambulances, loading andunloading supplies and wounded from the trains, made the mud and confusion worse as they toiledin and struggled out, drivers swearing, mules plunging and mud spattering for yards.   Scarlett stood on the lower step of the train, a pale pretty figure in her black mourning dress, hercrêpe veil fluttering almost to her heels. She hesitated, unwilling to soil her slippers and hems, andlooked about in the shouting tangle of wagons, buggies and carriages for Miss Pittypat. There wasno sign of that chubby pink-cheeked lady, but as Scarlett searched anxiously a spare old negro,with grizzled kinks and an air of dignified authority, came toward her through the mud, his hat inhis hand.   “Dis Miss Scarlett, ain’ it? Dis hyah Peter, Miss Pitty’s coachman. Doan step down in dat mud,”   he ordered severely, as Scarlett gathered up her skirts preparatory to descending. “You is as bad asMiss Pitty an’ she lak a chile ‘bout gittin’ her feets wet. Lemme cahy you.”   He picked Scarlett up with ease despite his apparent frailness and age and, observing Prissystanding on the platform of the train, the baby in her arms, he paused: “Is dat air chile yo’ nuss?   Miss Scarlett, she too young ter be handlin’ Mist’ Charles’ onlies’ baby! But we ten’ to dat later.   You gal, foller me, an’ doan you go drappin’ dat baby.”   Scarlett submitted meekly to being carried toward the carriage and also to the peremptorymanner in which Uncle Peter criticized her and Prissy. As they went through the mud with Prissysloshing, pouting, after them, she recalled what Charles had said about Uncle Peter.   “He went through all the Mexican campaigns with Father, nursed him when he was wounded—in fact, he saved his life. Uncle Peter practically raised Melanie and me, for we were very youngwhen Father and Mother died. Aunt Pitty had a falling out with her brother, Uncle Henry, aboutthat time, so she came to live with us and take care of us. She is the most helpless soul—just like asweet grown-up child, and Uncle Peter treats her that way. To save her life, she couldn’t make up her mind about anything, so Peter makes it up for her. He was the one who decided I should have alarger allowance when I was fifteen, and he insisted that I should go to Harvard for my senior year,when Uncle Henry wanted me to take my degree at the University. And he decided when Mellywas old enough to put up her hair and go to parties. He tells Aunt Pitty when it’s too cold or toowet for her to go calling and when she should wear a shawl. … He’s the smartest old darky I’veever seen and about the most devoted. The only trouble with him is that he owns the three of us,body and soul, and he knows it.”   Charles’ words were confirmed as Peter climbed onto the box and took the whip.   “Miss Pitty in a state bekase she din’ come ter meet you. She’s feared you mout not unnerstan’   but Ah tole her she an’ Miss Melly jes’ git splashed wid mud an’ ruin dey new dresses an’ Ah’d‘splain ter you. Miss Scarlett, you better tek dat chile. Dat lil pickaninny gwine let it drap.”   Scarlett looked at Prissy and sighed. Prissy was not the most adequate of nurses. Her recentgraduation from a skinny pickaninny with brief skirts and stiffly wrapped braids into the dignity ofa calico dress and starched white turban was an intoxicating affair. She would never have arrived atthis eminence so early in life had not the exigencies of war and the demands of the commissary departmenton Tara made it impossible for Ellen to spare Mammy or Dilcey or even Rosa or Teena.   Prissy had never been more than a mile away from Twelve Oaks or Tara before, and the trip on thetrain plus her elevation to nurse was almost more than the brain in her little black skull could bear.   The twenty-mile journey from Jonesboro to Atlanta had so excited her that Scarlett had beenforced to hold the baby all the way. Now, the sight of so many buildings and people completedPrissy’s demoralization. She twisted from side to side, pointed, bounced about and so jounced thebaby that he wailed miserably.   Scarlett longed for the fat old arms of Mammy. Mammy had only to lay hands on a child and ithushed crying. But Mammy was at Tara and there was nothing Scarlett could do. It was useless forher to take little Wade from Prissy. He yelled just as loudly when she held him as when Prissy did.   Besides, he would tug at the ribbons of her bonnet and, no doubt, rumple her dress. So shepretended she had not heard Uncle Peter’s suggestion.   “Maybe I’ll learn about babies sometime,” she thought irritably, as the carriage jolted andswayed out of the morass surrounding the station, “but I’m never going to like fooling with them.”   And as Wade’s face went purple with his squalling, she snapped crossly: “Give him that sugar-tit inyour pocket, Priss. Anything to make him hush. I know he’s hungry, but I can’t do anything aboutthat now.”   Prissy produced the sugar-tit, given her that morning by Mammy, and the baby’s wails subsided.   With quiet restored and with the new sights that met her eyes, Scarlett’s spirits began to rise a little.   When Uncle Peter finally maneuvered the carriage out of the mudholes and onto Peachtree Street,she felt the first surge of interest she had known in months. How the town had grown! It was notmuch more than a year since she had last been here, and it did not seem possible that the littleAtlanta she knew could have changed so much.   For the past year, she had been so engrossed in her own woes, so bored by any mention of war,she did not know that from the minute the fighting first began, Atlanta had been transformed. Thesame railroads which had made the town the crossroads of commerce in time of peace were now of vital strategic importance in time of war. Far from the battle lines, the town and its railroadsprovided the connecting link between the two armies of the Confederacy, the army in Virginia andthe army in Tennessee and the West And Atlanta likewise linked both of the armies with the deeperSouth from which they drew their supplies. Now, in response to the needs of war, Atlanta hadbecome a manufacturing center, a hospital base and one of the South’s chief depots for thecollecting of food and supplies for the armies in the field.   Scarlett looked about her for the little town she remembered so well. It was gone. The town shewas now seeing was like a baby grown overnight into a busy, sprawling giant.   Atlanta was humming like a beehive, proudly conscious of its importance to the Confederacy,and work was going forward night and day toward turning an agricultural section into an industrialone. Before the war there had been few cotton factories, woolen mills, arsenals and machine shopssouth of Maryland—a fact of which all Southerners were proud. The South produced statesmenand soldiers, planters and doctors, lawyers and poets, but certainly not engineers or mechanics. Letthe Yankees adopt such low callings. But now the Confederate ports were stoppered with Yankeegunboats, only a trickle of blockade-run goods was slipping in from Europe, and the South wasdesperately trying to manufacture her own war materials. The North could call on the whole worldfor supplies and for soldiers, and thousands of Irish and Germans were pouring into the UnionArmy, lured by the bounty money offered by the North. The South could only turn in upon itself.   In Atlanta, there were machine factories tediously turning out machinery to manufacture warmaterials—tediously, because there were few machines in the South from which they could modeland nearly every wheel and cog had to be made from drawings that came through the blockadefrom England. There were strange faces on the streets of Atlanta now, and citizens who a year agowould have pricked op their ears at the sound of even a Western accent paid no heed to the foreigntongues of Europeans who had run the blockade to build machines and turn out Confederatemunitions. Skilled men these, without whom the Confederacy would have been hard put to makepistols, rifles, cannon and powder.   Almost the poising of the town’s heart could be felt as the work went forward night and day,pumping the materials of war up the railway arteries to the two battle fronts. Trains roared in andout of the town at all hours. Soot from the newly erected factories fell in showers on the whitehouses. By night, the furnaces glowed and the hammers clanged long after townsfolk were abed.   Where vacant lots had been a year before, there were now factories turning out harness, saddlesand shoes, ordnance-supply plants making rifles and cannon, rolling mills and foundries producingiron rails and freight cars to replace those destroyed by the Yankees, and a variety of industriesmanufacturing spurs, bridle bits, buckles, tents, buttons, pistols and swords. Already the foundrieswere beginning to feel the lack of iron, for little or none came through the blockade, and the minesin Alabama were standing almost idle while the miners were at the front. There were no iron picketfences, iron summerhouses, iron gates or even iron statuary on the lawns of Atlanta now, for theyhad early found their way into the melting pots of the rolling mills.   Here along Peachtree Street and near-by streets were the headquarters of the various armydepartments, each office swarming with uniformed men, the commissary, the signal corps, the mailservice, the railway transport, the provost marshal. On the outskirts of town were the remountdepots where horses and mules milled about in large corrals, and along side streets were the hospitals. As Uncle Peter told her about them, Scarlet felt that Atlanta must be a city of thewounded, for there were general hospitals, contagious hospitals, convalescent hospitals withoutnumber. And every day the trains just below Five Points disgorged more sick and more wounded.   The little town was gone and the face of the rapidly growing city was animated with never-ceasing energy and bustle. The sight of so much hurrying made Scarlett, fresh from rural leisureand quiet, almost breathless, but she liked it. There was an exciting atmosphere about the place thatuplifted her. It was as if she could actually feel the accelerated steady pulse of the town’s heartbeating in time with her own.   As they slowly made their way through the mudholes of the town’s chief street, she noted withinterest all the new buildings and the new faces. The sidewalks were crowded with men inuniform, bearing the insignia of all ranks and all service branches; the narrow street was jammedwith vehicles—carriages, buggies, ambulances, covered army wagons with profane driversswearing as the mules struggled through the ruts; gray-clad couriers dashed spattering through thestreets from one headquarters to another, bearing orders and telegraphic dispatches; convalescentslimped about on crutches, usually with a solicitous lady at either elbow; bugle and drum andbarked orders sounded from the drill fields where the recruits were being turned into soldiers; andwith her heart in her throat, Scarlett had her first sight of Yankee uniforms, as Uncle Peter pointedwith his whip to a detachment of dejected-looking bluecoats being shepherded toward the depot bya squad of Confederates with fixed bayonets, to entrain for the prison camp.   “Oh,” thought Scarlett, with the first feeling of real pleasure she had experienced since the dayof the barbecue, I’m going to like it here! It’s so alive and exciting!”   The town was even more alive than she realized, for there were new barrooms by the dozens;prostitutes, following the army, swarmed the town and bawdy houses were blossoming withwomen to the consternation of the church people. Every hotel, boarding house and privateresidence was crammed with visitors who had come to be near wounded relatives in the bigAtlanta hospitals. There were parties and balls and bazaars every week and war weddings withoutnumber, with the grooms on furlough in bright gray and gold braid and the brides in blockade-runfinery, aisles of crossed swords, toasts drunk in blockaded champagne and tearful farewells.   Nightly the dark tree-lined streets resounded with dancing feet, and from parlors tinkled pianoswhere soprano voices blended with those of soldier guests in the pleasing melancholy of “TheBugles Sang Truce” and “Your Letter Came, but Came Too Late”—plaintive ballads that broughtexciting tears to soft eyes which had never known the tears of real grief.   As they progressed down the street, through the sucking mud, Scarlett bubbled over withquestions and Peter answered them, pointing here and there with his whip, proud to display hisknowledge.   “Dat air de arsenal. Yas’m, dey keeps guns an’ sech lak dar. No’m, dem air ain’ sto’s, dey’sblockade awfisses. Law, Miss Scarlett, doan you know whut blockade awfisses is? Dey’s awfisseswhar furriners stays dat buy us Confedruts’ cotton an’ ship it outer Cha’ston and Wilmin’ton an’   ship us back gunpowder. No’m, Ah ain’ sho whut kine of furriners dey is. Miss Pitty, she say dey isInlish but kain nobody unnerstan a’ wud dey says. Yas’m ‘tis pow’ful smoky an’ de soot jes’ ruinin’   Miss Pitty’s silk cuttins. If frum de foun’ry an’ de rollin’ mills. An’ de noise dey meks at night!   Kain nobody sleep. No’m, Ah kain stop fer you ter look around. Ah done promise Miss Pitty Ahbring you straight home. … Miss Scarlett, mek yo’ cu’tsy. Dar’s Miss Merriwether an’ Miss Elsinga-bowin’ to you.”   Scarlett vaguely remembered two ladies of those names who came from Atlanta to Tara to attendher wedding and she remembered that they were Miss Pittypat’s best friends. So she turned quicklywhere Uncle Peter pointed and bowed. The two were sitting in a carriage outside a drygoods store.   The proprietor and two clerks stood on the sidewalk with armfuls of bolts of cotton cloth they hadbeen displaying. Mrs. Merriwether was a tall, stout woman and so tightly corseted that her bustjutted forward like the prow of a ship. Her iron-gray hair was eked out by a curled false fringe thatwas proudly brown and disdained to match the rest of her hair. She had a round, highly coloredface in which was combined good-natured shrewdness and the habit of command. Mrs. Elsing wasyounger, a thin frail woman, who had been a beauty, and about her there still clung a fadedfreshness, a dainty imperious air.   These two ladies with a third, Mrs. Whiting, were the pillars of Atlanta. They ran the threechurches to which they belonged, the clergy, the choirs and the parishioners. They organizedbazaars and presided over sewing circles, they chaperoned balls and picnics, they knew who madegood matches and who did not, who drank secretly, who were to have babies and when. They wereauthorities on the genealogies of everyone who was anyone in Georgia, South Carolina andVirginia and did not bother their heads about the other states, because they believed that no onewho was anybody ever came from states other than these three. They knew what was decorousbehavior and what was not and they never failed to make their opinions known—Mrs. Merriwetherat the top of her voice, Mrs. Elsing in an elegant die-away drawl and Mrs. Whiting in a distressedwhisper which showed how much she hated to speak of such things. These three ladies dislikedand distrusted one another as heartily as the First Triumvirate of Rome, and their close alliance wasprobably for the same reason.   “I told Pitty I had to have you in my hospital,” called Mrs. Merriwether, smiling. “Don’t you gopromising Mrs. Meade or Mrs. Whiting!”   “I won’t,” said Scarlett, having no idea what Mrs. Merriwether was talking about but feeling aglow of warmth at being welcomed and wanted. “I hope to see you again soon.”   The carriage plowed its way farther and halted for a moment to permit two ladies with basketsof bandages on their arms to pick precarious passages across the sloppy street on stepping stones.   At the same moment, Scarlett’s eye was caught by a figure on the sidewalk in a brightly coloreddress—too bright for street wear—covered by a Paisley shawl with fringes to the heels. Turningshe saw a tall handsome woman with a bold face and a mass of red hair, too red to be true. It wasthe first time she had ever seen any woman who she knew for certain had “done something to herhair” and she watched her, fascinated.   “Uncle Peter, who is that?” she whispered.   “Ah doan know.”   “You do, too. I can tell. Who is she?”   “Her name Belle Watling,” said Uncle Peter, his lower lip beginning to protrude.   Scarlett was quick to catch the fact that he had not preceded the name with “Miss” or “Mrs.”   “Who is she?”   “Miss Scarlett,” said Peter darkly, laying the whip on the startled horse, “Miss Pitty ain gwineter lak it you astin’ questions dat ain’ none of yo’ bizness. Day’s a passel of no-count folks in distown now dat it ain’ no use talkin’ about.”   “Good Heavens!” thought Scarlett, reproved into silence. That must be a bad woman!”   She had never seen a bad woman before and she twisted her head and stared after her until shewas lost in the crowd.   The stores and the new war buildings were farther apart now, with vacant lots between. Finallythe business section fell behind and the residences came into view. Scarlett picked them out as oldfriends, the Leyden house, dignified and stately; the Bonnells’, with little white columns andgreen, blinds; the close-lipped red-brick Georgian home of the McLure family, behind its low boxhedges. Their progress was slower now, for from porches and gardens and sidewalks ladies calledto her. Some she knew slightly, others she vaguely remembered, but most of them she knew not atall. Pittypat had certainly broadcast her arrival. Little Wade had to be held up time and again, sothat ladies who ventured as far through the ooze as their carriage blocks could exclaim over him.   They all cried to her that she must join their knitting and sewing circles and their hospitalcommittees, and no one else’s, and she promised recklessly to right and left.   As they passed a rambling green clapboard house, a little black girl posted on the front stepscried, “Hyah she come,” and Dr. Meade and his wife and little thirteen-year-old Phil emerged,calling greetings. Scarlett recalled that they too had been at her wedding. Mrs. Meade mounted hercarriage block and craned her neck for a view of the baby, but the doctor, disregarding the mud,plowed through to the side of the carriage. He was tall and gaunt and wore a pointed beard of irongray, and his clothes hung on his spare figure as though blown there by a hurricane. Atlantaconsidered him the root of all strength and all wisdom and it was not strange that he had absorbedsomething of their belief. But for all his habit of making oracular statements and his slightlypompous manner, he was as kindly a man as the town possessed.   After shaking her hand and prodding Wade in the stomach and complimenting him, the doctorannounced that Aunt Pittypat had promised on oath that Scarlett should be on no other hospital andbandage-rolling committee save Mrs. Meade’s.   “Oh, dear, but I’ve promised a thousand ladies already!” said Scarlett.   “Mrs. Merriwether. I’ll be bound!” cried Mrs. Meade indignantly. “Drat the woman! I believeshe meets every train!”   “I promised because I hadn’t a notion what it was all about,” Scarlett confessed. “What arehospital committees anyway?”   Both the doctor and his wife looked slightly shocked at her ignorance.   “But, of course, you’ve been buried in the country and couldn’t know,” Mrs. Meade apologizedfor her. “We have nursing committees for different hospitals and for different days. We nurse themen and help the doctors and make bandages and clothes and when the men are well enough to leave the hospitals we take them into our homes to convalesce till they are able to go back in thearmy. And we look after the wives and families of some of the wounded who are destitute—yes,worse than destitute. Dr. Meade is at the Institute hospital where my committee works, andeveryone says he’s marvelous and—”   “There, there, Mrs. Meade,” said the doctor fondly. “Don’t go bragging on me in front of folks.   It’s little enough I can do, since you wouldn’t let me go in the army.”   “ ‘Wouldn’t let!’ ” she cried indignantly. “Me? The town wouldn’t let you and you know it.   Why, Scarlett, when folks heard he was intending to go to Virginia as an army surgeon, all theladies signed a petition begging him to stay here. Of course, the town couldn’t do without you.”   There, there, Mrs. Meade,” said the doctor, basking obviously in the praise. “Perhaps with oneboy at the front, that’s enough for the time being.”   “And I’m going next year!” cried little Phil hopping about excitedly. “As a drummer boy. I’mlearning how to drum now. Do you want to hear me? I’ll run get my drum.”   “No, not now,” said Mrs. Meade, drawing him closer to her, a sudden look of strain coming overher face. “Not next year, darling. Maybe the year after.”   “But the war will be over then!” he cried petulantly, pulling away from her. “And youpromised!”   Over his head the eyes of the parents met and Scarlett saw the look. Darcy Meade was inVirginia and they were clinging closer to the little boy that was left.   Uncle Peter cleared his throat.   “Miss Pitty were in a state when Ah lef’ home an’ ef Ah doan git dar soon, she’ll doneswooned.”   “Good-by. I’ll be over this afternoon,” called Mrs. Meade. “And you tell Pitty for me that if youaren’t on my committee, she’s going to be in a worse state.”   The carriage slipped and slid down the muddy road and Scarlett leaned back on the cushions andsmiled. She felt better now than she had felt in months. Atlanta, with its crowds and its hurry andits undercurrent of driving excitement, was very pleasant, very exhilarating, so very much nicerthan the lonely plantation out from Charleston, where the bellow of alligators broke the night stillness;better than Charleston itself, dreaming in its gardens behind its high walls; better thanSavannah with its wide streets lined with palmetto and the muddy river beside it. Yes, andtemporarily even better than Tara, dear though Tara was.   There was something exciting about this town with its narrow muddy streets, lying amongrolling red hills, something raw and crude that appealed to the rawness and crudeness underlyingthe fine veneer that Ellen and Mammy had given her. She suddenly felt that this was where shebelonged, not in serene and quiet old cities, flat beside yellow waters.   The houses were farther and farther apart now, and leaning out Scarlett saw the red brick andslate roof of Miss Pittypat’s house. It was almost the last house on the north side of town. Beyondit, Peachtree road narrowed and twisted under great trees out of sight into thick quiet woods. Theneat wooden-paneled fence had been newly painted white and the front yard it enclosed was yellow starred with the last jonquils of the season. On the front steps stood two women in blackand behind them a large yellow woman with her hands under her apron and her white teethshowing in a wide smile. Plump Miss Pittypat was teetering excitedly on tiny feet, one handpressed to her copious bosom to still her fluttering heart. Scarlett saw Melanie standing by her and,with a surge of dislike, she realized that the fly in the ointment of Atlanta would be this slight littleperson in black mourning dress, her riotous dark curls subdued to matronly smoothness and aloving smile of welcome and happiness on her heart-shaped face.   When a Southerner took the trouble to pack a trunk and travel twenty miles for a visit, the visitseldom of shorter duration than month, usually much longer. Southerners as enth(was) usiastic visitors as theywere hosts, and (a) there wasnothing unusual in relatives coming to sp(were) endthe Christmas holidays and remaining until July. Often when newly married couples went on theusual round of honeymoon visits, they lingered in some pleasant home until the birth of theirsecond child. Frequently elderly aunts and uncles came to Sunday dinner and remained until theywere buried years later. Visitors presented no problem, for houses were large, servants numerousand the feeding of several extra mouths a minor matter in that land of plenty. All ages and sexeswent visiting, honeymooners, young mothers showing off new babies, convalescents, the bereaved,girls whose parents were anxious to remove them from the dangers of unwise matches, girls whohad reached the danger age without becoming engaged and who, it was hoped, would makesuitable matches under the guidance of relatives in other places. Visitors added excitement andvariety to the slow-moving Southern life and they were always welcome.   So Scarlett had come to Atlanta with no idea as to how long she would remain. If her visitproved as dull as those in Savannah and Charleston, she would return home in a month. If her staywas pleasant, she would remain indefinitely. But no sooner had she arrived than Aunt Pitty andMelanie began a campaign to induce her to make her home permanently with them. They broughtup every possible argument. They wanted her for her own self because they loved her. They werelonely and often frightened at night in the big house, and she was so brave she gave them courage.   She was so charming that she cheered them in their sorrow. Now that Charles was dead, her placeand her son’s place were with his kindred. Besides, half the house now belonged to her, throughCharles’ will. Last, the Confederacy needed every pair of hands for sewing, knitting, bandagerolling and nursing the wounded.   Charles’ Uncle Henry Hamilton, who lived in bachelor state at the Atlanta Hotel near the depot,also talked seriously to her on this subject. Uncle Henry was a short, pot-bellied, irascible oldgentleman with a pink face, a shock of long silver hair and an utter lack of patience with femininetimidities and vaporings. It was for the latter reason that he was barely on speaking terms with hissister, Miss Pittypat From childhood, they had been exact opposites in temperament and they hadbeen further estranged by his objections to the manner in which she had reared Charles—”Makinga damn sissy out of a soldier’s son!” Years before, he had so insulted her that now Miss Pitty neverspoke of him except in guarded whispers and with so great reticence that a stranger would havethought the honest old lawyer a murderer, at the least. The insult had occurred on a day when Pittywished to draw five hundred dollars from her estate, of which he was trustee, to invest in a nonexistentgold mine. He had refused to permit it and stated heatedly that she had no more sense than a June bug and furthermore it gave him the fidgets to be around her longer than five minutes. Sincethat day, she only saw him formally, once a month, when Uncle Peter drove her to his office to getthe housekeeping money. After these brief visits, Pitty always took to her bed for the rest of theday with tears and smelling salts. Melanie and Charles, who were on excellent terms with theiruncle, had frequently offered to relieve her of this ordeal, but Pitty always set her babyish mouthfirmly and refused. Henry was her cross and she must bear him. From this, Charles and Melaniecould only infer that she took a profound pleasure in this occasional excitement, the only excitementin her sheltered life.   Uncle Henry liked Scarlett immediately because, he said, he could see that for all her sillyaffectations she had a few grains of sense. He was trustee, not only of Pitty’s and Melanie’s estates,but also of that left Scarlett by Charles. It came to Scarlett as a pleasant surprise that she was now awell-to-do young woman, for Charles had not only left her half of Aunt Pitty’s house but farmlands and town property as well. And the stores and warehouses along the railroad track near thedepot, which were part of her inheritance, had tripled in value since the war began. It was whenUncle Henry was giving her an account of her property that he broached the matter of her permanentresidence in Atlanta.   “When Wade Hampton comes of age, he’s going to be a rich young man,” he said. “The wayAtlanta is growing his property will be ten times more valuable in twenty years, and it’s only rightthat the boy should be raised where his property is, so he can learn to take care of it—yes, and ofPitty’s and Melanie’s, too. He’ll be the only man of the Hamilton name left before long, for I won’tbe here forever.”   As for Uncle Peter, he took it for granted that Scarlett had come to stay. It was inconceivable tohim that Charles’ only son should be reared where he could not supervise the rearing. To all thesearguments, Scarlett smiled but said nothing, unwilling to commit herself before learning how shewould like Atlanta and constant association with her in-laws. She knew, too, that Gerald and Ellenwould have to be won over. Moreover, now that she was away from Tara, she missed it dreadfully,missed the red fields and the springing green cotton and the sweet twilight silences. For the firsttime, she realized dimly what Gerald had meant when he said that the love of the land was in herblood.   So she gracefully evaded, for the time being, a definite answer as to the duration of her visit andslipped easily into the life of the red-brick house at the quiet end of Peachtree Street.   Living with Charles’ blood kin, seeing the home from which he came, Scarlett could nowunderstand a little better the boy who had made her wife, widow and mother in such rapidsuccession. It was easy to see why he had been so shy, so unsophisticated, so idealistic. If Charleshad inherited any of the qualities of the stern, fearless, hot-tempered soldier who had been hisfather, they had been obliterated in childhood by the ladylike atmosphere in which he had beenreared. He had been devoted to the childlike Pitty and closer than brothers usually are to Melanie,and two more sweet, unworldly women could not be found.   Aunt Pittypat had been christened Sarah lane Hamilton sixty years before, but since the long-past day when her doting father had fastened his nickname upon her, because of her airy, restless,pattering little feet, no one had called her anything else. In the years that followed that second christening, many changes had taken place in her that made the pet name incongruous. Of theswiftly scampering child, all that now remained were two tiny feet, inadequate to her weight, and atendency to prattle happily and aimlessly. She was stout, pink cheeked and silver haired andalways a little breathless from too tightly laced stays. She was unable to walk more than a block onthe tiny feet which she crammed into too small slippers. She had a heart which fluttered at anyexcitement and she pampered it shamelessly, faulting at any provocation. Everyone knew that herswoons were generally mere ladylike pretenses but they loved her enough to refrain from sayingso. Everyone loved her, spoiled her like a child and refused to take her seriously—everyone excepther brother Henry.   She liked gossip better than anything else in the world, even more than she liked the pleasures ofthe table, and she prattled on for hours about other people’s affairs in a harmless kindly way. Shehad no memory for names, dates or places and frequently confused the actors in one Atlanta dramawith the actors in another, which misled no one for no one was foolish enough to take seriouslyanything she said. No one ever told her anything really shocking or scandalous, for her spinsterstate must be protected even if she was sixty years old, and her friends were in a kindly conspiracyto keep her a sheltered and petted old child.   Melanie was like her aunt in many ways. She had her shyness, her sudden blushes, her modesty,but she did have common sense—”Of a sort, I’ll admit that,” Scarlett thought grudgingly. LikeAunt Pitty, Melanie had the face of a sheltered child who had never known anything but simplicityand kindness, truth and love, a child who had never looked upon harshness or evil and would notrecognize them if she saw them. Because she had always been happy, she wanted everyone abouther to be happy or, at least, pleased with themselves. To this end, she always saw the best ineveryone and remarked kindly upon it. There was no servant so stupid that she did not find someredeeming trait of loyalty and kind-heartedness, no girl so ugly and disagreeable that she could notdiscover grace of form or nobility of character in her, and no man so worthless or so boring thatshe did not view him in the light of his possibilities rather than his actualities.   Because of these qualities that sincerely and spontaneously from a generous heart, everyoneflockedabouther,forwhocanre(came) sist the charm of one who discovers in others admirablequalities undreamed of even by himself? She had more girl friends than anyone in town and moremen friends too, though she had few beaux for she lacked the willfulness and selfishness that gofar toward trapping men’s hearts.   What Melanie did was no more than all Southern girls were taught to do—to make those aboutthem feel at ease and pleased with themselves. It was this happy feminine conspiracy which madeSouthern society so pleasant. Women knew that a land where men were contented, uncontradictedand safe in possession of unpunctured vanity was likely to be a very pleasant place for women tolive. So, from the cradle to the grave, women strove to make men pleased with themselves, and thesatisfied men repaid lavishly with gallantry and adoration. In fact, men willingly gave the ladieseverything in the world except credit for having intelligence. Scarlett exercised the same charms asMelanie but with a studied artistry and consummate skill. The difference between the two girls layin the fact that Melanie spoke kind and flattering words from a desire to make people happy, ifonly temporarily, and Scarlett never did it except to further her own aims.   From the two he loved best, Charles had received no toughening influences, learned nothing of harshness or reality, and the home in which he grew to manhood was as soft as a bird’s nest. It wassuch a quiet, old-fashioned, gentle home compared with Tara. To Scarlett, this house cried out forthe masculine smells of brandy, tobacco and Macassar oil, for hoarse voices and occasional curses,for guns, for whiskers, for saddles and bridles and for hounds underfoot. She missed the sounds ofquarreling voices that always heard at Tara when Ellen’s back was turned, MammyquarrelingwithPork,Rosaa(were) nd Teena bickering, her own acrimonious arguments with Suellen,Gerald’s bawling threats. No wonder Charles had been a sissy, coming from a home like this. Here,excitement never entered in, voices were never raised, everyone deferred gently to the opinions ofothers, and, in the end, the black grizzled autocrat in the kitchen had his way. Scarlett, who hadhoped for a freer rein when she escaped Mammy’s supervision, discovered to her sorrow thatUncle Peter’s standards of ladylike conduct, especially for Mist’ Charles’ widow, were even stricterthan Mammy’s.   In such a household, Scarlett came back to herself, and almost before she realized it her spiritsrose to normal. She was only seventeen, she had superb health and energy, and Charles’ people didtheir best to make her happy. If they fell a little short of this, it was not their fault, for no one couldtake out of her heart the ache that throbbed whenever Ashley’s name was mentioned. And Melaniementioned it so often! But Melanie and Pitty were tireless in planning ways to soothe the sorrowunder which they thought she labored. They put their own grief into the background in order todivert her. They fussed about her food and her hours for taking afternoon naps and for takingcarriage rides. They not only admired her extravagantly, her high-spiritedness, her figure, her tinyhands and feet, her white skin, but they said so frequently, petting, hugging and kissing her toemphasize their loving words.   Scarlett did not care for the caresses, but she basked in the compliments. No one at Tara hadever said so many charming things about her. In fact, Mammy had spent her time deflating herconceit. Little Wade was no longer an annoyance, for the family, black and white, and the neighborsidolized him and there was a never-ceasing rivalry as to whose lap he should occupy. Melanieespecially doted on him. Even in his worst screaming spells, Melanie thought him adorable andsaid so, adding, “Oh, you precious darling! I just wish you were mine!”   Sometimes Scarlett found it hard to dissemble her feelings, for she still thought Aunt Pitty thesilliest of old ladies and her vagueness and vaporings irritated her unendurably. She dislikedMelanie with a jealous dislike that grew as the days went by, and sometimes she had to leave theroom abruptly when Melanie, beaming with loving pride, spoke of Ashley or read his letters aloud.   But, all in all, life went on as happily as was possible under the circumstances. Atlanta was moreinteresting than Savannah Charleston Tara and it offered so many strange war-time occupationsshehadlittletime(or) tothinkormo(or) pe. But, sometimes, when she blew out the candleand burrowed her head into the pillow, she sighed and thought: “If only Ashley wasn’t married! Ifonly I didn’t have to nurse in that plagued hospital! Oh, if only I could have some beaux!”   She had immediately loathed nursing but she could not escape this duty because she was on bothMrs. Meade’s and Mrs. Merriwether’s committees. That meant four mornings a week in thesweltering, stinking hospital with her hair tied up in a towel and a hot apron covering her fromneck to feet. Every matron, old or young, in Atlanta nursed and did it with an enthusiasm thatseemed to Scarlett little short of fanatic. They took it for granted that she was imbued with their own patriotic fervor and would have been shocked to know how slight an interest in the war shehad. Except for the ever-present torment that Ashley might be killed, the war interested her not atall, and nursing was something she did simply because she didn’t know how to get out of it.   Certainly there was nothing romantic about nursing. To her, it meant groans, delirium, death andsmells. The hospitals were filled with dirty, bewhiskered, verminous men who smelled terribly andbore on their bodies wounds hideous enough to turn a Christian’s stomach. The hospitals stank ofgangrene, the odor assaulting her nostrils long before the doors were reached, a sickish sweet smellthat clung to her hands and hair and haunted her in her dreams. Flies, mosquitoes and gnatshovered in droning, singing swarms over the wards, tormenting the men to curses and weak sobs;and Scarlett, scratching her own mosquito bites, swung palmetto fans until her shoulders ached andshe wished that all the men were dead.   Melanie, however, did not seem to mind the smells, the wounds or the nakedness, which Scarlettthought strange in one who was the most timorous and modest of women. Sometimes whenholding basins and instruments while Dr. Meade cut out gangrened flesh, Melanie looked verywhite. And once, after such an operation, Scarlett found her in the linen closet vomiting quietlyinto a towel. But as long as she was where the wounded could see her, she was gentle, sympatheticand cheerful, and the men in the hospitals called her an angel of mercy. Scarlett would have likedthat title too, but it involved touching men crawling with lice, running fingers down throats ofunconscious patients to see if they were choking on swallowed tobacco quids, bandaging stumpsand picking maggots out of festering flesh. No, she did not like nursing!   Perhaps it might have been endurable if she had been permitted to use her charms on theconvalescent men, for many of them were attractive and well born, but this she could not do in herwidowed state. The young ladies of the town, who were not permitted to nurse for fear they wouldsee sights unfit for virgin eyes, had the convalescent wards in their charge. Unhampered bymatrimony or widowhood, they made vast inroads on the convalescents, and even the leastattractive girls, Scarlett observed gloomily, had no difficulty in getting engaged.   With the exception of desperately ill and severely wounded men, Scarlett’s was a completelyfeminized world and this irked her, for she neither liked nor trusted her own sex and, worse still,was always bored by it. But on three afternoons a week she had to attend sewing circles andbandage-rolling committees of Melanie’s friends. The girls who had all known Charles were verykind and attentive to her at these gatherings, especially Fanny Elsing and Maybelle Merriwether,the daughters of the town dowagers. But they treated her deferentially, as if she were old andfinished, and their constant chatter of dances and beaux made her both envious of their pleasuresand resentful that her widowhood barred her from such activities. Why, she was three times asattractive as Fanny and Maybelle! Oh, how unfair life was! How unfair that everyone should thinkher heart was in the grave when it wasn’t at all! It was in Virginia with Ashley!   But in spite of these discomforts, Atlanta pleased her very well. And her visit lengthened as theweeks slipped by.   1862年五月的一个早晨,火车载着思嘉北上了,她想亚特兰大不可能像查尔斯顿和萨凡纳那样讨厌的,而且,尽管她对皮蒂帕特小姐和媚兰很不喜欢,她还是怀着好奇心想看看,从前年冬天战争爆发前她最后一次拜访这里以来,这个城市究竟变得怎样了。   亚特兰大历来比别的城市更使她感兴趣,因为她小时候就听父亲说过她和亚特兰大恰巧是同年诞生的。后来她长大了一些,才发现父亲原来把事实稍稍夸大了些,因为她习惯地认为一定夸张只能使故事变得更趣味,不过亚特兰大的确只比她年长九岁,它至今她听说过的任何别的城市比起来仍显得惊人地年轻,萨凡纳和查斯顿有着一种老成的庄严风貌,一个已经一百好几十年,另一个正在跨入它的第三个世纪,这从思嘉年轻人的眼里看来已俨然是坐在阳光下安详地挥着扇子的老祖母了。可亚特兰大是她的同辈,带有青年时代的莽撞味,并且像她自己那样倔强而浮躁。   杰拉尔德讲给她听的那个故事也有确实依据,那就是她和亚特兰大是在同一年命名的,在思嘉出世之前九年里,这个城市先是叫做特尔纳斯。后来又叫马撒斯维尔,直到思嘉诞生那年才成为亚特兰大。   杰拉尔德起初迁到北佐治亚来时,亚特兰大根本还不存在,连个村子的影儿也没有,只是一大片荒原。不过到第二年,即1863年,州政府授权修筑一条穿过柴罗基部族新近割让的土地向北的铁路。这条铁路以田纳西和大西部为终点,这是明确的,但是它的起点在佐治亚则尚未确定,直到一年以后一位工程师在那块红土地里打了一根桩子作为这条铁路线的南端起点,这才确定下来,同时亚特兰大也就从特尔米纳斯正式诞生,开始成长起来。   在北佐治亚那时还没有铁路,别的地方也很少。不过在杰拉尔德与家伦结婚之前的那些年里,在塔拉以北的25英里处的那个小小的居民点便慢慢发展成一个村子。铁轨也在慢慢向北延伸。于是建设铁路的时代真正开始了。从奥古斯塔旧城,第二条铁路横贯本州往西,与通向田纳西的新铁路相连接。从萨凡纳旧城,第三条铁路首先通到佐治亚心脏地带的梅肯,然后向北推进,经过杰拉尔德所在的地区到达亚特兰大,与其他两条铁路衔接起来,给萨凡纳提供了一条通往西部的大道。从年轻的亚特兰大这同一个交叉点开始,又修了第四条铁路,它是朝西南方向往蒙哥马利和莫比尔去的。   亚特兰大由一条铁路诞生,也和它的铁路同时成长。到那四条干线完成以后,亚特兰大和西部、南部和滨海地区连接起来,并且通过奥古斯塔也同北部和东部连上了。它已经成为东西南北交通的要冲,那个小小的村子已经蓬蓬勃勃地发展起来。   在一段比思嘉17岁的年龄长不了多少的岁月里,亚特兰大从一根打进地里的桩子成长为一个拥有上万人口的繁荣小城,成为全州瞩目的中心。那些老一点、安静一点的城市,总是用孵出了一窝小鸭子的母鸡的感觉来看一个闹哄哄的新城市。为什么这个地方跟旁的佐治亚市镇那么不一样呢?为什么它成长得这么快呢?总之,它们认为它没有什么好吹嘘的----只不过有那些铁路和一批闯劲十足的人罢了。   在这个先后叫做特米尔纳斯、马撒斯维尔和亚特兰大的市镇落户的人,都是很有闯劲的。这些好动而强有力的居民来自佐治恶州老区和一些更远的州县,他们被吸引到这个以铁路交叉点为中心向周围扩展的市镇上来,他们满怀热情而来,在车站附近那五条泥泞红土路交叉处的周围开起一店铺,他们在大白厅街和华盛顿大街,在地脊上那条由印第安人世世代代用穿鹿皮鞋的脚踩出的名叫桃树街的小径两侧,盖起了漂亮的住宅,他们为这个地方感到骄傲,为它的发展感到骄傲,为促使它发展的人,即他们自己,感到骄傲,至于,那些旧的城镇,让它们高兴怎样称呼亚特兰大就怎样称呼去吧。   亚特兰大是一点也不在乎的。   思嘉一直喜欢亚特兰大,她的理由恰恰就是萨凡纳、奥古斯塔和梅肯诋毁它的那些理由。这个市镇像她自己一样是佐治亚州新旧两种成份混物,其中旧的成份在跟那个执拗而有力的新成份发生冲突时往往退居其次。而且,这里面还有一种对于这个市镇的个人情感上的因素----它是和她同一年诞生,至少是同一年命名的。   头天晚上是整夜的狂风暴雨,但是到思嘉抵达亚特兰大时太阳已经开始露出热情的脸来,准备一定要把那些到处淌着河流般的红泥汤的街道晒干。车站旁边空地上的泥土,由于车辆行人来来往往,不断塌陷搅拌,快要成一个给母猪打滚的大泥塘了,也时常有些车轮陷在车撤中的烂草里动弹不得。军用大车和救护车川流不息,忙着装卸由火车运来的军需品和伤员,有的拼命开进来,有的挣扎着要出去,车夫大声咒骂,骡马跳着叫着,泥浆飞溅到好几丈远,这就使那一片泥泞加一团混乱的局面变得更糟了。   思嘉站在车厢门口下面的那个梯级上,她穿着黑色丧服,绉纱披巾几乎下垂到了脚跟,那纤弱的身材还是相当漂亮的。   她犹豫着不敢走下地来,生怕泥水弄脏了鞋子和衣裙,便向周围那些扰攘拥挤乱成一起的大车、短途运输车和马车匆匆看了一眼,寻找皮蒂帕特小姐,可是那位胖乎乎红脸蛋的太太连个影儿也没有,思嘉感到焦急万分,这时一个瘦瘦的花白胡了的黑人老头,手里拿着帽子,显出一种庄重不凡的气度,踩着泥泞向她走过来。   “这位是思嘉小姐吗?俺叫彼得,皮蒂小姐的马车夫,你别踩在这烂泥地里。"他厉声命令着。因为思嘉正提起裙子准备跳下来。"让俺来驮你吧,你跟皮蒂小姐同一个毛病,像小孩似的不怕弄湿了脚。"他尽管看来年老体弱,却轻松地把思嘉背了起来,这时,瞧见百里茜怀里抱着婴儿站在车厢梯台上,他又停下来说:“那孩子是你带来的小保姆吗,思嘉小姐?她太年轻了,看不好查尔斯先生的独生婴儿呢!不过咱们以后再说吧。你这小女儿,跟俺走吧,可当心别摔着那娃娃。”思嘉乖乖地让他驮着向马车走去。一面不声不响地听他用命令的口吻批评她和百里茜。他们在烂泥地里穿行,百里茜嘟着嘴一脚泥一脚水地跟在后面,这时思嘉回想查尔斯说过的有关彼得大叔的话来。   “他跟着父亲经历了墨西哥的全部战役,父亲受了伤他就当看护----事实上是他救了父亲的命。彼得大叔实际上抚养了我和媚兰,因为父母去世时我们还小呢。大概就是那个时候。皮蒂姑妈同她哥哥享利叔叔发生了一次争吵,所以她就过来同我们住在一起,并关照我们了。皮蒂姑妈是个最没能耐的人----活像个可爱的大孩子,彼得大叔也就是这样对待她。为了明哲保身,她事事都不作主,要由彼得大叔来替她决定。我15岁开始拿较多的零用钱,那就是他决定的;当亨利叔叔主张我拿大学的学位时,也是他坚持要我到哈佛去念四年级的。他还决定媚兰到一定年龄就盘头发并开始参加舞会。他告诉皮蒂姑妈什么时候太冷或下雨时不宜出门,什么时候该戴披巾。……他是我所见过的最能干的黑人老头,也可以说是最忠心耿耿的一位,唯一不幸的是他把我们三个连精神带肉体,都当做他个人所有的了,这一点他自己也是清楚的。"查尔斯的这番话,等到彼得大叔爬上马车驾驶坐位并拿起鞭子时,思嘉便认定是确确实实的了。   “皮蒂小姐因为没有来接你而不大高兴。她怕你见怪,但是俺告诉她,她和媚兰小姐要来,只会溅一身泥水,糟践了新衣裳,而且俺会向你解释的。你最好自己抱那娃娃。思嘉小姐,瞧那黑小鬼快把他给摔了。"思嘉瞧着百里茜叹了口气。百里茜不是个很能干的保姆。   她刚刚从一个穿短裙子、翘着小辫儿、瘦得皮包骨头的黑小鬼,一跃而成为身穿印花布长裙、头戴浆过的白头巾的保姆,正洋洋得意,忘乎所以呢。要不是在战争时期,在供应部门对塔拉的要求下,爱伦不得不让出了嬷嬷或迪尔茜乃至罗莎或丁娜,她是决不会在这么小小年纪就上升到这样高的位置的。百里茜还从没有到过离“十二橡树”村或塔拉一英里以外的地方,因此这次乘火车旅行,加上晋升为保姆,便使他她那小小黑脑瓜里的智力越发吃不住了。从琼斯博罗到亚特兰大这20英里的旅程使她太兴奋了,以致思嘉一路上被迫自己来抱娃娃。此刻,这么多的建筑物和人进一步把她迷惑住了。她扭着头左顾右盼,指东指西,又蹦又跳,把个娃娃颠得嚎啕大哭起来。   思嘉渴望着嬷嬷那双肥大又老练的臂膀。嬷嬷的手只消往孩子身上一搁,孩子马上就不哭了。可如今嬷嬷在塔拉,思嘉已毫无办法。她即使把小韦德从百里茜手里抱过来,也没有用。她抱着同百里茜抱着一样,他还是那么大声嚎哭。此外,他还拉扯她帽子上的饰带,当然也会弄皱她的衣裙。所以她便索性装做没有听见彼得大叔的话了。   “过些时候也许我会摸准小毛头的脾气,"她烦燥地想着,同时马车已颠簸摇晃着驶出了车站周围的烂泥地,"不过,我永远也不会喜欢逗他们玩。"这时韦德已哭叫得脸都发紫了,她这才怒气冲冲地喝斥了一声:“我知道他是饿了,把你的兜里的糖奶头给他,百里茜。无论什么都行,只要叫他别哭就行。可现在我一点办法也没有。"百里茜把早晨嬷嬷给她的那个糖奶头拿出来塞进婴儿嘴里,哭叫声果然停息了。由于耳边恢复了清静,眼前又不断出现新景象,思嘉的情绪开始好转。到彼得大叔终于把马车赶出水坑泥洼驶上了桃树街时,她觉得几个月来头一次有点兴致勃勃地感觉了。这城市竟发展到这个地步啦!距她上次拜访这里才一年多一点,她熟悉的那个小小的亚特兰大怎么会发生这许多变化呢?   过去一年她完全沉溺在自己悲痛中,只要一提到战争就不胜烦恼,因此她不明白从开战的那个时刻起亚特兰大就在变了。那些在和平时期使亚特兰大成为贸易枢纽的铁路,如今在战时已具有重大的战略意义。由于离前线还很远,这个城市和它的几条铁路成了南部联盟两支大军即弗吉尼亚军团和田纳西部军团之间的联系纽带。亚特兰大同样使两支大军与南部内地相沟通,从那里取得给养。如今,适应战争的需要,亚特兰大已成为一个制造业中心,一个医疗基地,以及南方为前线大军征集食品和军需品的主要补给站了。   思嘉环顾四周,想寻找那个她还记得很清楚的小市镇,它不见了。她现在看见的这个城市就像是一个由婴儿一夜之间长大起来并忙于扩展的巨人似的。   像个嗡嗡不休的蜂窝,亚特兰大一片喧嚣,它大概骄傲地意识到自己对南部联盟的重要性,所以在没日没夜地工作,要把一个农业社会加以工业化。战争开始前这里只马里兰以南有很少几家棉纺厂、毛纺厂、军械和机器厂,这种情况还是南方人引以自豪的。南方产生政治家和士兵,农场主和医生,律师和诗人,可是肯定不出工程师和机械师。让北方佬去挑选这些下等职业吧。但是现在南部联盟各州的港口已被北方炮舰封锁,只有少许偷越封锁线的货物从欧洲暗暗流入,于是南方也就拼命制造起自己的战争用品来了。北方可以向全世界要求提供物资和兵源,在它优厚的金钱引诱下,成千上万的爱尔兰人和日耳曼人源源不断地涌入联邦军队。而南方就只好转而依靠自己。   在亚特兰大,只有一些缓慢进行生产的机械厂用来制造军需品----之所以缓慢,是因为南方很少可供模仿的机器,几乎每一个轮子和齿轮是按照从英国偷运口的图样制成的。现在亚特兰大的街道上有不少陌生的面孔。一年以前市民们还会驻足倾听一个西部腔调的声音,可如今连来自欧洲的外国话也无不注意了。这些欧洲人都是越过封锁线来为南部联盟制造机器和生产军火的。他们是些技术熟练的人,如果没有他们,南部联盟就很难制造手枪、来福枪、大炮和弹药了。   工作昼夜不停地进行,你几乎可以感觉到这个城市的心脏在紧张地膊跳,将军用物资输送给血管般的铁路干线,然后运到两个战区的前方去。每天任何时刻列车都吼叫着在这个城市进进出出。新建工厂的烟囱吐出滚滚浓烟,像阵雨似的纷纷落到白房子上。到晚上,直到夜深人静以后许久,工厂里仍是炉火熊熊,铁锤丁当。那些一年前还空无人迹的地段,如今已有了许多工厂在那里制造马具、鞍鞯和平鞋,许多兵工厂在生产枪炮,碾压厂和铸造厂在生产和用来补充战争损失的货车,还有种种的零件厂在制造马刺、缰辔、扣子、帐篷、扭扣、手枪、刀剑、等等。因为越过封锁线运进来的为数极少,铸铁厂已深感缺铁,而亚拉巴马铁矿工都上了前线已几乎停产。亚特兰大的草地上已看不见铁栅栏、铁凉棚、铁门,甚至连铁铸的人像也没有,因为它们早已被送进碾压厂的熔化锅里派上用场了。   在桃树街和附近的街道两旁有各军事部门的总部,它们每间办公室里都挤满了穿军服的人;还有物资供销部、通信队、邮政服务公司、铁路运输机关、宪兵司令部,等等。市郊区有马匹补充站,一群群骡马在宽敞的马棚里转来转去。   根据彼得大叔所说的情形,思嘉   觉得亚特兰大已成为一座伤兵城了,因为那里数不清的普通医院、传染病医院和流行病医院,而且每天下午列车开到五点正时还要卸下大批的伤病员哩。   那个小小的市镇不见了,如今有的是一个迅速扩大的城市,它正以无穷无尽的力量与紧张喧扰的活动不断更新自己的面貌。这种繁忙景象使得刚从农村悠闲生活中出来的思嘉快要喘不过起来了,可是她喜欢这样。这地方有一种振奋的气氛令她鼓舞,仿佛她真正感受到城市的心脏在同她自己的心脏一起合拍地跳动 Chapter 9 SCARLETT sat in the window of her bedroom that midsummer morning and disconsolatelywatched the wagons and carriages full of girls, soldiers and chaperons ride gaily out Peachtreeroad in search of woodland decorations for the bazaar which was to be held that evening for thebenefit of the hospitals. The red road lay checkered in shade and sun glare beneath the over-arching trees and the many hooves kicked up little red clouds of dust. One wagon, ahead of theothers, bore four stout negroes with axes to cut evergreens and drag down the vines, and the backof this wagon was piled high with napkin-covered hampers, split-oak baskets of lunch and a dozenwatermelons. Two of the black bucks were equipped with banjo and harmonica and they wererendering a spirited version of “If You Want to Have a Good Time, Jine the Cavalry.” Behind themstreamed the merry cavalcade, girls cool in flowered cotton dresses, with light shawls, bonnets andmitts to protect their skins and little parasols held over their heads; elderly ladies placid andsmiling amid the laughter and carriage-to-carriage calls and jokes; convalescents from thehospitals wedged in between stout chaperons and slender girls who made great fuss and to-do overthem; officers on horseback idling at snail’s pace beside the carriages—wheels creaking, spursjingling, gold braid gleaming, parasols bobbing, fans swishing, negroes singing. Everybody wasriding out Peachtree road to gather greenery and have a picnic and melon cutting. Everybody,thought Scarlett, morosely, except me.   They all waved and called to her as they went by and she tried to respond with a good grace, butit was difficult. A hard little pain had started in her heart and was traveling slowly up toward herthroat where it would become a lump and the lump would soon become tears. Everybody wasgoing to the picnic except her. And everybody was going to the bazaar and the ball tonight excepther. That is everybody except her and Pittypat and Melly and the other unfortunates in town whowere in mourning. But Melly and Pittypat did not seem to mind. It had not even occurred to themto want to go. It had occurred to Scarlett. And she did want to go, tremendously.   It simply wasn’t fair. She had worked twice as hard as any girl in town, getting things ready forthe bazaar. She had knitted socks and baby caps and afghans and mufflers and tatted yards of laceand painted china hair receivers and mustache cups. And she had embroidered half a dozen sofa-pillow cases with the Confederate flag on them. (The stars were a bit lopsided, to be sure, some ofthem being almost round and others having six or even seven points, but the effect was good.)Yesterday she had worked until she was worn out in the dusty old bam of an Armory drapingyellow and pink and green cheesecloth on the booths that lined the walls. Under the supervision ofthe Ladies’ Hospital Committee, this was plain hard work and no fun at all. It was never fun to bearound Mrs. Merriwether and Mrs. Elsing and Mrs. Whiting and have them boss you like you wereone of the darkies. And have to listen to them brag about how popular their daughters were. And,worst of all, she had burned two blisters on her fingers helping Pittypat and Cookie make layercakes for raffling.   And now, having worked like a field hand, she had to retire decorously when the fun was justbeginning. Oh, it wasn’t fair that she should have a dead husband and a baby yelling in the nextroom and be out of everything that was pleasant. Just a little over a year ago, she was dancing andwearing bright clothes instead of this dark mourning and was practically engaged to three boys.   She was only seventeen now and there was still a lot of dancing left in her feet. Oh, it wasn’t fair!   Life was going past her, down a hot shady summer road, life with gray uniforms and jingling spurs and flowered organdie dresses and banjos playing. She tried not to smile and wave too enthusiasticallyto the men she knew best, the ones she’d nursed in the hospital, but it was hard tosubdue her dimples, hard to look as though her heart were in the grave—when it wasn’t.   Her bowing and waving were abruptly halted when Pittypat entered the room, panting as usualfrom climbing the stairs, and jerked her away from the window unceremoniously.   “Have you lost your mind, honey, waving at men out of your bedroom window? I declare,Scarlett, I’m shocked! What would your mother say?”   “Well, they didn’t know it was my bedroom.”   “But they’d suspect it was your bedroom and that’s just as bad. Honey, you mustn’t do thingslike that Everybody will be talking about you and saying you are fast—and anyway, Mrs.   Merriwether knew it was your bedroom.”   “And I suppose she’ll tell all the boys, the old cat.”   “Honey, hush! Dolly Merriwether’s my best friend.”   “Well, she’s a cat just the same—oh, I’m sorry, Auntie, don’t cry! I forgot it was my bedroomwindow. I won’t do it again—I—I just wanted to see them go by. I wish I was going.”   “Honey!”   “Well, I do. I’m so tired of sitting at home.”   “Scarlett, promise me you won’t say things like that. People would talk so. They’d say youdidn’t have the proper respect for poor Charlie—”   “Oh, Auntie, don’t cry!”   “Oh, now I’ve made you cry, too,” sobbed Pittypat, in a pleased way, fumbling in her skirtpocket for her handkerchief.   The hard little pain had at last reached Scarlett’s throat and she wailed out loud—not, as Pittypatthought, for poor Charlie but because the last sounds of the wheels and the laughter were dyingaway. Melanie rustled in from her room, a worried frown puckering her forehead, a brush in herhands, her usually tidy black hair, freed of its net, fluffing about her face in a mass of tiny curlsand waves.   “Darlings! What is the matter?”   “Charlie!” sobbed Pittypat, surrendering utterly to the pleasure of her grief and burying her headon Melly’s shoulder.   “Oh,” said Melly, her lip quivering at the mention of her brother’s name. “Be brave, dear. Don’tcry. Oh, Scarlett!”   Scarlett had thrown herself on the bed and was sobbing at the top of her voice, sobbing for herlost youth and the pleasures of youth that were denied her, sobbing with the indignation anddespair of a child who once could get anything she wanted by sobbing and now knows thatsobbing can no longer help her. She burrowed her head in the pillow and cried and kicked her feetat the tufted counterpane.   “I might as well be dead!” she sobbed passionately. Before such an exhibition of grief, Pittypat’seasy tears ceased and Melly flew to the bedside to comfort her sister-in-law.   “Dear, don’t cry! Try to think how much Charlie loved you and let that comfort you! Try tothink of your darling baby.”   Indignation at being misunderstood mingled with Scarlett’s forlorn feeling of being out ofeverything and strangled all utterance. That was fortunate, for if she could have spoken she wouldhave cried out truths coached in Gerald’s forthright words. Melanie patted her shoulder andPittypat tiptoed heavily about the room pulling down the shades.   “Don’t do that!” shouted Scarlett, raising a red and swollen face from the pillow. I’m not deadenough for you to pull down the shades—though I might as well be. Oh, do go away and leave mealone!”   She sank her face into the pillow again and, after a whispered conference, the two standing overher tiptoed out. She heard Melanie say to Pittypat in a low voice as they went down the stairs:   “Aunt Pitty, I wish you wouldn’t speak of Charles to her. You know how it always affects her.   Poor thing, she gets that queer look and I know she’s trying not to cry. We mustn’t make it harderfor her.”   Scarlett kicked the coverlet in impotent rage, trying to think of something bad enough to say.   “God’s nightgown!” she cried at last, and felt somewhat relieved. How could Melanie be contentto stay at home and never have any fun and wear crêpe for her brother when she was only eighteenyears old? Melanie did not seem to know, or care, that life was riding by with jingling spurs.   “But she’s such a stick,” thought Scarlett, pounding the pillow. “And she never was popular likeme, so she doesn’t miss the things I miss. And—and besides she’s got Ashley and I—I haven’t gotanybody!” And at this fresh woe, she broke into renewed outcries.   She remained gloomily in her room until afternoon and then the sight of the returning picnickerswith wagons piled high with pine boughs, vines and ferns did not cheer her. Everyone looked‘happily tired as they waved to her again and she returned their greetings drearily. Life was ahopeless affair and certainly not worth living.   Deliverance came in the form she least expected when, during the after-dinner-nap period, Mrs.   Merriwether and Mrs. Elsing drove up. Startled at having callers at such an hour, Melanie, Scarlettand Aunt Pittypat roused themselves, hastily hooked their basques, smoothed their hair anddescended to the parlor.   “Mrs. Bonnell’s children have the measles,” said Mrs. Merriwether abruptly, showing plainlythat she held Mrs. Bonnell personally responsible for permitting such a thing to happen.   “And the McLure girls have been called to Virginia,” said Mrs. Elsing in her die-away voice,fanning herself languidly as if neither this nor anything else mattered very much. “Dallas McLureis wounded.”   “How dreadful! chorused their hostesses. “Is poor Dallas—”   “No. Just through the shoulder,” said Mrs. Merriwether briskly. “But it couldn’t possibly have happened at a worse time. The girls are going North to bring him home. But, skies above, wehaven’t time to sit here talking. We must hurry back to the Armory and get the decorating done.   Pitty, we need you and Melly tonight to take Mrs. Bonnell’s and the McLure girls’ places.”   “Oh, but, Dolly, we can’t go.”   “Don’t say ‘can’t’ to me, Pittypat Hamilton,” said Mrs. Merriwether vigorously. “We need youto watch the darkies with the refreshments. That was what Mrs. Bonnell was to do. And Melly, youmust take the McLure girls’ booth.”   “Oh, we just couldn’t—with poor Charlie dead only a—”   “I know how you feel but there isn’t any sacrifice too great for the Cause,” broke in Mrs. Elsingin a soft voice that settled matters.   “Oh, we’d love to help but—why can’t you get some sweet pretty girls to take the booths?”   Mrs. Merriwether snorted a trumpeting snort.   “I don’t know what’s the young people these days. They have sense of responsibility.Allthegirlswho(come) haven(over) ’talreadytakenboothshavemoreexcusesthan(no) you couldshake a stick at. Oh, they don’t fool me! They just don’t want to be hampered in making up to theofficers, that’s all. And they’re afraid their new dresses won’t show off behind booth counters. Iwish to goodness that blockade runner—what’s his name?”   “Captain Butler,” supplied Mrs. Elsing.   “I wish he’d bring in more hospital supplies and less hoop skirts and lace. If I’ve had to look atone dress today I’ve had to look at twenty dresses that he ran in. Captain Butler—I’m sick of thename. Now, Pitty, I haven’t time to argue. You must come. Everybody will understand. Nobodywill see you in the back room anyway, and Melly won’t be conspicuous. The poor McLure girls’   booth is way down at the end and not very pretty so nobody will notice you.”   “I think we should go,” said Scarlett, trying to curb her eagerness and to keep her face earnestand simple. “It is the least we can do for the hospital.”   Neither of the visiting ladies had even mentioned her name, and they turned and looked sharplyat her. Even in their extremity, they had not considered asking a widow of scarcely a year to appearat a social function. Scarlett bore their gaze with a wide-eyed childlike expression.   “I think we should go and help to make it a success, all of us. I think I should go in the boothwith Melly because—well, I think it would look better for us both to be there instead of just one.   Don’t you think so, Melly?”   “Well,” began Melly helplessly. The idea of appearing publicly at a social gathering while inmourning was so unheard of she was bewildered.   “Scarlett’s right,” said Mrs. Merriwether, observing signs of weakening. She rose and jerked herhoops into place. “Both of you—all of you must come. Now, Pitty, don’t start your excuses again.   Just think how much the hospital needs money for new beds and drugs. And I know Charlie wouldlike you to help the Cause he died for.”   “Well,” said Pittypat, helpless as always in the presence of a stronger personality, “if you think people will understand.”   “Too good to be true! Too good to be true!” said Scarlett’s joyful heart as she slippedunobtrusively into the pink-and yellow-draped booth that was to have been the McLure girls’.   Actually she was at a party! After a year’s seclusion, after crêpe and hushed voices and nearlygoing crazy with boredom, she was actually at a party, the biggest party Atlanta had ever seen. Andshe could see people and many lights and hear music and view for herself the lovely laces andfrocks and frills that the famous Captain Butler had run through the blockade on his last trip.   She sank down on one of the little stools behind the counter of the booth and looked up anddown the long hall which, until this afternoon, had been a bare and ugly drill room. How the ladiesmust have worked today to bring it to its present beauty. It looked lovely. Every candle andcandlestick in Atlanta must be in this hall tonight, she thought, silver ones with a dozen spranglingarms, china ones with charming figurines clustering their bases, old brass stands, erect anddignified, laden with candles of all sizes and colors, smelling fragrantly of bayberries, standing onthe gun racks that ran the length of the hall, on the long flower-decked tables, on booth counters,even on the sills of the open windows where, the draughts of warm summer air were just strongenough to make them flare.   In the center of the hall the huge ugly lamp, hanging from the ceiling by rusty chains, wascompletely transformed by twining ivy and wild grapevines that were already withering from theheat. The walls were banked with pine branches that gave out a spicy smell, making the corners ofthe room into pretty bowers where the chaperons and old ladies would sit. Long graceful ropes ofivy and grapevine and smilax were hung everywhere, in looping festoons on the walls, drapedabove the windows, twined in scallops all over the brightly colored cheesecloth booths. Andeverywhere amid the greenery, on flags and bunting, blazed the bright stars of the Confederacy ontheir background of red and blue.   The raised platform for the musicians was especially artistic. It was completely hidden fromview by the banked greenery and starry bunting and Scarlett knew that every potted and tubbedplant in town was there, coleus, geranium, hydrangea, oleander, elephant ear—even Mrs. Elsing’sfour treasured rubber plants, which were given posts of honor at the four corners.   At the other end of the hall from the platform, the ladies had eclipsed themselves. On this wallhung large pictures of President Davis and Georgia’s own “Little Alec” Stephens, Vice-Presidentof the Confederacy. Above them was an enormous flag and, beneath, on long tables was the loot ofthe gardens of the town, ferns, banks of roses, crimson and yellow and white, proud sheaths ofgolden gladioli, masses of varicolored nasturtiums, tall stiff hollyhocks rearing deep maroon andcreamy heads above the other flowers. Among them, candles burned serenely like altar fires. Thetwo faces looked down on the scene, two faces as different as could be possible in two men at thehelm of so momentous an undertaking: Davis with the flat cheeks and cold eyes of an ascetic, histhin proud lips set firmly; Stephens with dark burning eyes deep socketed in a face that had knownnothing but sickness and pain and had triumphed over them with humor and with fire—two facesthat were greatly loved.   The elderly ladies of the committee in whose hands rested the responsibility for the whole bazaar rustled in as importantly as full-rigged ships, hurried the belated young matrons andgiggling girls into their booths, and then swept through the doors into the back rooms where therefreshments were being laid out. Aunt Pitty panted out after them.   The musicians clambered upon their platform, black, grinning, their fat cheeks already shiningwith perspiration, and began tuning their fiddles and sawing and whanging with their bows inanticipatory importance. Old Levi, Mrs. Merriwether’s coachman, who had led the orchestras forevery bazaar, ball and wedding since Atlanta was named Marthasville, rapped with his bow forattention. Few except the ladies who were conducting the bazaar had arrived yet, but all eyesturned toward him. Then the fiddles, bull fiddles, accordions, banjos and knuckle-bones broke intoa slow rendition of “Lorena”—too slow for dancing, the dancing would come later when thebooths were emptied of their wares. Scarlett felt her heart beat faster as the sweet melancholy ofthe waltz came to her:   “Theyearscreepslowlyby,Lorena!   Thesnow isonthegrassagain.   Thesun’sfardownthesky,Lorena .   ...”   One-two-three, one-two-three, dip-sway—three, turn— two-three. What a beautiful waltz! Sheextended her hands slightly, closed her eyes and swayed with the sad haunting rhythm. There wassomething about the tragic melody and Lorena’s lost love that mingled with her own excitementand brought a lump into her throat.   Then, as if brought into being by the waltz music, sounds floated in from the shadowy moonlitstreet below, the trample of horses’ hooves and the sound of carriage wheels, laughter on the warmsweet air and the soft acrimony of negro voices raised in argument over hitching places for thehorses. There was confusion on the stairs and light-hearted merriment, the mingling of girls’ freshvoices with the bass notes of their escorts, airy cries of greeting and squeals of joy as girlsrecognized friends from whom they had parted only that afternoon.   Suddenly the hall burst into life. It was full of girls, girls who floated in butterfly bright dresses,hooped out enormously, lace pantalets peeping from beneath; round little white shoulders bare, andfaintest traces of soft little bosoms showing above lace flounces; lace shawls carelessly hangingfrom arms; fans spangled and painted, fans of swan’s-down and peacock feathers, dangling atwrists by tiny velvet ribbons; girls with masses of golden curls about their necks and fringed goldearbobs that tossed and danced with their dancing curls. Laces and silks and braid and ribbons, allblockade run, all the more precious and more proudly worn because of it, finery flaunted with anadded pride as an extra affront to the Yankees.   Not all the Sowers of the town were standing in tribute to the leaders of the Confederacy. Thesmallest, the most fragrant blossoms bedecked the girls. Tea roses tucked behind pink ears, capejessamine and bud roses in round little garlands over cascades of side curls, blossoms thrustdemurely into satin sashes, flowers that before the night was over would find their way into thebreast pockets of gray uniforms as treasured souvenirs.   There were so many uniforms in the crowd—so many uniforms on so many men whom Scarlettknew, men she had met on hospital cots, on the streets, at the drill ground. They were suchresplendent uniforms, brave with shining buttons and dazzling with twined gold braid on cuffs andcollars, the red and yellow and blue stripes on the trousers, for the different branches of the service,setting off the gray to perfection. Scarlet and gold sashes swung to and fro, sabers glittered andbanged against shining boots, spurs rattled and jingled.   Such handsome men, thought Scarlett, with a swell of pride in her heart, as the men calledgreetings, waved to friends, bent low over the hands of elderly ladies. All of them were so younglooking, even with their sweeping yellow mustaches and full black and brown beards, so handsome,so reckless, with their arms in slings, with head bandages startlingly white across sun-browned faces. Some of them were on crutches and how proud were the girls who solicitouslyslowed their steps to their escorts’ hopping pace! There was one gaudy splash of color among theuniforms that put the girls’ bright finery to shame and stood out in the crowd like a tropical bird—aLouisiana Zouave, with baggy blue and white striped pants, cream gaiters and tight little redjacket, a dark, grinning little monkey of a man, with his arm in a black silk sling. He was MaybelleMerriwether’s especial beau, René Picard. The whole hospital must have turned out, at leasteverybody who could walk, and all the men on furlough and sick leave and all the railroad andmail service and hospital and commissary departments between here and Macon. How pleased theladies would be! The hospital should make a mint of money tonight.   There was a ruffle of drums from the street below, the tramp of feet, the admiring cries ofcoachmen. A bugle blared and a bass voice shouted the command to break ranks. In a moment, theHome Guard and the militia unit in their bright uniforms shook the narrow stairs and crowded intothe room, bowing, saluting, shaking hands. There were boys in the Home Guard, proud to beplaying at war, promising themselves they would be in Virginia this time next year, if the warwould just last that long; old men with white beards, wishing they were younger, proud to march inuniform in the reflected glory of sons at the front In the militia, there were many middle-aged menand some older men but there was a fair sprinkling of men of military age who did not carrythemselves quite so jauntily as their elders or their juniors. Already people were beginning towhisper, asking why they were not with Lee.   How would they all get into the hall! It had seemed such a large place a few minutes before, andnow it was packed, warm with summer-night odors of sachet and cologne water and hair pomadeand burning bayberry candles, fragrant with flowers, faintly dusty as many feet trod the old drillfloors. The din and hubbub of voices made it almost impossible to hear anything and, as if feelingthe joy and excitement of the occasion, old Levi choked off “Lorena” in mid-bar, rapped sharplywith his bow and, sawing away for dear life, the orchestra burst into “Bonnie Blue Flag.”   A hundred voices took it up, sang it shouted it like a cheer. The Home Guard bugler, climbingonto the platform, caught up with the music just as the chorus began, and the high silver notessoared out thrillingly above the massed singing, causing goose bumps to break out on bare armsand cold chills of deeply felt emotion to fly down spines:   “Hurrah!Hurrah!FortheSouthernRights,hurrah!   HurrahfortheBonnieBlueFlag Thatbearsasinglestar!”   They crashed into the second verse and Scarlett, singing with the rest, heard the high sweetsoprano of Melanie mounting behind her, clear and true and thrilling as the bugle notes. Turning,she saw that Melly was standing with her hands clasped to her breast her eyes closed, and tinytears oozing from the corners. She smiled at Scarlett, whimsically, as the music ended, making alittle moue of apology as she dabbed with her handkerchief.   “I’m so happy,” she whispered, “and so proud of the soldiers that I just can’t help crying aboutit.”   There was a deep, almost fanatic glow in her eyes that for a moment lit up her plain little faceand made it beautiful.   The same look was on the faces of all the women as the song ended, tears of pride on cheeks,pink or wrinkled, smiles on lips, a deep hot glow in eyes, as they turned to their men, sweetheart tolover, mother to son, wife to husband. They were all beautiful with the blinding beauty thattransfigures even the plainest woman when she is utterly protected and utterly loved and is givingback that love a thousandfold.   They loved their men, they believed in them, they trusted them to the last breaths of their bodies.   How could disaster ever come to women such as they when their stalwart gray line stood betweenthem and the Yankees? Had there ever been such men as these since the first dawn of the world, soheroic, so reckless, so gallant, so tender? How could anything but overwhelming victory come to aCause as just and right as theirs? A Cause they loved as much as they loved their men, a Causethey served with their hands and their hearts, a Cause they talked about, thought about, dreamedabout—a Cause to which they would sacrifice these men if need be, and bear their loss as proudlyas the men bore their battle flags.   It was high tide of devotion and pride in their hearts, high tide of the Confederacy, for finalvictory was at hand. Stonewall Jackson’s triumphs in the Valley and the defeat of the Yankees inthe Seven Days’ Battle around Richmond showed that clearly. How could it be otherwise with suchleaders as Lee and Jackson? One more victory and the Yankees would be on their knees yelling forpeace and the men would be riding home and there would be kissing and laughter. One morevictory and the war was over!   Of course, there were empty chairs and babies who would never see their fathers’ faces andunmarked graves by lonely Virginia creeks and in the still mountains of Tennessee, but was thattoo great a price to pay for such a Cause? Silks for the ladies and tea and sugar were hard to get;but that was something to joke about. Besides, the dashing blockade runners were bringing in thesevery things under the Yankees’ disgruntled noses, and that made the possession of them manytimes more thrilling. Soon Raphael Semmes and the Confederate Navy would tend to those Yankeegunboats and the ports would be wide open. And England was coming in to help the Confederacywin the war, because the English mills were standing idle for want of Southern cotton. Andnaturally the British aristocracy sympathized with the Confederacy, as one aristocrat with another,against a race of dollar lovers like the Yankees.   So the women swished their silks and laughed and, looking on their men with hearts bursting with pride, they knew that love snatched in the face of danger and death was doubly sweet for thestrange excitement that went with it.   When first she looked at the crowd, Scarlett’s heart had thump-thumped with the unaccustomedexcitement of being at a party, but as she half-comprehendingly saw the high-hearted look on thefaces about her, her joy began to evaporate. Every woman present was blazing with an emotion shedid not feel. It bewildered and depressed her. Somehow, the hall did not seem so pretty nor thegirls so dashing, and the white heat of devotion to the Cause that was still shining on every faceseemed—why, it just seemed silly!   In a sudden flash of self-knowledge that made her mouth pop open with astonishment, sherealized that she did not share with these women their fierce pride, their desire to sacrificethemselves and everything they had for the Cause. Before horror made her think: “No—no! Imustn’t think such things! They’re wrong—sinful,” she knew the Cause meant nothing at all to herand that she was bored with heating other people talk about it with that fanatic look in their eyes.   The Cause didn’t seem sacred to her. The war didn’t seem to be a holy affair, but a nuisance thatkilled men senselessly and cost money and made luxuries hard to get. She saw that she was tired ofthe endless knitting and the endless bandage rolling and lint picking that roughened the cuticle ofher nails. And oh, she was so tired of the hospital! Tired and bored and nauseated with thesickening gangrene smells and the endless moaning, frightened by the look that coming death gaveto sunken faces.   She looked furtively around her, as the treacherous, blasphemous thoughts rushed through hermind, fearful that someone might find them written clearly upon her face. Oh, why couldn’t shefeel like those other women! They were whole hearted and sincere in their devotion to the Cause.   They really meant everything they said and did. And if anyone should ever suspect that she— No,no one must ever know! She must go on making a pretense of enthusiasm and pride in the Causewhich she could not feel, acting out her part of the widow of a Confederate officer who bears hergrief bravely, whose heart is in the grave, who feels that her husband’s death meant nothing if itaided the Cause to triumph.   Oh, why was she different, apart from these loving women? She could never love anything oranyone so selflessly as they did. What a lonely feeling it was—and she had never been lonelyeither in body or spirit before. At first she tried to stifle the thoughts, but the hard self-honesty thatlay at the base of her nature would not permit it And so, while the bazaar went on, while she andMelanie waited on the customers who came to their booth, her mind was busily working, trying tojustify herself to herself—a task which she seldom found difficult.   The other women were simply silly and hysterical with their talk of patriotism and the Cause,and the men were almost as bad with their talk of vital issues and States’ Rights. She, ScarlettO’Hara Hamilton, alone had good hard-headed Irish sense. She wasn’t going to make a fool out ofherself about the Cause, but neither was she going to make a fool out of herself by admitting hertrue feelings. She was hard-headed enough to be practical about the situation, and no one wouldever know how she felt How surprised the bazaar would be if they knew what she really wasthinking! How shocked if she suddenly climbed on the bandstand and declared that she thought thewar ought to stop, so everybody could go home and tend to their cotton and there could be partiesand beaux again and plenty of pale green dresses.   For a moment, her self-justification buoyed her up but still she looked about the hall withdistaste. The McLure girls’ booth was inconspicuous, as Mrs. Merriwether had said, and there werelong intervals when no one came to their corner and Scarlett had nothing to do but look enviouslyon the happy throng. Melanie sensed her moodiness but, crediting it to longing for Charlie, did nottry to engage her in conversation. She busied herself arranging the articles in the booth in moreattractive display, while Scarlett sat and looked glumly around the room. Even the banked flowersbelow the pictures of Mr. Davis and Mr. Stephens displeased her.   “It looks like an altar,” she sniffed. “And the way they all carry on about those two, they mightas well be the Father and the Son!” Then smitten with sudden fright at her irreverence she beganhastily to cross herself by way of apology but caught herself in time.   “Well, it’s true,” she argued with her conscience. “Everybody carries on like they were holy andthey aren’t anything but men, and mighty unattractive looking ones at that.”   Of course, Mr. Stephens couldn’t help how he looked for he had been an invalid all his life, butMr. Davis— She looked up at the cameo clean, proud face. It was his goatee that annoyed her themost. Men should either be clean shaven, mustached or wear full beards.   “That little wisp looks like it was just the best he could do,” she thought, not seeing in his facethe cold hard intelligence that was carrying the weight of a new nation.   No, she was not happy now, and at first she had been radiant with the pleasure of being in acrowd. Now just being present was not enough. She was at the bazaar but not a part of it. No onepaid her any attention and she was the only young unmarried woman present who did not have abeau. And all her life she had enjoyed the center of the stage. It wasn’t fair! She was seventeenyears old and her feet were patting the floor, wanting to skip and dance. She was seventeen yearsold and she had a husband lying at Oakland Cemetery and a baby in his cradle at Aunt Pittypat’sand everyone thought she should be content with her lot. She had a whiter bosom and a smallerwaist and a tinier foot than any girl present, but for all they mattered she might just as well be lyingbeside Charles with “Beloved Wife of” carved over her.   She wasn’t a girl who could dance and flirt and she wasn’t a wife who could sit with other wivesand criticize the dancing and flirting girls. And she wasn’t old enough to be a widow. Widowsshould be old—so terribly old they didn’t want to dance and flirt and be admired. Oh, it wasn’t fairthat she should have to sit here primly and be the acme of widowed dignity and propriety when shewas only seventeen. It wasn’t fair that she must keep her voice low and her eyes cast modestlydown, when men, attractive ones, too, came to their booth.   Every girl in Atlanta was three deep in men. Even the plainest girls were carrying on like belles—and, oh, worst of all, they were carrying on in such lovely, lovely dresses!   Here she sat like a crow with hot black taffeta to her wrists and buttoned up to her chin, with noteven a hint of lace or braid, not a jewel except Ellen’s onyx mourning brooch, watching tacky-looking girls hanging on the arms of good-looking men. All because Charles Hamilton had had themeasles. He didn’t even die in a fine glow of gallantry in battle, so she could brag about him.   Rebelliously she leaned her elbows on the counter and looked at the crowd, flouting Mammy’soft-repeated admonition against leaning on elbows and making them ugly and wrinkled. What did it matter if they did get ugly? She’d probably never get a chance to show them again. She lookedhungrily at the frocks floating by, butter-yellow watered silks with garlands of rosebuds; pinksatins with eighteen flounces edged with tiny black velvet ribbons; baby blue taffeta, ten yards inthe skirt and foamy with cascading lace; exposed bosoms; seductive flowers. MaybelleMerriwether went toward the next booth on the arm of the Zouave, in an apple-green tarlatan sowide that it reduced her waist to nothingness. It Was showered and flounced with cream-coloredChantilly lace that had come from Charleston on the last blockader, and Maybelle was flaunting itas saucily as if she and not the famous Captain Butler had run the blockade.   “How sweet I’d look in that dress,” thought Scarlett, a savage envy in her heart. “Her waist is asbig as a cow’s. That green is just my color and it would make my eyes look— Why will blondestry to wear that color? Her skin looks as green as an old cheese. And to think I’ll never wear thatcolor again, not even when I do get out of mourning. No, not even if I do manage to get marriedagain. Then I’ll have to wear tacky old grays and tans and lilacs.”   For a brief moment she considered the unfairness of it all. How short was the time for fun, forpretty clothes, for dancing, for coquetting! Only a few, too few years! Then you married and woredull-colored dresses and had babies that ruined your waist line and sat in corners at dances withother sober matrons and only emerged to dance with your husband or with old gentlemen whostepped on your feet. If you didn’t do these things, the other matrons talked about you and thenyour reputation was ruined and your family disgraced. It seemed such a terrible waste to spend allyour little girlhood learning how to be attractive and how to catch men and then only use theknowledge for a year or two. When she considered her training at the hands of Ellen and Mammy,she knew it had been thorough and good because it had always reaped results. There were set rulesto be followed, and if you followed them success crowned your efforts.   With old ladies you were sweet and guileless and appeared as simple minded as possible, for oldladies were sharp and they watched girls as jealously as cats, ready to pounce on any indiscretionof tongue or eye. With old gentlemen, a girl was pert and saucy and almost, but not quite,flirtatious, so that the old fools’ vanities would be tickled. It made them feel devilish and youngand they pinched your cheek and declared you Were a minx. And, of course, you always blushedon such occasions, otherwise they would pinch you with more pleasure than was proper and thentell their sons that you were fast.   With young girls and young married women, you slopped over with sugar and kissed them everytime you met them, even if it was ten times a day. And you put your arms about their waists andsuffered them to do the same to you, no matter how much you disliked it You admired their frocksor their babies indiscriminately and teased about beaux and complimented husbands and giggledmodestly and denied that you had any charms at all compared with theirs. And, above all, younever said what you really thought about anything, any more than they said what they reallythought.   Other women’s husbands you let severely alone, even if they were your own discarded beaux,and no matter how temptingly attractive they were. If you were too nice to young husbands, theirwives said you were fast and you got a bad reputation and never caught any beaux of your own.   But with young bachelors—ah, that was a different matter! You could laugh softly at them and when they came flying to see why you laughed, you could refuse to tell them and laugh harder andkeep them around indefinitely trying to find out. You could promise, with your eyes, any numberof exciting things that would make a man maneuver to get you alone. And, having gotten youalone, you could be very, very hurt or very, very angry when he tried to kiss you. You could makehim apologize for being a cur and forgive him so sweetly that he would hang around trying to kissyou a second time. Sometimes, but not often, you did let him kiss you. (Ellen and Mammy had nottaught her that but she learned it was effective.) Then you cried and declared you didn’t know whathad come over you and that he couldn’t ever respect you again. Then he had to dry your eyes andusually he proposed, to show just how much he did respect you. And then there were— Oh, therewere so many things to do to bachelors and she knew them all, the nuance of the sidelong glance,the half-smile behind the fan, the swaying of the hips so that skirts swung like a bell, the tears, thelaughter, the flattery, the sweet sympathy. Oh, all the tricks that never failed to work—except withAshley.   No, it didn’t seem right to learn all these smart tricks, use them so briefly and then put themaway forever. How wonderful it would be never to marry but to go on being lovely in pale greendresses and forever courted by handsome men. But, if you went on too long, you got to be an oldmaid like India Wilkes and everyone said “poor thing” in that smug hateful way. No, after all itwas better to marry and keep your self-respect even if you never had any more fun.   Oh, what a mess life was! Why had she been such an idiot as to marry Charles of all people andhave her life end at sixteen?   Her indignant and hopeless reverie was broken when the crowd began pushing back against thewalls, the ladies carefully holding their hoops so that no careless contact should turn them upagainst their bodies and show more pantalets than was proper. Scarlett tiptoed above the crowd andsaw the captain of the militia mounting the orchestra platform. He shouted orders and half of theCompany fell into line. For a few minutes they went through a brisk drill that brought perspirationto their foreheads and cheers and applause from the audience. Scarlett clapped her hands dutifullywith the rest and, as the soldiers pushed forward toward the punch and lemonade booths after theywere dismissed, she turned to Melanie, feeling that she had better begin her deception about theCause as soon as possible.   “They looked fine, didn’t they?” she said.   Melanie was fussing about with the knitted things on the counter.   “Most of them would look a lot finer in gray uniforms and in Virginia,” she said, and she did nottrouble to lower her voice.   Several of the proud mothers of members of the militia were standing close by and overheardthe remark. Mrs. Guinan turned scarlet and then white, for her twenty-five-year-old Willie was inthe company.   Scarlett was aghast at such words coming from Melly of all people.   “Why, Melly!”   “You know it’s true, Scarlet. I don’t mean the little boys and the old gentlemen. But a lot of themilitia are perfectly able to tote a rifle and that’s what they ought to be doing this minute.”   “But—but—” began Scarlett, who had never considered the matter before. “Somebody’s got tostay home to—” What was it Willie Guinan had told her by way of excusing his presence inAtlanta? “Somebody’s got to stay home to protect the state from invasion.”   “Nobody’s invading us and nobody’s going to,” said Melly coolly, looking toward a group of themilitia. “And the best way to keep out invaders is to go to Virginia and beat the Yankees there. Andas for all this talk about the militia staying here to keep the darkies from rising—why, it’s thesilliest thing I ever heard of. Why should our people rise? It’s just a good excuse for cowards. I’llbet we could lick the Yankees in a month if all the militia of all the states went to Virginia. Sothere!”   “Why, Melly!” cried Scarlett again, staring.   Melly’s soft dark eyes were flashing angrily. “My husband wasn’t afraid to go and neither wasyours. And I’d rather they’d both be dead than here at home— Oh, darling, I’m sorry. Howthoughtless and cruel of me!”   She stroked Scarlett’s arm appealingly and Scarlett stared at her. But it was not of dead Charlesshe was thinking. It was of Ashley. Suppose he too were to die? She turned quickly and smiledautomatically as Dr. Meade walked up to their booth.   “Well, girls,” he greeted them, “it was nice of you to come. I know what a sacrifice it must havebeen for you to come out tonight. But it’s all for the Cause. And I’m going to tell you a secret. I’vea surprise way for making some more money tonight for the hospital, but I’m afraid some of theladies are going to be shocked about it.”   He stopped and chuckled as he tugged at his gray goatee.   “Oh, what? Do tell!”   “On second thought I believe I’ll keep you guessing, too. But you girls must stand up for me ifthe church members want to run me out of town for doing it. However, it’s for the hospital You’llsee. Nothing like this has ever been done before.”   He went off pompously toward a group of chaperons in one corner, and just as the two girls hadturned to each other to discuss the possibilities of the secret, two old gentlemen bore down on thebooth, declaring in loud voices that they wanted ten miles of tatting. Well, after all, old gentlemenwere better than no gentlemen at all, thought Scarlett, measuring out the tatting and submittingdemurely to being chucked under the chin. The old blades charged off toward the lemonade boothand others took their places at the counter. Their booth did not have so many customers as did theother booths where the tootling laugh of Maybelle Merriwether sounded and Fanny Elsing’sgiggles and the Whiting girls’ repartee made merriment. Melly sold useless stuff to men who couldhave no possible use for it as quietly and serenely as a shopkeeper, and Scarlett patterned herconduct on Melly’s.   There were crowds in front of every other counter but theirs, girls chattering, men buying. Thefew who came to them talked about how they went to the university with Ashley and what a finesoldier he was or spoke in respectful tones of Charles and how great a loss to Atlanta his death hadbeen.   Then the music broke into the rollicking strains of “Johnny Booker, he’p dis Nigger!” andScarlett thought she would scream. She wanted to dance. She wanted to dance. She looked acrossthe floor and tapped her foot to the music and her green eyes blazed so eagerly that they fairlysnapped. All the way across the floor, a man, newly come and standing in the doorway, saw them,started in recognition and watched closely the slanting eyes in the sulky, rebellious face. Then hegrinned to himself as he recognized the invitation that any male could read.   He was dressed in black broadcloth, a tall man, towering over the officers who stood near him,bulky in the shoulders but tapering to a small waist and absurdly small feet in varnished boots. Hissevere black suit, with fine ruffled shirt and trousers smartly strapped beneath high insteps, wasoddly at variance with his physique and face, for he was foppishly groomed, the clothes of a dandyon a body that was powerful and latently dangerous in its lazy grace. His hair was jet black, and hisblack mustache was small and closely clipped, almost foreign looking compared with the dashing,swooping mustaches of the cavalrymen by. He looked, and was, man of lusty and unashamedappetites.Hehadanairofutteras(near) surance,ofdispleasinginsole(a) nce about him, andthere was a twinkle of malice in his bold eyes as he stared at Scarlett, until finally, feeling his gaze,she looked toward him.   Somewhere in her mind, the bell of recognition rang, but for the moment she could not recallwho he was. But he was the first man in months who had displayed an interest in her, and shethrew him a gay smile. She made a little curtsy as he bowed, and then, as he straightened andstarted toward her with a peculiarly lithe Indian-like gait, her hand went to her mouth in horror, forshe knew who he was.   Thunderstruck, she stood as if paralyzed while he made his way through the crowd. Then sheturned blindly, bent on flight into the refreshment rooms, but her skirt caught on a nail of thebooth. She jerked furiously at it, tearing it and, in an instant, he was beside her.   “Permit me,” he Said bending over and disentangling the flounce. “I hardly hoped that youwould recall me, Miss O’Hara.”   His voice was oddly pleasant to the ear, the well-modulated voice of a gentleman, resonant andoverlaid with the flat slow drawl of the Charlestonian.   She looked up at him imploringly, her face crimson with the shame of their last meeting, andmet two of the blackest eyes she had ever seen, dancing in merciless merriment. Of all the peoplein the world to turn up here, this terrible person who had witnessed that scene with Ashley whichstill gave her nightmares; this odious wretch who ruined girls and was not received by nice people;this despicable man who had said, and with good cause, that she was not a lady.   At the sound of his voice, Melanie turned and for the first time in her life Scarlett thanked Godfor the existence of her sister-in-law.   “Why—it’s—it’s Mr. Rhett Butler, isn’t it?” said Melanie with a little smile, putting out herhand. I met you—”   “On the happy occasion of the announcement of your betrothal,” he finished, bending over herhand. “It is kind of you to recall me.”   “And what are you doing so far from Charleston, Mr. Butler?”   “A boring matter of business, Mrs. Wilkes. I will be in and out of your town from now on. I findI must not only bring in goods but see to the disposal of them.”   “Bring in—” began Melly, her brow wrinkling, and then she broke into a delighted smile. “Why,you—you must be the famous Captain Butler we’ve been hearing so much about—the blockaderunner. Why, every girl here is wearing dresses you brought in. Scarlett, aren’t you thrilled—what’s the matter, dear? Are you faint? Do sit down.”   Scarlett sank to the stool, her breath coming so rapidly she feared the lacings of her stays wouldburst. Oh, what a terrible thing to happen! She had never thought to meet this man again. Hepicked up her black fan from the counter and began fanning her solicitously, too solicitously, hisface grave but his eyes still dancing.   “It is quite warm in here,” he said. “No wonder Miss O’Hara is faint. May I lead you to awindow?”   “No,” said Scarlett, so rudely that Melly stared.   “She is not Miss O’Hara any longer,” said Melly. “She is Mrs. Hamilton. She is my sister now,”   and Melly bestowed one of her fond little glances on her. Scarlett felt that she would strangle at theexpression on Captain Butler’s swarthy piratical face.   “I am sure that is a great gain to two charming ladies,” said he, making a slight bow. That wasthe kind of remark all men made, but when he said it it seemed to her that he meant just theopposite.   “Your husbands are here tonight, I trust, on this happy occasion? It would be a pleasure to renewacquaintances.”   “My husband is in Virginia,” said Melly with a proud lift of her head. “But Charles—” Hervoice broke.   “He died in camp,” said Scarlett flatly. She almost snapped the words. Would this creature nevergo away? Melly looked at her, startled, and the Captain made a gesture of self-reproach.   “My dear ladies—how could I! You must forgive me. But permit a stranger to offer the comfortof saying that to die for one’s country is to live forever.”   Melanie smiled at him through sparkling tears while Scarlett felt the fox of wrath and impotenthate gnaw at her vitals. Again he had made a graceful remark, the kind of compliment anygentleman would pay under such circumstances, but he did not mean a word of it. He was jeeringat her. He knew she hadn’t loved Charles. And Melly was just a big enough fool not to see throughhim. Oh, please God, don’t let anybody else see through him, she thought with a start of terror.   Would he tell what he knew? Of course he wasn’t a gentleman and there was no telling what menwould do when they weren’t gentlemen. There was no standard to judge them by. She looked up athim and saw that his mouth was pulled down at the corners in mock sympathy, even while heswished the fan. Something in his look challenged her spirit and brought her strength back in asurge of dislike. Abruptly she snatched the fan from his hand.   “I’m quite all right,” she said tartly. “There’s no need to blow my hair out of place.”   “Scarlett, darling! Captain Butler, you must forgive her. She—she isn’t herself when she hears poor Charlie’s name spoken—and perhaps, after all, we shouldn’t have come here tonight. We’restill in mourning, you see, and it’s quite a strain on her—all this gaiety and music, poor child.”   “I quite understand,” he said with elaborate gravity, but as he turned and gave Melanie asearching look that went to the bottom of her sweet worried eyes, his expression changed, reluctantrespect and gentleness coming over his dark face. “I think you’re a courageous little lady, Mrs.   Wilkes.”   “Not a word about me!” thought Scarlett indignantly, as Melly smiled in confusion andanswered,“Dear me, no, Captain Butler! The hospital committee just had to have us for this booth becauseat the last minute— A pillow case? Here’s a lovely one with a flag on it.”   She turned to three cavalrymen who appeared at her counter. For a moment, Melanie thoughthow nice Captain Butler was. Then she wished that something more substantial than cheeseclothwas between her skirt and the spittoon that stood just outside the booth, for the aim of thehorsemen with amber streams of tobacco juice was not so unerring as with their long horse pistols.   Then she forgot about the Captain, Scarlett and the spittoons as more customers crowded to her.   Scarlett sat quietly on the stool fanning herself, not daring to look up, wishing Captain Butlerback on the deck of his ship where he belonged.   “Your husband has been dead long?”   “Oh, yes, a long time. Almost a year.”   “An aeon, I’m sure.”   Scarlett was not sure what an aeon was, but there was no mistaking the baiting quality of hisvoice, so she said nothing.   “Had you been married long? Forgive my questions but I have been away from this section forso long.”   “Two months,” said Scarlett, unwillingly.   “A tragedy, no less,” his easy voice continued.   Oh, damn him, she thought violently. If he was any other man in the world I could simply freezeup and order’ him off. But he knows about Ashley and he knows I didn’t love Charlie. And myhands are tied. She said nothing, still looking down at her fan.   “And this is your first social appearance?”   “I know it looks quite odd,” she explained rapidly. “But the McLure girls who were to take thisbooth were called away and there was no one else, so Melanie and I—”   “No sacrifice is too great for the Cause.”   Why, that was what Mrs. Elsing had said, but when she said it it didn’t sound the same way. Hotwords started to her lips but she choked them back. After all, she was here, not for the Cause, butbecause she was tired of sitting home.   “I have always thought,” he said reflectively, “that the system of mourning, of immuring women in crêpe for the rest of their lives and forbidding them normal enjoyment is just as barbarous as theHindu suttee.”   “Settee?”   He laughed and she blushed for her ignorance. She hated people who used words unknown toher.   “In India, when a man dies he is burned, instead of buried, and his wife always climbs on thefuneral pyre and is burned with him.”   “How dreadful! Why do they do it? Don’t the police do anything about it?”   “Of course not. A wife who didn’t burn herself would be a social outcast. All the worthy Hindumatrons would talk about her for not behaving as a well-bred lady should—precisely as thoseworthy matrons in the corner would talk about you, should you appear tonight in a red dress andlead a reel. Personally, I think suttee much more merciful than our charming Southern custom ofburying widows alive!”   “How dare you say I’m buried alive!”   “How closely women clutch the very chains that bind them! You think the Hindu custombarbarous—but would you have had the courage to appear here tonight if the Confederacy hadn’tneeded you?”   Arguments of this character were always confusing to Scarlett. His were doubly confusingbecause she had a vague idea there was truth in them. But now was the time to squelch him.   “Of course, I wouldn’t have come. It would have been—well, disrespectful to—it would haveseemed as if I hadn’t lov—”   His eyes waited on her words, cynical amusement in them, and she could not go on. He knewshe hadn’t loved Charlie and he wouldn’t let her pretend to the nice polite sentiments that sheshould express. What a terrible, terrible thing it was to have to do with a man who wasn’t agentleman. A gentleman always appeared to believe a lady even when he knew she was lying. Thatwas Southern chivalry. A gentleman always obeyed the rules and said the correct things and madelife easier for a lady. But this man seemed not to care for rules and evidently enjoyed talking ofthings no one ever talked about.   “I am waiting breathlessly.”   “I think you are horrid,” she said, helplessly, dropping her eyes.   He leaned down across the counter until his mouth was near her ear and hissed, in a verycreditable imitation of the stage villains who appeared infrequently at the Athenaeum Hall: “Fearnot, fair lady! Your guilty secret is safe with me!”   “Oh,” she whispered, feverishly, “how can you say such things!”   “I only thought to ease your mind. What would you have me say? ‘Be mine, beautiful female, orI will reveal all?’ ”   She met his eyes unwillingly and saw they were as teasing as a small boy’s. Suddenly she laughed. It was such a silly situation, after all. He laughed too, and so loudly that several of thechaperons in the corner looked their way. Observing how good a time Charles Hamilton’s widowappeared to be having with a perfect stranger, they put their heads together disapprovingly.   There was a roll of drums and many voices cried “Sh!” as Dr. Meade mounted the platform andspread out his arms for quiet.   “We must all give grateful thanks to the charming ladies whose indefatigable and patrioticefforts have made this bazaar not only a pecuniary success,” he began, “but have transformed thisrough hall into a bower of loveliness, a fit garden for the charming rosebuds I see about me.”   Everyone clapped approvingly.   “The ladies have given their best, not only of their time but of the labor of their hands, and thesebeautiful objects in the booths are doubly beautiful, made as they are by the fair hands of ourcharming Southern women.”   There were more shouts of approval, and Rhett Butler who had been lounging negligentlyagainst the counter at Scarlett’s side whispered: “Pompous goat, isn’t he?”   Startled, at first horrified, at this lese majesty toward Atlanta’s most beloved citizen, she staredreprovingly at him. But the doctor did look like a goat with his gray chin whiskers wagging awayat a great rate, and with difficulty she stifled a giggle.   “But these things are not enough. The good ladies of the hospital committee, whose cool handshave soothed many a suffering brow and brought back from the jaws of death our brave menwounded in the bravest of all Causes, know our needs. I will not enumerate them. We must havemore money to buy medical supplies from England, and we have with us tonight the intrepidcaptain who has so successfully run the blockade for a year and who will run it again to bring usthe drugs we need. Captain Rhett Butler!”   Though caught unawares, the blockader made a graceful bow—too graceful, thought Scarlett,trying to analyze it. It was almost as if he overdid his courtesy because his contempt for everybodypresent was so great. There was a loud burst of applause as he bowed and a craning of necks fromthe ladies in the corner. So that was who poor Charles Hamilton’s widow was carrying on with!   And Charlie hardly dead a year!   “We need more gold and I am asking you. for it” the doctor continued. “I am asking a sacrificebut a sacrifice so small compared with the sacrifices our gallant men in gray are making that it willseem laughably small. Ladies, I want your jewelry. I want your jewelry? No, the Confederacywants your jewelry, the Confederacy calls for it and I know no one will hold back. How fair a gemgleams on a lovely wrist! How beautifully gold brooches glitter on the bosoms of our patrioticwomen! But how much more beautiful is sacrifice than all the gold and gems of the Ind. The goldwill be melted and the stones sold and the money used to buy drugs and other medical supplies.   Ladies, there will pass among you two of our gallant wounded, with baskets and—” But the rest ofhis speech was lost in the storm and tumult of clapping hands and cheering voices.   Scarlett’s first thought was one of deep thankfulness that mourning forbade her wearing her precious earbobs arid the heavy gold chain that had been Grandma Robillard’s and the gold andblack enameled bracelets and the garnet brooch. She saw the little Zouave, a split-oak basket overhis unwounded arm, making the rounds of the crowd on her side of the hall and saw women, oldand young, laughing, eager, tugging at bracelets, squealing in pretended pain as earrings camefrom pierced flesh, helping each other undo stiff necklace clasps, unpinning brooches frombosoms. There was a steady little dink-clink of metal on metal and cries of “Wait—wait! I’ve got itunfastened now. There!” Maybelle Merriwether was pulling off her lovely twin bracelets fromabove and below her elbows. Fanny Elsing, crying “Mamma, may I?” was tearing from her curlsthe seed-pearl ornament set in heavy gold which had been in the family for generations. As eachoffering went into the basket, there was applause and cheering.   The grinning little man was coming to their booth now, his basket heavy on his arm, and as hepassed Rhett Butler a handsome gold cigar case was thrown carelessly into the basket. When hecame to Scarlett and rested his basket upon the counter, she shook her head throwing wide herhands to show that she had nothing to give. It was embarrassing to Chapter 10 OVER THE WAFFLES next morning, Pittypat was lachrymose, Melanie was silent and Scarlettdefiant.   “I don’t care if they do talk. I’ll bet I made more money for the hospital than any girl there—more than all the messy old stuff we sold, too.”   “Oh, dear, what does the money matter?” wailed Pittypat, wringing her hands. “I just couldn’tbelieve my eyes, and poor Charlie hardly dead a year. ... And that awful Captain Butler, makingyou so conspicuous, and he’s a terrible, terrible person, Scarlett. Mrs. Whiting’s cousin, Mrs.   Coleman, whose husband came from Charleston, told me about him. He’s the black sheep of alovely family—oh, how could any of the Butlers ever turn out anything like him? He isn’t receivedin Charleston and he has the fastest reputation and there was something about a girl—something sobad Mrs. Coleman didn’t even know what it was—”   “Oh, I can’t believe he’s that bad,” said Melly gently. “He seemed a perfect gentleman and whenyou think how brave he’s been, running the blockade—”   “He isn’t brave,” said Scarlett perversely, pouring half a pitcher of syrup over her waffles. “Hejust does it for money. He told me so. He doesn’t care anything about the Confederacy and he sayswe’re going to get licked. But he dances divinely.”   Her audience was speechless with horror.   “I’m tired of sitting at home and I’m not going to do it any longer. If they all talked about meabout last night, then my reputation is already gone and it won’t matter what else they say.”   It did not occur to her that the idea was Rhett Butler’s. It came so patly and fitted so well withwhat she was thinking.   “Oh! What will your mother say when she hears? What will she think of me?”   A cold qualm of guilt assailed Scarlett at the thought of Ellen’s consternation, should she everlearn of her daughter’s scandalous conduct. But she took heart at the thought of the twenty-fivemiles between Atlanta and Tara. Miss Pitty certainly wouldn’t tell Ellen. It would put her in such abad light as a chaperon. And if Pitty didn’t tattle, she was safe.   “I think—” said Pitty, “yes, I think I’d better write Henry a letter about it—much as I hate it—but he’s our only male relative, and make him go speak reprovingly to Captain Butler— Oh, dear,if Charlie were only alive— You must never, never speak to that man again, Scarlett.”   Melanie had been sitting quietly, her hands in her lap, her waffles cooling on her plate. She aroseand, coming behind Scarlett, put her arms about her neck.   “Darling,” she said, “don’t you get upset. I understand and it was a brave thing you did last nightand it’s going to help the hospital a lot. And if anybody dares say one little word about you, I’lltend to them. ... Aunt Pitty, don’t cry. It has been hard on Scarlett, not going anywhere. She’s just ababy.” Her fingers played in Scarlett’s black hair. “And maybe we’d all be better off if we went outoccasionally to parties. Maybe we’ve been very selfish, staying here with our grief. War timesaren’t like other times. When I think of all the soldiers in town who are far from home and haven’t any friends to call on at night—and the ones in the hospital who are well enough to be out of bedand not well enough to go back in the army— Why, we have been selfish. We ought to have threeconvalescents in our house this minute, like everybody else, and some of the soldiers out to dinnerevery Sunday. There, Scarlett, don’t you fret. People won’t talk when they understand. We knowyou loved Charlie.”   Scarlett was far from fretting and Melanie’s soft hands in her hair were irritating. She wanted tojerk her head away and say “Oh, fiddle-dee-dee!” for the warming memory was still on her of howthe Home Guard and the militia and the soldiers from the hospital had fought for her dances lastnight. Of all the people in the world, she didn’t want Melly for a defender. She could defendherself, thank you, and if the old cats wanted to squall—well, she could get along without the oldcats. There were too many nice officers in the world for her to bother about what old women said.   Pittypat was dabbing at her eyes under Melanie’s soothing words when Prissy entered with abulky letter.   “Fer you, Miss Melly. A lil nigger boy brung it.”   “For me?” said Melly, wondering, as she ripped open the envelope.   Scarlett was making headway with her waffles and so noticed nothing until she heard a burst oftears from Melly and, looking up, saw Aunt Pittypat’s hand go to her heart.   “Ashley’s dead!” screamed Pittypat, throwing her head back and letting her arms go limp.   “Oh, my God! cried Scarlett, her blood turning to ice water.   “No! No!” cried Melanie. “Quick! Her smelling salts, Scarlett! There, there, honey, do you feelbetter? Breathe deep. No, it’s not Ashley. I’m so sorry I scared you. I was crying because I’m sohappy,” and suddenly she opened her clenched palm and pressed some object that was in it to herlips. “I’m so happy,” and burst into tears again.   Scarlett caught a fleeting glimpse and saw that it was a broad gold ring.   “Read it,” said Melly, pointing to the letter on the floor. “Oh, how sweet, how kind, he is!”   Scarlett, bewildered, picked up the single sheet and saw written in a black, bold hand: “TheConfederacy may need the lifeblood of its men but not yet does it demand the heart’s blood of itswomen. Accept, dear Madam, this token of my reverence for your courage and do not think thatyour sacrifice has been in vain, for this ring has been redeemed at ten times its value. CaptainRhett Butler.”   Melanie slipped the ring on her finger and looked at it lovingly.   “I told you he was a gentleman, didn’t I?” she said turning to Pittypat her smile bright throughthe teardrops on her face. “No one but a gentleman of refinement and thoughtfulness would everhave thought how it broke my heart to— I’ll send my gold chain instead. Aunt Pittypat, you mustwrite him a note and invite him to Sunday dinner so I can thank him.”   In the excitement, neither of the others seemed to have thought that Captain Butler had notreturned Scarlett’s ring, too. But she thought of it, annoyed. And she knew it had not been CaptainButler’s refinement that had prompted so gallant a gesture. It was that he intended to be asked into Pittypat’s house and knew unerringly how to get the invitation.   “I was greatly disturbed to hear of your recent conduct,” ran Ellen’s letter and Scarlett, who wasreading it at the table, scowled. Bad news certainly traveled swiftly. She had often heard inCharleston and Savannah that Atlanta people gossiped more and meddled in other people’sbusiness more than any other people in the South, and now she believed it. The bazaar had takenplace Monday night and today was only Thursday. Which of the old cats had taken it upon herselfto write Ellen? For a moment she suspected Pittypat but immediately abandoned that thought. PoorPittypat had been quaking in her number-three shoes for fear of being blamed for Scarlett’sforward conduct and would be the last to notify Ellen of her own inadequate chaperonage.   Probably it was Mrs. Merriwether.   “It is difficult for me to believe that you could so forget yourself and your rearing. I will passover the impropriety of your appearing publicly while in mourning, realizing your warm desire tobe of assistance to the hospital. But to dance, and with such a man as Captain Butler! I have heardmuch of him (as who has not?) and Pauline wrote me only last week that he is a man of bad reputeand not even received by his own family in Charleston, except of course by his heartbrokenmother. He is a thoroughly bad character who would take advantage of your youth and innocenceto make you conspicuous and publicly disgrace you and your family. How could Miss Pittypathave so neglected her duty to you?”   Scarlett looked across the table at her aunt The old lady had recognized Ellen’s handwriting andher fat little mouth was pursed in a frightened way, like a baby who fears a scolding and hopes toward it off by tears.   “I am heartbroken to think that you could so soon forget your rearing. I have thought of callingyou home immediately but will leave that to your father’s discretion. He will be in Atlanta Fridayto speak with Captain Butler and to escort you home. I fear he will be severe with you despite mypleadings. I hope and pray it was only youth and thoughtlessness that prompted such forwardconduct. No one can wish to serve our Cause more than I, and I wish my daughters to feel thesame way, but to disgrace—”   There was more in the same vein but Scarlett did not finish it. For once, she was thoroughlyfrightened. She did not feel reckless and defiant now. She felt as young and guilty as when she wasten and had thrown a buttered biscuit at Suellen at the table. To think of her gentle motherreproving her so harshly and her father coming to town to talk to Captain Butler. The realseriousness of the matter grew on her. Gerald was going to be severe. This was one time when sheknew she couldn’t wiggle out of her punishment by sitting on his knee and being sweet and pert.   “Not—not bad news?” quavered Pittypat“Pa is coming tomorrow and he’s going to land on me like a duck on a June bug,” answeredScarlett dolorously.   “Prissy, find my salts,” fluttered Pittypat, pushing back her chair from her half-eaten meal. “I—Ifeel faint.”   “Dey’s in yo’ skirt pocket,” said Prissy, who had been hovering behind Scarlett, enjoying the sensational drama. Mist’ Gerald in a temper was always exciting, providing his temper was notdirected at her kinky head. Pitty fumbled at her skirt and held the vial to her nose.   “You all must stand by me and not leave me alone with him for one minute,” cried Scarlett“He’s so fond of you both, and if you are with me he can’t fuss at me.”   “I couldn’t” said Pittypat weakly, rising to her feet “I—I feel ill. I must go lie down. I shall liedown all day tomorrow. You must give him my excuses.”   “Coward!” thought Scarlett glowering at her.   Melly rallied to the defense, though white and frightened at the prospect of facing the fire-eatingMr. O’Hara. “I’ll—I’ll help you explain how you did it for the hospital. Surely he’ll understand.”   “No, he won’t,” said Scarlett. “And oh, I shall die if I have to go back to Tara in disgrace, likeMother threatens!”   “Oh, you can’t go home,” cried Pittypat bursting into tears. “If you did I should be forced—yes,forced to ask Henry to come live with us, and you know I just couldn’t live with Henry. I’m sonervous with just Melly in the house at night, with so many strange men in town. You’re so brave Idon’t mind being here without a man!”   “Oh, he couldn’t take you to Tara!” said Melly, looking as if she too would cry in a moment.   “This is your home now. What would we ever do without you?”   “You’d be glad to do without me if you knew what I really think of you,” thought Scarlettsourly, wishing there were some other person than Melanie to help ward off Gerald’s wrath. It wassickening to be defended by someone you disliked so much.   “Perhaps we should recall our invitation to Captain Butler—” began Pittypat“Oh, we couldn’t! It would be the height of rudeness!” cried Melly, distressed.   “Help me to bed. I’m going to be ill,” moaned Pittypat. “Oh, Scarlett, how could you havebrought this on me?”   Pittypat was ill and in her bed when Gerald arrived the next afternoon. She sent many messagesof regret to him from behind her closed door and left the two frightened girls to preside over thesupper table. Gerald was ominously silent although he kissed Scarlett and pinched Melanie’s cheekapprovingly and called her “Cousin Melly.” Scarlett would have infinitely preferred bellowingoaths and accusations. True to her promise, Melanie clung to Scarlett’s skirts like a small rustlingshadow and Gerald was too much of a gentleman to upbraid his daughter in front of her. Scarletthad to admit that Melanie carried off things very well, acting as if she knew nothing was amiss,and she actually succeeded in engaging Gerald in conversation, once the supper had been served.   “I want to know all about the County,” she said, beaming upon him. “India and Honey are suchpoor correspondents, and I know you know everything that goes on down there. Do tell us aboutJoe Fontaine’s wedding.”   Gerald warmed to the flattery and said that the wedding had been a quiet affair, “not like yougirls had,” for Joe had only a few days’ furlough. Sally, the little Munroe chit, looked very pretty.   No, he couldn’t recall what she wore but he did hear that she didn’t have a “second-day” dress.   “She didn’t!” exclaimed the girls, scandalized.   “Sure, because she didn’t have a second day,” Gerald explained and bawled with laughter beforerecalling that perhaps such remarks were not fit for female ears. Scarlett’s spirits soared at hislaugh and she blessed Melanie’s tact.   “Back Joe went to Virginia the next day,” Gerald added hastily. “There was no visiting aboutand dancing afterwards. The Tarleton twins are home.”   “We heard that. Have they recovered?”   “They weren’t badly wounded. Stuart had it in the knee and a minie ball went through Brent’sshoulder. You had it, too, that they were mentioned in dispatches for bravery?”   “No! Tell us!”   “Hare brained—both of them. I’m believing there’s Irish in them,” said Gerald complacently. “Iforget what they did, but Brent is a lieutenant now.”   Scarlett felt pleased at hearing of their exploits, pleased in a proprietary manner. Once a manhad been her beau, she never lost the conviction that he belonged to her, and all his good deedsredounded to her credit.   “And I’ve news that’ll be holding the both of you,” said Gerald. They’re saying Stu is courtingat Twelve Oaks again.”   “Honey or India?” questioned Melly excitedly, while Scarlett stared almost indignantly.   “Oh, Miss India, to be sure. Didn’t she have him fast till this baggage of mine winked at him?”   “Oh,” said Melly, somewhat embarrassed at Gerald’s outspokenness.   “And more than that, young Brent has taken to hanging about Tara. Now!”   Scarlett could not speak. The defection of her beaux was almost insulting. Especially when sherecalled how wildly both the twins had acted when she told them she was going to marry Charles.   Stuart had even threatened to shoot Charles, or Scarlett, or himself, or all three. It had been mostexciting.   “Suellen?” questioned Melly, breaking into a pleased smile. “But I thought Mr. Kennedy—”   “Oh, him?” said Gerald. “Frank Kennedy still pussyfoots about, afraid of his shadow, and I’ll beasking him his intentions soon if he doesn’t speak up. No, ‘tis me baby.”   “Carreen?”   “She’s nothing but a child!” said Scarlett sharply, finding her tongue.   “She’s little more than a year younger than you were, Miss, when you were married,” retortedGerald. “Is it you’re grudging your old beau to your sister?”   Melly blushed, unaccustomed to such frankness, and signaled Peter to bring in the sweet potatopie. Frantically she cast about in her mind for some other topic of conversation which would not beso personal but which would divert Mr. O’Hara from the purpose of his trip. She could think ofnothing but, once started, Gerald needed no stimulus other than an audience. He talked on about the thievery of the commissary department which every month increased its demands, the knavishstupidity of Jefferson Davis and the blackguardery of the Irish who were being enticed into theYankee army by bounty money.   When the wine was on the table and the two girls rose to leave him, Gerald cocked a severe eyeat his daughter from under frowning brows and commanded her presence alone for a few minutes.   Scarlett cast a despairing glance at Melly, who twisted her handkerchief helplessly and went out,softly pulling the sliding doors together.   “How now, Missy!” bawled Gerald, pouring himself a glass of port. “ ‘Tis a fine way to act! Is itanother husband you’re trying to catch and you so fresh a widow?”   “Not so loud, Pa, the servants—”   “They know already, to be sure, and everybody knows of our disgrace. And your poor mothertaking to her bed with it and me not able to hold up me head. ‘Tis shameful. No, Puss, you neednot think to get around me with tears this time,” he said hastily and with some panic in his voice asScarlett’s lids began to bat and her mouth to screw up. “I know you. You’d be flirting at the wakeof your husband. Don’t cry. There, I’ll be saying no more tonight, for I’m going to see this fineCaptain Butler who makes so light of me daughter’s reputation. But in the morning— There now,don’t cry. ‘Twill do you no good at all, at all. ‘Tis firm that I am and back to Tara you’ll be goingtomorrow before you’re disgracing the lot of us again. Don’t cry, pet. Look what I’ve brought you!   Isn’t that a pretty present? See, look! How could you be putting so much trouble on me, bringingme all the way up here when ‘tis a busy man I am? Don’t cry!”   Melanie and Pittypat had gone to sleep hours before, but Scarlett lay awake in the warmdarkness, her heart heavy and frightened in her breast. To leave Atlanta when life had just begunagain and go home and face Ellen! She would rather die than face her mother. She wished she weredead, this very minute, then everyone would be sorry they had been so hateful. She turned andtossed on the hot pillow until a noise far up the quiet street reached her ears. It was an oddlyfamiliar noise, blurred and indistinct though it was. She slipped out of bed and went to the window.   The street with its over-arching trees was softly, deeply black under a dim star-studded sky. Thenoise came closer, the sound of wheels, the plod of a horse’s hooves and voices. And suddenly shegrinned for, as a voice thick with brogue and whisky came to her, raised in “Peg in a Low-backedCar,” she knew. This might not be Jonesboro on Court Day, but Gerald was coming home in thesame condition.   She saw the dark bulk of a buggy stop in front of the house and indistinct figures alight.   Someone was with him. Two figures paused at the gate and she heard the click of the latch andGerald’s voice came plain.   “Now I’ll be giving you the ‘Lament for Robert Emmet.’ Tis a song you should be knowing, melad. I’ll teach It to you.”   “I’d like to learn it,” replied his companion, a hint of buried laughter in his flat drawling voice.   “But not now, Mr. O’Hara.”   “Oh, my God, it’s that hateful Butler man!” thought Scarlett, at first annoyed. Then she took heart. At least they hadn’t shot each other. And they must be on amicable terms to be coming hometogether at this hour and in this condition.   “Sing it I will and listen you will or I’ll be shooting you for the Orangeman you are.”   “Not Orangeman—Charlestonian.”   “ ‘Tis no better. ‘Tis worse. I have two sister-in-laws in Charleston and I know.”   “Is he going to tell the whole neighborhood?” thought Scarlett panic-stricken, reaching for herwrapper. But what could she do? She couldn’t go downstairs at this hour of the night and drag herfather in from the street.   With no further warning, Gerald, who was hanging on the gate, threw back his head and beganthe “Lament,” in a roaring bass. Scarlett rested her elbows on the window sill and listened,grinning unwillingly. It would be a beautiful song, if only her father could carry a tune. It was oneof her favorite songs and, for a moment, she followed the fine melancholy of those versesbeginning:   “She is far from the land where her young hero sleepsAnd lovers are round her sighing.”   The song went on and she heard stirrings in Pittypat’s and Melly’s rooms. Poor things, they’dcertainly be upset. They were not used to full-blooded males like Gerald. When the song hadfinished, two forms merged into one, came up the walk and mounted the steps. A discreet knocksounded at the door.   “I suppose I must go down,” thought Scarlett. “After all he’s my father and poor Pitty would diebefore she’d go.” Besides, she didn’t want the servants to see Gerald in his present condition. Andif Peter tried to put him to bed, he might get unruly. Pork was the only one who knew how tohandle him.   She pinned the wrapper close about her throat, lit her bedside candle and hurried down the darkstairs into the front hall. Setting the candle on the stand, she unlocked the door and in the waveringlight she saw Rhett Butler, not a ruffle disarranged, supporting her small, thickset father. The“Lament” had evidently been Gerald’s swan song for he was frankly hanging onto his companion’sarm. His hat was gone, his crisp long hair was tumbled in a white mane, his cravat was under oneear, and there were liquor stains down his shirt bosom.   “Your father, I believe?” said Captain Butler, his eyes amused in his swarthy face. He took inher dishabille in one glance that seemed to penetrate through her wrapper.   “Bring him in,” she said shortly, embarrassed at her attire, infuriated at Gerald for putting her ina position where this man could laugh at her.   Rhett propelled Gerald forward. “Shall I help you take him upstairs? You cannot manage him.   He’s quite heavy.”   Her mouth fell open with horror at the audacity of his proposal. Just imagine what Pittypat andMelly cowering in their beds would think, should Captain Butler come upstairs!   “Mother of God, no! In here, in the parlor on that settee.”   “The suttee, did you say?”   “I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head. Here. Now lay him down.”   “Shall I take off his boots?”   “No. He’s slept in them before.”   She could have bitten off her tongue for that slip, for he laughed softly as he crossed Gerald’slegs.   “Please go, now.”   He walked out into the dim hall and picked up the hat he had dropped on the doorsill.   “I will be seeing you Sunday at dinner,” he said and went out, closing the door noiselesslybehind him.   Scarlett at five-thirty, before the servants had in from the back yard to start breakfast,andsl(arose) ipped down the steps to the quiet lower floor.(come) Gerald was awake, sitting on thesofa, his hands gripping his bullet head as if he wished to crush it between his palms. He looked upfurtively as she entered. The pain of moving his eyes was too excruciating to be borne and hegroaned.   “Wurra the day!”   “It’s a fine way you’ve acted, Pa,” she began in a furious whisper. “Coming home at such anhour and waking all the neighbors with your singing.”   “I sang?”   “Sang! You woke the echoes singing the ‘Lament.’ ”   “ ‘Tis nothing I’m remembering.”   “The neighbors will remember it till their dying day and so will Miss Pittypat and Melanie.”   “Mother of Sorrows,” moaned Gerald, moving a thickly furred tongue around parched lips. “‘Tis little I’m remembering after the game started.”   “Game?”   “That laddybuck Butler bragged that he was the best poker player in—”   “How much did you lose?”   “Why, I won, naturally. A drink or two helps me game.”   “Look in your wallet.”   As if every movement was agony, Gerald removed his wallet from his coat and opened it. It wasempty and he looked at it in forlorn bewilderment.   “Five hundred dollars,” he said. “And ‘twas to buy things from the blockaders for Mrs. O’Hara,and now not even fare left to Tara.”   As she looked indignantly at the empty purse, an idea took form in Scarlett’s mind and grewswiftly.   “I’ll not be holding up my head in this town,” she began. “You’ve disgraced us all.”   “Hold your tongue, Puss. Can you not see me head is bursting?”   “Coming home drunk with a man like Captain Butler, and singing at the top of your lungs foreveryone to hear and losing all that money.”   “The man is too clever with cards to be a gentleman. He—”   “What will Mother say when she hears?”   He looked up in sudden anguished apprehension.   “You wouldn’t be telling your mother a word and upsetting her, now would you?”   Scarlett said nothing but pursed her lips.   “Think now how ‘twould hurt her and her so gentle.”   “And to think, Pa, that you said only last night I had disgraced the family! Me, with my poorlittle dance to make money for the soldiers. Oh, I could cry.”   “Well, don’t,” pleaded Gerald. “ ‘Twould be more than me poor head could stand and sure ‘tisbursting now.”   “And you said that I—”   “Now Puss, now Puss, don’t you be hurt at what your poor old father said and him not meaninga thing and not understanding a thing! Sure, you’re a fine well-meaning girl, I’m sure.”   “And wanting to take me home in disgrace.”   “Ah, darling, I wouldn’t be doing that. ‘Twas to tease you. You won’t be mentioning the moneyto your mother and her in a flutter about expenses already?”   “No,” said Scarlett frankly, “I won’t, if you’ll let me stay here and if you’ll tell Mother that‘twas nothing but a lot of gossip from old cats.”   Gerald looked mournfully at his daughter.   “ ‘Tis blackmail, no less.”   “And last night was a scandal, no less.”   “Well,” he began wheedlingly, “we’ll be forgetting all that. And do you think a fine pretty ladylike Miss Pittypat would be having any brandy in the house? The hair of the dog—”   Scarlett turned and tiptoed through the silent hall into the dining room to get the brandy bottlethat she and Melly privately called the “swoon bottle” because Pittypat always took a sip from itwhen her fluttering heart made her faint—or seem to faint. Triumph was written on her face and notrace of shame for her unfilial treatment of Gerald. Now Ellen would be soothed with lies if any other busybody wrote her. Now she could stay in Atlanta. Now she could do almost as she pleased,Pittypat being the weak vessel that she was. She unlocked the cellaret and stood for a moment withthe bottle and glass pressed to her bosom.   She saw a long vista of picnics by the bubbling waters of Peachtree Creek and barbecues atStone Mountain, receptions and balls, afternoon danceables, buggy rides and Sunday-night buffetsuppers. She would be there, right in the heart of things, right in the center of a crowd of men. Andmen fell in love so easily, after you did little things for them at the hospital. She wouldn’t mind thehospital so much now. Men were so easily stirred when they had been ill. They fell into a clevergirl’s hand just like the ripe peaches at Tara when the trees were gently shaken.   She went back toward her father with me reviving liquor, thanking Heaven that the famousO’Hara head had not been able to survive last night’s bout and wondering suddenly if Rhett Butlerhad had anything to do with that.   次日早晨吃鸡蛋饼时,皮蒂帕特姑妈在伤心落泪,媚兰一声不响,思嘉则是一副倔强不屈的神态。   “不管他们怎么议论,我不在乎,我敢打赌,我给医院挣的钱无论比哪个女孩子都多----比我们卖出那些旧玩意儿所有的收入还多。”“唔,钱有什么了不起呢?亲爱的?"皮蒂帕特一面哭泣,一面绞着两只手说。"我简直不相信自己的眼睛,可怜的查理死了还不到一年----这讨厌的巴特勒船长就使你那么抛头露面,而他又是个可怕的、可怕极了的家伙,思嘉。惠廷太太堂姐科尔曼太太,她丈夫刚从查尔斯顿来,她跟我谈了这个人的情兄,他是个好人家的败类----啊,巴特勒家怎么会养出像他这样的不肖子来呀!他在查尔斯顿名声坏透了,没人接待,还牵涉到一个女孩子----那种坏事连科尔曼太太都不好意思去听呢----”“唔,我就不信他会坏到那种地步,"媚兰温和地说。"他看起来完全是个上等人嘛,而且,你只要想想他曾那么勇敢地跑封锁线----”“并不是他勇敢,"思嘉执拗地说,一面把半缸糖浆倒在鸡蛋饼上。"他是为了赚钱才去干的,他跟我这样说过,他对南部联盟毫无兴趣,他还说我们会被打垮呢。但是,他的舞跳得好极了。"她的这番话把听的人吓得目瞪口呆,不敢吭声了。   “老在家里呆着我已烦了,也不想再这样待下去的。要是他们全都在议论我昨晚的事,那么反正我的名声已经完了,他们再说别的什么也就没有关系了。"她没有意识到这正是巴特勒的观点,观点来得那么地巧,并且非常适合她现在的想法。   “啊!如果你母亲听见了,她会怎么说呀?她又会怎样看我呢?"一想到母亲听到自己女儿的不体面行为时必然会出现的那种惊惶失措的神色,思嘉便觉得有股冰凉的罪恶感涌上心头。但亚特兰大和塔拉相距有25英里呢,想到这,她于是又鼓起勇起来了。皮蒂姑妈决不会告诉爱伦。因为那样会使她这个监护人处于很不体面的地位,只要皮蒂不多嘴多舌,她就没事了。   “我看----"皮蒂说,"是的,我看我最好是给享利写封信去谈谈----尽管我极不愿意这样做----可他是我们家唯一的男人,让他去对巴特勒船长表示责备的意思----啊,亲爱的,要是查理还活着多好----思嘉,你可千万千万不要再理睬那个人呀!"媚兰一声不响地坐在那儿,两只手搁在膝上,盘子里的鸡蛋饼早已凉了。她站起来,走到思嘉身后,伸出胳臂抱住她的脖子。   “你不要难过,"她说,"亲爱的。我知道,你昨晚做了件勇敢的事,这对医院有很大帮助。如果有人敢说你一句半句,我会起来对付他们的。……皮蒂姑妈,你不要哭了。思嘉也实在够苦的了,哪儿也不能去,她还是个孩子呢。"她用手指摆弄着思嘉的黑发。"要是我们偶尔出去参加一点社交活动,那兴许要好一些。也许我们太只顾自己了,总是闷闷不乐地呆在家里。战争时期跟平时不一样嘛。每当我想到城里那些士兵,他们远离家乡,晚上也没什么朋友好去拜访的----还有医院那些伤兵,他们已经可以起床,但是还不能回到部队里去----这样,我觉得我们真有点自私了。我们应当马上收三个正在康复的伤员到家里来,像别的人家那样,同时请几个士兵每逢礼拜天来这里吃饭,好了,思嘉,你不要着急了,人们一旦了解就不会说什么了。我们知道你是爱查理的。"本来思嘉根本不着急,倒是对于媚兰在她头发里摆弄的那两只手有点不耐烦了。她真想使劲将脑袋一摆,说一声:“简直是胡扯!"因为她还清楚地记得,昨晚那些乡团队员、民兵和住院的伤兵曾怎样急着要跟她跳舞。在这世界上谁都可以充挡她的保护人,就是不要媚兰。她能保护自己的,谢谢你了。如果那不怀好意的老婆子硬要大喊大叫----好吧,没有她们她也会照样活下去,世界上有那么多漂亮的军官,干吗她还要为这些老婆子的叫嚷发愁呢!   在媚兰的安慰下皮蒂帕特正轻轻地拭眼睛,这时百里茜拿着一封厚厚的信跑进来了。   “给你的,媚兰小姐,一个黑小子给你带来的。”“我的?"媚兰诧异地说,一面拆信封。   思嘉正在吃她的鸡蛋饼,因此不曾注意,直到发觉媚兰呜呜咽咽地哭了,才抬起头来,看见皮蒂帕特姑妈正把一只手放到胸口上去。   “艾希礼死了?"皮蒂帕特尖叫一声,头往后仰去,两只胳臂便瘫软地垂下去了。   “啊,我的上帝!"思嘉也叫了一声,顿时血都凉了。   “不是的!不是的!"媚兰喊道:“思嘉!快!拿她的嗅盐来。闻吧,闻吧,亲爱的,你觉得好些了吗?使劲吸呀。不,不是艾希礼。我把你吓坏了,真抱歉,我哭了,是因为太高兴了,"她忽然把那只紧握的手松开,把手里的一件东西放到嘴唇上亲了亲。"我多么高兴,"说着,又是一阵抽泣。   思嘉匆匆瞧了一眼,看到那是一个又粗又重的金戒指。   “读吧,"媚兰指着地板上的信说:“啊,他多可爱,多好的心啊!"思嘉莫名其妙地把那张信笺捡起来,只见上面用粗黑的笔迹写道:“南部联盟也许需要它的男士们的鲜血,但是还不索要它的女士们的爱情的血液。亲爱的太太,请接受这个我对你的勇气表示敬意的标志,并请你不要以为你的牺牲没有意思了,因为这枚戒指是用十倍于它的价值赎回来的。瑞德•巴特勒船长。"媚兰把戒指套在手指上,然后珍惜地看着它。   “我告诉过你他是上等人,不是吗?”她回过头去对皮蒂帕特说,一丝明朗的微笑从她脸上的泪珠里透露出来。"只有一位崇高而用心的上等人才会想到那叫我多么伤心----我愿意拿出我的金链子来替代。皮蒂帕特姑妈,请你必须写个条子去,请他星期天来吃午饭,好让我当面谢谢他。"由于心情激动,别的人好像谁也不曾想起巴特勒船长没有把思嘉的戒指也退回来。但思嘉想到了,而且很恼火。她知道那不是由于巴特勒船长为人高尚而促使他做出这样一个豪侠的举动。而是因为他希望获得邀请到皮蒂帕特家里来,并且精确无误地算准了怎样才能得到这一邀请。   “我听说了你最近的行为,心中感到非常不安,"爱伦的来信中这样写道,思嘉坐在桌前阅读,不由得皱起了眉头。一定是那个讨厌的消息迅速传开了。思嘉在查尔斯顿和萨凡纳时,常听人说亚特兰大的人比南方任何其他地方的人都更喜欢议论和干预旁人的事,现在她才相信了。义卖会是星期一晚上举行的,今天才星期四呢。是哪个缺德的老婆子自告奋勇给爱伦写了信呢?有那么一阵她怀疑到皮蒂帕特身上,可是立即打消了这种想法。可怜的皮蒂帕特,由于害怕因思嘉举止不当而受到指责,一直心惊胆颤,她是不大可能把自己作为监护人的失职行为告诉爱伦的。说不定是梅里韦瑟太太干的吧。   “我很难相信你会如此忘记自己的身份和教养。对于你在服丧期间到公众场合去露面这一过失,考虑到你是很想对医院有所贡献,我还可以原谅。但是你竟然去跳舞了,并且是同巴特勒船长这样一个人!我听到过许多他的事情(谁没有听到?)并且波琳上星期还写了信来,说他名声很坏,在查尔斯顿,连他自己家里也没有接待他,只是他那位伤透了心的母亲例外。他这样一个品性糟透了的人准会利用你的年幼无知,叫你出风头,好公开破坏你和你家庭的名誉,怎么皮蒂帕特小姐会这样玩忽职守,没有好好监护你呀?"思嘉看着桌子对面的姑妈,老太太认出了爱伦的手迹,她那张肥厚的小嘴胆怯地嘟着,像个害怕挨打想用眼泪来逃避的小孩子一般。   “一想起你这么快便忘记了自己的教养,我就伤心透了。   我已经打算立即把你叫回家来,但这要由你父亲去考虑处理。   他星期五到亚特兰大去跟巴特勒船长交涉,并把你接回家来。   我担心他会不顾我的劝告对你发火。我期望这样的卤莽行为只是由于年轻和欠考虑而引起的。没有人比我更希望为我们的主义服务了,我也希望我的几个女儿都像我这样,可不要辱没—-"思嘉没有读完。信中还有更多这类的话,她生气第一次给彻底吓坏了。她现在已不再那样满不在乎和存心反抗了。她觉得自己是年幼胡来,就像十岁时在餐桌旁向爱伦摔了一块涂满黄油的饼干那样。她思量着,她那慈祥的母亲如今也在严厉地责备她,而她父亲就要到城里来跟巴特勒船长交涉了。   她越发感到问题的严重性。父亲会很凶的。她终于知道自己已不再是个可爱的淘气孩子,不能坐在他膝头上扭来扭去赖掉一场惩罚了。   “不是----不是坏消息吧?"皮蒂帕特向她问道,紧张得发抖。   “明天爸爸要来了,他会像只鸭子抓无花果虫那样扑向我来呢,"思嘉忧心忡忡地回答。   “把我的嗅盐拿来,百里茜"皮蒂帕特烦燥地说,接着把椅子往后一推,丢下刚吃一半的饭不管了。"我----我觉得要晕了。”“嗅盐在你的裙兜里呢,"百里茜说,她在思嘉背后跳来跳去,欣赏着这感人的一幕。她知道,杰拉尔德先生发起脾气来常常是煞好看的,只要不发在她的头上就好了。皮蒂从裙腰上把药品摸了出来,赶快送到鼻子跟前。   “你们大家都得守在我身边,一刻也不要丢下我单独同他在一起,"思嘉喊道。”他非常喜欢你们两个,只要你们在场他就不敢跟我闹了。”“我可不行,"皮蒂帕特胆怯地说,一面站起身来。"我----我觉得不大舒服,我得躺下休息。明天我要躺一整天,你们一定要向他转达我的歉意。”“胆小鬼!"思嘉心想,忿忿地瞪了她一眼。   媚兰一想起要面对奥哈拉先生那大发雷霆的样子,也吓得脸发白了,可是她仍然鼓起勇起来保护思嘉。"我会----我会帮助说明你那样完全是为了医院,他一定会原谅的。”“不,他不会,"思嘉说。"并且,唔,如果硬叫我这么丢脸地回塔拉去,我就要像母亲警告过的那样,死给他看!”“啊,你不能回去,"皮蒂帕特一声惊叫,又哭起来了。   “要是你回去,我就只好----是的,只好请亨利来跟我们在一起,可是你知道,我是怎么也不能跟他一起住的,我只跟媚兰两个人在屋里时,一到晚上就紧张得要命,因为有那么许多男人在城里呀。但是你这个人很勇敢,有你在,家里没有一个男子汉我也不怕了!”“唔,他不会把你带回塔拉!"媚兰说,看样子她也要哭了。"现在这就是你的家了。要是没有你,我们怎么办呢?”“你要是知道我对你真正的看法,就会巴不得让我走了,"思嘉满不高兴地想,但愿除媚兰之外还有别的人能帮助她躲过父亲的谴责。要由一个你最不喜欢的人来保护你,那才讨厌呢。   “也许我们应当取消对巴特勒船长的邀请----"皮蒂首先说。   “唔,那就显得太不礼貌了!那不行!"媚兰着急地嚷道。   “把我扶上床去吧,我眼看要犯病了,"皮蒂帕特哼哼着。   “啊,思嘉,你怎么让我受这个罪呀?”   第二天下午杰拉尔德到达时,皮蒂帕特已经病倒在床上了。她好几次从紧闭的卧室里传出道歉的口信,并吩咐让那两个惊惶失措的女孩子主持晚餐。杰拉尔德尽管也吻了思嘉,并在媚兰的脸颊上表示赞许地拧了一下,叫了声"媚兰姑娘",可始终保持一种令人不安的沉默态度。思嘉心里很难受,觉得还不如让他大喊大叫地咒骂一通要痛快得多。媚兰坚守诺言,像个影子似的寸步不离地紧挨着思嘉,而杰拉尔德又是那么讲究的一个上等人,不好在她面前责备自己的女儿。思嘉不得不承认媚兰把事情做得很好,仿佛她压根儿不知道有什么差错似的,并且一开始吃晚饭就巧妙地让他忙于说话,不得空。   “我很想听听县里所有的情况,"她笑容满面地对他说,"英迪亚和霍妮太不喜欢写信了,可我知道你是了解那边一切动静的。给我说说乔•方丹的婚礼吧。"杰拉尔德被捧得高兴起来,他说那次婚礼不十分热闹,"不像当初你们几位姑娘办的那样,"由于乔只有很少几天的休假,芒罗家的小女儿萨莉长得很美,可惜他记不起她穿的什么衣服了,但是他听说她连件"隔朝"衣也没有呢!   “真的吗?”她们俩像受了侮辱似的惊叫起来。   “真的,因为她根本就不曾有过一个'二朝',"杰拉尔德解释说,接着便大笑起来,也来不及反省这种话可能是不适宜对女人说的。听到他的笑声思嘉便兴致勃勃了,并且庆幸媚兰有这样的本领。   “第二天乔便回弗吉尼亚去了,"杰拉尔德赶忙补充一句。   “以后也没有搞什么拜访和舞会。塔尔顿那对挛生兄弟现在也还呆在家里。”“我们听说了。他们复元了吗?”“他们的伤势不重。斯图尔特伤在膝头上,布伦特被一颗米尼式子弹打穿了肩胛。你们也听说过他们在表彰英勇事迹的快报上列名了吗?”“没有呀!为我们讲讲吧!”“两个都是冒失鬼,我想他们身上一定有爱尔兰人血统,"杰拉尔德得意地说。"我忘记他们干了些什么,不过布伦特现在是个中尉了。"听了他们的功绩思嘉感到很高兴,仿佛觉得这功绩自己也有份似的。一个男人只要曾经追求过她,她就永远忘不了他是属于她的,他所做的一切好事也就有助于她的荣誉了。   “还有个消息是你们两人都喜欢听的,"杰拉尔德说。"听说斯图又在'十二橡树'村求婚了。”“是霍妮还是英迪亚?"媚兰兴奋地问,而思嘉几乎是愤愤地瞪着眼珠子等待说下去。   “唔,当然了,是英迪亚小姐,她不是一直稳稳地抓住他,直到我们家这个小女儿去勾引他为止吗?”“唔,"媚兰对于杰拉尔德这股直率劲儿感到有点不好意思。   “还不只这样呢,现在小布伦特又喜欢到塔拉农转圈了!"思嘉不好说什么。在她看来她的这位情人的变节行为几乎是一种侮辱。尤其是她还记得,当她告诉这对孪生兄弟她快要和查理结婚时,他们表现得那么粗野。斯图尔特甚至威胁要杀死查理或思嘉,或者他自己,或者所有这三个人,那一次闹得可真紧张呀!   “是苏伦吗?”媚兰问,脸上流露出高兴的微笑。"不过我想,肯尼迪先生----”“唔,他呀?"杰拉尔德说。"弗兰克•肯尼迪还是那样蹑手蹑脚的,连见了自己的影子都害怕。他要是再不说清楚,我就要问问他究竟安的什么心。不,布伦特是在打我那小女儿的主意。”“卡琳?”“她还是个孩子呢!"思嘉尖刻地说,终于又开口了。   “她比你结婚的时候只小一岁多一点呢,小姐,"杰拉尔德反驳道。"你是在抱怨你过去的情人看上了你的妹妹喽?"媚兰脸红了,她很不习惯这种坦率态度,于是示意彼得去把甘薯馅饼拿进来。她在心里拼命寻找别的话题,最好既不牵涉到某个具体的人而又能使奥哈拉先生不要谈其他此行的目的。她什么也想不出来,不过奥哈拉一下打开话匣子,便只要有人听他,也用不着你怂恿了。他谈到物资供销部的需求每月都在增加,谈到杰斐逊•戴维斯多么奸滑愚蠢,以及那些被北方佬以重金招募到军队的爱尔兰人怎样耍流氓,等等。   酒摆到桌上了,两位姑娘起来准备走开,这时杰拉尔德皱着眉头严峻地看了他女儿一眼,叫她单独留下来陪他一会。   思嘉无可奈何地瞧着媚兰,媚兰无计可施,绞着手里的手绢,悄悄走出去,把那两扇滑动的门轻轻拉上了。   “好啊,姑娘!"杰拉尔德大声说,一面给自己倒了一杯葡萄酒。"你干得不错嘛!刚当了几天寡妇?你这是想再找一个丈夫啦。”“爸爸,别这么大声嚷嚷,佣人们----”“他们一定早知道了,大家都听说咱们家的丑事了,你那可怜的母亲给气得躺倒了,我也抬不起头来。真丢人呀!不,小家伙,这一回你休想再用眼泪来对付我了,"他急速地说下去,口气中微微流露着惊恐,因为看见思嘉的眼睑已开始眨巴眨巴,嘴也哭了。"我了解你。你是丈夫一死马上就会跟别人调情的。不要哭嘛。我今天晚上也不想多说了,因为我要去看看这位漂亮的巴特勒船长,这位拿我女儿名誉当儿戏的船长,但是明天早晨----现在你别哭了。这对你毫无好处,毫无好处。我已经决定,你明天早晨就跟我回塔拉去,免得你再让我们大家丢脸。别哭了,好孩子,瞧我给你带来了什么!   这不是很漂亮的礼物吗?瞧呀!你给我添这许多麻烦呢,叫我在忙得不可开交时老远跑到这里来?别哭了!"媚兰和皮蒂帕特他们睡着好几个小时了,可思嘉仍然醒着躺在闷热的黑暗中,她那颗憋在胸腔里畏缩着的心显得很沉重。要在生活刚刚重新开始的时候就离亚特兰大,回家去,见母亲,这多可怕呀!她宁死也不愿意去跟母亲见面。她但愿自己此刻就死了,那时大家都会后悔自己怎么就这样狠心呢。她的头在火热的枕头上转过来转过去,直到隐隐听见寂静的大街上有个声音远远传来。那是一个很熟悉的声音,虽然那样模糊,听不清楚,她从床上溜下来,走到窗口。在一片繁星密布的幽暗天空下,街道两旁那些交拱着的树木,显得柔和而黑黝黝的。声音愈来愈近,那是车轮的声响,马蹄的得得声和人声。她忽然咧嘴一笑,因为她听到一个带浓重爱尔兰土腔和威士忌酒味的声音在高唱《矮背马车上的佩格》,她明白了。这一回尽管不是在琼斯博罗旁听了法庭审判,但杰拉尔德这次回家的情景却是同上次的毫无二致。   思嘉隐约看见一辆马车在屋前停下来,几个模糊的人影下了车。有个什么人跟着他。那两个影子在门前站住,随即门闩一响,思嘉便清清楚楚地听到了杰拉尔德的声音。"现在我要给你唱《罗伯特•埃米特挽歌》,你是应该熟悉这支歌的,小伙子。让我教你唱吧。”“我很想学呢,"他的那位同伴答道,他那拖长的声调中好像抑制着笑声似的,"不过,奥哈拉先生,以后再说吧。”“啊,我的上帝,这就是那个姓巴特勒的家伙呀!"思嘉心里想,开始觉得懊恼,但随即高兴起来。至少他们没有搞决斗,而且他们一定很投机,才在这个时刻在这种情况下一道回家来。   “我要唱,你就得听,要不然我就宰了你,因为你是个奥兰治分子。”“是查尔斯顿人,不是奥兰治分子。”“那也好不到哪里去。而且更坏呢。我有两个姨妹就在查尔斯顿,我很清楚。”“难道他想让所有的邻居都听见吗?”思嘉惊恐地想道,一面伸手去找自己的披肩,可是她怎么办呢?她不能深更半夜下楼去把父亲从大街上拖进来呀!   倚在大门上的杰拉尔德这时二话不说,便昂着头用低音吼着唱起《挽歌》来,思嘉把两只臂肘搁在窗棂上听着,心里很不是滋味。这本来是支很美妙的歌,只可惜她父亲唱不成调儿。她自己也是喜欢这支歌的,还跟着歌词沉思了一会,那是这样开始的:她距离年轻英雄的长眠之地很远,她的情人们正围着她在这儿悲叹。   歌声在继续,她听见皮蒂帕特和媚兰的房间里有响声。可怜的人,她们都给吵醒了。她们不习惯像杰拉尔德这样充满血性的男人。歌唱完了,两个人影叠在一起从过道上走来,登上台阶。接着是轻轻地叩门声。   “我看只好我下楼了,"思嘉想。"毕竟他是我父亲,而皮蒂是死也不会去的。”而且,她不想让佣人们看见杰拉尔德这副模样,要是彼得去扶他上床,他准会发神经的。只有波克才知道怎样对付他。   她用披肩紧紧围着脖子,点起床头的蜡烛,然后迅速从黑暗的楼梯上下去,走到前面穿堂里。她把蜡烛插在烛台上,开了门,在摇晃不定的烛光下看见瑞德•巴特勒衣着整齐地搀扶着她那位矮矮胖胖的父亲。那首《挽歌》显然已成了杰拉尔德的天鹅之歌,因为他已经老老实实地挂在这位同伴的臂膀上了,他帽子不见了,那头波浪式的长发乱成了一堆白马鬃似的,领结歪到了耳朵下面,衬衫胸口上满是污秽的酒渍。   “我想,是你父亲吧?"巴特勒船长说,黝黑的脸膛上闪烁着两只乐呵呵的眼睛,他一眼便看遍了她那宽松的睡衣,仿佛把那条披肩都看穿了。   “把他带进来,"她毫不客气地说,对自己的装束感到很不好意思,同时恼恨父亲使她陷入了任凭此人嘲笑的尴尬境地。   巴特勒把杰拉尔德推上前来。"让我帮你送上楼去好吗?   你是弄不动他的。他沉得很。”   听到这一大胆的提议,她便吓得张口结舌了。试想果真巴特勒船长上楼去了,此刻正畏缩着躲在被子里的皮蒂帕特和媚兰会怎样看呢!   “哎哟,不用了!就放到这里,放在客厅的长沙发上好了。”“你是说寡妇自焚?”“你要是留神把话说得文明一点,我就感激不尽了。这里,把他放下吧。”“要不要替他脱掉靴子?”“不要,他本来就是穿着靴子睡的。"她不小心说漏了嘴,恨不得咬断自己的舌头,因为他把杰拉尔德的两条腿交叉起来时轻轻地笑了。   “现在请你走吧。”   他走过黑暗的穿堂,拿起那顶掉在门槛上的帽子。   “星期天来吃午饭时再见吧,"他边说边走出门去,随后轻轻把门带上。   思嘉五点半钟起身,这时仆人们还没有从后院进来动手做早餐。她溜进静悄悄的楼下客厅里。杰拉尔德已经醒过来,坐在沙发上,双手捧着圆圆的脑袋,仿佛要把它捏碎似的。思嘉进去时他偷偷朝她看了看。他这样动动眼睛也觉得痛苦不堪,接着便呻吟起来。   “真要命,哎哟!”   “爸爸,你干的好事呀!"她忿忿地低声说。"那么晚回来,还唱歌把所有的邻居都吵醒了。”“我唱歌了?”“唱了!把《挽歌》唱得震天响!”“可我压根儿记不得了。”“邻居们会到死还记得的。皮蒂帕特小姐和媚兰也是这样。”“真倒霉,"杰拉尔德呻吟着,动着长了厚厚一层苦苔的舌头,在焦干的嘴唇上舔了一圈。”一玩儿起来,以后的事我就什么都记不起来了。”“玩儿?”“巴特勒那小子吹牛说他玩扑克无人能敌----”“你输了多少?”“怎么,我赢了,当然,只消喝一两杯我就准赢。”“拿出你的荷包来我看看。"好像动弹一下都很痛苦似的,杰拉尔德好不容易才从上衣口袋里取出荷包,把它打开。他一看里面是空的,这才愣住了。   “五百美元,"他说,"准备给你妈妈向跑封锁线的商人买东西用的,如今连回塔拉的盘费也没了。"思嘉烦恼地瞧着那个空荷包,心中渐渐形成一个念头,而且很快就明确了。   “我在这里再也抬不起头来了,"她开始说,"你把我们的脸都丢尽了。”“孩子,闭住你的嘴,你没看见我的头都快炸了吗?”“喝得醉醺醺的,带着巴特勒船长这样一个男人回来,扯开嗓子唱歌给大家听,还把口袋里的钱输得精光。”“这个人太会玩牌了,简直不像个上等人。他----”“妈听到了会怎么说呢?"他忽然惊慌失措地抬起头来。   “你总不至于向你妈透露让她难过吧,会吗?”思嘉只嘟着嘴不说话。   “试想那会叫她多伤心,像她这样一个柔弱的人。”“爸,那么你也得想想,你昨晚还说我辱没了家庭呢!我,只不过可怜巴巴地跳了一会舞,给伤兵挣了点钱嘛。啊,我真想哭。”“好,别哭,"杰拉尔德用祈求的口气说。"我这可怜的脑袋还怎么受得了呀,它真的就要炸了!”“你还说我----”“小家伙,得了,得了,不要为你这可怜的老父亲说的什么话伤心了,他是完全无心的,并且什么事情也不懂!当然,你是个又乖又好心的姑娘,我很清楚。”“还要带我不光彩地回家去吗?”“噢,我不会这样做,亲爱的,那是逗你玩儿的。你也不要在妈跟前提这钱的事,她已经在为家里的开支发急了,你说呢?”“不提,"思嘉爽快地说,"我不会提的,只要你让我还留在这里,并且告诉妈妈,那只不过是些刁老婆子的闲扯罢了。"杰拉尔德伤心地看着女儿。   “这等于是敲诈了嘛。”   “昨晚的事也很不体面呢。”   “好吧,"杰拉尔德只得哄着她说,"我要把那件事统统忘掉。现在我问你,像皮蒂帕特这样一位体面的女士,家里会藏得有白兰地吗?要是能喝一杯解解昨晚的酣醉----"思嘉转过身来,踮起脚尖经过穿堂,到饭厅里去拿白兰地酒,这是皮蒂帕特每当心跳发晕或者好像要晕时总得喝一口的,因此思嘉和媚兰私下称之为"治晕药水",思嘉脸上一片得胜的神色,对于自己这样不孝地摆弄父亲一点不感到羞耻。如今,即便还有什么多嘴多舌的人再给爱伦写信,她也可以从谎言中得到宽慰了。现在她可以继续待在亚特兰大了。如今,她可以根据自己高兴做几乎任何想做的事了,因为皮蒂帕特本来就是个没主见的女人。她打开酒柜,拿出酒瓶和玻璃杯,把它们抱在胸前站了一会儿,想象着美妙的远景她好像看见在水声潺潺的桃树溪畔举行野餐和在石山举行大野宴的情景,还有招待会、舞会,坐马车兜风,以及星期日晚上在小店吃晚餐,等等。所有这些活动她都要在场,并且成为其中的核心,成为一群群男人围聚着的核心。男人们会很快坠入情网,只要你在医院里给他们稍稍做点事情就行。   现在他对医院不再那么反感了。男人生病时总是容易感动的。   他们很轻易就会落到一位机灵姑娘的手里,就像在塔拉农场,只要你把果树轻轻一摇,一个个熟透了的苹果就掉下来了。   她拿着那瓶能叫人重新振作的酒回到父亲那里,一路在心中感谢上帝,因为著名的奥哈拉家族的头脑毕竟没有抵挡住昨晚的那场搏斗;她并且突然想起:也许瑞德•巴特勒还和这件事有关呢。 Chapter 11 ON AN AFTERNOON of the following week, Scarlett came home from the hospital weary andindignant. She tired from standing on her feet all morning and irritable because Mrs. Merriwetherhadsco(was) lded her sharply for sitting on a soldier’s bed while she dressed his woundedarm. Aunt Pitty and Melanie, bonneted in their best were on the porch with Wade and Prissy, readyfor their weekly round of calls. Scarlett asked to be excused from accompanying them and wentupstairs to her room.   When the last sound of carriage wheels had died away and she knew the family was safely outof sight she slipped quietly into Melanie’s room and turned the key in the lock. It was a prim,virginal little room and it lay still and warm in the slanting rays of the four-o’clock sun. The floorswere glistening and bare except for a few bright rag rugs, and the white walls unornamented savefor one corner which Melanie had fitted up as a shrine.   Here, under a draped Confederate flag, hung the gold-hilted saber that Melanie’s father hadcarried in the Mexican War, the same saber Charles had worn away to war. Charles’ sash and pistolbelt hung there too, with his revolver in the holster. Between the saber and the pistol was adaguerreotype of Charles himself, very stiff and proud in his gray uniform, his great brown eyesshining out of the frame and a shy smile on his lips.   Scarlett did not even glance at the picture but went unhesitatingly across the room to the squarerosewood writing box that stood on the table beside the narrow bed. From it she took a pack ofletters tied together with a blue ribbon, addressed in Ashley’s hand to Melanie. On the top was theletter which had come that morning and this one she opened.   When Scarlett first began secretly reading these letters, she had been so stricken of conscienceand so fearful of discovery she could hardly open the envelopes for trembling. Now, her never-tooscrupuloussense of honor was dulled by repetition of the offense and even fear of discovery hadsubsided. Occasionally, she thought with a sulking heart, “What would Mother say if she knew?”   She knew Ellen would rather see her dead than know her guilty of such dishonor. This had worriedScarlett at first, for she still wanted to be like her mother in every respect. But the temptation to read the letters was too great and she put the thought of Ellen out of her mind. She had becomeadept at putting unpleasant thoughts out of her mind these days. She had learned to say, “I won’tthink of this or that bothersome thought now. I’ll think about it tomorrow. Generally whentomorrow came, the thought either did not occur at all or it was so attenuated by the delay it wasnot very troublesome. So the matter of Ashley’s letters did not lie very heavily on her conscience.   Melanie was always generous with the letters, reading parts of them aloud to Aunt Pitty andScarlett. But it was the part she did not read that tormented Scarlett, that drove her to surreptitiousreading of her sister-in-law’s mail. She had to know if Ashley had come to love his wife sincemarrying her. She had to know if he even pretended to love her. Did he address tender endearmentsto her? What sentiments did he express and with what warmth?   She carefully smoothed out the letter.   Ashley’s small even writing leaped up at her as she read, “My dear wife,” and she breathed inrelief. He wasn’t calling Melanie “Darling” or “Sweetheart” yet.   “My Dear wife: You write me saying you are alarmed lest I be concealing my real thoughts fromyou and you ask me what is occupying my mind these days—”   “Mother of God!” thought Scarlett, in a panic of guilt “ ‘Concealing his real thoughts.’ CanMelly have read his mind? Or my mind? Does she suspect that he and I—”   Her hands trembled with fright as she held the letter closer, but as she read the next paragraphshe relaxed.   “Dear Wife, if I have concealed aught from you it is because I did not wish to lay a burden onyour shoulders, to add to your worries for my physical safety with those of my mental turmoil. ButI can keep nothing from you, for you know me too well. Do not be alarmed. I have no wound. Ihave not been ill. I have enough to eat and occasionally a bed to sleep in. A soldier can ask for nomore. But, Melanie, heavy thoughts lie on my heart and I will open my heart to you.   “These summer nights I lie awake, long after the camp is sleeping, and I look up at the stars and,over and over, I wonder, ‘Why are you here, Ashley Wilkes? What are you fighting for?’   “Not for honor and glory, certainly. War is a dirty business and I do not like dirt. I am not asoldier and I have no desire to seek the bubble reputation even in the cannon’s mouth. Yet, here Iam at the wars—whom God never intended to be other than a studious country gentleman. For,Melanie, bugles do not stir my blood nor drums entice my feet and I see too clearly that we havebeen betrayed, betrayed by our arrogant Southern selves, believing that one of us could whip adozen Yankees, believing that King Cotton could rule the world. Betrayed, too, by words and catchphrases, prejudices and hatreds coming from the mouths of those highly placed, those men whomwe respected and revered—‘King Cotton, Slavery, States’ Rights, Damn Yankees.’   “And so when I lie on my blanket and look up at the stars and say ‘What are you fighting for?’   think of States’ Rights and cotton and the darkies and the Yankees whom we have been bred tohate, and I know that none of these is the reason why I am fighting. Instead, I see Twelve Oaks andremember how the moonlight slants across the white columns, and the unearthly way themagnolias look, opening under the moon, and how the climbing roses make the side porch shadyeven at the hottest noon. And I see Mother, sewing there, as she did when I was a little boy. And I hear the darkies coming home across the fields at dusk, tired and singing and ready for supper, andthe sound of the windlass as the bucket goes down into the cool well. And there’s the long viewdown the road to the river, across the cotton fields, and the mist rising from the bottom lands in thetwilight. And that is why I’m here who have no love of death or misery or glory and no hatred foranyone. Perhaps that is what is called patriotism, love of home and country. But Melanie, it goesdeeper than that. For, Melanie, these things I have named are but the symbols of the thing forwhich I risk my life, symbols of the kind of life I love. For I am fighting for the old days, the oldways I love so much but which, I fear, are now gone forever, no matter how the die may fall. For,win or lose, we lose just the same.   “If we win this war and have the Cotton Kingdom of our dreams, we still have lost, for we willbecome a different people and the old quiet ways will go. The world will be at our doors clamoringfor cotton and we can command our own price. Then, I fear, we will become like the Yankees, atwhose money-making activities, acquisitiveness and commercialism we now sneer. And if we lose,Melanie, if we lose!   “I am not afraid of danger or capture or wounds or even death, if death must come, but I do fearthat once this war is over, we will never get back to the old times. And I belong in those old times.   I do not belong in this mad present of killing and I fear I will not fit into any future, try though Imay. Nor will you, my dear, for you and I are of the same blood. I do not know what the future willbring, but it cannot be as beautiful or as satisfying as the past.   “I lie and look at the boys sleeping near me and I wonder if the twins or Alex or Cade thinkthese same thoughts. I wonder if they know they are fighting for a Cause that was lost the minutethe first shot was fired, for our Cause is really our own way of living and that is gone already. But Ido not think they think these things and they are lucky.   “I had not thought of this for us when I asked you to marry me. I had thought of life going on atTwelve Oaks as it had always done, peacefully, easily, unchanging. We are alike, Melanie, lovingthe same quiet things, and I saw before us a long stretch of uneventful years in which to read, hearmusic and dream. But not this! Never this! That this could happen to us all, this wrecking of oldways, this bloody slaughter and hate! Melanie, nothing is worth it—States’ Rights, nor slaves, norcotton. Nothing is worth what is happening to us now and what may happen, for if the Yankeeswhip us the future will be one of incredible horror. And, my dear, they may yet whip us.   “I should not write those words. I should not even think them. But you have asked me what wasin my heart, and the fear of defeat is there. Do you remember at the barbecue, the day ourengagement was announced, that a man named Butler, a Charlestonian by his accent, nearly causeda fight by his remarks about the ignorance of Southerners? Do you recall how the twins wanted toshoot him because he said we had few foundries and factories, mills and ships, arsenals andmachine shops? Do you recall how he said the Yankee fleet could bottle us up so tightly we couldnot ship out our cotton? He was right. We are fighting the Yankees’ new rifles with RevolutionaryWar muskets, and soon the blockade will be too tight for even medical supplies to slip in. Weshould have paid heed to cynics like Butler who knew, instead of statesmen who felt—and talked.   He said, in effect, that the South had nothing with which to wage war but cotton and arrogance.   Our cotton is worthless and what he called arrogance is all that is left. But I call that arrogancematchless courage. If—”   But Scarlett carefully folded up the letter without finishing it and thrust it back into theenvelope, too bored to read further. Besides, the tone of the letter vaguely depressed her with itsfoolish talk of defeat. After all, she wasn’t reading Melanie’s mail to learn Ashley’s puzzling anduninteresting ideas. She had had to listen to enough of them when he sat on the porch at Tara indays gone by.   All she wanted to know was whether he wrote impassioned letters to his wife. So far he had not.   She had read every letter in the writing box and there was nothing in any one of them that a brothermight not have written to a sister. They were affectionate, humorous, discursive, but not the lettersof a lover. Scarlett had received too many ardent love letters herself not to recognize the authenticnote of passion when she saw it. And that note was missing. As always after her secret readings, afeeling of smug satisfaction enveloped her, for she felt certain that Ashley still loved her. Andalways she wondered sneeringly why Melanie did not realize that Ashley only loved her as afriend. Melanie evidently found nothing lacking in her husband’s messages but Melanie had had noother man’s love letters with which to compare Ashley’s”   “He writes such crazy letters,” Scarlett thought “If ever any husband of mine wrote me suchtwaddle-twaddle, he’d certainly hear from me! Why, even Charlie wrote better letters than these.”   She flipped back the edges of the letters, looking at the dates, remembering their contents. Inthem there were no fine descriptive pages of bivouacs and charges such as Darcy Meade wrote hisparents or poor Dallas McLure had written his old-maid sisters, Misses Faith and Hope. TheMeades and McLures proudly read these letters all over the neighborhood, and Scarlett hadfrequently felt a secret shame that Melanie had no such letters from Ashley to read aloud at sewingcircles.   It was as though when writing Melanie, Ashley tried to ignore the war altogether, and sought todraw about the two of them a magic circle of timelessness, shutting out everything that hadhappened since Fort Sumter was the news of the day. It was almost as if he were trying to believethere wasn’t any war. He wrote of books which he and Melanie had read and songs they had sung,of old friends they knew and places he had visited on his Grand Tour. Through the letters ran awistful yearning to be back home at Twelve Oaks, and for pages he wrote of the hunting and thelong rides through the still forest paths under frosty autumn stars, the barbecues, the fish fries, thequiet of moonlight nights and the serene charm of the old house.   She thought of his words in the letter she had just read: “Not this! Never this!” and they seemedto cry of a tormented soul facing something he could not face, yet must face. It puzzled her for, ifhe was not afraid of wounds and death, what was it he feared? Unanalytical, she struggled with thecomplex thought.   “The war disturbs him and he—he doesn’t like things that disturb him. ... Me, for instance. ... Heloved me but he was afraid to marry me because—for fear I’d upset his way of thinking and living.   No, it wasn’t exactly that he was afraid. Ashley isn’t a coward. He couldn’t be when he’s beenmentioned in dispatches and when Colonel Sloan wrote that letter to Melly all about his gallantconduct in leading the charge. Once he’s made up his mind to do something, no one could bebraver or more determined but— He lives inside his head instead of outside in the world and hehates to come out into the world and— Oh, I don’t know what it is! If I’d just understood this one thing about him years ago, I know he’d have married me.”   She stood for a moment holding the letters to her breast, thinking longingly of Ashley. Heremotions toward him had not changed since the day when she first fell in love with him. Theywere the same emotions that struck her speechless that day when she was fourteen years old andshe had stood on the porch of Tara and seen Ashley ride up smiling, his hair shining silver in themorning sun. Her love was still a young girl’s adoration for a man she could not understand, a manwho possessed all the qualities she did not own but which she admired. He was still a young girl’sdream of the Perfect Knight and her dream asked no more than acknowledgment of his love, wentno further than hopes of a kiss.   After reading the letters, she felt certain he did love her, Scarlett, even though he had marriedMelanie, and that certainty was almost all that she desired. She was still that young and untouched.   Had Charles with his fumbling awkwardness and his embarrassed intimacies tapped any of thedeep vein of passionate feeling within her, her dreams of Ashley would not be ending with a kiss.   But those few moonlight nights alone with Charles had not touched her emotions or ripened her tomaturity. Charles had awakened no idea of what passion might be or tenderness or true intimacy ofbody or spirit.   All that passion meant to her was servitude to inexplicable male madness, unshared by females,painful and embarrassing process that led inevitably to the still more painful process ofc(a) hildbirth. That marriage should be like this was no surprise to her. Ellen had hinted before thewedding that marriage was something women must bear with dignity and fortitude, and thewhispered comments of other matrons since her widowhood had confirmed this. Scarlett was gladto be done with passion and marriage.   She was done with marriage but not with love, for her love for Ashley was something different,having nothing to do with passion or marriage, something sacred and breathtakingly beautiful, anemotion that grew stealthily through the long days of her enforced silence, feeding on oft-thumbedmemories and hopes.   She sighed as she carefully tied the ribbon about the packet, wondering for the thousandth timejust what it was in Ashley that eluded her understanding. She tried to think the matter to somesatisfactory conclusion but, as always, the conclusion evaded her uncomplex mind. She put theletters back in the lap secretary and closed the lid. Then she frowned, for her mind went back to thelast part of the letter she had just read, to his mention of Captain Butler. How strange that Ashleyshould be impressed, by something that scamp had said a year ago. Undeniably Captain Butler wasa scamp, for all that he danced divinely. No one but a scamp would say the things about theConfederacy that he had said at the bazaar.   She crossed the room to the mirror and parted her smooth hair approvingly. Her spirits rose, asalways at the sight of her white skin and slanting green eyes, and she smiled to bring out herdimples. Then she dismissed Captain Butler from her mind as she happily viewed her reflection,remembering how Ashley had always liked her dimples. No pang of conscience at loving anotherwoman’s husband or reading that woman’s mail disturbed her pleasure in her youth and charm andher renewed assurance of Ashley’s love.   She unlocked the door and went down the dim winding stair with a light heart. Halfway down she began singing “When This Cruel War Is Over.”   那以后一个星期的某一个下午,思嘉从医院回来,感到又疲倦又气愤,之所以疲倦,是因为整个上午都站在那里,而气愤的是梅里韦瑟太太狠狠地斥责了她,因为替一个伤兵包扎胳臂时她坐在他的床上了。皮蒂姑妈和媚兰都戴好了帽子,带着韦德和百里茜站在走廊上,准备出外作每周一次的访问活动,思嘉请他们原谅不奉陪了,便径直上楼进入自己的房里。   思嘉听见马车轮的声响已远远消逝,知道现在家里已没有人看得见了,便悄悄溜进媚兰的房里,用钥匙把门反锁好。   这是一间整洁的小小闺房,安静而温暖地沐浴在下午四点斜照的阳光里。除了很少几块地毯之外,光滑的地板上一无所有,雪白的墙壁只有一个角落被媚兰作为神龛装饰了起来。   这里悬挂着一面南部联盟的旗帜,下面是媚兰的父亲在墨西哥战争中用过的那把金柄的军刀,也是查尔斯出去打仗时佩带过的。还有查尔斯的肩带和插手枪的腰带,连同套子里的一只左轮手枪,也挂在这里,在军刀和手枪之间是查尔斯本人的一张照片,他身穿笔挺的灰色军装英武地站着,一双褐色的大眼睛神采奕奕,嘴唇上露着腼腆的微笑。   对那张照片思嘉瞧也没瞧,便毫不迟疑地向屋子里床旁边那张桌子走去,桌上摆着一个四方的木信匣。她从匣子里取出一束用篮带子扎着的信件,那是艾希礼亲手写给媚兰的。最上面的那封是那天上午才收到的,思嘉把它打开了。   思嘉第一次来偷看这些信时,还感到良心上很不安,也生怕被发觉,以致双手哆嗦得几乎取不出信来。可后来干的次数多了,那点从来就不怎么讲究的荣誉感以及怕人发现的顾虑也就渐渐消失了。偶尔她也会心一沉,想到"母亲要是知道了会怎么说呢?"她明白,母亲宁愿让她死也决不容许她干出这种无耻的勾当来。所以思嘉起初很苦恼,因为她还想做一个在各方面都像母亲的人。可是想读这些信的诱惑力实在太强大,使得她把这样的考虑都渐渐置之度外了。现在她已经成了老手,善于把那些不愉快的思想从心里撂开。她学会了对自己说:“我现在不去想那些烦人的事了,等到明天再想吧。"往往到明天,那个思想压根儿已不再出现,或者由于一再推迟而淡漠起来,觉得并不怎么烦人了。如此,偷看艾希礼的信件这件事也就不再是她良心上的一个负担了。   对于艾希礼的信媚兰向来慷慨的,往往要给皮蒂姑妈和思嘉朗读几段,但那些没有读的段落呢,它们正是思嘉感到痛苦之处,并促使她去偷看这位大姑子的邮件。她必须弄清楚究竟艾希礼从结婚以来是否已经爱媚兰了。她必须弄清楚他是不是在假装爱她。在信里他给她写温柔亲昵的话吗?他表现了什么样的感情?又是用怎样热烈的口气表达的呢?   小心地,她把信笺摊开。   艾希礼的细小匀整的笔迹在她眼前跃然出现,她阅读起来,"我亲爱的妻",这个称呼立即使她松了一口气,他毕竟还没有称呼媚兰为"宝贝"或"心肝"。   “我亲爱的妻:你来信说你深恐我在向你隐藏我的真实思想,问我近来在想些什么----”“哎哟,我的天!"思嘉深感歉疚的想道。"隐藏他的真实思想。媚兰了解他的心思吗?或者我的心思?她是不是在猜疑他和我----"她把信更凑近一些,紧张得双手发抖,但是读到下一段时又开始轻松了。   “亲爱的妻,如果说我向你隐藏了什么,那是因为我不想给你加重负担,使你在担心我的身体安全的同时还要为我心理上的困扰担忧。然而我什么也瞒不住你,因为你对我太了解了。请不用害怕。我没有受伤,也没有生玻我有足够的东西吃,间或还有一张床睡觉。对一个士兵来说,不能有别的要求了。不过,媚兰,我心头压着许多沉重的想法,我愿意向你敞开我的心扉。   “入夏以来,我晚上总睡不好,经常在营里熄灯后很久还没有入睡。只好一次又一次仰望星空,心里在想:‘你怎么到了这里,艾希礼•威尔克斯?你为了什么而打仗呢?'“当然不是为名誉和光荣。战争是肮脏的事业,而我不喜欢肮脏。我不是个军人,也没有不惜从炮膛口里寻找虚名的志愿。不过,现在我已到这里打仗来了----我这个天生的地地道道的乡下书呆子!因为,媚兰,军号激不起我的热血,战鼓也催不动我的脚步,我已经清清楚楚看出我们是被出卖了,被我们南方人狂妄的私心所出卖了----我们相信我们一个人能够打垮十个北方佬,相信棉花大王能够统治世界呢!我们被那些高高在上、备受尊敬和崇拜的人出卖了,他们用空谈、花言巧语、偏见和仇恨,用什么'棉花大王'、'奴隶制'、'州权'、'该死的北方佬'把我们引入歧途。   “所以,每当我躺在毯子上仰望着天空责问自己'为了什么而打仗'时,我就想到州权、棉花、黑人和我们从小被教着憎恨的北方佬,可是我知道所有这些都不是我来参加战争的真正理由,另一方面,我却看见了'十二橡树'村,回想月光怎样从那些白柱子中间斜照过来,山茱萸花在月色中开得那样美,茂密的蔷薇藤把走廊一侧荫蔽得使最热的中午也显得那样清凉。我还看见母亲在那里做针线活,就像我小时候那样。我听见黑人薄暮时期倦地一路歌唱着从田里回来,准备吃晚餐,还听见吊桶下井打水时辘辘轳吱吱嘎嘎的响声。从大路到河边,中间是一起宽广的棉田,前面是辽阔的远景,黄昏时夜雾从低洼处升起,周围渐渐朦胧起来。所有这一切,正是为了这一切,我才到这里来,因为我既不爱死亡和痛苦,也不爱光荣,更不对任何人怀有仇恨。也许这就是所谓爱国之心,就是对家庭和乡土的爱。不过,媚兰,意义还更深一点。因为,媚兰,我上面列举的这些仅仅是我甘愿为之献出生命的那个东西的象征,即我所热爱的那种生活的象征而已,因为我是在为以往的日子,为我所最珍爱的旧的生活方式而战斗,无论命运的结局怎样,我担心这种生活方式已经一去不复返了,因为,无论胜败,我们同样是要丧失的。   “如果我们打赢这场战争,建立我们梦想的棉花王国,我们仍是失败了,因为我们会变成一个不同的民族,旧的宁静的生活方式从此消失。世界会来到我们的门口吵着要买棉花,我们也可以规定自己的价格。那时,我担心我们会变得跟北方佬毫无两样,像他们那样专牟私利,贪得无厌,一切商品化,而这些都是我们现在所蔑视的。如果我们失败了,啊,媚兰,如果我们失败了呢?   “我并不是怕危险,怕被俘。怕受伤,甚至死亡,如果死神一定要来临的话,我担心的是一旦战争结束,我们就永远也回不到原来的时代去了。而我是属于过去那个时代的,我不属于现在这个残杀的疯狂时代,我害怕即使我尽力去适应未来的世界也会跟它格格不入,亲爱的,你也不行,因为你和我属于同一个血统。我不知道未来会带来什么,不过可以肯定不是像过去那样美丽和令人满意的光景。   “躺在那些酣睡的小伙子们附近,我瞧着他们,心中暗忖那对孪生兄弟,或者亚历克斯,或者凯德,是否也有这样的想法呢?我不知道他们是否明白自己是在为主义而战,而这个主义在第一声枪响时便立即消失了,因为我们的主义实际上就是我们的生活方式,现在它已不复存在。不过我想他们不会有这些想法,因此他们是幸运的。   “在我向你求婚时,我不曾为我们设想到这一点,我只想到要在'十二橡树'村像过去那样平和、舒适而安定地生活下去。媚兰,我们两人是一样的爱好宁静,因此我看见我们面前是一段长长的平安无事的岁月,让我们自由自在地读书、听音乐和做梦。可没有想到会像今天这样,从来也没有想到啊!没有想到我们竟会碰到这种局面,这种旧的生活方式的毁灭,这种血腥的屠杀和仇恨!媚兰,有什么值得我们这样做的呢----州权,奴隶,棉花,都不值得啊!没有任何东西值得我们去蒙受今天所遭遇或将来可能遭遇的灾难,因为如果北方佬打垮了我们,前景将是不堪设想。而且,亲爱的,他们还很可能把我们打垮呢!   “我不应该给你写这些东西,我甚至不应该去想这些。可是你问我心里在想些什么,而且失败的恐惧确实存在。你还记得举行大野宴和宣布我们订婚那天的情况吗?那天有个名叫巴特勒、口音像来自查尔斯顿的人,由于他批判南方无知,几乎引起了一场争斗。你是否还记得,因为他说我们很少有铁厂和工厂,棉纺厂和船员,兵工厂和机器制造厂,那对孪生兄弟便要开枪打他?你是否还记得,他说过北方佬舰队能够把我们严密地封起来,让我们的棉花运不出去?他是对的,我们是在使用革命战争时代的毛瑟枪对付北方佬的新的来福枪,而封锁线已经愈来愈紧,很快连药品也要弄不进来了。本来我们应当重视像巴特勒这样的冷嘲派,他们了解情况,并且敢于说出来,而不像政治家那样只有笼统的感觉而已。实际上他是说南方除了棉花和傲慢态度之外,是没有什么东西来打这场战争的。现在棉花已没有价值,惟一剩下的只有他所说的那种傲慢了。不过,我要把这种傲慢称为无比的勇气。   如果----”   思嘉没有继续读下去,便小心地把信折起来,装进封套,因为实在读得有点厌烦了。而且,信中用的那种语调,那些谈论失败的蠢话,也叫她隐隐感到压抑。她毕竟不是要从媚兰的这些信件中了解艾希礼的令人费解而枯燥无味的思想呀。这些思想,他以前坐在塔拉农场的走廊上时,她已经听得够多的了。   她唯一想知道的是,艾希礼给不给妻子写那种感情热烈的信。看来至今还没写过。她读了读信匣里的每一封信,发现其中没有哪一封不是一个哥哥对妹妹所能写出来的。信写得很亲切,很幽默,很随便,却绝非情书。思嘉自己收到过热烈的情书太多了,只要一过目是决不会看不出真正的感情特征。可这些信中没有那样的特征。像每回偷看之后那样,她浑身有一种称心如意的感觉,因为她确信艾希礼还在爱着她,她还常常满怀轻蔑地试想,怎么媚兰竟看不出艾希礼仅仅把她当做一个朋友在爱她呢?虽然媚兰没有从丈夫的信中发现什么缺陷,不过她从来不曾收到过别的男人的情书,因此也就没有什么好拿来跟艾希礼的信作比较了。   “他怎么会写出这样的怪信来,”思嘉想。"要是我有个丈夫给我写这种无聊的废话,看我怎样教训他!怎么,连查理写的信也比这些强得多哩?"她把那些信的边缘揭开,看看上面的日期,记住它们的大概内容。其中没有什么生动的描写军营和冲锋的段落,像达西•米德给他父母或可怜的达拉斯•麦克卢给他的两位姐姐写的信那样。米德家和麦克卢尔家给他们的所有邻居骄傲地朗读那些信,而思嘉只好暗自感到羞耻,因为媚兰没有从艾希礼那里收到过这样的信来给缝纫会的人朗读。   似乎艾希礼给媚兰写信时压根儿故意不谈战争,并且设法在他们两人周围画一个没有时间性的魔幻圈子,把自从萨姆特要塞事件以来所发生的一切都通通排除在外。仿佛他甚至是在设想根本就没有战争这回事。他写到他跟媚兰曾经读过的书和唱过的歌,写到他们所熟悉的老朋友和他在大旅游中去过的地方。所有的信里都流露出一种想回到“十二橡树”村来的渴望心情,一页又一页地写狩猎,写寒秋,写星光下在幽静的林中小道上骑马漫游,写大野宴和炸鱼宴,写万籁无声的月夜和那幢古老住宅宁静的美。   她思考着刚刚读过的那封信中的话:“没有想到会像今天这样,从来也没有想到啊!"它们好像是一个痛苦的灵魂面对着某种他所不能面对而又必须面对的东西在发出呼叫。这使她感到困惑,因为他既然不害怕受伤甚至死亡,还害怕什么呢?她生来不善于分析,现在只得同这种复杂的思想作斗争了。   “战争把他搅乱了----他不喜欢那些使他困扰的事情……就像我。……他爱我,可是他害怕跟我结婚,因为怕我打乱他的思想和生活方式。不,他不见得就是害怕,艾希礼并不是胆小鬼。他受到快报的表扬,斯隆上校在那封给媚兰的信中谈到他领头打冲锋的英勇事迹,这都说明他一点也不胆校他一经决定要做什么事情,那就谁也比不上他勇敢或坚决了。不过----他这人是生活在自己的脑子里而不是在外界人世间,他极不愿意出来深入现实,并且----唔,我不明白那是怎么回事!要是我早几年就理解了他的这个特点,我想他一定跟我结婚了!"她把那束信贴在胸口上站了一会,恋恋不舍地想着艾希礼。自从她初次爱上他那天以来,她对他的感情从未改变过。   当时她才十四岁,那一天她站在塔拉农场走廊上,看见艾希礼骑在马上微笑着缓缓走来,他的头发在早晨的阳光下发出闪闪银光,那时这种感情便突然袭上心头,使她激动得说不出话来了。她的爱情依然是一个年轻姑娘对一位她不能理解的男人的仰慕,这个男人的许多品质都是她自己所没有却十分敬佩的。他仍然是一个年轻姑娘梦想中的完美无缺的骑士,而她的梦想所要求的只不过是承认他爱她,所期待的只不过是一个吻而已。   读完那些信,她深信即使他已经跟媚兰结婚,但仍是爱她思嘉的;只要明确了这一点,她便几乎没有别的奢望了。她仍然是那个年轻的天真的姑娘,要是查理曾经用他那摸摸索索的笨拙劲和羞羞答答的亲昵举动轻轻挑动了她内心的情欲之弦,那么她对艾希礼的梦想就不会满足于一个吻了。可是她单独同查理在一起的那几个月光之夜并不曾触发她的情窦,也没有使她臻于成熟。查理没有唤醒她对于所谓情欲、温存、肉体与灵魂上的真正接触的观念,因此她才保持着这种天真未凿的状态。   对她而言,情欲不过是屈从那种不可理解的男性狂热而已,那是女性分享不到乐趣的一种痛苦而尴尬的举动,它将不可避免地导致更加痛苦的分娩程序。在她看来,结婚就是这样,没有什么好惊奇的。她举行婚礼之前,母亲曾含蓄地告诉她,结婚是女人必须庄严而坚决地忍受的某种事件,后来她当了寡妇,别的已婚妇女时常悄悄说的一些话更加证实了这一点,思嘉很高兴,自己在情欲和结婚方面总算已经过关了。   思嘉与结婚这件事已经不相干了,但与恋爱则并非如此,因为她对艾希礼的爱情是不一样的,那是与情欲或婚姻没有关系的,是一种神圣而十分惊人地美丽的东西,一种在长期被压迫默不作声,但时常靠回忆希望来维持着的过程中偷偷增长的激情。   叹息着边用带子把那一大束信小心地捆好,又一次(第一千次)暗想究竟艾希礼身上有什么东西在避开她的理解。她想对这个问题思考出一个满意的结论来,但是与往常那样,结论不听从她那简单头脑的指挥,拒不出现。她把那捆信放回到匣子里,并且盖好盖子,这时她皱起眉头,因为她回想刚才读过的那封信中,最未一段提到了巴特勒船长。真奇怪,怎么艾希礼对那个流氓一年前说过的话有那么深的印象呢?无可否认巴特勒船长是个流氓,不管他跳舞跳得多么美妙,只有一个流氓才能说出像他在义卖会上说出的那些有关南部联盟的话来。   她向对面的镜子走去,在那里得意洋洋地理了理头发。她又神气起来了,就像每次看见自己的白皙皮肤和斜斜的绿眼睛时似的。微笑着漾出那两个酒窝来。这时,她愉快地瞧着镜中的影像,记起艾希礼一直那么喜爱她的酒窝,便把巴特勒船长从心中打发走了。至于爱着另一个女人的丈夫,偷看那个女人的信件,这些并没有引起她良心的谴责,因而也就不会妨碍她欣赏自己的青春美貌和重新确信艾希礼对她的爱了。   她开门,轻心快意地走下阴暗的螺旋形楼梯,走到一半便唱起《到这场残酷战争结束时》来了。 Chapter 12 THE WAR went on, successfully for the most part, but people had stopped saying “One morevictory and the war is over,” just as they had stopped saying the Yankees were cowards. It wasobvious to all now that the Yankees were far from cowardly and that it would take more than onevictory to conquer them. However, there were the Confederate victories in Tennessee scored byGeneral Morgan and General Forrest and the triumph at the Second Battle of Bull Run hung uplike visible Yankee scalps to gloat over. But there was a heavy price on these scalps. The hospitalsand homes of Atlanta were overflowing with the sick and wounded, and more and more womenwere appearing in black. The monotonous rows of soldiers’ graves at Oakland Cemetery stretchedlonger every day.   Confederate money had dropped alarmingly and the price of food and clothing had risenaccordingly. The commissary was laying such heavy levies on foodstuffs that the tables of Atlantawere beginning to suffer. White flour was scarce and so expensive that corn bread was universalinstead of biscuits, rolls and waffles. The butcher shops carried almost no beef and very littlemutton, and that mutton cost so much only the rich could afford it. However there was still plentyof hog meat, as well as chickens and vegetables.   The Yankee blockade about the Confederate ports had tightened, and luxuries such as tea,coffee, silks, whalebone stays, colognes, fashion magazines and books were scarce and dear. Eventhe cheapest cotton goods had skyrocketed in price and ladies were regretfully making their olddresses do another season. Looms that had gathered dust for years had been brought down fromattics, and there were webs of homespun to be found in nearly every parlor. Everyone, soldiers,civilians, women, children and negroes, began to wear homespun. Gray, as the color of theConfederate uniform, practically disappeared and homespun of a butternut shade took its place.   Already the hospitals were worrying about the scarcity of quinine, calomel, opium, chloroformand iodine. Linen and cotton bandages were too precious now to be thrown away when used, andevery lady who nursed at the hospitals brought home baskets of bloody strips to be washed andironed and returned for use on other sufferers.   But to Scarlett, newly emerged from the chrysalis of widowhood, all the war meant was a timeof gaiety and excitement. Even the small privations of clothing and food did not annoy her, sohappy was she to be in the world again.   When she thought of the dull times of the past year, with the days going by one very much likeanother, life seemed to have quickened to an incredible speed. Every day dawned as an excitingadventure, a day in which she would meet new men who would ask to call on her, tell her howpretty she was, and how it was a privilege to fight and, perhaps, to die for her. She could and didlove Ashley with the last breath in her body, but that did not prevent her from inveigling other meninto asking to marry her.   The ever-present war in the background lent a pleasant informality to social relations, aninformality which older people viewed with alarm. Mothers found strange men calling on their daughters, men who came without letters of introduction and whose antecedents were unknown.   To their horror, mothers found their daughters holding hands with these men. Mrs. Merriwether,who had never kissed her husband until after the wedding ceremony, could scarcely believe hereyes when she caught Maybelle kissing the little Zouave, René Picard, and her consternation waseven greater when Maybelle refused to be ashamed. Even the fact that René immediately asked forher hand did not improve matters. Mrs. Merriwether felt that the South was heading for a completemoral collapse and frequently said so. Other mothers concurred heartily with her and blamed it onthe war.   But men who expected to die within a week or a month could not wait a year before they beggedto call a girl by her first name, with “Miss,” of course, preceding it. Nor would they go through theformal and protracted courtships which good manners had prescribed before the war. They werelikely to propose in three or four months. And girls who knew very well that a lady always refuseda gentleman the first three times he proposed rushed headlong to accept the first time.   This informality made the war a lot of fun for Scarlett. Except for the messy business of nursingand the bore of bandage rolling, she did not care if the war lasted forever. In fact, she could endurethe hospital with equanimity now because it was a perfect happy hunting ground. The helplesswounded succumbed to her charms without a struggle. Renew their bandages, wash their faces, patup their pillows and fan them, and they fell in love. Oh, it was Heaven after the last dreary year!   Scarlett was back again where she had been before she married Charles and it was as if she hadnever married him, never felt the shock of his death, never borne Wade. War and marriage andchildbirth had passed over her without touching any deep chord within her and she was unchanged.   She had a child but he was cared for so well by the others in the red brick house she could almostforget him. In her mind and heart, she was Scarlett O’Hara again, the belle of the County. Herthoughts and activities were the same as they had been in the old days, but the field of heractivities had widened immensely. Careless of the disapproval of Aunt Pitty’s friends, she behavedas she had behaved before her marriage, went to parties, danced, went riding with soldiers, flirted,did everything she had done as a girl, except stop wearing mourning. This she knew would be astraw that would break the backs of Pittypat and Melanie. She was as charming a widow as she hadbeen a girl, pleasant when she had her own way, obliging as long as it did not discommode her,vain of her looks and her popularity.   She was happy now where a few weeks before she had been miserable, happy with her beauxand their reassurances of her charm, as happy as she could be with Ashley married to Melanie andin danger. But somehow it was easier to bear the thought of Ashley belonging to some one elsewhen he was far away. With the hundreds of miles stretching between Atlanta and Virginia, hesometimes seemed as much hers as Melanie’s.   So the autumn months of 1862 went swiftly by with nursing, dancing, driving and bandagerolling taking up all the time she did not spend brief visits to Tara. These visits were disappointing,forshehadlittleopportunityforthelong(on) quiet talks with her mother to which shelooked forward while in Atlanta, no time to sit by Ellen while she sewed, smelling the faintfragrance of lemon verbena sachet as her skirts rustled, feeling her soft hands on her cheek in agentle caress.   Ellen was thin and preoccupied now and on her feet from morning until long after the plantationwas asleep. The demands of the Confederate commissary were growing heavier by the month, andhers was the task of making Tara produce. Even Gerald was busy, for the first time in many years,for he could get no overseer to take Jonas Wilkerson’s place and he was riding his own acres. WithEllen too busy for more than a goodnight kiss and Gerald in the fields all day, Scarlett found Taraboring. Even her sisters were taken up with their own concerns. Suellen had now come to an“understanding” with Frank Kennedy and sang “When This Cruel War Is Over” with an archmeaning Scarlett found well-nigh unendurable, and Carreen was too wrapped up in dreams ofBrent Tarleton to be interesting company.   Though Scarlett always went home to Tara with a happy heart, she was never sorry when theinevitable letters came from Pitty and Melanie, begging her to return. Ellen always sighed at thesetimes, saddened by the thought of her oldest daughter and her only grandchild leaving her.   “But I mustn’t be selfish and keep you here when you are needed to nurse in Atlanta,” she said.   “Only—only, my darling, it seems that I never get the time to talk to you and to feel that you aremy own little girl again before you are gone from me.”   “I’m always your little girl,” Scarlett would say and bury her head upon Ellen’s breast, her guiltrising up to accuse her. She did not tell her mother that it was the dancing and the beaux whichdrew her back to Atlanta and not the service of the Confederacy. There were many things she keptfrom her mother these days. But, most of all, she kept secret the fact that Rhett Butler called frequentlyat Aunt Pittypat’s house.   During the months that followed the bazaar, Rhett called whenever he was in town, takingScarlett riding in his carriage, escorting her to danceables and bazaars and waiting outside thehospital to drive her home. She lost her fear of his betraying her secret, but there always lurked inthe back of her mind the disquieting memory that he had seen her at her worst and knew the truthabout Ashley. It was this knowledge that checked her tongue when he annoyed her. And heannoyed her frequently.   He was in his mid-thirties, older than any beau she had ever had, and she was as helpless as achild to control and handle him as she had handled beaux nearer her own age. He always looked asif nothing had ever surprised him and much had amused him and, when he had gotten her into aspeechless temper, she felt that she amused him more than anything in the world. Frequently sheflared into open wrath under his expert baiting, for she had Gerald’s Irish temper along with thedeceptive sweetness of face she had inherited from Ellen. Heretofore she had never bothered tocontrol her temper except in Ellen’s presence. Now it was painful to have to choke back words forfear of his amused grin. If only he would ever lose his temper too, then she would not feel at such adisadvantage.   After tilts with him from which she seldom emerged the victor she vowed he was impossible,ill-bred and no gentleman and she would have nothing more to do with him. But sooner or later, hereturned to Atlanta, called, presumably on Aunt Pitty, and presented Scarlett, with overdonegallantry, a box of bonbons he had brought her from Nassau. Or preempted a seat by her at amusicale or claimed her at a dance, and she was usually so amused by his bland impudence that she laughed and overlooked his past misdeeds until the next occurred.   For all his exasperating qualities, she grew to look forward to his calls. There was somethingexciting about him that she could not analyze, something different from any man she had everknown. There was something breathtaking in the grace of his big body which made his veryentrance into a room like an abrupt physical impact, something in the impertinence and blandmockery of his dark eyes that challenged her spirit to subdue him.   “It’s almost like I was in love with him!” she thought, bewildered. “But I’m not and I just can’tunderstand it.”   But the exciting feeling persisted. When he came to call, his complete masculinity made AuntPitty’s well-bred and ladylike house seem small, pale and a trifle fusty. Scarlett was not the onlymember of the household who reacted strangely and unwillingly to his presence, for her kept AuntPitty in a flutter and a ferment.   While Pitty knew Ellen would disapprove of his calls on her daughter, and knew also that theedict of Charleston banning him from polite society was not one to be lightly disregarded, shecould no more resist his elaborate compliments and hand kissing than a fly can resist a honey pot.   Moreover, he usually brought her some little gift from Nassau which he assured her he hadpurchased especially for her and blockaded in at risk of his life—papers of pins and needles,buttons, spools of silk thread and hairpins. It was almost impossible to obtain these small luxuriesnow—ladies were wearing hand-whittled wooden hairpins and covering acrons with cloth forbuttons—and Pitty lacked the moral stamina to refuse them. Besides, she had a childish love ofsurprise packages and could not resist opening his gifts. And, having once opened them, she didnot feel that she could refuse them. Then, having accepted his gifts, she could not summon courageenough to tell him his reputation made it improper for him to call on three lone women who had nomale protector. Aunt Pitty always felt that she needed a male protector when Rhett Butler was inthe house.   “I don’t know what it is about him,” she would sigh helplessly. “But—well, I think he’d be anice, attractive man if I could just feel that—well, that deep down in his heart he respectedwomen.”   Since the return of her wedding ring, Melanie had felt that Rhett was a gentleman of rarerefinement and delicacy and she was shocked at this remark. He was unfailingly courteous to her,but she was a little timid with him, largely because she was shy with any man she had not knownfrom childhood. Secretly she was very sorry for him, a feeling which would have amused him hadhe been aware of it. She was certain that some romantic sorrow had blighted his life and made himhard and bitter, and she felt that what he needed was the love of a good woman. In all her shelteredlife she had never seen evil and could scarcely credit its existence, and when gossip whisperedthings about Rhett and the girl in Charleston she was shocked and unbelieving. And, instead ofturning her against him, it only made her more timidly gracious toward him because of herindignation at what she fancied was a gross injustice done him.   Scarlett silently agreed with Aunt Pitty. She, too, felt that he had no respect for any woman,unless perhaps for Melanie. She still felt unclothed every time his eyes ran up and down her figure.   It was not that he ever said anything. Then she could have scorched him with hot words. It was the bold way his eyes looked out of his swarthy face with a displeasing air of insolence, as if allwomen were his property to be enjoyed in his own good time. Only with Melanie was this lookabsent. There was never that cool look of appraisal, never mockery in his eyes, when he looked atMelanie; and there was an especial note in his voice when he spoke to her, courteous, respectful,anxious to be of service.   “I don’t see why you’re so much nicer to her than to me,” said Scarlett petulantly, one afternoonwhen Melanie and Pitty had retired to take their naps and she was alone with him.   For an hour she had watched Rhett hold the yarn Melanie was winding for knitting, had notedthe blank inscrutable expression when Melanie talked at length and with pride of Ashley and hispromotion. Scarlett knew Rhett had no exalted opinion of Ashley and cared nothing at all about thefact that he had been made a major. Yet he made polite replies and murmured the correct thingsabout Ashley’s gallantry.   And if I so much as mention Ashley’s name, she had thought irritably, he cocks his eyebrow upand smiles that nasty, knowing smile!   “I’m much prettier than she is,” she continued, “and I don’t see why you’re nicer to her.”   “Dare I hope that you are jealous?”   “Oh, don’t presume!”   “Another hope crushed. If I am ‘nicer’ to Mrs. Wilkes, it is because she deserves it. She is one ofthe very few kind, sincere and unselfish persons I have ever known. But perhaps you have failed tonote these qualities. And moreover, for all her youth, she is one of the few great ladies I have everbeen privileged to know.”   “Do you mean to say you don’t think I’m a great lady, too?”   “I think we agreed on the occasion of our first meeting that you were no lady at all.”   “Oh, if you are going to be hateful and rude enough to bring that up again! How can you holdthat bit of childish temper against me? That was so long ago and I’ve grown up since then and I’dforget all about it if you weren’t always harping and hinting about it.”   “I don’t think it was childish temper and I don’t believe you’ve changed. You are just as capablenow as then of throwing vases if you don’t get your own way. But you usually get your way now.   And so there’s no necessity for broken bric-a-brac.”   “Oh, you are—I wish I was a man! I’d call you out and—”   “And get killed for your pains. I can drill a dime at fifty yards. Better stick to your own weapons—dimples, vases and the like.”   “You are just a rascal.”   “Do you expect me to fly into a rage at that? I am sorry to disappoint you. You can’t make memad by calling me names that are true. Certainly I’m a rascal, and why not? It’s a free country anda man may be a rascal if he chooses. It’s only hypocrites like you, my dear lady, just as black atheart but trying to hide it, who become enraged when called by their right names.”   She was helpless before his calm smile and his drawling remarks, for she had never before metanyone who was so completely impregnable. Her weapons of scorn, coldness and abuse blunted inher hands, for nothing she could say would shame him. It had been her experience that the liar wasthe hottest to defend his veracity, the coward his courage, the ill-bred his gentlemanliness, and thecad his honor. But not Rhett. He admitted everything and laughed and dared her to say more.   He came and went during these months, arriving unheralded and leaving without saying good-by. Scarlett never discovered just what business brought him to Atlanta, for few other blockadersfound it necessary to come so far away from the coast. They landed their cargoes at Wilmington orCharleston, where they were met by swarms of merchants and speculators from all over the Southwho assembled to buy blockaded goods at auction. It would have pleased her to think that he madethese trips to see her, but even her abnormal vanity refused to believe this. If he had ever oncemade love to her, seemed jealous of the other men who crowded about her, even tried to hold herhand or begged for a picture or a handkerchief to cherish, she would have thought triumphantly hehad been caught by her charms. But he remained annoyingly unloverlike and, worst of all, seemedto see through all her maneuverings to bring him to his knees.   Whenever he came to town, there was a feminine fluttering. Not only did the romantic aura ofthe dashing blockader hang about him but there was also the titillating element of the wicked andthe forbidden. He had such a bad reputation! And every time the matrons of Atlanta gatheredtogether to gossip, his reputation grew worse, which only made him all the more glamorous to theyoung girls. As most of them were quite innocent, they had heard little more than that he was“quite loose with women”—and exactly how a man went about the business of being “loose” theydid not know. They also heard whispers that no girt was safe with him. With such a reputation, itwas strange that he had never so much as kissed the hand of an unmarried girl since he firstappeared in Atlanta. But that only served to make him more mysterious and more exciting.   Outside of the army heroes, he was the most talked-about man in Atlanta. Everyone knew indetail how he had been expelled from West Point for drunkenness and “something about women.”   That terrific scandal concerning the Charleston girl he had compromised and the brother he hadkilled was public property. Correspondence with Charleston friends elicited the further informationthat his father, a charming old gentleman with an iron will and a ramrod for a backbone, had casthim out without a penny when he was twenty and even stricken his name from the family Bible.   After that he had wandered to California in the gold rush of 1849 and thence to South America andCuba, and the reports of his activities in these parts were none too savory. Scrapes about women,several shootings, gun running to the revolutionists in Central America and, worst of all,professional gambling were included in his career, as Atlanta heard it.   There was hardly a family in Georgia who could not own to their sorrow at least one malemember or relative who gambled, losing money, houses, land and slaves. But that was different. Aman could gamble himself to poverty and still be a gentleman, but a professional gambler couldnever be anything but an outcast.   Had it not been for the upset conditions due to the war and his own services to the Confederategovernment, Rhett Butler would never have been received in Atlanta. But now, even the most straitlaced felt that patriotism called upon them to be more broad minded. The more sentimental wereinclined to view that the black sheep of the Butler family had repented of his evil ways and was making an attempt to atone for his sins. So the ladies felt in duty bound to stretch a point,especially in the of intrepid blockader. Everyone knew now that the fate of the Confederacyrestedasm(case) uchu(so) pontheski(a) ll of the blockade boats in eluding the Yankee fleet as itdid upon the soldiers at the front.   Rumor had it that Captain Butler was one of the best pilots in the South and that he was recklessand utterly without nerves. Reared in Charleston, he knew every inlet, creek, shoal and rock of theCarolina coast near that port, and he was equally at home in the waters around Wilmington. He hadnever lost a boat or even been forced to dump a cargo. At the onset of the war, he had emergedfrom obscurity with enough money to buy a small swift boat and now, when blockaded goodsrealized two thousand per cent on each cargo, he owned four boats. He had good pilots and paidthem well, and they slid out of Charleston and Wilmington on dark nights, bearing cotton forNassau, England and Canada. The cotton mills of England were standing idle and the workerswere starving, and any blockader who could outwit the Yankee fleet could command his own pricein Liverpool. Rhett’s boats were singularly lucky both in taking out cotton for the Confederacy andbringing in the war materials for which the South was desperate. Yes, the ladies felt they couldforgive and forget a great many things for such a brave man.   He was a dashing figure and one that people turned to look at. He spent money freely, rode awild black stallion, and wore clothes which were always the height of style and tailoring. The latterin itself was enough to attract attention to him, for the uniforms of the soldiers were dingy andworn now and the civilians, even when turned out in their best, showed skillful patching anddarning. Scarlett thought she had such elegant pants as he wore, fawn colored, shepherd’s plaid, andchecked.As for his w(never) aistco(seen) ats, they were indescribably handsome, especiallythe white watered-silk one with tiny pink rosebuds embroidered on it. And he wore these garmentswith a still more elegant air as though unaware of their glory.   There were few ladies who could resist his charms when he chose to exert them, and finallyeven Mrs. Merriwether unbent and invited him to Sunday dinner.   Maybelle Merriwether was to marry her little Zouave when he got his next furlough, and shecried every time she thought of it, for she had set her heart on marrying in a white satin dress andthere was no white satin in the Confederacy. Nor could she borrow a dress, for the satin weddingdresses of years past had all gone into the making of battle flags. Useless for the patriotic Mrs.   Merriwether to upbraid her daughter and point out that homespun was the proper bridal attire for aConfederate bride. Maybelle wanted satin. She was willing, even proud to go without hairpins andbuttons and nice shoes and candy and tea for the sake of the Cause, but she wanted a satin weddingdress.   Rhett, hearing of this from Melanie, brought in from England yards and yards of gleaming whitesatin and a lace veil and presented them to her as a wedding gift. He did it in such a way that it wasunthinkable to even mention paying him for them, and Maybelle was so delighted she almostkissed him. Mrs. Merriwether knew that so expensive a gift—and a gift of clothing at that—washighly improper, but she could think of no way of refusing when Rhett told her in the most floridlanguage that nothing was too good to deck the bride of one of our brave heroes. So Mrs.   Merriwether invited him to dinner, feeling that this concession more than paid for the gift.   He not only brought Maybelle the satin but he was able to give excellent hints on the making ofthe wedding dress. Hoops in Paris were wider this season and skirts were shorter. They were nolonger ruffled but were gathered up in scalloped festoons, showing braided petticoats beneath. Hesaid, too, that he had seen no pantalets on the streets, so he imagined they were “out.” Afterwards,Mrs. Merriwether told Mrs. Elsing she feared that if she had given him any encouragement at all,he would have told her exactly what kind of drawers were being worn by Parisiennes.   Had he been less obviously masculine, his ability to recall details of dresses, bonnets andcoiffures would have been put down as the rankest effeminacy. The ladies always felt a little oddwhen they besieged him with questions about styles, but they did it nevertheless. They were asisolated from the world of fashion as shipwrecked mariners, for few books of fashion camethrough the blockade. For all they knew the ladies of France might be shaving their heads andwearing coonskin caps, so Rhett’s memory for furbelows was an excellent substitute for Godey’sLady’s Book. He could and did notice details so dear to feminine hearts, and after each trip abroadhe could be found in the center of a group of ladies, telling that bonnets were smaller this year andperched higher, covering most of the top of the head, that plumes and not flowers were being usedto trim them, that the Empress of France had abandoned the chignon for evening wear and had herhair piled almost on the top of her head, showing all of her ears, and that evening frocks wereshockingly low again.   For some months, he was the most popular and romantic figure the town knew, despite hisprevious reputation, despite the faint rumors that he was engaged not only in blockading but inspeculating on foodstuffs, too. People who did not like him said that after every trip he made toAtlanta, prices jumped five dollars. But even with this under-cover gossip seeping about, he couldhave retained his popularity had he considered it worth retaining. Instead, it seemed as though,after trying the company of the staid and patriotic citizens and winning their respect and grudgingliking, something perverse in him made him go out of his way to affront them and show them thathis conduct had been only a masquerade and one which no longer amused him.   It was as though he bore an impersonal contempt for everyone and everything in the South, theConfederacy in particular, and toot pains to conceal it. It was his remarks about the Confederacythatmade Atlantalookathi(no) m first in bewilderment, then coolly and then with hotrage. Even before 1862 passed into 1863, men were bowing to him with studied frigidity andwomen beginning to draw their daughters to their sides when he appeared at a gathering.   He seemed to take pleasure not only in affronting the sincere and red-hot loyalties of Atlanta butin presenting himself in the worst possible light. When well-meaning people complimented him onhis bravery in running the blockade, he blandly replied that he was always frightened when indanger, as frightened as were the brave boys at the front. Everyone knew there had never been acowardly Confederate soldier and they found this statement peculiarly irritating. He alwaysreferred to the soldiers as “our brave boys” and “our heroes in gray” and did it in such a way as toconvey the utmost in insult. When daring young ladies, hoping for a flirtation, thanked him forbeing one of the heroes who fought for them, he bowed and declared that such was not the case,for he would do the same thing for Yankee women if the same amount of money were involved.   Since Scarlett’s first meeting with him in Atlanta on the night of the bazaar, he had talked withher in this manner, but now mere was a thinly veiled note of mockery in his conversations witheveryone. When praised for his services to the Confederacy, he unfailingly replied that blockadingwas a business with him. If he could make as much money out of government contracts, he wouldsay, picking out with his eyes those who had government contracts, then he would certainlyabandon the hazards of blockading and take to selling shoddy cloth, sanded sugar, spoiled flourand rotten leather to the Confederacy.   Most of his remarks were unanswerable, which made them all the worse. There had alreadybeen minor scandals about those holding government contracts. Letters from men at the frontcomplained constantly of shoes that wore out in a week, gunpowder that would not ignite, harnessthat snapped at any strain, meat that was rotten and flour that was full of weevils. Atlanta peopletried to think that the men who sold such stuff to the government must be contract holders fromAlabama or Virginia or Tennessee, and not Georgians. For did not the Georgia contract holdersinclude men from the very best families? Were they not the first to contribute to the hospital fundsand to the aid of soldiers’ orphans? Were they not the first to cheer at “Dixie” and the mostrampant seekers, in oratory at least, for Yankee blood? The full tide of fury against thoseprofiteering on government contracts had not yet risen, and Rhett’s words were taken merely asevidence of his own bad breeding.   He not only affronted the town with insinuations of venality on the part of men in high placesand slurs on the courage of the men in the field, but he took pleasure in tricking the dignifiedcitizenry into embarrassing situations. He could no more resist pricking the conceits, the hypocrisiesand the flamboyant patriotism of those about him than a small boy can resist putting a pininto a balloon. He neatly deflated the pompous and exposed the ignorant and the bigoted, and hedid it in such subtle ways, drawing his victims out by his seemingly courteous interest, that theynever were quite certain what had happened until they stood exposed as windy, high flown andslightly ridiculous.   During the months when the town accepted him, Scarlett had been under no illusions about him.   She knew that his elaborate gallantries and his florid speeches were all done with his tongue in hischeek. She knew that he was acting the part of the dashing and patriotic blockade runner simplybecause it amused him. Sometimes he seemed to her like the County boys with whom she hadgrown up, the wild Tarleton twins with their obsession for practical jokes: the devil-inspiredFontaines, teasing, mischievous; the Calverts who would sit up all night planning hoaxes. But therewas a difference, for beneath Rhett’s seeming lightness there was something malicious, almostsinister in its suave brutality.   Though she was thoroughly aware of his insincerity, she much preferred him in the r.le of theromantic blockader. For one thing, it made her own situation in associating with him so mucheasier than it had been at first. So, she was intensely annoyed when he dropped his masquerade andset out apparently upon a deliberate campaign to alienate Atlanta’s good will. It annoyed herbecause it seemed foolish and also because some of the harsh criticism directed at him fell on her.   It was at Mrs. Elsing’s silver musicale for the benefit of the convalescents that Rhett signed hisfinal warrant of ostracism. That afternoon the Elsing home was crowded with soldiers on leave andmen from the hospitals, members of the Home Guard and the militia unit, and matrons, widows and young girls. Every chair in the house was occupied, and even the long winding stair waspacked with guests. The large cut-glass bowl held at the door by the Elsings’ butler had beenemptied twice of its burden of silver coins: That in itself was enough to make the affair a success,for now a dollar in silver was worth sixty dollars in Confederate paper money.   Every girl with any pretense to accomplishments had sung or played the piano, and the tableauxvivants had been greeted with flattering applause. Scarlett was much pleased with herself, for notonly had she and Melanie rendered a touching duet, “When the Dew Is on the Blossom,” followedas an encore by the more sprightly “Oh, Lawd, Ladies, Don’t Mind Stephen!” but she had alsobeen chosen to represent the Spirit of the Confederacy in the last tableau.   She had looked most fetching, wearing a modestly draped Greek robe of white cheeseclothgirdled with red and blue and holding the Stars and Bars in one hand, while with the other shestretched out to the kneeling Captain Carey Ashburn, of Alabama, the gold-hilted saber which hadbelonged to Charles and his father.   When her tableau was over, she could not help seeking Rhett’s eyes to see if he had appreciatedthe pretty picture she made. With a feeling of exasperation she saw that he was in an argument andprobably had not even noticed her. Scarlett could see by the faces of the group surrounding himthat they were infuriated by what he was saying.   She made her way toward them and, in one of those odd silences which sometimes fall on agathering, she heard Willie Guinan, of the militia outfit, say plainly: “Do I understand, sir, that youmean the Cause for which our heroes have died is not sacred?”   “If you were run over by a railroad train your death wouldn’t sanctify the railroad company,would it?” asked Rhett, and his voice sounded as if he were humbly seeking information.   “Sir,” said Willie, his voice shaking, “if we were not under this roof—”   “I tremble to think what would happen,” said Rhett. “For, of course, your bravery is too wellknown.”   Willie went scarlet and all conversation ceased. Everyone was embarrassed. Willie was strongand healthy and of military age and yet he wasn’t at the front. Of course, he was the only boy hismother had and, after all, somebody had to be in the militia to protect the state. But there were afew irreverent snickers from convalescent officers when Rhett spoke of bravery.   “Oh, why doesn’t he keep his mouth shut!” thought Scarlett indignantly. “He’s simply spoilingthe whole party!”   Dr. Meade’s brows were thunderous.   “Nothing may be sacred to you, young man,” he said, in the voice he always used when makingspeeches. “But there are many things sacred to the patriotic men and ladies of the South. And thefreedom of our land from the usurper is one and States’ Rights is another and—”   Rhett looked lazy and his voice had a silky, almost bored, note.   “All wars are sacred,” he said. “To those who have to fight them. If the people who started warsdidn’t make them sacred, who would be foolish enough to fight? But, no matter what rallying criesthe orators give to the idiots who fight, no matter what noble purposes they assign to wars, there is never but one reason for a war. And that is money. All wars are in reality money squabbles. But sofew people ever realize it. Their ears are too full of bugles and drums and the fine words from stay-at-home orators. Sometimes the rallying cry is ‘Save the Tomb of Christ from the Heathen!’   Sometimes it’s ‘Down with Popery!’ and sometimes ‘Liberty!’ and sometimes ‘Cotton, Slaveryand States’ Rights!’ ”   “What on earth has the Pope to do with it?” thought Scarlett. “Or Christ’s tomb, either?”   But as she hurried toward the incensed group, she saw Rhett bow jauntily and start toward thedoorway through the crowd. She started after him but Mrs. Elsing caught her skirt and held her.   “Let him go,” she said in a clear voice that carried throughout the tensely quiet room. “Let himgo. He is a traitor, a speculator! He is a viper that we have nursed to our bosoms!”   Rhett, standing in the hall, his hat in his hand, heard as he was intended to hear and, turning,surveyed the room for a moment. He looked pointedly at Mrs. Elsing’s flat bosom, grinnedsuddenly and, bowing, made his exit.   Mrs. Merriwether rode home in Aunt Pitty’s carriage, and scarcely had the four ladies seatedthemselves when she exploded.   “There now, Pittypat Hamilton! I hope you are satisfied!”   “With what?” cried Pitty, apprehensively.   “With the conduct of that wretched Butler man you’ve been harboring.”   Pittypat fluttered, too upset by the accusation to recall that Mrs. Merriwether had also beenRhett Butler’s hostess on several occasions. Scarlett and Melanie thought of this, but bred topoliteness to their elders, refrained from remarking on the matter. Instead they studiously lookeddown at their mittened hands.   “He insulted us all and the Confederacy too,” said Mrs. Merriwether, and her stout bust heavedviolently beneath its glittering passementerie trimmings. “Saying that we were fighting for money!   Saying that our leaders had lied to us! He should be put in jail. Yes, he should. I shall speak to Dr.   Meade about it. If Mr. Merriwether were only alive, he’d tend to him! Now, Pitty Hamilton, youlisten to me. You mustn’t ever let that scamp come into your house again!”   “Oh,” mumbled Pitty, helplessly, looking if she wished she were dead. She looked appealinglyatthetwo girls who kept their eyes cas(as) t down and then hopefully toward Uncle Peter’serect back. She knew he was listening attentively to every word and she hoped he would turn andtake a hand in the conversation, as he frequently did. She hoped he would say: “Now, Miss Dolly,you let Miss Pitty be,” but Peter made no move. He disapproved heartily of Rhett Butler and poorPitty knew it. She sighed and said: “Well, Dolly, if you think—”   “I do think,” returned Mrs. Merriwether firmly. “I can’t imagine what possessed you to receivehim in the first place. After this afternoon, there won’t be a decent home in town that he’ll bewelcome in. Do get up some gumption and forbid him your house.”   She turned a sharp eye on the girls. “I hope you two are marking my words,” she continued, “for it’s partly your fault, being so pleasant to him. Just tell him politely but firmly that his presenceand his disloyal talk are distinctly unwelcome at your house.”   By this time Scarlett was boiling, ready to rear like a horse at the touch of a strange rough handon its bridle. But she was afraid to speak. She could not risk Mrs. Merriwether writing anotherletter to her mother.   “You old buffalo!” she thought, her face crimson with suppressed fury. “How heavenly it wouldbe to tell you just what I think of you and your bossy ways!”   “I never thought to live long enough to hear such disloyal words spoken of our Cause,” went onMrs. Merriwether, by this time in a ferment of righteous anger. “Any man who does not think ourCause is just and holy should be hanged! I don’t want to hear of you two girls ever even speakingto him again— For Heaven’s sake, Melly, what ails you?”   Melanie was white and her eyes were enormous.   “I will speak to him again,” she said in a low voice. “I will not be rude to him. I will not forbidhim the house.”   Mrs. Merriwether’s breath went out of her lungs as explosively as though she had been punched.   Aunt Pitty’s fat mouth popped open and Uncle Peter turned to stare.   “Now, why didn’t I have the gumption to say that?” thought Scarlett, jealousy mixing withadmiration. “How did that little rabbit ever get up spunk enough to stand up to old ladyMerriwether?”   Melanie’s hands were shaking but she went on hurriedly, as though fearing her courage wouldfail her if she delayed.   “I won’t be rude to him because of what he said, because— It was rude of him to say it out loud—most ill advised—but it’s—it’s what Ashley thinks. And I can’t forbid the house to a man whothinks what my husband thinks. It would be unjust.”   Mrs. Merriwether’s breath had come back and she charged.   “Melly Hamilton, I never heard such a lie in all my life! There was never a Wilkes who was acoward—”   “I never said Ashley was a coward,” said Melanie, her eyes beginning to flash. “I said he thinkswhat Captain Butler thinks, only he expresses it in different words. And he doesn’t go aroundsaying it at musicales, I hope. But he has written it to me.”   Scarlett’s guilty conscience stirred as she tried to recall what Ashley might have written thatwould lead Melanie to make such a statement, but most of the letters she had read had gone out ofher head as soon as she finished reading them. She believed Melanie had simply taken leave of hersenses.   “Ashley wrote me that we should not be fighting the Yankees. And that we have been betrayedinto it by statesmen and orators mouthing catchwords and prejudices,” said Melly rapidly. “He saidnothing in the world was worth what this war was going to do to us. He said here wasn’t anythingat all to glory—it was just misery and dirt.”   “Oh! That letter,” thought Scarlett. “Was that what he meant?”   “I don’t believe it,” said Mrs. Merriwether firmly. “You misunderstood his meaning.”   “I never misunderstand Ashley,” Melanie replied quietly, though her lips were trembling. “Iunderstand him perfectly. He meant exactly what Captain Butler meant, only he didn’t say it in arude way.”   “You should be ashamed of yourself, comparing a fine man like Ashley Wilkes to a scoundrellike Captain Butler! I suppose you, too, think the Cause is nothing!”   “I—I don’t know what I think,” Melanie began uncertainly, her fire deserting her and panic ather outspokenness taking hold of her. “I—I’d die for the Cause, like Ashley would. But—I mean—I mean, I’ll let the men folks do the thinking, because they are so much smarter.”   “I never heard the like,” snorted Mrs. Merriwether. “Stop, Uncle Peter, you’re driving past myhouse!”   Uncle Peter, preoccupied with the conversation behind him, had driven past the Merriwethercarriage block and he backed up the horse. Mrs. Merriwether alighted, her bonnet ribbons shakinglike sails in a storm.   “You’ll be sorry,” she said.   Uncle Peter whipped up the horse.   “You young misses ought ter tek shame, gittin’ Miss Pitty in a state,” he scolded.   “I’m not in a state,” replied Pitty, surprisingly, for less strain than this had frequently brought onfainting fits. “Melly, honey, I knew you were doing it just to take up for me and, really, I was gladto see somebody take Dolly down a peg. She’s so bossy. How did you have the courage? But doyou think you should have said that about Ashley?”   “But it’s true,” answered Melanie and she began to cry softly. “And I’m not ashamed that hethinks that way. He thinks the war is all wrong but he’s willing to fight and die anyway, and thattakes lots more courage than fighting for something you think is right.”   “Lawd, Miss Melly, doan cry hyah on Peachtree Street,” groaned Uncle Peter, hastening hishorse’s pace. “Folks’ll talk sumpin’ scan’lous. Wait till us gits home.”   Scarlett said nothing. She did not even squeeze the hand that Melanie had inserted into her palmfor comfort. She had read Ashley’s letters for only one purpose—to assure herself that he stillloved her. Now Melanie had given a new meaning to passages in the letters which Scarlett’s eyeshad barely seen. It shocked her to realize that anyone as absolutely perfect as Ashley could haveany thought in common with such a reprobate as Rhett Butler. She thought: “They both see thetruth of this war, but Ashley is willing to die about it and Rhett isn’t. I think that shows Rhett’sgood sense.” She paused a moment, horror struck that she could have such a thought about Ashley.   “They both see the same unpleasant truth, but Rhett likes to look it in the face and enrage peopleby talking about it—and Ashley can hardly bear to face it”   It was very bewildering.   战争继续进行着,大部分是成功的,但是现在人们已不再说"再来一个胜仗就可以结束战争"这样的话了,也不再说北方佬是胆小鬼了。现在大家都明白,北方佬根本不是胆小鬼,而且决不是再打一个胜仗就能把他们打垮的。不过在摩根将军和福雷斯将军指挥下南部联盟军在田纳西州打的胜仗,和第二次布尔溪战役的胜利,是可以作为击溃北军的战利品而加以吹嘘的。虽然,这些胜利都付出了重大的代价。亚特兰大各医院和一些居民家里,伤病员大量拥入,同时有愈来愈多的女人穿上了丧服,奥克兰公墓里那一排排的士兵坟墓也每天都在增加。   南部联盟政府的货币惊人地贬值,生活必需评价格随之急剧上涨。物资供销部门征收的食品税已高到使亚特兰大居民的饮食也开始蒙受损失了。白面极贵又很难买到,因此普遍以玉米面包代替饼干、面包卷和蛋糕。肉店里已几乎不卖牛肉,就连羊肉也很少,而羊肉的价钱又贵得只有阔仆人家才买得起。好在还有充足的猪肉,鸡和蔬菜也不少。   北方佬对南部联盟各州港口已加紧了封锁,因此茶叶、咖啡、丝绸、鲸须衣褡、香水、时装杂志和书籍等奢侈品,就既稀少又很贵了。甚至最便宜的棉织品的价格也在飞涨,以至一般女人都在唉声叹气地改旧翻新,用以对付着换季的衣着,多年以来尘封不动的织布机现在从阁楼上取了下来,几乎家家的客厅里都能见到家织的布匹。几乎每个人,士兵、平民、妇女、小孩和黑人,都穿上了这种家织土布的衣裳,灰色,作为南部联盟军制服的颜色,如今在日常穿着中已经绝迹,而由一种白胡桃色的家织布所替代了。   各个医院已经在为缺乏奎宁、甘汞、鸦片、哥罗仿、碘酒等等而发愁。纱布和棉布绷带现在也很贵重,用后不能丢掉,所以凡是在医院服务的女人都带着一篮篮血污的布条回家,把它们洗净熨平,然后带回医院给别的伤员使用。   但是,对于刚刚从寡妇蛰居中跑出来的思嘉来说,战争只不过是一个愉快和兴奋的时候而已。甚至节衣缩食她也一点不以为苦,只要重新回到这广阔的世界里便心满意足了。   她回想过去一年的沉闷的日子,一天又一天毫无变化地过着,便觉得眼前的生活节奏已大大加快,达到了令人难以置信的速度。每天早晨开始的都是一个新的激动人心的日子,她会遇到一些新的人,他们要求来拜访她,说她多么漂亮,说他们多么希望享有特权为她战斗甚至付出生命。她能够而且的确在爱着艾希礼直到自己生命中的最后一息,可是这并不妨碍她去引诱别的男人来向她求婚。   当前正在继续的战争给了后方人们一个不拘常规的进行社交活动的机会,这使老人们大为吃惊。做母亲的发现陌生男人来拜访女儿,他们既没有介绍信又家世来历不明,更可怕的是她们的女儿竟与这些人手拉手坐在一起!就说梅里韦瑟太太吧,她是直到结婚以后才吻她的丈夫的,现在看见梅贝尔竟在吻那小个子义勇兵雷内•皮卡德了,这叫她怎能相信自己的眼睛呢?特别是当梅贝尔公然表示不觉得羞耻时,她就更加惊恐万状了。即使雷内很快便向她求了婚,也没有缓和这一紧张局面。梅里韦瑟太太觉得南方正在道德上迅速全面地崩溃,并且经常提出这样的警告。其他作母亲的人也衷心赞同她的意见,并将问题归咎于战争。   可是那些说不定在一周或一个月内就会牺牲的男人,是不耐烦等待一年才去要求叫一位姑娘的小名的(当然还得冠以"小姐"的称号)。他们也不会履行战前规定的那种冗长的正式求婚礼节。他们总是在三四个月之内就提出订婚的要求。   至于女孩子们,她们本来很清楚上等人家的姑娘一般要拒绝男方三次,而如今却在头一次就急忙答应了。   这种不正常的状况使思嘉觉得战争还是相当有趣的。除了护理工作肮脏和卷绷带太麻烦以外,她不怕战争永远拖延下去。事实上,她现在对医院里的事情已能镇静地应付了,因为那里还是一个很好很愉快的狩猎场呢。那些无依无靠的伤兵会乖乖地屈服于她的魅力之下。只要给他们换换绷带,洗洗脸,拍打拍打他们的枕头,给他们打打扇子,他们很快就爱上你了。啊,经历了过去一年的暗淡日子,这里就是天堂了!   思嘉又回到了她跟查理尔斯结婚以前所处的地位,还仿佛根本没有嫁给他,根本没有感受过他死亡的打击,根本没有生过韦德似的。战争、结婚和生孩子一点没有触动她内心深处的那根弦就从她身边过去了,她一点也没有改变。她有一个孩子,她简直可以把他忘了。那所红砖房子里其他的人在仔细照料着他,她在思想和感情上又成了原来的思嘉,原来县里的那个美女。她的思想和行为又恢复到往昔那个模样,可是活动的天地却大大扩展了。她不顾皮蒂姑妈和那些朋友们的非议,仍然像结婚以前那样为人行事,如参加宴会啦,跳舞啦,同士兵一起骑马外出啦,彼此调情啦,凡是她在姑娘时期做过的一切现在都做,只差没有脱掉丧服了。她知道脱丧服这件事虽然微不足道,但皮蒂帕特和媚兰是死活不会同意的。而且她当寡妇也像做姑娘时一样迷人,只要对她不加干涉她就照样快乐,只要不使她为难她就乐于助人,而且对自己的姿容和到处招人爱慕也是十分得意的。   在这个几周以前还令人痛苦的地方,如今她感到愉快起来了。   她高兴又有了一些情人,高兴听他们说她仍然这么美丽,这是在艾希礼已经跟媚兰结婚而且正面临危险的情况下她所能享受到的最大愉快。不过在目前,即使想起艾希礼已经属于别人也是比较容易忍受的,因为他毕竟远在他方呢。亚特兰大和弗吉尼亚相距数百英里之遥,他有时好像就是她的,犹如是媚兰的一个样。   1862年秋天就这样在护理、跳舞、坐马车和卷绷带中飞快地过去了,连回塔拉小住几回也没有花多少日子。在塔拉的小住是令人失望的,因为很少有机会像在亚特兰大所希望的那样跟母亲清静地长谈,也没有时间陪着她做针线活儿,闻闻她走动时从马鞭草香囊中散发出的隐隐香味,或者让她的温柔的手在自己脸颊上轻轻抚摩一番。   好像有满腔的心事,母亲瘦了,而且从清早开始,一直要到全农场的人都入睡以后许久才得休息,南部联盟物资供销部的需求一月比一月高,她的任务便是设法让塔拉农场拼命生产。连杰拉尔德也不得闲,这是多年以来头一次,因为他找不到一个监工来代替乔纳斯•威尔克森的工作,每天都得亲自骑马到田里去来回巡视。既然母亲忙碌得每天只能道一声晚安,父亲又整天在大田里,思嘉便觉得塔拉这地方已无法待下去。甚至她的两个妹妹也各有心事,不得清闲。苏伦现在同弗兰克•肯尼迪达到了某种"默契",并以一种思嘉觉得几乎难以忍受的寓意在唱起《到这场残酷战争结束时》来了。还有卡琳,她太迷恋布伦特•塔尔顿了,也不能陪伴思嘉或给她带来什么乐趣。   尽管思嘉每回都是怀着愉快的心情到塔拉老家去的,但她收到皮蒂和媚兰不可避免地催她回来的信时,也并不觉得难过。倒是母亲在这种时候,想到她的长女和惟一的外孙即将离开她,总要长吁短叹,默默地伤心一番。   “但是我不能只顾自己把你留在这里,既然那边需要你在亚特兰大参加护理工作。”母亲说。"只是----只是,亲爱的,我总觉得还没有来得及跟你好好谈谈,没有好好地重新叙一叙母女之情,而你很快就走了。”“我永远是你的小女孩,”思嘉总是这样说,一面把头紧靠在母亲胸口,内心深感歉疚。她没有告诉母亲,她急于回到亚特兰大去不是要为南部联盟服务,而是因为在那里可以跳舞,还有许多情人。近来她向母亲隐瞒了许多事情,其中最重要的是瑞德•巴特勒经常到皮蒂帕特姑妈家来这件事。   在义卖会之后几个月里,瑞德每次进城都要来拜访皮蒂帕特姑妈家,然后带着思嘉一起坐马车外出,陪她去参加跳舞会和义卖会,并在医院外面等着把她送回家去。她也不再担心他会泄露她的秘密了,不过在意识深处仍潜藏着一个不安的记忆,即他目睹过她那件最丢人的事,知道她和艾希礼之间的真正关系。正是由于这个缘故,他每次跟她过不去时,她都不说什么。可是他却时常跟她过不去。   他已经三十五六岁了,比她曾经有过的任何情人都大,所以她在他跟前简直是个毫无办法的孩子,不能像对待那些年龄与她相近的情人那样来对待和支配他。他总是显得若无其事,仿佛世界上没有什么令人惊奇之处反而十分好玩似的;因此她即使被气得闷声不响了,也觉得自己给他带来了莫大的乐趣。她在他的巧妙引逗下往往会勃然大怒,因为她兼有父亲的爱尔兰人品性和从母亲那里继承来的略带狡黠的面容。在这以前,她是从来不控制自己的感情的,除非在母亲跟前,可如今为了避免他那得意的咧嘴冷笑,使不得不忍痛把已到嘴边的话也憋了回去。她恨不得他也发起脾气来,那时她就不会有处于这种不利地位的感觉了。   她几乎每次跟他斗嘴都没有占到便宜,事后总是狠狠地说这个人不行,不是上等人,没有教养,她再也不同他交往了。可是或迟或早,他又回到了亚特兰大,又假装来拜访皮蒂姑妈,以过分的殷勤送给思嘉一盒从纳索带来的糖果,或是在社交性的音乐会上抢先占一个思嘉身旁的座位,或者在舞会上紧盯着她,而她对他这种殷勤的厚脸皮态度照样感到高兴,总是笑呵呵的,宽恕了他过去的冒失,直到下一次再发生为止。   尽管他的有些品性叫人很恼火,她还是更加盼望他来拜访了。他身上有一种她无法理解而令人兴奋的东西,一种与她所认识的每个人都不一样的东西。他那魁伟俊美的身躯不乏惊人之处,因此只要他走进屋来就让你觉得突然受到肉体的冲击,同时那双黑眼睛流露着卤莽无礼和暗暗嘲笑的神色,这给思嘉以精神上的挑战,激起她下决心要把他降服。   “这几乎像是我已经爱上他了!"她心中暗想,有点莫名其妙。"不过,只是不明白究竟是怎么回事,我并没有。"可是那种兴奋的感觉依然存在,他每一次来看她们,他那全副的男性刚强之气总要使得皮蒂姑妈的这个富有教养的上等人家显得既狭小又暗淡,而且还有点迂腐味儿。思嘉并不是这个家庭中唯一对他产生奇异而非情愿反应的人,因为连皮蒂姑妈也被他逗得心慌意乱了。   皮蒂明明知道爱伦不会赞成巴特勒来看她的女儿,也知道查尔斯顿上流社会对他的排斥是一件不容忽视的事,可是她已抵制不住他那精心设计的恭维和殷勤,就像一只苍蝇经不起蜜糖缸的引诱那样。加之,他往往送给她一两件从纳索带来的小礼品,口称这是他冒着生命危险专门为她跑封锁线买来的----这些礼物无非是别针、织针、钮扣、丝线、发夹之类。不过,这种小小奢侈品现在也是很不容易得到手,以致妇女们只好戴手工做的木制卡,用布包橡子当钮扣,而皮蒂又缺乏道德上的毅力,只好接受巴特勒的馈赠了。此外,她还有一种孩子般的嗜好,喜欢新颖的包装,一看见这些礼品便忍不住要打开来看看,既然打开了又怎好再退还呢?于是,收下礼品之后,她就再也鼓不起勇气来说什么由于名声上的关系,他不适宜常来拜访这三位没有男性保护的单身妇女了。   的确这是不难想见的,只要瑞德•巴特勒在屋子里,皮蒂姑妈便觉得自己需要一位男性保护人。   “我不明白他究竟是怎么回事,"她时常无可奈何地叹息。   “可是----说真的,我觉得他很可能是个令人感到亲切的好人,如果只凭感觉来说的话----嗯,他在内心深处是尊重妇女的。"媚兰自从收到那只退回来的结婚戒指以后,便觉得瑞德•巴特勒是个难得那么文雅而精细的上等人,现在听皮蒂这样评论,还不免感到震惊呢。他一向对她很有礼貌,可是她在他面前总有点怯生生的,这主要是因为她跟每一个不是从小就认识的男人在一起时都会感到羞涩的缘故。她还暗暗地为他非常难过,这一点要是巴特勒知道了定会高兴的。她深信一定有某种罗曼蒂克的伤心事把他的生活给毁了,才使他变得这样强硬而苛刻,而他目前最需要的是一个好女人的爱。   她一向生活在深闺之中,从没见过会过什么恶人恶事,也很难相信它们是存在的,因此当她听到人们悄悄议论瑞德的那个女孩子在查尔斯顿发生的事情时,便大为震惊和难以相信。   所以,她不仅没有对他产生恶感,反而更加暗暗地同情他,觉得他蒙受了重大的冤屈,为之愤愤不平。   思嘉默默地同意皮蒂姑妈的看法,她也觉得巴特勒不尊重女人,只有对媚兰或许是例外。每当他的眼光从上到下打量着她的身躯时,她总觉得自己像没穿衣服似的,这倒并不是他说了什么。她是可以狠狠地教训他几句的,如果他说出来。可恶的是他那双眼睛从一张黝黑的脸上讨厌和肆无忌惮地向你瞧着时那副模样,仿佛所有的女人都不过是他自己高兴时享用的财产罢了。这副模样只有跟媚兰在一起时才不会出现。他望着媚兰时脸上从没有过的那种冷冷的起神态,眼睛里从没有嘲讽意味;她对媚兰说话时,声音也显得特别客气,尊敬,好像很愿意为她效劳似的。   “我不明白你为什么对媚兰比对我好得多,"有天下午思嘉不耐烦地对他说,她单独跟他在一起,当时媚兰和皮蒂睡午觉去了。   原来刚才有一个小时之久,她一直望着他手里拿着媚兰正在绾卷准备编织的那团毛线,也一直在注意媚兰详细而自豪地谈起艾希礼和他的晋升时那副又呆板又叫人看不透的表情。思嘉知道瑞德对艾希礼没有什么太高的评价,而且毫不关心他最近当上了少校的这件事。可是他却很有礼貌地在应酬媚兰,并喃喃地说了一些赞许艾希礼英勇的应酬话。   思嘉烦恼地想:要是我,只要一提起艾希礼的名字,他就会竖起眉毛讨厌地笑起来了!   “我比她漂亮得多,"她继续说道:“就是不理解你为什么偏偏对她更好一些。”“我敢说你是在妒忌吧?”“啊,别胡猜!”“你又使我失望了,如果说我对威尔克斯太太好一些,那是因为她值得这样。她是我生气很少见过的一个温厚、亲切而不自私的人。不过你或许没有注意到她的这些品性。而且,尽管她还年轻,她都是我有幸结识过的很少几位伟大女性之一呢。”“那么你是说你不认为我也是一位伟大女性喽?”“在我们头一次遇见时,我想,我们就彼此同意你根本不是个上等女人了。”“啊,看你再敢那么可恨,那么放肆地提起这件事来!你怎能凭那点小孩子偏偏就说我的坏话呢?而且那是许久以前的事了,如今我已经长大,要是你不经常提起来说个不休,我就压根儿把它忘记了。”“我并不认为那是小孩子脾气,也不相信你已经改了。只要你一不如意,即使今天,你还会像当时那样摔花瓶的。不过你现在大体上是称心惬意的,所以用不着摔那些小古董了。”“啊,你这----我真恨不得自己是个男人!那样我就要把你叫出去,把你----”“把我宰了,以消你心头之恨。可是我能在五十玛之外打中一个银币呢。最好还是抓住你自己的武器----酒窝呀,花瓶呀,等等,”“你简直是个流氓!”“你是想用这种辱骂来激怒我吗?我只能叫你失望。很遗憾,单凭一些符合实际的谩骂是不能让我生气的。我的确是个流氓,又怎能不是呢?在这个自由国家,只要自己高兴,人人都可以当流氓嘛。像你这样的人,亲爱的女士,明明心地是黑的却偏要掩盖它,而且一听到别人这样骂,你就大发雷霆,那才是伪君子呢。"在他冷静的微笑和慢条斯理的批评面前,她实在毫无办法,因为她以前从没碰到过这样难以对付的人,她的武器诸如蔑视、冷漠、谩骂,等等,现在都不好使用了,因为无论她怎么说都不能让他感到羞耻,根据 Chapter 13 UNDER MRS. MERRIWETHER’S GOADING, Dr. Meade took action, in the form of a letter tothe newspaper wherein be did not mention Rhett by name, though his meaning was obvious. Theeditor, sensing the social drama of the letter, put it on the second page of the paper, in itself astartling innovation, as the first two pages of the paper were always devoted to advertisements ofslaves, mules, plows, coffins, houses for sale or rent, cures for private diseases, abortifacients andrestoratives for lost manhood.   The doctor’s letter was the first of a chorus of indignation that was beginning to be heard allover the South against speculators, profiteers and holders of government contracts. Conditions inWilmington, the chief blockade port, now that Charleston’s port was practically sealed by theYankee gunboats, had reached the proportions of an open scandal. Speculators swarmedWilmington and, having the ready cash, bought up boatloads of goods and held them for a rise inprices. The rise always came, for with the increasing scarcity of necessities, prices leaped higherby the month. The civilian population had either to do without or buy at the speculators’ prices,and the poor and those in moderate circumstances were suffering increasing hardships. With therise in prices, Confederate money sank, and with its rapid fall there rose a wild passion forluxuries. Blockaders were commissioned to bring in necessities but now it was the higher-pricedluxuries that filled their boats to the exclusion of the things the Confederacy vitally needed. Peoplefrenziedly bought these luxuries with the money they had today, fearing that tomorrow’s priceswould be higher and the money worthless.   To make matters worse, there was only one railroad line from Wilmington to Richmond and,while thousands of barrels of flour and boxes of bacon spoiled and rotted in wayside stations forwant of transportation, speculators with wines, taffetas and coffee to sell seemed always able to gettheir goods to Richmond two days after they were landed at Wilmington.   The rumor which had been creeping about underground was now being openly discussed, thatRhett Butler not only ran his own four boats and sold the cargoes at unheard-of prices but boughtup the cargoes of other boats and held them for rises in prices. It was said that he was at the headof a combine worth more than a million dollars, with Wilmington as its headquarters for the purposeof buying blockade goods on the docks. They had dozens of warehouses in that city and inRichmond, so the story ran, and the warehouses were crammed with food and clothing that werebeing held for higher prices. Already soldiers and civilians alike were feeling the pinch, and themuttering against him and his fellow speculators was bitter.   “There are many brave and patriotic men in the blockade arm of the Confederacy’s navalservice,” ran the last of the doctor’s letter, “unselfish men who are risking their lives and all theirwealth that the Confederacy may survive. They are enshrined in the hearts of all loyal Southerners,and no one begrudges them the scant monetary returns they make for their risks. They are unselfishgentlemen, and we honor them. Of these men, I do not speak.   “But there are other scoundrels who masquerade under the cloak of the blockader for their ownselfish gains, and I call down the just wrath and vengeance of an embattled people, fighting in thejustest of Causes, on these human vultures who bring in satins and laces when our men are dyingfor want of quinine, who load their boats with tea and wines when our heroes are writhing for lack of morphia. I execrate these vampires who are sucking the lifeblood of the men who follow RobertLee—these men who are making the very name of blockader a stench in the nostrils of all patrioticmen. How can we endure these scavengers in our midst with their varnished boots when our boysare tramping barefoot into battle? How can we tolerate them with their champagnes and their patesof Strasbourg when our soldiers are shivering about their camp fires and gnawing moldy bacon? Icall upon every loyal Confederate to cast them out.”   Atlanta read, knew the oracle had spoken, and, as loyal Confederates, they hastened to castRhett out.   Of all the homes which had received him in the fall of 1862, Miss Pittypat’s was almost the onlyone into which he could enter in 1863. And, except for Melanie, he probably would not have beenreceived there. Aunt Pitty was in a state whenever he was in town. She knew very well what herfriends were saying when she permitted him to call but she still lacked the courage to tell him hewas unwelcome. Each time he arrived in Atlanta, she set her fat mouth and told the girls that shewould meet him at the door and forbid him to enter. And each time he came, a little package in hishand and a compliment for her charm and beauty on his lips, she wilted.   “I just don’t know what to do,” she would moan. “He just looks at me and I—I’m scared todeath of what he would do if I told him. He’s got such a bad reputation. Do you suppose he wouldstrike me—or—or— Oh, dear, if Charlie were only alive! Scarlett, you must tell him not to callagain—tell him in a nice way. Oh, me! I do believe you encourage him, and the whole town istalking and, if your mother ever finds out, what will she say to me? Melly, you must not be so niceto him. Be cool and distant and he will understand. Oh, Melly, do you think I’d better write Henrya note and ask him to speak to Captain Butler?”   “No, I don’t,” said Melanie. “And I won’t be rude to him, either. I think people are acting likechickens with their heads off about Captain Butler. I’m sure he can’t be all the bad things Dr.   Meade and Mrs. Merriwether say he is. He wouldn’t hold food from starving people. Why, he evengave me a hundred dollars for the orphans. I’m sure he’s just as loyal and patriotic as any of us andhe’s just too proud to defend himself. You know how obstinate men are when they get their backsup.”   Aunt Pitty knew nothing about men, either with their backs up or otherwise, and she could onlywave her fat little hands helplessly. As for Scarlett, she had long ago become resigned to Melanie’shabit of seeing good in everyone. Melanie was a fool, but there was nothing anybody could doabout it.   Scarlett knew that Rhett was not being patriotic and, though she would have died rather thanconfess it, she did not care. The little presents he brought her from Nassau, little oddments that alady could accept with propriety, were what mattered most to her. With prices as high as they were,where on earth could she get needles and bonbons and hairpins, if she forbade the house to him?   No, it was easier to shift the responsibility to Aunt Pitty, who after all was the head of the house,the chaperon and the arbiter of morals. Scarlett knew the town gossiped about Rhett’s calls, andabout her too; but she also knew that in the eyes of Atlanta Melanie Wilkes could do no wrong, andif Melanie defended Rhett his calls were still tinged with respectability.   However, life would be pleasanter if Rhett would recant his heresies. She wouldn’t have to suffer the embarrassment of seeing him cut openly when she walked down Peachtree Street withhim.   “Even if you think such things, why do you say them?” she scolded. “If you’d just think whatyou please but keep your mouth shut, everything would be so much nicer.”   “That’s your system, isn’t it, my green-eyed hypocrite? Scarlett, Scarlett! I hoped for morecourageous conduct from you. I thought the Irish said what they thought and the Divvil take thehindermost. Tell me truthfully, don’t you sometimes almost burst from keeping your mouth shut?”   “Well—yes,” Scarlett confessed reluctantly. “I do get awfully bored when they talk about theCause, morning, noon and night. But goodness, Rhett Butler, if I admitted it nobody would speakto me and none of the boys would dance with me!”   “Ah, yes, and one must be danced with, at all costs. Well, I admire your self-control but I do notfind myself equal to it. Nor can I masquerade in a cloak of romance and patriotism, no matter howconvenient it might be. There are enough stupid patriots who are risking every cent they have inthe blockade and who are going to come out of this war paupers. They don’t need me among theirnumber, either to brighten the record of patriotism or to increase the roll of paupers, Let them havethe haloes. They deserve them—for once I am being sincere—and, besides, haloes will be about allthey will have in a year or so.”   “I think you are very nasty to even hint such things when you know very well that England andFrance are coming in on our side in no time and—”   “Why, Scarlett! You must have been reading a newspaper! I’m surprised at you. Don’t do itagain. It addles women’s brains. For your information, I was in England, not a month ago, and I’lltell you this. England will never help the Confederacy. England never bets on the underdog. That’swhy she’s England. Besides, the fat Dutch woman who is sitting on the throne is a God-fearingsoul and she doesn’t approve of slavery. Let the English mill workers starve because they can’t getour cotton but never, never strike a blow for slavery. And as for France, that weak imitation ofNapoleon is far too busy establishing the French in Mexico to be bothered with us. In fact hewelcomes this war, because it keeps us too busy to run his troops out of Mexico. ... No, Scarlett,the idea of assistance from abroad is just a newspaper invention to keep up the morale of theSouth. The Confederacy is doomed. It’s living on its hump now, like the camel, and even thelargest of humps aren’t inexhaustible. I give myself about six months more of blockading and thenI’m through. After that, it will be too risky. And I’ll sell my boats to some foolish Englishman whothinks he can slip them through. But one way or the other, it’s not bothering me. I’ve made moneyenough, and it’s in English banks and in gold. None of this worthless paper for me.”   As always when he spoke, he sounded so plausible. Other people might call his utterancestreachery but, to Scarlett, they always rang with common sense and truth. And she knew that thiswas utterly wrong, knew she should be shocked and infuriated. Actually she was neither, but shecould pretend to be. It made her feel more respectable and ladylike.   “I think what Dr. Meade wrote about was right, Captain Butler. The only way to redeem yourselfis to enlist after you sell your boats. You’re a West Pointer and—”   “You talk like a Baptist preacher making a recruiting speech. Suppose I don’t want to redeem myself? Why should I fight to uphold the system that cast me out? I shall take pleasure in seeing itsmashed.”   “I never heard of any system,” she said crossly.   “No? And yet you are a part of it, like I was, and I’ll wager you don’t like it any more than I did.   Well, why am I the black sheep of the Butler family? For this reason and no other—I didn’tconform to Charleston and I couldn’t. And Charleston is the South, only intensified. I wonder ifyou realize yet what a bore it is? So many things that one must do because they’ve always beendone. So many things, quite harmless, that one must not do for the same reason. So many thingsthat annoyed me by their senselessness. Not marrying the young lady, of whom you have probablyheard, was merely the last straw. Why should I marry a boring fool, simply because an accidentprevented me from getting her home before dark? And why permit her wild-eyed brother to shootand kill me, when I could shoot straighter? If I had been a gentleman, of course, I would have lethim kill me and that would have wiped the blot from the Butler escutcheon. But—I like to live.   And so I’ve lived and I’ve had a good time. ... When I think of my brother, living among the sacredcows of Charleston, and most reverent toward them, and remember his stodgy wife and his SaintCecilia Balls and his everlasting rice fields—then I know the compensation for breaking with thesystem. Scarlett, our Southern way of living is as antiquated as the feudal system of the MiddleAges. The wonder is that it’s lasted as long as it has. It had to go and it’s going now. And yet youexpect me to listen to orators like Dr. Meade who tell me our Cause is just and holy? And get soexcited by the roll of drums that I’ll grab a musket and rush off to Virginia to shed my blood forMarse Robert? What kind of a fool do you think I am? Kissing the rod that chastised me is not inmy line. The South and I are even now. The South threw me out to starve once. I haven’t starved,and I am making enough money out of the South’s death throes to compensate me for my lostbirthright.”   “I think you are vile and mercenary,” said Scarlett, but her remark was automatic. Most of whathe was saying went over her head, as did any conversation that was not personal. But part of itmade sense. There were such a lot of foolish things about life among nice people. Having topretend that her heart was in the grave when it wasn’t. And how shocked everybody had beenwhen she danced at the bazaar. And the infuriating way people lifted their eyebrows every time shedid or said anything the least bit different from what every other young woman did and said. Butstill, she was jarred at hearing him attack the very traditions that irked her most. She had lived toolong among people who dissembled politely not to feel disturbed at hearing her own thoughts putinto words.   “Mercenary? No, I’m only farsighted. Though perhaps that is merely a synonym for mercenary.   At least, people who were not as farsighted as I will call it that. Any loyal Confederate who had athousand dollars in cash in 1861 could have done what I did, but how few were mercenary enoughto take advantage of their opportunities! As for instance, right after Fort Sumter fell and before theblockade was established, I bought up several thousand bales of cotton at dirt-cheap prices and ranthem to England. They are still there in warehouses in Liverpool. I’ve never sold them. I’mholding them until the English mills have to have cotton and will give me any price I ask. Iwouldn’t be surprised if I got a dollar a pound.”   “You’ll get a dollar a pound when elephants roost in trees!”   “I’ll believe I’ll get it. Cotton is at seventy-two cents a pound already. I’m going to be a richman when this war is over, Scarlett, because I was farsighted—pardon me, mercenary. I told youonce before that there were two times for making big money, one in the upbuilding of a countryand the other in its destruction. Slow money on the upbuilding, fast money in the crack-up.   Remember my words. Perhaps they may be of use to you some day.”   “I do appreciate good advice so much,” said Scarlett, with all the sarcasm she could muster.   “But I don’t need your advice. Do you think Pa is a pauper? He’s got all the money I’ll ever needand then I have Charles’ property besides.”   “I imagine the French aristocrats thought practically the same thing until the very moment whenthey climbed into the tumbrils.”   Frequently Rhett pointed out to Scarlett the inconsistency of her wearing black mourning clotheswhen she was participating in all social activities. He liked bright colors and Scarlett’s funeraldresses and the crêpe veil that hung from her bonnet to her heels both amused him and offendedhim. But she clung to her dull black dresses and her veil, knowing that if she changed them forcolors without waiting several more years, the town would buzz even more than it was alreadybuzzing. And besides, how would she ever explain to her mother?   Rhett said frankly that the crêpe veil made her look like a crow and the black dresses added tenyears to her age. This ungallant statement sent her flying to the mirror to see if she really did looktwenty-eight instead of eighteen.   “I should think you’d have more pride than to try to look like Mrs. Merriwether,” he taunted.   “And better taste than to wear that veil to advertise a grief I’m sure you never felt. I’ll lay a wagerwith you. I’ll have that bonnet and veil off your head and a Paris creation on it within twomonths.”   “Indeed, no, and don’t let’s discuss it any further,” said Scarlett, annoyed by his reference toCharles. Rhett, who was preparing to leave for Wilmington for another trip abroad, departed with agrin on his face.   One bright summer morning some weeks later, he reappeared with a brightly trimmed hatbox inhis hand and, after finding that Scarlett was alone in the house, he opened it. Wrapped in layers oftissue was a bonnet, a creation that made her cry: “Oh, the darling thing!” as she reached for it.   Starved for the sight, much less the touch, of new clothes, it seemed the loveliest bonnet she hadever seen. It was of dark-green taffeta, lined with water silk of a pale-jade color. The ribbons thattied under the chin were as wide as her hand and they, too, were pale green. And, curled about thebrim of this confection was the perkiest of green ostrich plumes.   “Put it on,” said Rhett, smiling.   She flew across the room to the mirror and plopped it on her head, pushing back her hair toshow her earrings and tying the ribbon under her chin.   “How do I look?” she cried, pirouetting for his benefit and tossing her head so that the plumedanced. But she knew she looked pretty even before she saw confirmation in his eyes. She looked attractively saucy and the green of the lining made her eyes dark emerald and sparkling.   “Oh, Rhett, whose bonnet is it? I’ll buy it. I’ll give you every cent I’ve got for it.”   “It’s your bonnet,” he said. “Who else could wear that shade of green? Don’t you think I carriedthe color of your eyes well in my mind?”   “Did you really have it trimmed just for me?”   “Yes, and there’s ‘Rue de la Paix’ on the box, if that means anything to you.”   It meant nothing to her, smiling at her reflection in the mirror. Just at this moment, nothingmattered to her except that she looked utterly charming in the first pretty hat she had put on herhead in two years. What she couldn’t do with this hat! And then her smile faded.   “Don’t you like it?”   “Oh, it’s a dream but— Oh, I do hate to have to cover this lovely green with crêpe and dye thefeather black.”   He was beside her quickly and his deft fingers untied the wide bow under her chin. In a momentthe hat was back in its box.   “What are you doing? You said it was mine.”   “But not to change to a mourning bonnet. I shall find some other charming lady with green eyeswho appreciates my taste.”   “Oh, you shan’t! I’ll die if I don’t have it! Oh, please, Rhett, don’t be mean! Let me have it.”   “And turn it into a fright like your other hats? No.”   She clutched at the box. That sweet thing that made her look so young and enchanting to begiven to some other girl? Oh, never! For a moment she thought of the horror of Pitty and Melanie.   She thought of Ellen and what she would say, and she shivered. But vanity was stronger.   “I won’t change it. I promise. Now, do let me have it.”   He gave her the box with a slightly sardonic smile and watched her while she put it on again andpreened herself.   “How much is it?” she asked suddenly, her face falling. “I have only fifty dollars but next month—”   “It would cost about two thousand dollars, Confederate money,” he said with a grin at herwoebegone expression.   “Oh, dear— Well, suppose I give you the fifty now and then when I get—”   “I don’t want any money for it,” he said, “It’s a gift.” Scarlett’s mouth dropped open. The linewas so closely, so carefully drawn where gifts from men were concerned.   “Candy and flowers, dear,” Ellen had said time and again, “and perhaps a book of poetry or analbum or a small bottle of Florida water are the only things a lady may accept from a gentleman.   Never, never any expensive gift, even from your fiancé. And never any gift of jewelry or wearingapparel, not even gloves or handkerchiefs. Should you accept such gifts, men would know you were no lady and would try to take liberties.”   “Oh, dear,” thought Scarlett, looking first at herself in the mirror and then at Rhett’s unreadableface. “I simply can’t tell him I won’t accept it. It’s too darling. I’d—I’d almost rather he took aliberty, if it was a very small one.” Then she was horrified at herself for having such a thought andshe turned pink.   “I’ll—I’ll give you the fifty dollars—”   “If you do I will throw it in the gutter. Or, better still buy masses for your soul. I’m sure yoursoul could do with a few masses.”   She laughed unwillingly, and the laughing reflection under the green brim decided her instantly.   “Whatever are you trying to do to me?”   I’m tempting you with fine gifts until your girlish ideals are quite worn away and you are at mymercy,” he said. “ ‘Accept only candy and flowers from gentlemen, dearie,’ ” he mimicked, andshe burst into a giggle.   “You are a clever, black-hearted wretch, Rhett Butler, and you know very well this bonnet’s toopretty to be refused.”   His eyes mocked her, even while they complimented her beauty.   “Of course, you can tell Miss Pitty that you gave me a sample of taffeta and green silk and drewa picture of the bonnet and I extorted fifty dollars from you for it.”   “No. I shall say one hundred dollars and she’ll tell everybody in town and everybody will begreen with envy and talk about my extravagance. But Rhett, you mustn’t bring me anything else soexpensive. It’s awfully kind of you, but I really couldn’t accept anything else.”   “Indeed? Well, I shall bring you presents so long as it pleases me and so long as I see things thatwill enhance your charms. I shall bring you dark-green watered silk for a frock to match thebonnet. And I warn you that I am not kind. I am tempting you with bonnets and bangles andleading you into a pit. Always remember I never do anything without reason and I never giveanything without expecting something in return. I always get paid.”   His black eyes sought her face and traveled to her lips. Scarlett cast down her eyes, excitementfilling her. Now, he was going to try to take liberties, just as Ellen predicted. He was going to kissher, or try to kiss her, and she couldn’t quite make up her flurried mind which it should be. If sherefused, he might jerk the bonnet right off her head and give it to some other girl. On the otherhand, if she permitted one chaste peck, he might bring her other lovely presents in the hope ofgetting another kiss. Men set such a store by kisses, though Heaven alone knew why. And lots oftimes, after one kiss they fell completely in love with a girl and made most entertaining spectaclesof themselves, provided the girl was clever and withheld her kisses after the first one. It would beexciting to have Rhett Butler in love with her and admitting it and begging for a kiss or a smile.   Yes, she would let him kiss her.   But he made no move to kiss her. She gave him a sidelong glance from under her lashes andmurmured encouragingly.   “So you always get paid, do you? And what do you expect to get from me?”   “That remains to be seen.”   “Well, if you think I’ll marry you to pay for the bonnet, I won’t,” she said daringly and gave herhead a saucy flirt that set the plume to bobbing.   His white teeth gleamed under his little mustache.   “Madam, you flatter yourself, I do not want to marry you or anyone else. I am not a marryingman.”   “Indeed!” she cried, taken aback and now determined that he should take some liberty. “I don’teven intend to kiss you, either.”   “Then why is your mouth all pursed up in that ridiculous way?”   “Oh!” she cried as she caught a glimpse of herself and saw that her red lips were indeed in theproper pose for a kiss. “Oh!” she cried again, losing her temper and stamping her foot. “You arethe horridest man I have ever seen and I don’t care if I never lay eyes on you again!”   “If you really felt that way, you’d stamp on the bonnet. My, what a passion you are in and it’squite becoming, as you probably know. Come, Scarlett, stamp on the bonnet to show me what youthink of me and my presents.”   “Don’t you dare touch this bonnet,” she said, clutching it by the bow and retreating. He cameafter her, laughing softly and took her hands in his.   “Oh, Scarlett, you are so young you wring my heart,” he said. “And I shall kiss you, as youseem to expect it,” and leaning down carelessly, his mustache just grazed her cheek. “Now, do youfeel that you must slap me to preserve the proprieties?”   Her lips mutinous, she looked up into his eyes and saw so much amusement in their dark depthsthat she burst into laughter. What a tease he was and how exasperating! If he didn’t want to marryher and didn’t even want to kiss her, what did he want? If he wasn’t in love with her, why did hecall so often and bring her presents?   “That’s better, he said. “Scarlett, I’m a bad influence on you and if you have any sense you willsend me packing—if you can. I’m very hard to get rid of. But I’m bad for you.”   “Are you?”   “Can’t you see it? Ever since I met you at the bazaar, your career has been most shocking andI’m to blame for most of it. Who encouraged you to dance? Who forced you to admit that youthought our glorious Cause was neither glorious nor sacred? Who goaded you into admitting thatyou thought men were fools to die for high-sounding principles? Who has aided you in giving theold ladies plenty to gossip about? Who is getting you out of mourning several years too soon? Andwho, to end all this, has lured you into accepting a gift which no lady can accept and still remain alady?”   “You flatter yourself, Captain Butler. I haven’t done anything so scandalous and I’d have doneeverything you mentioned without your aid anyway.”   “I doubt that,” he said and his face went suddenly quiet and somber. “You’d still be the brokenheartedwidow of Charles Hamilton and famed for your good deeds among the wounded.   Eventually, however—”   But she was not listening, for she was regarding herself pleasedly in the mirror again, thinkingshe would wear the bonnet to the hospital this very afternoon and take flowers to the convalescentofficers.   That there was truth in his last words did not occur to her. She did not see that Rhett had priedopen the prison of her widowhood and set her free to queen it over unmarried girls when her daysas a belle should have been long past. Nor did she see that under his influence she had come a longway from Ellen’s teachings. The change had been so gradual, the flouting of one small conventionseeming to have no connection with the flouting of another, and none of them any connection withRhett. She did not realize that, with his encouragement, she had disregarded many of the sternestinjunctions of her mother concerning the proprieties, forgotten the difficult lessons in being a lady.   She only saw that the bonnet was the most becoming one she ever had, that it had not cost her apenny and that Rhett must be in love with her, whether he admitted it or not. And she certainlyintended to find a way to make him admit it.   The next day, Scarlett was standing in front of the mirror with a comb in her hand and her mouthfull of hairpins, attempting a new coiffure which Maybelle, fresh from a visit to her husband inRichmond, had said was the rage at the Capital. It was called “Cats, Rats and Mice” and presentedmany difficulties. The hair was parted in the middle and arranged in three rolls of graduating sizeon each side of the head, the largest, nearest the part, being the “cat.” The “cat” and the “rat” wereeasy to fix but the “mice” kept slipping out of her hairpins in an exasperating manner. However,she was determined to accomplish it, for Rhett was coming to supper and he always noticed andcommented upon any innovation of dress or hair.   As she struggled with her bushy, obstinate locks, perspiration beading her forehead, she heardlight running feet in the downstairs hall and knew that Melanie was home from the hospital. As sheheard her fly up the stairs, two at a time, she paused, hairpin in mid-air, realizing that somethingmust be wrong, for Melanie always moved as decorously as a dowager. She went to the door andthrew it open, and Melanie ran in, her face flushed and frightened, looking like a guilty child.   There were tears on her cheeks, her bonnet was hanging on her neck by the ribbons and herhoops swaying violently. She was clutching something in her hand, and the reek of heavy cheapperfume came into the room with her.   “Oh, Scarlett!” she cried, shutting the door and sinking on the bed. “Is Auntie home yet? Sheisn’t? Oh, thank the Lord! Scarlett, I’m so mortified I could die! I nearly swooned and, Scarlett,Uncle Peter is threatening to tell Aunt Pitty!”   “Tell what?”   “That I was talking to that—to Miss—Mrs.—” Melanie fanned her hot face with herhandkerchief. “That woman with red hair, named Belle Watling!”   “Why, Melly!” cried Scarlett, so shocked she could only stare.   Belle Watling was the red-haired woman she had seen on the street the first day she came toAtlanta and by now, she was easily the most notorious woman in town. Many prostitutes hadflocked into Atlanta, following the soldiers, but Belle stood out above the rest, due to her flaminghair and the gaudy, overly fashionable dresses she wore. She was seldom seen on Peachtree Streetor in any nice neighborhood, but when she did appear respectable women made haste to cross thestreet to remove themselves from her vicinity. And Melanie had been talking with her. No wonderUncle Peter was outraged.   “I shall die if Aunt Pitty finds out! You know she’ll cry and tell everybody in town and I’ll bedisgraced,” sobbed Melanie. “And it wasn’t my fault. I—I couldn’t run away from her. It wouldhave been so rude. Scarlett, I—I felt sorry for her. Do you think I’m bad for feeling that way?”   But Scarlett was not concerned with the ethics of the matter. Like most innocent and well-bredyoung women, she had a devouring curiosity about prostitutes.   “What did she want? What does she talk like?”   “Oh, she used awful grammar but I could see she was trying so hard to be elegant, poor thing. Icame out of the hospital and Uncle Peter and the carriage weren’t waiting, so I thought I’d walkhome. And when I went by the Emersons’ yard, there she was hiding behind the hedge! Oh, thankHeaven, the Emersons are in Macon! And she said, ‘Please, Mrs. Wilkes, do speak a minute withme.’ I don’t know how she knew my name. I knew I ought to run as hard as I could but—well,Scarlett, she looked so sad and—well, sort of pleading. And she had on a black dress and blackbonnet and no paint and really looked decent but for that red hair. And before I could answer shesaid, ‘I know I shouldn’t speak to you but I tried to talk to that old peahen, Mrs. Elsing, and she ranme away from the hospital.’ ”   “Did she really call her a peahen?” said Scarlett pleasedly and laughed.   “Oh, don’t laugh. It isn’t funny. It seems that Miss—this woman, wanted to do something for thehospital—can you imagine it? She offered to nurse every morning and, of course, Mrs. Elsing musthave nearly died at the idea and ordered her out of the hospital. And then she said, ‘I want to dosomething, too. Ain’t I a Confedrut, good as you?’And, Scarlett, I was right touched at her wantingto help. You know, she can’t be all bad if she wants to help the Cause. Do you think I’m bad to feelthat way?”   “For Heaven’s sake, Melly, who cares if you’re bad? What else did she say?”   “She said she’d been watching the ladies go by to the hospital and thought I had—a—a kindface and so she stopped me. She had some money and she wanted me to take it and use it for thehospital -and not tell a soul where it came from. She said Mrs. Elsing wouldn’t let it be used if sheknew what kind of money it was. What kind of money! That’s when I thought I’d swoon! And Iwas so upset and anxious to get away, I just said: ‘Oh, yes, indeed, how sweet of you’ or somethingidiotic, and she smiled and said: That’s right Christian of you’ and shoved this duty handkerchiefinto my hand. Ugh, can you smell the perfume?”   Melanie held out a man’s handkerchief, soiled and highly perfumed, in which some coins wereknotted.   “She was saying thank you and something about bringing me some money every week and justthen Uncle Peter drove up and saw me!” Melly collapsed into tears and laid her head on the pillow.   “And when he saw who was with me, he—Scarlett, he hollered at me! Nobody has ever hollered atme before in my whole life. And he said. ‘You git in dis ayah cah’ige dis minute!’ Of course, I did,and all the way home he blessed me out and wouldn’t let me explain and said he was going to tellAunt Pitty. Scarlett, do go down and beg him not to tell her. Perhaps he will listen to you. It willkill Auntie if she knows I ever even looked that woman in the face. Will you?”   “Yes, I will. But let’s see how much money is in here. It feels heavy.”   She untied the knot and a handful of gold coins rolled out on the bed.   “Scarlett, there’s fifty dollars here! And in gold!” cried Melanie, awed, as she counted the brightpieces. “Tell me, do you think it’s all right to use this kind—well, money made—er—this way forthe boys? Don’t you think that maybe God will understand that she wanted to help and won’t careif it is tainted? When I think of how many things the hospital needs—”   But Scarlett was not listening. She was looking at the dirty handkerchief, and humiliation andfury were filling her. There was a monogram in the corner in which were the initials “R. K. B.” Inher top drawer was a handkerchief just like this, one that Rhett Butler had lent her only yesterdayto wrap about the stems of wild flowers they had picked. She had planned to return it to him whenhe came to supper tonight.   So Rhett consorted with that vile Watling creature and gave her money. That was where thecontribution to the hospital came from. Blockade gold. And to think that Rhett would have the gallto look a decent woman in the face after being with that creature! And to think that she could havebelieved he was in love with her! This proved he couldn’t be.   Bad women and all they involved were mysterious and revolting matters to her. She knew thatmen patronized these women for purposes which no lady should mention—or, if she did mentionthem, in whispers and by indirection and euphemism. She had always thought that only commonvulgar men visited such women. Before this moment, it had never occurred to her that nice men—that is, men she met at nice homes and with whom she danced—could possibly do such things. Itopened up an entirely new field of thought and one that was horrifying. Perhaps all men did this! Itwas bad enough that they forced their wives to go through such indecent performances but toactually seek out low women and pay them for such accommodation! Oh, men were so vile, andRhett Butler was the worst of them all!   She would take this handkerchief and fling it in his face and show him the door and never, neverspeak to him again. But no, of course she couldn’t do that. She could never, never let him knowshe even realized that bad women existed, much less that he visited them. A lady could never dothat.   “Oh,” she thought in fury. “If I just wasn’t a lady, what wouldn’t I tell that varmint!”   And, crumbling the handkerchief in her hand, she went down the stairs to the kitchen in searchof Uncle Peter. As she passed the stove, she shoved the handkerchief into the flames and withimpotent anger watched it burn.   在梅里韦瑟太太的怂勇下,米德大夫果断行动起来了。他给报社写了封信,其中虽然没有点瑞德的名,但意思是很明显的。编辑感觉了这封信的社会戏剧性,便把它发表在报纸的第二版,这本身就是一个惊人之举,因为报纸头两版经常专登广告,而这些广告又不外是出售奴隶、骡子、犁头、棺材、房屋、性病药、堕胎药和春药之类。   米德大夫的信是后来在南方普遍展开的一个声讨投机家、牟取暴利者和政府合同商的高潮的先声。在查尔斯顿港被北方炮艇严密封锁以后,威尔明顿成了封锁线贸易的主要港口,而那里的情况早已臭名昭著了。投机家们云集在威尔明顿,他们用手里的现款买下一船船货物囤积起来,待价而沽,高价是随时会来的,因为生活必需品愈来愈紧缺,物价月月上涨。老百姓要么不买,要买就得按投机商的价格付钱,这使得一般穷人和境况不佳的居民日子一天天不好过了。物价上涨的同时,南部联盟政府和纸币不断贬值,纸币越贬值人们就越发渴望看到奢侈品。跑封锁线的商人原来是受命进口必需品,同时被允许以经营奢侈品为副业,可现在的情况是船上塞满了高价的奢侈品,而南部联盟地区迫切需要的东西倒给挤掉了。人们用今天手中的货币疯狂抢购奢侈品,因为生怕明天的价格更高而货币更不值钱。   更糟糕的是,从威尔明顿到里士满只有一条铁路,成千上万桶的面粉和成千上万箱的咸肉由于运不出去堆在车站路旁,眼看着发霉、腐烂,而投机商的酒类、丝绸、咖啡,等等,却往往在威尔明顿上岸以后两天,就能运往里士满销售去了。   有桩一直在暗中流传的谣言如今已公开谈论起来,说是瑞德•巴特勒不仅经营自己的四艘船只,以前所未闻的高价卖出一船船货物,而且买下别人船上的东西囤积居奇。据说他还是某个组织的头领,这个组织拥有百万美元的资金,总部设在威尔明顿,专门在码头上收购那些通过封锁线去进的物资。据说他们在那个城市和里士满有好几十家货栈,里面堆满了食品、布匹,等着高价出售。如今军人和老百姓都同样感到生活紧张了,因此反对他及其同伙的怨声也一天天强烈起来。   “南部联盟海军服务公司的封锁科中有许多勇敢爱国的人,"米德大夫的信中最后写道,"他们公正无私,冒着牺牲性命和所有财产的危险在保护南部联盟。他们受到全体忠诚的南方人民的衷心爱戴,人民无不乐意捐献自己的一点点金钱来报答他们所作出的牺牲,他们是些无私的上等人,我们尊敬他们。关于这些人我没有什么好说的。   “不过另外有些败类,他们披着封锁线商人的伪装牟一己之私利,他们在人民因没有奎宁而濒于死亡时却运进绸缎和花边,在我们的英雄由于缺乏吗啡而忍痛挣扎时却用船只去装载茶叶和酒。因此,我要呼吁这个奋勇抵抗和为一种最公正的主义而战斗的民族,对这些人类中的兀鹰大张公愤,同声讨伐。我咀咒这些吸血鬼,他们吸吮着那些跟随罗伯特•李将军的勇士们的鲜血,他们使封锁线商人这个名字在爱国人士面前早已臭不可闻了。当我们的小伙子光着脚走上战场时,他们怎能容忍那些嗜尸鬼穿着铮亮的皮靴在我们当中大摇大摆呢?当我们的士兵在浑身哆嗦地围着营火啃霉烂的咸肉时,我们怎能容忍他们捧着珍馐美酒在后方作乐呢?我呼吁每个忠诚的南部联盟拥护者起来把他们撵走!"亚特兰大人读着这封信,知道檄文已经发布,于是他们这些忠诚的南部联盟拥护者赶快起来撵走巴特勒。   所有在一八六二年秋天接待过巴特勒的人家中,几乎惟独皮蒂姑妈家到一八六三年还容许他进入。而且,如果没有媚兰,他很可能在那里也无人接待。只要他在城里,皮蒂姑妈就有晕倒的危险,如果她允许他来拜访,她很清楚,她的那些朋友会说出些什么话来。可是她没有勇气声明他在这里不受欢迎,每次他一到亚特兰大,她便下决心并对两位姑娘说,她在门外迎着他并禁止他进屋里来。可是每次他来时,手里总拿着小包,嘴里是一起称赞她又美丽又迷人的恭维话,她也就畏缩了。   “我就是不知道怎么办好,"她诉苦说。"只消他看着我,我就----我就吓得没命了,不知我一说了他会干出什么事来。   他的名声已坏到了这个地步。你看,他会不会打我----或者----或者----啊,要是查理还活着就好了。思嘉,好声好气地告诉他,但一定得告诉他不要再来了。啊,我看你是在鼓励他,所以全城都在议论呢,而且要是你母亲发现了,她对我会怎么说呀?媚兰,你不要对他那么好了。要冷淡疏远一些,那样他就会明白的。哦,媚兰,你是不是觉得我最好给亨利写个条子去,让他跟巴特勒船长谈谈?”“不,我不觉得,"媚兰说。"而且我也决不会对他无礼。   我想人们对于巴特勒船长都像一群失了魂的小鸡似的瞎嚷嚷。他不会囤积粮食让人们挨饿,噢,我相信他不象米德大夫和梅里韦瑟太太说的那么坏。他还给了我一百美元的孤儿救济金呢。我相信他跟我们每个人一样是忠诚和爱国的,只不过他过于骄傲不屑出来为自己辩护罢了。你知道男人们一旦激怒了会变得多么固执的。"皮蒂姑妈对于男人啥也不懂,无论他们是发怒了还是怎么的,她只能摇着那双小小的胖手表示奈何不得。至于思嘉,她很久以来就对媚兰那种专门从好的方面看人的习惯不存希望了。媚兰是个傻瓜,在这一点上谁都对她没有办法。   思嘉知道瑞德并不爱国,而且,尽管她宁死也不承认,她对此毫不在乎。倒是他从纳索给她带来的那些小礼品,一个女人可以正正当当接受的小玩意,她却十分重视。在物价如此昂贵的情况下,如果还禁止他进门,她到哪里弄到针线、糖果和发夹呀?不,还是把责任推到皮蒂姑妈身上更顺当些,她毕竟是一家之主,是监护人和道德仲裁人嘛。愚蠢知道全城都在议论巴特勒的来访,也在议论她;可是她还知道,在亚特兰大人眼中媚兰•威尔克断断是不会干错事的,那么既然媚兰还在护着巴特勒,他的来访也就不至于太不体面了。   不过,如果瑞德放其他的那套异端邪说,生活就会惬意得多。那样,她同他在桃树街散步时就用不着因人们公然不理睬他而觉得尴尬了。   “即使你有这些想法也罢,又何必说出来呢?"她这样责备他。"要是你但凭自己的高兴爱想什么就想什么,可就是闭着嘴毫不声张,那一切都会好得多了。”“我的绿眼睛伪君子,那是你的办法,是不是?思嘉,思嘉!我希望你拿出更多的勇起来。我认为爱尔兰人是想什么说什么的,只有魔鬼才躲躲闪闪,请老实告诉我,难道你闭着嘴不说话时不觉得心里憋得要爆炸吗?”“唔,是的,"思嘉不大情愿地承认。"当人们从早晨到中午直到晚上尽谈什么主义时,我就觉得厌烦死了。可是我的天,瑞德•巴特勒,如果我承认了这一点,就谁都不跟我说话,哪个男孩子也不会跟我跳舞了!”“噢,对了,哪怕要付出最大的代价,总得有人伴着跳舞。   那么,我要佩服你这种自我克制的精神,不过我觉得我自己办不到。我不能披上罗曼蒂克的爱国的伪装,无论那样会多么方便。那种愚蠢的爱国者已经够多的了,他们把手里的每分钱都押在封锁线上,到头来,等到这场战争一结束,只落得一个穷光蛋。他们不需要我去加入他们的队伍,无论是为爱国主义史册添一分光彩还是给穷光蛋名单加上一个名字。   让他们去戴这些荣耀的光环吧。他们有资格戴的----这一次我总算诚恳了----此外,再过一年左右,那些要戴光环的人也全都会戴上的。”“我觉得你这人真是太卑鄙了,居然说出这样的话来,你明明知道英国和法国很快就会来帮助我们,而且----”“怎么,思嘉!你准是看过报纸了!我真替你吃惊。可再不要这样了,那会把女人的脑子弄坏的。不到一个月以前,我还在英国。关于你的消息,我要告诉你,英国决不会帮助南部联盟。英国决不会把赌注押在一条落水狗身上,这便是英国之所以成为英国。此外,目前坐在宝座上的那位荷兰胖女人是敬畏上帝的,她不赞成奴隶制。即使英国棉纺厂的工人由于得不到我们的棉花而饿肚子,它也决不会为奴隶制而斗争的。至于法国,正在墨西哥忙于建设法国区,;这个拿破仑的孱弱模仿者,根本不可能为我们操心了。事实上,因为这会牵制我们而不能去赶走在墨西哥的法国军队,他们欢迎这场战争,……不,思嘉,国外援助这个概念只不过是报纸发明出来用以维持南方士气的一个法宝而已。南部联盟的命运已经注定了。它现在像一匹骆驼,靠它的驼峰维持生命,可是连最大的驼峰也有消耗干净的一天呢。我给自己打了个在封锁线再跑六个月的算盘,以后就完了。再下去就太冒风险了。那时我要把船只卖给一个自以为还能干下去的英国人。但是不管怎样,这不会叫我为难的。我已经赚了够多的钱,都存在英国的银行里,而且全是金币。这不值钱的纸币已与我毫不相干了。"他还是像往常那样,话说得似乎很有道理。别人可能说他的话是叛国言论,但思嘉听来却是真实的,合乎情理的。她知道这可能完全错了,她应当感到震惊和愤怒才是。实际上她既不震惊也不愤怒,不过她可以装成那样,那会使她显得可敬一些,更像个上等人家的闺秀。   “我认为米德大夫写的有关你的那些话都是对的,巴特勒船长。惟一挽救的办法是你把船卖掉之后立即去参军。你是西点军校出身的,而且----”“你这话很象是个牧师在发表招兵演说了。要是我不想挽救自己又怎么样?我要眼看着它被彻底粉碎才高兴呢。我干吗要去拼命维护那个把我抛弃了的制度呀?”“我可从来没听说过什么制度。"她很不以为然地说。   “没听说过?可你自己就是属于它的一分子,跟我一样,而且我敢肯定你也像我这样,并不喜欢它。再说,我为什么成了巴特勒家族中的不肖子呢?原因不是别的,就在这里----我跟查尔斯顿不一致,也没法跟它一致。而查尔斯顿可以代表南方,只不过更加厉害而已。我想你大概还不明白那是个多么讨厌的地方吧?有许多事情仅仅因为人们一直在做,你也就不得不做。另有许多事情是完全没有坏处的,可是为了同样的原因你就决不能去做。还有许多事情是由于毫无意思而使我腻烦透了。就说我没有娶那位你大约听说过的年轻女人吧,那仅仅是问题爆发的最后一个方面罢了。我为什么要娶一个讨厌的傻瓜,仅仅因为受到某种意外事故的干扰未能把她在天黑之前送到家里吗?又为什么要让她那个凶暴的兄弟在我能够打得更准的情况下来开枪打死我呢?当然,假如我是个上等人,我就会让他把我打死,这样就可以洗刷巴特勒家教上的污点了。可是----我要活呀!我就是这样活了下来,并且活得很舒服呢。……每当我想起我的兄弟,他生活在查尔斯顿的神圣牛群里,对他们很尊敬;我记其他那个粗笨的老婆和他的圣塞西利亚舞会,以及他那些令人厌倦的稻田----想到这些,我就认识了与那个制度决裂所得到的报偿。   思嘉,我们南方的生活方式是跟中世纪封建制度一样陈旧的。   令人惊奇的是它居然持续了这么久。它早就该消失,并且正在消失。不过,你还希望我去听像米德大夫这样的演说家告诉我,说我们的主义是公正而神圣的吗?要我在隆隆的鼓声中变得那样激动,以致会抓起枪杆子冲到弗吉尼亚去为罗伯特老板流血吗?你认为我是一个什么样的傻瓜呢?给人家鞭打了一顿还去吻他的鞭子,这可不是属于我干的那个行业。如今南方和我是两清了,谁也不欠谁的了。南方曾经把我抛弃,让我饿死。我没有饿死,倒是从南方的濒死挣扎中捞到了足够的金钱来赔偿我所丧失的与生俱来的权力了。”“我看你这个人很卑鄙,惟利是图,"思嘉说,不过口气是机械的。他所说的话大多从她耳边滑过去了,就像每次与已无关的谈话一样。不过其中的一部分她能理解,她也觉得上等人的生活中的确有许多愚蠢的事情。比如说,不得不假装自己的心已进入坟墓,而实际上并没有。而且,她在那次义卖会上跳舞时人人都大为震惊呢。又比方,她每次做了或说了些什么稍稍与别的年轻女人所说所做不同的事,人家就会气得把眉毛都竖起来了。不过,她听到他攻击那个她自己也最厌恶的传统时,还是觉得刺耳的。因为一般人在听到别人说出他们自己的心思时,总是委婉地掩饰着并不惊慌的感觉,而她在这些人中生活是太久了,怎能不受影响呢?   “惟利是图?不,我只是有远见罢了。尽管这也许不过是惟利是图的一个同义词。至少,那些和我一样有远见的人会这样说。只要他1861年手头有一百美元的现金,任何一个忠于南部联盟的人,都会像我这样干的,可是,真正惟利是图能够利用他们的机会的人又多么少啊!举例说,在萨姆特要塞刚刚陷落而封锁线还没有建成的时候,我以滥贱的价格买进了几千包棉花,并把它们运往英国。它们至今还存放在利物浦货栈里,一直没有出售。我要保持到英国棉纺厂极需棉花并愿意按我的要价购买时才放手。到时候,即使卖一美元一磅,也是不足为奇的。”“等到大象在树林里做窝时,你就可以卖一美元一磅了!”“现在棉花已涨到72美分一磅。我相信会卖到这个价的。   思嘉,这场战争结束时我会成为一个富翁,因为我有远见----唔,对不起,是惟利是图。我曾经告诉过你,有两个时期是可以赚大钱的,一是在建设一个国家的时候,一是在一个国家被毁坏的时候。建设时赚钱慢,崩溃时赚钱快,记住我的话吧。也许有一天你是用得上的。”“我非常欣赏好的忠告,"思嘉用尽可能强烈的讽刺口吻说。"不过我不需要你的忠告,你认为我爸是个穷光蛋吗?他可有足够的钱供我花呢,而且我还有查尔斯的财产。”“我能想象到,法国贵族直到爬进囚车那一刻,也一直是这样想的。"思嘉每次参加社会活动,瑞德总是指出这同她身穿黑色丧服是不协调的。他喜欢鲜艳的颜色,因此思嘉身上的丧服和那条从帽子一直拖到脚跟的绉纱头巾使他感到既好玩又不舒服,可是她坚持穿戴这些服丧的深色衣物,因为知道如果不再等几年就改穿漂亮的颜色,全城的人就会比现在更加窃窃私语地议论起来。何况,她又怎样向母亲解释呢?   那条绉纱头巾使她活像只乌鸦,瑞德坦率地说,而那身黑衣服则使她显得老了十岁。这种不雅的说法逼得她赶快跑到镜子前去照照,究竟自己是不是像个二十八岁的人了。   “我觉得你应当把自己看重些,不要去学梅里韦瑟太太那样,"他挪揄地说。”趣味要高尚一点,不要用那条纱巾来表现自己实际上从来没有过的悲哀。我敢跟你打赌,这是假的。   我真希望在两个月内就叫你把这帽子和纱巾摘掉,戴上一顶巴黎式的。”“真的?不,请你不要再谈这件事了,"思嘉说,她不高兴瑞德老是叫她想起查尔斯。这时瑞德正准备动身到威尔明顿去,从那里再到国外去跑一趟,所以他没有多说,咧嘴一笑便离开了。   几星期后,一个晴朗的夏日早晨,他拿着一只装满漂亮的帽匣子来了,这时他发现思嘉一个人在屋里,便把匣子打开。里面用一层薄绢包着一顶非常精致的帽子,思嘉一见便惊叫起来:“阿,这宝贝儿!"很久很久没看见新衣裳了,更不用说亲手去摸了。何况这样一顶她从没见过的最可爱的帽子呢!这是用暗绿色塔夫绸做成的,里面衬着淡绿色水纹绸。   而且,这件绝妙精制品的帽檐周围还装饰着洋洋得意似的驼鸟毛呢。   “把它戴上,"瑞德微笑着说。   她飞也似的跑到镜子跟前,把帽子噗的一下戴到头上,把头发往后推推,露出那对耳坠子来,然后系好带子。   “好看吗?”她边嚷边旋转着让他看最美的姿势,同时晃着脑袋叫那些羽毛跳个不停。不过,她用不着看他那赞赏的眼光就知道自己显得有多美了。她的确显得又妩媚又俏皮,而那淡绿色衬里更把她的眼睛辉映成深悲翠一般闪闪发亮了。   “唔,瑞德,这帽子是谁的?我想买。我愿意把手头所有的钱都拿出来。”“就是你的呀,"他说。"还有谁配戴这种绿色呀?你不觉得我把你这眼睛的颜色记得十分精确吗?”“你真的是替我选配的吗?”“真的。你看盒子上还有'和平路'几个法文字呢。如果你觉得这多么能说明问题的话。"她并不觉得这有什么意思,只一味朝镜子里的影像微笑。   在这个时刻,除了她两年以来头一次戴上了这么漂亮的帽了并显得分外地迷人之外,任何事情都无所谓了。有了这顶帽子,她还有什么事办不到呀!可是随即她的笑容渐渐消失了。   “你喜欢它吗?”   “唔,这简直是像个梦,不过----唔,我恨自己不得不用黑纱罩住这可爱的绿色并把羽毛染成黑色的。"他即刻站到了她身边,用熟练的手指把她下巴底下的结带解开。不一会儿帽子就放回到盒子里了。   “你说过这是我的呀!你这是干什么?”   “可它并不是给你改做丧帽的。我会找到另一位绿眼睛的漂亮太太,她会欣赏我的选择的。”“啊,你不能这样!我宁死也得要它!啊,求求你,瑞德,别这样小气!给了我吧!”“把它改成跟你旁的帽子一样的丑八怪?不行。"她抓住盒子不放。要把这个使她变得如此年轻而妩媚的宝贝给别的女孩子?啊,休想!她也曾暂时想起皮蒂和媚兰的惊慌模样,她想起母亲和她可能要说的话。不由得打了一个寒噤。可是,虚荣心毕竟更有力量。   “我答应你,我不会改它。就给了我吧。"他把盒子给她,脸上流露着微带嘲讽的笑容,望着她把帽子再一次戴上并端详自己的容貌。   “这要多少钱?"她突然沉下脸来问。"我手头只有50美元,不过下个月----”“按南部联盟的钱算,这大约值两千美元左右。”“啊,我的天----好吧,就算我现在给你50,以后,等我有了----”“我不要钱,"他说。"这是礼物。"思嘉的一张嘴张开不响了。在接受男人的礼物方面,界线可画得又严密又谨慎呢。   “糖果和鲜花,亲爱的,"爱伦曾经屡次说,"也许一本诗集,或者一个像册本,一小瓶香水,只有这些,男人送给你时可以接受。凡是贵重礼物,哪怕是你的未婚夫送的,都千万不能接受。千万不要接受首饰和穿戴的东西,连手套和手绢也不能要。你如果收了这样的礼物,男人们就会认为你不是个上等女人,就会对你放肆了。”“啊,乖乖!"思嘉心想,先看了看镜子里自己的形相,然后看着瑞德那张神秘莫测的脸。"这太可爱了。我简直没法告诉他我不能接受。我宁愿----我几乎宁愿让他放肆一下,如果只有个小动作的话。"这时她不禁对自己也觉得惊恐,怎么会有这样的想法呢,于是脸红了。   “我要----我要给你那50美元----”   “如果你这样,我就把它扔了。或者,还不如花钱为你的灵魂作作弥撒。我相信,你的灵魂是需要作几次弥撒的。"她勉强笑笑,可是一起见镜子里那绿帽檐底下的笑影便立即下决心了。   “你究竟要对我怎么样呢?”   “我是在用好东西引诱你,把你那些女孩子的空想磨掉,然后服从我的支配,”他说。“'从男人那里只能接受糖果和鲜花呀,亲爱的!'"他取笑似的模仿着,她也格格地笑了。   “瑞德•巴特勒,你这个又狡诈又黑心的坏蛋,而且你明明知道这帽子太漂亮了,谁还会拒绝呢。"他的两只眼睛在嘲笑她,即使同时在称赞她的美貌。   “当然喽,你可以对皮蒂小姐说,你给了我一个塔夫绸和绿水绸的样品,并画了张图,而后我向你勒索了五十美元。”“不,我要说是一百美元,她听了会告诉城里的每一个人,然后人人都会对我眼红,议论我多么奢侈。不过,瑞德,你以后不要再给我带这样贵重的东西好吗?你这已经是太慷慨了,我实在不能接受别的了。”“真的?可是,只要我认为能增加你的魅力,只要我觉得喜欢,我还要继续带些礼物来。我要给你带些暗绿色水纹绸来做一件长袍。好跟这顶帽子相配。不过我要警告你,我这人并不慷慨。我是在用帽子和镯子引诱你,引你上钩。请经常记住,我每做一件事都有自己的动机,从来不做那种没有报酬的傻事。我总是要得到报偿的。"他的黑眼睛在她脸上搜索,移到了她的嘴唇上,思嘉垂下眼来,浑身激动。现在,就像爱伦说的那样。他准备要放肆了,他要吻她,或者试图吻她,可是她心慌意乱打不定主意,不知怎么办才好。要是她拒绝呢,他就可能一把将帽子从她头上摘下来,拿去给别的女人。反之,要是允许他规规矩矩亲一下呢,他就可能再给她带些可爱的礼物来,希望再一次吻她。男人总是非常重视亲吻的,其中的缘故只有天知道。往往有这样的情况,吻过一次就不再给吻了的话,他就会大出洋相,显得十分有趣。要是瑞德•巴特勒爱上了她,并且自己承认了,求她接一个吻或笑一笑,那才带劲呢。是的,她愿意让他吻。   但是他没有来吻她,她从眼睫毛底下瞟了他一眼,并用挑逗的口气低声说:“你总是要得到报偿的,是这样吗?那么你想从我这里得到什么呢?”“那得等着瞧了。”“唔,要是你觉得我为了偿付那顶帽子便会嫁给你,那是不会的,"她大胆地说,同时俏皮地把头晃了晃,让帽子上的羽毛抖动起来。   他那雪亮的牙齿在一小撮髭须下微微一露,仿佛要笑似的。   “你这是在恭维自己了,太太,我是不准备结婚的。我并不想娶你或任何别的女人。”“真的!"她吃惊地叫了一声,同时断定他就要放肆了。   “我连吻也不想吻你呢。”   “那你为什么把嘴撮成那么个可笑的模样呀?”“啊!"她向镜子里瞧了一眼,发现自己的红嘴唇的确是个准备接吻的姿势,气得连连顿脚。不禁又嚷了一声,”你是我所见过的最可怕的人了,我真的再也不想见到你了!”“要是你真的这么想,你就会把帽子丢在地上踩起来。哎哟哟,看 Chapter 14 HOPE WAS ROLLING HIGH in every Southern heart as the summer of 1863 came in. Despiteprivation and hardships, despite food speculators and kindred scourges, despite death and sicknessand suffering which had now left their mark on nearly every family, the South was again saying“One more victory and the war is over,” saying it with even more happy assurance than in thesummer before. The Yankees were proving a hard nut to crack but they were cracking at last.   Christmas of 1862 had been a happy one for Atlanta, for the whole South. The Confederacy hadscored a smashing victory at Fredericksburg and the Yankee dead and wounded were counted inthe thousands. There was universal rejoicing in that holiday season, rejoicing and thankfulness thatthe tide was turning. The army in butternut were now seasoned fighters, their generals had proventheir mettle, and everyone knew that when the campaign reopened in the spring, the Yankeeswould be crushed for good and all.   Spring came and the fighting recommenced. May came and the Confederacy won another greatvictory at Chancellorsville. The South roared with elation.   Closer at home, a Union cavalry dash into Georgia had been turned into a Confederate triumph.   Folks were still laughing and slapping each other on the back and saying: “Yes, sir! When oldNathan Bedford Forrest gets after them, they better git!” Late in April, Colonel Straight andeighteen hundred Yankee cavalry had made a surprise raid into Georgia, aiming at Rome, only alittle more than sixty miles north of Atlanta. They had ambitious plans to cut the vitally importantrailroad between Atlanta and Tennessee and then swing southward into Atlanta to destroy thefactories and the war supplies concentrated there in that key city of the Confederacy.   It was a bold stroke and it would have cost the South dearly, except for Forrest. With only one-third as many men—but what men and what riders!—he had started after them, engaged thembefore they even reached Rome, harassed them day and night and finally captured the entire force!   The reached Atlanta almost simultaneously with the news of the victory atChancellorsvi(news) lle, and the town fairly rocked with exultation and with laughter. Chancellorsvillemight be a more important victory but the capture of Streight’s raiders made the Yankees positivelyridiculous.   “No, sir, they’d better not fool with old Forrest,” Atlanta said gleefully as the story was told overand over.   The tide of the Confederacy’s fortune was running strong and full now, sweeping the peoplejubilantly along on its flood. True, the Yankees under Grant had been besieging Vicksburg sincethe middle of May. True, the South had suffered a sickening loss when Stonewall Jackson had beenfatally wounded at Chancellorsville. True, Georgia had lost one of her bravest and most brilliantsons when General T. R. R. Cobb had been killed at Fredericksburg. But the Yankees just couldn’tstand any more defeats like Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville. They’d have to give in, and thenthis cruel war would be over.   The first days of July came and with them the rumor, later confirmed by dispatches, that Leewas marching into Pennsylvania. Lee in the enemy’s territory! Lee forcing battle! This was the last fight of the war!   Atlanta was wild with excitement, pleasure and a hot thirst for vengeance. Now the Yankeeswould know what it meant to have the war carried into their own country. Now they’d know whatit meant to have fertile fields stripped, horses and cattle stolen, houses burned, old men and boysdragged off to prison and women and children turned out to starve.   Everyone knew what the Yankees had done in Missouri, Kentucky, Tennessee and Virginia.   Even small children could recite with hate and fear the horrors the Yankees had inflicted upon theconquered territory. Already Atlanta was full of refugees from east Tennessee, and the town hadheard firsthand stories from them of what suffering they had gone through. In that section, theConfederate sympathizers were in the minority and the hand of war fell heavily upon them, as itdid on all the border states, neighbor informing against neighbor and brother killing brother. Theserefugees cried out to see Pennsylvania one solid sheet of flame, and even the gentlest of old ladieswore expressions of grim pleasure.   But when the trickled back that Lee had issued orders that no private property in Pennsylvaniashouldbe(news) touched, that looting would be punished by death and that the army wouldpay for every article it requisitioned—then it needed all the reverence the General had earned tosave his popularity. Not turn the men loose in the rich storehouses of that prosperous state? Whatwas General Lee thinking of? And our boys so hungry and needing shoes and clothes and horses!   A hasty note from Darcy Meade to the doctor, the only first-hand information Atlanta receivedduring those first days of July, was passed from hand to hand, with mounting indignation.   “Pa, could you manage to get me a pair of boots? I’ve been barefooted for two weeks now and Idon’t see any prospects of getting another pair. If I didn’t have such big feet I could get them offdead Yankees like the other boys, but I’ve never yet found a Yankee whose feet were near as big asmine. If you can get me some, don’t mail them. Somebody would steal them on the way and Iwouldn’t blame them. Put Phil on the train and send him up with them. I’ll write you soon, wherewe’ll be. Right now I don’t know, except that we’re marching north. We’re in Maryland now andeverybody says we’re going on into Pennsylvania. …“Pa, I thought that we’d give the Yanks a taste of their own medicine but the General says No,and personally I don’t care to get shot just for the pleasure of burning some Yank’s house. Pa,today we marched through the grandest cornfields you ever saw. We don’t have corn like this downhome. Well, I must admit we did a bit of private looting in that corn, for we were all pretty hungryand what the General don’t know won’t hurt him. But that green corn didn’t do us a bit of good.   All the boys have got dysentery anyway, and that corn made it worse. It’s easier to walk with a legwound than with dysentery. Pa, do try to manage some boots for me. I’m a captain now and acaptain ought to have boots, even if be hasn’t got a new uniform or epaulets.”   But the army was in Pennsylvania—that was all that mattered. One more victory and the warwould be over, and then Darcy Meade could have all the boots he wanted, and the boys wouldcome marching home and everybody would be happy again. Mrs. Meade’s eyes grew wet as shepictured her soldier son home at last, home to stay.   On the third of July, a sudden silence fell on the wires from the north, a silence that lasted till midday of the fourth when fragmentary and garbled reports began to trickle into headquarters inAtlanta. There had been hard fighting in Pennsylvania, near a little town named Gettysburg, a greatbattle with all Lee’s army massed. The news was uncertain, slow in coming, for the battle had beenfought in the enemy’s territory and the reports came first through Maryland, were relayed toRichmond and then to Atlanta.   Suspense grew and the beginnings of dread slowly crawled over the town. Nothing was so badas not knowing what was happening. Families with sons at the front prayed fervently that theirboys were not in Pennsylvania, but those who knew their relatives were in the same regiment withDarcy Meade clamped their teeth and said it was an honor for them to be in the big fight thatwould lick the Yankees for good and all.   In Aunt Pitty’s house, the three women looked into one another’s eyes with fear they could notconceal. Ashley was in Darcy’s regiment.   On the fifth came evil tidings, not from the North but from the West. Vicksburg had fallen, fallenafter a long and bitter siege, and practically all the Mississippi River, from St. Louis to NewOrleans was in the hands of the Yankees. The Confederacy had been cut in two. At any other time,the news of this disaster would have brought fear and lamentation to Atlanta. But now they couldgive little thought to Vicksburg. They were thinking of Lee in Pennsylvania, forcing battle.   Vicksburg’s loss would be no catastrophe if Lee won in the East. There lay Philadelphia, NewYork, Washington. Their capture would paralyze the North and more than cancel off the defeat onthe Mississippi.   The hours dragged by and the black shadow of calamity brooded over the town, obscuring thehot sun until people looked up startled into the sky as if incredulous that it was clear and blueinstead of murky and heavy with scudding clouds. Everywhere, women gathered in knots, huddledin groups on front porches, on sidewalks, even in the middle of the streets, telling each other thatno news is good news, trying to comfort each other, trying to present a brave appearance. Buthideous rumors that Lee was killed, the battle lost, and enormous casualty lists coming in, fled upand down the quiet streets like darting bats. Though they tried not to believe, wholeneighborhoods, swayed by panic, rushed to town, to the newspapers, to headquarters, pleading fornews, any news, even bad news.   Crowds formed at the depot, hoping for news from incoming trains, at the telegraph office, infront of the harried headquarters, before the locked doors of the newspapers. They were oddly stillcrowds, crowds that quietly grew larger and larger. There was no talking. Occasionally an oldman’s treble voice begged for news, and instead of inciting the crowd to babbling it onlyintensified the hush as they heard the oft-repeated: “Nothing on the wires yet from the Northexcept that there’s been fighting.” The fringe of women on foot and in carriages grew greater andgreater, and the heat of the close-packed bodies and dust rising from restless feet were suffocating.   The women did not speak, but their pale set faces pleaded with a mute eloquence that was louderthan wailing.   There was hardly a house in town that had not sent away a son, a brother, a father, a lover, ahusband, to this battle. They all waited to hear the news that death had come to their homes. Theyexpected death. They did not expect defeat. That thought they dismissed. Their men might be dying, even now, on the sun-parched grass of the Pennsylvania hills. Even now the Southern ranksmight be falling like grain before a hailstorm, but the Cause for which they fought could never fall.   They might be dying in thousands but, like the fruit of the dragon’s teeth, thousands of fresh menin gray and butternut with the Rebel yell on their lips would spring up from the earth to take theirplaces. Where these men would come from, no one knew. They only knew, as surely as they knewthere was a just and jealous God in Heaven, that Lee was miraculous and the Army of Virginiainvincible.   Scarlett, Melanie and Miss Pittypat sat in front of the Daily Examiner office in the carriage withthe top back, sheltered beneath their parasols. Scarlett’s hands shook so that her parasol wobbledabove her head, Pitty was so excited her nose quivered in her round face like a rabbit’s, butMelanie sat as though carved of stone, her dark eyes growing larger and larger as time went by.   She made only one remark in two hours, as she took a vial of smelling salts from her reticule andhanded it to her aunt, the only time she had ever spoken to her, in her whole life, with anything buttenderest affection.   “Take this, Auntie, and use it if you feel faint. I warn you if you do faint you’ll just have to faintand let Uncle Peter take you home, for I’m not going to leave this place till I hear about—till Ihear. And I’m not going to let Scarlett leave me, either.”   Scarlett had no intention of leaving, no intention of placing herself where she could not have thefirst news of Ashley. No, even if Miss Pitty died, she wouldn’t leave this spot. Somewhere, Ashleywas fighting, perhaps dying, and the newspaper office was the only place where she could learn thetruth.   She looked about the crowd, picking out friends and neighbors, Mrs. Meade with her bonnetaskew and her arm though that of fifteen-year-old Phil; the Misses McLure trying to make theirtrembling upper lips cover their buck teeth; Mrs. Elsing, erect as a Spartan mother, betraying herinner turmoil only by the straggling gray locks that hung from her chignon; and Fanny Elsingwhite as a ghost (Surely Fanny wouldn’t be so worried about her brother Hugh. Had she a realbeau at the front that no one suspected?) Mrs. Merriwether sat in her carriage patting Maybelle’shand. Maybelle looked so very pregnant it was a disgrace for her to be out in public, even if shedid have her shawl carefully draped over her. Why should she be so worried? Nobody had heardthat the Louisiana troops were in Pennsylvania. Probably her hairy little Zouave was safe inRichmond this very minute.   There was a movement on the outskirts of the crowd and those on foot gave way as Rhett Butlercarefully edged his horse toward Aunt Pitty’s carriage. Scarlett thought: He’s got courage, cominghere at this time when it wouldn’t take anything to make this mob tear him to pieces because heisn’t in uniform. As he came nearer, she thought she might be the first to rend him. How dared hesit there on that fine horse, in shining boots and handsome white linen suit so sleek and well fed,smoking an expensive cigar, when Ashley and all the other boys were fighting the Yankees,barefooted, sweltering in the heat, hungry, their bellies rotten with disease?   Bitter looks were thrown at him as he came slowly through the press. Old men growled in theirbeards, and Mrs. Merriwether who feared nothing rose slightly in her carriage and said clearly:   “Speculator!” in a tone that made the word the foulest and most venomous of epithets. He paid noheed to anyone but raised his hat to Melly and Aunt Pitty and, riding to Scarlett’s side, leaneddown and whispered: “Don’t you think this would be the time for Dr. Meade to give us his familiarspeech about victory perching like a screaming eagle on our banners?”   Her nerves taut with suspense, she turned on him as swiftly as an angry cat, hot words bubblingto her lips, but he stopped them with a gesture.   “I came to tell you ladies,” he said loudly, “that I have been to headquarters and the firstcasualty lists are coming in.”   At these words a hum rose among those near enough to hear his remark, and the crowd surged,ready to turn and run down Whitehall Street toward headquarters.   “Don’t go,” he called, rising in his saddle and holding up his hand. “The lists have been sent toboth newspapers and are now being printed. Stay where you are!”   “Oh, Captain Butler,” cried Melly, turning to him with tears in her eyes. “How kind of you tocome and tell us! When will they be posted?”   “They should be out any minute, Madam. The reports have been in the offices for half an hournow. The major in charge didn’t want to let that out until the printing was done, for fear the crowdwould wreck the offices trying to get news. Ah! Look!”   The side window of the newspaper office opened and a hand was extended, bearing a sheaf oflong narrow galley proofs, smeared with fresh ink and thick with names closely printed. The crowdfought for them, tearing the slips in half, those obtaining them trying to back out through the crowdto read, those behind pushing forward, crying: “Let me through!”   “Hold the reins,” said Rhett shortly, swinging to the ground and tossing the bridle to UnclePeter. They saw his heavy shoulders towering above the crowd as he went through, brutallypushing and shoving. In a while he was back, with half a dozen in his hands. He tossed one toMelanie and distributed the others among the ladies in the nearest carriages, the Misses McLure,Mrs. Meade, Mrs. Merriwether, Mrs. Elsing.   “Quick, Melly,” cried Scarlett, her heart in her throat, exasperation sweeping her as she saw thatMelly’s hands were shaking so that it was impossible for her to read.   “Take it,” whispered Melly, and Scarlett snatched it from her. The Ws. Where were the Ws? Oh,there they were at the bottom and all smeared up. “White,” she read and her voice shook, “Wilkens... Winn ... Zebulon ... Oh, Melly, he’s not on it! He’s not on it! Oh, for God’s sake, Auntie, Melly,pick up the salts! Hold her up, Melly.”   Melly, weeping openly with happiness, steadied Miss Pitty’s rolling head and held the smellingsalts under her nose. Scarlett braced the fat old lady on the other side, her heart singing with joy.   Ashley was alive. He wasn’t even wounded. How good God was to pass him by! How—She heard a low moan and, turning, saw Fanny Elsing lay her head on her mother’s bosom, sawthe casualty list flutter to the floor of the carriage, saw Mrs. Elsing’s thin lips quiver as shegathered her daughter in her arms and said quietly to the coachman: “Home. Quickly.” Scarletttook a quick glance at the lists. Hugh Elsing was not listed. Fanny must have had a beau and now he was dead. The crowd made way in sympathetic silence for the Elsings’ carriage, and after themfollowed the little wicker pony cart of the McLure girls. Miss Faith was driving, her face like arock, and for once, her teeth were covered by her lips. Miss Hope, death in her face, sat erectbeside her, holding her sister’s skirt in a tight grasp. They looked like very old women. Theiryoung brother Dallas was their darling and the only relative the maiden ladies had in the world.   Dallas was gone.   “Melly! Melly!” cried Maybelle, joy in her voice, “René is safe! And Ashley, too! Oh, thankGod!” The shawl had slipped from her shoulders and her condition was most obvious but, foronce, neither she nor Mrs. Merriwether cared. “Oh, Mrs. Meade! René—” Her voice changed,swiftly, “Melly, look!—Mrs. Meade, please! Darcy isn’t—?”   Mrs. Meade was looking down into her lap and she did not raise her head when her name wascalled, but the face of little Phil beside her was an open book that all might read.   “There, there, Mother,” he said, helplessly. Mrs. Meade, looked up, meeting Melanie’s eyes.   “He won’t need those boots now,” she said.   “Oh, darling!” cried Melly, beginning to sob, as she shoved Aunt Pitty onto Scarlett’s shoulderand scrambled out of the carriage and toward that of the doctor’s wife.   “Mother, you’ve still got me,” said Phil, in a forlorn effort at comforting the white-faced womanbeside him. “And if you’ll just let me, I’ll go kill all the Yank—”   Mrs. Meade clutched his arm as if she would never let it go, said “No!” in a strangled voice andseemed to choke.   “Phil Meade, you hush your mouth!” hissed Melanie, climbing in beside Mrs. Meade and takingher in her arms. “Do you think it’ll help your mother to have you off getting shot too? I neverheard anything so silly. Drive us home, quick!”   She turned to Scarlett as Phil picked up the reins.   “As soon as you take Auntie home, come over to Mrs. Meade’s. Captain Butler, can you getword to the doctor? He’s at the hospital.”   The carriage moved off through the dispersing crowd. Some of the women were weeping withjoy, but most looked too stunned to realize the heavy blows that had fallen upon them. Scarlett benther head over the blurred lists, reading rapidly, to find names of friends. Now that Ashley was safeshe could think of other people. Oh, how long the list was! How heavy the toll from Atlanta, fromall of Georgia.   Good Heavens! “Calvert—Raiford, Lieutenant.” Raif! Suddenly she remembered the day, solong ago, when they had run away together but decided to come home at nightfall because theywere hungry and afraid of the dark.   “Fontaine—Joseph K., private,” Little bad-tempered Joe! And Sally hardly over having herbaby!   “Munroe—LaFayette, Captain.” And Lafe had been engaged to Cathleen Calvert. PoorCathleen! Hers had been a double loss, a brother and a sweetheart. But Sally’s loss was greater—a brother and a husband.   Oh, this was too terrible. She was almost afraid to read further. Aunt Pitty was heaving andsighing on her shoulder and, with small ceremony, Scarlett pushed her over into a comer of thecarriage and continued her reading.   Surely, surely—there couldn’t be three “Tarleton” names on that list. Perhaps—perhaps thehurried printer had repeated the name by error. But no. There they were. “Tarleton—Brenton,Lieutenant.” “Tarleton—Stuart, Corporal.” “Tarleton—Thomas, private.” And Boyd, dead the firstyear of the war, was buried God knew where in Virginia. All the Tarleton boys gone. Tom and thelazy long-legged twins with their love of gossip and their absurd practical jokes and Boyd who hadthe grace of a dancing master and the tongue of a wasp.   She could not read any more. She could not know if any other of those boys with whom she hadgrown up, danced, flirted, kissed were on that list. She wished that she could cry, do something toease the iron fingers that were digging into her throat.   “I’m sorry, Scarlett,” said Rhett. She looked up at him. She had forgotten he was still there.   “Many of your friends?”   She nodded and struggled to speak: “About every family in the County—and all—all three ofthe Tarleton boys.”   His face was quiet, almost somber, and there was no mocking in his eyes.   “And the end is not yet,” he said. “These are just the first lists and they’re incomplete. There’llbe a longer list tomorrow.” He lowered his voice so that those in the near-by carriages could nothear. “Scarlett, General Lee must have lost the battle. I heard at headquarters that he had retreatedback into Maryland.”   She raised frightened eyes to his, but her fear did not spring from Lee’s defeat. Longer casualtylists tomorrow! Tomorrow. She had not thought of tomorrow, so happy was she at first thatAshley’s name was not on that list. Tomorrow. Why, right this minute he might be dead and shewould not know it until tomorrow, or perhaps a week from tomorrow.   “Oh, Rhett, why do there have to be wars? It would have been so much better for the Yankees topay for the darkies—or even for us to give them the darkies free of charge than to have thishappen.”   “It isn’t the darkies, Scarlett. They’re just the excuse. There’ll always be wars because men lovewars. Women don’t, but men do—yea, passing the love of women.”   His mouth twisted in his old smile and the seriousness was gone from his face. He lifted hiswide Panama hat.   “Good-by. I’m going to find Dr. Meade. I imagine the irony of me being the one to tell him ofhis son’s death will be lost on him, just now. But later, he’ll probably hate to think that a speculatorbrought the news of a hero’s death.”   Scarlett put Miss Pitty to bed with a toddy, left Prissy and Cookie in attendance and went down the street to the Meade house. Mrs. Meade was upstairs with Phil, waiting her husband’s return,and Melanie sat in the parlor, talking in a low voice to a group of sympathetic neighbors. She wasbusy with needle and scissors, altering a mourning dress that Mrs. Elsing had lent to Mrs. Meade.   Already the house was full of the acrid smell of clothes boiling in homemade black dye for, in thekitchen, the sobbing cook was stirring all of Mrs. Meade’s dresses in the huge wash pot.   “How is she?” questioned Scarlett softly.   “Not a tear,” said Melanie. “It’s terrible when women can’t cry. I don’t know how men standthings without crying. I guess it’s because they’re stronger and braver than women. She says she’sgoing to Pennsylvania by herself to bring him home. The doctor can’t leave the hospital.”   “It will be dreadful for her! Why can’t Phil go?”   “She’s afraid he’ll join the army if he gets out of her sight. You know he’s so big for his age andthey’re taking them at sixteen now.”   One by one the neighbors slipped away, reluctant to be present when the doctor came home, andScarlett and Melanie were left alone, sewing in the parlor. Melanie looked sad but tranquil, thoughtears dropped down on the cloth she held in her hands. Evidently she had not thought that the battlemight still be going on and Ashley perhaps dead at this very moment. With panic in her heart,Scarlett did not know whether to tell Melanie of Rhett’s words and have the dubious comfort of hermisery or keep it to herself. Finally she decided to remain quiet. It would never do for Melanie tothink her too worried about Ashley. She thanked God that everyone, Melly and Pitty included, hadbeen too engrossed in her own worries that morning to notice her conduct.   After an interval of silent sewing, they heard sounds outside and, peering through the curtains,they saw Dr. Meade alighting from his horse. His shoulders were sagging and his head bowed untilhis gray beard spread out fanlike on his chest. He came slowly into the house and, laying down hishat and bag, kissed both the girls silently. Then he went tiredly up the stairs. In a moment Philcame down, all long legs and arms and awkwardness. The two girls looked an invitation to jointhem, but he went onto the front porch and, seating himself on the top step, dropped his head onhis cupped palm.   Melly sighed.   “He’s mad because they won’t let him go fight the Yankees. Fifteen years old! Oh, Scarlett, itwould be Heaven to have a son like that!”   “And have him get killed,” said Scarlett shortly, thinking of Darcy.   “It would be better to have a son even if he did get killed than to never have one,” said Melanieand gulped. “You can’t understand, Scarlett, because you’ve got little Wade, but I— Oh, Scarlett, Iwant a baby so bad! I know you think I’m horrid to say it right out, but it’s true and only whatevery woman wants and you know it.”   Scarlett restrained herself from sniffing.   “If God should will that Ashley should be—taken, I suppose I could bear it, though I’d rather dieif he died. But God would give me strength to bear it. But I could not bear having him dead andnot having—not having a child of his to comfort me. Oh, Scarlett, how lucky you are! Though you lost Charlie, you have his son. And if Ashley goes, I’ll have nothing. Scarlett, forgive me, butsometimes I’ve been so jealous of you—”   “Jealous—of me?” cried Scarlett, stricken with guilt.   “Because you have a son and I haven’t. I’ve even pretended sometimes that Wade was minebecause it’s so awful not to have a child.”   “Fiddle-dee-dee!” said Scarlett in relief. She cast a quick glance at the slight figure withblushing face bent over the sewing. Melanie might want children but she certainly did not have thefigure for bearing them. She was hardly taller than a twelve-year-old child, her hips were as narrowas a child’s and her breasts were very flat. The very thought of Melanie having a child wasrepellent to Scarlett. It brought up too many thoughts she couldn’t bear thinking. If Melanie shouldhave a child of Ashley’s, it would be as though something were taken from Scarlett that was herown.   “Do forgive me for saying that about Wade. You know I love him so. You aren’t mad at me, areyou?”   “Don’t be silly,” said Scarlett shortly. “And go out on the porch and do something for Phil. He’scrying.”  1863年夏天到来时,每个南方人心里也升起了希望。尽管有疲困和艰难,尽管有粮食投机商和类似的蟊贼,尽管死亡,疾病和痛苦给几乎每一个家庭留下了阴影,南方毕竟又在说:“再打一个胜仗就可以结束战争了,"而且是怀着比头年夏天更乐观的心情说的。北方佬的确是个很难砸开的核桃,可是他们终于在破裂了。   对于亚特兰大和对于整个南方来说,1862年圣诞节是个愉快的节日。南部联盟在弗雷德里克斯堡打了一个很大的胜仗,北方佬伤亡的人员数以千计,人们在节假期间普遍欢欣鼓舞,欢庆和祈祷局势已出现了转折点。那些穿灰制服的军队已成了久经沙场的队伍,他们的将军已屡建功勋,人人都知道,只要春季战役一打响,北方佬就会被永远彻底地击溃了。   春天到来,战斗又开始了。到五月间南部联盟军队又在昌塞洛斯维尔打了个大胜仗,整个南方都为之欢欣鼓舞。   在离本县较近的地方,一支突入佐治亚的联邦骑兵给击溃了,又成了南部联盟方面的胜利。人们仍在嘻嘻地彼此拍着肩背说:“是啊,先生!只要咱们的老福雷斯特将军跟上来,他们就不如早点滚了!"原来四月下旬斯特雷特上校率领一支八百人的北方骑兵队伍突然袭入佐治亚,企图占领在亚特兰大北面六十余英里的罗姆。他们妄想切断亚特兰大和田纳西之间的极端重要的铁路线,然后向南攻入南部联盟的枢纽城市亚特兰大,把集中在那里的工厂和军需物资彻底摧毁。   这是十分厉害的一招,如果没有纳•贝•福雷斯特将军,就会给南方造成极大的损失。当时这位将军只带领相当于敌人三分之一的兵力----不过这是些多么了不起的骑手啊!尾随在他们后面,但赶在他们到达罗姆之前便交上了火,然后是昼夜猛击,终于把他们全部俘获了!   这个捷报和昌塞洛斯维尔大捷的消息几乎同时传到了亚特兰大,引起全城一片震天动地的欢呼。昌塞洛斯维尔的胜利可能有更加重大的意义,但是斯特雷特突击队的被俘也使北方佬显得极为狼狈。   “不,先生,他们最好不要再跟老福雷斯特开玩笑了!"亚特兰大人开心地说,同时一再谈论这次打胜仗的经过,兴味无穷。   现在,南部联盟走运的形势发展到了极盛的高潮阶段,它席卷着满怀喜悦的人们。不错,格兰特率领下的北方佬军队五月中以来一直在围攻维克斯堡。不错,斯•杰克逊在昌塞洛斯维尔受了重伤,这是南方的一个令人痛心的损失。不错,科布在弗雷德里克斯堡牺牲了,这使佐治亚失掉了一个最勇敢和最有才能的儿子。可是,北方佬再也经不起像弗雷德里克斯堡和昌塞洛斯维尔这样的惨败了,他们会被迫投降,那时残酷的战争便可宣告结束了。   到七月初,先是谣传,后来从快报上证实了:李将军在向宾夕法尼亚挺进。李将军打进了敌人区域了!李将军在强攻了!这是最后一战了!   亚特兰大人兴奋得如醉如狂,迫切地渴望着来一次报复。   如今北方佬知道将战争打到自己的家里是什么滋味了。如今他们该知道耕地被荒废、牛马被偷走、房屋被焚毁、老人孩子被抓进牢房、妇女儿童被赶出来挨饿都是些什么样的滋味了。   人人都清楚北方佬在密苏里、肯塔基、田纳西和弗吉尼亚都干了些什么。北方佬在占领区犯下的罪行,连很小的孩子都能又恨又怕地历数出来。现在亚特兰大已到处是从田纳西东部逃来的难民,他们亲口讲述自己的苦难经历,令人听了无不伤心。在那个地区,南部联盟的同情者居少数,战争带给他们的灾难也最沉重,就像在所有边境地区那样,兄弟互相残杀,人们彼此告密,这些难民都大声要求让宾夕法尼亚一片焦土,连那些最温和的老太太也表现出严厉的喜悦心情。   但是有人从前线带回消息说,李将军下了命令,宾夕法尼亚州的私人财产不能触动,掠夺一律处以死刑,凡军队征用任何物品都必须付钱----这样,李将军就得付出自己所赢得的全部尊敬才能保全在群众中的声望了,也不让人们在那个繁华州的丰富仓库里为所欲为一下?李将军究竟是怎么想的?可我们的小伙子却迫切需要鞋子、衣服和马匹呢!   米德大夫儿子达西捎回来一封急信,这是七月初亚特兰大收到的惟一第一手新闻,因此便在人们手中传递,引起愈来愈大的愤慨。   “爸,你能设法给我弄一双靴子来吗?我已经打了两个星期赤脚了,至今还没有希望得到靴子。要不是我的脚太大,我可以像别的小伙子那样,从北方佬死人脚上脱一双下来,可是我还没打到一个有我这般大脚的北方佬呢。如果你能替我弄到,请不要通过邮局寄。有人会在途中偷走的,而我又不想责怪他们。还是叫费尔坐趟火车送来吧。我们到什么地方,我会很快写信告诉人。只知道在朝北方行进,眼前我还不清楚,我们此刻在马里兰,人人都说是开到宾夕法尼亚去……“爸,我觉得我们应当对北方佬以牙还牙,可是将军说不行。至于我个人,我并不愿意只图一时高兴去烧北方佬的房子而受到枪毙的处分,爸,今天我们穿过了你可能从没见过的极大一片麦田。我们那里可没有这样的麦田呢。好吧,我得承认我们在那片麦地里偷偷搞了一点掠夺,因为我们全都饿得不行了,而这种事只要将军不知道就不会有危险的。不过没有给我们任何好处,那麦子一吃下去便更糟了,小伙子们本来都患了点痢疾,要知道,带着痢疾走路比拖着一条伤腿走还要困难呢。爸,请一定设法替我弄双靴子来。我如今已当了上尉,一个上尉即使没有新的制服或肩章,也应当穿双靴子嘛。"但是军队到了宾夕法尼亚----这才是重要的事情。再打一次胜仗战争就会结束。那时达西•米德所需的靴子就全都有了,小伙子们就会往回开拔了,大家再重新欢聚。米德太太想象儿子终于回到家里,从此不再离开,便忍不住要落泪了。   七月三日,从北方来的电讯突然沉默了,一直到四日中午才有断断续续的经过窜改的报道流入设在亚特兰大的司令部。原来在宾夕法尼亚发生了激战,在一个名叫葛底斯堡的小镇附近打了一次投入李将军全部兵力的大仗。消息并不怎么确切,来得也晚,因为战争是在敌人区域里打的,所有的报道都得首先经过马里兰,转到里士满,然后再到亚特兰大。   人们心中的焦虑逐渐增长,恐惧的预感慢慢地流遍全城。   最糟糕的是不明白事情的真相。凡是有儿子在前线的家庭都焦急地祈祷着,但愿自己的孩子不在宾夕法尼亚,可是那些知道自己的亲属就在达西•米德团里的,便只好咬着牙声称,他们参加了这次将永远打垮北方佬的鏖战,是十分光荣的事。   皮蒂姑妈家的三位女人只好怀着无法掩饰的恐惧心里彼此面面相觑。艾希礼就在达西那个团里呢。   到七月五日,坏消息终于到来,但不是从里士满而是从西边传来的。维克斯堡陷落了,经受长期而残酷的围攻之后陷落了,而且实际上整个密西西比流域,从圣路易斯到新奥尔良,都已沦于北方佬之手。南部联盟已被切成两块。在任何别的时候,这一灾难的消息都会给亚特兰大人带来恐怖和悲伤。但是现在,他们已来不及考虑维克斯堡。他们考虑的是在宾夕法尼亚进行强攻的李将军。只要李将军在东边打了胜仗,维克斯堡的陷落就不是太大的灾难了。还有宾夕法尼亚,纽约,华盛顿呢。一旦把它们打下来,整个北方便会陷于瘫痪状态,这可以抵销密西西比流域的败绩还绰绰有余。   时间一个钟头又一个钟头沉闷地过去,灾难的阴影笼罩着全城,使炎热的太阳都显得昏暗了,直到人们突然抬起头来,吃惊地凝望天空,仿佛不相信它是晴朗的、湛蓝的,而是乌云遍布,一片昏沉。到处都可以看到,妇女们在屋前走廊上,在人行道上、甚至在街心聚集成群,挤作一堆,相互告诉说没有什么好消息,同时设法彼此安慰,装出一付勇敢的模样。可是谣言暗暗流传,像蝙蝠似的在寂静的大街上往来飞掠,说是李将军牺牲了,仗打败了,大量伤亡的名单正源源而来。人们尽量不去信它,可是远远近近的邻居都已惊惶万状,纷纷跑到市中心区,跑到报馆和司令部去讨消息,讨任何消息,哪怕坏消息都行。   成群结队的人聚集在车站旁边,希望进站的列车带来消息,或者在电报局门口,在苦恼不堪的总部门外,在上着锁的报馆门前,等着,悄悄地等着,他们是些肃静得出奇的人群,肃静地愈聚愈多。没有人说话。偶尔有个老头用颤抖的声音来讨消息,人们只听到那经常重复的回答:“从北边来的电报除了说一直在战斗之外,没有别的。"但这不仅没有激销大伙的埋怨,反而加强了缄默气氛。步行或坐着马车在外围活动的妇女也愈来愈稠密拥挤。由于大家摩肩擦背而产生热气,以及不安脚步所激起的灰尘,使周围的空气已闷得要窒息了。那些女人并不说话,但她们板着发青的脸孔却以一种无声的雄辩在发出请求,这是比哭泣还要响亮得多的。   城里几乎每家每户都有人上前线,无论他是儿子、兄弟、父亲,还是情人、丈夫。人们都在等候着可能宣布他们家已经有人牺牲的消息。他们预期有死讯到来,但不想收到失败的消息。他们把那种失败的想法打消了。他们的人可能正在牺牲,甚至就在此时此刻,在宾夕法尼亚山地太阳烤着的荒草上,甚至就在此时此刻,南方的士兵可能正在纷纷倒下,象冰雹下的谷物一般,但是他们为之战斗的主义永远不会倒。他们可能在成千上万地死亡,但是像龙齿的果子似的,成千上万的新人,穿着灰军服,喊着造反的口号的新人,又会从地里冒出来接替他们。至于这些人将从哪里来,还没人知道。   他们只是像确信天上有个公正而要求绝对忠实的上帝那样,确信李将军是非凡的,弗吉尼亚军队是不可战胜的。   思嘉、媚兰和皮蒂帕特小姐坐着马车停在《观察家日报》社门前,她们打着阳伞坐在车里。马车的顶篷折到背后了,思嘉的手在发抖,头上的阳伞也随着摇晃。皮蒂激动得很,圆脸上的鼻子像只家兔的鼻子不停地颤动,只有媚兰象一尊石雕,坐在那里一动不动,但那双黑眼睛也瞪得愈来愈大了。在两个小时之内她只说过一句话,那是她从手提包里找出嗅盐瓶递给姑妈时说的,而且是她有生以来第一次用这样毫不亲切的口气对姑妈说话。   “姑妈,拿着吧,要是你觉得快晕倒了,就闻一闻。如果你真的晕倒,老实告诉你,那也是没有办法的事,只好让彼得大叔把你送回家去,因为我不会离开这里,直到我听到有关----直至我听到消息为止。而且,我也不会让思嘉离开我。”思嘉没有要离开的意思,因为她不想让自己离开以后得不到有关艾希礼的第一个消息。不,即使皮蒂小姐死了,她也决不离开这里。艾希礼正在那边什么地方打仗,也许正在死亡呢,而报馆是她能得到确切信息的唯一地方。   她环顾人群,认出哪些是自己的朋友和邻居,只见米德太太歪戴着帽子让那个十五岁的费尔搀扶着站在那里,麦克卢尔姐妹在设法用颤抖的上嘴唇掩盖她们的黑牙;埃尔辛太太像个斯巴达母亲似的站得笔直,只不过那几绺从发髻上垂下来散乱的灰白头发泄露了她内心的混乱情绪;范妮•埃尔辛则脸色苍白得像个幽灵。(当然,范妮是不会为她兄弟这样担忧的,那么,她是否有个人们还不知道的真正情人在前线呢?)梅里韦瑟太太坐在她的马车里轻轻拍着梅贝尔的手,梅贝尔好像怀孕许久了,尽管她用披肩把自己仔细遮了起来。她这样出来公开露面是很不雅观的,她为什么这样担忧呀?没有人听说过路易斯安那的军队也到了宾夕法尼亚嘛。大慨她那位多毛的小个子义勇兵此刻还平平安安地待在里士满吧。   人群外围出现了一阵骚动,那些站着的人都让开路来,这时瑞德•巴特勒骑着马小心地向皮蒂姑妈的马车靠近。思嘉心想,他哪来的勇气,竟敢在这个时候跑来,也不怕这些乱民由于他没穿军服而轻易地把他撕得粉碎呢!他走近时,她觉得她自己就会头一个动手去撕他。他怎么敢骑着一匹骏马,穿着铮亮的靴子和雪白笔挺的亚麻布套服,叼着昂贵的雪茄,那么时髦,那么健康,可这时艾希礼和所有其他的小伙子却光着脚、冒着大汗、饿着肚子、患有胃溃疡在同北方佬作战----他怎么敢这样呀?   不少人向他投来恼恨的目光。他慢慢穿过人群,老头们吹着胡子发出咆哮,天不怕地不怕的梅里韦瑟太太在马车里微微欠起身来清清楚楚地喊道:“投机商!”用的那声调更使这个字显得又脏又毒了。可是他对谁都不理睬,只举着帽子向媚兰和皮蒂姑妈挥了挥,随即来到思嘉身边,俯下身低声说:“你不觉得现在应当让米德大夫来给我们发表关于胜利的著名讲演,说胜利就像平息在我们旗帜上的一只尖叫的鹰吗?”思嘉的神经本来就紧张极了,不知怎么办好,这时她突然像只愤怒的猫转过头来,想狠狠骂他几句,可是他用一个手势制止了。   “我是来告诉你们几位的,"他大声说,"我刚才到过司令部,第一批伤亡名单已经来了。"他这话在周围那些听他的话的人中顿时引起一阵低语,人群开始骚动,准备沿着白厅街向司令部跑去。   “你们不要去,"他在马鞍上站起身来,举起手喊道:“你们就待在原地吧!名单已送到两家报馆去了,正在印刷。”“唔,巴特勒船长,"媚兰喊道,一面回过头来眼泪汪汪地望着他。"真该谢谢你跑来告诉我们!名单几时张贴呢?”“交给报馆已半个小时了。很快会公布的,太太。管这外事的军官一定叫印好才让公布,因为恐怕群众会冲进去要消息。哎,你瞧!"报馆侧面的窗户打开了,一只手伸出来,手里拿着一叠窄长的印刷品,上面是刚刚排印的密密麻麻的姓名。人群拥上前去抢。把那些长条纸一下撕成两半,有人抢到了就拚命挤出来急于要看,后面的继续往前挤,大家都在叫喊:“让我过去!让我过去!”“拉住缰绳,"瑞德一面跳下马,一面把缰绳扔给彼得大叔。人们看见他耸着一对高出众人之上的肩膀,拼命推搡着从身边挤过。一会儿他回来了,手里拿着好几张名单,他扔给媚兰一张,其余的分发给坐在附近马车里的小姐太太,中包括麦克卢尔姐妹、米德太太、梅里韦瑟太太、埃尔辛太太。   “快,媚兰,"思嘉急不可耐地喊道,因为媚兰的手在嗦嗦发抖,她没法看清楚,恼火极了。   “你拿去吧,"媚兰低声说,思嘉便一把抢了过来。先从以W打头的名字看起,可是它们在哪里呢?啊,在底下,而且都模糊了。"怀特,"她开始念,嗓子有点颤抖,"威肯斯……温……泽布伦……啊,媚兰,他不在里面!他不在里面!姑妈?啊,你怎么了,媚兰,把嗅盐瓶拿出来!扶住她,媚兰。"媚兰高兴得当众哭起来,一面扶住皮蒂小姐摆来摆去的头,同时把嗅盐放到他鼻子底下,思嘉从另一边扶着那位胖老太太,心里也在欢乐地歌唱,艾希礼还活着,他甚至也没受伤呢。上帝多好,把他放过来了!多么----她听到一声低的呻吟,回头一看,只见范妮•埃尔辛把头靠在她母亲胸口,那张伤亡名单飘落在马车踏板上,埃尔辛太太的薄薄嘴唇颤抖着,她把女儿紧紧搂在怀里,一面平静地吩咐车夫:“快,回家去。"思嘉把名单迅速看了一下,上面不见休•埃尔辛的名字,这么说,范妮一定是有个情人在前线,现在死了!人群怀着同情默默地给埃尔辛家的马车让路,后面跟着麦克卢尔姐妹那辆小小的柳条车。赶车的是费思小姐,她的脸板得像石头似的,她的牙齿至少又一次给嘴唇包了起来,霍妮小姐的脸像死灰一样苍白,她挺直腰坐在费思身边,紧紧抓住妹妹的裙子。她们都显得很老了。她们的弟弟达拉斯是她们的宝贝,也是这两位老处女在世界上的唯一亲人。但是达拉斯死了。   “媚兰!媚兰!"梅贝尔喊道,声音显得很快活。"雷内没事!还有艾希礼,啊,感谢上帝!"这时披肩已从她肩上掉下来,她那大肚子再明显不过了。但是这一次无论梅里韦瑟太太或者她自己都没去管它。"啊,米德太太!雷内----"说到这里,她的声音突然变了,"媚兰,你瞧!-—米德太太,请看呀!达西是不是----?"米德太太正垂着两眼在凝望自己的衣襟,听到有人叫她也没有抬起头来,不过小费尔坐在旁边,只要看看他的表情便一切都明白了。   “唔,妈,妈,"他可怜巴巴地说。米德太太抬起头来,正好触到媚兰的目光。   “现在他不需要靴子了。”   “啊,亲爱的!"媚兰惊叫一声,哭泣起来,一面把皮蒂姑妈推到思嘉肩上,爬下马车,向大夫太太的马车走去。   “妈,你还有我呢,"费尔无可奈何地极力安慰身旁脸色苍白的老太太。"只要你同意,我就去把所有的北方佬都杀掉----”“不!"米德太在哽咽着说,一面紧紧抓住他的胳臂,好像决不放它了似的。   “费尔•米德,你就别说了!"媚兰轻声劝阻他,一面爬进马车,在米德太太身旁坐下,抱她搂在怀里。接着,她才继续对费尔说:“你觉得要是你也走了,牺牲了,这对你妈有帮助吗?从没听说过这种傻话。还不快赶车把我们送回家去!”费尔抓起缰绳,这时媚兰又回过头去对思嘉说话。   “你把姑妈送到家里,请马上到米德太太家来。巴特勒船长,你能不能给大夫捎个信去?他在医院里呢。"马车从纷纷四散的人群中出发了。有些高兴得哭泣,但大多数是受到沉重打击后还没有明白过来,仍然目瞪口呆地站在那里。思嘉低着头在看那张模糊的名单,飞快地读着,看有哪些熟人的名字。既然艾希礼已经没事了,她就可以想想别的人了。啊,这名单好长呀!亚特兰大和全佐治亚付出了多大的牺牲啊!   我的天!"卡尔弗特----雷福德,中尉。"雷福!她忽然记起很久前那一天,当时他们一起逃走了,可到傍晚又决定回家来,因为他们饿了,而且害怕天黑了。   “方丹----约瑟夫,列兵。"很坏的小个儿乔!可萨刚生了孩子还没复元呢!   “芒罗----拉斐特,上尉。"拉斐同凯瑟琳•卡尔弗特订婚了,可怜的凯瑟琳呀!她这是双重的牺牲,兄弟加未婚夫。   不过萨莉更惨,是兄弟加丈夫。   她几乎不敢再念下去,啊,这太可怕了。皮蒂姑妈伏在她肩上唉声叹气,思嘉不怎么礼貌地把她推开,让她靠在马车的一个角落里,自己继续念名单。   当然,当然----不可能有三个叫"塔尔顿"的名字在上面。或许----或许排字工人太匆忙,误将名字排重了。可是,不,他们真在这里。"塔尔顿----布伦特,中尉。”“塔尔顿----斯图尔特,下士。”“塔尔顿----托玛斯,列兵。"还有博伊德,战争头一年就死了,也不知埋在弗吉尼亚什么地方。塔尔顿家的几个小伙子都完了。汤姆和那对懒惰的长脚孪生兄弟,都喜爱聊天,喜欢开荒谬的玩笑,博伊德很会跳舞,嘴厉害得像只黄蜂,如今都完了!   她再也念不下去了,她不知道别的小伙子,那些跟她一起长大、一起跳舞、彼此调情和亲吻过的小伙子,还有没有人被列在这份名单上。她真想痛哭一场,设法使那卡住她喉咙的铁爪放松一点。   “思嘉,我很为你难过,"瑞德说。她抬头望着他,都忘记他还在那里了。"里面有许多是你的朋友吗?”她点点头,勉强说:“几乎这个县里的每一家和所有----塔尔顿家所有的三个小伙子----"眼睛里没有那种嘲讽的意味了。他脸色平静而略显忧郁。   “可是名单还没完呢,"他说,"这仅仅是头一批,不是全部。明天还有一张更长的单子。"他放低声音,不让旁边马车里的人听见。"思嘉,李将军一定是打了败仗,我在司令部听说他已撤回到马里兰了。"她惊恐地朝他望着,但她害怕的不是李的失败。明天还有更长的伤亡名单呀!明天。她可没有想到明天,只不过一见艾希礼的名字不在上面就乐起来了。明天,怎么,他可能现在已经死了,而她要到明天才会知道,也许还要等到一星期以后呢。   “唔,瑞德,为什么一定要打仗呢?要是当初让北方佬去付钱赎买黑人----或者就由我们把黑人免费交给他们,免得发生这场战争,那不是会好得多吗?”“思嘉,问题不在黑人,那只是借口罢了。战争之所以常常发生,就是因为人们喜欢战争,女人不喜欢,可是男人喜欢战争,胜过喜欢女人。”他又歪着那张嘴笑起来,脸上不再有严肃的神色了。他把头上那顶巴拿马帽摘下来向上举了举。   “再见。我得去找米德大夫了。我想,他儿子的死讯由我这个人去告诉他,这颇有讽刺意味,只是他目前不会感觉到这一点。不过日后,当他想一个投机商居然向他转达了一位英雄牺牲的消息,大概是要恨恨不已的。"思嘉让皮蒂姑妈服了一杯甜酒后,在床上躺下,留下百里茜和厨娘服伺她,自己便出门到米德大夫家去了。米德太太由费尔陪着在楼上等丈夫回来,媚兰坐在客厅里跟几个来慰问的邻居低声谈话,她同时在忙着干针线活儿,修改一件丧服,那是埃尔太太借给米德太太的。这时屋里已充满了用家制黑颜料煮染衣服的辛辣味儿,因为厨师在厨房正一面啜泣一面搅动泡在大锅里的所有米德太太的衣裳。   “她现在怎么样?"思嘉小声问。   “一滴眼泪也没有。"媚兰说。"女人流不出眼泪才可怕呢。   我不知道男人怎么忍得住不哭一声,我猜想大概男人比女人坚强和勇敢一些,她说她要亲自到宾夕法尼亚去把他领回家来。大夫是离不开医院的。”“那对她太可怕了!为什么费尔不能去呀?”“她怕他一离开她就会去加入军队,军队里现在连十六岁的人也要呢。你瞧他年纪虽小可个儿长得那么大。"邻居们因为不想看大夫回来时的情景,便一个个陆续离开了,只剩下思嘉和媚兰两人留在客厅里缝衣服。媚兰尽管忍不住伤心,眼泪一滴滴落在手中的活计上,但显得还算镇静。她显然没有想到战争可能还在进行,艾希礼或许就在此刻牺牲了。思嘉满怀恐惧,不知道应不应该把瑞德的话告诉媚兰,好叫她分担这惊疑莫定的痛苦,或者暂时瞒着她,自己一个人兜着。最后她决定保持沉默,如果让媚兰觉得她太为艾希礼担忧了,那总归是不合适的。她感谢上帝,那天上午包括媚兰和皮蒂在内,人人都陷在各自的忧虑中,无心去注意她的表现了。   她们静静地缝了一会儿,忽然听见外面有声音,便从帘缝中窥望,看见米德大夫正从马背上下来。耷拉着脑袋,他垂着两肩,满脸胡须像扇子似的挂在胸前。他慢慢走进屋来,放下帽子和提包,默默地吻了吻两位姑娘,然后拖着疲乏的身子上楼去。一会儿费尔下来了,他的腿和胳臂又瘦又长,显得那么笨拙。媚兰和思嘉都示意让他坐在身边,可是他径直向前廊走去,在那儿的台阶上坐下,双手捧着头一声不响。   媚兰长叹一声。   “因为他们不让他去打北佬,他给气疯了,才十五岁呀!   啊,思嘉,要是有这样一个儿子,倒是好极了!”“好叫他去送死吗?”思嘉没好气地说,同时想起了达西。   “有一个儿子,哪怕他给打死了,也比没有儿子强。"媚兰说着又哽咽起来。”你理解不了,思嘉,这是因为你有了小韦德,可我呢----啊,思嘉,我多么想要一个儿子呀!我知道,你觉得我不该公然说出这句话来,但这是真的,每个女人都需要,而且你也明白这一点。"思嘉竭力控制住自己,才没有对她嗤之以鼻。   “万一上帝想连艾希礼也----也不放过,我想我是忍受得住的,尽管我宁愿跟他一起死。不过上帝会给我力量来忍受。   可是,如果他死了,我又没有一个他的儿子来安慰我,那我就受不了啦。啊,思嘉,你多幸运呀!虽然你失去了查理,可是你有他的儿子。可要是艾希礼没了,我就什么也没有了。思嘉,请原谅我,我有时候真对你十分妒忌呢----”“妒忌----我?"思嘉吃惊地问,一种负疚感突然袭上心头。   “因为你有儿子,可我没有呀!我有时甚至把韦德当作是自己的儿子。你不知道,没有儿子可真不好受呢!”“简直胡扯!"思嘉觉得放心了,才故意这样说她。同时朝这个红着脸低头缝纫的小个儿匆匆瞧了一眼。媚兰大概很想要孩子了,可是她这个儿子肯定是生不出来的。她比一个十二岁的孩子高不了多少,臀部也窄得像个孩子一般,胸脯更是平板板的。一想到媚兰也会有孩子,思嘉便觉得很不舒服,这会引起许许多多她无法对付的想法来。她怎么受得了呢!如果媚兰真的跟艾希礼生了个孩子,那就像是从思嘉身上夺走了什么似的。   “请原谅我说了那些关于韦德的话。你知道这多么爱他。   你没有生我的气吧?”   “别傻了,"她不耐烦地说,"快到外面走廊上去安慰安慰费尔。他在哭呢。” Chapter 15 THE ARMY, driven back into Virginia, went into winter quarters on the Rapidan—a tired,depleted army since the defeat at Gettysburg—and as the Christmas season approached, Ashleycame home on furlough. Scarlett, seeing him for the first time in more than two years, was frightenedby the violence of her feelings. When she had stood in the parlor at Twelve Oaks and seenhim married to Melanie, she had thought she could never love him with a more heartbreakingintensity than she did at that moment. But now she knew her feelings of that long-past night werethose of a spoiled child thwarted of a toy. Now, her emotions were sharpened by her long dreamsof him, heightened by the repression she had been forced to put on her tongue.   This Ashley Wilkes in his faded, patched uniform, his blond hair bleached tow by summer suns,was a different man from the easy-going, drowsy-eyed boy she had loved to desperation before thewar. And he was a thousand times more thrilling. He was bronzed and lean now, where he hadonce been fair and slender, and the long golden mustache drooping about his mouth, cavalry style,was the last touch needed to make him the perfect picture of a soldier.   He stood with military straightness in his old uniform, his pistol in its worn holster, his batteredscabbard smartly slapping his high boots, his tarnished spurs dully gleaming—Major AshleyWilkes, C.S.A. The habit of command sat upon him now, a quiet air of self-reliance and authority,and grim lines were beginning to emerge about his mouth. There was something new and strangeabout the square set of his shoulders and the cool bright gleam of his eyes. Where he had oncebeen lounging and indolent, he was now as alert as a prowling cat, with the tense alertness of onewhose nerves are perpetually drawn as tight as the strings of a violin. In his eyes, there was afagged, haunted look, and the sunburned skin was tight across the fine bones of his face—her same handsome Ashley, yet so very different.   Scarlett had made her plans to spend Christmas at Tara, but after Ashley’s telegram came nopower on earth, not even a direct command from the disappointed Ellen, could drag her away fromAtlanta. Had Ashley intended going to Twelve Oaks, she would have hastened to Tara to be nearhim; but he had written his family to join him in Atlanta, and Mr. Wilkes and Honey and Indiawere already in town. Go home to Tara and miss seeing him, after two long years? Miss the heart-quickening sound of his voice, miss reading in his eyes that he had not forgotten her? Never! Notfor all the mothers in the world.   Ashley came home four days before Christmas, with a group of the County boys also onfurlough, a sadly diminished group since Gettysburg. Cade Calvert was among them, a thin, gauntCade, who coughed continually, two of the Munroe boys, bubbling with the excitement of theirfirst leave since 1861, and Alex and Tony Fontaine, splendidly drunk, boisterous and quarrelsome.   The group had two hours to wait between trains and, as it was taxing the diplomacy of the sobermembers of the party to keep the Fontaines from fighting each other and perfect strangers in thedepot, Ashley brought them all home to Aunt Pittypat’s.   “You’d think they’d had enough fighting in Virginia,” said Cade bitterly, as he watched the twobristle like game-cocks over who should be the first to kiss the fluttering and flattered Aunt Pitty.   “But no. They’ve been drunk and picking fights ever since we got to Richmond. The provost guardtook them up there and if it hadn’t been for Ashley’s slick tongue, they’d have spent Christmas injail.”   But Scarlett hardly heard a word he said, so enraptured was she at being in the same room withAshley again. How could she have thought during these two years that other men were nice orhandsome or exciting? How could she have even endured hearing them make love to her whenAshley was in the world? He was home again, separated from her only by the width of the parlorrug, and it took all her strength not to dissolve in happy tears every time she looked at him sittingthere on the sofa with Melly on one side and India on the other and Honey hanging over hisshoulder. If only she had the right to sit there beside him, her arm through his! If only she could pathis sleeve every few minutes to make sure he was really there, hold his hand and use hishandkerchief to wipe away her tears of joy. For Melanie was doing all these things, unashamedly.   Too happy to be shy and reserved, she hung on her husband’s arm and adored him openly with hereyes, with her smiles, her tears. And Scarlett was too happy to resent this, too glad to be jealous.   Ashley was home at last!   Now and then she put her hand up to her cheek where he had kissed her and felt again the thrillof his lips and smiled at him. He had not kissed her first, of course. Melly had hurled herself intohis arms crying incoherently, holding him as though she would never let him go. And then, Indiaand Honey had hugged him, fairly tearing him from Melanie’s arms. Then he had kissed his father,with a dignified affectionate embrace that showed the strong quiet feeling that lay between them.   And then Aunt Pitty, who was jumping up and down on her inadequate little feet with excitement.   Finally he turned to her, surrounded by all the boys who were claiming their kisses, and said: “Oh,Scarlett! You pretty, pretty thing!” and kissed her on the cheek.   With that kiss, everything she had intended to say in welcome took wings. Not until hours later did she recall that he had not kissed her on the lips. Then she wondered feverishly if he would havedone it had she met him alone, bending his tall body over hers, pulling her up on tiptoe, holdingher for a long, long time. And because it made her happy to think so, she believed that he would.   But there would be time for all things, a whole week! Surely she could maneuver to get him aloneand say: “Do you remember those rides we used to take down our secret bridle paths?” “Do youremember how the moon looked that night when we sat on the steps at Tara and you quoted thatpoem?” (Good Heavens! What was the name of that poem, anyway?) “Do you remember thatafternoon when I sprained my ankle and you carried me home in your arms in the twilight?”   Oh, there were so many things she would preface with “Do you remember?” So many dearmemories that would bring back to him those lovely days when they roamed the County like carefreechildren, so many things that would call to mind the days before Melanie Hamilton entered onthe scene. And while they talked she could perhaps read in his eyes some quickening of emotion,some hint that behind the barrier of husbandly affection for Melanie he still cared, cared aspassionately as on that day of the barbecue when he burst forth with the truth. It did not occur toher to plan just what they would do if Ashley should declare his love for her in unmistakablewords. It would be enough to know that he did care. ... Yes, she could wait, could let Melanie haveher happy hour of squeezing his arm and crying. Her time would come. After all, what did a girllike Melanie know of love?   “Darling, you look like a ragamuffin,” said Melanie when the first excitement of homecomingwas over. “Who did mend your uniform and why did they use blue patches?”   “I thought I looked perfectly dashing,” said Ashley, considering his appearance. “Just compareme with those rag-tags over there and you’ll appreciate me more. Mose mended the uniform and Ithought he did very well, considering that he’d never had a needle in his hand before the war.   About the blue cloth, when it comes to a choice between having holes in your britches or patchingthem with pieces of a captured Yankee uniform—well, there just isn’t any choice. And as forlooking like a ragamuffin, you should thank your stars your husband didn’t come home barefooted.   Last week my old boots wore completely out, and I would have come home with sacks tied on myfeet if we hadn’t had the good luck to shoot two Yankee scouts. The boots of one of them fitted meperfectly.”   He stretched out his long legs in their scarred high boots for them to admire.   “And the boots of the other scout didn’t fit me,” said Cade. “They’re two sizes too small andthey’re killing me this minute. But I’m going home in style just the same.”   “And the selfish swine won’t give them to either of us,” said Tony. “And they’d fit our small,aristocratic Fontaine feet perfectly. Hell’s afire, I’m ashamed to face Mother in these brogans.   Before the war she wouldn’t have let one of our darkies wear them.”   “Don’t worry,” said Alex, eyeing Cade’s boots. “We’ll take them off of him on the train goinghome. I don’t mind facing Mother but I’m da—I mean I don’t intend for Dimity Munroe to see mytoes sticking out.”   “Why, they’re my boots. I claimed them first,” said Tony, beginning to scowl at his brother; andMelanie, fluttering with fear at the possibility of one of the famous Fontaine quarrels, interposed and made peace.   “I had a full beard to show you girls,” said Ashley, ruefully rubbing his face where half-healedrazor nicks still showed. “It was a beautiful beard and if I do say it myself, neither Jeb Stuart norNathan Bedford Forrest had handsomer one. But when we got to Richmond, those two scoundrels,”indicatingthe Fonta(a) ines, “decided that as they were shaving their beards, mine shouldcome off too. They got me down and shaved me, and it’s a wonder my head didn’t come off alongwith the beard. It was only by the intervention of Evan and Cade that my mustache was saved.”   “Snakes, Mrs. Wilkes! You ought to thank me. You’d never have recognized him and wouldn’thave let him in the door,” said Alex. “We did it to show our appreciation of his talking the provostguard out of putting us in jail. If you say the word, we’ll take the mustache off for you, right now.”   “Oh, no, thank you!” said Melanie hastily, clutching Ashley in a frightened way, for the twoswarthy little men looked capable of any violence. “I think it’s perfectly lovely.”   That’s love,” said the Fontaines, nodding gravely at each other.   When Ashley went into the cold to see the boys off to the depot in Aunt Pitty’s carriage, Melaniecaught Scarlett’s arm.   “Isn’t his uniform dreadful? Won’t my coat be a surprise? Oh, if only I had enough cloth forbritches too!”   That coat for Ashley was a sore subject with Scarlett, for she wished so ardently that she and notMelanie were bestowing it as a Christmas gift. Gray wool for uniforms was now almost literallymore priceless than rubies, and Ashley was wearing the familiar homespun. Even butternut wasnow none too plentiful, and many of the soldiers were dressed in captured Yankee uniforms whichhad been turned a dark-brown color with walnut-shell dye. But Melanie, by rare luck, had comeinto possession of enough gray broadcloth to make a coat—a rather short coat but a coat just thesame. She had nursed a Charleston boy in the hospital and when he died had clipped a lock of hishair and sent it to his mother, along with the scant contents of his pockets and a comfortingaccount of his last hours which made no mention of the torment in which he died. Acorrespondence had sprung up between them and, learning that Melanie had a husband at the front,the mother had sent her the length of gray cloth and brass buttons which she had bought for herdead son. It was a beautiful piece of material, thick and warm and with a dull sheen to itundoubtedly blockade goods and undoubtedly very expensive. It was now in the hands of the tailorand Melanie was hurrying him to have it ready by Christmas morning. Scarlett would have givenanything to be able to provide the rest of the uniform, but the necessary materials were simply notto be had in Atlanta.   She had a Christmas present for Ashley, but it paled in insignificance beside the glory ofMelanie’s gray coat. It was a small “housewife,” made of flannel, containing the whole preciouspack of needles Rhett had brought her from Nassau, three of her linen handkerchiefs, obtainedfrom the same source, two spools of thread and a small pair of scissors. But she wanted to give himsomething more personal, something a wife could give a husband, a shirt, a pair of gauntlets, a hat.   Oh, yes, a hat by all means. That little flat-topped forage cap Ashley was wearing lookedridiculous. Scarlett had always hated them. What if Stonewall Jackson had worn one in preference to a slouch felt? That didn’t make them any more dignified looking. But the only hats obtainable inAtlanta were crudely made wool hats, and they were tackier than the monkey-hat forage caps.   When she thought of hats, she thought of Rhett Butler. He had so many hats, wide Panamas forsummer, tall beavers for formal occasions, hunting hats, slouch hats of tan and black and blue.   What need had he for so many when her darling Ashley rode in the rain with moisture drippingdown his collar from the back of his cap?   “I’ll make Rhett give me that new black felt of his,” she decided. “And I’ll put a gray ribbonaround the brim and sew Ashley’s wreath on it and it will look lovely.”   She paused and thought it might be difficult to get the hat without some explanation. She simplycould not tell Rhett she wanted it for Ashley. He would raise his brows in that nasty way he alwayshad when she even mentioned Ashley’s name and, like as not, would refuse to give her the hat.   Well, she’d make up some pitiful story about a soldier in the hospital who needed it and Rhett neednever know the truth.   All that afternoon, she maneuvered to be alone with Ashley, even for a few minutes, but Melaniewas beside him constantly, and India and Honey, their pale lashless eyes glowing, followed himabout the house. Even John Wilkes, visibly proud of his son, had no opportunity for quietconversation with him.   It was the same at supper where they all plied him with questions about the war. The war! Whocared about the war? Scarlett didn’t think Ashley cared very much for that subject either. He talkedat length, laughed frequently and dominated the conversation more completely than she had everseen him do before, but he seemed to say very little. He told them jokes and funny stories aboutfriends, talked gaily about makeshifts, making light of hunger and long marches in the rain, anddescribed in detail how General Lee had looked when he rode by on the retreat from Gettysburgand questioned: “Gentlemen, are you Georgia troops? Well, we can’t get along without youGeorgians!”   It seemed to Scarlett that he was talking fervishly to keep them from asking questions he did notwant to answer. When she saw his eyes falter and drop before the long, troubled gaze of his father,a faint worry and bewilderment rose in her as to what was hidden in Ashley’s heart. But it soonpassed, for there was no room in her mind for anything except a radiant happiness and a drivingdesire to be alone with him.   That radiance lasted until everyone in the circle about the open fire began to yawn, and Mr.   Wilkes and the girls took their departure for the hotel. Then as Ashley and Melanie and Pittypatand Scarlett mounted the stairs, lighted by Uncle Peter, a chill fell on her spirit. Until that momentwhen they stood in the upstairs hall, Ashley had been hers, only hers, even if she had not had aprivate word with him that whole afternoon. But now, as she said good night she saw thatMelanie’s cheeks were suddenly crimson and she was trembling. Her eyes were on the carpet and,though she seemed overcome with some frightening emotion, she seemed shyly happy. Melaniedid not even look up when Ashley opened the bedroom door, but sped inside. Ashley said goodnight abruptly, and he did not meet Scarlett’s eyes either.   The door closed behind them, leaving Scarlett open mouthed and suddenly desolate. Ashley was no longer hers. He was Melanie’s. And as long as Melanie lived, she could go into rooms withAshley and close the door—and close out the rest of the world.   Now Ashley was going away, back to Virginia, back to the long marches in the sleet, to hungrybivouacs in the snow, to pain and hardship and to the risk of all the bright beauty of his goldenhead and proud slender body being blotted out in an instant, like an ant beneath a careless heel.   The past week with its shimmering, dreamlike beauty, its crowded hours of happiness, was gone.   The week had passed swiftly, like a dream, a dream fragrant with the smell of pine boughs andChristmas trees, bright with little candles and home-made tinsel, a dream where minutes flew asrapidly as heartbeats. Such a breathless week when something within her drove Scarlett withmingled pain and pleasure to pack and cram every minute with incidents to remember after he wasgone, happenings which she could examine at leisure in the long months ahead, extracting everymorsel of comfort from them—dance, sing, laugh, fetch and carry for Ashley, anticipate his wants,smile when he smiles, be silent when he talks, follow him with your eyes so that each line of hiserect body, each lift of his eyebrows, each quirk of his mouth, will be indelibly printed on yourmind—for a week goes by so fast and the war goes on forever.   She sat on the divan in the parlor, holding her going-away gift for him in her lap, waiting whilehe said good-by to Melanie, praying that when he did come down the stairs he would be alone andshe might be granted by Heaven a few moments alone with him. Her ears strained for sounds fromupstairs, but the house was oddly still, so still that even the sound of her breathing seemed loud.   Aunt Pittypat was crying into her pillows in her room, for Ashley had told her good-by half anhour before. No sounds of murmuring voices or of tears came from behind the closed door ofMelanie’s bedroom. It seemed to Scarlett that he had been in that room for hours, and she resentedbitterly each moment that he stayed, saying good-by to his wife, for the moments were slipping byso fast and his time was so short.   She thought of all the things she had intended to say to him during this week. But there had beenno opportunity to say them, and she knew now that perhaps she would never have the chance tosay them.   Such foolish little things, some of them: “Ashley, you will be careful, won’t you?” “Please don’tget your feet wet. You take cold so easily.” “Don’t forget to put a newspaper across your chestunder your shirt. It keeps out the wind so well.” But there were other things, more important thingsshe had wanted to say, much more important things she had wanted to hear him say, things she hadwanted to read in his eyes, even if he did not speak them.   So many things to say and now there was no time! Even the few minutes that remained might besnatched away from her if Melanie followed him to the door, to the carriage block. Why hadn’t shemade the opportunity during this last week? But always, Melanie was at his side, her eyescaressing him adoringly, always friends and neighbors and relatives were in the house and, frommorning till night, Ashley was never alone. Then, at night, the door of the bedroom closed and hewas alone with Melanie. Never once during these last days had he betrayed to Scarlett by one look,one word, anything but the affection a brother might show a sister or a friend, a lifelong friend. Shecould not let him go away, perhaps forever, without knowing whether he still loved her. Then, evenif he died, she could nurse the warm comfort of his secret love to the end of her days.   After what seemed an eternity of waiting, she heard the sound of his boots in the bedroom aboveand the door opening and closing. She heard him coming down the steps. Alone! Thank God forthat! Melanie must be too overcome by the grief of parting to leave her room. Now she would havehim for herself for a few precious minutes.   He came down the steps slowly, his spurs clinking, and she could hear the slap-slap of his saberagainst his high boots. When he came into the parlor, his eyes were somber. He was trying to smilebut his face was as white and drawn as a man bleeding from an internal wound. She rose as heentered, thinking with proprietary pride that he was the handsomest soldier she had ever seen. Hislong holster and belt glistened and his silver spurs and scabbard gleamed, from the industriouspolishing Uncle Peter had given them. His new coat did not fit very well, for the tailor had beenhurried and some of the seams were awry. The bright new sheen of the gray coat was sadly at variancewith the worn and patched butternut trousers and the scarred boots, but if he had been clothedin silver armor he could not have looked more the shining knight to her.   “Ashley,” she begged abruptly, “may I go to the train with you?”   “Please don’t. Father and the girls will be there. And anyway, I’d rather remember you sayinggood-by to me here than shivering at the depot. There’s so much to memories.”   Instantly she abandoned her plan. If India and Honey who disliked her so much were to bepresent at the leave taking, she would have no chance for a private word.   “Then I won’t go,” she said. “See, Ashley! I’ve another present for you.”   A little shy, now that the time had come to give it to him, she unrolled the package. It was a longyellow sash, made of thick China silk and edged with heavy fringe. Rhett Butler had brought her ayellow shawl from Havana several months before, a shawl gaudily embroidered with birds andflowers in magenta and blue. During this last week, she had patiently picked out all the embroideryand cut up the square of silk and stitched it into a sash length.   “Scarlett, it’s beautiful! Did you make it yourself? Then I’ll value it all the more. Put it on me,my dear. The boys will be green with envy when they see me in the glory of my new coat andsash.”   She wrapped the bright lengths about his slender waist, above his belt, and tied the ends in alover’s knot. Melanie might have given him his new coat but this sash was her gift, her own secretguerdon for him to wear into battle, something that would make him remember her every time helooked at it. She stood back and viewed him with pride, thinking that even Jeb Stuart with hisflaunting sash and plume could not look so dashing as her cavalier.   “It’s beautiful,” he repeated, fingering the fringe. “But I know you’ve cut up a dress or a shawlto make it. You shouldn’t have done it, Scarlett. Pretty things are too hard to get these days.”   “Oh, Ashley, I’d—”   She had started to say: I’d cut up my heart for you to wear if you wanted it,” but she finished,“I’d do anything for you!”   “Would you?” he questioned and some of the somber-ness lifted from his face. “Then, there’ssomething you can do for me, Scarlett, something that will make my mind easier when I’m away.”   “What is it?” she asked joyfully, ready to promise prodigies.   “Scarlett, will you look after Melanie for me?”   “Look after Melly?”   Her heart sank with bitter disappointment. So this was something beautiful, somethingspectacular! And then anger flared. This moment was her moment with Ashley, hers alone. Andyet, though Melanie was absent, her pale shadow lay between them. How could he bring up hername in their moment of farewell? How could he ask such a thing of her?   He did not notice the disappointment on her face. As of old, his eyes were looking through herand beyond her, at something else, not seeing her at all.   “Yes, keep an eye on her, take care of her. She’s so frail and she doesn’t realize it. She’ll wearherself out nursing and sewing. And she’s so gentle and timid. Except for Aunt Pittypat and UncleHenry and you, she hasn’t a close relative in the world, except the Burrs in Macon and they’rethird cousins. And Aunt Pitty—Scarlett, you know she’s like a child. And Uncle Henry is an oldman. Melanie loves you so much, not just because you were Charlie’s wife, but because—well,because you’re you and she loves you like a sister. Scarlett, I have nightmares when I think whatmight happen to her if I were killed and she had no one to turn to. Will you promise?”   She did not even hear his last request, so terrified was she by those ill-omened words, “if I werekilled.”   Every day she had read the casualty lists, read them with her heart in her throat, knowing thatthe world would end if anything should happen to him. But always, always, she had an innerfeeling that even if the Confederate Army were entirely wiped out, Ashley would be spared. Andnow he had spoken the frightful words! Goose bumps came out all over her and fear swamped her,a superstitious fear she could not combat with reason. She was Irish enough to believe in secondsight, especially where death premonitions were concerned, and in his wide gray eyes she sawsome deep sadness which she could only interpret as that of a man who has felt the cold finger onhis shoulder, has heard the wail of the Banshee.   “You mustn’t say it! You mustn’t even think it It’s bad luck to speak of death! Oh, say a prayer,quickly!”   “You say it for me and light some candles, too,” he said, smiling at the frightened urgency in hervoice.   But she could not answer, so stricken was she by the pictures her mind was drawing, Ashleylying dead in the snows of Virginia, so far away from her. He went on speaking and there was aquality in his voice, a sadness, a resignation, that increased her fear until every vestige of angerand disappointment was blotted out.   “I’m asking you for this reason, Scarlett I cannot tell what will happen to me or what willhappen to any of us. But when the end comes, I shall be far away from here, even if I am alive, toofar away to look out for Melanie.”   “The—the end?”   “The end of the war—and the end of the world.”   “But Ashley, surely you can’t think the Yankees win beat us? All this week you’ve talked abouthow strong General Lee—”   “All this week I’ve talked lies, like all men talk when they’re on furlough. Why should I frightenMelanie and Aunt Pitty before there’s any need for them to be frightened? Yes, Scarlett, I think theYankees have us. Gettysburg was the beginning of the end. The people back home don’t know ityet. They can’t realize how things stand with us, but—Scarlett, some of my men are barefootednow and the snow is deep in Virginia. And when I see their poor frozen feet, wrapped in rags andold sacks, and I see the blood prints they leave in the snow, and know that I’ve got a whole pair ofboots—well, I feel like I should give mine away and be barefooted too.”   “Oh, Ashley, promise me you won’t give them away!”   “When I see things like that and then look at the Yankees—then I see the end of everything.   Why, Scarlett, the Yankees are buying soldiers from Europe by the thousands! Most of theprisoners we’ve taken recently can’t even speak English. They’re Germans and Poles and wildIrishmen who talk Gaelic. But when we lose a man, he can’t be replaced. When our shoes wearout, there are no more shoes. We’re bottled up, Scarlett. And we can’t fight the whole world.”   She thought wildly: Let the whole Confederacy crumble in the dust. Let the world end, but youmust not die! I couldn’t live if you were dead!   “I hope you will not repeat what I have said, Scarlett. I do not want to alarm the others. And, mydear, I would not have alarmed you by saying these things, were it not that I had to explain why Iask you to look after Melanie. She’s so frail and weak and you’re so strong, Scarlett. It will be acomfort to me to know that you are together if anything happens to me. You will promise, won’tyou?”   “Oh, yes!” she cried, for at that moment, seeing death at his elbow, she would have promisedanything. “Ashley, Ashley! I can’t let you go away! I simply can’t be brave about it!”   “You must be brave,” he said, and his voice changed subtly. It was resonant, deeper, and hiswords fell swiftly as though hurried with some inner urgency. “You must be brave. For how elsecan I stand it?”   Her eyes sought his face quickly and with joy, wondering if he meant that leaving her wasbreaking his heart, even as it was breaking hers. His face was as drawn as when he came downfrom bidding Melanie good-by, but she could read nothing in his eyes. He leaned down, took herface in his hands, and kissed her lightly on the forehead.   “Scarlett! Scarlett! You are so fine and strong and good. So beautiful, not just your sweet face,my dear, but all of you, your body and your mind and your soul.”   “Oh, Ashley,” she whispered happily, thrilling at his words and his touch on her face. “Nobodyelse but you ever—”   “I like to think that perhaps I know you better than most people and that I can see beautifulthings buried deep in you that others are too careless and too hurried to notice.”   He stopped speaking and his hands dropped from her face, but his eyes still clung to her eyes.   She waited a moment, breathless for him to continue, a-tiptoe to hear him say the magic three words. But they did not come. She searched his face frantically, her lips quivering, for she saw hehad finished speaking.   This second blighting of her hopes was more than heart could bear and she cried “Oh!” in achildish whisper and sat down, tears stinging her eyes. Then she heard an ominous sound in thedriveway, outside the window, a sound that brought home to her even more sharply the imminenceof Ashley’s departure. A pagan hearing the lapping of the waters around Charon’s boat could nothave felt more desolate. Uncle Peter, muffled in a quilt, was bringing out the carriage to takeAshley to the train.   Ashley said “Good-by,” very softly, caught up from the table the wide felt hat she had inveigledfrom Rhett and walked into the dark front hall. His hand on the doorknob, he turned and looked ather, a long, desperate look, as if he wanted to carry away with him every detail of her face andfigure. Through a blinding mist of tears she saw his face and with a strangling pain in her throatshe knew that he was going away, away from her care, away from the safe haven of this house, andout of her life, perhaps forever, without having spoken the words she so yearned to hear. Time wasgoing by like a mill race, and now it was too late. She ran stumbling across the parlor and into thehall and clutched the ends of his sash.   “Kiss me,” she whispered. “Kiss me good-by,”   His arms went around her gently, and he bent his head to her face. At the first touch of his lipson hers, her arms were about his neck in a strangling grip. For a fleeting immeasurable instant, hepressed her body close to his. Then she felt a sudden tensing of all his muscles. Swiftly, he droppedthe hat to the floor and, reaching up, detached her arms from his neck.   “No, Scarlett, no,” he said in a low voice, holding her crossed wrists in a grip that hurt.   “I love you,” she said choking. “I’ve always loved you. I’ve never loved anybody else. I justmarried Charlie to— to try to hurt you. Oh, Ashley, I love you so much I’d walk every step of theway to Virginia just to be near you! And I’d cook for you and polish your boots and groom yourhorse— Ashley, say you love me! I’ll live on it for the rest of my life!”   He bent suddenly to retrieve his hat and she had one glimpse of his face. It was the unhappiestface she was ever to see, a face from which all aloofness had fled. Written on it were his love forand joy that she loved him, but battling them both were shame and despair.   “Good-by,” he said hoarsely.   The door clicked open and a gust of cold wind swept the house, fluttering the curtains. Scarlettshivered as she watched him run down the walk to the carriage, his saber glinting in the feeblewinter sunlight, the fringe of his sash dancing jauntily.   那支在葛底斯堡战役中被击溃的军队如今已撒回到弗吉尼亚,并精疲力竭地开进了拉起丹河岸的冬季营地。圣诞节即将到来,艾希礼回家休假。两年多以来思嘉第一次看见他,那火一般炽热的感情连她自己都觉得惊异了。当初她站在"十二像树"村的客厅里看着他跟媚兰结婚时,曾以为自己今后再也不会比此时此刻更伤心更强烈地爱他了。可如今她才知道,她在那个早已过去的夜晚所经历的,只不过是一个被夺走了玩具的娇惯孩子的感情而已。长期以来她在梦想着他,同时强制着自己不要说出来,这才把她的感情磨练得更锐利,也更加浓烈了。   艾希礼•威尔克斯身穿一套褪色和补缀过的军服,一头金发已被夏日和骄阳晒成亚麻色,看来已完全是另一个人,不像战前她拼命爱着的那个随随便便、睡眼朦胧的小伙子,他以前皮肤白皙,身材细长,现在变成褐色和干瘦的了,加上那两片金黄的骑兵式样的髭须,便成了一个十足的大兵。   他用军人的姿势笔挺地站在那儿,穿着一身旧军服,手枪挂在破旧的皮套里,用旧了的剑鞘轻轻敲着长统靴,一对快要锈了的马刺在隐隐发光。这就是南部联盟陆军少校艾希礼•威尔克斯。他现在有了命令人的习惯和一种镇静自恃与尊严的神气,两个嘴角也长出了严厉的皱纹。他那宽厚的肩膀和冷静明亮的目光,如今也显得有点异样了。他以前是散慢的,懒洋洋的,可现在已变得像猫一样机警,仿佛每一根神经都绷得很紧,像小提琴上的琴弦那样。他的眼睛流露出疲倦和困惑的神色,晒黑的脸皮也紧紧地绷在两个颧骨上,给人以严肃的感觉,他还是她所爱的那个漂亮的艾希礼,不过已显得很不一样了。   思嘉早已计划好要回塔拉去过圣诞节,可是艾希礼的电报一来,世界上就无论什么力量,哪怕是失望的爱伦直接发来的命令,都不能把她从亚特兰大拉走了。如果艾希礼曾经有意回"十二像树"村,她本来是可以赶回塔拉去的。因为那两个地方相距较近;但是他已经写信给家里,叫他们来亚特兰大见面,而且威尔克斯先生、霍妮和英迪亚都已经进城来了。难道她还要放弃这时隔两年后与他相逢的机会,回到塔拉去吗?难道要放弃听他那令人心醉的声音的机会,放弃从他眼光中了解他并没有忘记她的机会吗?绝对不行!哪怕世界上所有的母亲都来命令她,也不行。   艾希礼和一群同时休假的本县小伙子在圣诞节前几天回来了,这一群人经过葛底斯堡战役减少了许多。他们中间有消瘦、憔悴和不停地咳嗽的凯德•卡尔弗特,有从1861年以来头一次获得休假因此满怀兴奋的芒罗家两兄弟,还有常常喝醉、喜欢打闹的争吵的亚历克斯和托尼•方丹,这几个人必须在车站等候两小时换车,而且还得有头脑清醒的人去设法防止方丹家两兄弟之间和他们与陌生人之间相互斗殴,所以艾希礼就把他们一起带到皮蒂姑妈家来了。   一进屋,方丹兄弟就像两只斗鸡似的争着要去吻战战兢兢而又受宠若惊的皮蒂姑妈,凯德看了便尖刻地说:“你一定会以为他们在弗吉尼亚打斗够了吧,不,从我们到里士满第一天气,他们就一直在喝酒和找人打架。宪兵把他们抓了起来,要不是艾希礼说话伶俐,他们准在牢房里过圣诞节了。"可是这些话思嘉几乎一句也没听见,因为她好不容易跟艾希礼坐到了同一个房间,早已高兴得如醉如痴了。她怎么会在这两年里想起别的男人谁是令人愉快的、漂亮的,或者有刺激性的呢?她怎么能容忍艾希礼不在世时她就默不作声地听他们向她求爱呢?如今他又在家里了,和她只隔着这块客厅里的地毯。他坐在对面沙发上,一边是媚兰,一边是英迪亚,还有霍妮抱着他的肩膀。这时她每看他一眼,都要使出浑身的解数来不让自己显得眼泪汪汪。要是她有权利也去坐在他身边,挽着他的胳臂,那多好啊!要是她能够每隔几分钟就去摸摸他的袖子,证实他的确在那里,或者拉着他的手用他的手绢试掉她脸上快乐的泪水,那多好啊!因为媚兰就毫不害羞地在这样做啊!你看她那样高兴,已没有什么羞怯和含蓄的意思了,竟公然吊在丈夫的膀子上,用她的眼神、微笑和泪水在表示多么喜爱他,可是思嘉自己也太快活、太高兴,对这样的情景也不觉得恼恨和嫉妒了,艾希礼终于回家了!   她不时用手摸摸自己的脸颊,并对他笑笑,因为那儿是他吻过的,至今还保留着他的嘴唇颤抖的感觉。当然,他没有首先吻她。媚兰正拼命往他怀里钻。一面断断续续地哭,紧紧地抱住他,仿佛永远也不放他走似的。后来,英迪亚和霍妮也走上前去紧紧抱住他,把他从媚兰怀里拉了出来。接着他吻了他父亲,同时敬重而亲切地抱了抱,充分显示了他们之间那种深沉强烈的感情。然后是皮蒂姑妈,她激动得用那双不顶事的小脚一跳一跳地接受他的亲吻和拥抱。最后,他来到她面前,周围的小伙子也都围拢来要求亲吻,他先是对她说:“唔,思嘉,你真美,真美!"随即在她脸上吻了一下。   经他这一吻,她原先想说的那些表示欢迎的话全都不翼而飞了。直到好几个小时以后,她才想其他没有吻他的嘴唇,于是她痴痴地设想:如果他是单独同她见面,他便会那样吻的。他会弯下高高的身子,轻轻捧起她的脸颊,让她踮着脚尖,相互吻着,紧紧地长时间地拥抱。不过还有的是时间。整顿一个星期,什么事都好办呢。她一定能想出办法让他单独跟她在一起,并且对他说:“你还记得我们时常在我们那条秘密的小路上一起骑马的情形吗?”“你还记得我们坐在塔拉农场台阶上,你朗读那首诗的那个夜晚,月亮是什么模样吗?”(天呀!那首诗的标题是什么呀?)"你还记得那天下午我扭伤了脚脖子,你抱着我在暮色中回家的光景吗?”啊,有多少事情她可以用"你还记得”来引其他的回忆,有多少珍贵的回忆可以把他带回到那些可爱的日子,那时他们像无忧无虑的孩子在县里到处转悠,有多少事情能叫他们记起媚兰出台以前的岁月啊!而且,他们谈话时她或许还能从他的眼神中发现感情复活的迹象;或者得到某种暗示。说明他对媚兰的丈夫之爱的背后还有所眷恋,像大野宴那天他突然说出实情时那样热情的眷恋。她没有设想到,如果艾希礼明确宣布爱她,他们究竟会怎么办。只要知道他还在爱她,就足够了……是的,她能够等待,能够容忍媚兰去享受抓住他胳臂哭泣的幸福。她的机会一定会来的。说到底,像媚兰这样一个女孩子,她懂得什么爱啊?   “亲爱的,你简直像个叫花子了,"媚兰说,这时刚到家的那种兴奋场面已渐渐过去。"是谁给你补的衣服,为什么用蓝布呢?”“我还以为自己满时髦呢,"艾希礼说,一面看了看身上的衣服。"要是拿我跟那边那些穿破衣烂衫的人比一比,你就会满意些了。这衣服是莫斯给补的,我看补得很好嘛,要知道,他在战前是从没拈过针线的。至于讲到蓝布,那就是这样,你要么穿破裤子,要么就从一件俘获的北方佬制服上弄块碎布来把它补好,没有什么别的选择。至于说像个叫花子,那你还得庆幸自己的命好,你丈夫总算没有光着脚丫跑回来,我那双旧靴子上个星期就彻底坏了,要不是我们运气好,打死了两个北方佬侦察兵,我就会脚上绑着一双草鞋回家来啦。   这双靴子倒是很合我的脚呢。”   说到这里,他把两条长腿伸出来,让她们欣赏那双已经遍体伤痕的长统靴。   “另一个侦察兵的靴子我穿了不合适,"凯德说。"靴子比我的脚小两号,现在还夹得我痛极了,不过我照样穿着体面地回来了。”“可这个自私鬼太小气,不肯给我们俩,"托尼说。"其实对我们方丹家的贵族式小脚是非常合适的。真他妈的恼火,我得厚着脸皮穿这靴子去见母亲了。没打仗的时候,这种东西她是连黑奴也不让穿的。”“别着急,"亚历克斯说,一面向凯德脚上的靴子瞧了一眼。"咱们回家时,在火车上把他的靴子剥下来。我倒不怕见母亲。可是我----我不想让迪米蒂•芒罗看见我的脚趾头全露在外面。”“怎么,这是我的靴子,我是头一个提出要求的。"托尼说着,朝他哥哥瞪了一眼,这时媚兰吓得慌了手脚,生怕发生一场有名的方丹家族式的争吵,便插进来调解了。   “我本来蓄了满满一脸络腮胡要给你们女孩子看的,"艾希礼一面说一面用力摩擦他的脸,脸上剃刀留下的伤痕还没有全好呢。"那是一脸很好看的胡须,我自己觉得连杰布•斯图尔特和内森•福雷斯特的胡子也不过如此呢。可是我们一到里士满,那两个流氓。"他指方丹兄弟,"就说既然他们在刮胡子,我的也得刮掉。他们按着我坐下,便动手给我剃开了,奇怪的是居然没把我的脑袋一起剃掉。当时多亏埃文和凯德阻拦,我的这两片髭须才保全下来。”“威尔克斯太太!别听他这些鬼话,你还得感谢我呢。要不然你就压根儿也不认识他,也不会让他进门了,”亚历克斯说。"我们这样做是为了表示一点谢意,因为他说服了宪兵没把我们关起来。你要是再这样说,我们就马上把你的髭须也剃掉。”“啊,不,谢谢你了!我看这模样很不错嘛,"媚兰急忙说,一面惊慌的揪住艾希礼,因为那两个黑黑的小家伙显然是什么恶作剧都干得出来的。   “这才叫爱呢,"方丹兄弟一本正经地相互看了一眼,点了点头。   当艾希礼出门送几个小伙子坐上皮蒂姑妈的马车到车站去时,媚兰抓住思嘉的胳臂唠叨起来。   “你不觉得他那件军服太难看了吗?等我拿出那件上衣来,他准会大吃一惊?要是还有足够的料子给他做条裤子就好了!"给艾希礼做的那件上衣,一提起来思嘉就头痛,因为她多么热望那是她而不是媚兰送给艾希礼的圣诞礼物啊!做军服的灰色毛料如今比红宝石还要珍贵。几乎是无价之宝,艾希礼身上穿的就是普通的家织布。现在连那种白胡桃般的本色土布也不好买,许多士兵穿着北方佬俘虏的服装,只不过用核桃壳染成了深褐色罢了。可是媚兰碰上了罕见的运气,居然弄到了足够的灰色细布来做件上衣----当然是一件比较短的上衣,不过照样是上衣嘛。原来她在医院里护理过一个查尔斯顿小伙子,他后来死了,她剪下他的一绺金黄头发,连同一小包遗物和一份关于他死亡前情况的抚慰书(当然没有提到痛苦的情景),寄给了他母亲。这样,她们之间就建立了通讯联系,当对方听说媚兰的丈夫在前线时,便把自己买给儿子的那段灰细布和一副铜钮扣寄来了。那是一段很漂亮的衣料,既厚实又暖和,还隐隐约约泛着光泽,无疑是从封锁线那边过来的货色,也无疑是很昂贵的。这块料子现在在裁缝手里,媚兰催他赶快在圣诞日早晨之前做好。思嘉当然想帮忙凑合着做一整套军服,可是不巧,她在亚特兰大怎么也找不到所需的料子。   她有一件给艾希礼的圣诞礼物,不过跟媚兰做那件灰上衣比起来就黯然失色了。那是一只用法兰绒做的"针线包",里面装着瑞德从纳索带来的一包针和三条手绢,还有两卷线和一把小剪刀。但是她还想送给他一些更亲近的东西,像妻子送给丈夫的东西,如衬衫、手套,帽子之类。唔,是的,无论如何要弄到一顶帽子,现在艾希礼头上戴的平顶步兵帽实在太不像样了。思嘉一向厌恶这种帽子。就算斯•杰克逊宁愿戴这种帽子而不戴软边毡帽,又怎样呢?那也并不能使它就显得神气起来,可是在亚特兰大偏偏只能买到粗制滥造的羊毛帽子,比猴里猴骑兵帽还要邋遢。   她一想到帽子,便想起瑞德•巴特勒。他有多么多帽子,夏天用的阔边巴拿马帽,正式场合戴的高礼帽,还有猎帽,褐色、黑色和蓝色的垂边软帽,等等,他怎么就需要那么多的帽子,而她的宝贝艾希礼骑着马在雨中行走时却不得不让雨水从那顶步兵帽上滴里答拉往衣领里流呢?   “我要瑞德把他那顶新的黑毡帽给我,"她打定主意。"我还要给帽边镶一条灰色带子,把艾希礼的花环钉在上面,那就显得很好看了。"她停了停,觉得要拿到那顶帽子大概非费一番口舌不可。   可是她不能告诉瑞德说是替艾希礼要的。她只要一提到艾希礼的名了,他就会厌恶地竖起眉毛,而且很可能会拒绝她。好吧,她就编出一个动人的故事来,说医院里有个伤兵需要帽子,那样瑞德便不会知道真相了。   那天整个下午思嘉都在想方设法要让艾希礼跟她单独在一起,那怕几分钟也好,可是媚兰始终在他身边,同时英迪亚和霍妮也睁着没有睫毛的眼睛热情地跟着他在屋子里转。   这样,连那位显然为儿子而骄傲的约翰•威尔克斯也找不到机会来跟他安静地谈谈了。   吃晚饭的时候还是那样,她们用各种各样有关战争的问题来打扰他。战争!谁要关心你们的战争呢?思嘉觉得艾希礼对战争这个话题也没有太大的兴趣。她跟她们长久地闲聊,不停地笑,支配着谈话的整个场面,这种情形以前是很少见的,可是他好像并没有说出多少东西来。他讲了一些笑话和关于朋友们的有趣故事,兴致勃勃地谈论减缓饥饿的办法和雨里行军的情景,并且详细描绘了从葛底斯堡撤退时李将军骑马赶路的尴尬模样,那时李说:“先生们,你们是佐治亚部队吗?那好,我们要是缺了你们住治亚人,就什么都干不下去了!"他之所以谈得这样起劲,据思嘉看来,是为了避免她们提那些他不高兴回答的问题。有一次,她发现,他在他父亲的长久而困惑的注视下,显得有点犹豫和畏缩起来。这时她不由得开始纳闷,究竟艾希礼心里还隐藏着什么呢?可这很快就过去了,因为这时她除了兴高采烈的迫切希望跟他单独在一起之外,已没有心思去考虑旁的事了。   她的这种兴致一直持续到火炉周围所有在场的人都开始打哈欠,威尔克斯先生和几个女孩子告别回旅馆去了,这才告一段落。然后,当她跟着艾希礼、媚兰和皮蒂帕特,由彼得大叔擎着蜡烛照路一起上楼去时,她忽然感到一阵凄凉。原来直到这时,他们站在楼梯口,艾希礼还一直是她的,也仅仅是她的,尽管整个下午他们并没有说过一句悄悄话。可如今,到她道晚安时,她才突然发现媚兰满脸通红,而且在激动得颤抖呢。她两眼俯视地毯,好像对自己的浑身激情不胜惊恐似的,但同时又流露出娇羞的愉快。接着,艾希礼把卧室门推开,媚兰连头也不抬连忙进屋去了。艾希礼也匆匆道过晚安,甚至没有触到思嘉的目光就跟着进去了。   他们随手把门关上,剩下思嘉一个人目瞪口呆站在那里,一股凉意突然袭上心头,艾希礼不再属于她了。她是媚兰的。   只要媚兰还活着,她就能和艾希礼双双走进卧室,把门关上----把整个世界关在门外,什么都不要了。   现在艾希礼要走了,要回到弗吉尼亚去,回到雨雪中的长途行军去,回到雪地上饥饿的野营去,回到艰难困苦中去,在那里,他那金发灿烂的头颅和细长的身躯----整个光辉美丽的生命,都有可能顷刻化为乌有,像一只被粗心大意踩在脚下的蚂蚁一样。过去的一星期,那闪光的、梦一般美妙的、洋溢着幸福的分分秒秒,现在都已经消失了。   这一星期过得飞快,像一个梦,一个充满松枝和圣诞树的香味,闪烁着小小烛光和家制金色饰品的梦,一个时间分分秒秒像脉膊般飞逝而去的梦。在这样紧张的一星期,思嘉心里经常有某种东西驱使她忧喜交织地注意并记住每分钟所发生的小事,作为他走后的回忆;在未来漫长的岁月中一有闲暇那些事情她便会去细细玩味,并从中吸取安慰----比如,跳舞,唱歌,嬉笑,给艾希礼拿东拿西,预先设想他的需要,陪他微笑,静静地听他谈话,目光跟着他转。使他挺直身躯上的每根线条,他眉头的一颦一蹙,他嘴唇的每一颤动,无不深深印在你心上----因为一星期匆匆而过,而战争却要永远打下去呢。   思嘉坐在客厅里的沙发椅上等着,那件即将伴随他远行d的礼物放在膝头。这时艾希礼正在跟媚兰话别,她祈祷着他会一个人下楼来,那时天赐良机,她就可以单独跟他待几分钟了。她侧耳倾听楼上的声音,可是整个屋子静悄悄,静得连她自己的呼吸也似乎响亮起来。皮蒂姑妈正在卧房里趴在枕上哭泣,因为艾希礼半小时前就向她告别过了。从媚兰紧闭的卧室里没有传出什么喁喁私语或嘤嘤啜泣的声音。思嘉觉得他在那间房里已待了好几个小时,一直在恋恋不舍地跟媚兰话别,每一分钟都只有增加她的恼恨,因为时间溜得那么快,他马上就要动身了。   她反复想着自己在这个星期里心里要对他说的全部话。   可是一直没有机会说啊!而且她现在觉得或许永远也没有希望了。   其实也尽是些零零星星的傻话:“艾希礼,你得随时小心,知道吗?”“不要打湿了脚,你是容易着凉的。”“别忘了在衬衣底下放一张报纸在胸脯上,这很能挡风呢,"等等,不过还有旁的事情,一些她要说的更重要的事情,一些她很想听他说出来的重要得多的事情,一些即使他不说她也要从他眼睛里看出来的事情。   可是没有时间了!有那么多的话要说!甚至仅剩下的短短几分钟也很可能被夺走,要是媚兰跟着他走到门口,到马车跟前的话,为什么她在过去一星期里没有创造机会呢?可是媚兰经常在他身边,她的眼睛始终爱慕地盯着他,亲友邻居也川流不息。从早到晚屋里没断过人。艾希礼从来没有在什么地方一个人待过。到了晚上,卧室门一关,他便跟媚兰单独在一起了。这些日子,除了像哥哥对妹妹,或者对一个朋友,一个终生不渝的朋友那样一种态度之外,他从来没有向思嘉透露过一个亲昵的眼色或一句体已的话。她不能让他离开----说不定是永远离开,除非弄清他仍在爱他。因为只要明白了这一点,她就可以从他这秘密的爱中获得亲切的安慰,直到生命的最后一息也死而无憾了。   好像等了一辈子似的,她终于听到楼上卧室里他那穿靴子的脚步声,接着是开门和关门的声音。她听见他走下楼梯。   是独自一人!谢天谢地!媚兰一定是被离别的痛苦折磨得出不了门了,如今她可以在这宝贵的几分钟内占有他了。   他慢慢走下楼来,马刺丁当地响着,她还听见军刀碰撞靴筒的声音。他走进客厅时,眼神是阴郁的。他想要微笑,可是脸色苍白,又绷得很紧,像受了内伤在流血的人,她迎着他站起来,怀着独有的骄傲心情深深觉得他是她生气所见的最漂亮的军人了。她那长长的枪套和平带闪闪发光。雪亮的马刺和剑鞘也晶莹发亮,因为它们都被彼得大叔仔细擦试过了。他那件新上衣因为裁缝赶得太急,所以并不怎么合身,而且有的线缝显然是歪了。这件颇有光泽的灰上衣跟那条补缀过的白胡桃色裤子和那双伤痕累累的皮靴显得极不相称,可是,即使他满身银甲,在思嘉看来也不会比现在更像一名雄赳赳的武士。   “艾希礼,我送你到车站去好吗?”她显得有点唐突地提出这一要求。   “请不要送了吧,父亲和妹妹们都会去的,而且,我情愿你在这里跟我话别,不要到车站去挨冻,这会留给我一个更好的记忆。已经有那么多的东西可以做纪念的了。"等着她立即放弃了原先的计划,如果车站上有英迪亚和霍妮这两个很不喜欢她的人在场,她就没有机会说一句悄悄话了。   “那我就不去了,"她说。"你瞧,艾希礼,我还有件礼物要送给你。"如今临到真要把礼物交给他时,她反而有点不好意思起来。她解开包裹,那是一条长长的黄腰带,用厚实的中国缎子做的,两端镶了稠密的流苏。原来几个月前瑞德•巴特勒从萨凡纳给她带来一条黄围巾,一条用紫红和蓝色绒线刺绣着花鸟的艳丽围巾。这星期她把上面的刺绣全都仔细挑掉,用那块缎子作了一条腰带。   “思嘉,这漂亮极了!是你亲手做的吗?那我就更觉得珍贵了。给我系上吧,亲爱的。小伙子们看见我穿着新衣服,系着腰带,满身的锦绣,一定会眼红得不行呢。"思嘉把这条漂亮的腰带围到他的细腰上,把腰带的两端在皮带上方系成一个同心结。媚兰尽可以送给他那件新上衣,可这条腰带是她的礼物,是她亲手做成送他上前线的秘密奖品,它会叫他一看见就想起她来。她退后一步,怀着骄傲的心情端详着他,觉得即使杰布•斯图尔特系上那条有羽毛的饰带,也不如她这位骑士风度翩翩了。   “真漂亮。"他抚摩着腰带上流苏重复说。"但是我知道你是折了自己的一件衣服或披肩做的。思嘉,你不该这样。这年月很难买到这样好的东西呢。”“唔,艾希礼,我情愿给你做任何事情!”“真的吗?”他阴郁的面容顿时显得开朗了些。”那么,有件事倒是可以替我做的,思嘉,这件事会使我在外面也放心一些。”“什么事?"思嘉欢喜地问,准备承担什么了不起的任务。   “思嘉,你愿意替我照顾一下媚兰吗?”   “照顾媚兰?”   她突然痛感失望,心都碎了,原来这就是他对她的最后一个要求,而她正准备答应做一桩十分出色和惊心动魄的事呢?于是,她要发火了。这本是她跟艾希礼在一起的时刻,是她一人所专有的时刻。可是,尽管媚兰不在,她那灰色的影子仍然插在她们中间。他怎么居然在两人话别的当儿提起媚兰来了呢?他怎么会向她提出这样的要求呢?   他没有注意到她脸上的失望神情。像往常那样,他的眼光总是穿透而且远远越过她,似乎在看别的东西,根本没有看见她。   “是的,关心她,照顾她一下。她很脆弱,可是她并不明白这一点。她整天护理伤员,缝缝补补,会把自己累垮的。她又是那么温柔、胆校这世界上除了皮蒂姑妈、亨利叔叔和你,她没有别的亲人,另外只有在梅肯的伯尔家,那是远房堂表亲了,而皮蒂姑妈----思嘉,你是知道的,她简直像个孩子,亨利叔叔也是个上了年纪的人,媚兰非常爱你,这不仅因为你是查理的妻子,还因为----唔,因为你这个人,她把你当成妹妹在爱。思嘉,我常常做恶梦,想到如果我被打死了,媚兰无依无靠,会怎么样。你答应我的要求吗?”她连听也没有听见,这最后一个请求,因为她给"如果"这句不吉利的话吓坏了。   原来她每天都读伤亡名单,提心吊胆地读着,知道如果艾希礼出了什么事就整个世界都完了,但是她内心经常感到,即使南部联盟的军队全部覆灭,艾希礼也会幸免于难的。可现在他竟说出这样可怕的话来!她不禁浑身都起鸡皮疙瘩,一阵恐怖感,一种她无法用理智战胜的近似迷信的惊悸,把她彻底镇住了。她成了地地道道的爱尔兰人,相信人有一种预感,尤其是对于死亡的征兆。而且,她从艾希礼那双灰眼睛里看到深深的哀伤,这只能解释为他已经感觉到死神之手伸向他的肩头,并且听见它在哭叫了。   “你不能说这种话!连想也不能去想。平白无故谈死是要倒霉的!啊,快祷告一下吧,快!”“你替我祷告并点上些小蜡烛吧,”他听她惊慌的口气觉得好笑,便这样逗她。   可是她已经急得不知说什么好,因为她想象到了那可怕的情景,仿佛艾希礼在弗吉尼亚雪地里离她很远很远的地方躺着。他还在继续说下去,声音里流露着一种悲怆和听天由命的意味,这进一步增加了她的恐惧,直到心中的怒气和失望都消失得无影无踪了。   “思嘉。我就是因为这个缘故向你提出要求的,我不知道我会不会发生什么意外,我们在前线的每一个人会不会发生意外。只是一旦末日到来,我离家这么远,即使活着也太远了,无法照顾媚兰。”“末----日?”“战争的末日----世界的末日。"你答应我的“可是艾希礼,你总不会认为北方佬能打垮我们吧?这个星期你一直在谈李将军怎样厉害----”“像每个回家休假的人一样。我这个星期全是在撒谎,我为什么在这还不十分必要的时候就去吓唬媚兰和皮蒂姑妈呢?是的,思嘉,我认为北方佬已经拿住我们了。葛底斯堡就是末日的开端。后方的人还不知道这一点。他们不明白我们已处于什么样的局面,不过----思嘉,我们那个连队的人还在打赤脚,而弗吉尼亚的雪已下得很厚了。我每回看见他们冻坏的双脚,裹着破布和旧麻袋的双脚,看见他们留在雪里的带血的脚印,同时我知道我自己弄到了一双完整的靴子----唔,我就觉得我应当把靴子送人也打赤脚才好。”“请答应我,唔,艾希礼,你决不能把它送掉!”“我每回看见这样的情况,然后再看看北方佬,就觉得一切都完了。怎么,思嘉,北方佬在花大钱从欧训雇来成千的士兵呢!我们最近抓到的俘虏大多数连英语也不会讲。他们都是些德国人、波兰人和讲盖尔语的野蛮的爱尔兰人。可是我们每损失一个人就没有顶替的了。我们的鞋一穿破就没有鞋了。我们被四面包围着,思嘉,我们不能跟整个世界作战呀。"她胡思乱想起来:就让整个南部联盟被打得粉碎吧,让世界完蛋吧,可是你千万不能死!要是你死了,我也活不成了!   “思嘉,我不愿意吓唬别人。我希望你不要把我这些去对别人说,而且,亲爱的,我本来也不该说这些话来吓唬你,只是为了解释我为什么要求你照顾媚兰才不得不说了。她那么脆弱胆小,而你却这样坚强。只要你们俩在一起,即使我出了什么事也可以放心了,你肯答应我吗,思嘉?”“啊,答应!"她大声说,因为当时她觉得艾希礼很快就会死的,任何要求她都得答应。"艾希礼,艾希礼!我不能让你走!我简直没有这个勇气了!”“你必须鼓起勇气来,"他的声音也稍稍有点显得洪亮而深沉,话也说得干净利落,仿佛有种内心的急迫感在催促的。   “你必须勇敢,不然的话,叫我怎么受得了呢?"她用高兴的眼光观察他脸上的表情,不知他这话是否意味着不忍心跟她分手,如同她自己的心情那样。他的面容仍和他告别媚兰以后下楼时一样绷得很紧,眼睛里也看不出什么意味来。他俯下身来,双手捧着思嘉的脸,轻轻在额上吻了一下。   “思嘉,思嘉!你真漂亮,真坚强,真好!亲爱的,你的美不仅仅在这张可爱的脸上,更在于你的一切,你的身子、你的思想和你的灵魂。”“啊,艾希礼,”她愉快地低声叫道,因为他的话和他那轻轻一吻使她浑身都激动了。"只有你,再没有别人—-”“我常常想,或许我比别人更加了解你,我看得见你心灵深处的美,而别人却过于大意和轻率,往往注意不到。"他没有再说下去,同时把手从她脸上放下来,不过仍在注视着眼睛。她屏住气等了一会,迫切希望他继续说下去,踮着脚尖想听那神奇的三个字。可是他没有 Chapter 16 JANUARY AND FEBRUARY OF 1864 PASSED, full of cold rains and wild winds, clouded bypervasive gloom and depression. In addition to the defeats at Gettysburg and Vicksburg, the centerof the Southern line had caved. After hard fighting, nearly all of Tennessee was now held by theUnion troops. But even with this loss on the top of the others, the South’s spirit was not broken.   True, grim determination had taken the place of high-hearted hopes, but people could still find asilver lining in the cloud. For one thing, the Yankees had been stoutly repulsed in September whenthey had tried to follow up their victories in Tennessee by an advance into Georgia.   Here in the northwesternmost corner of the state, at Chickamauga, serious fighting had occurredon Georgia soil for the first time since the war began. The Yankees had taken Chattanooga andthen had marched through the mountain passes into Georgia, but they had been driven back withheavy losses.   Atlanta and its railroads had played a big part in making Chickamauga a great victory for theSouth. Over the railroads that led down from Virginia to Atlanta and then northward to Tennessee,General Longstreet’s corps had been rushed to the scene of the battle. Along the entire route ofseveral hundred miles, the tracks had been cleared and all the available rolling stock in theSoutheast had been assembled for the movement.   Atlanta had watched while train after train rolled through the town, hour after hour, passengercoaches, box cars, flat cars, filled with shouting men. They had come without food or sleep,without their horses, ambulances or supply trains and, without waiting for the rest, they had leapedfrom the trains and into the battle. And the Yankees had been driven out of Georgia, back into Tennessee.   It was the greatest feat of the war, and Atlanta took pride and personal satisfaction in the thoughtthat its railroads had made the victory possible.   But the South had needed the cheering news from Chickamauga to strengthen its morale throughthe winter. No one denied now that the Yankees were good fighters and, at last, they had goodgenerals. Grant was a butcher who did not care how many men he slaughtered for a victory, butvictory he would have. Sheridan was a name to bring dread to Southern hearts. And, then, therewas a man named Sherman who was being mentioned more and more often. He had risen toprominence in the campaigns in Tennessee and the West, and his reputation as a determined andruthless fighter was growing.   None of them, of course, compared with General Lee. Faith in the General and the army wasstill strong. Confidence in ultimate victory never wavered. But the war was dragging out so long.   There were so many dead, so many wounded and maimed for life, so many widowed, so manyorphaned. And there was still a long struggle ahead, which meant more dead, more wounded, morewidows and orphans.   To make matters worse, a vague distrust of those in high places had begun to creep over thecivilian population. Many newspapers were outspoken in their denunciation of President Davishimself and the manner in which he prosecuted the war. There were dissensions within theConfederate cabinet, disagreements between President Davis and his generals. The currency wasfalling rapidly. Shoes and clothing for the army were scarce, ordnance supplies and drugs werescarcer. The railroads needed new cars to take the place of old ones and new iron rails to replacethose torn up by the Yankees. The generals in the field were crying out for fresh troops, and therewere fewer and fewer fresh troops to be had. Worst of all, some of the state governors, GovernorBrown of Georgia among them, were refusing to send state militia troops and arms out of theirborders. There were thousands of able-bodied men in the state troops for whom the army was frantic, but the government pleaded for them in vain.   With the new fall of currency, prices soared again. Beef, pork and butter cost thirty-five dollars apound, flour fourteen hundred dollars a barrel, soda one hundred dollars a pound, tea five hundreddollars a pound. Warm clothing, when it was obtainable at all, had risen to such prohibitive pricesthat Atlanta ladies were lining their old dresses with rags and reinforcing them with newspapers tokeep out the wind. Shoes cost from two hundred to eight hundred dollars a pair, depending onwhether they were made of “cardboard” or real leather. Ladies now wore gaiters made of their oldwool shawls and cut-up carpets. The soles were made of wood.   The truth was that the North was holding the South in a virtual state of siege, though many didnot realize it. The Yankee gunboats had tightened the mesh at the ports and very few ships werenow able to slip past the blockade.   The South had always lived by selling cotton and buying the things it did not produce, but nowit could neither sell nor buy. Gerald O’Hara had three years’ crops of cotton stored under the shednear the gin house at Tara, but little good it did him. In Liverpool it would bring one hundred andfifty thousand dollars, but there was no hope of getting it to Liverpool. Gerald had changed from awealthy man to a man who was wondering how he would feed his family and his negroes throughthe winter.   Throughout the South, most of the cotton planters were in the same fix. With the blockadeclosing tighter and tighter, there was no way to get the South’s money crop to its market inEngland, no way to bring in the necessaries which cotton money had brought in years gone by.   And the agricultural South, waging war with the industrial North, was needing so many thingsnow, things it had never thought of buying in times of peace.   It was a situation made to order for speculators and profiteers, and men were not lacking to takeadvantage of it. As food and clothing grew scarcer and prices rose higher and higher, the publicoutcry against the speculators grew louder and more venomous. In those early days of 1864, nonewspaper could be opened that did not carry scathing editorials denouncing the speculators asvultures and bloodsucking leeches and calling upon the government to put them down with a hardhand. The government did its best, but the efforts came to nothing, for the government was harriedby many things.   Against no one was feeling more bitter than against Rhett Butler. He had sold his boats whenblockading grew too hazardous, and he was now openly engaged in food speculation. The storiesabout him that came back to Atlanta from Richmond and Wilmington made those who hadreceived him in other days writhe with shame.   In spite of all these trials and tribulations, Atlanta’s ten thousand population had grown todouble that number during the war. Even the blockade had added to Atlanta’s prestige. From timeimmemorial, the coast cities had dominated the South, commercially and otherwise. But now withthe ports closed and many of the port cities captured or besieged, the South’s salvation dependedupon itself. The interior section was what counted, if the South was going to win the war, andAtlanta was now the center of things. The people of the town were suffering hardship, privation,sickness and death as severely as the rest of the Confederacy; but Atlanta, the city, had gainedrather than lost as a result of the war. Atlanta, the heart of the Confederacy, was still beating full and strong, the railroads that were its arteries throbbing with the never-ending flow of men,munitions and supplies.   In other days, Scarlett would have been bitter about her shabby dresses and patched shoes butnow she did not care, for the one person who mattered was not there to see her. She was happythose two months, happier than she had been in years. Had she not felt the start of Ashley’s heartwhen her arms went round his neck? seen that despairing look on his face which was more open anavowal than any words could be? He loved her. She was sure of that now, and this conviction wasso pleasant she could even be kinder to Melanie. She could be sorry for Melanie now, sorry with afaint contempt for her blindness, her stupidity.   “When the war is over!” she thought “When it’s over—then ...”   Sometimes she thought with a small dart of fear: “What then?” But she put the thought from hermind. When the war was over, everything would be settled, somehow. If Ashley loved her, hesimply couldn’t go on living with Melanie.   But then, a divorce was unthinkable; and Ellen and Gerald, staunch Catholics that they were,would never permit her to marry a divorced man. It would mean leaving the Church! Scarlettthought it over and decided that, in a choice between the Church and Ashley, she would chooseAshley. But, oh, it would make such a scandal! Divorced people were under the ban not only of theChurch but of society. No divorced person was received. However, she would dare even that forAshley. She would sacrifice anything for Ashley.   Somehow it would come out all right when the war was over. If Ashley loved her so much, he’dfind a way. She’d make him find a way. And with every day that passed, she became more sure inher own mind of his devotion, more certain he would arrange matters satisfactorily when theYankees were finally beaten. Of course, he had said the Yankees “had” them. Scarlett thought thatwas just foolishness. He had been tired and upset when he said it. But she hardly cared whether theYankees won or not. The thing that mattered was for the war to finish quickly and for Ashley tocome home.   Then, when the sleets of March were keeping everyone indoors, the hideous blow fell. Melanie,her eyes shining with joy, her head ducked with embarrassed pride, told her she was going to havea baby.   “Dr. Meade says it will be here in late August or September,” she said. “I’ve thought—but Iwasn’t sure till today. Oh, Scarlett, isn’t it wonderful? I’ve so envied you Wade and so wanted ababy. And I was so afraid that maybe I wasn’t ever going to have one and, darling, I want adozen!”   Scarlett had been combing her hair, preparing for bed, when Melanie spoke and she stopped, thecomb in mid-air.   “Dear God!” she said and, for a moment, realization did not come. Then there suddenly leapedto her mind the closed door of Melanie’s bedroom and a knifelike pain went through her, a pain asfierce as though Ashley had been her own husband and had been unfaithful to her. A baby. Ashley’sbaby. Oh, how could he, when he loved her and not Melanie?   “I know you’re surprised,” Melanie rattled on, breathlessly. “And isn’t it too wonderful? Oh,Scarlett, I don’t know how I shall ever write Ashley! It wouldn’t be so embarrassing if I could tellhim or—or—well, not say anything and just let him notice gradually, you know—”   “Dear God!” said Scarlett, almost sobbing, as she dropped the comb and caught at the marbletop of the dresser for support.   “Darling, don’t look like that! You know having a baby isn’t so bad. You said so yourself. Andyou mustn’t worry about me, though you are sweet to be so upset. Of course, Dr. Meade said I was—was,” Melanie blushed, “quite narrow but that perhaps I shouldn’t have any trouble and—Scarlett, did you write Charlie and tell him when you found out about Wade, or did your mother doit or maybe Mr. O’Hara? Oh, dear, if I only had a mother to do it! I just don’t see how—”   “Hush!” said Scarlett, violently. “Hush!”   “Oh, Scarlett, I’m so stupid! I’m sorry. I guess all happy people are selfish. I forgot aboutCharlie, just for the moment—”   “Hush!” said Scarlett again, fighting to control her face and make her emotions quiet. Never,never must Melanie see or suspect how she felt.   Melanie, the most tactful of women, had tears in her eyes at her own cruelty. How could shehave brought back to Scarlett the terrible memories of Wade being born months after poor Charliewas dead? How could she have been so thoughtless?   “Let me help you undress, dearest,” she said humbly. “And I’ll rub your head for you.”   “You leave me alone,” said Scarlett, her face like stone. And Melanie, bursting into tears of self-condemnation, fled the room, leaving Scarlett to a tearless bed, with wounded pride,disillusionment and jealousy for bedfellows.   She thought that she could not live any longer in the same house with the woman who wascarrying Ashley’s child, thought that she would go home to Tara, home, where she belonged. Shedid not see how she could ever look at Melanie again and not have her secret read in her face. Andshe arose the next morning with the fixed intention of packing her trunk immediately afterbreakfast. But, as they sat at the table, Scarlett silent and gloomy, Pitty bewildered and Melaniemiserable, a telegram came.   It was to Melanie from Ashley’s body servant, Mose.   “I have looked everywhere and I can’t find him. Must I come home?”   No one knew what it meant but the eyes of the three women went to one another, wide withterror, and Scarlett forgot all thoughts of going home. Without finishing their breakfasts they drovedown to telegraph Ashley’s colonel, but even as they entered the office, there was a telegram fromhim.   “Regret to inform you Major Wilkes missing since scouting expedition three days ago. Will keepyou informed.”   It was a ghastly trip home, with Aunt Pitty crying into her handkerchief, Melanie sitting erectand white and Scarlett slumped, stunned in the corner of the carriage. Once in the house, Scarlett stumbled up the stairs to her bedroom and, clutching her Rosary from the table, dropped to herknees and tried to pray. But the prayers would not come. There only fell on her an abysmal fear, acertain knowledge that God had turned His face from her for her sin. She had loved a married manand tried to take him from his wife, and God had punished her by killing him. She wanted to praybut she could not raise her eyes to Heaven. She wanted to cry but the tears would not come. Theyseemed to flood her chest, and they were hot tears that burned under her bosom, but they wouldnot flow.   Her door opened and Melanie entered. Her face was like a heart cut from white paper, framedagainst black hair, and her eyes were wide, like those of a frightened child lost in the dark.   “Scarlett,” she said, putting out her hands. “You must forgive me for what I said yesterday, foryou’re—all I’ve got now. Oh, Scarlett, I know my darling is dead!”   Somehow, she was in Scarlett’s arms, her small breasts heaving with sobs, and somehow theywere lying on the bed, holding each other close, and Scarlett was crying too, crying with her facepressed close against Melanie’s, the tears of one wetting the cheeks of the other. It hurt so terriblyto cry, but not so much as not being able to cry. Ashley is dead—dead, she thought, and I havekilled him by loving him! Fresh sobs broke from her, and Melanie somehow feeling comfort in hertears tightened her arms about her neck.   “At least,” she whispered, “at least—I’ve got his baby.”   “And I,” thought Scarlett, too stricken now for anything so petty as jealousy, I’ve got nothing—nothing—nothing except the look on his face when he told me good-by.”   The first reports were “Missing—believed killed” and so they appeared on the casualty list.   Melanie telegraphed Colonel Sloan a dozen times and finally a letter arrived, full of sympathy,explaining that Ashley and a squad had ridden out on a scouting expedition and had not returned.   There had been reports of a slight skirmish within the Yankee lines and Mose, frantic with grief,had risked his own life to search for Ashley’s body but had found nothing. Melanie, strangely calmnow, telegraphed him money and instructions to come home.   When “Missing—believed captured” appeared on the casualty lists, joy and hope reanimated thesad household. Melanie could hardly be dragged away from the telegraph office and she met everytrain hoping for letters. She was sick now, her pregnancy making itself felt in many unpleasantways, but she refused to obey Dr. Meade’s commands and stay in bed. A feverish energy possessedher and would not let her be still; and at night, long after Scarlett had gone to bed, she could hearher walking the floor in the next room.   One afternoon, she came home from town, driven by the frightened Uncle Peter and supportedby Rhett Butler. She had fainted at the telegraph office and Rhett, passing by and observing theexcitement, had escorted her home. He carried her up the stairs to her bedroom and while thealarmed household fled hither and you for hot bricks, blankets and whisky, he propped her on thepillows of her bed.   “Mrs. Wilkes,” he questioned abruptly, “you are going to have a baby, are you not?”   Had Melanie not been so faint, so sick, so heartsore, she would have collapsed at his question.   Even with women friends she was embarrassed by any mention of her condition, while visits to Dr.   Meade were agonizing experiences. And for a man, especially Rhett Butler, to ask such a questionwas unthinkable. But lying weak and forlorn in the bed, she could only nod. After she had nodded,it did not seem so dreadful, for he looked so kind and so concerned.   “Then you must take better care of yourself. All this running about and worry won’t help youand may harm the baby. If you will permit me, Mrs. Wilkes, I will use what influence I have inWashington to learn about Mr. Wilkes’ fate. If he is a prisoner, he will be on the Federal lists, and ifhe isn’t—well, there’s nothing worse than uncertainty. But I must have your promise. Take care ofyourself or, before God, I won’t turn a hand.”   “Oh, you are so kind,” cried Melanie. “How can people say such dreadful things about you?”   Then overcome with the knowledge of her tactlessness and also with horror at having discussedher condition with a man, she began to cry weakly. And Scarlett, flying up the stairs with a hotbrick wrapped in flannel, found Rhett patting her hand.   He was as good as his word. They never knew what wires he pulled. They feared to ask,knowing it might involve an admission of his too close affiliations with the Yankees. It was amonth before he had news, news that raised them to the heights when they first heard it, but latercreated a gnawing anxiety In their hearts.   Ashley was not dead! He had been wounded and taken prisoner, and the records showed that hewas at Rock Island, a prison camp in Illinois. In their first joy, they could think of nothing exceptthat he was alive. But, when calmness began to return, they looked at one another and said “RockIsland!” in the same voice they would have said “In Hell!” For even as Andersonville was a namethat stank in the North, so was Rock Island one to bring terror to the heart of any Southerner whohad relatives imprisoned there.   When Lincoln refused to exchange prisoners, believing it would hasten the end of the war toburden the Confederacy with the feeding and guarding of Union prisoners, there were thousands ofbluecoats at Andersonville, Georgia. The Confederates on scant rations and practically withoutdrugsorbandagesfortheirownsickandwounded.(were) They had little to share with theprisoners. They fed their prisoners on what the soldiers in the field were eating, fat pork and driedpeas, and on this diet the Yankees died like flies, sometimes a hundred a day. Inflamed by thereports, the North resorted to harsher treatment of Confederate prisoners and at no place were conditionsworse than at Rock Island. Food was scanty, one blanket for three men, and the ravages ofsmallpox, pneumonia and typhoid gave the place the name of a pesthouse. Three-fourths of all themen sent there never came out alive.   And Ashley was in that horrible place! Ashley was alive but he was wounded and at RockIsland, and the snow must have been deep in Illinois when he was taken there. Had he died of hiswound, since Rhett had learned his news? Had he fallen victim to smallpox? Was he delirious withpneumonia and no blanket to cover him?   “Oh, Captain Butler, isn’t there some way— Can’t you use your influence and have himexchanged?” cried Melanie.   “Mr. Lincoln, the merciful and just, who cries large tears over Mrs. Bixby’s five boys, hasn’tany tears to shed about the thousands of Yankees dying at Andersonville,” said Rhett, his mouthtwisting. “He doesn’t care if they all die. The order is out. No exchanges. I—I hadn’t told youbefore, Mrs. Wilkes, but your husband had a chance to get out and refused it.”   “Oh, no!” cried Melanie in disbelief.   “Yes, indeed. The Yankees are recruiting men for frontier service to fight the Indians, recruitingthem from among Confederate prisoners. Any prisoner who will take the oath of allegiance andenlist for Indian service for two years will be released and sent West. Mr. Wilkes refused.”   “Oh, how could he?” cried Scarlett “Why didn’t he take the oath and then desert and come homeas soon as he got out of jail?”   Melanie turned on her like a small fury.   “How can you even suggest that he would do such a thing? Betray his own Confederacy bytaking that vile oath and then betray his word to the Yankees! I would rather know he was dead atRock Island than hear he had taken that oath. I’d be proud of him if he died in prison. But if he didthat, I would never look on his face again. Never! Of course, he refused.”   When Scarlett was seeing Rhett to the door, she asked indignantly: “If it were you, wouldn’t youenlist with the Yankees to keep from dying in that place and then desert?”   “Of course,” said Rhett, his teeth showing beneath his mustache.   “Then why didn’t Ashley do it?”   “He’s a gentleman,” said Rhett, and Scarlett wondered how it was possible to convey suchcynicism and contempt in that one honorable word.  1864年一月和二月接连过去了,凄风惨雨,暗雾愁云,人们的心也是阴沉沉的,随着葛底斯堡和维克斯堡两大战役的惨败,南方阵线的中心已经崩溃。经过激烈的战斗,田纳西几乎已全部落入北军的手中。不过尽管有种种牺牲,南方的精神并没有被推垮。不错,一种严峻的决心已取代了当初雄心勃勃的希望,可是人们仍能从阴云密布中找到一线灿烂的光辉。比如说,去年九月间北方佬试图乘田纳西胜利的声势向佐治亚挺进,结果却被坚决地击退了。   就在佐治亚西北最远的一角奇卡莫加,曾经发生过战争开始以来佐治亚土地上第一次激烈的战斗,北方佬攫取了查塔努加,然后穿过山隘进入佐治亚境内,但是他们被南军打回去了,受到的损失也相当惨重。   在奇卡莫加南军的重大胜利中,亚特兰大和它的铁道运输起了重要的作用。朗斯特里特将军的部队,就是沿着从弗吉尼亚经亚特兰大往北到田纳西去的铁路奔赴战场的。这条铁路全长好几百英里,一切客货运输已全部停止,同时把东南地区所有可用的车辆集中起来,完成这一紧急的任务。   亚特兰大眼看着一列又一列火车接连不断地驶过城市,其中有客车,有货车车厢,也有敞篷货车,都满载着吵吵嚷嚷的士兵,他们没有吃,没有睡,没有带来运输马匹,伤兵和军需品的车辆,也来不及休息,一跳下车就投入战斗。结果北方佬被赶出佐治亚,退回到田纳西去了。   这是伟大的战绩,亚特兰大每一想起是它的铁路促成了这一胜利时,便感到骄傲和得意。   但是在整个冬天南方都只能用奇卡莫加胜利的消息来提高士气。现在已没有人否认北方佬是会打仗的了,而且终于承认他们也有优秀的将军。格兰特是个屠夫,他只要能打胜仗,无论你死多少人都不在乎,可他总是会打胜的。谢里丹的名字也叫南方人听了胆寒。还有个名叫谢尔曼的人,他在人们口头正日益频繁地出现。他是在田纳西和西部战役中打出名来的,作为一名坚决无情的战将,他的声望已愈来愈高了。   当然,他们中间没有谁能比得上李将军的。人们对这位将军和他的军队仍抱有坚强的信念,对于最后胜利的信心也从不动遥可是战争已拖得够久的了。已经有那么多的人死了,那么多的人受伤和终身残废了,那么多的人成了寡妇孤儿。而且前面还有长期的艰苦战斗,这意味着还要死更多的人,伤更多的人,造成更多的孤儿寡妇。   更糟糕的是,老百姓当中已在开始流传一种对上层人物不怎么信任的情绪。许多报纸在公开指责戴维斯总统本人和他进行这场战争的方式。南部联盟内阁中存在分歧。总统和将军们之间也不融洽。货币急剧贬值。军队很缺鞋和衣服,武器供应和药品就更少了。铁路没有新的车厢来替换旧的,没有新的铁轨来补充被北方佬拆掉的部分,前方的将领们大声疾呼要新的部队,可是能够征集到的新兵已愈来愈少,最不好办的是,包括佐治亚的布朗州长在内,有些州的州长,拒绝将本州的民兵队伍和武器送往境外去,这些队伍中还有成千身体合格的青年是陆军所渴望得到的,但政府几次提出要求都没有结果。   随着货币最近一次贬值,物价又飞涨起来。牛肉、猪肉和黄油已卖到了35美元一磅,面粉一千四百美元一桶,苏打一百美元一磅,茶叶五百美元一磅。至于冬季衣料,即使能买到,价格也高得吓人,因此亚特兰大的妇女们只得用奇布衬在旧衣服里面,再衬上报纸,用来挡风御寒,鞋子一双卖二百至八百美元不等,看是用纸还是用皮革做的而定。妇女们现在都穿一种高帮松紧鞋,那是用她们的旧毛线围巾和碎毛毯做成,鞋底则是木头做的。   实际上,北军已经把南方真正围困起来,尽管有许多人还不明白这种形势。北方炮艇对南方港口的封锁已更加严密,能够偷越的船只已很少很少了。   南方一向靠卖出棉花和买进自己所不生产的东西为生,可是如今买进卖出都不行了。杰拉尔德•奥哈拉把接连三年收获的棉花都堆积在塔拉轧棉厂附近的棚子里,可如今也捞不到多少好处了。这在利物浦可以卖到十五万美元。但是根本没有希望运到那里去,杰拉尔德本来是个富翁,如今已沦为困难户,还不知怎样去养活他们全家和黑人挨过这一冬呢!   在整个南方,大多数的棉花种植主都处于相同的困境。随着封锁一天天加紧,作为南方财源的棉花已无法运往英国市场,也无法像过去若干年那样把买到的必需品运回国来。总之,农业的南方同工业的北方作战,现在缺少许许多多东西,这些都是和平时期从没想到过要购买的。   这种局面仿佛是专门为投机商和发横财的人造的,当然也不乏乘机利用的人。由于衣食之类的日常必需品愈来愈缺,价格一天天上涨,社会上反对投机商的呼声也越发强烈和严厉了。在1864年初一段时期内,你无论打开哪张报纸都会看到措辞严厉的社论,它们痛骂投机商是蛇蝎和吸血鬼,并呼吁政府采取强硬措施予以镇压。政府也的确作了最大的努力,但没有收到任何效果,因为政府碰到的困难实在太多了!   人们对于投机商的反感最强烈的莫过于对瑞德•巴特勒了。当封锁线贸易已显得太冒风险时,他便卖掉船只,公开做起粮食投机生意来了,许多有关他的传闻从里士满和威尔明顿传到了亚特兰大,使那些不久前还接待过他的人感到十分难堪。   纵然有这么多考验和困苦,亚特兰大原来的一万人口在战争时期还是翻了一番,甚至连封锁也增加了亚特兰大的声望。因为从很早很早的时候起,滨海城市在商业和其他方面一直主宰着南方,可是现在海港被封锁,许多港口城镇被侵占或包围,挽救南方的重任便落到了南方自己的肩上。这时,如果南方要打赢这场战争,内地就显得十分重要了,而亚特兰大便成了中心,这个城市的居民也像南部联盟其他地方的居民一样,正在咬紧牙关忍受艰难穷困和疾病死亡的熬煎;可是亚特兰大城市本身,从战争所带来的后果看,与其说蒙受了不少损失,还不如说大有收获。亚特兰大作为南部联盟的心脏,仍在强壮而生机勃勃地跳动,这里的铁路,作为它的大动脉,仍然负载着人员、军火和生活必需品的滚滚洪流昼夜搏动不已。   思嘉从前要是穿着这样破旧的衣裳和补过的鞋,一定会觉得很难堪,可是现在她也不在乎了,因为她觉得十分重要的那个人已不在这里,看不见她这个模样了。这两个月她很愉快,比几年以来任何时候都愉快些。当她伸开双臂抱住他的脖子时,她不是感觉到艾希礼的心在急促地跳动吗?她不是看见他脸上那绝望的表情,那种比任何语言都更有说明问题的表情吗?他爱她。现在她已深信这一点,并为此感到十分愉快,以致对媚兰也比较宽容了。她甚至觉得媚兰可怜,其中也略带轻蔑的意思,认为她没有眼力,配不上艾希礼。愚蠢。   “到战争结束再说!"她想,"战争----结束----就……"有时候略带惊恐的细想:“就怎么样呢?"不过很快又把这种想法排除了。战争结束后,一切总都能解决的。如果艾希礼爱她,他就不可能继续跟媚兰一起生活下去。   那么以后呢,离婚是不可想象的,而且爱伦和杰拉尔德都是顽固的天主教徒,决不会容许她去嫁给一个离了婚的男子。那就意味着离开教会!思嘉仔细想了想,最后决定在教会和艾希礼之间她宁愿选择艾希礼。可是,唉,那会成为一桩丑闻了!离婚的人不仅为教会所不容而且还要受到社会的排斥呢。哪个家庭也不会接待这样的人。不过,为了艾希礼,她敢于冒这样的危险。她愿意为艾希礼牺牲一切。   总之,等到战争一结束,就什么都好办了。要是艾希礼真的那么爱她,他就会想出办法来。她要叫他想出个办法来。   于是,时间一天天过去,她愈来愈相信艾希礼对她的钟情,越发觉得到北方佬被最后打垮时他一定会把一切都安排得称心如意的。的确,他说过北方佬"拿住”了他们。不过思嘉认为那只不过是胡说而已。他是在又疲倦又烦恼的时候说这话的。她才不去管北方佬是胜是败呢。重要的事情是战争得快快结束,艾希礼快回家来。   接着,当三月的雪下个不停,人人足不出户的时节。一个可怕的打击突然降临。媚兰眼里闪烁着喜悦的光辉,骄傲而又羞涩地低着头,轻轻告诉思嘉她快要有娃娃了。   “米德大夫说,八月底到九月初要生呢。我也曾想到这一点,可直到今天才相信了,唔,思嘉,这不是非常好的事吗?   我本来就非常眼红你的小韦德,很想要个娃娃,我还生怕我也许永远不会生呢,亲爱的,我要生他上十个看看!"思嘉本来正在梳头,准备上床睡觉了,现在听媚兰这么一说便大为惊讶,拿着梳子的那只手也好像僵住不动了。   “我的天哪!"她这样叫了一声,可一时还没明白过来是怎么回事。接着她才猛地想起媚兰将要闭门坐月子的情景来,顿觉浑身一阵刀割般的痛楚,仿佛艾希礼是她自己的丈夫而做了对不起她的事似的。一个娃娃。艾希礼的娃娃。唔,你怎么能呢,既然爱的是她而不是媚兰?   “我知道你是吃惊了,"媚兰喘着气咻咻地说:“可是你看,这不是非常好的事吗?啊,我真不知道怎么给艾希礼写信才好呢!要是我明白告诉他,那可太难为情了,或者----或者我什么也不说,让他慢慢注意到,你知道----”“啊,我的天!”思嘉差一点哭起来,手里的梳子掉到地上,她不得不抓住梳妆台的大理石顶部以防跌倒。   “你不要这样!亲爱的,你知道有个孩子并不坏呀!你自己也这样说过嘛。你不用替我担忧,虽然你的关心是很令人感动的。当然,米德大夫说过我是----"媚兰脸红了,"我是小了一点,可这并不怎么要紧,而且----思嘉,你当初发现自己怀上了韦德时,是怎么写信对查理说的呢?难道是你母亲或者奥哈拉先生告诉他的?哦,亲爱的,要是我也有母亲来办这件事,那才好呀!可我不知怎么办好----”“你闭嘴吧!"思嘉恶狠狠地说,"闭嘴!”“啊,我真傻!思嘉!我真对不起你,我看凡是快乐的人都会只顾自己呢。我忘记查理的事了,一时疏忽了。”“你别说了!"思嘉再一次命令她,同时极力控制自己的脸色,把怒气压下去。可千万不能让媚兰看出或怀疑她有这种感情呀!   媚兰为人很敏感,她觉得自己不该惹思嘉伤心,因此十分内疚,急得又要哭了。她怎能让思嘉去回想查理去世后几个月才生下韦德的那些可怕的日子呢?她怎么会粗心到这个地步,居然说出那样的话来呢?   “亲爱的,让我给你脱衣裳,快睡觉吧,"媚兰低声下气地说。"我替你按摩按摩头颈好吗?”“别管我了,"思嘉说,脸孔像石板似的紧绷,这时媚兰越发觉得罪过,便真的哭着离开了房间,让思嘉独自一人躺在床上。思嘉可并没有哭,她只是满怀委屈、幻灭和妒忌。不知怎样发泄才好。   她想,既然媚兰肚子里怀着艾希礼的孩子,她就无法跟她在一起住下去了,她不如回到塔拉自己家里去,她不知怎样在媚兰面前隐藏自己内心的隐密。不让她看出来。到第二天早晨起床时,她已打定主意,准备吃过早点就即刻收拾行装。可是,当她们坐下吃早饭,思嘉一声不响,显得阴郁,皮蒂姑妈显得手足无措,媚兰很痛苦,她们彼此谁也不看谁,这时送来一封电报。   电报是艾希礼的侍从莫斯打给媚兰的。   “我已到处寻找,但没有找到他,我是否应该回家?"谁也不明白这是什么意思,三个女人惊恐地瞪着眼睛面面相觑,思嘉更是把回家的念头打消得一干二净。她们来不及吃完早点便赶进去给艾希礼的长官发电报,可是一进电报局就发现那位长官的电报已经到了。   “威尔克斯少校于三天次前执行侦察任务时失踪,深感遗憾。有何情况当随时奉告。"从电报局回到家里,一路上真是可怕极了。皮蒂姑妈用手绢捂着鼻子哭个不停,媚兰脸色灰白,直挺挺地坐着,思嘉则靠在马车的一个角落里发呆,好像彻底垮了。一到家,思嘉便踉跄着爬上楼梯,走进自己的卧室,从桌上拿起念珠,即刻跪下来准备祈祷,可是她怎么也想不祈祷词来。她好像掉进恐惧的深渊,觉得自己犯了罪,惹得上帝背过脸去,不再理睬她了。她爱上了一个已婚的男人,想把他从他妻子的怀中夺走,因此上帝要惩罚她,把他杀了,她要祈祷,可是抬不起头来仰望苍天。她要痛哭,可是流不出眼泪,泪水似乎灌满了她的胸膛,火辣辣的在那里燃烧,可是就是涌不出来。   门开了,媚兰走进房来,她那张脸孔很像白纸剪成的一颗心,后面衬着那丛乌黑的头发,眼睛瞪得很大,像个迷失的黑暗中吓坏的孩子。   “思嘉,"她边说边伸出两只手来,"请你务必饶恕我昨天说的那些话,因为你是----你是我现在所有的一切了,啊,思嘉,我知道我心爱的艾希礼已经死了!”不知怎的,她倚在思嘉的怀里,她那对小小的乳房在抽其中急剧地起伏。也不知怎的,她们两人都倒在床上,彼此紧紧地抱着,同时思嘉也在痛哭,跟媚兰脸贴着脸痛哭,两个人的眼泪交流在一起,她们哭得那样伤心,可是还没有哭不出声来的地步。艾希礼死了----死了,她想,是我用爱把他害死的呀!想到这里她又抽泣起来,媚兰却从她的眼泪中获得一点安慰,更是紧紧地抱住她的脖子不放。   “至少,"她低声说,"至少----我怀上了他的孩子。”“可我呢,"思嘉心想,这时她难过得把妒忌这种卑微的心理也忘记了。"我却什么也没有得到----什么也没有----除了他向我道别时脸上的那番表情,什么也没有啊!"最初的一些报道是”失踪----据信已经死亡”,出现在伤亡名单上,媚兰给斯隆上校发了十多封电报,最后才收到一封充满同情的回信,说艾希礼和一支骑兵小队外出执行侦察任务,至今没有回来,这中间听说在北军阵地内发生过小小的战斗,惊惶焦急的莫斯曾冒着生命危险去寻找艾希礼的下落,但什么也没有找到,媚兰现在倒显得出奇的镇静,连忙给莫斯电汇了一笔钱,叫他即刻回来。   到"失踪----据信被俘"的消息出现在伤亡名单上时,这悲伤的一家人才又开始怀抱乐观的心情和希望了。媚兰整天守在电报局里,还等候每一班火车,希望收到信件,她现在病了,同时妊娠起的反应愈来愈明显。她感到很不舒服,但她拒不按照米德大夫的吩咐卧床休息,不知哪里来的一股热情激励着她,使她片刻不得安宁。思嘉晚上上床睡了许久,还听见她在隔壁房间里走动的声响呢。   有天下午,她由惊慌的彼得大叔赶着马车、瑞德•巴特勒在身旁扶持着从城里回来,原来她在电报局晕倒了,幸好瑞德从旁边经过,突然发现,才护送她回家。他把她抱上楼,送进卧室,把她放在床上躺下,这时全家人都吓得手忙脚乱,连忙弄来烧热的砖头、毯子和威士忌,让她完全苏醒过来。   “威尔克斯太太,"瑞德突如起来地问,"你是怀孩子了,是吗?”要不是媚兰刚刚苏醒,还那样虚弱,那样心痛,她听了这个问题一定会羞死了。因为她连对女朋友也不好意思说自己怀孕的事,每次去找米德大夫都觉得很难为情。怎能设想让一个男人,尤其是瑞德•巴特勒这样男人,提出这样一个问题呢?可如今软弱无力地独个儿躺在床上,便只得点了点头,算是默认了。当然,点头之后,事情也就并不怎么可怕了,因为他显得那么亲切,那么关心。   “那么,你一定得好好保重,这样到处奔跑,日夜焦急,是对你毫无益处并且要伤害婴儿的!只要你允许,威尔克斯太太,我愿意利用我在华盛顿的影响。把威尔克斯先生的下落打听清楚。如果他当了俘虏,北军公布的名单上一定会有的;如果没有,情况不明不白,那倒更麻烦了。不过你必须答应我,你一定好好保重自己的身体,否则说老实话,我就什么也不管了。”“啊,你真好,"媚兰喊道。”人们怎么会把你说得那么可怕呢?"接着,她想起自己没有什么能耐,又觉得跟一个男人谈怀孕的事实太羞人了,便难过得又哭起来。这时思嘉拿着一块用法兰绒包看的砖头飞跑上楼,发现瑞德正拍着她的手背在安慰她。   他这人说到做到。人们不知道他哪儿来的那么多门路,也不敢问,因为这可能牵涉到他同北方佬之间的一种亲密关系。   一个月以后,他就得到了消息,他们刚一听到时简直高兴得要发疯了,可是随即又产生了揪心的焦虑。   艾希礼没有死!他只是受了伤,被抓起来当了俘虏,看来目前在伊利诺斯州的罗克艾兰一个战俘营里。他们刚听到这个消息时,只想到他还活着,别的什么也不去想,所以一味地欢欣鼓舞。可是一经冷静下来,他们就面面相觑地同声叨念着"罗克艾兰!"那口气仿佛是说:“进了地狱!"因为就像安德森维尔这个地名在北方臭不可闻一样,罗克艾兰在每个有亲属囚禁在那里的南方人心目中也只能引起恐怖。   当时林肯拒绝交换俘虏,相信这可以使南方不得不继续供养和看守战俘,从而加重它的负担,促使战争早日结束,因此在佐治亚州安德森维尔仍关着成千上万的北军俘虏。这时南方士兵的口粮已经很少,给伤病员的药品和绷带实际上没有。他们哪能拿出什么来供养俘虏呢?他们只能给俘虏吃前线士兵吃的那种肥猪肉和干豆,这就使北方佬在战俘营像苍蝇似的成批死去,有时一天死掉一百。北方听到这种报道以后十分恼怒,便给联盟军被俘人员以更加暴虐的待遇,而罗克艾兰战俘营的情况是最坏不过的了。食物很少,三个人共用一条毯子,天花、肺炎、伤寒等疾病大肆蔓延,使那个地方得了传染病院的恶名。送到那里去的人有四分之三再也不能生还了。   可艾希礼就是在那个恐怖的地方啊!艾希礼尽管还活着,但是他受了伤,而且是关在罗克艾兰,他被解送到那里时伊利诺斯已经下了很厚的雪了。他会不会在瑞德打听到消息以后因伤重而死去?他是否已成了天花的牺牲品?或者得了肺炎,在高烧中胡言乱语,可身上连条毯子也没有盖呢?   “啊,巴特勒船长,还有没有办法----你能不能利用你的影响把他交换过来呢?”媚兰叫嚷着问。   “据说,仁慈公正的林肯先生为比克斯比太太的五个孩子掉过大颗颗可的眼泪,可是对于安德森维尔濒死的成千上万个北方兵却毫不动心呢,"瑞德凭着一张嘴说。”即使他们全都死光,他也无所谓。命令已经宣布----不交换。我以前没有跟你说过,威尔克斯太太,你丈夫本来有个机会可以出来,但是他拒绝了。”“啊,没有!”媚兰不相信有这种事。   “有,真的。北方佬正在招募军队到边境去打印第安人。   主要是从南军俘虏中招募。凡是报名愿意宣誓效忠并去同印第安人作战为时两年的俘虏,都可以获释并被送到西部去,威尔克斯先生拒绝这样做。”“啊,他怎么会呢?"思嘉嚷道。"他为什么不宣誓离开俘虏营,然后立刻回家来呢?"媚兰似乎有点生气地转向思嘉。   “你怎么会认为他应该做那种事呢?叫他背叛自己的南部联盟去对北方佬宣誓,然后又背叛自己的誓言吗?我倒是宁愿他死在罗克艾兰也不要听到他宣誓消息。如果他真的做出那种事来,我就永远也不再理睬他了,永远不!当然,他拒绝了。"思嘉送瑞德出去,在门口愤愤不平问:“如果是你,你会不会答应北方佬,首先保住自己不死,然后再离开呢?”“当然喽,"瑞德咧着嘴,露出髭须底下那排雪白牙齿,狡狯地说。   “那么,艾希礼为什么不这样做呢?”   “他是个上等人嘛!"瑞德答道。思嘉很诧异,他怎么能用这个高尚的字眼来表达出如此讽刺而轻蔑的意味呢? Chapter 17 MAY OF 1864 CAME—a hot dry May that wilted the flowers in the buds—and the Yankeesunder General Sherman were in Georgia again, above Dalton, one hundred miles northwest ofAtlanta. Rumor had it that there would be heavy fighting up there near the boundary betweenGeorgia and Tennessee. The Yankees were massing for an attack on the Western and AtlanticRailroad, the line which connected Atlanta with Tennessee and the West, the same line over whichthe Southern troops had been rushed last fall to win the victory at Chickamauga.   But, for the most part, Atlanta was not disturbed by the prospect of fighting near Dalton. Theplace where the Yankees were concentrating was only a few miles southeast of the battle field ofChickamauga. They had been driven back once when they had tried to break through the mountainpasses of that region, and they would be driven back again.   Atlanta—and all of Georgia—knew that the state was far too important to the Confederacy forGeneral Joe Johnston to let the Yankees remain inside the state’s borders for long. Old Joe and hisarmy would not let one Yankee get south of Dalton, for too much depended on the undisturbedfunctioningof(even) Georgia. The unravaged state was a vast granary, machine shop and storehouse for the Confederacy. It manufactured much of the powder and arms used by the armyand most of the cotton and woolen goods. Lying between Atlanta and Dalton was the city of Romewith its cannon foundry and its other industries, and Etowah and Allatoona with the largest ironworkssouth of Richmond. And, in Atlanta, were not only the factories for making pistols andsaddles, tents and ammunition, but also the most extensive rolling mills in the South, the shops ofthe principal railroads and the enormous hospitals. And in Atlanta was the junction of the fourrailroads on which the very life of the Confederacy depended.   So no one worried particularly. After all, Dalton was a long way off, up near the Tennessee line.   There had been fighting in Tennessee for three years and people were accustomed to the thought ofthat state as a far-away battle field, almost as far away as Virginia or the Mississippi River.   Moreover, Old Joe and his men were between the Yankees and Atlanta, and everyone knew that,next to General Lee himself, there was no greater general than Johnston, now that StonewallJackson was dead.   Dr. Meade summed up the civilian point of view on the matter, one warm May evening on theveranda of Aunt Pitty’s house, when he said that Atlanta had nothing to fear, for General Johnstonwas standing in the mountains like an iron rampart. His audience heard him with varying emotions,for all who sat there rocking quietly in the fading twilight, watching the first fireflies of the seasonmoving magically through the dusk, had weighty matters on their minds. Mrs. Meade, her handupon Phil’s arm, was hoping the doctor was right. If the war came closer, she knew that Phil wouldhave to go. He was sixteen now and in the Home Guard. Fanny Elsing, pale and hollow eyed sinceGettysburg, was trying to keep her mind from the torturing picture which had worn a groove in hertired mind these past several months—Lieutenant Dallas McLure dying in a jolting ox cart in therain on the long, terrible retreat into Maryland.   Captain Carey Ashburn’s useless arm was hurting him again and moreover he was depressed bythe thought that his courtship of Scarlett was at a standstill. That had been the situation ever sincethe news of Ashley Wilkes’ capture, though the connection between the two events did not occur tohim. Scarlett and Melanie both were thinking of Ashley, as they always did when urgent tasks orthe necessity of carrying on a conversation did not divert them. Scarlett was thinking bitterly,sorrowfully: He must be dead or else we would have heard. Melanie, stemming the tide of fearagain and again, through endless hours, was telling herself: “He can’t be dead. I’d know it—I’dfeel it if he were dead.” Rhett Butler lounged in the shadows, his long legs in their elegant bootscrossed negligently, his dark face an unreadable blank. In his arms Wade slept contentedly, acleanly picked wishbone in his small hand. Scarlett always permitted Wade to sit up late whenRhett called because the shy child was fond of him, and Rhett oddly enough seemed to be fond ofWade. Generally Scarlett was annoyed by the child’s presence, but he always behaved nicely inRhett’s arms. As for Aunt Pitty, she was nervously trying to stifle a belch, for the rooster they hadhad for supper was a tough old bird.   That morning Aunt Pitty had reached the regretful decision that she had better kill the patriarchbefore he died of old age and pining for his harem which had long since been eaten. For days hehad drooped about the empty chicken run, too dispirited to crow. After Uncle Peter had wrung hisneck, Aunt Pitty had been beset by conscience at the thought of enjoying him, en famille, when somany of her friends had not tasted chicken for weeks, so she suggested company for dinner.   Melanie, who was now in her fifth month, had not been out in public or received guests for weeks,and she was appalled at the idea. But Aunt Pitty, for once, was firm. It would be selfish to eat therooster alone, and if Melanie would only move her top hoop a little higher no one would noticeanything and she was so flat in the bust anyway.   “Oh, but Auntie I don’t want to see people when Ashley—”   “It isn’t as if Ashley were—had passed away,” said Aunt Pitty, her voice quavering, for in herheart she was certain Ashley was dead. “He’s just as much alive as you are and it will do you goodto have company. And I’m going to ask Fanny Elsing, too. Mrs. Elsing begged me to try to dosomething to arouse her and make her see people—”   “Oh, but Auntie, it’s cruel to force her when poor Dallas has only been dead—”   “Now, Melly, I shall cry with vexation if you argue with me. I guess I’m your auntie and I knowwhat’s what. And I want a party.”   So Aunt Pitty had her party, and, at the last minute, a guest she did not expect, or desire, arrived.   Just when the smell of roast rooster was filling the house, Rhett Butler, back from one of hismysterious trips, knocked at the door, with a large box of bonbons packed in paper lace under hisarm and a mouthful of two-edged compliments for her. There was nothing to do but invite him tostay, although Aunt Pitty knew how the doctor and Mrs. Meade felt about him and how bitterFanny was against any man not in uniform. Neither the Meades nor the Elsings would have spokento him on the street, but in a friend’s home they would, of course, have to be polite to him. Besides,he was now more firmly than ever under the protection of the fragile Melanie. After he hadintervened for her to get the news about Ashley, she had announced publicly that her home wasopen to him as long as he lived and no matter what other people might say about him.   Aunt Pitty’s apprehensions quieted when she saw that Rhett was on his best behavior. Hedevoted himself to Fanny with such sympathetic deference she even smiled at him, and the mealwent well. It was a princely feast Carey Ashburn had brought a little tea, which he had found in thetobacco pouch of a captured Yankee en route to Andersonville, and everyone had a cup, faintlyflavored with tobacco. There was a nibble of the tough old bird for each, an adequate amount ofdressing made of corn meal and seasoned with onions, a bowl of dried peas, and plenty of rice andgravy, the latter somewhat watery, for there was no flour with which to thicken it For dessert, therewas a sweet potato pie followed by Rhett’s bonbons, and when Rhett produced real Havana cigarsfor the gentlemen to enjoy over their glass of blackberry wine, everyone agreed it was indeed aLucullan banquetWhen the gentlemen joined the ladies on the front porch, the talk turned to war. Talk alwaysturned to war now, all conversations on any topic led from war or back to war—sometimes sad,often gay, but always war. War romances, war weddings, deaths in hospitals and on the field,incidents of camp and battle and march, gallantry, cowardice, humor, sadness, deprivation andhope. Always, always hope. Hope firm, unshaken despite the defeats of the summer before.   When Captain Ashburn announced he had applied for and been granted transfer from Atlanta tothe army at Dalton, the ladies kissed his stiffened arm with their eyes and covered their emotionsof pride by declaring he couldn’t go, for then who would beau them about?   Young Carey looked confused and pleased at hearing such statements from settled matrons andspinsters like Mrs. Meade and Melanie and Aunt Pitty and Fanny, and tried to hope that Scarlettreally meant it.   “Why, he’ll be back in no time,” said the doctor, throwing an arm over Carey’s shoulder.   There’ll be just one brief skirmish and the Yankees will skedaddle back into Tennessee. And whenthey get there, General Forrest will take care of them. You ladies need have no alarm about theproximity of the Yankees, for General Johnston and his army stands there in the mountains like aniron rampart. Yes, an iron rampart,” he repeated, relishing his phrase. “Sherman will never pass.   He’ll never dislodge Old Joe.”   The ladies smiled approvingly, for his lightest utterance was regarded as incontrovertible truth.   After all, men understood these matters much better than women, and if he said General Johnstonwas an iron rampart, he must be one. Only Rhett spoke. He had been silent since supper and hadsat in the twilight listening to the war talk with a down-twisted mouth, holding the sleeping childagainst his shoulder.   “I believe that rumor has it that Sherman has over one hundred thousand men, now that hisreinforcements have come up?”   The doctor answered him shortly. He had been under considerable strain ever since he firstarrived and found that one of his fellow diners was this man whom he disliked so heartily. Only therespect due Miss Pittypat and his presence under her roof as a guest had restrained him fromshowing his feelings more obviously.   “Well, sir?” the doctor barked in reply.   “I believe Captain Ashburn said just a while ago that General Johnston had only about fortythousand, counting the deserters who were encouraged to come back to the colors by the lastvictory.”   “Sir,” said Mrs. Meade indignantly. “There are no deserters in the Confederate army.”   “I beg your pardon,” said Rhett with mock humility. “I meant those thousands on furlough whoforgot to rejoin their regiments and those who have been over their wounds for six months but whoremain at home, going about their usual business or doing the spring plowing.”   His eyes gleamed and Mrs. Meade bit her lip in a huff. Scarlett wanted to giggle at herdiscomfiture, for Rhett had caught her fairly. There were hundreds of men skulking in the swampsand the mountains, defying the provost guard to drag them back to the army. They were the oneswho declared it was a “rich man’s war and a poor man’s fight” and they had had enough of it. Butoutnumbering these by far were men who, though carried on company rolls as deserters, had nointention of deserting permanently. They were the ones who had waited three years in vain forfurloughs and while they waited received ill-spelled letters from home: “We air hungry.” “Therewon’t be no crop this year—there ain’t nobody to plow.” “We air hungry.” “The commissary tookthe shoats, and we ain’t had no money from you in months. We air livin’ on dried peas.”   Always the rising chorus swelled: “We are hungry, your wife, your babies, your parents. Whenwill it be over? When will you come home? We are hungry, hungry.” When furloughs from therapidly thinning army were denied, these soldiers went home without them, to plow their land and plant their crops, repair their houses and build up their fences. When regimental officers,understanding the situation, saw a hard fight ahead, they wrote these men, telling them to rejointheir companies and no questions would be asked. Usually the men returned when they saw thathunger at home would be held at bay for a few months longer. “Plow furloughs” were not lookedupon in the same light as desertion in the face of the enemy, but they weakened the army just thesame.   Dr. Meade hastily bridged over the uncomfortable pause, his voice cold: “Captain Butler, thenumerical difference between our troops and those of the Yankees has never mattered. OneConfederate is worth a dozen Yankees.”   The ladies nodded. Everyone knew that.   “That was true at the first of the war,” said Rhett. “Perhaps it’s still true, provided theConfederate soldier has bullets for his gun and shoes on his feet and food in his stomach. Eh,Captain Ashburn?”   His voice was still soft and filled with specious humility. Carey Ashburn looked unhappy, for itwas obvious that he, too, disliked Rhett intensely. He gladly would have sided with the doctor buthe could not lie. The reason he had applied for transfer to the front, despite his useless arm, wasthat he realized, as the civilian population did not, the seriousness of the situation. There weremany other men, stumping on wooden pegs, blind in one eye, fingers blown away, one arm gone,who were quietly transferring from, the commissariat, hospital duties, mail and railroad serviceback to their old fighting units. They knew Old Joe needed every man.   He did not speak and Dr. Meade thundered, losing his temper: “Our men have fought withoutshoes before and without food and won victories. And they will fight again and win! I tell youGeneral Johnston cannot be dislodged! The mountain fastnesses have always been the refuge andthe strong forts of invaded peoples from ancient times. Think of—think of Thermopylae!”   Scarlett thought hard but Thermopylae meant nothing to her.   “They died to the last man at Thermopylae, didn’t they, Doctor?” Rhett asked, and his lipstwitched with suppressed laughter.   “Are you being insulting, young man?”   “Doctor! I beg of you! You misunderstood me! I merely asked for information. My memory ofancient history is poor.”   “If need be, our army will die to the last man before they permit the Yankees to advance fartherinto Georgia,” snapped the doctor. “But it will not be. They will drive them out of Georgia in oneskirmish.”   Aunt Pittypat rose hastily and asked Scarlett to favor them with a piano selection and a song.   She saw that the conversation was rapidly getting into deep and stormy water. She had known verywell there would be trouble if she invited Rhett to supper. There was always trouble when he waspresent. Just how he started it, she never exactly understood. Dear! Dear! What did Scarlett see inthe man? And how could dear Melly defend him?   As Scarlett went obediently into the parlor, a silence fell on the porch, a silence that pulsed with resentment toward Rhett How could anyone not believe with heart and soul in the invincibility ofGeneral Johnston and his men? Believing was a sacred duty. And those who were so traitorous asnot to believe should, at least, have the decency to keep their mouths shut.   Scarlett struck a few chords and her voice floated out to them from the parlor, sweetly, sadly, inthe words of a popular song:   “Into a ward of whitewashed wallsWhere the dead and dying lay—Wounded with bayonets, shells and balls—Somebody’s darling was borne one day.   “Somebody’s darling! so young and so brave!   Wearing still on his pale, sweet face—Soon to be hid by the dust of the grave—The lingering light of his boyhood’s grace.”   “Matted and damp are the curls of gold,” mourned Scarlett’s faulty soprano, and Fanny half roseand said in a faint, strangled voice: “Sing something else!”   The piano was suddenly silent as Scarlett was overtaken with surprise and embarrassment. Thenshe hastily blundered into the opening bars of “Jacket of Gray” and stopped with a discord as sheremembered how heartrending that selection was too. The piano was silent again for she wasutterly at a loss. All the songs had to do with death and parting and sorrow.   Rhett rose swiftly, deposited Wade in Fanny’s lap, and went into the parlor.   “Play ‘My Old Kentucky Home,’ ” he suggested smoothly, and Scarlett gratefully plunged intoit. Her voice was joined by Rhett’s excellent bass, and as they went into the second verse those onthe porch breathed more easily, though Heaven knew it was none too cheery a song, either.   “Just a few more days for to tote the weary load!   No matter, ‘twill never be light!   Just a few more days, till we totter in the road!   Then, my old Kentucky home, good night!”   .   Dr. Meade’s prediction was right—as far as it went Johnston did stand like an iron rampart inthe mountains above Dalton, one hundred miles away. So firmly did he stand and so bitterly did he contest Sherman’s desire to pass down the valley toward Atlanta that finally the Yankees drewback and took counsel with themselves. They could not break the gray lines by direct assault andso, under cover of night they marched through the mountain passes in a semicircle, hoping to comeupon Johnston’s rear and cut the railroad behind him at Resaca, fifteen miles below Dalton.   With those precious twin lines of iron in danger, the Confederates left their desperately defendedrifle pits and, under the starlight, made a forced march to Resaca by the short, direct road. Whenthe Yankees, swarming out of the hills, came upon them, the Southern troops were waiting forthem, entrenched behind breastworks, batteries planted, bayonets gleaming, even as they had beenat Dalton.   When the wounded from Dalton brought in garbled accounts of Old Joe’s retreat to Resaca,Atlanta was surprised and a little disturbed. It was as though a small, dark cloud had appeared inthe northwest, the first cloud of a summer storm. What was the General thinking about, letting theYankees penetrate eighteen miles farther into Georgia? The mountains were natural fortresses,even as Dr. Meade had said. Why hadn’t Old Joe held the Yankees there?   Johnston fought desperately at Resaca and repulsed the Yankees again, but Sherman, employingthe same flanking movement, swung his vast army in another semicircle, crossed the OostanaulaRiver and again struck at the railroad in the Confederate rear. Again the gray lines were summonedswiftly from their red ditches to defend the railroad, and, weary for sleep, exhausted frommarching and fighting, and hungry, always hungry, they made another rapid march down thevalley. They reached the little town of Calhoun, six miles below Resaca, ahead of the Yankees,entrenched and were again ready for the attack when the Yankees came up. The attack came, therewas fierce skirmishing and the Yankees were beaten back. Wearily the Confederates lay on theirarms and prayed for respite and rest. But there was no rest. Sherman inexorably advanced, step bystep, swinging his army about them in a wide curve, forcing another retreat to defend the railroadat their back.   The Confederates marched in their sleep, too tired to think for the most part But when they didthink, they trusted Old Joe. They knew they were retreating but they knew they had not beenbeaten. They just didn’t have enough men to hold their entrenchments and defeat Sherman’sflanking movements, too. They could and did lick the Yankees every time the Yankees would standand fight What would be the end of this retreat, they did not know. But Old Joe knew what he wasdoing and that was enough for them. He had conducted the retreat in masterly fashion, for they hadlost few men and the Yankees killed and captured ran high. They hadn’t lost a single wagon andonly four guns. And they hadn’t lost the railroad at their back, either. Sherman hadn’t laid a fingeron it for all his frontal attacks, cavalry dashes and flank movements.   The railroad. It was still theirs, that slender iron line winding through the sunny valley towardAtlanta. Men lay down to sleep where they could see the rails gleaming faintly in the starlight.   Men lay down to die, and the last sight that met their puzzled eyes was the rails shining in themerciless sun, heat shimmering along them.   As they fell back down the valley, an army of refugees fell back before them. Planters andCrackers, rich and poor, black and white, women and children, the old, the dying, the crippled, thewounded, the women far gone in pregnancy, crowded the road to Atlanta on trains, afoot, on horseback, in carriages and wagons piled high with trunks and household goods. Five miles aheadof the retreating army went the refugees, halting at Resaca, at Calhoun, at Kingston, hoping at eachstop to hear that the Yankees had been driven back so they could return to their homes. But therewas no retracing that sunny road. The gray troops passed by empty mansions, deserted farms,lonely cabins with doors ajar. Here and there some lone woman remained with a few frightenedslaves, and they came to the road to cheer the soldiers, to bring buckets of well water for the thirstymen, to bind up the wounds and bury the dead in their own family burying grounds. But for themost part the sunny valley was abandoned and desolate and the untended crops stood in parchingfields.   Flanked again at Calhoun, Johnston fell back to Adairsville, where there was sharp skirmishing,then to Cassville, then south of Cartersville. And the enemy had now advanced fifty-five milesfrom Dalton. At New Hope Church, fifteen miles farther along the hotly fought way, the gray ranksdug in for a determined stand. On came the blue lines, relentlessly, like a monster serpent coiling,striking venomously, drawing its injured lengths back, but always striking again. There wasdesperate fighting at New Hope Church, eleven days of continuous fighting, with every Yankeeassault bloodily repulsed. Then Johnston, flanked again, withdrew his thinning lines a few milesfarther.   The Confederate dead and wounded at New Hope Church ran high. The wounded floodedAtlanta in train-loads and the town was appalled. Never, even after the battle of Chickamauga, hadthe town seen so many wounded. The hospitals overflowed and wounded lay on the floors ofempty stores and upon cotton bales in the warehouses. Every hotel, boarding house and privateresidence was crowded with sufferers. Aunt Pitty had her share, although she protested that it wasmost unbecoming to have strange men in the house when Melanie was in a delicate condition andwhen gruesome sights might bring on premature birth. But Melanie reefed up her top hoop a littlehigher to hide her thickening figure and the wounded invaded the brick house. There was endlesscooking and lifting and turning and fanning, endless hours of washing and rerolling bandages andpicking lint, and endless warm nights made sleepless by the babbling delirium of men in the nextroom. Finally the choked town could take care of no more and the overflow of wounded was senton to the hospitals at Macon and Augusta.   With this backwash of wounded bearing conflicting reports and the increase of frightenedrefugees crowding into the already crowded town, Atlanta was in an uproar. The small cloud on thehorizon had blown up swiftly into a large, sullen storm cloud and it was as though a faint, chillingwind blew from it.   No one had lost faith in the invincibility of the troops but everyone, the civilians at least, hadlost faith in the General. New Hope Church was only thirty-five miles from Atlanta! The Generalhad let the Yankees push him back sixty-five miles in three weeks! Why didn’t he hold the Yankeesinstead of everlastingly retreating? He was a fool and worse than a fool. Graybeards in the HomeGuard and members of the state militia, safe in Atlanta, insisted they could have managed thecampaign better and drew maps on tablecloths to prove their contentions. As his lines grew thinnerand he was forced back farther, the General called desperately on Governor Brown for these verymen, but the state troops felt reasonably safe. After all, the Governor had defied Jeff Davis’   demand for them. Why should he accede to General Johnston?   Fight and fall back! Fight and fall back! For seventy miles and twenty-five days theConfederates had fought almost daily. New Hope Church was behind the gray troops now, amemory in a mad haze of like memories, heat, dust, hunger, weariness, tramp-tramp on the redrutted roads, slop-slop through the red mud, retreat, entrench, fight—retreat, entrench, fight. NewHope Church was a nightmare of another life and so was Big Shanty, where they turned and foughtthe Yankees like demons. But, fight the Yankees till the fields were blue with dead, there werealways more Yankees, fresh Yankees; there was always that sinister southeast curving of the bluelines toward the Confederate rear, toward the railroad—and toward Atlanta!   From Big Shanty, the weary sleepless lines retreated down the road to Kennesaw Mountain, nearthe little town of Marietta, and here they spread their lines in a ten-mile curve. On the steep sidesof the mountain they dug their rifle pits and on the towering heights they planted their batteries.   Swearing, sweating men hauled the heavy guns up the precipitous slopes, for mules could notclimb the hillsides. Couriers and wounded coming into Atlanta gave reassuring reports to thefrightened townspeople. The heights of Kennesaw were impregnable. So were Pine Mountain andLost Mountain near by which were also fortified. The Yankees couldn’t dislodge Old Joe’s menand they could hardly flank them now for the batteries on the mountain tops commanded all theroads for miles. Atlanta breathed more easily, but—But Kennesaw Mountain was only twenty-two miles away!   On the day when the first wounded from Kennesaw Mountain were coming in, Mrs.   Merriwether’s carriage was at Aunt Pitty’s house at the unheard-of hour of seven in the morning,and black Uncle Levi sent up word that Scarlett must dress immediately and come to the hospital.   Fanny Rising and the Bonnell girls, roused early from slumber, were yawning on the back seat andthe Risings’ mammy sat grumpily on the box, a basket of freshly laundered bandages on her lap.   Off Scarlett went, unwillingly for she had danced till dawn the night before at the Home Guard’sparty and her feet were tired. She silently cursed the efficient and indefatigable Mrs. Merriwether,the wounded and the whole Southern Confederacy, as Prissy buttoned her in her oldest andraggedest calico frock which she used for hospital work. Gulping down the bitter brew of parchedcorn and dried sweet potatoes that passed for coffee, she went out to join the girls.   She was sick of all this nursing. This very day she would tell Mrs. Merriwether that Ellen hadwritten her to come home for a visit. Much good this did her, for that worthy matron, her sleevesrolled up, her stout figure swathed in a large apron, gave her one sharp look and said: “Don’t letme hear any more such foolishness, Scarlett Hamilton. I’ll write your mother today and tell herhow much we need you, and I’m sure she’ll understand and let you stay. Now, put on your apronand trot over to Dr. Meade. He needs someone to help with the dressings.”   “Oh, God,” thought Scarlett drearily, “that’s just the trouble. Mother will make me stay here andI shall die if I have to smell these stinks any longer! I wish I was an old lady so I could bully theyoung ones, instead of getting bullied—and tell old cats like Mrs. Merriwether to go to Halifax!”   Yes, she was sick of the hospital, the foul smells, the lice, the aching, unwashed bodies. If therehad ever been any novelty and romance about nursing, that had worn off a year ago. Besides, thesemen wounded in the retreat were not so attractive as the earlier ones had been. They didn’t showthe slightest interest in her and they had very little to say beyond: “How’s the fightin’ goin’?   What’s Old Joe doin’ now? Mighty clever fellow. Old Joe.” She didn’t think Old Joe a mightyclever fellow. All he had done was let the Yankees penetrate eighty-eight miles into Georgia. No,they were not an attractive lot. Moreover, many of them were dying, dying swiftly, silently, havinglittle strength left to combat the blood poisoning, gangrene, typhoid and pneumonia which had setin before they could reach Atlanta and a doctor.   The day was hot and the flies came in the open windows in swarms, fat lazy flies that broke thespirits of the men as pain could not. The tide of smells and pain rose and rose about her.   Perspiration soaked through her freshly starched dress as she followed Dr. Meade about, a basin inher hand.   Oh, the nausea of standing by the doctor, trying not to vomit when his bright knife cut intomortifying flesh! And oh, the horror of hearing the screams from the operating ward whereamputations were going on! And the sick, helpless sense of pity at the sight of tense, white faces ofmangled men waiting for the doctor to get to them, men whose ears were filled with screams, menwaiting for the dreadful words: “I’m sorry, my boy, but that hand will have to come off. Yes, yes, Iknow; but look, see those red streaks? It’ll have to come off.”   Chloroform was so scarce now it was used only for the worst amputations and opium was aprecious thing, used only to ease the dying out of life, not the living out of pain. There was noquinine and no iodine at all. Yes, Scarlett was sick of it all, and that morning she wished that she,like Melanie, had the excuse of pregnancy to offer. That was about the only excuse that wassocially acceptable for not nursing these days.   When noon came, she put off her apron and sneaked away from the hospital while Mrs.   Merriwether was busy writing a letter for a gangling, illiterate mountaineer. Scarlett felt that shecould stand it no longer. It was an imposition on her and she knew that when the wounded came inon the noon train there would be enough work to keep her busy until night-fall—and probablywithout anything to eatShe went hastily up the two short blocks to Peachtree Street breathing the unfouled air in asdeep gulps as her tightly laced corset would permit. She was standing on the corner, uncertain as towhat she would do next, ashamed to go home to Aunt Pitty’s but determined not to go back to thehospital, when Rhett Butler drove by.   “You look like the ragpicker’s child,” he observed, his eyes taking in the mended lavendercalico, streaked with perspiration and splotched here and there with water which had slopped fromthe basin. Scarlett was furious with embarrassment and indignation. Why did he always noticewomen’s clothing and why was he so rude as to remark upon her present untidiness?   “I don’t want to hear a word out of you. You get out and help me in and drive me somewherewhere nobody will see me. I won’t go back to the hospital if they hang me! My goodness, I didn’tstart this war and I don’t see any reason why I should be worked to death and—”   “A traitor to Our Glorious Cause!”   The pot’s calling the kettle black. You help me in. I don’t care where you were going. You’regoing to take me riding now.”   He swung himself out of the carriage to the ground and she suddenly thought how nice it was to see a man who was whole, who was not minus eyes or limbs, or white with pain or yellow withmalaria, and who looked well fed and healthy. He was so well dressed too. His coat and trouserswere actually of the same material and they fitted him, instead of hanging in folds or being almosttoo tight for movement. And they were new, not ragged, with dirty bare flesh and hairy legsshowing through. He looked as if he had not a care in the world and that in itself was startlingthese days, when other men wore such worried, preoccupied, grim looks. His brown face wasBland and his mouth, red lipped, clear cut as a woman’s, frankly sensual, smiled carelessly as helifted her into the carriage.   The muscles of his big body rippled against his well-tailored clothes, as he got in beside her,and, as always, the sense of his great physical power struck her like a blow. She watched the swellof his powerful shoulders against the cloth with fascination that disturbing, a little frightening.Hisbodyseemedso toughandhard, astoug(a) hand hardashiskeen(was) mind. His was suchan easy, graceful strength, lazy as a panther stretching in the sun, alert as a panther to spring andstrike.   “You little fraud,” he said, clucking to the horse. “You dance all night with the soldiers and givethem roses and ribbons and tell them how you’d die for the Cause, and when it comes to bandaginga few wounds and picking off a few lice, you decamp hastily.”   “Can’t you talk about something else and drive faster? It would be just my luck for GrandpaMerriwether to come out of his store and see me and tell old lady—I mean, Mrs. Merriwether.”   He touched up the mare with the whip and she trotted briskly across Five Points and across therailroad tracks that cut the town in two. The train bearing the wounded had already come in and thelitter bearers were working swiftly in the hot sun, transferring wounded into ambulances andcovered ordnance wagons. Scarlett had no qualm of conscience as she watched them but only afeeling of vast relief that she had made her escape.   “I’m just sick and tired of that old hospital,” she said, settling her billowing skirts and tying herbonnet bow more firmly under her chin. “And every day more and more wounded come in. It’s allGeneral Johnston’s fault. If he’d just stood up to the Yankees at Dalton, they’d have—”   “But he did stand up to the Yankees, you ignorant child. And if he’d kept on standing there,Sherman would have flanked him and crushed him between the two wings of his army. And he’dhave lost the railroad and the railroad is what Johnston is fighting for.”   “Oh, well,” said Scarlett, on whom military strategy was utterly lost. “It’s his fault anyway. Heought to have done something about it and I think he ought to be removed. Why doesn’t he standand fight instead of retreating?”   “You are like everyone else, screaming ‘Off with his head’ because he can’t do the impossible.   He was Jesus the Savior at Dalton, and now he’s Judas the Betrayer at Kennesaw Mountain, all insix weeks. Yet, just let him drive the Yankees back twenty miles and he’ll be Jesus again. My child,Sherman has twice as many men as Johnston, and he can afford to lose two men for every one ofour gallant laddies. And Johnston can’t afford to lose a single man. He needs reinforcements badlyand what is he getting? ‘Joe Brown’s Pets.’ What a help they’ll be!”   “Is the militia really going to be called out? The Home Guard, too? I hadn’t heard. How do you know?”   There’s a rumor floating about to that effect The rumor arrived on the train from Milledgevillethis morning. Both the militia and the Home Guards are going to be sent in to reinforce GeneralJohnston. Yes, Governor Brown’s darlings are likely to smell powder at last, and I imagine most ofthem will be much surprised. Certainly they never expected to see action. The Governor as good aspromised them they wouldn’t. Well, that’s a good joke on them. They thought they had bombproofs because the Governor stood up to even Jeff Davis and refused to send them to Virginia. Saidthey were needed for the defense of their state. Who’d have ever thought the war would come totheir own back yard and they’d really have to defend their state?”   “Oh, how can you laugh, you cruel thing! Think of the old gentlemen and the little boys in theHome Guard! Why, little Phil Meade will have to go and Grandpa Merriwether and Uncle HenryHamilton.”   “I’m not talking about the little boys and the Mexican War veterans. I’m talking about braveyoung men like Willie Guinan who like to wear pretty uniforms and wave swords—”   “And yourself!”   “My dear, that didn’t hurt a bit! I wear no uniform and wave no sword and the fortunes of theConfederacy mean nothing at all to me. Moreover, I wouldn’t be caught dead in the Home Guardor in any army, for that matter. I had enough of things military at West Point to do me the rest ofmy life. ... Well, I wish Old Joe luck. General Lee can’t send him any help because the Yankees arekeeping him busy in Virginia. So the Georgia state troops are the only reinforcements Johnston canget. He deserves better, for he’s a great strategist He always manages to get places before theYankees do. But he’ll have to keep falling back if he wants to protect the railroad; and mark mywords, when they push him out of the mountains and onto the flatter land around here, he’s goingto be butchered.”   “Around here?” cried Scarlett. “You know mighty well the Yankees will never get this far!”   “Kennesaw is only twenty-two miles away and I’ll wager you—”   “Rhett, look, down the street! That crowd of men! They aren’t soldiers. What on earth... ? Why,they’re darkies!”   There was a great cloud of red dust coming up the street and from the cloud came the sound ofthe tramping of many feet and a hundred or more negro voices, deep throated, careless, singing ahymn. Rhett pulled the carriage over to the curb, and Scarlett looked curiously at the sweatingblack men, picks and shovels over their shoulders, shepherded along by an officer and a squad ofmen wearing the insignia of the engineering corps.   “What on earth … ?” she began again.   Then her eyes lighted on a singing black buck in the front rank. He stood nearly six and a halffeet tall, a giant of a man, ebony black, stepping along with the lithe grace of a powerful animal,his white teeth flashing as he led the gang in “Go Down, Moses.” Surely there wasn’t a negro onearth as tall and loud voiced as this one except Big Sam, the foreman of Tara. But what was BigSam doing here, so far away from home, especially now that there was no overseer on the plantation and he was Gerald’s right-hand man?   As she half rose from her seat to look closer, the giant caught sight of her and his black face splitin a grin of delighted recognition. He halted, dropped his shovel and started toward her, calling tothe negroes nearest him: “Gawdlmighty! It’s Miss Scarlett! You, ‘Lige! ‘Postle! Prophet! Dar’sMiss Scarlett!”   There was confusion in the ranks. The crowd halted uncertainly, grinning, and Big Sam,followed by three other large negroes, ran across the road to the carriage, closely followed by theharried, shouting officer.   “Get back in line, you fellows! Get back, I tell you or I’ll—-Why it’s Mrs. Hamilton. Goodmorning, Ma’m, and you, too, sir. What are you up to inciting mutiny and insubordination? Godknows, I’ve had trouble enough with these boys this morning.”   “Oh, Captain Randall, don’t scold them! They are our people. This is Big Sam our foreman, andElijah and Apostle and Prophet from Tara. Of course, they had to speak to me. How are you,boys?”   She shook hands all around, her small white hand disappearing into their huge black paws andthe four capered with delight at the meeting and with pride at displaying before their comradeswhat a pretty Young Miss they had.   “What are you boys doing so far from Tara? You’ve run away, I’ll be bound. Don’t you knowthe patterollers will get you sure?”   They bellowed pleasedly at the badinage.   “Runned away?” answered Big Sam. “No’m, us ain’ runned away. Dey done sont an’ tuck us,kase us wuz de fo’ bigges’ an’ stronges’ han’s at Tara.” His white teeth showed proudly. “Deyspecially sont fer me, kase Ah could sing so good. Yas’m, Mist’ Frank Kennedy, he come by an’   tuck us.”   “But why, Big Sam?”   “Lawd, Miss Scarlett! Ain’ you heerd? Us is ter dig de ditches fer de wite gempmums ter hide inw’en de Yankees comes.”   Captain Randall and the occupants of the carriage smothered smiles at this naive explanation ofrifle pits.   “Cose, Mis’ Gerald might’ nigh had a fit w’en dey tuck me, an’ he say he kain run de placewidout me. But Miss Ellen she say; Tek him, Mist’ Kennedy. De Confedrutsy need Big Sam mo’   dan us do.’ An’ she gib me a dollar an’ tell me ter do jes’ whut de w’ite gempmums tell me. Sohyah us is.”   “What does it all mean, Captain Randall?”   “Oh, it’s quite simple. We have to strengthen the fortifications of Atlanta with more miles ofrifle pits, and the General can’t spare any men from the front to do it. So we’ve been impressingthe strongest bucks in the countryside for the work.”   “But—”   A cold little fear was beginning to throb in Scarlett’s breast. More miles of rifle pits! Whyshould they need more? Within the last year, a series of huge earth redoubts with batteryemplacements had been built all around Atlanta, one mile from the center of town. These greatearthworks were connected with rifle pits and they ran, mile after mile, completely encircling thecity. More rifle pits!   “But—why should we be fortified any more than we are already fortified? We won’t need whatwe’ve got. Surely, the General won’t let—”   “Our present fortifications are only a mile from town,” said Captain Randall shortly. “And that’stoo close for comfort—or safety. These new ones are going to be farther away. You see, anotherretreat may bring our men into Atlanta.”   Immediately he regretted his last remark, as her eyes widened with fear.   “But, of course there won’t be another retreat,” he added hastily. “The lines around KennesawMountain are impregnable. The batteries are planted all up the mountain sides and they commandthe roads, and the Yankees can’t possibly get by.”   But Scarlett saw him drop his eyes before the lazy, penetrating look Rhett gave him, and she wasfrightened. She remembered Rhett’s remark: “When the Yankees push him out of the mountainsand onto the flatter land, he’ll be butchered.”   “Oh, Captain, do you think—”   “Why, of not! Don’t fret your mind one minute. Old Joe just believes in taking precautions.That’s(course) the only reason we’re digging more entrenchments. ... But I must be goingnow. It’s been pleasant, talking to you. ... Say good-by to your mistress, boys, and let’s get going.”   “Good-by, boys. Now, if you get sick or hurt or in trouble, let me know. I live right downPeachtree Street, down there in almost the last house at the end of town. Wait a minute—” Shefumbled in her reticule. “Oh, dear, I haven’t a cent. Rhett, give me a few shinplasters. Here, BigSam, buy some tobacco for yourself and the boys. And be good and do what Captain Randall tellsyou.”   The straggling line re-formed, the dust arose again in a red cloud as they moved off and BigSam started up the singing again.   “Go do-ow, Mos-es! Waaa-ay, do-own, in Eeejup laa-an!   An’ te-el O-le Faa-ro-oTer let mah—peee-pul go!”   “Rhett, Captain Randall was lying to me, just like all the men do—trying to keep the truth fromus women for fear well faint. Or was he lying? Oh, Rhett, if there’s no danger, why are theydigging these new breastworks? Is the army so short of men they’ve got to use darkies?”   Rhett clucked to the mare.   “The army is damned short of men. Why else would the Home Guard be called out? And as forthe entrenchments, well, fortifications are supposed to be of some value in case of a siege. TheGeneral is preparing to make his final stand here.”   “A siege! Oh, turn the horse around. I’m going home, back home to Tara, right away.”   “What ails you?”   “A siege! Name of God, a siege! I’ve heard about sieges! Pa was in one or maybe it was his Pa,and Pa told me—”   “What siege?”   “The siege at Drogheda when Cromwell had the Irish, and they didn’t have anything to eat andPa said they starved and died in the streets and finally they ate all the cats and rats and even thingslike cockroaches. And he said they ate each other too, before they surrendered, though I never didknow whether to believe that or not. And when Cromwell took the town all the women were— Asiege! Mother of God!”   “You are the most barbarously ignorant young person I ever saw. Drogheda was in sixteenhundred and something and Mr. O’Hara couldn’t possibly have been alive then. Besides, Shermanisn’t Cromwell.”   “No, but he’s worse! They say—”   “And as for the exotic viands the Irish ate at the siege—personally I’d as soon eat a nice juicyrat as some of the victuals they’ve been serving me recently at the hotel. I think I shall have to goback to Richmond. They have good food there, if you have the money to pay for it.” His eyesmocked the fear in her face.   Annoyed that she had shown her trepidation, she cried: “I don’t see why you’ve stayed here thislong! All you think about is being comfortable and eating and—and things like that.”   “I know no more pleasant way to pass the time than in eating and er—things like that,” he said.   “And as for why I stay here—well, I’ve read a good deal about sieges, beleaguered cities and thelike, but I’ve never seen one. So I think I’ll stay here and watch. I won’t get hurt because I’m anoncombatant and besides I want the experience. Never pass up new experiences, Scarlett. Theyenrich the mind.”   “My mind’s rich enough.”   “Perhaps you know best about that, but I should say— But that would be ungallant. Andperhaps, I’m staying here to rescue you when the siege does come. I’ve never rescued a maiden indistress. That would be a new experience, too.”   She knew he was teasing her but she sensed a seriousness behind his words. She tossed herhead.   “I won’t need you to rescue me. I can take care of myself, thank you.”   “Don’t say that, Scarlett! Think of it, if you like, but never, never say it to a man. That’s thetrouble with Yankee girls. They’d be most charming if they weren’t always telling you that theycan take care of themselves, thank you. Generally they are telling the truth, God help them. And so men let them take care of themselves.”   “How you do run on,” she said coldly, for there was no insult worse than being likened to aYankee girl. “I believe you’re lying about a siege. You know the Yankees will never get toAtlanta.”   “I’ll bet you they will be here within the month. I’ll bet you a box of bonbons against—” Hisdark eyes wandered to her lips. “Against a kiss.”   For a last brief moment, fear of a Yankee invasion clutched her heart but at the word “kiss,” sheforgot about it. This was familiar ground and far more interesting than military operations. Withdifficulty she restrained a smile of glee. Since the day when he gave her the green bonnet, Rhetthad made no advances which could in any way be construed as those of a lover. He could never beinveigled into personal conversations, try though she might, but now with no angling on her part,he was talking about kissing.   “I don’t care for such personal conversation,” she said coolly and managed a frown. “Besides,I’d just as soon kiss a pig.”   “There’s no accounting for tastes and I’ve always heard the Irish were partial to pigs—kept themunder their beds, in fact. But, Scarlett, you need kissing badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. Allyour beaux have respected you too much, though God knows why, or they have been too afraid ofyou to really do right by you. The result is that you are unendurably uppity. You should be kissedand by someone who knows how.”   The conversation was not going the way she wanted it. It never did when she was with him.   Always, it was a duel in which she was worsted.   “And I suppose you think you are the proper person?” she asked with sarcasm, holding hertemper in check with difficulty.   “Oh, yes, if I cared to take the trouble,” he said carelessly. “They say I kiss very well.”   “Oh,” she began, indignant at the slight to her charms. “Why, you …” But her eyes fell insudden confusion. He was smiling, but in the dark depths of his eyes a tiny light flickered for abrief moment, like a small raw flame.   “Of course, you’ve probably wondered why I never tried to follow up that chaste peck I gaveyou, the day I brought you that bonnet—”   “I have never—”   “Then you aren’t a nice girl, Scarlett, and I’m sorry to hear it. All really nice girls wonder whenmen don’t try to kiss them. They know they shouldn’t want them to and they know they must actinsulted if they do, but just the same, they wish the men would try. … Well, my dear, take heartSome day, I will kiss you and you will like it. But not now, so I beg you not to be too impatient.”   She knew he was teasing but, as always, his teasing maddened her. There was always too muchtruth in the things he said. Well, this finished him. If ever, ever he should be so ill bred as to try totake any liberties with her, she would show him.   “Will you kindly turn the horse around, Captain Butler? I wish to go back to the hospital.”   “Do you indeed, my ministering angel? Then lice and slops are preferable to my conversation?   Well, far be it from me to keep a pair of willing hands from laboring for Our Glorious Cause.” Heturned the horse’s head and they started back toward Five Points.   “As to why I have made no further advances,” he pursued blandly, as though she had notsignified that the conversation was at an end, “I’m waiting for you to grow up a little more. Yousee, it wouldn’t be much fun for me to kiss you now and I’m quite selfish about my pleasures. Inever fancied kissing children.”   He smothered a grin, as from the corner of his eye he saw her bosom heave with silent wrath.   “And then, too,” he continued softly, “I was waiting for the memory of the estimable AshleyWilkes to fade.”   At the mention of Ashley’s name, sudden pain went through her, sudden hot tears stung her lids.   Fade? The memory of Ashley would never fade, not if he were dead a thousand years. She thoughtof Ashley wounded, dying in a far-off Yankee prison, with no blankets over him, with no one wholoved him to hold his hand, and she was filled with hate for the well-fed man who sat beside her,jeers just beneath the surface of his drawling voice.   She was too angry to speak and they rode along in silence for some while.   “I understand practically everything about you and Ashley, now,” Rhett resumed. “I began withyour inelegant scene at Twelve Oaks and, since then, I’ve picked up many things by keeping myeyes open. What things? Oh, that you still cherish a romantic schoolgirl passion for him which hereciprocates as well as his honorable nature will permit him. And that Mrs. Wilkes knows nothingand that, between the two of you, you’ve done her a pretty trick. I understand practicallyeverything, except one thing that piques my curiosity. Did the honorable Ashley ever jeopardizehis immortal soul by kissing you?”   A stony silence and an averted head were his answers.   “Ah, well, so he did kiss you. I suppose it was when he was here on furlough. And now that he’sprobably dead you are cherishing it to your heart. But I’m sure you’ll get over it and when you’veforgotten his kiss, I’ll—”   She turned in fury.   “You go to—Halifax,” she said tensely, her green eyes slits of rage. “And let me out of thiscarriage before I jump over the wheels. And I don’t ever want to speak to you again.”   He stopped the carriage, but before he could alight and assist her she sprang down. Her hoopcaught on the wheel and for a moment the crowd at Five Points had a flashing view of petticoatsand pantalets. Then Rhett leaned over and swiftly released it She flounced off without a word,without even a backward look, and he laughed softly and clicked to the horse.  1864年的五月来到了,那是个又热又干燥的五月,花蕾还来不及绽放就枯萎了。谢尔曼将军指挥下的北军又一次进入佐治亚,到了多尔顿北边,在亚特兰大西北一百英里处。传说佐治亚和田纳西的边界附近将爆发一场恶战。北方佬正在调集军队,准备发动一次对西部的亚特兰大铁路的进攻,这条铁路是亚特兰大通往田纳西和西部的要道,去年秋天南军就是沿着它迅速赶来取得奇卡莫加大捷的。   不过,大多数亚特兰大人对于在多尔顿发生大战的可能性都不怎么感到惊慌,因为北军集中的地点就在奇卡莫加战场东南部数英里处。他们上次企图打通那个地区的山间小道既然被击退了,那么这次也必然会被击退。   亚特兰大和整个佐治亚州的人民知道,这个州对南部联盟实在太重要了,乔•约翰斯顿将军是不会让北方佬长久留在州界以内的。老约和他的军队连一个北方佬也不会让越过多尔顿南进一步,因为要保持佐治亚的功能不受干扰,对于全局关系极大。这个至今仍保持完整的州是南部联盟的一个巨大粮仓,同时也是机器厂和贮藏库,它生产军队所使用的大量弹药和武器,以及大部分的棉毛织品,在亚特兰大和多尔顿之间,是拥有大炮铸造厂和其他工业的罗姆城,以及拥有里士满以南最大炼铁厂的埃托瓦和阿拉图纳。而且,亚特兰大不仅有制造手枪、鞍套、帐篷和军火的工厂,还有南方规模最大的碾压厂,主要的铁路器材厂和宏大的医院。亚特兰大还是四条铁路和交汇点,这些铁路无疑是南部联盟的命脉。   因此,谁都不着急。毕竟,多尔顿将近田纳西,还远着呢,在田纳西州战争已打了三年,人们已习惯于把那里当作一个遥远的战场,几乎跟弗吉尼亚或密西西比河一样遥远。何况老约将军和他的部队驻守在北方佬和亚特兰大之间,人人都知道除了李将军本人,加之斯•杰克逊已经去世,当今再没有哪位将领比老约更伟大的了。   一个炎热的五月黄昏,米德大夫在皮蒂姑妈住宅的走廊上谈论当前的形势,说亚特兰大用不着担心,因为约翰斯顿将军像一堵铜铁壁耸立在山区,他的这种看法代表了亚特兰大市民的普遍观点。听他谈论的听众坐在逐渐朦胧的暮色中轻轻摇动着,看着夏季第一批萤火虫迎着昏暗奇妙地飞来飞去,但他们都满怀沉重的心事,情绪也在不断变化。米德太太抓住费尔的胳臂,希望大夫说的话是真实可靠的。因为一旦战争逼近,她的费尔就不得不上前线了。他现在16岁,已参加了乡团。范妮•埃尔辛自从葛底斯堡战役以来变得面容憔悴、眼睛凹陷了,她正努力回避那幅可怕的图景----那就是这几个月一直在她心里翻腾着的----垂死的达拉斯•麦克卢尔中尉躺在一辆颠簸的牛车上,冒着大雨长途跋涉,撤回到马里兰来。   凯里•阿什伯恩队长那只已经残废的胳臂又在折磨他了,而且他觉得他对思嘉的追求已处于停顿状态,因此心情十分沮丧。这种局面在艾希礼被俘的消息传来之后就出现了,虽然他并没有意识到这两者之间的什么联系。思嘉和媚兰两人都在想念艾希礼;她们只要没有什么紧急任务在身,或者因必须与别人谈话而转移了注意力时,便总是这样想念他的。   思嘉想得既痛苦又悲伤:他一定是死了,否则我们不会听不到信息的。媚兰则始终在迎着恐惧的激流一次又一次地搏击,心里暗暗对自己说:“他不可能死。要是他死了,我会知道的----我会感觉到的。"瑞德•巴特勒懒懒地斜倚在黑影中,穿着漂亮皮靴的两条长腿随意交叉着,那张黑黝黝的脸孔上毫无表情,谁也不知道他在想些什么。韦德在他怀里安然睡着了,小手里拿着一根剔得干干净净的如意骨,每当瑞德来访时,思嘉总是允许韦德坐到很晚才睡,因为这个腼腆的孩子很喜欢他,同时瑞德也很怪,竟高兴同他亲近。思嘉通常不乐意让韦德在身边打扰她,但是他一到瑞德怀里就变得很乖了。至于皮蒂姑妈,她正神经质地强忍着不要打出嗝来,因为他们那天晚餐吃的是一只硬邦邦的老公鸡。   那天早晨,皮蒂姑妈遗憾地作出决定,最好把这只老公鸡宰掉,省得它继续为那只早被吃掉的老伴伤心,直到自己老死为止。好多天来,它总耷拉着脑袋在空荡荡的鸡场上发闷,也提不起精神来啼叫了。当彼得大叔扭断它的脖子时,皮蒂姑妈忽然想起她的许多朋友都好几个星期没尝到鸡味了;如果自己一家关起门来享用这顿美餐,那是良心过不去的,因此她建议请些客人来吃饭。媚兰怀孕到了第五个月,已经有好几个星期既不出外参加活动,也不在家接待宾客,所以对这个主意感到很不安。可是皮蒂姑妈这次很坚决,一家人单独吃这只公鸡,毕竟太自私了吧?何况媚兰的胸部本来就那么平板,她只要把最上面的那个裙圈稍稍提高一点,便没有人会看出来了。   “唔,我不想见人,姑妈,因为艾希礼----”“其实艾希礼----他并不是已经不在了呀!"皮蒂姑妈用颤抖的声音说,因为她心里已经断定艾希礼是死了。"他还像你那样活得好好的,而你呢,多跟人来往来往对你只有好处,我还想请范妮•埃尔辛也来呢。埃尔辛太太央求我设法让她振作起来,劝她见见客----”“唔,达拉斯刚死不久,姑妈,你要是强迫她这样做,那可太残忍了。”“怎么,媚兰,你再这样跟我争下去,我可要气哭了。不管怎么说,我总是你的姑妈,也不是不明事理。我一定要请客吃饭。"于是,皮蒂姑妈请客了,而且到最后一分钟来了一位她没有请也不希望他来的客人,恰好屋子里充满了烤鸡的香味,瑞德•巴特勒不知从哪里鬼使神差地回来了,在外面敲门。他腑下夹着一大盒用花纸包着的糖果,满口伶俐的奉承话。这就毫无办法,只好把他留下了,尽管皮蒂姑妈知道大夫和米德太太对他没有好感,而范妮是不喜欢任何不穿军服的男人的。本来,无论米德家还是埃尔辛家里的人,在街上从不跟瑞德打招呼,可如今是在朋友家里,他们当然就得以礼相待了。何况他现在受到了媚兰比以前更加坚决的庇护。因为自从他替媚兰出力打听艾希礼的消息以后,她便公开宣布,只要他活着,他便永远是她家受欢迎的客人,无论别人怎样说他的坏话都不在乎。   皮蒂姑妈发现瑞德的言谈举止都彬彬有礼,便渐渐放心了。他一心用同情而尊重的态度对待范妮,范妮因此也高兴起来,于是这顿饭吃得十分愉快。可以说是一顿丰厚的美宴。   凯里•阿什伯恩带来了一点茶叶,那是从一个到安德森维尔去的北军俘虏的烟叶袋里找到的,给每人都泡了一杯,可惜略略有点烟草味。每人都分到一小块老公鸡肉,一份相当多的用玉米片加葱头制作的调味田,一碗干豆,以及大量的米饭和肉汤,尽管肉汤由于没有面粉掺和而显得稀了些。点心和甘薯馅饼,外加瑞德带来的糖果。当瑞德把真正的哈瓦那雪茄拿出来,供男客们一面喝黑莓酒和一面抽雪茄时,大家异口同声说这简直是一次卢库勒斯家的盛宴了。   然后男客们来到前廊上的女士们中间,谈话就传到了战争这个问题上。近来人们的谈话总是离不开战争。无论什么话题都要从战争谈起,最后又回到战争上去----有时谈伤心事,更多的时候是愉快的,但常常同战争有关。战时传奇呀,战时婚礼呀,在医院里的战场上的死亡呀,驻营、打仗和行军中的故事呀,关于英勇、怯懦、幽默、悲惨、沮丧和希望的故事呀,等等,等等。希望,经常是希望,永远是希望。尽管去年夏季打了 Chapter 18 FOR THE FIRST TIME since the war began, Atlanta could hear the sound of battle. In the earlymorning hours before the noises of the town awoke, the cannon at Kennesaw Mountain could be heard faintly, far away, low dim booming that might have passed for summer thunder. Occasionallyitwaslouden(a) ough to be heard even above the rattle of traffic at noon. People triednot to listen to it, tried to talk, to laugh, to carry on their business, just as though the Yankees werenot there, twenty-two miles away, but always ears were strained for the sound. The town wore apreoccupied look, for no matter what occupied their hands, all were listening, listening, their heartsleaping suddenly a hundred times a day. Was the booming louder? Or did they only think it waslouder? Would General Johnston hold them this time? Would he?   Panic lay just beneath the surface. Nerves which had been stretched tighter and tighter each dayof the retreat began to reach the breaking point. No one spoke of fears. That subject was taboo, butstrained nerves found expression in loud criticism of the General. Public feeling was at fever heat.   Sherman was at the very doors of Atlanta. Another retreat might bring the Confederates into thetown.   Give us a general who won’t retreat! Give us a man who will stand and fight!   With the far-off rumbling of cannon in their ears, the state militia, “Joe Brown’s Pets,” and theHome Guard marched out of Atlanta, to defend the bridges and ferries of the Chattahoochee Riverat Johnston’s back. It was a gray, overcast day and, as they marched through Five Points and outthe Marietta road, a fine rain began to fall. The whole town had turned out to see them off and theystood, close packed, under the wooden awnings of the stores on Peachtree Street and tried to cheer.   Scarlett and Maybelle Merriwether Picard had been given permission to leave the hospital andwatch the men go out, because Uncle Henry Hamilton and Grandpa Merriwether were in the HomeGuard, and they stood with Mrs. Meade, pressed in the crowd, tiptoeing to get a better view.   Scarlett, though filled with the universal Southern desire to believe only the pleasantest and mostreassuring things about the progress of the fighting, felt cold as she watched the motley ranks goby. Surely, things must be in a desperate pass if this rabble of bombproofers, old men and littleboys were being called out! To be sure there were young and able-bodied men in the passing lines,tricked out in the bright uniforms of socially select militia units, plumes waving, sashes dancing.   But there were so many old men and young boys, and the sight of them made her heart contractwith pity and with fear. There were graybeards older than her father trying to step jauntily along inthe needle-fine rain to the rhythm of the fife and dram corps. Grandpa Merriwether, with Mrs.   Merriwether’s best plaid shawl laid across his shoulders to keep out the rain, was in the first rankand he saluted the girls with a grin. They waved their handkerchiefs and cried gay good-bys tohim; but Maybelle, gripping Scarlett’s arm, whispered: “Oh, the poor old darling! A real good rainstormwill just about finish him! His lumbago—”   Uncle Henry Hamilton marched in the rank behind Grandpa Merriwether, the collar of his longblack coat turned up about his ears, two Mexican War pistols in his belt and a small carpetbag inhis hand. Beside him marched his black valet who was nearly as old as Uncle Henry, with an openumbrella held over them both. Shoulder to shoulder with their elders came the young boys, none ofthem looking over sixteen. Many of them had run away from school to join the army, and here andthere were clumps of them in the cadet uniforms of military academies, the black cock feathers ontheir tight gray caps wet with rain, the clean white canvas straps crossing their chests sodden. PhilMeade was among them, proudly wearing his dead brother’s saber and horse pistols, his hatbravely pinned up on one side. Mrs. Meade managed to smile and wave until he had passed and then she leaned her head on the back of Scarlett’s shoulder for a moment as though her strengthhad suddenly left her.   Many of the men were totally unarmed, for the Confederacy had neither rifles nor ammunitionto issue to them. These men hoped to equip themselves from killed and captured Yankees. Manycarried bowie knives in their boots and bore in their hands long thick poles with iron-pointed tipsknown as “Joe Brown pikes.” The lucky ones had old flintlock muskets slung over their shouldersand powder-horns at their belts.   Johnston had lost around ten thousand men in his retreat. He needed ten thousand more freshtroops. And this, thought Scarlett frightened, is what he is getting!   As the artillery rumbled by, splashing mud into the watching crowds, a negro on a mule, ridingclose to a cannon caught her eye. He was a young, saddle-colored negro with a serious face, andwhen Scarlett saw him she cried: “It’s Mose! Ashley’s Mose! Whatever is he doing here?” Shefought her way through the crowd to the curb and called: “Mose! Stop!”   The boy seeing her, drew rein, smiled delightedly and started to dismount. A soaking sergeant,riding behind him, called: “Stay on that mule, boy, or I’ll light a fire under you! We got to git to themountain some time.”   Uncertainly, Mose looked from the sergeant to Scarlett and she, splashing through the mud,close to the passing wheels, caught at Moses’ stirrup strap.   “Oh, just a minute, Sergeant! Don’t get down, Mose. What on earth are you doing here?”   “Ah’s off ter de war, agin, Miss Scarlett. Dis time wid Ole Mist’ John ‘stead ob Mist’ Ashley.”   “Mr. Wilkes!” Scarlett was stunned; Mr. Wilkes was nearly seventy. “Where is he?”   “Back wid de las’ cannon, Miss Scarlett. Back dar!”   “Sorry, lady. Move on, boy!”   Scarlett stood for a moment, ankle deep in mud as the guns lurched by. Oh, no! She thought. Itcan’t be. He’s too old. And he doesn’t like war any more than Ashley did! She retreated back a fewpaces toward the curb and scanned each face that passed. Then, as the last cannon and limber chestcame groaning and splashing up, she saw him, slender, erect, his long silver hair wet upon hisneck, riding easily upon a little strawberry mare that picked her way as daintily through the mudholes as a lady in a satin dress. Why—that mare was Nellie! Mrs. Tarleton’s Nellie! BeatriceTarleton’s treasured darling!   When he saw her standing in the mud, Mr. Wilkes drew rein with a smile of pleasure and,dismounting, came toward her.   “I had hoped to see you, Scarlett. I was charged with so many messages from your people. Butthere was no time. We just got in this morning and they are rushing us out immediately, as yousee.”   “Oh, Mr. Wilkes,” she cried desperately, holding his hand. “Don’t go! Why must you go?”   “Ah, so you think I’m too old!” he smiled, and it was Ashley’s smile in an older face. “Perhaps Iam too old to march but not to ride and shoot. And Mrs. Tarleton so kindly lent me Nellie, so I am well mounted. I hope nothing happens to Nellie, for if something should happen to her, I couldnever go home and face Mrs. Tarleton. Nellie was the last horse she had left.” He was laughingnow, turning away her fears. “Your mother and father and the girls are well and they sent you theirlove. Your father nearly came up with us today!”   “Oh, not Pa!” cried Scarlett in terror. “Not Pa! He isn’t going to the war, is he?”   “No, but he was. Of course, he can’t walk far with his stiff knee, but he was all for riding awaywith us. Your mother agreed, providing he was able to jump the pasture fence, for, she said, therewould be a lot of rough riding to be done in the army. Your father thought that easy, but—wouldyou believe it? When his horse came to the fence, he stopped dead and over his head went yourfather! It’s a wonder it didn’t break his neck! You know how obstinate he is. He got right up andtried it again. Well, Scarlett, he came off three times before Mrs. O’Hara and Pork assisted him tobed. He was in a taking about it, swearing that your mother had ‘spoken a wee word in the beast’sear.’ He just isn’t up to active service, Scarlett. You need have no shame about it. After all,someone must stay home and raise crops for the army.”   Scarlett had no shame at all, only an active feeling of relief.   “I’ve sent India and Honey to Macon to stay with the Burrs and Mr. O’Hara is looking afterTwelve Oaks as well as Tara. … I must go, my dear. Let me kiss your pretty face.”   Scarlett turned up her lips and there was a choking pain in her throat. She was so fond of Mr.   Wilkes. Once, long ago, she had hoped to be his daughter-in-law.   “And you must deliver this kiss to Pittypat and this to Melanie,” he said, kissing her lightly twomore times. “And how is Melanie?”   “She is well.”   “Ah!” His eyes looked at her but through her, past her as Ashley’s had done, remote gray eyeslooking on another world. “I should have liked to see my first grandchild. Good-by, my dear.”   He swung onto Nellie and cantered off, his hat in his hand, his silver hair bare to the rain.   Scarlett had rejoined Maybelle and Mrs. Meade before the import of his last words broke upon her.   Then in superstitious terror she crossed herself and tried to say a prayer. He had spoken of death,just as Ashley had done, and now Ashley— No one should ever speak of death! It was temptingProvidence to mention death. As the three women started silently back to the hospital in the rain,Scarlett was praying: “Not him, too, God. Not him and Ashley, too!”   The retreat from Dalton to Kennesaw Mountain had taken from early May to mid-June and asthe hot rainy days of June passed and Sherman failed to dislodge the Confederates from the steepslippery slopes, hope again raised its head. Everyone grew more cheerful and spoke more kindly ofGeneral Johnston. As wet June days passed into a wetter July and the Confederates, fightingdesperately around the entrenched heights, still held Sherman at bay, a wild gaiety took hold ofAtlanta. Hope went to their heads like champagne. Hurrah! Hurrah! We’re holding them! Anepidemic of parties and dances broke out. Whenever groups of men from the fighting were in townfor the night, dinners were given for them and afterwards there was dancing and the girls,outnumbering the men ten to one, made much of them and fought to dance with them.   Atlanta was crowded with visitors, refugees, families of wounded men in the hospitals, wivesand mothers of soldiers fighting at the mountain who wished to be near them in case of wounds. Inaddition, bevies of belles from the country districts, where all remaining men were under sixteen orover sixty, descended upon the town. Aunt Pitty disapproved highly of these last, for she felt theyhad come to Atlanta for no reason at all except to catch husbands, and the shamelessness of it madeher wonder what the world was coming to. Scarlett disapproved, too. She did not care for the eagercompetition furnished by the sixteen-year-olds whose fresh cheeks and bright smiles made oneforget their twice-turned frocks and patched shoes. Her own clothes were prettier and newer thanmost, thanks to the material Rhett Butler had brought her on the last boat he ran in, but, after all,she was nineteen and getting along and men had a way of chasing silly young things.   A widow with a child was at a disadvantage with these pretty minxes, she thought But in theseexciting days her widowhood and her motherhood weighed less heavily upon her than ever before.   Between hospital duties in the day time and parties at night, she hardly ever saw Wade. Sometimesshe actually forgot, for long stretches, that she had a child.   In the wet summer nights, Atlanta’s homes stood open to the soldiers, the town’sdefenders.The(warm) big houses from Washington Street to Peachtree Street blazed with lights, as themuddy fighters in from the rifle pits were entertained, and the sound of banjo and fiddle and thescrape of dancing feet and light laughter carried far on the night air. Groups hung over pianos andvoices sang lustily the sad words of “Your Letter Came but Came Too Late” while ragged gallantslooked meaningly at girls who laughed from behind turkey-tail fans, begging them not to wait untilit was too late. None of the girls waited, if they could help it. With the tide of hysterical gaiety andexcitement flooding the city, they rushed into matrimony. There were so many marriages thatmonth while Johnston was holding the enemy at Kennesaw Mountain, marriages with the brideturned out in blushing happiness and the hastily borrowed finery of a dozen friends and the groomwith saber banging at patched knees. So much excitement, so many parties, so many thrills!   Hurrah! Johnston is holding the Yanks twenty-two miles away!   Yes, the lines around Kennesaw Mountain were impregnable. After twenty-five days of fighting,even General Sherman was convinced of this, for his losses were enormous. Instead of continuingthe direct assault, he swung his army in a wide circle again and tried to come between theConfederates and Atlanta. Again, the strategy worked. Johnston was forced to abandon the heightshe had held so well, in order to protect his rear. He had lost a third of his men in that fight and theremainder slogged tiredly through the rain across the country toward the Chattahoochee River. TheConfederates could expect no more reinforcements, whereas the railroad, which the Yankees nowheld from Tennessee south to the battle line, brought Sherman fresh troops and supplies daily. Sothe gray lines went back through the muddy fields, back toward Atlanta.   With the loss of the supposedly unconquerable position, a fresh wave of terror swept the town.   For twenty-five wild, happy days, everyone had assured everyone else that this could not possiblyhappen. And now it had happened! But surely the General would hold the Yankees on the oppositebank of the river. Though God knows the river was close enough, only seven miles away!   But Sherman flanked them again, crossing the stream above them, and the weary gray files were forced to hurry across the yellow water and throw themselves again between the invaders andAtlanta. They dug in hastily in shallow pits to the north of the town in the valley of PeachtreeCreek. Atlanta was in agony and panic.   Fight and fall back! Fight and fall back! And every retreat was bringing the Yankees closer tothe town. Peachtree Creek was only five miles away! What was the General thinking about?   The cries of “Give us a man who will stand and fight!” penetrated even to Richmond. Richmondknew that if Atlanta was lost, the war was lost, and after the army had crossed the Chattahoochee,General Johnston was removed from command. General Hood, one of his corps commanders, tookthe army, and the town breathed a little easier. Hood wouldn’t retreat. Not that tallKent(over) uckian, with his flowing beard and flashing eye! He had the reputation of a bulldog. He’ddrive the Yankees back from the creek, yes, back across the river and on up the road every step ofthe way back to Dalton. But the army cried: “Give us back Old Joe!” for they had been with OldJoe all the weary miles from Dalton and they knew, as the civilians could not know, the odds thathad opposed them.   Sherman did not wait for Hood to get himself in readiness to attack. On the day after the changein command, the Yankee general struck swiftly at the little town of Decatur, six miles beyondAtlanta, captured it and cut the railroad there. This was the railroad connecting Atlanta withAugusta, with Charleston, and Wilmington and with Virginia. Sherman had dealt the Confederacya crippling blow. The time had come for action! Atlanta screamed for action!   Then, on a July afternoon of steaming heat, Atlanta had its wish. General Hood did more thanstand and fight. He assaulted the Yankees fiercely at Peachtree Creek, hurling his men from theirrifle pits against the blue lines where Sherman’s men outnumbered him more than two to one.   Frightened, praying that Hood’s attack would drive the Yankees back, everyone listened to thesound of booming cannon and the crackling of thousands of rifles which, though five miles awayfrom the center of town, were so loud as to seem almost in the next block. They could hear therumblings of the batteries, see the smoke which rolled like low-hanging clouds above the trees, butfor hours no one knew how the battle was going.   By late afternoon the first news came, but it was uncertain, contradictory, frightening, brought asit was by men wounded in the early hours of the battle. These men began straggling in, singly andin groups, the less seriously wounded supporting those who limped and staggered. Soon a steadystream of them was established, making their painful way into town toward the hospitals, theirfaces black as negroes’ from powder stains, dust and sweat, their wounds unbandaged, blooddrying, flies swarming about them.   Aunt Pitty’s was one of the first houses which the wounded reached as they struggled in fromthe north of the town, and one after another, they tottered to the gate, sank down on the green lawnand croaked:   “Water!”   All that burning afternoon, Aunt Pitty and her family, black and white, stood in the sun withbuckets of water and bandages, ladling drinks, binding wounds until the bandages gave out andeven the torn sheets and towels were exhausted. Aunt Pitty completely forgot that the sight of blood always made her faint and she worked until her little feet in their too small shoes swelledand would no longer support her. Even Melanie, now great with child, forgot her modesty andworked feverishly side by side with Prissy, Cookie and Scarlett, her face as tense as any of thewounded. When at last she fainted, there was no place to lay her except on the kitchen table, asevery bed, chair and sofa in the house was filled with wounded.   Forgotten in the tumult, little Wade crouched behind the banisters on the front porch, peering outonto the lawn like a caged, frightened rabbit, his eyes wide with terror, sucking his thumb andhiccoughing. Once Scarlett saw him and cried sharply: “Go play in the back yard, WadeHampton!” but he was too terrified, too fascinated by the mad scene before him to obey.   The lawn was covered with prostrate men, too tired to walk farther, too weak from wounds tomove. These Uncle Peter loaded into the carriage and drove to the hospital, making trip after tripuntil the old horse was lathered. Mrs. Meade and Mrs. Merriwether sent their carriages and they,too, drove off, springs sagging beneath the weight of the wounded.   Later, in the long, hot summer twilight, the ambulances came rumbling down the road from thebattle field and commissary wagons, covered with muddy canvas. Then farm wagons, ox carts andeven private carriages commandeered by the medical corps. They passed Aunt Pitty’s house,jolting over the bumpy road, packed with wounded and dying men, dripping blood into the reddust. At the sight of the women with buckets and dippers, the conveyances halted and the choruswent up in cries, in whispers:   “Water!”   Scarlett held wobbling heads that parched lips might drink, poured buckets of water over dusty,feverish bodies and into open wounds that the men might enjoy a brief moment’s relief. Shetiptoed to hand dippers to ambulance drivers and of each she questioned, her heart in her throat:   “What news? What news?”   From all came back the answer: “Don’t know fer sartin, lady. It’s too soon to tell.”   Night came and it was sultry. No air moved and the flaring pine knots the negroes held made theair hotter. Dust clogged Scarlett’s nostrils and dried her lips. Her lavender calico dress, so freshlyclean and starched that morning, was streaked with blood, dirt and sweat. This, then, was whatAshley had meant when he wrote that war was not glory but dirt and misery.   Fatigue gave an unreal, nightmarish cast to the whole scene. It couldn’t be real—or it was real,then the world had gone mad. If not, why should she be standing here in Aunt Pitty’s peaceful frontyard, amid wavering lights, pouring water over dying beaux? For so many of them were her beauxand they tried to smile when they saw her. There were so many men jolting down this dark, dustyroad whom she knew so well, so many men dying here before her eyes, mosquitoes and gnatsswarming their bloody faces, men with whom she had danced and laughed, for whom she hadplayed music and sung songs, teased, comforted and loved—a little.   She found Carey Ashburn on the bottom layer of wounded in an ox cart; barely alive from abullet wound in his head. But she could not extricate him without disturbing six other woundedmen, so she let him go on to the hospital. Later she heard he had died before a doctor ever saw himand was buried somewhere, no one knew exactly. So many men had been buried that month, in shallow, hastily dug graves at Oakland Cemetery. Melanie felt it keenly that they had not been ableto get a lock of Carey’s hair to send to his mother in Alabama.   As the hot night wore on and their backs were aching and their knees buckling from weariness,Scarlett and Pitty cried to man after man: “What news? What news?”   And as the long hours dragged past, they had their answer, an answer that made them lookwhitely into each other’s eyes.   “We’re falling back.” “We’ve got to fall back.” “They outnumber us by thousands.” “TheYankees have got Wheeler’s cavalry cut off near Decatur. We got to reinforce them.” “Our boyswill all be in town soon.”   Scarlett and Pitty clutched each other’s arms for support.   “Are—are the Yankees coming?”   “Yes’m, they’re comin’ all right but they ain’t goin’ ter git fer, lady.” “Don’t fret, Miss, theycan’t take Atlanta.” “No, Ma’m, we got a million miles of breastworks ‘round this town.” “I heardOld Joe say it myself: ‘I can hold Atlanta forever.’ ” “But we ain’t got Old Joe. We got—” “Shutup, you fool! Do you want to scare the ladies?” “The Yankees will never take this place, Ma’m.”   “Whyn’t you ladies go ter Macon or somewheres that’s safer? Ain’t you got no kinfolks there?”   “The Yankees ain’t goin’ ter take Atlanta but still it ain’t goin’ ter be so healthy for ladies whilstthey’re tryin’ it.” “There’s goin’ ter be a powerful lot of shellin’.”   In a warm steaming rain the next day, the defeated army poured through Atlanta by thousands,exhausted by hunger and weariness, depleted by seventy-six days of bat-tie and retreat, their horsesstarved scarecrows, their cannon and caissons harnessed with odds and ends of rope and strips ofrawhide. But they did not come in as disorderly rabble, in full rout. They marched in good order,jaunty for all their rags, their torn red battle flags flying in the rain. They had learned retreatingunder Old Joe, who had made it as great a feat of strategy as advancing. The bearded, shabby filesswung down Peachtree Street to the tune of “Maryland! My Maryland!” and all the town turnedout to cheer them. In victory or defeat, they were their boys.   The state militia who had gone out so short a time before, resplendent in new uniforms, couldhardly be distinguished from the seasoned troops, so dirty and unkempt were they. There was anew look in their eyes. Three years of apologizing, of explaining why they were not at the frontwas behind them now. They had traded security behind the lines for the hardships of battle. Manyof their number had traded easy living for hard death. They were veterans now, veterans of briefservice, but veterans just the same, and they had acquitted themselves well. They searched out thefaces of friends in the crowd and stared at them proudly, defiantly. They could hold up their headsnow.   The old men and boys of the Home Guard marched by, the graybeards almost too weary to lifttheir feet, the boys wearing the faces of tired children, confronted too early with adult problems.   Scarlett caught sight of Phil Meade and hardly recognized him, so black was his face with powderand grime, so taut with strain and weariness. Uncle Henry went limping by, hatless in the rain, hishead stuck through a hole in a piece of old oilcloth. Grandpa Merriwether rode in on a guncarriage, his bare feet tied in quilt scraps. But search though she might, she saw no sign of John Wilkes.   Johnston’s veterans, however, went by with the tireless, careless step which had carried them forthree years, and they still had the energy to grin and wave at pretty girls and to call rude gibes tomen not in uniform. They were on their way to the entrenchments that ringed the town—noshallow, hastily dug trenches, these, but earthworks, breast high, reinforced with sandbags andtipped with sharpened staves of wood. For mile after mile the trenches encircled the town, redgashes surmounted by red mounds, waiting for the men who would fill them.   The crowd cheered the troops as they would have cheered them in victory. There was fear inevery heart but, now that they knew the truth, now that the worst had happened, now that the warwas in their front yard, a change came over the town. There was no panic now, no hysteria.   Whatever lay in hearts did not show on faces. Everyone looked cheerful even if the cheer wasstrained. Everyone tried to show brave, confident faces to the troops. Everyone repeated what OldJoe had said, just before he was relieved of command: “I can hold Atlanta forever.”   Now that Hood had had to retreat, quite a number wished, with the soldiers, that they had OldJoe back, but they forbore saying it and took courage from Old Joe’s remark:   “I can hold Atlanta forever!”   Not for Hood the cautious tactics of General Johnston. He assaulted the Yankees on the east, heassaulted them on the west. Sherman was circling the town like a wrestler seeking a fresh hold onan opponent’s body, and Hood did not remain behind his rifle pits waiting for the Yankees toattack. He went out boldly to meet them and savagely fell upon them. Within the space of a fewdays the battles of Atlanta and of Ezra Church were fought, and both of them were majorengagements which made Peachtree Creek seem like a skirmish.   But the Yankees kept coming back for more. They had suffered heavy losses but they couldafford to lose. And all the while their batteries poured shells into Atlanta, killing people in theirhomes, ripping roofs off buildings, tearing huge craters in the streets. The townsfolk sheltered asbest they could in cellars, in holes in the ground and in shallow tunnels dug in railroad cuts.   Atlanta was under siege.   Within eleven days after he had taken command, General Hood had lost almost as many men asJohnston had lost in seventy-four days of battle and retreat, and Atlanta was hemmed in on threesides.   The railroad from Atlanta to Tennessee was now in Sherman’s hands for its full length. His armywas across the railroad to the east and he had cut the railroad running southwest to Alabama. Onlythe one railroad to the south, to Macon and Savannah, was still open. The town was crowded withsoldiers, swamped with wounded, jammed with refugees, and this one line was inadequate for thecrying needs of the stricken city. But as long as this railroad could be held, Atlanta could stillstand.   Scarlett was terrified when she realized how important this line had become, how fiercelySherman would fight to take it, how desperately Hood would fight to defend it. For this was therailroad which ran through the County, through Jonesboro. And Tara was only five miles from Jonesboro! Tara seemed like a haven of refuge by comparison with the screaming hell of Atlanta,but Tara was only five miles from Jonesboro!   Scarlett and many other ladies sat on the flat roofs of stores, shaded by their tiny parasols, andwatched the fighting on the day of the battle of Atlanta. But when shells began falling in the streetsfor the first time, they fled to the cellars, and that night the exodus of women, children and oldpeople from the city began. Macon was their destination and many of those who took the train thatnight had already refugeed five and six times before, as Johnston fell back from Dalton. They weretraveling lighter now than when they arrived in Atlanta. Most of them carried only a carpetbag anda scanty lunch done up in a bandana handkerchief. Here and there, frightened servants carriedsilver pitchers, knives and forks and a family portrait or two which had been salvaged in the firstfight.   Mrs. Merriwether and Mrs. Elsing refused to leave. They were needed at the hospital andfurthermore, they said proudly, they weren’t afraid and no Yankees were going to run them out oftheir homes. But Maybelle and her baby and Fanny Elsing went to Macon. Mrs. Meade wasdisobedient for the first time in her married life and flatly refused to yield to the doctor’s commandthat she take the train to safety. The doctor needed her, she said. Moreover, Phil was somewhere inthe trenches and she wanted to be near by in case ...   But Mrs. Whiting went and many other ladies of Scarlett’s circle. Aunt Pitty, who had been thefirst to denounce Old Joe for his policy of retreat, was among the first to pack her trunks. Hernerves, she said, were delicate and she could not endure noises. She feared she might faint at anexplosion and not be able to reach the cellar. No, she was not afraid. Her baby mouth tried to set inmartial lines but failed. She’d go to Macon and stay with her cousin, old Mrs. Burr, and the girlsshould come with her.   Scarlett did not want to go to Macon. Frightened as she was of the shells, she’d rather stay inAtlanta than go to Macon, for she hated old Mrs. Burr cordially. Years ago, Mrs. Burr had said shewas “fast” after catching her kissing her son Willie at one of the Wilkes’ house parties. No, she toldAunt Pitty, I’ll go home to Tara and Melly can go to Macon with you.   At this Melanie began to cry in a frightened, heartbroken way. When Aunt Pitty fled to get Dr.   Meade, Melanie caught Scarlett’s hand in hers, pleading:   “Dear, don’t go to Tara and leave me! I’ll be so lonely without you. Oh, Scarlett, I’d just die ifyou weren’t with me when the baby came! Yes— Yes, I know I’ve got Aunt Pitty and she is sweetBut after all, she’s never had a baby, and sometimes she makes me so nervous I could scream.   Don’t desert me, darling. You’ve been just like a sister to me, and besides,” she smiled wanly, “youpromised Ashley you’d take care of me. He told me he was going to ask you.”   Scarlett stared down at her in wonderment. With her own dislike of this woman so strong shecould barely conceal it, how could Melly love her so? How could Melly be so stupid as not toguess the secret of her love of Ashley? She had given herself away a hundred times during thesemonths of torment, waiting for news of him. But Melanie saw nothing, Melanie who could seenothing but good in anyone she loved. ... Yes, she had promised Ashley she would look out for Melanie. Oh, Ashley! Ashley! you must be dead, dead these many months! And now your promisereaches out and clutches me!   “Well,” she said shortly, “I did promise him that and I don’t go back on my promises. But Iwon’t go to Macon and stay with that old Burr cat. I’d claw her eyes out in five minutes. I’m goinghome to Tara and you can come with me. Mother would love to have you.”   “Oh, I’d like that! Your mother is so sweet. But you know Auntie would just die if she wasn’twith me when the baby came, and I know she won’t go to Tara. It’s too close to the fighting, andAuntie wants to be safe.”   Dr. Meade, who had arrived out of breath, expecting to find Melanie in premature labor at least,judging by Aunt Pitty’s alarmed summoning, was indignant and said as much. And upon learningthe cause of the upset, he settled the matter with words that left no room for argument.   “It’s out of the question for you to go to Macon, Miss Melly. I won’t answer for you if youmove. The trains are crowded and uncertain and the passengers are liable to be put off in thewoods at any time, if the trains are needed for the wounded or troops and supplies. In your condition—”   “But if I went to Tara with Scarlett—”   “I tell you I won’t have you moved. The train to Tara is the train to Macon and the sameconditions prevail. Moreover, no one knows just where the Yankees are now, but they are all overeverywhere. Your train might even be captured. And even if you reached Jonesboro safely, there’dbe a five-mile ride over a rough road before you ever reached Tara. It’s no trip for a woman in adelicate condition. Besides, there’s not a doctor in the County since old Dr. Fontaine joined thearmy.”   “But there are midwives—”   “I said a doctor,” he answered brusquely and his eyes unconsciously went over her tiny frame. “Iwon’t have you moved. It might be dangerous. You don’t want to have the baby on the train or in abuggy, do you?”   This medical frankness reduced the ladies to embarrassed blushes and silence.   “You’ve got to stay right here where I can watch you, and you must stay in bed. No running upand down stairs to cellars. No, not even if shells come right in the window. After all, there’s not somuch danger here. We’ll have the Yankees beaten back in no time. ... Now, Miss Pitty, you go righton to Macon and leave the young ladies here.”   “Unchaperoned?” she cried, aghast.   “They are matrons,” said the doctor testily. “And Mrs. Meade is just two houses away. Theywon’t be receiving any male company anyway with Miss Melly in her condition. Good Heavens,Miss Pitty! This is war time. We can’t think of the proprieties now. We must think of Miss Melly.”   He stamped out of the room and waited on the front porch until Scarlett joined him.   “I shall talk frankly to you, Miss Scarlett,” he began, jerking at his gray beard. “You seem to bea young woman of common sense, so spare me your blushes. I do not want to hear any further talk about Miss Melly being moved. I doubt if she could stand the trip. She is going to have a difficulttime, even in the best of circumstances—very narrow in the hips, as you know, and probably willneed forceps for her delivery, so I don’t want any ignorant darky midwife meddling with her.   Women like her should never have children, but— Anyway, you pack Miss Pitty’s trunk and sendher to Macon. She’s so scared she’ll upset Miss Melly and that won’t do any good. And now,Miss,” he fixed her with a piercing glance, “I don’t want to hear about you going home, either. Youstay with Miss Melly till the baby comes. Not afraid, are you?”   “Oh, no!” lied Scarlett, stoutly.   “That’s a brave girl. Mrs. Meade will give you whatever chaperonage you need and I’ll sendover old Betsy to cook for you, if Miss Pitty wants to take her servants with her. It won’t be forlong. The baby ought to be here in another five weeks, but you never can tell with first babies andall this shelling going on. It may come any day.”   So Aunt Pittypat went to Macon, in floods of tears, taking Uncle Peter and Cookie with her. Thecarriage and horse she donated to the hospital in a burst of patriotism which she immediatelyregretted and that brought on more tears. And Scarlett and Melanie were left alone with Wade andPrissy in a house that was much quieter, even though the cannonading continued.   自从战争开始以来,亚特兰大第一次听得见炮声了,每天清早城市的喧嚣还没有响起,人们就能隐隐听到肯尼萨山上的大炮在隆隆震响,那声音遥远而低沉,你还以为是夏天的雷鸣呢。有时还相当清晰,甚至从正午轰轰的铁轨声中也听得出来。人们想不去听它,想用谈话、欢笑和不断的工作来掩盖它,仿佛北方佬不在22英里外的地方,可是耳朵却要竖起来去听那个声音。城市是一副全神贯注的状态,因为尽管市民们手中都有工作,可大家仍然在谛听着,谛听着;每天总有百十来次,他们的心会突然惊跳起来。是不是炮声更响了?难道这只是他们的想象吗?这次约翰斯顿将军会不会把北方佬挡住呢,他会吗?   人们的恐慌只不过被暂时掩盖着,没有公开显露而已。随着军队后撤而一天天越发紧张起来的神经,如今已接近爆裂点了。没有人谈到恐惧,这个话题早已成了禁忌,人们只好用大声指责将军来表现自己的紧张心理。公众情绪已达到狂热的程度。谢尔曼已经到了亚特兰大的门口。如果再后退,南部联盟的军队就要进城了。   给我们一位不肯退却的将军吧!给我们一个愿意死守阵地进行战斗的人吧!   到远处隆隆的炮声已充塞耳朵时,号称布朗州长的"宝贝儿郎"的民兵,以及本州的乡团,才开出亚特兰大,去保卫约翰斯顿将军背后查塔霍奇河的桥梁和渡口。那天阴云密布,一片灰沉沉的。他们穿过五点镇走马里塔大道时,便下起朦朦细雨来了。市民倾城而出,密集着站在桃树两旁商店的板篷下给他们送行,而且很想欢呼一番。   思嘉和梅贝尔•梅里韦瑟•尔卡德向医院请了假,来到这里看这些队伍出发,因为亨利叔叔和梅里韦瑟爷爷都参加了乡团呢。她们和米德太太一起挤在人群里,踮着脚尖仔细观看。思嘉虽然也满怀着一般南方人的希望,只相信战局发展中那些最令人高兴和放心的消息,可如今看着这些混杂不堪的队伍走过时却不由得感到凄凉,毫无疑问,既然这些由老头和孩子组成的不谙征战的乌合之众都要出去打仗,局势的严峻就可想而知了!的确,眼前的队伍中也不乏年轻力壮的人,他们穿着在社会上很吃得开的民兵队的漂亮制服,帽子插着羽毛,腰间系着饰带,打扮得整整齐齐。但是也有许多老头和孩子,他们的模样叫思嘉看了又怜悯又担心,很不好受。有些白发苍苍的人比她父亲还老,他们在朦朦细雨中努力跟着军乐队的节拍步履踉跄地往前走着,梅里韦瑟爷爷肩上披着梅里韦瑟太太那条最好的方格呢围巾当雨衣,他走在最前列,装出笑脸向姑娘们表示敬意。她们也挥着手帕向他大声喊"再见!"只有梅贝尔紧紧抓住思嘉的臂膀,低声说,"啊,要是真下起大雨来,可怜的老头儿,他就完了!他的腰疼----"亨利•汉密尔顿叔叔在梅里韦瑟爷爷后面一排里走着,他那件长外套的领子向上翻起,遮住了耳朵,皮带上挂着两支墨西哥战争时代的手枪,手里提着一个小小的旅行包,他旁边是一个年纪与他差不多的黑人跟班,替他打伞遮雨,青年小伙子们同这些老头肩并肩地走着,看来没有一个是满了十六岁的。他们中间有许多是从学校逃出来参军的,现在一群群穿着军官学校学员的制服,被雨水淋湿的灰军帽上插着黑羽毛,交叉着系在胸脯上的白帆布带子也湿透了,这里面有费尔•米德,他骄傲地佩带着已故哥哥的马刀和马上用的短枪,故意把帽子歪戴着,显得十分神气。米德太太勉强微笑着向他挥手,仿佛突然要瘫倒似的,直到他走过去以后才把头搁在思嘉的肩背上歇了好一会。   还有许多人是完全没有武装的,因为南部联盟政府既无枪支又无弹药可拿来分发给他们。这些人希望能从被俘和阵亡的北方兵身上开到衣服和武起来装备自己。他们的靴统里插着猎刀,手里拿着又粗又长、装有铁尖头名叫"布朗枪"的杆子,运气较好的则开到了老式的燧发枪,斜背在肩上,腰间还挂着装火药的牛角。   他需要一万名新军来补充自己的队伍,约翰斯顿将军在后撤中损失了大约一万人,而这些人,思嘉想起来都害怕,就是他所得到的补充了!   炮车隆隆地驶过,把泥水溅到围观的人群中,这时思嘉忽然注意到一个骑着骡子紧靠着一门大炮走着的黑人。他年轻,表情严肃,思嘉一见便惊叫着:“那是莫斯!艾希礼的莫斯!他在这里干什么呀?"她拼命从人群中挤到马路边去,一面呼喊着:“莫斯!停一停!"那小伙子看见了她,便勒住缰绳,高兴地微笑着,准备跳下马来。这时他背后一个骑着马的浑身湿透的中士喝道:“不许下马,否则我就毙了你!我们要准时赶到山区去呢。"莫斯看看中士,又看看思嘉,不知如何是好。于是思嘉趟着泥水走到正辚辚驶过的车辆旁边,一把抓住莫斯的马镫皮带。   “啊,一分钟就行了,中士先生!莫斯,你用不着下马。   你到底在这里干什么?”   “思嘉小姐,俺动身再上前线去。这次是跟老约翰先生,不是跟艾希礼先生了。”“跟威尔克斯先生!"思嘉吓呆了。威尔克斯先生都快七十了!"他在哪儿?”“在后面最后一门大炮旁边,思嘉小姐,在后面那儿呢!”“对不起,太太。小伙子,快走吧。"思嘉在齐脚踝深的泥里站了一会,看着炮车摇摇晃晃地过去。啊,不!她心里想,他太老了,那不可能。而且他也和艾希礼一样,很不喜欢打仗呢!她向后退了几步,到了马路边上,站在那里看着每一张经过的脸。后来,最末一门大炮连同弹药箱轰响着一路溅着泥水来了,她看见了他,那个瘦高而笔挺的身躯,银白的头发湿漉漉地垂挂在头颈上,轻松地跨着一匹草莓色小母马,后者像个身穿绸缎的太太似的,从大大小小的泥水坑中精明的拣着自己的落脚点一路跑来。   怎么,这匹母马就是乃利!塔尔顿太太的乃利!比阿特里斯•塔尔顿的心肝宝贝啊!   威尔克斯先生看见她站在泥泞里,便高兴地微笑着把马紧靠着一门大炮走勒住,随即跳下马向她走来。   “我本来就希望见到你,思嘉。我替你们家的人带来许多信息呢。不过现在来不及了。你一看就明白了,我们今天早晨才奉令集合,可他们赶着我们立即出发了。”“啊,威尔克斯先生,"她拉着他的手绝望地喊道:“你别去了!你干吗要去呀?”“啊,你是觉得我太老了吧!"他微笑着,这笑容跟艾希礼的一模一样,只不过面色苍老些罢了,"也许叫我走路是老了些,可骑马打枪却一点不老。而且塔尔顿太太那么慷慨,把乃利借给了我,我骑着非常舒服呢。我希望乃利不要出事才好,因此如果它有个三长两短,我就再也回不来,也没脸去见塔尔顿太太了。乃利是她留下的最后一骑马了。"他这时乐呵呵地笑起来,思嘉的恐惧心理也一扫而光。"你父母和几个姐妹都很好,他们叫我给你带了问候。你父亲今天差点跟我们一起来了。”“啊,我爸不会的!"思嘉惊恐地喊道。"你不会去打仗的,我爸不会!是吗?”“不,可是他本来想去。当然,他走不了远路他那膝盖有毛病,不过他真的很想跟我们一起骑马呢。你母亲同意了,可是要他先试试能不能跳过草场上那道篱笆,因为她说军队会遇到许多艰难险阻要骑马越过的。你父亲觉得那很容易,可是----你信不信?他的马一跑到篱笆跟前就死死地站住,而你父亲从马头上翻过去了,那可真是奇迹,居然没有摔断他的脖子!你知道他为人多么固执。他立刻爬起又跳。就这样,思嘉,他接连摔了三次,奥哈拉太太和波克才搀着他躺到床上去了。那时他仍然很不服气,赌咒发誓一定是你母亲'向马耳朵里念了什么咒语'。思嘉。他已经没法儿干什么艰苦的差事了,你也用不着为这感到丢脸。毕竟,总得有人留下来给军队种庄稼呀。"思嘉反而感到很放心了,一点也不觉得羞耻。   “我把英迪亚和霍妮送到梅肯跟伯尔家的姑娘们住在一起了,奥哈拉先生则来回照料着塔拉和'十二橡树'村……我必须走呀,亲爱的。让我吻吻你的漂亮脸蛋儿吧。"思嘉把小嘴翘起来,同时感到喉咙里堵得忍不住了。她很喜欢威尔克斯先生。曾经有过一个时候,很久以前,她还希望当他的儿媳妇呢。   “你一定要把这个吻带给皮蒂帕特,这一个给媚兰,"他说着,又轻轻吻了两下。"媚兰怎么样了?”“她很好。”“啊!”他的眼睛盯着她,但是通过她,而且像艾希礼那样越过她,那双漠然若失的灰眼睛在凝望着另一个世界。"我要是能看到我的大孙子就好了,再见,亲爱的。"他跃上马背,让乃利缓缓地跑起来,他的帽子仍拿在手里,满头银发任雨水淋着。思嘉还没来得及领会他最后那句话的含义便回到了梅贝尔和米德太太的身边。接着,她出于迷信的恐惧心理在自己胸前画了个十字,并想作一次祷告。他说起过死亡,就像艾希礼那样,可现在艾希礼----不,谁也不应该谈死!谈死是冒犯天意的事。三位妇女默默地动身冒雨回医院去,这时思嘉正在祈祷:“上帝,请不要怪他。他,还有艾希礼,都不要怪啊!”就这样从多尔顿向肯尼萨山的步步撤退是五月上旬到六月中采取的;接着是六月暑天的雨季,谢尔曼未能把南军从陡峭而泥滑的山坡上撵走,于是大家都高兴起来,人们又看到了希望,谈到约翰斯将军时也温和多了。从六月到七月雨水愈来愈多,南部联盟军在设防坚固的高地周围死守苦战,叫谢尔曼进退两难。这时亚特兰大更是欣喜若狂,被希望冲昏了头脑。好啊!好啊!我们把他们抓住了!这种欢欣鼓舞之情像瘟疫般普遍流传,到处是庆祝晚会的跳舞会,每当有人从前线回到城里过夜,人们都要宴请他们,接着就是舞会,参加的女孩子比男人多十倍,她们崇拜他们,抢着同他们跳舞。   亚特兰大拥挤着游客、难民、住院伤兵的家属,以及前线士兵的妻子和母亲(她们希望自己的亲人受伤时能在身边护理他们)。此外,还有一群群年轻貌美的姑娘从乡下涌进城来,因为乡村只剩下16岁以下和60岁以上的男人了。皮蒂姑妈极力反对,她觉得她们到亚特兰大来的唯一目的只是找丈夫而已,而这种不顾廉耻的作法使她纳闷,不知这世界究竟要堕落到什么地步。思嘉也不赞成。她倒并不担心那些十六七岁姑娘所发起的竞争,尽管她们那娇嫩的面容和妩媚的微笑往往使人忘记她们身上的衣裳翻改过不止一次。脚上的鞋也修补过了。她自己的衣着比她们的漂亮得多,因为瑞德•巴特勒用他最后一艘走私船给她带来了一些很好的衣物,不过,她毕竟19岁了,并且一天天长大,而男人总是要追逐年轻傻女儿的呀!   她想,一个拖着孩子的寡妇终究敌不过这些漂亮而轻浮的小妖精。可是在这些激动人心的日子里,她的寡妇身份和母亲身份也不再像以前那样使她感到累赘。在白天的医院工作和晚上的舞会之间,她也很少看见自己的儿子韦德。间或,在相当长的时间,她压根忘记自己有孩子了。   在炎热潮湿的夏夜,亚特兰大的各个家庭都敞开大门欢迎保卫城市的士兵。从华盛顿大街到桃树街。所有的大厦巨宅都灯火通明,在执行那些从前线壕沟里出来的满身泥土的战士。悠扬的管弦乐声、嚓嚓嚓的舞步声和轻柔的笑声在夜雾中飘荡到很远的地方。人们围着钢琴放声歌唱《你的信来了,可是来得太晚了》,衣衫褴褛的勇士深情地注视着那些躲在羽毛扇后面讪笑的姑娘,好像恳求她们不要再等待,免得后悔莫及。其实那些姑娘只要办得到便谁也不会等待。当全城一起欢腾时,她们争先恐后涌入结婚的浪潮。在约翰斯顿将军把敌人堵截在肯尼萨山的那一个月内,便有无数对青年男女结成了眷属,这时做新娘的从朋友们那里匆匆借来华丽的服饰,把自己打扮得娇滴滴地出来了,新郎也全副武装,军刀磕碰着补好了的裤腿,威武得很。有那么多的兴奋场面,那么多的晚会,那么多令人激动、令人欢呼的情景!约翰斯顿将军把北方佬堵截在22英里之外啊!   是的,肯尼萨山周围的防线是坚不可摧的。经过25天的激战之后,连谢尔曼将军也承认这一点了,因为他遭到了惨痛的损失。他停止正面进攻,又一次采取包抄战术,来一个大迂回,企图插入南部联盟军和亚特兰大之间。他的这一招又一次得逞了。约翰斯顿被迫放弃那些牢牢守住的高地来保卫自己的后方。他在这个战役中丧失了三分之一的兵力,剩下的人冒着大雨挣扎着疲惫不堪地向查塔霍奇河边撤退。南部联盟军已没有希望得到支援了,而北方佬控制的从田纳西往南直这阵地的铁路却源源不断地给谢尔曼运来援兵和给养。因此南军只好后撤,经过泥泞的田野向亚特兰大撤退。   丧失了这个原以为牢不可破的阵地,亚特兰大又是一片惊慌。本来人人都相互保证过这种事决不会发生。并且度守了接连25天喜庆般的狂欢日子,可是如今这种事终于发生了!当然喽,将军会把北方佬阻挡在河对岸的。尽管上帝知道那条河就在眼前,离城只有七英里呢!   没想到谢尔曼从北边渡河向他们包抄过来,于是疲劳的联盟军部队也被迫急忙趟着浑浊的河水,挡住敌军不让它逼近亚特兰大。他们急急忙忙在城市北面桃树沟岸边掘了浅浅的散兵壕,据以自守,可这时亚特兰大已经陷入惊恐万状之中了。   每次后退都使敌军逼近亚特兰大一步,打一阵,退一程!   打一阵,退一程!桃树沟离城不过五英里!将军心里究竟打的什么主意呢?   “给我们一个愿意死守阵地进行战斗的人吧!"这呼声甚至深入到里士满去了。里士满方面知道,如果亚特兰大陷落,整个战争也就完了,因此当部队渡过查塔霍奇河以后,便把约翰斯顿将军从总指挥岗位上撤下来,让他的一个兵团司令胡德取代了他。这才使亚特兰大的感到可以松口气了。胡德不会后退。他可不像那个满脸胳腮胡、目光闪闪的肯塔基人呢!他享有"牛头犬"的美名。他会把北方佬从桃树沟赶回去的。是的,要迫使他们回到查塔霍奇河对岸,然后一步一步后退,直到返回多尔顿为止。可这时部队在大声喊叫:“把老约还给我们!"因为从多尔顿开始,他们跟约翰斯顿一起走过了漫长的苦难历程,他们懂得其中的艰难险阻,而外人却是无法理解的。   谢尔曼也没有给胡德以准备停当来进行反攻的机会,就在联盟军撤换指挥的第二天,他的部队立即攻打了并占领距亚特兰大六英里的小镇迪凯特,截断了那里的铁路,这条铁路是亚特兰大与奥古斯塔、查尔斯顿、威尔明顿和弗吉尼亚联络的交通线,所以谢尔曼的这步棋是给了联盟军的一个致命性打击。亚特兰大人高喊要立即行动起来!行动的时刻到了!   于是,在一个酷热的七月下午,亚特兰大人的愿望实现了。胡德将军不仅仅死守奋战而已。他在桃树沟对北方佬发起了猛烈的攻击,命令自己的部队从战壕里冲出,向人数超过自己两倍北军冲去。   人人胆战心惊地祈祷胡德的突击能把北方佬打回去,谛听着隆隆的大炮声和噼噼啪啪的步枪声,它们尽管距市中心还有五英里,但已经响亮得几乎像在邻街一样了。人们在听到排炮轰击声的同时,还能看见烟雾像一团团低垂的白云似地在树林上空腾起,不过好几个小时里大家并不了解战斗进行实际情况。   直到傍晚才传来第一个消息,但这消息自相矛盾,很不明确,而且令人害怕,因为它是由最初几小时内受伤的士兵带回来的,这些伤兵有的成群、有的孤零零地陆续流散回来,轻伤的搀扶着重伤的,一瘸一拐地走着,很快他们便形成了一股滔滔不绝的人流痛苦地涌进城来,向各个医院涌去,他们的面孔被硝烟、尘土和汗渍污染得像黑人似的,他们的创伤没有包扎,鲜血开始凝结,苍蝇已在周围成群飞舞。   皮蒂姑妈家是最先接纳伤兵的几户人家之一,这些伤兵是从城北来的,他们一个又一个蹒跚着来到大门口,随即躺倒在青草地上,大声呼唤起来:“水!"皮蒂姑妈和她的一家,在那整个炎热的下午,包括白人黑人,都站在太阳底下忙着提来一桶桶的水,弄来一卷卷的绷带,分送一勺勺喝的,包扎一个个创口,直到绷带全部用完,连撕碎的床单和毛巾都用光了。皮蒂姑妈已完全忘记自己一见鲜血便要晕倒的毛病,竟一直工作到她的小脚在那双更小的鞋里肿胀起来再也站不住了为止。甚至大腹便便的媚兰也忘记自己一样,后来,她终于晕倒了,可是除了厨房里那张桌子,没有地方可以让她躺下,因为全家所有的床铺、椅子和沙发都被伤兵占了。   在忙乱中大家把小韦德忘了,他一个人蹲在前面走廊的栏杆后边,像只关在笼里受惊的野兔,伸出脑袋窥看着草地,两只恐惧的眼睛睁得圆圆的,嘴里呤着大拇指,正在打嗝儿,思嘉一看见便大声喝道:“到后面院子里玩去!韦德•汉普顿,"可是他被眼前这混乱的情景所困惑,感到可怕了,一时还不敢到后院去。   草地上横七竖八地躺着人,他们已浑身疲乏得不能再走,伤势重得无法挪动了,彼得大叔只好把这些人一个个搬上马车,送到医院里去,这样一趟一又一趟地赶车,弄得那匹老马也大汗淋漓,于是米德太太和梅里韦瑟太太才把她们的马车送了来,帮着一起运送,马车由于满载伤兵,压得下边的弹簧歪歪扭扭,嘎嘎作响。   接着,在盛夏漫长的黄昏里,连绵不断的救护车从战场上一路开来了,同时还有供应部门的运货车,上面盖着溅满污泥的帆布。再后面是农场上的大车、牛车乃至被医疗团征用的私人马车。它们从皮蒂姑妈家的门前经过,满载着受伤和垂死的人在坑坑洼洼的大路上颠簸着行驶,鲜血一路流个不停,滴落在干燥的尘土里。那些开车的人一看见妇女们提着水桶拿着勺子在张望就停下来,随即发出了或高或低的一片呼喊声:“水啊!"思嘉捧着伤兵颤拌的头,让他们焦裂的嘴唇喝个痛快,接着又把一桶桶的水浇在那些肮脏发烧的躯体上,也流入裂开的伤口中,让他们享受到暂时的舒适。她还踮起脚尖把水勺送给车上的车夫,一面胆战心惊地询问他们:“有什么消息?   什么消息?”   所有的回答是:“太太,还不怎么清楚,一时还说上来。"天黑了,还是那么闷热,没有一丝风,加上黑人手里擎着松枝火把,就越发觉得热了。灰尘堵塞了思嘉的鼻孔,使她的嘴唇也干得难受,她那件淡紫色印花布衣裳是刚刚浆洗过的,现在已沾满了鲜血、污秽和汗渍,那么,这就是艾希礼在信上说的,战争不是光荣而肮脏的苦难了。   由于浑身疲乏,使整个场面蒙上了一层梦魇般的迷幻色彩。这不可能是真实的----或者说,如果真实,就意味着全世界都发疯了。否则为什么她会站在皮蒂姑妈家安静的前院里,在摇曳不定的粉光下往这些垂死的年轻男人身上浇水呢?   他们中有那么多人可以做她的情人,他们看见她时总设法要向她露出一丝微笑。那些还在这条黑暗的尘土飞扬的大路上颠簸着被源源运来的人中,也有许多是她十分熟悉的;那些在面前奄奄一息即将死去而成群的蚊子还在他们血污的脸上叮个不休的人中,有多少是她曾经一起跳舞和欢笑过,曾给他们弹过琴、唱过歌、开过玩笑,抚慰过和稍稍爱过的啊!   她在一辆堆满伤兵牛车底层发现了凯里•阿什伯恩,他头部中了颗子弹,差一点没有死掉。可是不去碰旁边六个重伤号,要把他拉出来是不可能的,她只得让他就这样躺着去医院了。后来她听说,他没来得及见到医生就死去了,也不知埋在什么地方。那个月被埋葬的人多得数不胜数,都是在奥克兰公墓匆匆挖个浅坑,盖上红土了事。媚兰因为没有弄到凯里的一绺头发送给她母亲留作纪念而深感遗憾。   炎热的夜渐渐深了,她们已累得腰酸腿疼,这时思嘉和皮蒂挨个儿大声询问从门口经过的人:“有什么消息?什么消息?"她们这样又挨过了几小时,才得到一个答复,可这个答复顿时使她们脸色苍白,彼此注视着默默无言了。   “我们正在败退。”“我们只得后退了。”“他们的人数比我们多好几千呢。”“北方佬在迪卡特附近把惠勒的骑兵队拦腰截断了。我们得去支援他们。”“我们的小伙子们马上就会全部进城。"思嘉和皮蒂彼此紧紧抓住对方的胳臂,以防跌倒。   “难道----难道北方佬就要来了吗?”   “是的,太太,他们就要来了,不过他们是不会深入的,太太。”“别着急,小姐,他们没法占领亚特兰大。”“不,太太,我们在这个城市周围修筑了百万英里的围墙呢。”“我亲耳听老约说过:‘我能永远守住亚特兰大。'”“可是我们现在没有老约了,我们有的是----”“闭嘴,你这傻瓜!你是想吓唬太太们?”“北方佬永远也休想占领这个地方,太太。”“你们太太们怎么不到梅肯或别的安全的地方去呀?你们在那里没有亲戚吗?”“北方佬不会占领亚特兰大,不过只要他们还有这个企图,太太们留在这里就不怎么合适了。”“看来会受到猛烈的炮轰呢。"第二天下着闷热的大雨,败军成千上万地拥入亚特兰大,被为时76天的战斗和撤退拖得精疲力竭,他们又饿又累,连他们的马也得像稻草人似的。大炮和弹药箱只能用零零碎碎的麻绳和平带来捆扎搬运了。不过他们并不像一群乌合之众纷纷扰扰地拥进城来。他们迈着整齐的步伐,尽管穿着褴褛,仍显得意气洋洋,那么久经战火业已破碎的红色军旗在雨中猎猎飘扬。他们在老约的指挥下已学会了怎样有秩序地撤退,知道这种撤退与前进一样也是伟大的战略部署。那么满脸胡须,服装褴褛的队列合着《马里兰!我的马里兰》的乐曲,沿着桃树街汹涌而来。全城居民都蜂拥到大街两旁来向他们欢呼。无论胜也好,败也好,这毕竟是他们的子弟啊!   那些不久前穿着鲜艳制服出发的本州民兵,如今已很难从久经沙场的正规军中辩认出来,因为他们已同样是浑身污泥、邋遢不整的大兵了。不过他们的目光中有一种新的神色。   过去三年他们为自己没有上前线去而作的种种辩解,如今已通通忘记了,他们已经用后方的安逸换来了战场上的艰苦,其中有许多已抛弃舒适的生活而选择了无情的死亡。尽管入伍不久,他们现在已成了老兵,而且还很自重呢。他们从人群中找出自己的朋友,然后骄傲而又挑衅地注视着他们,他们现在能够昂起头来了。   乡团中的老头和孩子在大队旁边行进着,那些灰白胡须的人已劳累得几乎挪不动腿了,孩子们则满脸倦容,因为他们被迫过早地肩负了成人的任务。思嘉一眼皮见费尔•米德,可是几乎认不得了,他的脸被硝烟和污泥弄得黑糊糊的,辛劳和疲乏更使他显得神色紧张,苦不堪言,亨利叔叔跛着脚走过去了,他没戴帽子,头从一块旧油布的洞里伸出来,就算披上了雨衣,梅里韦瑟爷爷坐在炮车上,光脚上扎着两块棉絮。但是无论怎样寻找,思嘉也没有找出约翰•威尔克斯来。   不管怎样,约翰斯顿部下的老兵仍然以过去三年来那种不知疲倦和轻快自如的步伐在行进,他们还有精力向漂亮姑娘们咧嘴嬉笑,挥手致意,向那些不穿军服的男人抛出粗野的嘲弄。他们是开到环城战壕中去----这些战壕不是仓促挖成的浅沟,而是用沙袋和尖头木桩防护着的齐胸高的泥土工程。它们绵延不断地环走着城市,每隔一段距离有个切口,上面耸立着红土墩, Chapter 19 IN THOSE FIRST DAYS of the siege, when the Yankees crashed here and there against thedefenses of the city, Scarlett was so frightened by the bursting shells she could only cowerhelplessly, her hands over her ears, expecting every moment to be blown into eternity. When sheheard the whistling screams that heralded their approach, she rushed to Melanie’s room and flungherself on the bed beside her, and the two clutched each other, screaming “Oh! Oh!” as they buriedtheir heads in the pillows. Prissy and Wade scurried for the cellar and crouched in the cob-webbeddarkness, Prissy squalling at the top of her voice and Wade sobbing and hiccoughing.   Suffocating under feather pillows while death screamed overhead, Scarlett silently cursedMelanie for keeping her from the safer regions below stairs. But the doctor had forbidden Melanieto walk and Scarlett had to stay with her. Added to her terror of being blown to pieces was herequally active terror that Melanie’s baby might arrive at any moment. Sweat broke out on Scarlettwith clammy dampness, whenever this thought entered her mind. What would she do if the babystarted coming? She knew she’d rather let Melanie die than go out on the streets to hunt for thedoctor when the shells were falling like April rain. And she knew Prissy could be beaten to deathbefore she would venture forth. What would she do if the baby came?   These matters she discussed with Prissy in whispers one evening, as they prepared Melanie’ssupper tray, and Prissy, surprisingly enough, calmed her fears.   “Miss Scarlett, effen we kain git de doctah w’en Miss Melly’s time come, doan you bodder. Ahkin manage. Ah knows all ‘bout birthin’. Ain’ mah ma a midwife? Ain’ she raise me ter be amidwife, too? Jes’ you leave it ter me.”   Scarlett breathed more easily knowing that experienced hands were near, but she nevertheless yearned to have the ordeal over and done with. Mad to be away from exploding shells, desperate toget home to the quiet of Tara, she prayed every night that the baby would arrive the next day, soshe would be released from her promise and could leave Atlanta. Tara seemed so safe, so far awayfrom all this misery.   Scarlett longed for home and her mother as she had never longed for anything in all her life. Ifshe were just near Ellen she wouldn’t be afraid, no matter what happened. Every night after a dayof screeching ear-splitting shells, she went to bed determined to tell Melanie the next morning thatshe could not stand Atlanta another day, that she would have to go home and Melanie would haveto go to Mrs. Meade’s. But, as she lay on her pillow, there always rose the memory of Ashley’sface as it had looked when she last saw him, drawn as with an inner pain but with a little smile onhis lips: “You’ll take care of Melanie, won’t you? You’re so strong. … Promise me.” And she hadpromised. Somewhere, Ashley lay dead. Wherever he was, he was watching her, holding her tothat promise. Living or dead, she could not fail him, no matter what the cost. So she remained dayafter day.   In response to Ellen’s letters, pleading with her to come home, she wrote minimizing thedangers of the siege, explaining Melanie’s predicament and promising to come as soon as the babywas born. Ellen, sensitive to the bonds of kin, be they blood or marriage, wrote back reluctantlyagreeing that she must stay but demanding Wade and Prissy be sent home immediately. Thissuggestion met with the complete approval of Prissy, who was now reduced to teeth-chatteringidiocy at every unexpected sound. She spent so much time crouching in the cellar that the girlswould have fared badly but for Mrs. Meade’s stolid old Betsy.   Scarlett was as anxious as her mother to have Wade out of Atlanta, not only for the child’ssafety, but because his constant fear irritated her. Wade was terrified to speechlessness by theshelling, and even when lulls came he clung to Scarlett’s skirts, too terrified to cry. He was afraidto go to bed at night, afraid of the dark, afraid to sleep lest the Yankees should come and get him,and the sound of his soft nervous whimpering in the night grated unendurably on her nerves.   Secretly she was just as frightened as he was, but it angered her to be reminded of it every minuteby his tense, drawn face. Yes, Tara was the place for Wade. Prissy should take him there and returnimmediately to be present when the baby came.   But before Scarlett could start the two on their homeward journey, news came that the Yankeeshad swung to the south and were skirmishing along the railroad between Atlanta and Jonesboro.   Suppose the Yankees should capture the train on which Wade and Prissy were riding—Scarlett andMelanie turned pale at the thought, for everyone knew that Yankee atrocities on helpless childrenwere even more dreadful than on women. So she feared to send him home and he remained inAtlanta, a frightened, silent little ghost, pattering about desperately after his mother, fearing tohave her skirt out of his hand for even a minute.   The siege went on through the hot days of July, thundering days following nights of sullen,ominous stillness, and the town began to adjust itself. It was as though, the worst having happened,they had nothing more to fear. They had feared a siege and now they had a siege and, after all, itwasn’t so bad. Life could and did go on almost as usual. They knew they were sitting on a volcano,but until that volcano erupted there was nothing they could do. So why worry now? And probablyit wouldn’t erupt anyway. Just look how General Hood is holding the Yankees out of the city! And see how the cavalry is holding the railroad to Macon! Sherman will never take it!   But for all their apparent insouciance in the face of falling shells and shorter rations, for all theirignoring the Yankees, barely half a mile away, and for all their boundless confidence in the raggedline of gray men in the rifle pits, there pulsed, just below the skin of Atlanta, a wild uncertaintyover what the next day would bring. Suspense, worry, sorrow, hunger and the torment of rising,falling, rising hope was wearing that skin thin.   Gradually, Scarlett drew courage from the brave faces of her friends and from the mercifuladjustment which nature makes when what cannot be cured must be endured. To be sure, she stilljumped at the sound of explosions but she did not run screaming to burrow her head underMelanie’s pillow. She could now gulp and say weakly: “That was close, wasn’t it?”   She was less frightened also because life had taken on the quality of a dream, a dream tooterrible to be real. It wasn’t possible that she, Scarlett O’Hara, should be in such a predicament,with the danger of death about her every hour, every minute. It wasn’t possible that the quiet tenorof life could have changed so completely in so short a time.   It was unreal, grotesquely unreal, that morning skies which dawned so tenderly blue could beprofaned with cannon smoke that hung over the town like low thunder clouds, that warm noontidesfilled with the piercing sweetness of massed honeysuckle and climbing roses could be so fearful,as shells screamed into the streets, bursting like the crack of doom, throwing iron splintershundreds of yards, blowing people and animals to bits.   Quiet, drowsy afternoon siestas had ceased to be, for though the clamor of battle might lull fromtime to time, Peachtree Street was alive, and noisy at all hours, cannon and ambulances rumblingby, wounded stumbling in from the rifle pits, regiments hurrying past at double-quick, orderedfrom the ditches on one side of town to the defense of some hard-pressed earthworks on the other,and couriers dashing headlong down the street toward headquarters as though the fate of theConfederacy hung on them.   The hot nights brought a measure of quiet but it was a sinister quiet. When the night was still, itwas too still—as though the tree frogs, katydids and sleepy mockingbirds were too frightened toraise their voices in the usual summer-night chorus. Now and again, the quiet was broken sharplyby the crack-cracking of musket fire in the last line of defenses.   Often in the late night hours, when the lamps were out and Melanie asleep and deathly silencepressed over the town, Scarlett, lying awake, heard the latch of the front gate click and soft urgenttappings on the front door.   Always, faceless soldiers stood on the dark porch and from the darkness many different voicesspoke to her. Sometimes a cultured voice came from the shadows: “Madam, my abject apologiesfor disturbing you, but could I have water for myself and my horse?” Sometimes it was the hardburring of a mountain voice, sometimes the odd nasals of the flat Wiregrass country to the farsouth, occasionally the lulling drawl of the Coast that caught at her heart, reminding her of Ellen’svoice.   “Missy, I got a pardner here who I wuz aimin’ ter git ter the horsepittle but looks like he ain’tgoin’ ter last that fer. Kin you take him in?”   “Lady, I shore could do with some vittles. I’d shore relish a corn pone if it didn’t deprive younone.”   “Madam, forgive my intrusion but—could I spend the night on your porch? I saw the roses andsmelled the honeysuckle and it was so much like home that I was emboldened—”   No, these nights were not real! They were a nightmare and the men were part of that nightmare,men without bodies or faces, only tired voices speaking to her from the warm dark. Draw water,serve food, lay pillows on the front porch, bind wounds, hold the dirty heads of the dying. No, thiscould not be happening to her!   Once, late in July, it was Uncle Henry Hamilton who came tapping in the night. Uncle Henrywas minus his umbrella and carpetbag now, and his fat stomach as well. The skin of his pink fatface hung down in loose folds like the dewlaps of a bulldog and his long white hair was indescribablydirty. He was almost barefoot, crawling with lice, and he was hungry, but his irasciblespirit was unimpaired.   Despite his remark: “It’s a foolish war when old fools like me are out toting guns,” the girlsreceived the impression that Uncle Henry was enjoying himself. He was needed, like the youngmen, and he was doing a young man’s work. Moreover, he could keep up with the young men,which was more than Grandpa Merriwether could do, he told them gleefully. Grandpa’s lumbagowas troubling him greatly and the Captain wanted to discharge him. But Grandpa wouldn’t gohome. He said frankly that he preferred the Captain’s swearing and bullying to his daughter-inlaw’scoddling, and her incessant demands that he give up chewing tobacco and launder his beardevery day.   Uncle Henry’s visit was brief, for he had only a four-hour furlough and he needed half of it forthe long walk in from the breastworks and back.   “Girls, I’m not going to see you all for a while,” he announced as he sat in Melanie’s bedroom,luxuriously wriggling his blistered feet in the tub of cold water Scarlett had set before him. “Ourcompany is going out in the morning.”   “Where?” questioned Melanie frightened, clutching his arm.   “Don’t put your hand on me,” said Uncle Henry irritably. “I’m crawling with lice. War would bea picnic if it wasn’t for lice and dysentery. Where’m I going? Well, I haven’t been told but I’ve gota good idea. We’re marching south, toward Jonesboro, in the morning, unless I’m greatly in error.”   “Oh, why toward Jonesboro?”   “Because there’s going to be big fighting there, Missy. The Yankees are going to take therailroad if they possibly can. And if they do take it, it’s good-by Atlanta!”   “Oh, Uncle Henry, do you think they will?”   “Shucks, girls! No! How can they when I’m there?” Uncle Henry grinned at their frightenedfaces and then, becoming serious again: “It’s going to be a hard fight, girls. We’ve got to win it.   You know, of course, that the Yankees have got all the railroads except the one to Macon, but thatisn’t all they’ve got. Maybe you girls didn’t know it, but they’ve got every road, too, every wagonlane and bridle path, except the McDonough road, Atlanta’s in a bag and the strings of the bag are at Jonesboro. And if the Yankees can take the railroad there, they can pull up the strings and haveus, just like a possum in a poke. So, we don’t aim to let them get that railroad. … I may be gone awhile, girls. I just came in to tell you all good-by and to make sure Scarlett was still with you,Melly.”   “Of course, she’s with me,” said Melanie fondly. “Don’t you worry about us, Uncle Henry, anddo take care of yourself.”   Uncle Henry wiped his wet feet on the rag rug and groaned as he drew on his tattered shoes.   “I got to be going,” he said. “I’ve got five miles to walk. Scarlett, you fix me up some kind oflunch to take. Anything you’ve got.”   After he had kissed Melanie good-by, he went down to the kitchen where Scarlett was wrappinga corn pone and some apples in a napkin.   “Uncle Henry—is it—is it really so serious?”   “Serious? God’lmighty, yes! Don’t be a goose. We’re in the last ditch.”   “Do you think they’ll get to Tara?”   “Why—” began Uncle Henry, irritated at the feminine mind which thought only of personalthings when broad issues were involved. Then, seeing her frightened, woebegone face, he softened.   “Of course they won’t. Tara’s five miles from the railroad and it’s the railroad the Yankees want.   You’ve got no more sense than a June bug, Missy.” He broke off abruptly. “I didn’t walk all thisway here tonight just to tell you all good-by. I came to bring Melly some bad news, but when I gotup to it I just couldn’t tell her. So I’m going to leave it to you to do.”   “Ashley isn’t—you haven’t heard anything—that he’s— dead?”   “Now, how would I be hearing about Ashley when I’ve been standing in rifle pits up to the seatof my pants in mud?” the old gentleman asked testily. “No. It’s about his father. John Wilkes isdead.”   Scarlett sat down suddenly, the half-wrapped lunch in her hand.   “I came to tell Melly—but I couldn’t. You must do it And give her these.”   He hauled from his pockets a heavy gold watch with dangling seals, a small miniature of thelong dead Mrs. Wilkes and a pair of massive cuff buttons. At the sight of the watch which she hadseen in John Wilkes’ hands a thousand times, the full realization came over Scarlett that Ashley’sfather was really dead. And she was too stunned to cry or to speak. Uncle Henry fidgeted, coughedand did not look at her, lest he catch sight of a tear that would upset him.   “He was a brave man, Scarlett. Tell Melly that. Tell her to write it to his girls. And a goodsoldier for all his years. A shell got him. Came right down on him and his horse. Tore the horse’s—I shot the horse myself, poor creature. A fine little mare she was. You’d better write Mrs. Tarletonabout that, too. She set a store on that mare. Wrap up my lunch, child. I must be going. There, dear,don’t take it so hard. What better way can an old man die than doing a young man’s work?”   “Oh, he shouldn’t have died! He shouldn’t have ever gone to the war. He should have lived and seen his grandchild grow up and died peacefully in bed. Oh, why did he go? He didn’t believe insecession and he hated the war and—”   “Plenty of us think that way, but what of it?” Uncle Henry blew his nose grumpily. “Do youthink I enjoy letting Yankee riflemen use me for a target at my age? But there’s no other choice fora gentleman these days. Kiss me good-by, child, and don’t worry about me. I’ll come through thiswar safely.”   Scarlett kissed him and heard him go down the steps into the dark, heard the latch click on thefront gate. She stood for a minute looking at the keepsakes in her hand. And then she went up thestairs to tell Melanie.   At the end of July came the unwelcome news, predicted by Uncle Henry, that the Yankees hadswung around again toward Jonesboro. They had cut the railroad four miles below the town, butthey had been beaten off by the Confederate cavalry; and the engineering corps, sweating in thebroiling sun, had repaired the line.   Scarlett was frantic with anxiety. For three days she waited, fear growing in her heart. Then areassuring letter came from Gerald. The enemy had not reached Tara. They had heard the sound ofthe fight but they had seen no Yankees.   Gerald’s letter was so full of brag and bluster as to how the Yankees had been driven from therailroad that one would have thought he personally had accomplished the feat, single handed. Hewrote for three pages about the gallantry of the troops and then, at the end of his letter, mentionedbriefly that Carreen was ill. The typhoid, Mrs. O’Hara said it was. She was not very ill and Scarlettwas not to worry about her, but on no condition must she come home now, even if the railroadshould become safe. Mrs. O’Hara was very glad now that Scarlett and Wade had not come homewhen the siege began. Mrs. O’Hara said Scarlett must go to church and say some Rosaries forCarreen’s recovery.   Scarlett’s conscience smote her at this last, for it had been months since she had been to church.   Once she would have thought this omission a mortal sin but, somehow, staying away from churchdid not seem so sinful now as it formerly had. But she obeyed her mother and going to her roomgabbled a hasty Rosary. When she rose from her knees she did not feel as comforted as she hadformerly felt after prayer. For some time she had felt that God was not watching out for her, theConfederates or the South, in spite of the millions of prayers ascending to Him daily.   That night she sat on the front porch with Gerald’s letter in her bosom where she could touch itoccasionally and bring Tara and Ellen closer to her. The lamp in the parlor window threw oddgolden shadows onto the dark vine-shrouded porch, and the matted tangle of yellow climbing rosesand honeysuckle made a wall of mingled fragrance about her. The night was utterly still. Not eventhe crack of a rifle had sounded since sunset and the world seemed far away. Scarlett rocked backand forth, lonely, miserable since reading the news from Tara, wishing that someone, anyone, evenMrs. Merriwether, were with her. But Mrs. Merriwether was on night duty at the hospital, Mrs.   Meade was at home making a feast for Phil, who was in from the front lines, and Melanie wasasleep. There was not even the hope of a chance caller. Visitors had fallen off to nothing this last week, for every man who could walk was in the rifle pits or chasing the Yankees about thecountryside near Jonesboro.   It was not often that she was alone like this and she did not like it. When she was alone she hadto think and, these days, thoughts were not so pleasant. Like everyone else, she had fallen into thehabit of thinking of the past, the dead.   Tonight when Atlanta was so quiet, she could close her eyes and imagine she was back in therural stillness of Tara and that life was unchanged, unchanging. But she knew that life in theCounty would never be the same again. She thought of the four Tarletons, the red-haired twins andTom and Boyd, and a passionate sadness caught at her throat. Why, either Stu or Brent might havebeen her husband. But now, when the war was over and she went back to Tara to live, she wouldnever again hear their wild halloos as they dashed up the avenue of cedars. And Raiford Calvert,who danced so divinely, would never again choose her to be his partner. And the Munroe boys andlittle Joe Fontaine and—“Oh, Ashley!” she sobbed, dropping her head into her hands. “I’ll never get used to you beinggone!”   She heard the front gate click and she hastily raised her head and dashed her hand across her weteyes. She rose and saw it was Rhett Butler coming up the walk, carrying his wide Panama hat inhis hand. She had not seen him since the day when she had alighted from his carriage soprecipitously at Five Points. On that occasion, she had expressed the desire never to lay eyes onhim again. But she was so glad now to have someone to talk to, someone to divert her thoughtsfrom Ashley, that she hastily put the memory from her mind. Evidently he had forgotten thecontretemps, or pretended to have forgotten it, for he settled himself on the top step at her feetwithout mention of their late difference.   “So you didn’t refugee to Macon! I heard that Miss Pitty had retreated and, of course, I thoughtyou had gone too. So, when I saw your light I came here to investigate. Why did you stay?”   “To keep Melanie company. You see, she—well, she can’t refugee just now.”   “Thunderation,” he said, and in the lamplight she saw that he was frowning. “You don’t mean totell me Mrs. Wilkes is still here? I never heard of such idiocy. It’s quite dangerous for her in hercondition.”   Scarlett was silent, embarrassed, for Melanie’s condition was not a subject she could discusswith a man. She was embarrassed, too, that Rhett should know it was dangerous for Melanie. Suchknowledge sat ill upon a bachelor.   “It’s quite ungallant of you not to think that I might get hurt too,” she said tartly.   His eyes flickered with amusement.   “I’d back you against the Yankees any day.”   “I’m not sure that that’s a compliment,” she said uncertainly.   “It isn’t,” he answered. “When will you stop looking for compliments in men’s lightestutterances?”   “When I’m on my deathbed,” she replied and smiled, thinking that there would always be mento compliment her, even if Rhett never did.   “Vanity, vanity,” he said. “At least, you are frank about it.”   He opened his cigar case, extracted a black cigar and held it to his nose for a moment. A matchflared, he leaned back against a post and, clasping his hands about his knees, smoked a while insilence. Scarlett resumed her rocking and the still darkness of the warm night closed about them.   The mockingbird, which nested in the tangle of roses and honeysuckle, roused from slumber andgave one timid, liquid note. Then, as if thinking better of the matter, it was silent again.   From the shadow of the porch, Rhett suddenly laughed, a low, soft laugh.   “So you stayed with Mrs. Wilkes! This is the strangest situation I ever encountered!”   “I see nothing strange about it,” she answered uncomfortably, immediately on the alert.   “No? But then you lack the impersonal viewpoint My impression has been for some time pastthat you could hardly endure Mrs. Wilkes. You think her silly and stupid and her patriotic notionsbore you. You seldom pass by the opportunity to slip in some belittling remark about her, sonaturally it seems strange to me that you should elect to do the unselfish thing and stay here withher during this shelling. Now, just why did you do it?”   “Because she’s Charlie’s sister—and like a sister to me,” answered Scarlett with as much dignityas possible though her cheeks were growing hot.   “You mean because she’s Ashley’s Wilkes’ widow.”   Scarlett rose quickly, struggling with her anger.   “I was almost on the point of forgiving you for your former boorish conduct but now I shan’t doit. I wouldn’t have ever let you come upon this porch at all, if I hadn’t been feeling so blue and—”   “Sit down and smooth your ruffled fur,” he said, and his voice changed. He reached up andtaking her hand pulled her back into her chair. “Why are you blue?”   “Oh, I had a letter from Tara today. The Yankees are close to home and my little sister is ill withtyphoid and—and—so now, even if I could go home, like I want to, Mother wouldn’t let me forfear I’d catch it too. Oh, dear, and I do so want to go home!”   “Well, don’t cry about it,” he said, but his voice was kinder. “You are much safer here in Atlantaeven if the Yankees do come than you’d be at Tara. The Yankees won’t hurt you and typhoidwould.”   “The Yankees wouldn’t hurt me! How can you say such a lie?”   “My dear girl, the Yankees aren’t fiends. They haven’t horns and hoofs, as you seem to think.   They are pretty much like Southerners—except with worse manners, of course, and terribleaccents.”   “Why, the Yankees would—”   “Rape you? I think not. Though, of course, they’d want to.”   “If you are going to talk vilely I shall go into the house,” she cried, grateful that the shadows hid her crimson face.   “Be frank. Wasn’t that what you were thinking?”   “Oh, certainly not!”   “Oh, but it was! No use getting mad at me for reading your thoughts. That’s what all ourdelicately nurtured and pure-minded Southern ladies think. They have it on their minds constantly.   I’ll wager even dowagers like Mrs. Merriwether ...”   Scarlett gulped in silence, remembering that wherever two or more matrons were gatheredtogether, in these trying days, they whispered of such happenings, always in Virginia or Tennesseeor Louisiana, never close to home. The Yankees raped women and ran bayonets through children’sstomachs and burned houses over the heads of old people. Everyone knew these things were trueeven if they didn’t shout them on the street corners. And if Rhett had any decency he would realizethey were true. And not talk about them. And it wasn’t any laughing matter either.   She could hear him chuckling softly. Sometimes he was odious. In fact, most of the time he wasodious. It was awful for a man to know what women really thought about and talked about. Itmade a girl feel positively undressed. And no man ever learned such things from good womeneither. She was indignant that he had read her mind. She liked to believe herself a thing of mysteryto men, but she knew Rhett thought her as transparent as glass.   “Speaking of such matters,” he continued, “have you a protector or chaperon in the house? Theadmirable Mrs. Merriwether or Mrs. Meade? They always look at me as if they knew I was herefor no good purpose.”   “Mrs. Meade usually comes over at night,” answered Scarlett, glad to change the subject “Butshe couldn’t tonight Phil, her boy, is home.”   “What luck,” he said softly, “to find you alone.”   Something in his voice made her heart beat pleasantly faster and she felt her face flush. She hadheard that note in men’s voices often enough to know that it presaged a declaration of love. Oh,what fun! If he would just say he loved her, how she would torment him and get even with him forall the sarcastic remarks he had flung at her these past three years. She would lead him a chase thatwould make up for even that awful humiliation of the day he witnessed her slapping Ashley. Andthen she’d tell him sweetly she could only be a sister to him and retire with the full honors of war.   She laughed nervously in pleasant anticipation.   “Don’t giggle,” he said, and taking her hand, he turned it over and pressed his lips into the palm.   Something vital, electric, leaped from him to her at the touch of his warm mouth, something thatcaressed her whole body thrillingly. His lips traveled to her wrist and she knew he must feel theleap of her pulse as her heart quickened and she tried to draw back her hand. She had not bargainedon this—this treacherous warm tide of feeling that made her want to run her hands through hishair, to feel his lips upon her mouth.   She wasn’t in love with him, she told herself confusedly. She was in love with Ashley. But howto explain this feeling that made her hands shake and the pit of her stomach grow cold?   He laughed softly.   “Don’t pull away! I won’t hurt you!”   “Hurt me? I’m not afraid of you, Rhett Butler, or of any man in shoe leather!” she cried, furiousthat her voice shook as well as her hands.   “An admirable sentiment, but do lower your voice. Mrs. Wilkes might hear you. And praycompose yourself.” He sounded as though delighted at her flurry.   “Scarlett, you do like me, don’t you?”   That was more like, what she was expecting.   “Well, sometimes,” she answered cautiously. “When you aren’t acting like a varmint.”   He laughed again and held the palm of her hand against his hard cheek.   “I think you like me because I am a varmint. You’ve known so few dyed-in-the-wool varmintsin your sheltered life that my very difference holds a quaint charm for you.”   This was not the turn she had anticipated and she tried again without success to pull her handfree.   “That’s not true! I like nice men—men you can depend on to always be gentlemanly.”   “You mean men you can always bully. It’s merely a matter of definition. But no matter.”   He kissed her palm again, and again the skin on the back of her neck crawled excitingly.   “But you do like me. Could you ever love me, Scarlett?”   “Ah!” she thought, triumphantly. “Now I’ve got him!” And she answered with studied coolness:   “Indeed, no. That is—not unless you mended your manners considerably.”   “And I have no intention of mending them. So you could not love me? That is as I hoped. Forwhile I like you immensely, I do not love you and it would be tragic indeed for you to suffer twicefrom unrequited love, wouldn’t it, dear? May I call you ‘dear,’ Mrs. Hamilton? I shall call you‘dear’ whether you like it or not, so no matter, but the proprieties must be observed.”   “You don’t love me?”   “No, indeed. Did you hope that I did?”   “Don’t be so presumptuous!”   “You hoped! Alas, to blight your hopes! I should love you, for you are charming and talented atmany useless accomplishments. But many ladies have charm and accomplishments and are just asuseless as you are. No, I don’t love you. But I do like you tremendously—for the elasticity of yourconscience, for the selfishness which you seldom trouble to hide, and for the shrewd practicality inyou which, I fear, you get from some not too remote Irish-peasant ancestor.”   Peasant! Why, he was insulting her! She began to splutter wordlessly.   “Don’t interrupt,” he begged, squeezing her hand. “I like you because I have those samequalities in me and like begets liking. I realize you still cherish the memory of the godlike andwooden-headed Mr. Wilkes, who’s probably been in his grave these six months. But there must beroom in your heart for me too. Scarlett, do stop wriggling! I am making you a declaration. I have wanted you since the first time I laid eyes on you, in the hall of Twelve Oaks, when you werebewitching poor Charlie Hamilton. I want you more than I have ever wanted any woman—andI’ve waited longer for you than I’ve ever waited for any woman.”   She was breathless with surprise at his last words. In spite of all his insults, he did love her andhe was just so contrary he didn’t want to come out frankly and put it into words, for fear she’dlaugh. Well, she’d show him and right quickly.   “Are you asking me to marry you?”   He dropped her hand and laughed so loudly she shrank back in her chair.   “Good Lord, no! Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t a marrying man?”   “But—but—what—”   He rose to his feet and, hand on heart, made her a burlesque bow.   “Dear,” he said quietly, “I am complimenting your intelligence by asking you to be my mistresswithout having first seduced you.”   Mistress!   Her mind shouted the word, shouted that she had been vilely insulted. But in that first startledmoment she did not feel insulted. She only felt a furious surge of indignation that he should thinkher such a fool. He must think her a fool if he offered her a proposition like that, instead of theproposal of matrimony she had been expecting. Rage, punctured vanity and disappointment threwher mind into a turmoil and, before she even thought of the high moral grounds on which sheshould upbraid him, she blurted out the first words which came to her lips—“Mistress! What would I get out of that except a passel of brats?”   And then her jaw dropped in horror as she realized what she had said. He laughed until hechoked, peering at her in the shadows as she sat, stricken dumb, pressing her handkerchief to hermouth.   “That’s why I like you! You are the only frank woman I know, the only woman who looks on thepractical side of matters without beclouding the issue with mouthings about sin and morality. Anyother woman would have swooned first and then shown me the door.”   Scarlett leaped to her feet, her face red with shame. How could she have said such a thing! Howcould she, Ellen’s daughter, with her upbringing, have sat there and listened to such debasingwords and then made such a shameless reply? She should have screamed. She should have fainted.   She should have turned coldly away in silence and swept from the porch. Too late now!   “I will show you the door,” she shouted, not caring if Melanie or the Meades, down the street,did hear her. “Get out! How dare you say such things to me! What have I ever done to encourageyou—to make you suppose ... Get out and don’t ever come back here. I mean it this time. Don’tyou ever come back here with any of your piddling papers of pins and ribbons, thinking I’ll forgiveyou. I’ll—I’ll tell my father and he’ll kill you!”   He picked up his hat and bowed and she saw in the light of the lamp that his teeth were showingin a smile beneath his mustache. He was not ashamed, he was amused at what she had said, and he was watching her with alert interest.   Oh, he was detestable! She swung round on her heel and marched into the house. She grabbedhold of the door to shut it with a bang, but the hook which held it open was too heavy for her. Shestruggled with it, panting.   “May I help you?” he asked.   Feeling that she would burst a blood vessel if she stayed another minute, she stormed up thestairs. And as she reached the upper floor, she heard him obligingly slam the door for her.   围城初期,北方佬到处轰击城防工事时,思嘉被震天的炮弹声吓得瑟瑟发抖,双手捂着耳朵,准备随时被炸得一命呜呼,见上帝去。她一听见炮弹到来前那嘘嘘的尖啸声,就立即冲进媚兰房里,猛地扑倒在床上媚兰的身边,两个人紧紧抱在一起,把头埋在枕头底下,"啊!啊!"地惊叫着,百里茜和韦德也急忙向地窖跑去,在地窖里挂满蜘蛛网的黑暗角落蹲下来,百里茜扯着嗓子大声尖叫,韦德则低声哭泣,伤心地打着嗝儿。   思嘉被羽绒枕头捂得出不来气了,而死神还在上空一声声尖啸,这时她暗暗诅咒媚兰,怪媚兰连累她不能躲到楼下较安全的地方去。因为大夫禁止媚兰走动,而思嘉必须留在她身边。除了害怕被炮弹炸个粉碎以外,她还担心媚兰随时会生孩子。每每想起这一点她就浑身冒汗,衣服都湿了。要是孩子偏偏在这个时候降生,她可怎么办呢?她想,在这炮弹如雨的当儿,她宁愿让媚兰死掉也不能跑到大街上去寻找大夫,如果叫百里茜去冒这个险,她也清楚,那不等她出门就会被炸死的。要是媚兰生孩子了,她该怎么办啊?   关于这些事情,有个下午她和百里茜在准备媚兰的晚餐时,曾低声商量过,百里茜倒令人惊讶地把她的恐惧打消了。   “等到媚兰小姐真的要生了,思嘉小姐,就算俺不能出去找医生,您也用不着烦恼。俺能对付。这接生的事,俺全知道,俺妈不就是个接生婆,她不是教会俺也能接生了?您就把这事交给俺好了。"思嘉知道身边有个在行的人,便觉得轻松了些。不过她仍然盼望这场严峻的考验快些过去。她一心想离开这炮火连天之地,已惶惶不可终日;她要回塔拉去,更是迫不及待了。   她每天晚上都在祈祷,要媚兰的孩子第二天就生下来。那样她就可以解脱自己的诺言,早日离开亚特兰大。塔拉在她心目中是多么安全,与这一切的苦难是多么不相干啊!   思嘉渴望回家去看母亲,这样的焦急心情她是从来不曾有过的。只要她是在母亲身边,无论发生什么事情。她都不会害怕了。每天晚上,在熬过了一整天震耳欲聋的炮弹呼啸声之后,她上床睡觉时总是下决心要在第二天早晨告诉媚兰,她在亚特兰大一天也待不下去了。她一定要回家,媚兰只能住在米德太太那里去。可是头一搁到枕上,她便又记起艾希礼临别时的那副面容,那副因内心痛苦而绷得很紧但嘴唇上勉强露出一丝笑容的面容:“你会照顾媚兰,不是吗?你很坚强……请答应我。"结果她答应了他。如今艾希礼不知躺在什么地方死了。无论是在何处,他仍然在瞧着她,叫她恪守自己的诺言,生也罢,死也罢,她都决不能让他失望,不管要付出多高的代价,就这样,她一天天留下来了。   爱伦写信来敦促女儿回家,思嘉回信时一面极力说小围城中的危险,一面详细说明媚兰目前的苦境,并答应等媚兰分娩后便立即回去。爱伦对于亲属关系,无论血亲姻亲,都是很重情感的,她回信勉强同意思嘉留下来,但要求将韦德和百里茜立即送回去。这个建议百里茜完全赞同,因为她现在一听到什么突如起来的响声,就要吓得两排牙齿格格地打颤,她每天得花那么多时间蹲在地窖里,如果不是米德太太家的贝特西得了大忙,两位姑娘的日子就不知怎么过了。   像她母亲一样思嘉急于要让韦德离开亚特兰大,这不仅是为孩子的安全,而且因为他整天惶恐不安,令思嘉厌烦透了。韦德经常给大炮声震得说不出话来,即使炮声停息了,也总默默在牵着思嘉的裙子,哭也不敢哭一声,晚上他不敢上床,害怕黑暗,害怕睡着了北方佬会跑来把他抓走,到了深夜,他那神经质的低声啜泣也会把思嘉折磨得难以忍受。实际上,思嘉自己也和他一样害怕,不过每当他那神情紧张的面容提醒她想到这一点时,她马上就火了。是的,塔拉是对韦德唯一适宜的地方。应当让百里茜送他到那里去,然后即刻回来料理媚兰分娩的事。   但是,思嘉还没来得及打发他们两人动身回去,便突然听到消息说北方佬已迫到南面,亚特兰大和琼斯博罗之间的铁路沿线打起来了,要是北方佬把韦德和百里茜乘的那列火车截获了呢----想到这里,思嘉和媚兰不由得脸都白了,因为谁都知道北方佬对待儿童比妇女还要残暴,这样一来,她就不敢把他送回家去,只好让他继续留在亚特兰大,像个受惊的默默无声的小幽灵整天啪哒啪哒地跟在母亲后面,紧紧抓住她的衣襟,生怕一松手就丢掉了自己的小命似的。   在七月炎热天,从月初到月尾,围城的战斗在继续进行,炮声隆隆的白天和寂寥险恶的黑夜连续不断,市民也开始适应这种局势了,大家仿佛觉得最坏的情况已经发生,也不会有什么更可怕的了。他们以前对围城十分害怕,可现在围城已终于成了事实,看来也不怎么样。生活差不多还能像往常一样地过,而且的确在这样过着,当然,他们也知道自己坐在火山上,可是不到火山爆发他们是什么也做不成的。那么,现在又何必着急呢?何况,火山还不一定爆发啊!请看,胡德将军正在挡住北方佬,不让他们进城嘛!请看,骑兵团正在坚守通往梅肯的铁路嘛!谢尔曼永远也休想占领它!   不过,尽管人们在纷纷降落的炮弹面前和粮食愈来愈短缺的情况下,仍装出无忧无虑的样子,尽管他们瞧不起就在半英里外的北方佬,尽管他们对战壕里那支褴褛的联盟军部队坚信不疑,亚特兰大人在内心里仍然是惶惶无主的,不知明天早晨会发生什么事情。焦虑、烦恼、忧愁、饥饿,以及随着那睡或了又低落、低落了又上升的希望而日益加深的痛苦,正在磨损着当前形势的薄薄外表,很快要露出其实质来了。   思嘉渐渐学会了从朋友们的脸上和自然的有效调节中汲取勇气,因为事情既然已无法挽救,也就只好忍受。说真的,她每次听到爆炸声仍不免要惊跳一下,但是她不再吓得尖叫着跑去把头钻在媚兰的枕头底下了。她现在已能抑制住自己并怯怯地说:“这发炮弹很近,是不是?"她不再像以前那样害怕了,这里还有一个原因,即生活已染上一种梦幻般的色彩,而梦太可怕,不可能真实的。她思嘉•奥哈拉不可能沦于这样的苦境,这样每时每刻都有死亡的危险。生活本来应有的那种风平浪静的过程,不可能在这么短的时间里就彻底改变了。   那是不真实的,罕见地不真实,难道天亮时还那么湛蓝的晨空会被这些像雨云般低悬在城市上头的大炮硝烟所污染,难道那弥漫着忍冬和蔷微花的浓烈香味的温暖中午会这样可怖,让炮弹呼啸着闯入市区,像世界末日的雷声轰然爆炸,把居民和动物活活地炸得粉碎吗?这是非常不真实的啊!   以前那种安安静静、昏昏沉沉的午睡现在没有了,因为尽管作战的喧嚣声有时也平息一会,但桃树街仍整天嘈杂不堪,时而炮车和救护车隆隆驶过,伤兵从战壕里蹒跚而出,时而有的连队从市区一头的壕沟里奉命急忙跑到另一头去,防守那里受到严重的威胁的堡垒;时而通讯兵在大街上拼命奔跑赶到司令部去,仿佛南部联盟的命运就系在他们身上似的。   炎热的晚上有时会稍稍安静一些,但这种安静也是不正常的。如果说那是沉寂,就未免太沉寂了----仿佛雨蛙、蝈蝈儿和瞌睡的模仿鸟都吓得不敢在通常的夏夜合唱中出声了。这寂静有时也被最后防线中的哒哒的毛瑟枪声所打破。   到了半夜,往往在灯火熄灭、媚兰已经睡熟、全城也一片寂静的时候,思嘉还清醒地躺在床上,听见前面大门上铁闩的哗啦声和前屋轻轻的叩门声。   常常,一些面貌模糊不清的士兵站在黑暗的走廊上,好几个人同时从黑暗中对她说话,有时那些黑影中会传来一个文雅的声音:“请原谅我打扰你了。太太,能不能让我和我的马喝点水呢?"有时是一个带粗重喉音的山民口音,有时是南方草原地区的鼻音;偶尔也有滨海地方那种平静而缓慢的声调,它使思嘉想起了母亲的声音。   “俺这里有伴儿,小姐,俺本想把他送到医院里去,可是他好像再也走不动了,你让他进来好吗?”   “太太,俺真的什么都能吃,你要是能给,俺倒是很想吃玉米饼呢。”“太太,请原谅我太冒失了,可是----能不能让我在走廊上过一夜?我看到这蔷薇花,闻到忍冬的香味,就好像到了家里,所以我大胆----"不,这些夜晚不是真的!它们是一场恶梦,那些士兵是恶梦的组成部分,那些看不见身子或面貌的士兵,他们只是些疲倦的声音在炎热的夜雾里对她说话罢了。打水,给吃的,把枕头摆在走廊上,包扎伤口,扶着垂死者的头,不,所有这些都不可能是她真正做过的事!   有一次,七月下旬的一个深夜,是亨利叔叔来叩门了。亨利叔叔的雨伞手提包都没有了,他那肥胖的肚皮也没有了。他那张又红又胖的脸现在松驰地下垂着,像牛头犬喉下的垂肉似的。他那头长长的白发已经脏得难以形容。他几乎是光着脚,满身虱子,一副挨饿的模样,不过他那暴躁的脾气却一点没有改变。   尽管他说过:“连我这种人也背着枪上前线了,这是一场愚蠢的战争,"但是姑娘们的印象中,亨利叔叔还是很乐意这样做的。因为战争需要他,犹如需要青年人一样,而他也在做一个青年人的工作。此外,他告诉思嘉,他还赶得上青年人,可这一点,他高兴地说,却是梅里韦瑟爷爷所办不到的。   梅里韦瑟爷爷的腰痛病厉害得很,队长想叫他退伍,但他自己不愿意走。他坦白地说他情愿挨队长的训斥,也不要儿媳妇来过分细心的照料,絮絮叨叨地叫他戒掉嚼烟草的习惯和天天洗胡子。   亨利叔叔这次的来访为时很短,因为他只有四小时假,而且从围城到这里来回就得花费一半的时间。   “姑娘们,往后我怕会有很长一段时间不能来看你们了,"他在媚兰卧室里一坐下就这样宣布,一面把那双打了泡的脚放在思嘉端来的一盆凉水里,心情享受似地搓着。"我们团明天早晨就要开走了。”“到哪儿去?"媚兰吃惊地问他,赶忙抓住他的胳臂。   “别用手碰我,"亨利叔叔厌烦地说。"我身上满是虱子,战争要是没有虱子和痢疾,就简直成了野外旅行了。我到哪儿去?这个嘛,人家也没告诉我,不过我倒是猜得着的。我们要往南开,到琼斯博罗去,明天早晨走,除非我完全错了。”“唔,干吗到琼斯博罗去呢?”“因为那里要打仗呀,小姐。北方佬如果有可能,是要去抢那铁路的。要是他们果真抢走了,那就再会了,亚特兰大!”“唔,你看他们会抢得着吗?亨利叔叔?”“呸,姑娘们!不会的!他们怎么可能呢?有我在那儿,"亨利叔叔朝那两张惊惶的脸孔咧嘴笑了笑,随即又严肃起来:“那将是一场恶战,姑娘们。我们不能不打赢它。你们知道,当然喽,北方佬已经占领所有的铁路,只剩下到梅肯去的那一条了,不过这还不是他们所得到的一切呢。也许你们还不清楚,他们的确还占领了每一条公路,每一条赶车和骑马的小道,除了克藺诺公路以外。亚特兰大好比在一个口袋里,这口袋的两根拉绳就在琼斯博罗。要是北方佬能占领那里的铁路,他们就会把绳子拉紧,把我们抓住,像抓袋子里的老鼠一样。所以我们不想让他们去占那条铁路……我可能要离开一个时候了,姑娘们。我这次来就是向你们大家告别的,并且看看思嘉是不是还跟你在一起,媚兰。”“当然喽,她跟我在一起,"媚兰亲昵地说。"你不用替我们担心,亨利叔叔,自己要多保重。"亨利叔叔把两只脚在地毯上擦干,然后哼哼着穿上那双破鞋。   “我要走了,"他说。"我还得走五英里路呢。思嘉,你给我弄点吃的东西带上。有什么带什么。"他吻了吻媚兰,便下楼到厨房去了,思嘉正在厨房里用餐巾包一个玉米卷子和几只苹果。   “亨利叔叔,难道----难道真的这样严重了吗?”“严重?我的天,真的!不要再糊涂了。我们已退到最后一条壕沟了。”“你看他们会打到塔拉去吗?”“怎么----"亨利叔叔对于这种在大难当头时只顾个人私事的妇女的想法,感到很恼火。但接着看见她那惊慌苦恼的表情,也就心软了。   “当然,他们不会到那里去。北方佬要的只是铁路。塔拉离铁路有五英里,不过小姐,你这个人的见识也实在太短了。"说到这里他突然停顿了一下。"今天晚上我跑这许多路到这里来,并不是要向你们告别。我是给媚兰送坏消息来的。可是我刚要开口又觉得不能告诉她,因此我才下楼对你说,让你去处理好了。”“艾希礼不是----难道你听说----他已经死了?”“可是,我守着壕沟,半个身子埋在烂泥里,怎么能听到关于艾希礼的消息呢?"老先生不耐烦地反问她。"不,这是关于他父亲的。约翰•威尔克斯死了。"思嘉手里捧着那份还没包好的午餐,顿时颓然坐下。   “我是来告诉媚兰的----可是开不了口。你得替我办这件事,并且把这些给她。”他从口袋里掏出一只沉重的金表,表中吊着几颗印章,还有一幅早已去世威尔克斯太太的小小肖像和一对粗大的袖扣。思嘉一见她曾经从约翰•威尔克斯手里见过上千次的那只金表,便完全明白艾希礼的父亲真的死了。她吓得叫不出声也说不出话来。亨利叔叔一时坐立不安,接连假咳了几声,但不敢看她,生怕被她脸上的泪水弄得更加难受。   “他是个勇敢的人,思嘉。把这话告诉媚兰。叫她给他的几个女儿写封信去。他一生都是个好军人。一发炮弹打中了他,正落在他和他的马身上。马受了重伤----后来是我把它宰了,可怜的畜生。那是一匹很好小母马。你最好也写封信给塔尔顿太太,告诉她这件事。她非常珍爱这骑马。好了,亲爱的,不要太伤心了。对于一个老头子来说,只要做了一个青年人应当做的事,死了不也很值得吗?”“啊,他根本就不该上前线去。他是不应该死的!他本来可以活下去看着他的孙子长大,然后平平安安地终老。啊,他干吗要去呀?他本来不主张分裂,憎恨战争,而且----”“我们许多人都是这样想的,可这有什么用呢?"亨利叔叔粗暴地擤了擤鼻子。   “你以为像我这把年纪还乐意去充当北方佬的枪靶子吗?   可是这年月一个上等人没有什么旁的选择呀。分手时亲亲我吧,孩子,不要为我担心,我会闯过这场战争平安归来的。"思嘉吻了吻他,听见他走下台阶到了黑暗的院子里,接着是前面大门上哗啦一响的门闩声。她凝望着手里的纪念物,在原地站了一会,然后跑上楼告诉媚兰去了。   到七月末,传来了不受欢迎的消息,那就是像亨利叔叔预言过的,北方佬又走了个弯子向琼斯博罗打去了。他们切断了城南四英里处的铁路线,但很快被联盟军骑兵击退;工程队在火热的太阳下赶忙修复了那条铁路。   思嘉焦急得快要疯了。她怀着恐慌的心情接连等待了三天,这才收到杰拉尔德的一封信,于是放下心来。敌军并没有打到塔拉。他们听到交战的声音,但是没看见北方佬。   杰拉尔德的信中谈到北方佬怎样被联盟军从铁路上击退时充满了吹嘘和大话,仿佛是他自己单枪骑马立下了这赫赫战功似的。他用整整三页纸描写部队的英勇,末了才简单地提了一笔说卡琳生病了。据奥哈拉太太说是得了伤寒,但并不严重,所以思嘉不必为她担心,而且即使铁路已安全通车,思嘉现在也不用回家了。奥哈拉太太很高兴,觉得思嘉和韦德没有在围城开始时回去是完全正确的。她说思嘉必须到教堂里去作些祈祷,为了卡琳早日康复。   思嘉对母亲的这一吩咐感到十分内疚,因为她已经好几个月不上教堂去了。要是在以前,她会把这种疏忽看成莫大的罪过,可是现在,不进教堂就好像并不那么有罪了。不过她还是按照母亲的意愿走进自己房里,跪在地上匆匆念了一遍《玫瑰经》。她站起来时,倒并不觉得像过去念完经以后那样心里舒服一些。近来,她已感到上帝并不是在照顾她和南部联盟,尽管成百万的祈祷者每天都在祈求他的恩惠。   那天夜里她坐在前廊上,把杰拉尔德的信揣在怀里,这样她可以随时摸摸它,觉得塔拉和母亲就在身边似的。客厅窗台上的灯将零碎的金黄的光影投射在黑暗的挂满藤蔓的走廊上。攀缘的黄蔷薇和忍冬纠缠一起,在她四周构成一道芳香四溢的围墙。夜静极了。从日落以来连哒哒的步枪声也没有听到过,世界好像离人们很远了。思嘉一个人坐在椅子里前后摇晃着,因读了来自塔拉的信而苦恼不堪,很希望有个人,无论什么人,能跟她在一起。可是梅里韦瑟太太在医院里值夜班,米德太太在家里款待从前线回来的费尔,媚兰又早已睡着了。连一个偶尔来访的客人也是不会有的。那些平常来访的人都已无影无踪,到上个星期,因为凡是能走路的人都进了战壕,或者到琼斯博罗附近的乡下追逐北方佬去了。   她往常并不是这样孤独的,而且她也不喜欢这样。因她一个人待着就是得思考,而这些日子思考并不是怎么愉快的事。和别人一样,她已经养成回想往事和死人的习惯了。   今晚亚特兰大这样安静,她能闭上眼睛想象自己回到了塔拉静穆的田野,生活一点也没有改变,看来也不会改变。不过她知道那个地区的生活是决不会跟从前一样的。她想起塔尔顿家四兄弟,那对红头发的孪生兄弟和汤姆与博伊德,不由得一阵悲怆把她的喉咙给哽住了。怎么,斯图或布伦特不是有一个可能做她的丈夫吗?可如今,当战争过后她回到塔拉去住时,却再也听不见他们在林荫道上一路跑来时那狂热的呼唤声了。还有雷福德•卡尔弗特那个最会跳舞的小伙子,他也再不会挑选她当舞伴了。至于芒罗家的一群和小个子乔•方丹,以及----“啊,艾希礼!"她两手捧着头啜泣起来。"我永远也无法承认你已经没了啊!”这时她听见前面大门哗啦一声响了,便连忙抬起头来,用手背擦了擦泪水模糊的眼睛。她站起身来一看,原来是瑞德•巴特勒,手里拿着那顶宽边巴拿马帽,从人行道上走过来了。自从他那次在五点镇突然跳下马来以后,她一直没有碰见过他。当时她就表示过,她再也不想同他见面了。可是她现在却非常高兴有个人来跟她谈谈,来把她的注意力从艾希礼身上引开,于是她赶紧将心头的记忆搁到一边去了。瑞德显然已忘记了那桩尴尬事,或者是装做忘记了,你看他在顶上一级台阶上她的脚边坐下来,绝口不提他俩之间过去的争论。   “原来你没逃到梅肯去呀!我听说皮蒂小姐已撤退了,所以,当然喽,以为你也走了。刚才看见你屋子里有灯光,便特地进来想打听一下。你干吗还留在这里呢?”“给媚兰作伴嘛,你想,她----嗯,她眼下没法去逃难呢。”“嘿,"她从灯光底下看见他皱起眉头。"你这是告诉我威尔克斯太太不在这里?我可从来没听说有这种傻事。在她目前的情况下,留在这里可相当危险啊!"思嘉觉得很不好意思,不作声,因为关于媚兰的处境,她是不能跟一个男人谈论的。使她感到难为情的还有,瑞德居然知道那对媚兰是危险的事呢。一个单身汉会懂得这种事情,总有点不体面啊!   “你一点不考虑我也可能出事,这未免太不仗义了吧,"她酸溜溜地说。   他乐得眼睛里闪闪发光了。   “我会随时保护你不受北方佬欺侮的。”   “我还不清楚这算不算一句恭维话。"她用怀疑的口气说。   “当然不算,"他答道:“你什么时候才不到男人们最随便的表白中去寻找什么恭维呢?”“等我躺到了灵床上才行,"她微笑着回答,心想常常有男人来恭维她呢,即使瑞德从没有这样做过。   “虚荣心,虚荣心,"他说。"至少,你在这一点上是坦白的。"他打开他的烟盒,拈出一支黑雪茄放到鼻子前闻了闻,然后划亮一根火柴。他靠在一根柱子上,双手抱膝,静静地吸烟。思嘉又在躺椅里摇晃起来。黑暗的夜雾浓密而温暖。他们周围一片静悄悄,平息在蔷薇和忍冬密丛中的模仿鸟从睡梦中醒过来,小心而流利地唱了几声。接着,仿佛经过一番审慎的思考,它又沉默了。   这时,瑞德突然从走廊的黑影中笑出声来,低声而柔和地笑着。   “所以你就跟威尔克斯太太留下来了!这可是我从没碰到过的最奇怪的局面!”“我倒看不出有什么奇怪的地方,"思嘉不安地回答,立即引起了警惕。   “没有吗?这样一来你就不易客观地看问题了。过去一些时候以来,我的印象是你很难容忍威尔克斯太太。你认为她又傻气又愚蠢,同时她的爱国思想也使你感到厌烦。你很少放过机会不趁势说两句挖苦话,因此我自然会觉得十分奇怪,怎么你居然会做这种无私的事,会在这炮声震天的形势下陪着她留下来了。你究竟为什么这样做啊?说吧。”“因为她是查理的妹妹嘛----而且对我也像姐妹一样,”思嘉用尽可能庄重的口气回答,尽管她脸上已在发烧了。   “你是说因为她是艾希礼的遗孀吧。”   思嘉连忙站起来,极力抑制住心中的怒火。   “你上次对我那样放肆,我本来已准备饶恕你,可现在再也不行了。今天要不是我正感十分苦闷,我本来是决不会让你踏上这走廊来的。而且----”“请坐下来,消消气吧,"他的口气有点变了。他伸出手拉着她的胳臂,把她拖回椅子上。"你为什么苦闷呢?”“唔,我今天收到一封从塔拉来的信,北方佬离我家很近了,我的小妹妹又得了伤寒,所以----所以----即使我现在能够如愿地回去,妈妈也不会同意的,因为怕我也传上呢!”“嗯,不过你也别因此就哭呀,"他说,口气更温和了些。   “你如今在亚特兰大,即使北方佬来了,也比在塔拉要安全些。   北方佬不会伤害你的,但伤寒病却会。”“你怎么能说这种仆人的话呢?北方佬不会伤害我?”“我亲爱的姑娘,北方佬不是魔鬼嘛。他们并不如你所想像的,头上没有长角,脚上没有长蹄子。他们和南方人一样漂亮----当然嘛,礼貌上要差一点,口音也很难听。”“哼,北方佬会----”“会强奸你?我想不会。虽然他们很可能有这种念头。”“要是你再说这种粗话,我就要进屋了,"她厉声喝道,同时庆幸周围的阴影把她那羞红的脸遮住了。   “老实说吧,你心里是不是这样想的?”   “啊,当然不是!”   “可实际是这样嘛!不要因为我猜透了你的心思就生气呀。那都是我们这些娇生惯养和正经的南方太太们的想法呢。   她们老担心这件事。我可以打赌,甚至像梅里韦瑟太太这样有钱的寡妇……”思嘉强忍着没有出声,想起这些日子凡是两个以上太太在一起的地方,她们无不偷偷谈论这样的事,不过一般都发生在弗吉尼亚或田纳西,或者在路易斯安那,而不是离家乡很近的地方。北方佬强奸妇女,用刺刀捅儿童的肚子,焚烧里面还有老人的住宅。人人都知道这些都确有其事,他们只不过没有在街角上大声嚷嚷罢了。如果瑞德还有点礼貌的话,他应该明白这是真的,也用不着谈论。何况这也不是开玩笑的事埃她听得见他在吃吃地暗笑。他有时很讨厌。实际上他在大多数时候都是讨厌的。这太可怕了。一个男人居然懂得并且谈论女人心里在想些什么,这会叫一个姑娘觉得自己身上一丝不挂似的。而且也没有哪个男人会从正经妇女那里了解这种事情。思嘉因为他看透了她的心思而十分生气。她宁愿相信自己是男人无法了解的一个秘密,可是她知道,瑞德却把她看得像玻璃一样透明。   “我倒要问问你,谈到这种事情,"他继续说,"你们身边有没有人保卫或监护呢?是令人钦佩的梅里韦瑟太太,还是米德太太?仿佛知道我到这里来是不怀好意似的。她们一直盯着我。”“米德太太晚上常过来看看,"思嘉答道,很高兴能换个话题了。"不过,她今天晚上不能来。她儿子费尔回家了。”“真是好运气,”他轻松地说,"碰上 Chapter 20 AS THE HOT noisy days of August were drawing to a close the bombardment abruptly ceased.   The quiet that fell on the town was startling. Neighbors met on the streets and stared at oneanother, uncertain, uneasy, as to what might be impending. The stillness, after the screaming days,brought no surcease to strained nerves but, if possible, made the strain even worse. No one knewwhy the Yankee batteries were silent; there was no news of the troops except that they had beenwithdrawn in large numbers from the breastworks about the town and had marched off toward thesouth to defend the railroad. No one knew where the fighting was, if indeed there was any fighting,or how the battle was going if there was a battle.   Nowadays the only news was that which passed from mouth to mouth. Short of paper, short ofink, short of men, the newspapers had suspended publication after the siege began, and the wildestrumors appeared from nowhere and swept through the town. Now, in the anxious quiet, crowdsstormed General Hood’s headquarters demanding information, crowds massed about the telegraphoffice and the depot hoping for tidings, good tidings, for everyone hoped that the silence ofSherman’s cannon meant that the Yankees were in full retreat and the Confederates chasing themback up the road to Dalton, But no news came. The telegraph wires were still, no trains came in onthe one remaining railroad from the south and the mail service was broken.   Autumn with its dusty, breathless heat was slipping in to choke the suddenly quiet town, addingits dry, panting weight to tired, anxious hearts. To Scarlett, mad to hear from Tara, yet trying tokeep up a brave face, it seemed an eternity since the siege began, seemed as though she had alwayslived with the sound of cannon in her ears until this sinister quiet had fallen. And yet, it was onlythirty days since the siege began. Thirty days of siege! The city ringed with red-clay rifle pits, themonotonous booming of cannon that never rested, the long lines of ambulances and ox cartsdripping blood down the dusty streets toward the hospitals, the overworked burial squads draggingout men when they were hardly cold and dumping them like so many logs in endless rows ofshallow ditches. Only thirty days!   And it was only four months since the Yankees moved south from Dalton! Only four months!   Scarlett thought, looking back on that far day, that it had occurred in another life. Oh, no! Surelynot just four months. It had been a lifetime.   Four months ago! Why, four months ago Dalton, Resaca, Kennesaw Mountain had been to heronly names of places on the railroad. Now they were battles, battles desperately, vainly fought as Johnston fell back toward Atlanta. And now, Peachtree Creek, Decatur, Ezra Church and UtoyCreek were no longer pleasant names of pleasant places. Never again could she think of them asquiet villages full of welcoming friends, as green places where she picnicked with handsomeofficers on the soft banks of slow-moving streams. These names meant battles too, and the softgreen grasses where she had sat were cut to bits by heavy cannon wheels, trampled by desperatefeet when bayonet met bayonet and flattened where bodies threshed in agonies. ... And the lazystreams were redder now than ever Georgia clay could make them. Peachtree Creek was crimson,so they said, after the Yankees crossed it. Peachtree Creek, Decatur, Ezra Church, Utoy Creek.   Never names of places any more. Names of graves where friends lay buried, names of tangledunderbrush and thick woods where bodies rotted unburied, names of the four sides of Atlantawhere Sherman had tried to force his army in and Hood’s men had doggedly beaten him back.   At last, news came from the south to the strained town and it was alarming news, especially toScarlett. General Sherman was trying the fourth side of the town again, striking again at therailroad at Jonesboro. Yankees in large numbers were on that fourth side of the town now, noskirmishing units or cavalry detachments but the massed Yankee forces. And thousands ofConfederate troops had been withdrawn from the lines close about the city to hurl themselvesagainst them. And that explained the sudden silence.   “Why Jonesboro?” thought Scarlett, terror striking at her heart at the thought of Tara’s nearness.   “Why must they always hit Jonesboro? Why can’t they find some other place to attack therailroad?”   For a week she had not heard from Tara and the last brief note from Gerald had added to herfears. Carreen had taken a turn for the worse and was very, very sick. Now it might be days beforethe mails came through, days before she heard whether Carreen was alive or dead. Oh, if she hadonly gone home at the beginning of the siege, Melanie or no Melanie!   There was fighting at Jonesboro—that much Atlanta knew, but how the battle went no one couldtell and the most insane rumors tortured the town. Finally a courier came up from Jonesboro withthe reassuring news that the Yankees had been beaten back. But they had made a sortie intoJonesboro, burned the depot, cut the telegraph wires and torn up three miles of track before theyretreated. The engineering corps was working like mad, repairing the line, but it would take sometime because the Yankees had torn up the crossties, made bonfires of them, laid the wrenched-uprails across them until they were red hot and then twisted them around telegraph poles until theylooked like giant corkscrews. These days it was so hard to replace iron rails, to replace anythingmade of iron.   No, the Yankees hadn’t gotten to Tara. The same courier who brought the dispatches to GeneralHood assured Scarlett of that He had met Gerald in Jonesboro after the battle, just as he wasstarting to Atlanta, and Gerald had begged him to bring a letter to her.   But what was Pa doing in Jonesboro? The young courier looked ill at ease as he made answer.   Gerald was hunting for an army doctor to go to Tara with him.   As she stood in the sunshine on the front porch, thanking the young man for his trouble, Scarlettfelt her knees go weak. Carreen must be dying if she was so far beyond Ellen’s medical skill thatGerald was hunting a doctor! As the courier went off in a small whirlwind of red dust, Scarlett tore open Gerald’s letter with fingers that trembled. So great was the shortage of paper in theConfederacy now that Gerald’s note was written between the lines of her last letter to him andreading it was difficult.   “Dear Daughter, Your Mother and both girls have the typhoid. They are very ill but we musthope for the best. When your mother took to her bed she bade me write you that under nocondition were you to come home and expose yourself and Wade to the disease. She sends her loveand bids you pray for her.”   “Pray for her!” Scarlett flew up the stairs to her room and, dropping on her knees by the bed,prayed as she had never prayed before. No formal Rosaries now but the same words over and over:   “Mother of God, don’t let her die! I’ll be so good if you don’t let her die! Please, don’t let her die!”   For the next week Scarlett crept about the house like a stricken animal, waiting for news,starting at every sound of horses’ hooves, rushing down the dark stair at night when soldiers cametapping at the door, but no news came from Tara. The width of the continent might have spreadbetween her and home instead of twenty-five miles of dusty road.   The mails were still disrupted, no one knew where the Confederates were or what the Yankeeswere up to. No one knew anything except that thousands; of soldiers, gray and blue, weresomewhere between Atlanta and Jonesboro. Not a word from Tara in a week.   Scarlett had seen enough typhoid in the Atlanta hospital to know what a week meant in thatdread disease. Ellen was ill, perhaps dying, and here was Scarlett helpless in Atlanta with apregnant woman on her hands and two armies between her and home. Ellen was ill—perhapsdying. But Ellen couldn’t be ill! She had never been ill. The very thought was incredible and itstruck at the very foundations of the security of Scarlett’s life. Everyone else got sick, but neverEllen. Ellen looked after sick people and made them well again. She couldn’t be sick. Scarlettwanted to be home. She wanted Tara with the desperate desire of a frightened child frantic for theonly haven it had ever known.   Home! The sprawling white house with fluttering white curtains at the windows, the thick cloveron the lawn with the bees busy in it, the little black boy on the front steps shooing the ducks andturkeys from the flower beds, the serene red fields and the miles and miles of cotton turning whitein the sun! Home!   If she had only gone home at the beginning of the siege, when everyone else was refugeeing!   She could have taken Melanie with her in safety with weeks to spare.   “Oh, damn Melanie!” she thought a thousand times. “Why couldn’t she have gone to Maconwith Aunt Pitty? That’s where she belongs, with her own kinfolks, not with me. I’m none of herblood. Why does she hang onto me so hard? If she’d only gone to Macon, then I could have gonehome to Mother. Even now—even now, I’d take a chance on getting home in spite of the Yankees,if it wasn’t for this baby. Maybe General Hood would give me an escort. He’s a nice man, GeneralHood, and I know I could make him give me an escort and a flag of truce to get me through thelines. But I have to wait for this baby! ... Oh, Mother! Mother! Don’t die! ... Why don’t this babyever come? I’ll see Dr. Meade today and ask him if there’s any way to hurry babies up so I can gohome—if I can get an escort. Dr. Meade said she’d have a bad time. Dear God! Suppose she should die! Melanie dead. Melanie dead. And Ashley— No, I mustn’t think about that, it isn’t nice.   But Ashley— No, I mustn’t think about that because he’s probably dead, anyway. But he made mepromise I’d take care of her. But—if I didn’t take care of her and she died and Ashley is still alive— No, I mustn’t think about ‘that It’s sinful. And I promised God I’d be good if He would just notlet Mother die. Oh, if the baby would only come. If I could only get away from here—get home—get anywhere but here.”   Scarlett hated the sight of the ominously still town now and once she had loved it. Atlanta wasno longer the gay, the desperately gay place she had loved. It was a hideous place like a plague-stricken city so quiet, so dreadfully quiet after the din of the siege. There had been stimulation inthe noise and the danger of the shelling. There was only horror in the quiet that followed. The townseemed haunted, haunted with fear and uncertainty and memories. People’s faces looked pinchedand the few soldiers Scarlett saw wore the exhausted look of racers forcing themselves on throughthe last lap of a race already lost.   The last day of August came and with it convincing rumors that the fiercest fighting since thebattle of Atlanta was taking place. Somewhere to the south. Atlanta, waiting for news of the turn ofbattle, stopped even trying to laugh and joke. Everyone knew now what the soldiers had knowntwo weeks before—that Atlanta was in the last ditch, that if the Macon railroad fell, Atlanta wouldfall too.   On the morning of the first of September, Scarlett awoke with a suffocating sense of dread uponher, a dread she had taken to her pillow the night before. She thought, dulled with sleep: “Whatwas it I was worrying about when I went to bed last night? Oh, yes, the fighting. There was abattle, somewhere, yesterday! Oh, who won?” She sat up hastily, rubbing her eyes, and her worriedheart took up yesterday’s load again.   The air was oppressive even in the early morning hour, hot with the scorching promise of a noonof glaring blue sky and pitiless bronze sun. The road outside lay silent No wagons creaked by. Notroops raised the red dust with their tramping feet. There were no sounds of negroes’ lazy voices inneighboring kitchens, no pleasant sounds of breakfasts being prepared, for all the near neighborsexcept Mrs. Meade and Mrs. Merriwether had refugeed to Macon. And she could hear nothingfrom their houses either. Farther down the street the business section was quiet and many of thestores and offices were locked and boarded up, while their occupants were somewhere about thecountryside with rifles in their hands.   The stillness that greeted her seemed even more sinister this morning than on any of themornings of the queer quiet week preceding it. She rose hastily, without her usual preliminaryburrowings and stretchings, and went to the window, hoping to see some neighbor’s face, someheartening sight. But the road was empty. She noted how the leaves on the trees were still darkgreen but dry and heavily coated with red dust, and how withered and sad the untended flowers inthe front yard looked.   As she stood, looking out of the window, there came to her ears a far-off sound, faint and sullenas the first distant thunder of an approaching storm.   “Rain,” she thought in the first moment, and her country-bred mind added, “we certainly needit.” But, in a split instant: “Rain? No! Not rain! Cannon!”   Her heart racing, she leaned from the window, her ear cocked to the far-off roaring, trying todiscover from which direction it came. But the dim thundering was so distant that, for a moment,she could not tell. “Make it from Marietta, Lord!” she prayed. “Or Decatur. Or Peachtree Creek.   But not from the south! Not from the south!” She gripped the window still tighter and strained herears and the far-away booming seemed louder. And it was coming from the south.   Cannon to the south! And to the south lay Jonesboro and Tara—and Ellen.   Yankees perhaps at Tara, now, this minute! She listened again but the blood thudding in her earsall but blurred out the sound of far-off firing. No, they couldn’t be at Jonesboro yet. If they werethat far away, the sound would be fainter, more indistinct. But they must be at least ten miles downthe road toward Jonesboro, probably near the little settlement of Rough and Ready. But Jonesborowas scarcely more than ten miles below Rough and Ready.   Cannon to the south, and they might be tolling the knell of Atlanta’s fall. But to Scarlett, sick forher mother’s safety, fighting to the south only meant fighting near Tara. She walked the floor andwrung her hands and for the first time the thought in all its implications came to her that the grayarmy might be defeated. It was the thought of Sherman’s thousands so close to Tara that brought itall home to her, brought the full horror of the war to her as no sound of siege guns shatteringwindowpanes, no privations of food and clothing and no endless rows of dying men had done.   Sherman’s army within a few miles of Tara! And even if the Yankees should be defeated, theymight fall back down the road to Tara. And Gerald couldn’t possibly refugee out of their way withthree sick women.   Oh, if she were only there now, Yankees or not She paced the floor in her bare feet, hernightgown clinging to her legs and the more she walked the stronger became her foreboding. Shewanted to be at home. She wanted to be near Ellen.   From the kitchen below, she heard the rattle of china as Prissy prepared breakfast, but no soundof Mrs. Meade’s Betsy. The shrill, melancholy minor of Prissy was raised, “Jes’ a few mo’ days, tertote de wee-ry load ...” The song grated on Scarlett, its sad implications frightening her, andslipping on a wrapper she pattered out into the hall and to the back stairs and shouted: “Shut upthat singing, Prissy!”   A sullen “Yas’m” drifted up to her and she drew a deep breath, feeling suddenly ashamed ofherself.   “Where’s Betsy?”   “Ah doan know. She ain’ came.”   Scarlett walked to Melanie’s door and opened it a crack, peering into the sunny room. Melanielay in bed in her nightgown, her eyes closed and circled with black, her heart-shaped face bloated,her slender body hideous and distorted. Scarlett wished viciously that Ashley could see her now.   She looked worse than any pregnant woman she had ever seen. As she looked, Melanie’s eyesopened and a soft warm smile lit her face.   “Come in,” she invited, turning awkwardly on her side. “I’ve been awake since sun-up thinking,and, Scarlett, there’s something I want to ask you.”   She entered the room and sat down on the bed that was glaring with harsh sunshine.   Melanie reached out and took Scarlett’s hand in a gentle confiding clasp.   “Dear,” she said, “I’m sorry about the cannon. It’s toward Jonesboro, isn’t it?”   Scarlett said “Um,” her heart beginning to beat faster as the thought recurred.   “I know how worried you are. I know you’d have gone home last week when you heard aboutyour mother, if it hadn’t been for me. Wouldn’t you?”   “Yes,” said Scarlett ungraciously.   “Scarlett, darling. You’ve been so good to me. No sister could have been sweeter or braver. AndI love you for it. I’m so sorry I’m in the way.”   Scarlett stared. Loved her, did she? The fool!   “And Scarlett, I’ve been lying here thinking and I want to ask a very great favor of you.” Herclasp tightened. “If I should die, will you take my baby?”   Melanie’s eyes were wide and bright with soft urgency.   “Will you?”   Scarlett jerked away her hand as fear swamped her. Fear roughened her voice as she spoke.   “Oh, don’t be a goose, Melly. You aren’t going to die. Every woman thinks she’s going to diewith her first baby. I know I did.”   “No, you didn’t You’ve never been afraid of anything. You are just saying that to try to cheer meup. I’m not afraid to die but I’m so afraid to leave the baby, if Ashley is— Scarlett, promise methat you’ll take my baby if I should die. Then I won’t be afraid. Aunt Pittypat is too old to raise achild and Honey and India are sweet but—I want you to have my baby. Promise me, Scarlett Andif it’s a boy, bring him up like Ashley, and if it’s a girl—dear, I’d like her to be like you.”   “God’s nightgown!” cried Scarlett, leaping from the bed. “Aren’t things bad enough without youtalking about dying?”   “I’m sorry, dear. But promise me. I think it’ll be today. I’m sure it’ll be today. Please promiseme.”   “Oh, all right, I promise,” said Scarlett, looking down at her in bewilderment.   Was Melanie such a fool she really didn’t know how she cared for Ashley? Or did she knoweverything and feel that because of that love, Scarlett would take good care of Ashley’s child?   Scarlett had a wild impulse to cry out questions, but they died on her lips as Melanie took her handand held it for an instant against her cheek. Tranquility had come back into her eyes.   “Why do you think it will be today, Melly?”   “I’ve been having pains since dawn—but not very bad ones.”   “You have? Well, why didn’t you call me? I’ll send Prissy for Dr. Meade.”   “No, don’t do that yet, Scarlett. You know how busy he is, how busy they all are. Just send wordto him that we’ll need him some time today. Send over to Mrs. Meade’s and tell her and ask her tocome over and sit with me. She’ll know when to really send for him.”   “Oh, stop being so unselfish. You know you need a doctor as much as anybody in the hospital.   I’ll send for him right away.”   “No, please don’t. Sometimes it takes all day having a baby and I just couldn’t let the doctor sithere for hours when all those poor boys need him so much. Just send for Mrs. Meade. She’llknow.”   “Oh, all right,” said Scarlett.   到炎热喧嚣的八月即将结束时,炮声也突然停息了。令人惊诧不已,全城笼罩在一片寂静中,邻居们在街上碰到时,彼此面面相觑,惊疑莫定,生怕即将发生什么意外。这长期杀声不绝之后的平静,不仅没有给绷紧的神经带来松弛,反而使它更加紧张起来。谁也不知道为什么北方佬的大炮不响了;部队也没有什么消息,只听说他们已经大批大批地从环城的防御工事中撤出,开到南边保卫铁路去了。如果目前确实还有战斗,或者仗打得怎么样,如果还在打仗的话,谁也不清楚战斗在哪里进行。   这几天唯一的消息是口头上流传的种种说法。报纸因缺乏纸张,缺乏油墨,缺乏人手,从围城开始就相继停刊,因此谣传蜂起,传遍全城。在这焦急的沉默中,人群像潮水般涌向胡德将军司令部索取情报,或者聚集在电报局和车站周围,希望得到一点消息,无论好的坏的都行,因为人人都渴望着谢尔曼炮兵的缄默能证明北方佬在全线退却,同时南部联盟军部队正把他们赶回到多尔顿的铁路以北去。可是没有消息。电讯线路也寂然无声,那剩下的最后一条铁路上也没有列车从南方开来,邮路也中断了。   在尘土和闷热中,秋天悄悄地溜了进来,使这突然沉默的城市为之窒息,使人们疲倦而焦急的心越发枯索和沉重,几乎喘不过起来了。思嘉因听不到来自塔拉的信息,急得快发疯了,可是仍努力保持一副勇敢的模样;她觉得从围城开始以来已经很久很久了,仿佛自己一直生活在震耳欲聋的炮声中,直到这古怪的沉寂降临到四周为止。不过从围城开始至今才过了30天呢。30天的围城生活啊!整个城市已围上了密密的散兵壕,单调的隆隆的炮声昼夜不停,络绎不绝的救护车和牛车在尘土飞扬的大街上一路洒着鲜血驶向医院,早已精疲力竭的掩埋队将死亡者的尸体拖出来,把它们像木头似的倾倒在漫无尽头的浅沟里。这都是刚刚的三十天里的事情啊!   而且,从北方佬离开多尔顿南下以来,才过了四个月!刚刚四个月呢!思嘉回顾过去那遥远的一天,觉得它已经恍如隔世,可是,实际上的的确确才四个月呀!可是仿佛已挨过一辈子了。   四个月以前啊!怎么,四个月以前,多尔顿、雷萨卡和肯尼萨山对她还仅仅是铁路沿线上一些地方的名字呢。它们如今已成了一个个战役的名称,即约翰斯顿将军向亚特兰大退却时,一路上拼命而徒然地打过的那些战役的名称。而且,桃树沟、迪凯特、埃兹拉教堂和尤它沟也不再是令人愉快的地名了。它们曾经是些宁静的乡村,那里有她不少殷勤的朋友;它们是碧绿的田野,在那里小河两岸浅草如茵的地方,她曾经跟漂亮军官们一起野餐过,可如今这一切都已成为记忆,一去不复返了。这些地名也同样成了战役的名称,她曾经坐过的绿茵般的草地已被沉重的炮车碾得七零八碎,被短兵相接时士兵们拼死的脚步践踏得凌乱不堪,被那些在痛苦中挣扎翻滚的垂死者反复压迫了……如今缓缓的溪流已变得比佐治亚红土所赋予它们的本色更红了。桃树沟在北方佬渡过以后,像人们说的,已经是一片深红。桃树沟,迪凯特,埃兹拉教堂,尤它沟,它们永远也不再是一般的地名了。在思嘉心目中它们已成了埋葬朋友们的墓地,尸体在那里露天腐烂的矮树丛和密林,以及谢尔曼试图闯入和胡德顽强地把他击退之处的亚特兰大郊区。   后来,从南方来的消息终于到达了紧张的亚特兰大城,但这消息是令人震惊的,对思嘉尤其如此。谢尔曼将军又在开始攻击本城的第四个方面,即又一次攻打琼斯博罗的铁路。大量的北方军队集中在本城的这个第四方面,这不是从事小规模战斗的队伍或骑兵队,而是集结的北方佬大军。成千上万的联盟军已经从靠近城市的战斗线上撤去堵击他们了。这就是亚特兰大突然沉寂下来的原因。   “怎么,琼斯博罗?"思嘉心里有些纳闷。她一想到塔拉靠那里多近,便惊恐得心都凉了。"干吗不找个旁的地方去攻打铁路呢?他们干吗总是打琼斯博罗呢?”她已经一个星期没有听到塔拉的消息,因此再看看杰拉尔德上次的那封短信,就更加害怕起来。卡琳的病情在恶化,变得非常严重了。现在大概还得再过许多天才能收到家信,听到卡琳是死是活的消息。啊,要是在围城以前她回家一次,管她媚兰不媚兰,那多好啊!   琼斯博罗方面正在进行战斗,这是许多亚特兰大人都知道的,可是谁也说不清楚,究竟打得怎样,只有最为荒谬的谣传令人困恼。最后,从琼斯博罗来的一个通讯兵带来了确切的消息,说北方佬被击退了。可是他们曾经攻入琼斯博罗,撤退之前烧毁了那里的车站,割断了电线,掀翻了三英里铁轨。工程兵正在拼命修复铁路,但是颇费时间,因为北方佬把枕木拆掉用来烧篝火了,把炸翻的铁轨横架在火上烤得通红然后拿到电线杆周围盘成螺丝锥似的。在目前情况下,要换铁轨或任何铁制的东西都很不容易呢。   不,北方佬还没有打到塔拉。这是那个给胡德将军送来快报的通讯兵告诉思嘉的。他在战斗结束后,也就是动身来亚特兰大的时候,遇见了杰拉尔德,后者曾央求他带封信给思嘉。   可是爸在琼斯博罗干什么呀?年轻的通讯兵回答这个问题时显得有些不安。原来杰拉尔德是在那里找一位大夫跟他回塔拉去。   思嘉站在前院走廊上的阳光中感谢那位年轻的通讯兵帮忙时,好像要站不稳了。觉得两腿发软,如果连爱伦的医术都已经无能为力,因而不得不让杰拉尔德出来找大夫的话,卡琳的病就一定到了生命垂危的地步了!当通讯兵在一阵旋风刮起的尘土中离开时,思嘉用颤抖的手指把父亲的信撕开。请看南部联盟地区缺少纸张已达到何等程度,杰拉尔德的信居然写在思嘉上次给他的那封信的行间,因此好不容易才辩认出来!   “亲爱的女儿,你母亲和两个姑娘都得了伤寒。她们的病情很严重,不过我们总是怀着最大的希望在设法治疗。你母亲病倒时让我写信给你,叫你无论如何不要回家,免得你和小韦德也染上这个玻她问候你,并盼你为她祈祷。”“为她祈祷!”思嘉立即飞跑上来,跑到自己屋里,然后在床边双膝跪下,以前所未有的虔诚心情祈祷起来。她此刻念的不是正式的祈祷文,而是一遍又一遍地重复这同样几句话:“圣母呀,请别让我母亲死啊!只要你不让她死,我就一切从善了!求求你,别让她死了!"那以后整整一星期,思嘉像只被打得晕头转向的动物在屋里走来走去。她在等待什么消息,一听到外面的马蹄声就惊跳起来;晚上每逢士兵来叩门时,也要赶忙奔下黑暗的楼梯跑出去,可是并没有塔拉来的音信。她觉得,在她和家庭之间横亘着的已不是二十五英里的土路,而是一个辽阔的大陆了。   邮路仍不畅通,谁也不清楚南部联盟部队如今在哪里,或者北方佬打了什么地方。人们唯一知道的是,成千上万的士兵,穿灰制服和穿蓝制服的,聚集在亚特兰大和琼斯罗之间的某个地点。至于塔拉,已经是一星期无音信了。   对于伤寒病,她明白一星期时间对这种病症意味着什么。   思嘉在亚特兰大医院见得够多的了,爱伦病倒了----也许快要死了。可是思嘉却在亚特兰大,负责照顾一个孕妇,一筹莫展,因为她和家之间有两支大军阻隔着啊!是的,爱伦病倒了----也许快要死了。但是爱伦不可能生病呀!她从来没有病过。连这种想法也难以置信,它把思嘉生命安全的基础也震撼得动摇起来了!爱伦决不会生玻即使别人全都病了,爱伦经常照料病人,让他们都好起来。她是不可能病的。思嘉要回家去。她像一个人吓坏了、迫切渴望回到她唯一的庇护所去的孩子似的,迫不及待地渴望回到塔拉去。   家啊!那幢略嫌散漫不整的白房子,那些悬挂着白色窗帘的窗户,那蜜蜂嗡嗡飞走着的草地上的茂密的苜蓿,那个在前面台阶上驱赶鸭子和火鸡不让它们去糟蹋花坛的黑人男孩,那宁静的红色田野,以及那些延绵不绝、在阳光下白得耀眼的棉田啊!家啊!   如果在围城开始,别的人都在逃难时她就回家了,那该多好啊!那样,她就可以带着媚兰安全地过一段闲暇日子了。   “啊,该死的媚兰!"她心里不断地咒骂着。"她为什么就不能跟皮蒂姑妈一起到梅肯去呢?她应当待在那儿,同她的亲属在一起,而不要跟着我嘛。我又不是她的什么亲人。她干吗老缠着我不放!要是她当初到梅肯去了,我便早已到了母亲身边。即使现在----即使现在,如果不是因为她要生孩子,我也宁愿不顾北方佬的威胁冒险回家去。也许胡德将军会派人护送我呢。胡德将军是个好人,我想他一定会答应给我一名护兵和一张通行证,送我越过防线的。可是,我还得等那个婴儿出世呢!……啊,母亲,母亲,你可别死了!……这婴儿怎么老不出生呀?我今天要到米德大夫那里去,问问他有没有什么办法叫婴儿快些出世,好让我早日回家去----如果有人护送的话。米德大夫说媚兰很可能难产,我的老天啊!说不定她会死呢!媚兰死了,那么艾希礼----不,那样不好,我决不能这样想,可是艾希礼很可能已经不在了。不过他曾经让我答应过要照顾她的。可是----如果我没有照顾她,她死了,而艾希礼还活着呢----不,我决不能这样想。这是罪过。我答应过上帝,只要他保佑母亲不死,我就要一切从善呢。啊,要是那婴儿很快出生就好了。要是我能够离开这里----回到家中----到无论什么地方,只要不是这里就好了。"亚特兰大已不再是一个快乐的地方,一个她曾经爱过的极其快乐的地方。现在思嘉对这座不祥的陷于沉寂憎恨起来了,而以前她是爱过它的。自从围城的嘈杂喧哗声停止以后,它已变得那样寂静,那样可怕,像个鼠疫横行的城市似的。在前一个时期,人们还能从震耳的炮声和随时可能丧生的危险中找到刺激,可如今这一片阒寂里就只有恐怖了。整个城市弥漫着惶恐不安、惊疑莫定的气氛和令人伤心的回忆。人们脸上的表情普遍是痛苦的;思嘉认识的少数士兵也显得精疲力竭了,仿佛是些业已输掉的赛跑者还在勉强挣扎着,要跑完最后一圈似的。   八月的最后一天终于来到,它带来颇能令人相信的谣传,说亚特兰大战役开始以来最猛烈的一次战斗打响了。战斗在南边某个地方进行。亚特兰大市民焦急地等待着战况好转的消息,大家一声不响,连开玩笑的兴趣也没有了。现在人人都知道两周前士兵们得知的情况,那就是亚特兰大已退到最后一堑,而且,如果梅肯失守,亚特兰大也就完了。   九月一日早晨,思嘉怀着一种令人窒息的恐惧感醒来,这种恐惧是她头天夜里上床时就感到了的。她睡眼惺忪地想道:“昨天晚上睡觉时我为什么苦恼来着?唔,对了,是打仗。昨天有个地方在打呀!那么,谁赢了呢?"她急忙翻身坐起来,一面揉眼睛,又在心里琢磨起昨天忧虑的事来了。   尽管是清晨,空气也显得又压抑又热,预告会有一个晴空万里,赤日炎炎的中午。没有车辆驶过。没有军队在红色尘土中迈步行进。外面路上静悄悄的。隔壁厨房里没有黑人们懒洋洋的声音,没有准备早点时的愉快的动静,因为除了米德太太和梅里韦瑟太太两家,所有的邻居都逃到梅肯去了。   就是从这两户人家,她也听不见什么声响。街那头更远的商业区也一样安静,许多店铺和机关都关门上锁,并且钉了木板,里面的人则手持武器跑到乡下什么地方去了。   今天早晨呈现在面前的寂静,跟过去一星期通常在早晨遇到的那种静谧比起来,显得更加奇怪可怕似的。她没有像往常那样赖在床上翻来覆去,尽打吹欠,而是迅速爬起来,走到窗前,希望看见某位邻居的面孔,或者一点令人鼓舞的迹象。但是马路上空荡荡的。她只注意到树上的叶子仍是碧绿的,但明显地干了,蒙上了厚厚一层红尘,前院的花卉无人照管,也已经枯萎得不成样子。   她站在窗口向外眺望,忽然听见远处传来什么声响,隐约而阴沉,像暴风雨来到之前的雷声似的。   “快下雨了,"她即刻这样想,同时她那从小在乡下养成的习惯心理告诉她,”这的确很需要呢。"可是,随即又想,"真的要下雨吗?不是雨,是炮声!"她倚在窗棂上,心突突直跳,两只耳朵聚精会神地谛听着远处的轰鸣,想弄清它究竟来自哪个方向。但是那沉雷般的响声那么遥远,一时无法断定它的出处。"估计是从马里塔来的吧,主啊!"她暗自祈祷着。"或者是迪凯特,或者桃树沟。可不要从南边来呀!不要从南边来呀!"她紧紧地抓住窗棂,侧耳谛听着,远方的响声好像愈来愈大。而且它正是从南边来的。   南边的炮声啊!琼斯博罗和塔拉----还有爱伦,不就在南边吗?   现在,就在此刻,北方佬也许已经到塔拉了!她再一细听,可是她耳朵里那突突的脉搏声把远处的炮击声掩盖得几乎听不见了。不,他们不可能已到达琼斯博罗。如果真的到了那么远的地方,炮声就不会这样清晰,这样响。不过,他们从这里向琼斯博罗移动至少已经十英里,大概已靠近拉甫雷迪那个小小的居留地了。可是琼斯博罗在拉甫雷迪南边最多不过十英里呢。   炮声在南边响起来了,这可能就是北方佬给亚特兰大敲起的丧钟啊!不过,对于最担心母亲安全的思嘉来说,南边的战斗只不过是塔拉附近的战斗罢了。她不停地绞扭着两只手,她在房间里踱过来踱过去,第一次充分而明确地意识到南军可能被打败了。一想到谢尔曼的部队已成千上万地逼近塔拉,她就清楚地看出了战局的严峻和可怕。而这一点,无论是围城中击碎窗玻璃的枪声,还是缺吃缺穿的苦难,或者那一长列一长列躺着的垂死者,都不曾使她认识过。谢尔曼的部队离塔拉只有几英里了!这样,即使北方佬最终被打垮,他们也会沿着大路向塔拉退却,而杰拉尔德可能来不及带着三个生病的女人躲避他们。   啊,要是她现在跟他们在一起,也不管北方佬来不来,那才好呢!她光着脚,披着睡衣,在地板上走来走去,可是越走便越觉得很严重,预感到事情不妙。她必须回到母亲身边去,必须回家。   她听到了下面厨房里传来碗碟声,这是百里茜在准备早餐,可是没听见米德太太的女仆贝特茜的声音。百里茜用尖利而忧伤的腔调在唱:“再过几天啊……”,这歌声思嘉听起来很觉刺耳,那悲伤的含意更叫她害怕,她只好披上一条围巾,啪哒啪哒穿过厅堂,走到后面楼梯口高声喊道:“别唱了,百里茜!”“太太!知道了,"百里茜在楼下不高兴地答应了一声,思嘉听了不觉深深抽一口气,突然感到惭愧起来。   “贝特茜到哪里去了?”   “她还没来呢。俺不知道。”   思嘉走到媚兰门口,把门略略推开,朝阳光明丽的卧室里看了看。媚兰穿着睡衣躺在床上,闭着眼睛,眼睛周围现出一道黑圈,那张鸡心脸有些浮肿、本来苗条的身躯也变得有点畸形丑陋了。要是艾希礼现在看见了才好呢。思嘉恶意地设想,媚兰比她所见过的任何孕妇都更难看。她打量着,这时媚兰睁开眼睛亲切而温柔地对她笑了笑,脸色也顿时明朗起来。   “进来吧,"她艰难地翻过身来招呼。"太阳一出来我就醒了,我正在琢磨,思嘉,有件事情我要问你。"思嘉走进房来,在阳光耀眼的床上坐下。   媚兰伸出手来,轻轻地握住思嘉的手。   “亲爱的,"她说,"这炮声使我很不安。是琼斯博罗那个方向,是不是?"思嘉应了一声"嗯",同时脑子里又重新出现刚才那种想法,心跳也开始加快了。   “我知道你心里很着急。我知道,如果不是为了我,你上星期听到你母亲生病的消息就会回去的。难道不是吗?”“是的,"思嘉回答,态度不怎么温和。   “思嘉,亲爱的。你对我太好了,那么亲切,那么勇敢,连亲姐妹也不过如此。所以我非常爱你。我心里很不安觉得是我在拖累你。"思嘉瞪眼望着。爱她,是这样吗?傻瓜!   “思嘉,我躺在这里一直在想,打算向你提出一个十分重大的要求。"说着,她手把握得更紧了。"要是我死了,你愿意抚养我的孩子吗?”媚兰瞪着一双又大又亮的眼睛,急切而温婉地瞧着她。   思嘉听了有点手足无措,不由得把手抽出来,说话的声音也变得硬邦邦的了。   “唔,别傻气了。媚兰,你不会死的。每个女人生第一胎时都觉得自己会死。我曾经也是这样呢。”“不,你没有这样想过。你说这话只不过是要鼓起我的勇气罢了。你从来就是什么也不怕的。我并不怕死,怕的是要丢下婴儿,而艾希礼----思嘉,请答应我,如果我死了,你会抚养我的孩子。那样,我就不害怕了。皮蒂姑妈年纪太大,不能带孩子;霍妮和英迪亚很好,可是----我要你带我的婴儿。答应我吧,思嘉。如果是个男孩,就把他教养得像艾希礼,要是女孩----亲爱的,我倒宁愿她将来像你。”“你这是见鬼了!"思嘉从床沿上跳起来嚷道。"事情已经够糟的了,还用得着你来死呀活呀的胡扯!”“对不起,亲爱的。但是你得答应我。我看今天就会发生。   我相信就在今天。请答应我吧。”   “唔,好吧,我答应你,"思嘉说,一面惶惑地低头看着她。   难道媚兰到这步田地,真不知道她对艾希礼是有意的?或者她一切都清楚,而且正因为这样才觉得思嘉会好好照顾艾希礼的孩子?思嘉抑制不住想大声向媚兰问个明白,可是话到嘴边又没有说出来,因为这时媚兰拿过她的手紧紧握住,并放到自己脸上贴了一会儿。现在她的眼神又显得宁静了。   “媚兰,你怎么知道今天就会出事呀?”   “天一亮我就开始阵痛了----不过不怎么厉害。”“真的吗?可是,你干吗不早点告诉我。我会叫百里茜去请米德大夫嘛。”“不,暂时还不用去,思嘉。你知道他有多忙,他们大家都很忙呢。只要给他捎句话去,说今天什么时候我们需要他来一下,再叫人上米德太太家去一趟,请她过来陪陪我。她会知道什么时候该打发人去请大夫。”“唔,别这样尽替别人考虑了。我马上打发人去叫他,你很清楚,你跟医院里的任何病人一样,目前迫切需要一位大夫。”“不,请你不要去。有时候,生个孩子得花一整天工夫呢。   我就是不想让大夫坐在这里白等几个小时,而那些可怜的小伙子都十分需要他呢。只要打人你上米德太太家去一趟就行了。她会明白的。”“唔,好吧,"思嘉说。 Chapter 21 AFTER SENDING UP Melanie’s breakfast tray, Scarlett dispatched Prissy for Mrs. Meade andsat down with Wade to eat her own breakfast. But for once she had no appetite. Between hernervous apprehension over the thought that Melanie’s time was approaching and her unconsciousstraining to hear the sound of the cannon, she could hardly eat. Her heart acted very queerly,beating regularly for several minutes and then thumping so loudly and swiftly it almost made hersick at her stomach. The heavy hominy stuck in her throat like glue and never before had themixture of parched corn and ground-up yams that passed for coffee been so repulsive. Withoutsugar or cream it was bitter as gall, for the sorghum used for “long sweetening” did little toimprove the taste. After one swallow she pushed her cup away. If for no other reason she hated theYankees because they kept her from having real coffee with sugar and thick cream in it.   Wade was quieter than usual and did not set up his every morning complaint against the hominythat he so disliked. He ate silently the spoonfuls she pushed into his mouth and washed them downwith noisily gulped water. His soft brown eyes followed her every movement, large, round asdollars, childish bewilderment in them though her own scarce-hidden fears had been communic(a) atedto him.When he hadfinished sh(as) e sent him off to the back yard to play and watchedhim toddle across the straggling grass to his playhouse with great relief.   She arose and stood irresolutely at the foot of the stairs. She should go up and sit with Melanieand distract her mind from her coming ordeal but she did not feel equal to it. Of all days in theworld, Melanie had to pick this day to have the baby! And of all days to talk about dying!   She sat down on the bottom step of the stairs and tried to compose herself, wondering again howyesterday’s battle had gone, wondering how today’s fighting was going. How strange to have a bigbattle going on just a few miles away and to know nothing of it! How strange the quiet of thisdeserted end of town in contrast with the day of the fighting at Peachtree Creek! Aunt Pitty’s housewas one of the last on the north side of Atlanta and with the fighting somewhere to the far south,there were no reinforcements going by at double-quick, no ambulances and staggering lines ofwalking wounded coming back. She wondered if such scenes were being enacted on the south sideof town and thanked God she was not there. If only everyone except the Meades and the Merriwethers had not refugeed from this north end of Peachtree! It made her feel forsaken andalone. She wished fervently that Uncle Peter were with her so he could go down to headquartersand learn the news. If it wasn’t for Melanie she’d go to town this very minute and learn for herself,but she couldn’t leave until Mrs. Meade arrived. Mrs. Meade. Why didn’t she come on? And wherewas Prissy?   She rose and went out onto the front porch and looked for them impatiently, but the Meadehouse was around a shady bend in the street and she could see no one. After a long while Prissycame into view, alone, switching her skirts from side to side and looking over her shoulder toobserve the effect.   “You’re as slow as molasses in January,” snapped Scarlett as Prissy opened the gate. “What didMrs. Meade say? How soon will she be over here?”   “She warn’t dar,” said Prissy.   “Where is she? When will she be home?”   “Wel’m,” answered Prissy, dragging out her words pleasurably to give more weight to hermessage. “Dey Cookie say Miss Meade done got wud early dis mawnin’ dat young Mist’ Phil donebeen shot an’ Miss Meade she tuck de cah’ige an’ Ole Talbot an’ Betsy an’ dey done gone ter fotchhim home. Cookie say he bad hurt an’ Miss Meade ain’ gwine ter be studyin’ ‘bout comin’ uphyah.”   Scarlett stared at her and had an impulse to shake her. Negroes were always so proud of beingthe bearers of evil tidings.   “Well, don’t stand there like a ninny. Go down to Mrs. Merriwether’s and ask her to come up orsend her mammy. Now, hurry.”   “Dey ain’ dar, Miss Scarlett. Ah drapped in ter pass time of de day wid Mammy on mah wayhome. Dey’s done gone. House all locked up. Spec dey’s at de horsepittle.”   “So that’s where you were so long! Whenever I send you somewhere you go where I tell youand don’t stop to “pass any time’ with anybody. Go—”   She stopped and racked her brain. Who was left in town among their friends who would behelpful? There was Mrs. Elsing. Of course, Mrs. Elsing didn’t like her at all these days but she hadalways been fond of Melanie.   “Go to Mrs. Elsing’s, and explain everything very carefully and ten her to please come up here.   And, Prissy, listen to me. Miss Melly’s baby is due and she may need you any minute now. Nowyou hurry right straight back.”   “Yas’m,” said Prissy and, turning, sauntered down the walk at snail’s gait.   “Hurry, you slow poke!”   “Yas’m.”   Prissy quickened her gait infinitesimally and Scarlett went back into the house. She hesitatedagain before going upstairs to Melanie. She would have to explain to her just why Mrs. Meadecouldn’t come and the knowledge that Phil Meade was badly wounded might upset her. Well, she’d tell a lie about it.   She entered Melanie’s room and saw that the breakfast tray was untouched. Melanie lay on herside, her face white.   “Mrs. Meade’s over at the hospital,” said Scarlett “But Mrs. Rising is coming. Do you feelbad?”   “Not very,” lied Melanie. “Scarlett, how long did it take Wade to get born?”   “Less than no time,” answered Scarlett with a cheerfulness she was far from feeling. “I was outin the yard and I didn’t hardly have time to get into the house. Mammy said it was scandalous—just like one of the darkies.”   “I hope I’ll be like one of the darkies too,” said Melanie, mustering a smile which suddenlydisappeared as pain contorted her face.   Scarlett looked down at Melanie’s tiny hips with none too sanguine hopes but said reassuringly:   “Oh, it’s not really so bad.”   “Oh, I know it isn’t. I’m afraid I’m a little coward. Is—is Mrs. Elsing coming right away?”   “Yes, right away,” said Scarlett. “I’ll go down and get some fresh water and sponge you off. It’sso hot today.”   She took as long a time as possible in getting the water, running to the front door every twominutes to see if Prissy were coming. There was no sign of Prissy so she went back upstairs,sponged Melanie’s perspiring body and combed out her long dark hair.   When an hour had passed she heard scuffing negro feet coming down the street, and looking outof the window, saw Prissy returning slowly, switching herself as before and tossing her head withas many airy affectations as if she had a large and interested audience.   “Some day, I’m going to take a strap to that little wench,” thought Scarlett savagely, hurryingdown the stairs to meet her.   “Miss Elsing ober at de horsepittle. Dey Cookie ‘lows a whole lot of wounded sojers come in onde early train. Cookie fixin’ soup ter tek over dar. She say—”   “Never mind what she said,” interrupted Scarlett, her heart sinking. “Put on a clean apronbecause I want you to go over to the hospital. I’m going to give you a note to Dr. Meade, and if heisn’t there, give it to Dr. Jones or any of the other doctors. And if you don’t hurry back this time,I’ll skin you alive.”   “Yas’m.”   “And ask any of the gentlemen for news of the fighting. If they don’t know, go by the depot andask the engineers who brought the wounded in. Ask if they are fighting at Jonesboro or near there.”   “Gawdlmighty, Miss Scarlett!” and sudden fright was in Prissy’s black face. “De Yankees ain’ atTara, is dey?”   “I don’t know. I’m telling you to ask for news.”   “Gawdlmighty, Miss Scarlett! Whut’ll dey do ter Maw?”   Prissy began to bawl suddenly, loudly, the sound adding to Scarlett’s own uneasiness.   “Stop bawling! Miss Melanie will hear you. Now go change your apron, quick.”   Spurred to speed, Prissy hurried toward the back of the house while Scarlett scratched a hastynote on the margin of Gerald’s last letter to her—the only bit of paper in the house. As she foldedit, so that her note was uppermost, she caught Gerald’s words, “Your mother—typhoid—under nocondition—to come home—” She almost sobbed. If it wasn’t for Melanie, she’d start home, rightthis minute, if she had to walk every step of the way.   Prissy went off at a trot, the letter gripped in her hand, and Scarlett went back upstairs, trying tothink of some plausible lie to explain Mrs. Elsing’s failure to appear. But Melanie asked noquestions. She lay upon her back, her face tranquil and sweet, and the sight of her quieted Scarlettfor a while.   She sat down and tried to talk of inconsequential things, but the thoughts of Tara and a possibledefeat by the Yankees, prodded cruelly. She thought of Ellen dying and of the Yankees coming intoAtlanta, burning everything, killing everybody. Through it all, the dull far-off thundering persisted,rolling into her ears in waves of fear. Finally, she could not talk at all and only stared out of thewindow at the hot still street and the dusty leaves hanging motionless on the trees. Melanie wassilent too, but at intervals her quiet face was wrenched with pain.   She said, after each pain: “It wasn’t very bad, really,” and Scarlett knew she was lying. Shewould have preferred a loud scream to silent endurance. She knew she should feel sorry forMelanie, but somehow she could not muster a spark of sympathy. Her mind was too torn with herown anguish. Once she looked sharply at the pain-twisted face and wondered why it should be thatshe, of all people in the world, should be here with Melanie at this particular time—she who hadnothing in common with her, who hated her, who would gladly have seen her dead. Well, maybeshe’d have her wish, and before the day was over too. A cold superstitious fear swept her at thisthought. It was bad luck to wish that someone were dead, almost as bad luck as to curse someone.   Curses came home to roost, Mammy said. She hastily prayed that Melanie wouldn’t die and brokeinto feverish small talk, hardly aware of what she said. At last, Melanie put a hot hand on her wrist.   “Don’t bother about talking, dear. I know how worried you are. I’m so sorry I’m so muchtrouble.”   Scarlett relapsed into silence but she could not sit still. What would she do if neither the doctornor Prissy got there in time? She walked to the window and looked down the street and came backand sat down again. Then she rose and looked out of the window on the other side of the room.   An hour went by and then another. Noon came and the sun was high and hot and not a breath ofair stirred the dusty leaves. Melanie’s pains were harder now. Her long hair was drenched in sweatand her gown stuck in wet spots to her body. Scarlett sponged her face in silence but fear wasgnawing at her. God in Heaven, suppose the baby came before the doctor arrived! What would shedo? She knew less than nothing of midwifery. This was exactly the emergency she had beendreading for weeks. She had been counting on Prissy to handle the situation if no doctor should beavailable. Prissy knew all about midwifery. She’d said so time and again. But where was Prissy?   Why didn’t she come? Why didn’t the doctor come? She went to the window and looked again.   She listened hard and suddenly she wondered if it were only her imagination or if the sound ofcannon in the distance had died away. If it were farther away it would mean that the fighting wasnearer Jonesboro and that would mean—At last she saw Prissy coming down the street at a quick trot and she leaned out of the window.   Prissy, looking up, saw her and her mouth opened to yell. Seeing the panic written on the littleblack face and fearing she might alarm Melanie by crying out evil tidings, Scarlett hastily put herfinger to her lips and left the window.   “I’ll get some cooler water,” she said, looking down into Melanie’s dark, deep-circled eyes andtrying to smile. Then she hastily left the room, closing the door carefully behind her.   Prissy was sitting on the bottom step in the hall, panting.   “Dey’s fightin’ at Jonesboro, Miss Scarlett! Dey say our gempmums is gittin’ beat. Oh, Gawd,Miss Scarlett! Whut’ll happen ter Maw an’ Poke? Oh, Gawd, Miss Scarlett! Whut’ll happen ter useffen de Yankees gits hyah? Oh, Gawd—”   Scarlett clapped a hand over the blubbery mouth.   “For God’s sake, hush!”   Yes, what would happen to them if the Yankees came—what would happen to Tara? She pushedthe thought firmly back into her mind and grappled with the more pressing emergency. If shethought of these things, she’d begin to scream and bawl like Prissy.   “Where’s Dr. Meade? When’s he coming?”   “Ah ain’ nebber seed him, Miss Scarlett.”   “What!”   “No’m, he ain’ at de horsepittle. Miss Merriwether an’ Miss Elsing ain’ dar needer. A man hetole me de doctah down by de car shed wid the wounded sojers jes’ come in frum Jonesboro, butMiss Scarlett, Ah wuz sceered ter go down dar ter de shed—dey’s folkses dyin’ down dar. Ah’ssceered of daid folkses—”   “What about the other doctors?”   “Miss Scarlett, fo’ Gawd, Ah couldn’ sceercely git one of dem ter read yo’ note. Dey wukin’ inde horsepittle lak dey all done gone crazy. One doctah he say ter me, ‘Damn yo’ hide! Doan youcome roun’ hyah bodderin’ me ‘bout babies w’en we got a mess of men dyin’ hyah. Git somewoman ter he’p you.’ An’ den Ah went aroun’ an’ about an’ ask fer news lak you done tole me an’   dey all say ‘fightin’ at Jonesboro’ an’ Ah—”   “You say Dr. Meade’s at the depot?”   “Yas’m. He—”   “Now, listen sharp to me. I’m going to get Dr. Meade and I want you to sit by Miss Melanie anddo anything she says. And if you so much as breathe to her where the fighting is, I’ll sell you Southas sure as gun’s iron. And don’t you tell her that the other doctors wouldn’t come either. Do youhear?”   “Yas’m.”   “Wipe your eyes and get a fresh pitcher of water and go on up. Sponge her off. Tell her I’vegone for Dr. Meade.”   “Is her time nigh, Miss Scarlett?”   “I don’t know. I’m afraid it is but I don’t know. You should know. Go on up.”   Scarlett caught up her wide straw bonnet from the console table and jammed it on her head. Shelooked in the mirror and automatically pushed up loose strands of hair but she did not see her ownreflection. Cold little ripples of fear that started in the pit of her stomach were radiating outwarduntil the fingers that touched her cheeks were cold, though the rest of her body streamed perspiration.   She hurried out of the house and into the heat of the sun. It was blindingly, glaring hot and asshe hurried down Peachtree Street her temples began to throb from the heat. From far down thestreet she could hear the rise and fall and roar of many voices. By the time she caught sight of theLeyden house, she was beginning to pant, for her stays were tightly laced, but she did not slow hergait. The roar of noise grew louder.   From the Leyden house down to Five Points, the street seethed with activity, the activity of ananthill just destroyed. Negroes were running up and down the street, panic in their faces; and onporches, white children sat crying untended. The street was crowded with army wagons andambulances filled with wounded and carriages piled high with valises and pieces of furniture. Menon horseback dashed out of side streets pell-mell down Peachtree toward Hood’s headquarters. Infront of the Bonnell house, old Amos stood holding the head of the carriage horse and he greetedScarlett with rolling eyes.   “Ain’t you gone yit, Miss Scarlett? We is goin’ now. Ole Miss packin’ her bag.”   “Going? Where?”   “Gawd knows, Miss. Somewheres. De Yankees is comin’!”   She hurried on, not even saying good-by. The Yankees were coming! At Wesley Chapel, shepaused to catch her breath and wait for her hammering heart to subside. If she did not quiet herselfshe would certainly faint As she stood clutching a lamp post for support, she saw an officer onhorseback come charging up the street from Five Points and, on an impulse, she ran out into thestreet and waved at him.   “Oh, stop! Please, stop!”   He reined in so suddenly the horse went back on its haunches, pawing the air. There were harshlines of fatigue and urgency in his face but his tattered gray hat was off with a sweep.   “Madam?”   “Tell me, is it true? Are the Yankees coming?”   “I’m afraid so.”   “Do you know so?”   “Yes, Ma’m. I know so. A dispatch came in to headquarters half an hour ago from the fighting at Jonesboro.”   “At Jonesboro? Are you sure?”   “I’m sure. There’s no use telling pretty lies, Madam. The message was from General Hardee andit said: ‘I have lost the battle and am in full retreat.’ ”   “Oh, my God!”   The dark face of the tired man looked down without emotion. He gathered the reins again andput on his hat.   “Oh, sir, please, just a minute. What shall we do?”   “Madam, I can’t say. The army is evacuating Atlanta soon.”   “Going off and leaving us to the Yankees?”   “I’m afraid so.”   The spurred horse went off as though on springs and Scarlett was left standing in the middle ofthe street with the red dust thick upon her ankles.   The Yankees were coming. The army was leaving. The Yankees were coming. What should shedo? Where should she run? No, she couldn’t run. There was Melanie back there in the bedexpecting that baby. Oh, why did women have babies? If it wasn’t for Melanie she could takeWade and Prissy and hide in the woods where the Yankees could never find them. But she couldn’ttake Melanie to the woods. No, not now. Oh, if she’d only had the baby sooner, yesterday even,perhaps they could get an ambulance and take her away and hide her somewhere. But now—shemust find Dr. Meade and make him come home with her. Perhaps he could hurry the baby.   She gathered up her skirts and ran down the street, and the rhythm of her feet was “The Yankeesare coming! The Yankees are coming!” Five Points was crowded with people who rushed here andthere with unseeing eyes, jammed with wagons, ambulances, ox carts, carriages loaded withwounded. A roaring sound like the breaking of surf rose from the crowd.   Then a strangely incongruous sight struck her eyes. Throngs of women were coming up fromthe direction of the railroad tracks carrying hams across their shoulders. Little children hurried bytheir sides, staggering under buckets of steaming molasses. Young boys dragged sacks of corn andpotatoes. One old man struggled along with a small barrel of flour on a wheelbarrow. Men, womenand children, black and white, hurried, hurried with straining faces, lugging packages and sacksand boxes of food—more food than she had seen in a year. The crowd suddenly gave a lane for acareening carriage and through the lane came the frail and elegant Mrs. Elsing, standing up in thefront of her victoria, reins in one hand, whip in the other. She was hatless and white faced and herlong gray hair streamed down her back as she lashed the horse like a Fury. Jouncing on the backseat of the carriage was her black mammy, Melissy, clutching a greasy side of bacon to her withone hand, while with the other and both feet she attempted to hold the boxes and bags piled allabout her. One bag of dried peas had burst and the peas strewed themselves into the street Scarlettscreamed to her, but the tumult of the crowd drowned her voice and the carriage rocked madly by.   For a moment she could not understand what it all meant and then, remembering that thecommissary warehouses were down by the railroad tracks, she realized that the army had thrown them open to the people to salvage what they could before the Yankees came.   She pushed her way swiftly through the crowds, past the packed, hysterical mob surging in theopen space of Five Points, and hurried as fast as she could down the short block toward the depot.   Through the tangle of ambulances and the clouds of dust, she could see doctors and stretcherbearers bending, lifting, hurrying. Thank God, she’d find Dr. Meade soon. As she rounded thecorner of the Atlanta Hotel and came in full view of the depot and the tracks, she halted appalled.   Lying in the pitiless sun, shoulder to shoulder, head to feet, were hundreds of wounded men,lining the tracks, the sidewalks, stretched out in endless rows under the car shed. Some lay stiffand still but many writhed under the hot sun, moaning. Everywhere, swarms of flies hovered overthe men, crawling and buzzing in their faces, everywhere was blood, dirty bandages, groans,screamed curses of pain as stretcher bearers lifted men. The smell of sweat, of blood, of unwashedbodies, of excrement rose up in waves of blistering heat until the fetid stench almost nauseated her.   The ambulance men hurrying here and there among the prostrate forms frequently stepped onwounded men, so thickly packed were the rows, and those trodden upon stared stolidly up, waitingtheir turn.   She shrank back, clapping her hand to her mouth feeling that she was going to vomit. Shecouldn’t go on. She had seen wounded men in the hospitals, wounded men on Aunt Pitty’s lawnafter the fighting at the creek, but never anything like this. Never anything like these stinking,bleeding bodies broiling under the glaring sun. This was an inferno of pain and smell and noiseand hurry—hurry—hurry! The Yankees are coming! The Yankees are coming! She braced hershoulders and went down among them, straining her eyes among the upright figures to distinguishDr. Meade. But she discovered she could not look for him, for if she did not step carefully shewould tread on some poor soldier. She raised her skirts and tried to pick her way among themtoward a knot of men who were directing the stretcher bearers.   As she walked, feverish hands plucked at her skirt and voices croaked: “Lady—water! Please,lady, water! For Christ’s sake, water!”   Perspiration came down her face in streams as she pulled her skirts from clutching hands. If shestepped on one of these men, she’d scream and faint. She stepped over dead men, over men wholay dull eyed with hands clutched to bellies where dried blood had glued torn uniforms to wounds,over men whose beards were stiff with blood and from whose broken jaws came sounds whichmust mean:   “Water! Water!”   If she did not find Dr. Meade soon, she would begin screaming with hysteria. She looked towardthe group of men under the car shed and cried as loudly as she could: “Dr. Meade! Is Dr. Meadethere?”   From the group one man detached himself and looked toward her. It was the doctor. He wascoatless and his sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders. His shirt and trousers were as red as abutcher’s and even the end of his iron-gray beard was matted with blood. His face was the face of aman drunk with fatigue and impotent rage and burning pity. It was gray and dusty, and sweat hadstreaked long rivulets across his cheeks. But his voice was calm and decisive as he called to her.   “Thank God, you are here. I can use every pair of hands.”   For a moment she stared at him bewildered, dropping her skirts in dismay. They fell over thedirty face of a wounded man who feebly tried to turn his head to escape from their smotheringfolds. What did the doctor mean? The dust from the ambulances came into her face with chokingdryness, and the rotten smells were like a foul liquid in her nostrils.   “Hurry, child! Come here.”   She picked up her skirts and went to him as fast as she could go across the rows of bodies. Sheput her hand on his arm and felt that it was trembling with weariness but there was no weakness inhis face.   “Oh, Doctor!” she cried. “You must come. Melanie is having her baby.”   He looked at her as if her words did not register on his mind. A man who lay upon the ground ather feet, his head pillowed on his canteen, grinned up companionably at her words.   “They will do it,” he said cheerfully.   She did not even look down but shook the doctor’s arm.   “It’s Melanie. The baby. Doctor, you must come. She— the—” This was no time for delicacybut it was hard to bring out the words with the ears of hundreds of strange men listening.   “The pains are getting hard. Please, Doctor!”   “A baby? Great God!” thundered the doctor and his face was suddenly contorted with hate andrage, a rage not directed at her or at anyone except a world wherein such things could happen.   “Are you crazy? I can’t leave these men. They are dying, hundreds of them. I can’t leave them fora damned baby. Get some woman to help you. Get my wife.”   She opened her mouth to ten him why Mrs. Meade could not come and then shut it abruptly. Hedid not know his own son was wounded! She wondered if he would still be here if he did know,and something told her that even if Phil were dying he would still be standing on this spot, givingaid to the many instead of the one.   “No, you must come, Doctor. You know you said she’d have a hard time—” Was it really she,Scarlett, standing here saying these dreadful indelicate things at the top of her voice in this hell ofheat and groans? “She’ll die if you don’t come!”   He shook off her hand roughly and spoke as though he hardly heard her, hardly knew what shesaid.   “Die? Yes, they’ll all die—all these men. No bandages, no salves, no quinine, no chloroform.   Oh, God, for some morphia! Just a little morphia for the worst ones. Just a little chloroform. Goddamn the Yankees! God damn the Yankees!”   “Give um hell, Doctor!” said the man on the ground, his teeth showing in his beard.   Scarlett began to shake and her eyes burned with tears of fright. The doctor wasn’t coming withher. Melanie would die and she had wished that she would die. The doctor wasn’t coming.   “Name of God, Doctor! Please!”   Dr. Meade bit his lip and his jaw hardened as his face went cool again.   “Child, I’ll try. I can’t promise you. But I’ll try. When we get these men tended to. The Yankeesare coming and the troops are moving out of town. I don’t know what they’ll do with the wounded.   There aren’t any trains. The Macon line has been captured. ... But I’ll try. Run along now. Don’tbother me. There’s nothing much to bringing a baby. Just tie up the cord. …”   He turned as an orderly touched his arm and began firing directions and pointing to this and thatwounded man. The man at her feet looked up at Scarlett compassionately. She turned away, for thedoctor had forgotten her.   She picked her way rapidly through the wounded and back to Peachtree Street. The doctorwasn’t coming. She would have to see it through herself. Thank God, Prissy knew all aboutmidwifery. Her head ached from the heat and she could feel her basque, soaking wet fromperspiration, sticking to her. Her mind felt numb and so did her legs, numb as in a nightmare whenshe tried to run and could not move them. She thought of the long walk back to the house and itseemed interminable.   Then, “The Yankees are coming!” began to beat its refrain in her mind again. Her heart began topound and new life came into her limbs. She hurried into the crowd at Five Points, now so thickthere was no room on the narrow sidewalks and she was forced to walk in the street. Long lines ofsoldiers were passing, dust covered, sodden with weariness. There seemed thousands of them,bearded, dirty, their guns slung over their shoulders, swiftly passing at route step. Cannon rolledpast, the drivers flaying the thin mules with lengths of rawhide. Commissary wagons with torncanvas covers rocked through the ruts. Cavalry raising clouds of choking dust went past endlessly.   She had never seen so many soldiers together before. Retreat! Retreat! The army was moving out.   The hurrying lines pushed her back onto the packed sidewalk and she smelled the reek of cheapcorn whisky. There were women in the mob near Decatur Street, garishly dressed women whosebright finery and painted faces gave a discordant note of holiday. Most of them were drunk and thesoldiers on whose arms they hung were drunker. She caught a fleeting glimpse of a head of redcurls and saw that creature, Belle Watling, heard her shrill drunken laughter as she clung forsupport to a one-armed soldier who reeled and staggered.   When she had shoved and pushed her way through the mob for a block beyond Five Points thecrowd thinned a little and, gathering up her skirts, she began to run again. When she reachedWesley Chapel, she was breathless and dizzy and sick at her stomach. Her stays were cutting herribs in two. She sank down on the steps of the church and buried her head in her hands until shecould breathe more easily. If she could only get one deep breath, way down in her abdomen. If herheart would only stop bumping and drumming and cavorting. If there were only someone in thismad place to whom she could turn.   Why, she had never had to do a thing for herself in all her life. There had always been someoneto do things for her, to look after her, shelter and protect her and spoil her. It was incredible thatshe could be in such a fix. Not a friend, not a neighbor to help her. There had always been friends,neighbors, the competent hands of willing slaves. And now in this hour of greatest need, there wasno one. It was incredible that she could be so completely alone, and frightened, and far from home.   Home! If she were only home, Yankees or no Yankees. Home, even if Ellen was sick. Shelonged for the sight of Ellen’s sweet face, for Mammy’s strong arms around her.   She rose dizzily to her feet and started walking again. When she came in sight of the house, shesaw Wade swinging on the front gate. When he saw her, his face puckered and he began to cry,holding up a grubby bruised finger.   “Hurt!” he sobbed. “Hurt!”   “Hush! Hush! Hush! Or I’ll spank you. Go out in the back yard and make mud pies and don’tmove from there.”   “Wade hungwy,” he sobbed and put tin hurt finger in his mouth.   “I don’t care. Go in the back yard and—” She looked up and saw Prissy leaning out of theupstairs window, fright and worry written on her face; but in an instant they were wiped away inrelief as she saw her mistress. Scarlett beckoned to her to come down and went into the house.   How cool it was in the hall. She untied her bonnet and flung it on the table, drawing her forearmsacross her wet forehead. She heard the upstairs door open and a low wailing moan, wrenched fromthe depths of agony, came to her ears. Prissy came down the stairs three at a time.   “Is de doctah come?”   “No. He can’t come.”   “Gawd, Miss Scarlett! Miss Melly bad off!”   “The doctor can’t come. Nobody can come. You’ve got to bring the baby and I’ll help you.”   Prissy’s mouth fell open and her tongue wagged wordlessly. She looked at Scarlett sideways andscuffed her feet and twisted her thin body.   “Don’t look so simple minded!” cried Scarlett, infuriated at her silly expression. “What’s thematter?”   Prissy edged back up the stairs.   “Fo’ Gawd, Miss Scarlett—” Fright and shame were in her rolling eyes.   “Well?”   “Fo’ Gawd, Miss Scarlett! We’s got ter have a doctah. Ah—Ah—Miss Scarlett, Ah doan knownuthin’ ‘bout bringin’ babies. Maw wouldn’ nebber lemme be ‘round folkses whut wuz havin’   dem.”   All the breath went out of Scarlett’s lungs in one gasp of horror before rage swept her. Prissymade a lunge past her, bent on flight, but Scarlett grabbed her.   “You black liar—what do you mean? You’ve been saying you knew everything about birthingbabies. What is the truth? Tell me!” She shook her until the kinky head rocked drunkenly.   “Ah’s lyin’, Miss Scarlett! Ah doan know huccome Ah tell sech a lie. Ah jes’ see one babybirthed, an’ Maw she lak ter wo’ me out fer watchin’.”   Scarlett glared at her and Prissy shrank back, trying to pull loose. For a moment her mind refused to accept the truth, but when realization finally came to her that Prissy knew no more aboutmidwifery than she did, anger went over her like a flame. She had never struck a slave in all herlife, but now she slapped the black cheek with all the force in her tired arm. Prissy screamed at thetop of her voice, more from fright than pain, and began to dance up and down, writhing to breakScarlett’s grip.   As she screamed, the moaning from the second floor ceased and a moment later Melanie’svoice, weak and trembling, called: “Scarlett? Is it you? Please come! Please!”   Scarlett dropped Prissy’s arm and the wench sank whimpering to the steps. For a momentScarlett stood still, looking up, listening to the low moaning which had begun again. As she stoodthere, it seemed as though a yoke descended heavily upon her neck, felt as though a heavy loadwere harnessed to it, a load she would feel as soon as she took a step.   She tried to think of all the things Mammy and Ellen had done for her when Wade was born butthe merciful blurring of the childbirth pains obscured almost everything in mist. She did recall afew things and she spoke to Prissy rapidly, authority in her voice.   “Build a fire in the stove and keep hot water boiling in the kettle. And bring up all the towelsyou can find and that ball of twine. And get me the scissors. Don’t come telling me you can’t findthem. Get them and get them quick. Now hurry.”   She jerked Prissy to her feet and sent her kitchenwards with a shove. Then she squared hershoulders and started up the stairs. It was going to be difficult, telling Melanie that she and Prissywere to deliver her baby.   思嘉给媚兰端来早点之后,即刻打发百里茜去请米德太太,接着便和韦德一起坐下来吃早餐,但是,她似乎生气第一次没有什么食欲。她既要担心媚兰已濒临分娩,因此神经质地感到恐慌,又要常常不由自主浑身紧张地倾听远处的炮声,结果就什么也吃不下了。她的心脏也显得有点古怪,在有规律地搏动几分钟之后,总要急速地怦怦乱蹦一阵,蹦得胃都要翻出来似的。稠稠的玉米粥像胶粘在喉咙里咽不下去,连作为咖啡代用品的烤玉米粉和山芋粉的混合饮斜也从来没有像今天这样难吃过。既没有糖,又没有奶酪,这种饮料苦得像胆汁,尽管放了所谓"长效糖剂"的高粱饴糖也还是苦。   她硬着头咽了一口,便把杯子推开了。即使没有其他原因,单凭她吃不到放糖和奶酪真正咖啡,她就恨死了北方佬。   韦德倒是比平时安静了些,也不像每天早晨那样叫嚷不要吃他所厌恶的玉米粥了。她一勺勺地送到他嘴边,他也乖乖地吃着,和着开水一声不响地大口大口咽下去。他那温柔的褐色的眼睛瞪得像银币一样,追踪着她的一举一动,眼睛里流露出童稚和惶惑,仿佛思嘉内心的恐惧也传给他了。他吃完以后,思嘉把他支到后院去玩,望着他蹒跚地横过凌乱的草地向他的游戏室走去。心里轻松多了,这才如释重负。   她起身来到楼梯脚下,犹豫不定地站在那里。她理应上楼去陪伴媚兰,设法缓和她的紧张情绪,让她不要害怕面临的这场考验,可是她觉得自己没有这个本领。媚兰为什么不迟不早偏偏要在这个时候生孩子呢!而且偏偏要在这个时候谈起死呀活呀这样的话来!   她在最底下的一步楼梯上坐下来,试着让自己镇静一些,可是随即又想起的战事,不知结果如何,今天又打得怎样了。   一场大战就在几英里之外进行,可是你一点也不知道,这显得多么奇怪啊!这个被遗孀的城郊今天竟如此寂静,这跟桃树沟大战的日子对比起来,显得多么奇怪!皮蒂姑妈的住宅是亚特兰大北部最末的一幢房子,而目前的战斗是在南边远处某个地方进行,因此这里既没有加速前进的支援部队经过,也没有救护车和松松垮垮的伤兵队伍从前线回来。她很想知道城市南端的情况会不会也是这样,并且庆幸自己没有住在那里。要是除米德家和梅里韦瑟家以外的所有人家并没有从桃树街北端逃难出去,那多好啊!他们一走,她就觉得寂寞孤单了。她真希望彼得大叔还留在身边,那样他便可以到司令部去打探消息。要不是为了媚兰,她这时也可以亲自去打听,现在她只好等米德太太来了以后再出去了。米德太太,她为什么还没来呢?百里茜哪儿去了呢?   她站起来往外走,到前面走廊,焦急地盼望她们,可米德家的住宅在街上一个隐蔽的拐弯处,她什么也没有瞧见。过了好一会,百里茜才来了,她独个儿慢悠悠地走着,好像准备走一整天似的,还故意将裙子左右摇摆,并不时回过头去看看后面有没有人注意。   “你可是冬天的糖浆,好,糊啊!"百里茜一进大门,思嘉便厉声批评她。”她能不能马上就过来?米德太太怎么说的?”“她不在,"百里茜说。   “她上哪儿去了?什么时候能回来?”   “唔,太太,"百里茜回答,故意拖长声音强调她这消息的重要,"他们家的厨娘说,米德太太今天清早得到消息说,小费尔先生给打伤了,米德太太就坐上马车,带着老塔博特和贝特茜一起去了,他们要把他接回来。厨娘说他伤得重,米德太太大概不打算到咱们这边来了。"思嘉瞪眼看着她,真想搡她几下。这些黑人总是很得意自己能带回这种坏消息。   “好了,别站在这里发呆了。赶快到梅里韦瑟太太家去一趟,请她过来,快去。”“她们也不在,思嘉小姐。刚才俺回家碰到她家的嬷嬷,还在一起聊来着。她们也出去了。俺猜她们是在医院里。门都锁了。”“所以你才去了那么久呀!每回我打发你出去,叫你到哪里就到哪里,不许中途跟人'聊',知道了吗?现在,你到----"思嘉停下来苦苦思索。她的朋友中还有谁留在这里能够帮忙呢?有埃尔辛太太。当然,埃尔辛太太近来一直不喜欢她,可是对媚兰始终很好。   “到埃尔辛太太家去,向她把事情仔细说清楚,请她到这里来一下。还有,百里茜,听我说,媚兰小姐的孩子快生了,她随时都可能要你帮忙。好,你快去快回。”“是的,太太,"百里茜说着就转身慢腾腾地像蜗牛似地朝车道上走去。   “你这懒骨头快一点!”   “是的,太太。”   百里茜这才稍稍加快了脚步,思嘉也回到屋里来。她又迟疑着没有立即上楼去看媚兰。她得向媚兰解释清楚,为什么米德太太不能来,可是费尔受重伤的事她听了会难过的。好吧,这一点就瞒过她算了。   她走进媚兰房里,发现那盘早点还没动过。媚兰侧身躺在床上,脸色像白纸一样。   “米德太太上医院去了,"思嘉说。"不过埃尔辛太太马上就来。你痛得厉害吗?”“不怎么厉害。"媚兰撒谎说。"思嘉,你生韦德时花了多久的时间?”“不到一会儿工夫,"思嘉不自觉地用愉快的口气回答。   “当时我正在外面院子里,几乎来不及进屋。嬷嬷说那样很不体面----简直就像个黑人。”“我倒是巴不得也像个黑人呢,"媚兰说,一面勉强装出一丝微笑,可是这笑容随即消失,一阵剧痛把她的脸歪得不成样子了。   思嘉怀着没有一丝乐观的心情低头看看媚兰那窄小的臀部,但还是用安慰的口气说:“唔,看来也并不怎么样嘛。”“唔,不怎么样我知道。我只怕自己有点胆校是不是----埃尔辛太太马上就会来吧?”“是的,马上,"思嘉说,"我下楼去打盆清水来,用海绵给你擦擦。今天好热埃"她借口打水在楼下尽可能多待些时候,每隔两分钟就跑到前门去看看百里茜是不是回来了。可是百里茜连影子也没有,于是她只好回到楼上,用海绵给媚兰擦洗汗淋淋的身子,然后又替她梳理好那一头长长的黑发。   一小时后,她听见有个黑人拖沓脚步声从街上传过来了,便急忙向窗外望去,只见百里茜仍像刚才那样扭着腰,晃着脑袋慢慢腾腾地走回家来,仿佛周围有一大群热心的围观者似的。她一路上装模作样。   “总有一天我要给你这小娼妇拴上一根皮带。"思嘉在心里恶狠狠地说,一面急急忙忙跑下楼去接她。   “埃尔辛太太到医院去了。他们家的厨娘说,今天早上火车运来了大批伤兵。厨娘正在做汤给那边送去呢。她说----”“别管她说什么了,"思嘉插嘴说,她的心正往下沉。"快去系上一条干净的围裙,我要你上医院去一趟。我写个字条,你给米德大夫送去。如果他不在那里,就交给琼斯大夫,或者别的无论哪位大夫。你这次要不赶快回来,我就要活活剥你的皮。”“是的,太太。”“顺便向那里的先生们打听一下战争的消息。要是他们不知道,就走到车站去问问那些运伤兵来的火车司机。问问他们,是不是在琼斯博罗或者靠近那里的地方打仗?”“我的老天爷!"百里茜黝黑的脸上突然一片惊慌。"思嘉小姐,北方佬还没到塔拉吧,是吗?”“我不知道。我是叫你去打听呀。”“我的老天爷!思嘉小姐他们会怎样对待俺妈呢?"百里茜突然大声嚎叫起来,那声音使思嘉越发不安了。   “媚兰小姐会听见的,你别嚎了。现在快去换下你的围裙,快去。"百里茜被迫加快了速度,她急忙跑到后屋去,于是思嘉在杰拉尔德上次来信----这是家里唯一的一张纸了----的边沿上匆匆写了几句话。她把信纸叠起来,把她的短简叠在顶上边,这时她偶尔瞧见杰拉尔德写的几个字:“你母亲----伤寒病----无论如何----回家----"她差点哭了。要不是为了媚兰,她会即刻动身回去的,哪怕只能一路上步行到家也行!   百里茜一手象着那封信,快步走出门去,思嘉也回到楼上,一面思忖着怎样能骗过媚兰,说明埃尔辛太太为什么没来。不过媚兰并没有问起这件事。她仰身躺着,面容平静而温柔,这情景使思嘉也暂时安心了。   她坐下来,试着说些无关紧要的事情,但是心里对塔拉的悬念,以及对于北方佬可能得逞的忧虑,仍在无情地折磨着她。她心想爱伦已奄奄一息,而北方佬即将闯入亚特兰大,逢人便杀,见东西便烧。就在这样胡思乱想时,远处隐约的隆隆炮声仍不断地轰着她耳鼓,激起一阵阵恐惧的气氛。最后,她实在谈不下去了,只好凝望着窗外炎热寂静的街道和静静地挂在枝头的积满灰尘的树叶。媚兰默默无言,可是她那张平静的脸在一阵阵扭曲,这说明她的阵痛更加频繁了。   她每次阵痛过后总是说:“不怎么样的,真的,"可思嘉知道这是撒谎。她宁愿听到一声尖叫而看不惯这样默默地忍受。她知道自己应当为媚兰感到难过,但是无论如何也挤不出来一丝温暖的同情来。她的心被她自己的痛楚折磨得太惨了。有一回,她狠狠地盯着那张痛得扭曲的脸,心想为什么在这个世界上千千万万人中,偏偏是她要在这个时候守在这里陪着媚兰,而她跟这个人毫无共同之处,她恨这个人,甚至还巴不得她快点死呢。好吧,也许她这愿望会实现,今天就会实现了。想到这里,她不觉打了个不祥的冷战。据说希望某个人快死,就像诅咒人一样,是不会有好结果的。如嬷嬷说的,诅咒别人的人必定自作自受。于是她赶快祈祷,求上帝保佑媚兰不死,并且又热切地胡扯起来,连自己也不知在说些什么。末了,媚兰伸出一只滚烫的手放在她的手腕上。   “我明白你心里多么着急。别费苦心来找话说了,亲爱的。   我很抱歉给你添了这许多麻烦。”   思嘉这才沉默下来,可是没法静静地坐着。如果大夫和百里茜谁都不能按时赶到,那她怎么办呢?她走到窗口,看看下面的大街,然后又回来坐下。接着又站起身来,向屋里另一边的窗外看去。   一小时又一小时过去。到了中午太阳当头时就越发炎热起来,静静的树叶中不见一丝风影。这时媚兰的阵痛更厉害了。思嘉悄悄用海绵给她揩脸,但心里十分害怕。老天爷,看来在大夫到达之前孩子就要降生了!这叫她怎么办呢?对于接生的事她可一窃不通。这正是几星期以来她一直在担心的紧急关头啊!她一直在指望着百里茜来应付这个场面,如果到时找不到大夫的话。百里茜在接生方面是个行家呢。她说过不只一次了。可如今百里茜在哪里呢?她怎的还没回来呀?   怎么大夫也没来呀?她又一次跑到窗口去看。她仔细一听,突然觉得好像远处的大炮声停息了,或者,这只不过是她的想象?如果炮声已经更远,那就意味着战争已更加靠近琼斯博罗,意味着----终于她看见百里茜沿大街匆匆走过来,于是把半个身子探出窗外。这时百里茜也抬头看见了她,她正要张嘴叫她。思嘉看见那张小黑脸上一片惊慌,生怕她喊出可怕的消息来吓坏了媚兰,便赶快将手指放在嘴唇上示意她不要作声,然后离开窗口。   “我想去打点凉一些的水来,"她俯视着媚兰那双深陷的黑眼睛,勉强微笑着说。接着她急忙出来,小心地把门关上。   百里茜气喘吁吁地坐在过厅的楼梯脚下。   “他们在琼斯博罗打起来了,思嘉小姐!他们说咱们的军队快打败了。啊,上帝,思嘉小姐!要是北方佬到这儿来了,咱们会怎么样呢?啊,上帝----"思嘉一手把那张哭嚷的嘴捂住了。   “你别嚷了,看在上帝面上!”   是呀,如果北方佬来了,他们会怎么样呢----塔拉会怎么样呢?她极力把这个念头推到脑后,尽可能抓住当前这个更为迫切的问题。要是她还一心去想那些事情,她就会像百里茜那样嚎叫起来了。   “米德大夫呢,他什么时候来?”   “俺压根儿没看见他,思嘉小姐。”   “什么?”   “他不在医院。梅里韦瑟太太和埃尔辛太太也不在。有个人跟俺说,大夫在车棚子里,跟那些刚刚从琼斯博罗来的伤兵在一起,思嘉小姐,可是,俺不敢到那车棚子里去----那里尽是些快死的人,俺可怕见死人----”“别的大夫怎么样呢?”“天知道,思嘉小姐,俺几乎找不到一个人来看你的字条。   像发了疯似的,他们全都在医院里忙着,有个大夫对俺说,'滚开,别到这里来打扰我们,谈什么孩子的事,这里有许多人快死啦。去请个女人给你帮忙吧。'后来俺就到处打听消息,照你的吩咐,他们说是在琼斯博罗打仗,俺就----”“你说米德大夫在火车站?”“是的,太太。他----”“好,仔细听着。我要去找米德大夫,要你坐在媚兰小姐身边,她叫你干什么就干什么。你要是向她透露了哪怕一点点关于在什么地方打仗消息,我就要毫无不含糊地把你卖到南部去。你也不要告诉她别的大夫都不能来。听清楚了没有?”“是的,太太。”“赶快打桶清水送上楼去。擦干你的眼睛,用海绵给她擦擦身。告诉她我去找米德大夫去了。”“她是不是快了呢,思嘉小姐?”“我不知道。我怕就是快了,不过我说不准。你应当知道的。快上去吧。"思嘉从搁板上一把抓起她的宽边草帽随手扣在头上。她对着镜子机械地理了理几绺松散的头发,但好像并没有看见自己的影像。她心中那微微起伏和发冷的惊恐情绪在向外渗出,直至她抚摩面颊时也猛然发觉自己的手指凉了,尽管这时她身体的其余部分还在冒汗。她匆匆走出家门,来到炎热的阳光下。这是个热得令人眼花的炎炎的酷暑天,她在桃树街上走了不远就觉得太阳穴在轰轰地跳了。她听得见远处街头有许多声音在大叫大喊,时高时低。等到她看见莱顿家的房子,因为她的胸衣箍得太紧了,就已经开始气喘,不过她并没有放慢脚步。这时前面那片喊叫声也愈来愈响了。   从莱顿家的房子到五点镇那段大街上全是一片纷纷攘攘,像个崩塌了蚁丘似的。黑人们惊惶失措地在街上跑来跑去,无人照管的白人孩子坐在走廊上嚎叫。街上拥护着满载伤兵的军车和救护车,以及堆满行李和家具的马车。骑马的男人们乱糟糟地从两旁小巷里奔上桃树街,向胡德将军的司令部驰去。邦内尔家房前,年老的阿莫斯拉着一匹驾辕的马站在那里,他瞪着一双骨碌碌的眼睛招呼思嘉。   “思嘉小姐?你还没走呀,我们要动身了。老姑娘在里面收拾行李呢。”“走,上哪儿?”“天知道呢,小姐。总该有个地方吧。北方佬马上就要来了!"她急往前走,连一声再会也来不及说。北方佬就要到了!   她在韦德利教堂门前停下来喘口气,让心跳稍稍缓和一些。如果再不平静一点,就一定要晕倒了。她抓住一根灯柱,倚着它站在那里,这时她瞧见一位骑马的军官从五点镇飞跑而来,于是灵机一动,赶快跑到街心向他挥手。   “啊,站住!请站住!”   那位军官突然勒住马头,因用力过猛,那骑马竖起前腿往后退了好几步。从表情来看,军官已十分疲劳可又有极为紧迫的任务在身,不过他还是迅速地摘下了那顶破旧的军帽。   “太太!”   “是不是北方佬真的就要来了?告诉我,”“我想是这样。”“你真的知道吗?”“是的,太太,我知道。半小时以前指挥部收到了快报,是从琼斯博罗前线来的。”“琼斯博罗?你确信是这样?”“说谎也没有用,我确信是这样。太太。消息是哈迪将军发来的,他说:‘我已失败,正在全线退却。'”“啊,我的上帝!"那位军官的疲乏而黝黑的脸平静地俯视着。他重新抓起缰绳,戴上帽子。   “唔,先生,请稍等一会。我们怎么办呢?”“我不好说,太太。军队马上就要撤离亚特兰大了。”“撤走了,把我们留给北方佬吗?”“恐怕就是这样。"那骑马经主人一刺就像弹簧般向前蹦去了,剩下思嘉站在街心,双脚埋在红红的尘土里一动不动。   北方佬就要来了。军队正在撤离。北方佬就要来了。她怎么办呢?她往哪里跑呢?不,她不能跑。背后还有媚兰躺在床上等着生孩子呀!唔,女人为什么要孩子?要不是为了媚兰,她还可以带着韦德和百里茜到树林里去,那里北方佬是怎么也找不到他们的。但是她不能带着媚兰去埃不,现在不行。唔,要是她早一点,哪怕昨天就把孩子生了,那他们或许可以弄到一辆救护车把她带走,把她藏在什么地方。可现在----她只能找到米德大夫,叫他跟着她回家去。也许他能让孩子早些生下来。   她提起裙子沿大街直往前跑。她一路念叨着,"北方佬来了!北方佬来了!”仿佛在给脚步打节拍似的。五点镇挤满了人,他们盲目地到处乱跑,同时满载伤兵的军车、救护车、牛车、马车也挤在一起。人群中一片震天的喧嚷像怒涛般滚滚而来。   接着,她看见一场极不协调的奇怪情景。大群大群的妇女身旁急匆匆地跑着。年轻小伙子们拖着一包包的玉米和马铃薯。一个老头用手推车推着一袋面粉在一路挣扎着前进。男人、女人和小孩,黑人和白人,无不神情紧张地匆匆跑着,跑着,拖着一包包、一袋装、一箱箱的食物----这么多的食物她已经整整一年没见过了。这时,人群突然给一辆歪歪倒倒的马车让出一条通道,文弱而高雅的埃尔辛太太过来了,她站在她那辆四轮马车的车前,一手握着缰绳,一手举着鞭子。   她头上没戴帽子,脸色苍白,一头灰色长发垂在背上,像是复仇女神般抽打着马一路奔跑。她家的黑人嬷嬷梅利茜坐在后座上一蹦一跳的,一只手里紧紧抓着一块肥腊肉,另一只手和双脚用力挡住堆在周围的那些箱子和口袋不让倒下来。有个干豆口袋裂开了,豆子撒到街上。思嘉向埃尔辛太太尖声喊叫着,可是周围一片嘈杂把她的声音给淹没了,马车摇摇晃晃地驶了过去。   不知这究竟是怎么回事。她一时摸不着头脑,后来,记起了供销部的仓库就在前边的铁路旁,她才明白原来是军队把仓库打开了,让人们在北方佬来到之前尽可能去抢救一些粮食。   她从人群中挤出去,走过五点镇空地上那些狂热汹涌的人群,又尽快跑过一条短街,向车站赶去。她穿过那些挤在一起的救护车和一团团的尘雾,看见大夫们和担架工人在忙着搬运伤兵。感谢上帝,她很快找到了米德大夫。她走过亚特兰大饭店,已经看得见整个车站和前面的铁路,她这时猛地站住,完全给吓坏了。   成百上千的伤员,肩并肩,头接脚,一排排一行行地躺着酷热的太阳下,沿着铁路和人行道,大车篷底下,连绵不绝地一直延伸开去。有的静静地僵直地躺着,也有许多蜷伏在太阳下呻吟。到处是成群的苍蝇在他们头上飞舞,在他们脸上爬来爬去,嗡嗡地叫。到处是血、肮脏的绷带、哀叹和担架工搬动时因痛苦而发出的尖声咒骂。   血腥,汗渍,没有洗过的身体和粪便的臭味在一阵阵人的热雾中升起,思嘉忍不住要作呕了。救护车的医院人员在躺着的伤员中间急急忙忙地跑来跑去,常常踩在排列得太紧密的伤员身上,那些被踩着的人也只得迟钝地翻着眼睛望望,等着有人来搬运他们。   思嘉觉得快要呕出来了。用手捂住嘴向后退了两步,她实在不敢再往前走。她曾在医院里接触过许多伤兵,桃树沟战役又在皮蒂姑妈家的草地上看见过一些,可是还没见过这样的情景。像这些在毒热的太阳下烤着的浑身血污和恶臭的身体,她从来没有见过。这是一个充满了痛苦、臭味、喧嚣和忙乱的地狱—-忙乱,多么忙乱啊!北方佬眼看就要到了!   北方佬就要到了啊!   她耸耸肩膀振作起来,向这忙乱而凄惨的场面中走去,同时睁大眼睛从那些走动的人中辩认米德大夫。但是她发现没法寻找他,因为一不小心就会踩在一个可怜的伤兵身上。她只得提起裙子,在这些人中间一步步挪动,向一群正在指挥担架工的人走去。   她一面走,一面有一只又一只滚烫的手拉着她的裙裾,一个个嘶破的声音在叫喊:“太太----水!求求你给点水!看在上帝面上,给点水啊!"她要用力把裙子从那一只只手里拽出来,已经弄得汗流满面了。如果踩着了地上的某个人,她就会吓得尖叫一声,甚至要晕倒的。她抬着前脚来跨过死尸,跨过那些眼睛已经失掉光泽但双手仍抓着肚子上同伤口粘在一起的军服的人,那些蘸着鲜血的胡子已经干硬但击碎了下巴仍在颤动着的人----他们似乎在叫喊:“水啊!水啊!"她要是不能尽快找到米德大夫,就会疯狂地嚷起来了。她向车篷底下那群人望去,竭尽全力大声喊道:“米德大夫!米德大夫在那里吗?”那群人里走出来了一个人,朝她望着。那是大夫,他身上没穿外衣,袖子高高卷起。他的衬衫和裤子都像屠宰衣似的红透了,甚至那铁灰色的胡子尖儿也沾满了血。从他脸上的表情看,他是深深沉溺在既浑身疲乏又满腔愤怒和热烈同情的感受中了。那张脸是灰糊糊的,满是尘土,汗水在两颊上划着一条条长沟。然而他呼唤她时,那声音是镇静而坚决的。   “你来了,感谢上帝。我正需要人手呢。"她一时惶惑地凝视着他,连忙把手里提着的裙子放了下来。这裙子浇在一个伤兵的脏脸上,他虚弱地转着头,想躲避裙的拂扰。大夫这话是什么意思呢?救护车扬起的干燥而闷人灰尘向她迎面起来,同时那腐烂气味也像两股臭水似的冲着她的鼻孔直灌。   “赶快,孩子,到这儿来。”   她提起裙子跨过那一排排伤亡人员,尽快向他走去。她握住他的胳臂,发觉它在疲乏地颤抖,可他脸上没有一点虚弱的神色。   “啊,大夫,"她喊道,"你一定得去呀,媚兰要生孩子了。"她的话他似乎并没有听进去。他望着她,这时有个枕着水壶躺在她脚边的人列开嘴对她友好地笑了笑。   “他们会对付过去的,"他高兴地说。   她对脚边的人连看也没看一眼,只一个劲儿地摇着大夫的胳臂。   “是媚兰呀,要生孩子了。大夫,你一定得去。她那----"这不是讲究文雅的时候,可是要在这成百上千的陌生人面前说那种话还是不好开口埃"求求你了,大夫!阵痛愈来愈紧了。”“生孩子,我的天!"这像一个轰雷似的震醒了大夫,他的脸色突然因为恼恨而变得难看了。这怒火不是对思嘉来的,也不是对任何其他人,而是对居然会发生这种事的世界。“你疯了吗?我不能丢下这些人呀。他们都快死了,成百上千的。   我可不能为他妈的一个孩子而丢下他们。找个女人给你帮忙吧。找我的太太去。"她张开嘴,想告诉他米德太太不能来的原故,可突然又闭口不言了。他还不知道自己的儿子受伤了呢!她还明白如果他知道了会不会仍留在这里,可是从某些迹象看,即使费尔快死了,他也会坚持在这个岗位上救助这许多伤员,而不会只顾那一个人的。   “不,你一定得去,大夫。你知道你自己也说过,她可能难产----"啊,难道这真是思嘉自己站在这个火热的充满呻吟的鬼地方,扯着嗓子说这些粗俗得可怕的话吗?”要是你不去,她就会死啦!"仿佛没听见她的话或不知她说了些什么似的,他粗暴地甩脱了她的手,自顾自说着。   “死?是的,他们都会死----所有这些人。没有绷带,没有药膏,没有奎宁,没有麻醉剂。啊,上帝,弄点吗啡来吧!   就一点点,给那些最重的伤号也好。就要一点点麻醉剂呀。该死的北方佬!天杀的北方佬!”“让他们下地狱吧,大夫!"躺在地上的一个人咬牙切齿说。   思嘉开始发抖了,眼睛里闪着恐惧的泪花。看来大夫 Chapter 22 THERE WOULD NEVER AGAIN BE an afternoon as long as this one. Or as hot. Or as full oflazy insolent flies. They swarmed on Melanie despite the fan Scarlett kept in constant motion. Herarms ached from swinging the wide palmetto leaf. All her efforts seemed futile, for while shebrushed them from Melanie’s moist face, they crawled on her clammy feet and legs and made herjerk them weakly and cry: “Please! On my feet!”   The room was in semigloom, for Scarlett had pulled down the shades to shut out the heat andbrightness. Pin points of sunlight came in through minute holes in the shades and about the edges.   The room was an oven and Scarlett’s sweat-drenched clothes never dried but became wetter andstickier as the hours went by. Prissy was crouched in a corner, sweating too, and smelled so abominablyScarlett would have sent her from the room had she not feared the girl would take to herheels if once out of sight Melanie lay on the bed on a sheet dark with perspiration and splotchedwith dampness where Scarlett had spilled water. She twisted endlessly, to one side, to the other, toleft, to right and back again.   Sometimes she tried to sit up and fell back and began twisting again. At first, she had tried tokeep from crying out, biting her lips until they were raw, and Scarlett, whose nerves were as raw asthe lips, said huskily: “Melly, for God’s sake, don’t try to be brave. Yell if you want to. There’snobody to hear you but us.”   As the afternoon wore on, Melanie moaned whether she wanted to be brave or not, andsometimes she screamed. When she did, Scarlett dropped her head into her hands and covered herears and twisted her body and wished that she herself were dead. Anything was preferable to beinga helpless witness to such pain. Anything was better than being tied here waiting for a baby thattook such a long time coming. Waiting, when for all she knew the Yankees were actually at FivePoints.   She fervently wished she had paid more attention to the whispered conversations of matrons onthe subject of childbirth. If only she had! If only she had been more interested in such mattersshe’d know whether Melanie was taking a long time or not. She had a vague memory of one ofAunt Pitty’s stories of a friend who was in labor for two days and died without ever having thebaby. Suppose Melanie should go on like this for two days! But Melanie was so delicate. Shecouldn’t stand two days of this pain. She’d die soon if the baby didn’t hurry. And how could sheever face Ashley, if he were still alive, and tell him that Melanie had died—after she had promisedto take care of her?   At first, Melanie wanted to hold Scarlett’s hand when the pain was bad but she clamped downon it so hard she nearly broke the bones. After an hour of this, Scarlett’s hands were so swollen andbruised she could hardly flex them. She knotted two long towels together and tied them to the footof the bed and put the knotted end in Melanie’s hands. Melanie hung onto it as though it were a lifeline, straining, pulling it taut, slackening it, tearing it. Throughout the afternoon, her voice went onlike an animal dying in a trap. Occasionally she dropped the towel and rubbed her hands feeblyand looked up at Scarlett with eyes enormous with pain.   “Talk to me. Please talk to me,” she whispered and Scarlett would gabble something untilMelanie again gripped the knot and again began writhing.   The dim room swam with heat and pain and droning flies, and time went by on such draggingfeet Scarlett could scarcely remember the morning. She felt as if she had been in this steaming,dark, sweating place all her life. She wanted very much to scream every time Melanie did, andonly by biting her lips so hard it infuriated her could she restrain herself and drive off hysteria.   Once Wade came tiptoeing up the stairs and stood outside the door, wailing.   “Wade hungwy!” Scarlett started to go to him, but Melanie whispered: “Don’t leave me. Please.   I can stand it when you’re here.”   So Scarlett sent Prissy down to warm up the breakfast hominy and feed him. For herself, she feltthat she could never eat again after this afternoon.   The clock on the mantel had stopped and she had no way of telling the time but as the heat in theroom lessened and the bright pin points of light grew duller, she pulled the shade aside. She saw toher surprise that it was late afternoon and the sun, a ball of crimson, was far down the sky.   Somehow, she had imagined it would remain broiling hot noon forever.   She wondered passionately what was going on downtown. Had all the troops moved out yet?   Had the Yankees come? Would the Confederates march away without even a fight? Then sheremembered with a sick dropping in her stomach how few Confederates there were and how manymen Sherman had and how well fed they were. Sherman! The name of Satan himself did not frightened her half so much. But there was no time for thinking now, as Melanie called for water,for a cold towel on her head, to be fanned, to have the flies brushed away from her face.   When twilight came on and Prissy, scurrying like a black wraith, lit a lamp, Melanie becameweaker. She began calling for Ashley, over and over, as if in a delirium until the hideous monotonygave Scarlett a fierce desire to smother her voice with a pillow. Perhaps the doctor would comeafter all. If he would only come quickly! Hope raising its head, she turned to Prissy, and orderedher to run quickly to the Meades’ house and see if he were there or Mrs. Meade.   “And if he’s not there, ask Mrs. Meade or Cookie what to do. Beg them to come!”   Prissy was off with a clatter and Scarlett watched her hurrying down the street, going faster thanshe had ever dreamed the worthless child could move. After a prolonged time she was back, alone.   “De doctah ain’ been home all day. Sont wud he mout go off wid de sojers. Miss Scarlett, Mist’   Phil’s ‘ceased.”   “Dead?”   “Yas’m,” said Prissy, expanding with importance. Talbot, dey coachman, tole me. He wuz shot—”   “Never mind that.”   “Ah din’ see Miss Meade. Cookie say Miss Meade she washin’ him an’ fixin ter buhy him fo’ deYankees gits hyah. Cookie say effen de pain get too bad, jes’ you put a knife unner Miss Melly’sbed an’ it cut de pain in two.”   Scarlett wanted to slap her again for this helpful information but Melanie opened wide, dilatedeyes and whispered: “Dear—are the Yankees coming?”   “No,” said Scarlett stoutly. “Prissy’s a liar.”   “Yas’m, Ah sho is,” Prissy agreed fervently.   “They’re coming,” whispered Melanie undeceived and buried her face in the pillow. Her voicecame out muffled.   “My poor baby. My poor baby.” And, after a long interval: “Oh, Scarlett, you mustn’t stay here.   You must go and take Wade.”   What Melanie said was no more than Scarlett had been thinking but hearing it put into wordsinfuriated her, shamed her as if her secret cowardice was written plainly in her face.   “Don’t be a goose. I’m not afraid. You know I won’t leave you.”   “You might as well. I’m going to die.” And she began moaning again.   Scarlett came down the dark stairs slowly, like an old woman, feeling her way, clinging to thebanisters lest she fall. Her legs were leaden, trembling with fatigue and strain, and she shiveredwith cold from the clammy sweat that soaked her body. Feebly she made her way onto the frontporch and sank down on the top step. She sprawled back against a pillar of the porch and with ashaking hand unbuttoned her basque halfway down her bosom. The night was drenched in warm soft darkness and she lay staring into it, dull as an ox.   It was all over. Melanie was not dead and the small baby boy who made noises like a youngkitten was receiving his first bath at Prissy’s hands. Melanie was asleep. How could she sleep afterthat nightmare of screaming pain and ignorant midwifery that hurt more than it helped? Whywasn’t she dead? Scarlett knew that she herself would have died under such handling. But when itwas over, Melanie had even whispered, so weakly she had to bend over her to hear: “Thank you.”   And then she had gone to sleep. How could she go to sleep? Scarlett forgot that she too had goneto sleep after Wade was born. She forgot everything. Her mind was a vacuum; the world was avacuum; there had been no life before this endless day and there would be none hereafter—only aheavily hot night, only the sound of her hoarse tired breathing, only the sweat trickling coldly fromarmpit to waist, from hip to knee, clammy, sticky, chilling.   She heard her own breath pass from loud evenness to spasmodic sobbing but her eyes were dryand burning as though there would never be tears in them again. Slowly, laboriously, she heavedherself over and pulled her heavy skirts up to her thighs. She was warm and cold and sticky all atthe same time and the feel of the night air on her limbs was refreshing. She thought dully whatAunt Pitty would say, if she could see her sprawled here on the front porch with her skirts up andher drawers showing, but she did not care. She did not care about anything. Time had stood still. Itmight be just after twilight and it might be midnight. She didn’t know or care.   She heard sounds of moving feet upstairs and thought “May the Lord damn Prissy,” before hereyes closed and something like sleep descended upon her. Then after an indeterminate darkinterval, Prissy was beside her, chattering on in a pleased way.   “We done right good, Miss Scarlett. Ah specs Maw couldn’ a did no better.”   From the shadows, Scarlett glared at her, too tired to rail, too tired to upbraid, too tired toenumerate Prissy’s offenses—her boastful assumption of experience she didn’t possess, her fright,her blundering awkwardness, her utter inefficiency when the emergency was hot, the misplacing ofthe scissors, the spilling of the basin of water on the bed, the dropping of the new born baby. Andnow she bragged about how good she had been.   And the Yankees wanted to free the negroes! Well, the Yankees were welcome to them.   She lay back against the pillar in silence and Prissy, aware of her mood, tiptoed away into thedarkness of the porch. After a long interval in which her breathing finally quieted and her mindsteadied, Scarlett heard the sound of faint voices from up the road, the tramping of many feetcoming from the north. Soldiers! She sat up slowly, pulling down her skirts, although she knew noone could see her in the darkness. As they came abreast the house, an indeterminate number,passing like shadows, she called to them.   “Oh, please!”   A shadow disengaged itself from the mass and came to the gate.   “Are you going? Are you leaving us?”   The shadow seemed to take off a hat and a quiet voice came from the darkness.   “Yes, Ma’m. That’s what we’re doing. We’re the last of the men from the breastworks, ‘bout a mile north from here.”   “Are you—is the army really retreating?”   “Yes, Ma’m. You see, the Yankees are coming.”   The Yankees are coming! She had forgotten that. Her throat suddenly contracted and she couldsay nothing more. The shadow moved away, merged itself with the other shadows and the feettramped off into the darkness. “The Yankees are coming! The Yankees are coming!” That was whatthe rhythm of their feet said, that was what her suddenly bumping heart thudded out with each beatThe Yankees are coming!   “De Yankees is comin’!” bawled Prissy, shrinking close to her. “Oh, Miss Scarlett, dey’ll kill usall! Dey’ll run dey baynits in our stummicks! Dey’ll—”   “Oh, hush!” It was terrifying enough to think these things without hearing them put intotrembling words. Renewed fear swept her. What could she do? How could she escape? Wherecould she turn for help? Every friend had failed her.   Suddenly she thought of Rhett Butler and calm dispelled her fears. Why hadn’t she thought ofhim this morning when she had been tearing about like a chicken with its head off? She hated him,but he was strong and smart and he wasn’t afraid of the Yankees. And he was still in town. Ofcourse, she was mad at him. But she could overlook such things at a time like this. And he had ahorse and carriage, too. Oh, why hadn’t she thought of him before! He could take them all awayfrom this doomed place, away from the Yankees, somewhere, anywhere.   She turned to Prissy and spoke with feverish urgency.   “You know where Captain Butler lives—at the Atlanta Hotel?”   “Yas’m, but—”   “Well, go there, now, as quick as you can run and tell him I want him. I want him to comequickly and bring his horse and carriage or an ambulance if he can get one. Tell him about thebaby. Tell him I want him to take us out of here. Go, now. Hurry!”   She sat upright and gave Prissy a push to speed her feet.   “Gawdlmighty, Miss Scarlett! Ah’s sceered ter go runnin’ roun’ in de dahk by mahseff! Spose deYankees gits me?”   “If you run fast you can catch up with those soldiers and they won’t let the Yankees get you.   Hurry!”   “Ah’s sceered! Sposin’ Cap’n Butler ain’ at de hotel?”   “Then ask where he is. Haven’t you any gumption? If he isn’t at the hotel, go to the barrooms onDecatur Street and ask for him. Go to Belle Watling’s house. Hunt for him. You fool, don’t you seethat if you don’t hurry and find him the Yankees will surely get us all?”   “Miss Scarlett, Maw would weah me out wid a cotton stalk, did Ah go in a bahroom or a ho’   house.”   Scarlett pulled herself to her feet.   “Well, I’ll wear you out if you don’t. You can stand outside in the street and yell for him, can’tyou? Or ask somebody if he’s inside. Get going.”   When Prissy still lingered, shuffling her feet and mouthing, Scarlett gave her another pushwhich nearly sent her headlong down the front steps.   “You’ll go or I’ll sell you down the river. You’ll never see your mother again or anybody youknow and I’ll sell you for a field hand too. Hurry!”   “Gawdlmighty, Miss Scarlett—”   But under the determined pressure of her mistress’ hand she started down the steps. The frontgate clicked and Scarlett cried: “Run, you goose!”   She heard the patter of Prissy’s feet as she broke into a trot, and then the sound died away on thesoft earth.   以后永远也不会有这么长的一个下午了。也不会那么炎热,不会有这么多懒洋洋的苍蝇。这些苍蝇,不管思嘉怎样不停地挥扇子,仍然成群地落在媚兰身上。她用力挥着那把大棕榈扇,胳臂都酸痛了。但是她好像简直在白费力气,因为她刚把它们从媚兰汗湿的脸上赶开,它们即刻又在她那湿冷的双脚和腿上爬了,媚兰不时无力地抖动着想摆脱它们,并低声喊道:“请扇扇吧,我的脚上!"房间里半明半暗,因为思嘉把窗帘拉下来挡热气和阳光了,只有一小点一小点的亮光从帘子的小孔里和边缘上透进来。房间里热得像个烤炉,思嘉身上的衣服湿了,始终没有干过,而且汗水愈来愈多,也粘得愈来愈难受。百里茜蹲在一个角落里,也在出汗,浑身酸臭。要不是怕这孩子一背着她就会一溜烟跑掉,思嘉简直想把她赶出去。媚兰躺在床上,床单早已给汗渍弄脏,又因为思嘉有时溅上的水,斑斑点点地湿了。她不停地打滚,翻来覆去,时而向左时而向右滚个不停。   有时她挣扎着想坐起来,但向后一靠又躺倒了,于是又打起滚来。最初她还强忍着不叫不嚷,狠狠咬着嘴唇,直咬得皮都破了。这时思嘉的神经也快要绷裂了,才粗声嘎气地说:“媚兰,看在上帝份上,别逞强了吧。除了我们没有别人能听见呢。想叫就叫吧。"到了后来,就由不得媚兰自己要不要逞强,她终于呻吟起来,有时也大声叫了。她一叫,思嘉便双手捧着头,捂着耳朵,转过身去,巴不得自己死了。做什么都好,就是不要眼睁睁地看着这种痛苦的情景而毫无办法埃要守在这里,花这么长时间等一个孩子落地,世界上没有比这更倒霉的事了。   何况这样等着等着的时候,她很清楚北方佬实际上已经到五点镇了。   她真后悔自己以前没有多注意听听那些主妇们谈生孩子的事。要是平时注意到就好了!要是平时多关心这种事情,她现在就会知道媚兰是不是要很久才能生下来。她隐约记得皮蒂姑妈讲过,她的一个朋友生孩子整整整生了两天,结果没生出来自己就死了。说不定媚兰也得生两天呢!可是媚兰身体这样娇弱,她一定经不起两天的折磨。她很快就会死的。要是孩子不早些下来,如果艾希礼还活着,她怎么有脸去告诉他媚兰已经死了----她曾经答应过要照顾她呀!   起初,媚兰疼得厉害时总是要把握住思嘉的手,但是她抓得那么紧,几乎要把骨头都捏碎了。一个钟头以后,思嘉的手就青肿起来,快要不能动弹了。她只得拿两条毛巾扎在一起,系在床腿上,然后让媚兰的两只手拉住打结的那一头。   媚兰拉着它就像拉着自己的生命线似的,时而紧张地拽住,时而放松一下,随意地撒扯着。整个下午,她的声音像落在陷井里垂死的野兽一般在哭叫。她偶尔放下毛巾,无力地搓着双手,瞪着两只痛得鼓鼓的眼睛仰望着思嘉。   “请说说话吧,对我说说话吧,"她低声说,这时思嘉便随意闲聊一阵,直到媚兰又抓住那个毛巾结开始扭摆起来。   房间里又暗又热,充满了痛苦的喊叫和嗡嗡的苍蝇,可是时间过得慢极了,思嘉连早晨的事也有点记不起来了。她觉得仿佛自己在这个闷热、阴沉和汗湿的地方已待了一辈子似的。每当媚兰喊叫时她也很想喊叫,只是由于狠命地死咬着嘴唇不放才没有喊叫出来,并终于把内心的狂乱遏制下去了。   有一次,韦德踮着脚尖跑上楼来,站在门外哭泣。   “韦德饿了!"思嘉听了起身往门外走去,这时媚兰低声说,"求求你。别离开我。你不在我就忍不住了。"这样思嘉只好打发百里茜下楼去热点玉米粥喂他。至于她自己,她觉得从下午起她就再也吃不下任何东西了。   壁炉上的钟已经停摆,她已没法知道现在是什么时候,只有等到房里的热气渐消和那一点一点亮光暗淡下去时,她才把窗帘拉开,猛地发现原来快傍晚了,太阳像个猩红的火球已远远斜挂在西天。不知为什么,她原以为永远是酷热的中午呢。   她紧张地猜想现在商业区已经变成什么样子。是不是军队已经全部撤出去了?北方佬进来了没有?联盟军会不经过战斗就开走吗?于是,她不由得十分遗憾和沮丧地想起,联盟军为数那么少,而谢尔曼的部队又多又强壮,谢尔曼啊!连撒旦本人也不会像他这样叫人害怕呢!可现在已没有时间来想这些了,因为媚兰在喊着要水,要一块湿毛巾敷在她头上,要人给她打扇,要人驱赶她脸上的苍蝇。   在暮色降临时,百里茜像具黑幽灵似的急急忙忙点起灯,媚兰显得更虚弱了。她开始一遍又一遍地呼唤艾希礼,好像神经昏迷了。这种单调可厌的呼唤声使思嘉恨不得拿一只枕头把她的嘴捂祝也许大夫最终会来的吧。这时希望又开始抬头,但愿他快点来!她转身打百里茜的主意,吩咐她赶快到米德家去,看看大夫或者他太太在不在家。   “要是大夫不在,就问问米德太太或他们家的厨娘有什么办法,求她们赶快来一下!"百里茜啪哒啪哒走了,思嘉望着她在大街上匆匆忙忙地奔跑,她从来没有想到这小东西会跑得这么快。过了相当长一段时间,她独自一人回来了。   “大夫整天不在家。说不定他跟那些大兵一起走了。费尔已经完了!思嘉小姐,”“死了?”“是的,太太,"百里茜用自以为重大和得意的口气说。   “车夫塔尔博特告诉俺的。他给打中了----”“别去管这些了。”“俺没看见米德太太。厨娘说米德太太在给费尔洗身子,要赶在北方佬到这里之前把他安葬好,厨娘说媚兰小姐要是痛得不行了,只消在她床底下放把刀子,就会把阵痛劈成两半的。"思嘉听了这些毫无用处的话,气得又瞪她了,可是媚兰睁着那双鼓胀的眼睛低声说:“亲爱的,北方佬来了吗?”“不,"思嘉坚决地说。"百里茜就会撒谎。”“是的,太太。俺就是这样。"百里茜急忙表示同意。   “他们快来了,"媚兰低声说,她没有受骗,便将脸埋在枕头里,但声音是捂不住的。   “我可怜的孩子。我可怜的孩子。"歇了一会儿又说:“啊,思嘉,你得带着韦德一起离开。你别待在这里了。"其实媚兰说的也就是思嘉一直想着的事,可是思嘉听见她说出来反而恼羞成怒了,仿佛她内心的怯懦已明明白白地流露在脸上,被媚兰看透了似的。   “我并不害怕。别傻了。你知道我是不会离开你的。”“反正我快死了。你走不走都一样,"接着她又呻吟起来。   思嘉像个老太婆似的扶着栏杆慢慢从黑暗的楼梯上摸着走下来,生怕不小心跌倒了。她的两条腿像铅一般沉重,她又疲劳又紧张,一路直哆嗦,同时因为浑身是汗而在不断地打冷战。她十分吃力地摸到前边走廊里,在顶上一级台阶颓然坐下。她背靠着一根廊柱斜倚在那里,用颤抖的手解开胸衣当中的扣子,让胸衣半敞着。夜色黑沉沉,温暖而柔和,她侧身凝望着它,迟钝得像头耕牛。   一切都过去了。媚兰并没有死。那个像小猫似的哇哇叫的小崽正在百里茜手里接受头一次洗裕媚兰这时睡着了。以经历了这样一场梦魇般的剧痛和对接生程序一无所知,以致害多利少之后,她怎么还睡得着呢?她怎么没有死呢?思嘉知道,如果是她自己经受了这样一番折磨,那一定死了。可是事情一过,尽管她已虚弱得奄奄一息,媚兰居然还能声说:“谢谢你了。"思嘉是俯身侧耳才听见的。后来她就睡着了。她怎能睡得着呢?思嘉忘记了自己生完韦德之后睡着过。她什么都记不起来了。她的脑子已成了真空;世界已成了真空;在这漫无尽头的一天之前不曾有过生活,在这以后也不会有----只有----酷热难熬的夜晚,只有她那粗嘎疲倦的呼吸声,只有从腋窝到腰、从臂部到膝盖淋漓不息的,模糊冰冷的汗水。   她听见她自己的呼吸声从均匀响亮转为痉挛性的抽泣,但她的眼睛是干枯而火辣辣的,仿佛它们再也不会流泪了。她缓慢而吃力地抬起身来,将沉重的裙裾拉到大腿以上。她同时感到又冷又热又模模糊糊,而微微的夜风吹在四肢上却爽快得很。她模糊地感到,如果皮蒂姑妈看见她斜躺在这前廊上,裙子撩得那么高,连内裤都露了出来,不知要怎么说呢。   不过她不管它。她什么也不管了。时间已停滞不前。现在可能刚过黄昏不久,也可能已经半夜了。她不清楚,也不去管它。   她正要阖眼并感到睡意渐浓时,忽然听见楼上走动的脚步声,心想"这可能是该死的百里茜吧"。在黑暗中过了不知多久,百里茜来到她身边,得意地唠叨起来。   “思嘉小姐咱们干得不错呢。俺说俺妈也不会比这再好了。"思嘉睁大眼睛从黑暗中望着百里茜,因为太累才没有呵斥,没有责骂,没有数落百里茜的过错----她对自己并没有的那种经验的吹嘘,她的恐惧,她那笨手笨脚的忙乱样儿,她到紧急关头的手足无措:不是拿错了剪刀,就是把水盆里的水溅得满床都是,甚至还失手把新生婴儿跌落过呢。可现在她倒是吹起牛来,说自己干得多么好了。   可是,北方佬还要解放黑人呀!不错,北方佬是受他们欢迎的。   她又静静地靠着柱子斜躺下去,百里茜也明白她的心情,便蹑手蹑脚躲进黑暗中去了。过了好一会儿,思嘉的呼吸已渐渐缓和下来,心跳也平稳了,她才隐约听见前面路上从北边来的杂乱的脚步声。士兵!她慢慢坐起来,把裙子往下拉拉,尽管知道在黑暗处谁也不会看见。他们眼看来到了屋前,绵延不断的一支队伍像些影子一个个过去,这时她向他们喊起来。   “唔,请等一等!”   一个人影离开队伍来到大门口。   “你们把我们丢下不管了?你们要走了?"那人影似乎摘下了帽子,黑暗中传来平静的声音。   “是的,太太。正是这样,我们是最后一批从防御工事中撤出来的,从北边大约一英里的地方。”“难道你们----难道军队真的在撤退?”“是的,太太。你看,北方佬就要来了。"北方佬就要来了!她把这件事忘记了呢。她的喉咙突然发紧,什么话也说不出来了。那人影走开,同别的影子混淆在一起,杂沓的脚步也在黑暗中渐渐消失。"北方佬就要来了!   北方佬就要来了!"这便是他们的脚步声的节奏所说的那句话,这便是思嘉那颗突突急跳的心一下子捶击的声音。北方佬就要来了啊!   “北方佬就要来了!"百里茜大声嚷着,缩着身子向思嘉紧靠过来。"唔,思嘉小姐,他们会让咱们全死光的;他们会用刺刀捅进咱们的肚皮!他们会----”“啊,别嚷了!"这种事用不着听见别人用颤抖的声音说出来,光在自己心里想想就够你害怕的了。于是她心里又冲起一阵恐慌。她怎样才能逃走?她怎么办?她到哪里去寻求帮助呢?所有的朋友都对她毫无用处了。   她突然想起瑞德•巴特勒,便觉得得神思镇定,不再惶恐了。她怎么整个上午像只没头的小鸡到处乱窜却没有想起他来呢?他至今还在城里。她固然恨他,可他是强壮而能干的,又不怕北方佬。的确,他上次在这里时她曾经对他大发脾气,他也说了一些令人难以饶恕的话,不过在目前这种时候,她是不会去计较那些事的。他还有一骑马和辆马车呢。啊,她怎么没有早想其他啊!他可以把他们全都带走,离开这个鬼城市,不受北方佬糟蹋,到别的什么地方去,到任何地方去都行。   她回头面对百里茜,十分急迫地吩咐她。   “你知道巴特勒船长住在哪里吧----在亚特兰大饭店?”“是的,太太,不过----”“那好,现在你尽快跑到那里去告诉他,我要他来一下。   我要他尽快赶着他的马和马车来,或者来一辆救护车,如果找得到的话。把媚兰小姐生了娃娃的事也告诉他。就说我要他来得我们离开这里。好,赶快!马上就去。"她直着腰背坐起来,推了百里茜一把,叫她快跑。   “啊,上帝,思嘉小姐!俺可不敢一个人在黑夜里乱跑呀!   要是北方佬把俺给逮住了呢?”   “你只要快跑就能赶上刚才那些人,他们是不会让北方佬逮住你的。快走吧!”“俺害怕呀!要是巴特勒船长不在饭店里呢?”“那就打听他在哪里。难道你就连这点勇气也没有?要是他不在饭店,你就到迪凯特街的酒吧间去找他。到贝尔•沃特琳住的地方去。到处去找。你没看见,你这笨蛋,要是你不赶紧去找到他,北方佬就会把我们全部逮住的。”“思嘉小姐,俺要是上一家酒吧间或妻子家去了,俺妈会拿棉花秆抽俺呢。"思嘉站起身来。   “好吧,我就揍你了,你要不去。你可以站在外面大街上叫他嘛,难道这样还不行?或者问问旁人他在不在里面。快走吧!"百里茜还在那里磨磨蹭蹭,又是用脚擦地,又是撅着嘴嘟囔。思嘉又用力推了她一下,她差一点从台阶上栽下去。   “你得给我马上走,要不我就卖了你,叫你以后永远也见不到你妈和其他任何一个熟人,我还要把你卖出去当大田的劳工。赶快走吧!”“唔,上帝,思嘉小姐----"但是,在这位女主人坚决而无情的推搡之下,百里茜只得走下了台阶。前面的大门嘎嘎响了,思嘉又高声喊道:“快跑,你这小笨蛋!"她听到百里茜啪哒啪哒小跑的脚步声,随即声音在柔软的泥土路上渐渐消失了。 Chapter 23 AFTER PRISSY HAD GONE, Scarlett went wearily into the downstairs hall and lit a lamp. Thehouse felt steamingly hot, as though it held in its walls all the heat of the noontide. Some of herdullness was passing now and her stomach was clamoring for food. She remembered she had hadnothing to eat since the night before except a spoonful of hominy, and picking up the lamp shewent into the kitchen. The fire in the oven had died but the room was stifling hot. She found half apone of hard corn bread in the skillet and gnawed hungrily on it while she looked about for otherfood. There was some hominy left in the pot and she ate it with a big cooking spoon, not waiting toput it on a plate. It needed salt badly but she was too hungry to hunt for it. After four spoonfuls ofit, the heat of the room was too much and, taking the lamp in one hand and a fragment of pone inthe other, she went out into the hall.   She knew she should go upstairs and sit beside Melanie. If anything went wrong, Melanie wouldbe too weak to call. But the idea of returning to that room where she had spent so many nightmarehours was repulsive to her. Even if Melanie were dying, she couldn’t go back up there. She neverwanted to see that room again. She set the lamp on the candle stand by the window and returned tothe front porch. It was so much cooler here, and even the night was drowned in soft warmth. Shesat down on the steps in the circle of faint light thrown by the lamp and continued gnawing on thecorn bread.   When she had finished it, a measure of strength came back to her and with the strength cameagain the pricking of fear. She could hear a humming of noise far down the street, but what itportended she did not know. She could distinguish nothing but a volume of sound that rose andfell. She strained forward trying to hear and soon she found her muscles aching from the tension.   More than anything in the world she yearned to hear the sound of hooves and to see Rhett’scareless, self-confident eyes laughing at her fears. Rhett would take them away, somewhere. Shedidn’t know where. She didn’t care.   As she sat straining her ears toward town, a faint glow appeared above the trees. It puzzled her.   She watched it and saw it grow brighter. The dark sky became pink and then dull red, and suddenly above the trees, she saw a huge tongue of flame leap high to the heavens. She jumped to her feet,her heart beginning again its sickening thudding and bumping.   The Yankees had come! She knew they had come and they were burning the town. The flamesseemed to be off to the east of the center of town. They shot higher and higher and widened rapidlyinto a broad expanse of red before her terrified eyes. A whole block must be burning. A faint hotbreeze that had sprung up bore the smell of smoke to her.   She fled up the stairs to her own room and hung out the window for a better view. The sky was ahideous lurid color and great swirls of black smoke went twisting up to hand in billowy cloudsabove the flames. The smell of smoke was stronger now. Her mind rushed incoherently here andthere, thinking how soon the flames would spread up Peachtree Street and burn this house, howsoon the Yankees would be rushing in upon her, where she would run, what she would do. All thefiends of hell seemed screaming in her ears and her brain swirled with confusion and panic sooverpowering she clung to the window sill for support.   “I must think,” she told herself over and over. “I must think.”   But thoughts eluded her, darting in and out of her mind like frightened humming birds. As shestood hanging to the sill, a deafening explosion burst on her ears, louder than any cannon she hadever heard. The sky was rent with gigantic flame. Then other explosions. The earth shook and theglass in the panes above her head shivered and came down around her.   The world became an inferno of noise and flame and trembling earth as one explosion followedanother in ear-splitting succession. Torrents of sparks shot to the sky and descended slowly, lazily,through blood-colored clouds of smoke. She thought she heard a feeble call from the next room butshe paid it no heed. She had no time for Melanie now. No time for anything except a fear thatlicked through her veins as swiftly as the flames she saw. She was a child and mad with fright andshe wanted to bury her head in her mother’s lap and shut out this sight. If she were only home!   Home with Mother.   Through the nerve-shivering sounds, she heard another sound, that of fear-sped feet coming upthe stairs three at a time, heard a voice yelping like a lost hound. Prissy broke into the room and,flying to Scarlett, clutched her arm in a grip that seemed to pinch out pieces of flesh.   “The Yankees—” cried Scarlett.   “No’m, its our gempmums!” yelled Prissy between breaths, digging her nails deeper intoScarlett’s arm. “Dey’s buhnin’ de foun’ry an’ de ahmy supply depots an’ de wa’houses an’, fo’   Gawd, Miss Scarlett, dey done set off dem sebenty freight cahs of cannon balls an’ gunpowder an’,Jesus, we’s all gwine ter buhn up!”   She began yelping again shrilly and pinched Scarlett so hard she cried out in pain and fury andshook off her hand.   The Yankees hadn’t come yet! There was still time to get away! She rallied her frightened forcestogether.   “If I don’t get a hold on myself,” she thought, “I’ll be squalling like a scalded cat!” and the sightof Prissy’s abject terror helped steady her. She took her by the shoulders and shook her.   “Shut up that racket and talk sense. The Yankees haven’t come, you fool! Did you see CaptainButler? What did he say? Is he coming?”   Prissy ceased her yelling but her teeth chattered.   “Yas’m, Ah finely foun’ him. In a bahroom, lak you told me. He—”   “Never mind where you found him. Is he coming? Did you tell him to bring his horse?”   “Lawd, Miss Scarlett, he say our gempmums done tuck his hawse an’ cah’ige fer a amberlance.”   “Dear God in Heaven!”   “But he comin’—”   “What did he say?”   Prissy had recovered her breath and a small measure of control but her eyes still rolled.   “Well’m, lak you tole me, Ah foun’ him in a bahroom. Ah stood outside an’ yell fer him an’ hecome out. An’ ter-reckly he see me an’ Ah starts tell him, de sojers tech off a sto’ house downDecatur Street an’ it flame up an’ he say Come on an’ he grab me an’ we runs ter Fibe Points an’ hesay den: What now? Talk fas’. An’ Ah say you say, Cap’n Butler, come quick an’ bring yo’ hawsean’ cah’ige. Miss Melly done had a chile an’ you is bustin’ ter get outer town. An’ he say: Whereall she studyin’ ‘bout goin’? An’ Ah say: Ah doan know, suh, but you is boun’ ter go fo’ de Yankeesgits hyah an’ wants him ter go wid you. An’ he laugh an’ say dey done tuck his hawse.”   Scarlett’s heart went leaden as the last hope left her. Fool that she was, why hadn’t she thoughtthat the retreating army would naturally take every vehicle and animal left in the city? For amoment she was too stunned to hear what Prissy was saying but she pulled herself together to hearthe rest of the story.   “An’ den he say, Tell Miss Scarlett ter res’ easy. Ah’ll steal her a hawse outer de ahmy crall effendey’s ary one lef. An’ he say, Ah done stole hawses befo’ dis night. Tell her Ah git her a hawseeffen Ah gits shot fer it. Den ‘he laugh agin an’ say, Cut an’ run home. An’ befo’ Ah gits startedKer-bloom! Off goes a noise an’ Ah lak ter drap in mah tracks an’ he tell me twarnt nuthin’ but deammernition our gempmums blowin’ up so’s de Yankees don’t git it an’—”   “He is coming? He’s going to bring a horse?”   “So he say.”   She drew a long breath of relief. If there was any way of getting a horse, Rhett Butler would getone. A smart man, Rhett. She would forgive him anything if he got them out of this mess. Escape!   And with Rhett she would have no fear. Rhett would protect them. Thank God for Rhett! Withsafety in view she turned practical.   “Wake Wade up and dress him and pack some clothes for an of us. Put them in the small trunk.   And don’t tell Miss Mellie we’re going. Not yet. But wrap the baby in a couple of thick towels andbe sure and pack his clothes.”   Prissy still dang to her skirts and hardly anything showed in her eyes except the whites. Scarlettgave her a shove and loosened her grip.   “Hurry,” she cried, and Prissy went off like a rabbit.   Scarlett knew she should go in and quiet Melanie’s fear, knew Melanie must be frightened out ofher senses by the thunderous noises that continued unabated and the glare that lighted the sky. Itlooked and sounded like the end of the world.   But she could not bring herself to go back into that room just yet. She ran down the stairs withsome idea of packing up Miss Pittypat’s china and the little silver she had left when she refugeedto Macon. But when she reached the dining room, her hands were shaking so badly she droppedthree plates and shattered them. She ran out onto the porch to listen and back again to the diningroom and dropped the silver clattering to the floor. Everything she touched she dropped. In herhurry she slipped on the rag rug and fell to the floor with a jolt but leaped up so quickly she wasnot even aware of the pain. Upstairs she could hear Prissy galloping about like a wild animal andthe sound maddened her, for she was galloping just as aimlessly.   For the dozenth time, she ran out onto the porch but this time she did not go back to her futilepacking. She sat down. It was just impossible to pack anything. Impossible to do anything but sitwith hammering heart and wait for Rhett. It seemed hours before he came. At last, far up the road,she heard the protesting screech of unoiled axles and the slow uncertain plodding of hooves. Whydidn’t he hurry? Why didn’t he make the horse trot?   The sounds came nearer and she leaped to her feet and called Rhett’s name. Then, she saw himdimly as he climbed down from the seat of a small wagon, heard the clicking of the gate as hecame toward her. He came into view and the light of the lamp showed him plainly. His dress wasas debonair as if he were going to a ball, well-tailored white linen coat and trousers, embroideredgray watered-silk waistcoat and a hint of ruffle on his shirt bosom. His wide Panama hat was setdashingly on one side of his head and in the belt of his trousers were thrust two ivory-handled,long-barreled dueling pistols. The pockets of his coat sagged heavily with ammunition.   He came up the walk with the springy stride of a savage and his fine head was carried like apagan prince. The dangers of the night which had driven Scarlett into panic had affected him likean intoxicant. There was a carefully restrained ferocity in his dark face, a ruthlessness which wouldhave frightened her had she the wits to see it.   His black eyes danced as though amused by the whole affair, as though the earth-splittingsounds and the horrid glare were merely things to frighten children. She swayed toward him as hecame up the steps, her face white, her green eyes burning.   “Good evening,” he said, in his drawling voice, as he removed his hat with a sweeping gesture.   “Fine weather we’re having. I hear you’re going to take a trip.”   “If you make any jokes, I shall never speak to you again,” she said with quivering voice.   “Don’t tell me you are frightened!” He pretended to be surprised and smiled in a way that madeher long to push him backwards down the steep steps.   “Yes, I am! I’m frightened to death and if you had the sense God gave a goat, you’d befrightened too. But we haven’t got time to talk. We must get out of here.”   “At your service, Madam. But just where were you figuring on going? I made the trip out here for curiosity, just to see where you were intending to go. You can’t go north or east or south orwest The Yankees are all around. There’s just one road out of town which the Yankees haven’t gotyet and the army is retreating by that road. And that road won’t be open long. General Steve Lee’scavalry is fighting a rear-guard action at Rough and Ready to hold it open long enough for thearmy to get away. If you follow the army down the McDonough road, they’ll take the horse awayfrom you and, while it’s not much of a horse, I did go to a lot of trouble stealing it. Just where areyou going?”   She stood shaking, listening to his words, hardly hearing them. But at his question she suddenlyknew where she was going, knew that all this miserable day she had known where she was going.   The only place.   “I’m going home,” she said.   “Home? You mean to Tara?”   “Yes, yes! To Tara! Oh, Rhett, we must hurry!”   He looked at her as if she had lost her mind.   “Tara? God Almighty, Scarlett! Don’t you know they fought all day at Jonesboro? Fought for tenmiles up and down the road from Rough and Ready even into the streets of Jonesboro? TheYankees may be all over Tara by now, all over the County. Nobody knows where they are butthey’re in that neighborhood. You can’t go home! You can’t go right through the Yankee army!”   “I will go home!” she cried. “I will! I will!”   “You little fool,” and his voice was swift and rough. “You can’t go that way. Even if you didn’trun into the Yankees, the woods are full of stragglers and deserters from both armies. And lots ofour troops are still retreating from Jonesboro. They’d take the horse away from you as quickly asthe Yankees would. Your only chance is to follow the troops down the McDonough road and praythat they won’t see you in the dark. “You can’t go to Tara. Even if you got there, you’d probablyfind it burned down. I won’t let you go home. It’s insanity.”   “I will go home!” she cried and her voice broke and rose to a scream. “I will go home! You can’tstop me! I will go home! I want my mother! I’ll kill you if you try to stop me! I will go home!”   Tears of fright and hysteria streamed down her face as she finally gave way under the longstrain. She beat on his chest with her fists and screamed again: “I will! I will! If I have to walkevery step of the way!”   Suddenly she was in his arms, her wet cheek against the starched ruffle of his shirt, her beatinghands stilled against him. His hands caressed her tumbled hair gently, soothingly, and his voicewas gentle too. So gentle, so quiet, so devoid of mockery, it did not seem Rhett Butler’s voice at allbut the voice of some kind strong stranger who smelled of brandy and tobacco and horses,comforting smells because they reminded her of Gerald.   “There, there, darling,” he said softly. “Don’t cry. You shall go home, my brave little girl. Youshall go home. Don’t cry.”   She felt something brush her hair and wondered vaguely through her tumult if it were his lips.   He was so tender, so infinitely soothing, she longed to stay in his arms forever. With such strong arms about her, surely nothing could harm her.   He fumbled in his pocket and produced a handkerchief and wiped her eyes.   “Now, blow your nose like a good child,” he ordered, a glint of a smile in his eyes, “and tell mewhat to do. We must work fast.”   She blew her nose obediently, still trembling, but she could not think what to tell him to do.   Seeing how her lip quivered and her eyes looked up at him helplessly, he took command.   “Mrs. Wilkes has had her child? It will be dangerous to move her—dangerous to drive hertwenty-five miles in that rickety wagon. We’d better leave her with Mrs. Meade.”   “The Meades aren’t home. I can’t leave her.”   “Very well. Into the wagon she goes. Where is that simple-minded little wench?”   “Upstairs packing the trunk.”   “Trunk? You can’t take any trunk in that wagon. It’s almost too small to hold all of you and thewheels are ready to come off with no encouragement. Call her and tell her to get the smallestfeather bed in the house and put it in the wagon.”   Still Scarlett could not move. He took her arm in a strong grasp and some of the vitality whichanimated him seemed to flow into her body. If only she could be as cool and casual as he was! Hepropelled her into the hall but she still stood helplessly looking at him. His lip went downmockingly: “Can this be the heroic young woman who assured me she feared neither God norman?”   He suddenly burst into laughter and dropped her arm. Stung, she glared at him, hating him.   “I’m not afraid,” she said.   “Yes, you are. In another moment you’ll be in a swoon and I have no smelling salts about me.”   She stamped her foot impotently because she could not think of anything else to do—andwithout a word picked up the lamp and started up the stairs. He was close behind her and she couldhear him laughing softly to himself. That sound stiffened her spine. She went into Wade’s nurseryand found him sitting clutched in Prissy’s arms, half dressed, hiccoughing quietly. Prissy waswhimpering. The feather tick on Wade’s bed was small and she ordered Prissy to drag it down thestairs and into the wagon. Prissy put down the child and obeyed. Wade followed her down thestairs, his hiccoughs stilled by his interest in the proceedings.   “Come,” said Scarlett, turning to Melanie’s door and Rhett followed her, hat in hand.   Melanie lay quietly with the sheet up to her chin. Her face was deathly white but her eyes,sunken and black circled, were serene. She showed no surprise at the sight of Rhett in her bedroombut seemed to take it as a matter of course. She tried to smile weakly but the smile died before itreached the corners of her mouth.   “We are going home, to Tara,” Scarlett explained rapidly. “The Yankees are coming. Rhett isgoing to take us. It’s the only way, Melly.”   Melanie tried to nod her head feebly and gestured toward the baby. Scarlett picked up the small baby and wrapped him hastily in a thick towel. Rhett stepped to the bed.   “I’ll try not to hurt you,” he said quietly, tucking the sheet about her. “See if you can put yourarms around my neck.”   Melanie tried but they fell back weakly. He bent, slipped an arm under her shoulders andanother across her knees and lifted her gently. She did not cry out but Scarlett saw her bite her lipand go even whiter. Scarlett held the lamp high for Rhett to see and started toward the door whenMelanie made a feeble gesture toward the wall.   “What is it?” Rhett asked softly.   “Please,” Melanie whispered, trying to point. “Charles.”   Rhett looked down at her as if he thought her delirious but Scarlett understood and was irritated.   She knew Melanie wanted the daguerreotype of Charles which hung on the wall below his swordand pistol.   “Please,” Melanie whispered again, “the sword.”   “Oh, all right,” said Scarlett and, after she had lighted Rhett’s careful way down the steps, shewent back and unhooked the sword and pistol belts. It would be awkward, carrying them as well asthe baby and the lamp. That was just like Melanie, not to be at all bothered over nearly dying andhaving the Yankees at her heels but to worry about Charles’ things.   As she took down the daguerreotype, she caught a glimpse of Charles’ face. His large browneyes met hers and she stopped for a moment to look at the picture curiously. This man had been herhusband, had lain beside her for a few nights, had given her a child with eyes as soft and brown ashis. And she could hardly remember him.   The child in her arms waved small fists and mewed softly and she looked down at him. For thefirst time, she realized that this was Ashley’s baby and suddenly wished with all the strength left inher that he were her baby, hers and Ashley’s.   Prissy came bounding up the stairs and Scarlett handed the child to her. They went hastily down,the lamp throwing uncertain shadows on the wall. In the hall, Scarlett saw a bonnet and put it onhurriedly, tying the ribbons under her chin. It was Melanie’s black mourning bonnet and it did notfit Scarlett’s head but she could not recall where she had put her own bonnet.   She went out of the house and down the front steps, carrying the lamp and trying to keep thesaber from banging against her legs. Melanie lay full length in the back of the wagon, and, besideher, were Wade and the towel-swathed baby. Prissy climbed in and took the baby in her arms.   The wagon was very small and the boards about the sides very low. The wheels leaned inward asif their first revolution would make them come off. She took one look at the horse and her heartsank. He was a small emaciated animal and he stood with his head dispiritedly low, almostbetween his forelegs. His back was raw with sores and harness galls and he breathed as no soundhorse should.   “Not much of an animal, is it?” grinned Rhett. “Looks like he’ll die in the shafts. But he’s thebest I could do. Some day I’ll tell you with embellishments just where and how I stole him andhow narrowly I missed getting shot. Nothing but my devotion to you would make me, at this stage of my career, turn horse thief—and thief of such a horse. Let me help you in.”   He took the lamp from her and set it on the ground. The front seat was only a narrow plankacross the sides of the wagon. Rhett picked Scarlett up bodily and swung her to it. How wonderfulto be a man and as strong as Rhett, she thought, tucking her wide skirts about her. With Rhettbeside her, she did not fear anything, neither the fire nor the noise nor the Yankees.   He climbed onto the seat beside her and picked up the reins.   “Oh, wait!” she cried. “I forgot to lock the front door.”   He burst into a roar of laughter and slapped the reins upon the horse’s back.   “What are you laughing at?”   “At you—locking the Yankees out,” he said and the horse started off, slowly, reluctantly. Thelamp on the sidewalk burned on, making a tiny yellow circle of light which grew smaller andsmaller as they moved away.   Rhett turned the horse’s slow feet westward from Peachtree and the wobbling wagon jouncedinto the rutty lane with a violence that wrenched an abruptly stilled moan from Melanie. Dark treesinterlaced above their heads, dark silent houses loomed up on either side and the white palings offences gleamed faintly like a row of tombstones. The narrow street was a dim tunnel, but faintlythrough the thick leafy ceiling the hideous red glow of the sky penetrated and shadows chased oneanother down the dark way like mad ghosts. The smell of smoke came stronger and stronger, andon the wings of the hot breeze came a pandemonium of sound from the center of town, yells, thedull rumbling of heavy army wagons and the steady tramp of marching feet. As Rhett jerked thehorse’s head and turned him into another street, another deafening explosion tore the air and amonstrous skyrocket of flame and smoke shot up in the west.   That must be the last of the ammunition trains,” Rhett said calmly. “Why didn’t they get themout this morning, the fools! There was plenty of time. Well, too bad for us. I thought by circlingaround the center of town, we might avoid the fire and that drunken mob on Decatur Street and getthrough to the southwest part of town without any danger. But we’ve got to cross Marietta Streetsomewhere and that explosion was near Marietta Street or I miss my guess.”   “Must—must we go through the fire?” Scarlett quavered.   “Not if we hurry,” said Rhett and, springing from the wagon, he disappeared into the darkness ofa yard. When he returned he had a small limb of a tree in his hand and he laid it mercilessly acrossthe horse’s galled back. The animal broke into a shambling trot, his breath panting and labored,and the wagon swayed forward with a jolt that threw them about like popcorn in a popper. Thebaby wailed, and Prissy and Wade cried out as they bruised themselves against the sides of thewagon. But from Melanie there was no sound.   As they neared Marietta Street, the trees thinned out and the tall flames roaring up above thebuildings threw street and houses into a glare of light brighter than day, casting monstrous shadowsthat twisted as wildly as torn sails flapping in a gale on a sinking ship.   Scarlett’s teeth chattered but so great was her terror she was not even aware of it. She was cold and she shivered, even though the heat of the flames was already hot against their faces. This washell and she was in it and, if she could only have conquered her shaking knees, she would haveleaped from the wagon and run screaming back the dark road they had come, back to the refuge ofMiss Pittypat’s house. She shrank closer to Rhett, took his arm in fingers that trembled and lookedup at him for words, for comfort, for something reassuring. In the unholy crimson glow that bathedthem, his dark profile stood out as clearly as the head on an ancient coin, beautiful, cruel anddecadent. At her touch he turned to her, his eyes gleaming with a light as frightening as the fire. ToScarlett, he seemed as exhilarated and contemptuous as if he got strong pleasure from the situation,as if he welcomed the inferno they were approaching.   “Here,” he said, laying a hand on one of the long-barreled pistols in his belt. “If anyone, black orwhite, comes up on your side of the wagon and tries to lay hand on the horse, shoot him and we’llask questions later. But for God’s sake, don’t shoot the nag in your excitement.”   “I—I have a pistol,” she whispered, clutching the weapon in her lap, perfectly certain that ifdeath stared her in the face, she would be too frightened to pull the trigger.   “You have? Where did you get it?”   “It’s Charles’.”   “Charles?”   “Yes, Charles—my husband.”   “Did you ever really have a husband, my dear?” he whispered and laughed softly.   If he would only be serious! If he would only hurry!   “How do you suppose I got my boy?” she cried fiercely.   “Oh, there are other ways than husbands—”   “Will you hush and hurry?”   But he drew rein abruptly, almost at Marietta Street, in the shadow of a warehouse not yettouched by the flames.   “Hurry!” It was the only word in her mind. Hurry! Hurry!   “Soldiers,” he said.   The detachment came down Marietta Street, between the burning buildings, walking at routestep, tiredly, rifles held any way, heads down, too weary to hurry, too weary to care if timbers werecrashing to right and left and smoke billowing about them. They were all ragged, so ragged thatbetween officers and men there were no distinguishing insignia except here and there a torn hatbrim pinned up with a wreathed “C.S.A.” Many were barefooted and here and there a dirtybandage wrapped a head or arm. They went past, looking neither to left nor right, so silent that hadit not been for the steady tramp of feet they might all have been ghosts.   “Take a good look at them,” came Rhett’s gibing voice, “so you can tell your grandchildren yousaw the rear guard of the Glorious Cause in retreat.”   Suddenly she hated him, hated him with a strength that momentarily overpowered her fear, made it seem petty and small. She knew her safety and that of the others in the back of the wagondepended on him and him alone, but she hated him for his sneering at those ragged ranks. Shethought of Charles who was dead and Ashley who might be dead and all the gay and gallant youngmen who were rotting in shallow graves and she forgot that she, too, had once thought them fools.   She could not speak, but hatred and disgust burned in her eyes as she stared at him fiercely.   As the last of the soldiers were passing, a small figure in the rear rank, his rifle butt dragging theground, wavered, stopped and stared after the others with a dirty face so dulled by fatigue helooked like a sleepwalker. He was as small as Scarlett, so small his rifle was almost as tall as hewas, and his grime-smeared face was unbearded. Sixteen at the most, thought Scarlett irrelevantly,must be one of the Home Guard or a runaway schoolboy.   As she watched, the boy’s knees buckled slowly and he went down in the dust. Without a word,two men fell out of the last rank and walked back to him. One, a tall spare man with a black beardthat hung to his belt, silently handed his own rifle and that of the boy to the other. Then, stooping,he jerked the boy to his shoulders with an ease that looked like sleight of hand. He started offslowly after the retreating column, his shoulders bowed under the weight, while the boy, weak,infuriated like a child teased by its elders, screamed out: Put me down, damn you! Put me down! Ican walk!”   The bearded man said nothing and plodded on out of sight around the bend of the road.   Rhett sat still, the reins lax in his hands, looking after them, a curious moody look on hisswarthy face. Then, there was a crash of falling timbers near by and Scarlett saw a thin tongue offlame lick up over the roof of the warehouse in whose sheltering shadow they sat. Then pennonsand battle flags of flame flared triumphantly to the sky above them. Smoke burnt her nostrils andWade and Prissy began coughing. The baby made soft sneezing sounds.   “Oh, name of God, Rhett! Are you crazy? Hurry! Hurry!”   Rhett made no reply but brought the tree limb down on the horse’s back with a cruel force thatmade the animal leap forward. With all the speed the horse could summon, they jolted andbounced across Marietta Street. Ahead of them was a tunnel of fire where buildings were blaringon either side of the short, narrow street that led down to the railroad tracks. They plunged into it.   A glare brighter than a dozen suns dazzled their eyes, scorching heat seared their skins and theroaring, crackling and crashing beat upon their ears in painful waves. For an eternity, it seemed,they were in the midst of flaming torment and then abruptly they were in semidarkness again.   As they dashed down the street and bumped over the railroad tracks, Rhett applied the whipautomatically. His face looked set and absent, as though he had forgotten where he was. His broadshoulders were hunched forward and his chin jutted out as though the thoughts in his mind werenot pleasant. The heat of the fire made sweat stream down his forehead and cheeks but he did notwipe it off.   They pulled into a side street, then another, then turned and twisted from one narrow street toanother until Scarlett completely lost her bearings and the roaring of the flames died behind them.   Still Rhett did not speak. He only laid on the whip with regularity. The red glow in the sky wasfading now and the road became so dark, so frightening, Scarlett would have welcomed words, any words from him, even jeering, insulting words, words that cut. But he did not speak.   Silent or not, she thanked Heaven for the comfort of his presence. It was so good to have a manbeside her, to lean close to him and feel the hard swell of his arm and know that he stood betweenher and unnamable terrors, even though he merely sat there and stared.   “Oh, Rhett,” she whispered clasping his arm, “What would we ever have done without you? I’mso glad you aren’t in the army!”   He turned his head and gave her one look, a look that made her drop his arm and shrink back.   There was no mockery in his eyes now. They were naked and there was anger and something likebewilderment in them. His lip curled down and he turned his head away. For a long time theyjounced along in a silence unbroken except for the faint wails of the baby and sniffles from Prissy.   When she was able to bear the sniffling noise no longer, Scarlett turned and pinched her viciously,causing Prissy to scream in good earnest before she relapsed into frightened silence.   Finally Rhett turned the horse at right angles and after a while they were on a wider, smootherroad. The dim shapes of houses grew farther and farther apart and unbroken woods loomed wall-like on either side.   “We’re out of town now,” said Rhett briefly, drawing rein, “and on the main road to Rough andReady.”   “Hurry. Don’t stop!”   “Let the animal breathe a bit.” Then turning to her, he asked slowly: “Scarlett, are you stilldetermined to do this crazy thing?”   “Do what?’   “Do you still want to try to get through to Tara? It’s suicidal. Steve Lee’s cavalry and the YankeeArmy are between you and Tara.”   Oh, Dear God! Was he going to refuse to take her home, after all she’d gone through this terribleday?   “Oh, yes! Yes! Please, Rhett, let’s hurry. The horse isn’t tired.”   “Just a minute. You can’t go down to Jonesboro on this road. You can’t follow the train tracks.   They’ve been fighting up and down mere all day from Rough and Ready on south. Do you knowany other roads, small wagon roads or lanes that don’t go through Rough and Ready orJonesboro?”   “Oh, yes,” cried Scarlett in relief. “If we can just get near to Rough and Ready, I know a wagontrace that winds off from the main Jonesboro road and wanders around for miles. Pa and I used toride it. It comes out right near the Macintosh place and that’s only a mile from Tara.”   “Good. Maybe you can get past Rough and Ready all right. General Steve Lee was there duringthe afternoon covering the retreat Maybe the Yankees aren’t there yet. Maybe you can get throughthere, if Steve Lee’s men don’t pick up your horse.”   “I can get through?”   “Yes, you.” His voice was rough.   “But Rhett— You—Aren’t going to take us?”   “No. I’m leaving you here.”   She looked around wildly, at the livid sky behind them, at the dark trees on either hand hemmingthem in like a prison wall, at the frightened figures in the back of the wagon—and finally at him.   Had she gone crazy? Was she not hearing right?   He was grinning now. She could just see his white teeth in the faint light and the old mockerywas back in his eyes.   “Leaving us? Where—where are you going?”   “I am going, dear girl, with the army.”   She sighed with relief and irritation. Why did he joke at this time of all times? Rhett in thearmy! After all he’d said about stupid fools who were enticed into losing their lives by a roll ofdrums and brave words from orators—fools who killed themselves that wise men might makemoney!   “Oh, I could choke you for scaring me so! Let’s get on.”   I’m not joking, my dear. And I am hurt, Scarlett that you do not take my gallant sacrifice withbetter spirit. Where is your patriotism, your love for Our Glorious Cause? Now is your chance totell me to return with my shield or on it. But, talk fast, for I want time to make a brave speechbefore departing for the wars.”   His drawling voice gibed in her ears. He was jeering at her and, somehow, she knew he wasjeering at himself too. What was he talking about? Patriotism, shields, brave speeches? It wasn’tpossible that he meant what he was saying. It just wasn’t believable that he could talk so blithely ofleaving her here on this dark road with a woman who might be dying, a new-born infant, a foolishblack wench and a frightened child, leaving her to pilot them through miles of battle fields andstragglers and Yankees and fire and God knows what.   Once, when she was six years old, she had fallen from a tree, flat on her stomach. She could stillrecall that sickening interval before breath came back into her body. Now, as she looked at Rhett,she felt the same way she had felt then, breathless, stunned, nauseated.   “Rhett, you are joking!”   She grabbed his arm and felt her tears of fright splash down her wrist. He raised her hand andkissed it arily.   “Selfish to the end, aren’t you, my dear? Thinking only of your own precious hide and not of thegallant Confederacy. Think how our troops will be heartened by my eleventh-hour appearance.”   There was a malicious tenderness in his voice.   “Oh, Rhett,” she wailed, “how can you do this to me? Why are you leaving me?”   “Why?” he laughed jauntily. “Because, perhaps, of the betraying sentimentality that lurks in allof us Southerners. Perhaps—perhaps because I am ashamed. Who knows?”   “Ashamed? You should die of shame. To desert us here, alone, helpless—”   “Dear Scarlett! You aren’t helpless. Anyone as selfish and determined as you are is neverhelpless. God help the Yankees if they should get you.”   He stepped abruptly down from the wagon and, as she watched him, stunned with bewilderment,he came around to her side of the wagon.   “Get out,” he ordered.   She stared at him. He reached up roughly, caught her under the arms and swung her to theground beside him. With a tight grip on her he dragged her several paces away from the wagon.   She felt the dust and gravel in her slippers hurting her feet. The still hot darkness wrapped her likea dream.   “I’m not asking you to understand or forgive. I don’t give a damn whether you do either, for Ishall never understand or forgive myself for this idiocy. I am annoyed at myself to find that somuch quixoticism still lingers in me. But our fair Southland needs every man. Didn’t our braveGovernor Brown say just that? Not matter. I’m off to the wars.” He laughed suddenly, a ringing,free laugh that startled the echoes in the dark woods.   “ ‘I could not love thee, Dear, so much, loved I not Honour more.’ That’s a pat speech, isn’t it?   Certainly better than anything I can think up myself, at the present moment. For I do love you,Scarlett, in spite of what I said that night on the porch last month.”   His drawl was caressing and his hands slid tip her bare arms, warm strong hands. I love you,Scarlett, because we are so much alike, renegades, both of us, dear, and selfish rascals. Neither ofus cares a rap if the whole world goes to pot so long as we are safe and comfortable.”   His voice went on in the darkness and she heard words, but they made no sense to her. Her mindwas tiredly trying to take in the harsh truth that he was leaving her here to face the Yankees alone.   Her mind said: “He’s leaving me. He’s leaving me.” But no emotion stirred.   Then his arms went around her waist and shoulders and she felt the hard muscles of his thighsagainst her body and the buttons of his coat pressing into her breast A warm tide of feeling,bewildering, frightening, swept over her, carrying out of her mind the time and place and circumstances.   She felt as limp as a rag doll, warm, weak and helpless, and his supporting arms wereso pleasant.   “You don’t want to change your mind about what I said last month? There’s nothing like dangerand death to give an added fillip. Be patriotic, Scarlett Think how you would be sending a soldierto his death with beautiful memories.”   He was kissing her now and his mustache tickled her mouth, kissing her with slow, hot lips thatwere so leisurely as though he had the whole night before him. Charles had never kissed her likethis. Never had the kisses of the Tarleton and Calvert boys made her go hot and cold and shaky likethis. He bent her body backward and his lips traveled down her throat to where the cameo fastenedher basque.   “Sweet,” he whispered. “Sweet.”   She saw the wagon dimly in the dark and heard the treble piping of Wade’s voice.   “Muvver! Wade fwightened!”   Into her swaying, darkened mind, cold sanity came back with a rush and she remembered whatshe had forgotten for the moment—that she was frightened too, and Rhett was leaving her, leavingher, the damned cad. And on top of it all, he had the consummate gall to stand here in the road andinsult her with his infamous proposals. Rage and hate flowed into her and stiffened her spine andwith one wrench she tore herself loose from his arms.   “Oh, you cad!” she cried and her mind leaped about, trying to think of worse things to call him,things she had heard Gerald call Mr. Lincoln, the Macintoshes and balky mules, but the wordswould not come. “You low-down, cowardly, nasty, stinking thing!” And because she could notthink of anything crushing enough, she drew back her arm and slapped him across the mouth withall the force she had left. He took a step backward, his hand going to his face.   “Ah,” he said quietly and for a moment they stood facing each other in the darkness. Scarlettcould hear his heavy breathing, and her own breath came in gasps as if she had been running hard.   “They were right! Everybody was right! You aren’t a gentleman!”   “My dear girl,” he said, “how inadequate.”   She knew he was laughing and the thought goaded her.   “Go on! Go on now! I want you to hurry. I don’t want to ever see you again. I hope a cannonball lands right on you. I hope it blows you to a million pieces. I—”   “Never mind the rest. I follow your general idea. When I’m dead on the altar of my country, Ihope your conscience hurts you.”   She heard him laugh as he turned away and walked back toward the wagon. She saw him standbeside it, heard him speak and his voice was changed, courteous and respectful as it always waswhen he spoke to Melanie.   “Mrs. Wilkes?”   Prissy’s frightened voice made answer from the wagon.   “Gawdlmighty. Cap’n Butler! Miss Melly done fainted away back yonder.”   “She’s not dead? Is she breathing?”   “Yassuh, she breathin’.”   “Then she’s probably better off as she is. If she were conscious, I doubt if she could live throughall the pain. Take good care of her, Prissy. Here’s a shinplaster for you. Try not to be a bigger foolthan you are.”   “Yassuh. Thankee suh.”   “Good-by, Scarlett.”   She knew he had turned and was facing her but she did not speak. Hate choked all utterance. Hisfeet ground on the pebbles of the road and for a moment she saw his big shoulders looming up inthe dark. Then he was gone. She could hear the sound of his feet for a while and then they diedaway. She came slowly back to the wagon, her knees shaking.   Why had he gone, stepping off into the dark, into the war, into a Cause that was lost, into aworld that was mad? Why had he gone, Rhett who loved the pleasures of women and liquor, thecomfort of good food and soft beds, the feel of fine linen and good leather, who hated the Southand jeered at the fools who fought for it? Now he had set his varnished boots upon a bitter roadwhere hunger tramped with tireless stride and wounds and weariness and heartbreak ran likeyelping wolves. And the end of the road was death. He need not have gone. He was safe, rich,comfortable. But he had gone, leaving her alone in a night as black as blindness, with the YankeeArmy between her and home.   Now she remembered all the bad names she had wanted to call him but it was too late. Sheleaned her head against the bowed neck of the horse and cried.   百里茜走了以后,思嘉回到楼下过厅里,点上一盏灯。屋里热得像个蒸笼,仿佛把中午的热气全都关在里面了似的。她那迟钝的感觉已在逐渐消失,肚子开始闹着要吃东西了。她记起自己从昨夜到现在一直没吃过什么,只喝了一勺玉米粥,于是端灯走进厨房。那儿炉子里的火已经灭了,但还是闷热得很。她发现长柄浅锅里还有半张硬玉米饼,便拿起来大口大口地啃着,一面寻找别的食物。盆里还剩下一点玉米粥,她等不及把它倒进碟子里,便随手用大钓舀着吃起来。那是应当放盐的,可是她饿急了,懒得寻找,接连吃了四勺,她这才觉得厨房里实在太热,便一手拿灯一手抓一块玉米饼到过厅里去了。   她知道她应当上楼去陪伴媚兰。要是出什么事,媚兰也没有那个力气叫人呢。可是一想起要回到那间房里,那间她已经待过许多恶梦般钟点的房里,她就厌烦得很。哪怕媚兰就要死了,她也不能再回到那里去。她永远也不要再见那个房间了。她把灯放在窗边的烛台上,然后又回到前面走廊上去。这里凉快得多,尽管夜里的气温仍然是相当热的。她坐在台阶上,在灯火投过来的暗淡的光圈中,又啃起玉米饼来。   她啃完玉米饼,体力恢复了些,揪心的恐惧也随之而来了。她听得见街上远处嗡嗡的嘈杂声,但不明白这意味着什么。她只觉得有种洪大的声响在时期时伏,但压根儿听不清楚。她聚精会神地向前倾着身子细听,很快就因为过于紧张而腰酸背疼起来。这时,世界上再没有别的事情叫她如此渴望的了,像现在渴望听到马蹄声、渴望看到瑞德那毫不在意和充满自信的眼光来嘲笑她的恐惧模样。瑞德会把她们带走,带到某个地方去。她不知道去哪里。她也不去管它。   她坐在那里侧耳倾听市区的声音,这时树顶上升起一片隐隐的火光,使她觉得奇怪。她望着望着,那火光愈来愈亮。   黑暗的天空发红了,先是粉红,随即变成深红,接着她突然看见一条巨大的火舌从树顶上蹿而起,高高地升到半空中。她猛地跳起来,心又开始发紧了!怦怦地跳个不停。   北方佬已经来了!她知道他们来了,正在那里烧毁市区。   那些火焰好像在距市中心不远的东边。它们升得越来越高,同时迅速展成一大片红光,她看了十分害怕。一定是一整条大街烧起来了。一阵略带些热的微风从那边迎面吹来。她闻到了烟火味。   她跑到楼上自己的房间里,把半个身子探出窗外,想更好地看看整个情况。天空呈一片可怖的殷红色,大团大团的黑烟像云涛似的旋转着挂在火焰上空。现在烟火味更浓了。思嘉心乱如麻,时而认为这火焰会很快蔓延到桃树街,把这幢房子烧掉,时而设想北方佬会向她冲过来,她要往哪里逃跑,她要怎么对付。好像地狱里所有的魔鬼都在她耳边喊叫,她的脑子在极度的惶惑和惊恐中旋转起来,她不得不紧紧抓住窗棂,否则就要跌下去了。   “我得好好想想,"她在心里反复告诫自己。"我一定得想一想。"可是思绪躲避她,像只受惊的蜂鸟在她心头掠过去。她俯靠着窗棂站在那里,忽然一个震耳欲聋的爆炸声飞来,比她前几天听到过的大炮声都要响得多。天空被巨大的火焰撕裂了。接着又是几声巨响。大地震撼着,她头上的窗玻璃被震碎了,纷纷落在周围。   一声又一声震耳的爆炸声不断传来,世界变成了一个充满喧声、火焰和浑身颤抖的地狱。火星汇成一股股激流蹿入天空,然后缓缓地、懒懒地穿过血红的烟云降落下来。这时她仿佛听到隔壁房里无力的呼唤声,但是她不去管它。她现在没有工夫去顾媚兰了。现在除了恐惧,那种如她所见的火焰般迅速流遍全身血脉的恐惧,再也没别的东西要顾及的了。   她像一个吓得发疯的孩子,要把自己的头钻进母亲怀里,躲避眼前的情景。如果她是在家里,跟母亲一起,那多好埃从这些惊心动魄的响声中她听到另一种声音,一种三步并作一步惊惶地奔上楼来的脚步声,同时还听到一个像迷路的猎狗狂叫的声音。百里茜冲进来了,她奔到思嘉跟前,像要把骨头也捏碎似的。一把紧紧地抓住她的胳臂。   “北方佬----"思嘉首先嚷起来。   “不,太太。是咱们自己人!"百里茜上气不接下气地喊着,指甲在思嘉的胳臂上掐得更深了。"他们在烧铁厂和军需站和仓库,还有,上帝,思嘉小姐,他们还把七十卡车的大炮炮弹和火药爆炸了,而且,耶稣,咱们都会被烧光呢!"百里茜又尖叫起来,一面紧紧抓住思嘉的手臂,使她又痛又恼,忍不住要哭了。最后思嘉使劲甩掉她的那只手。   还来得及逃跑呀!原来北方佬还没来呢!于是她把惊散了的全身力气重整起来。   她想:“如果我不能控制住自己,我就会像只烫坏了的猫儿似的拼命号叫了!”同时百里茜那副可怜的惶恐相也帮助着她镇定下来,她抓住百里茜的肩膀使劲摇晃。   “还是谈正经的吧。别管那些乱哄哄的事了,北方佬还没来呢,你这傻瓜!你见到巴特勒船长了吗?他是怎么说的?他会不会来?"百里茜不再号叫了,但是她的牙床还在打颤。   “是的,太太。俺后来找到他。像你吩咐的,在一个酒吧间。他----”“他会来吗?别管在哪里找到的。你告诉他要把马带来吗?”“上帝,思嘉小姐,他说咱们的军队把他的马和马车拉去当救护车了。”“啊,我的天啊!”“不过,他会来----”“他怎么说的?"这时百里茜不太喘了,已能稍稍控制自己,但她的两个眼珠子还在紧张地转动。   “是这样,太太,正像你说的,俺在一家酒吧间找到了他。   俺站在外面喊他,他就出来了。他奇怪地看着俺,俺刚要跟他说话时,大兵就把迪凯特街那头的一家妻子拆倒并放弃火来。他说来吧,就一把拽着俺跑到五点镇。后来他说:什么事?快讲。俺说你说的,巴特勒船长,请赶快来,带着你的马和马车来。媚兰小姐生了个娃娃,思嘉小姐急着要离开这个城市。他说,她打算到哪里去呀?俺说,俺不知道,先生,不过你一定得去,因为北方佬就要来了,要他陪你一起走。他笑着说他们把他的马拉走了。"思嘉的心情沉重起来,觉得最后一线希望也消失了。她真傻呀,干吗没有想到军队撤退时必然会把留在城里的所有车辆和骡马都拉走呢?她一时吓得目瞪口呆,也没听见百里茜还在说些什么,不过她很快又恢复过来,继续听下半截的故事。   “后来他说,告诉思嘉小姐,叫她放心吧。我要到军队里去替她偷骑马来,哪怕只剩下一匹也好。他还说,在这以前我就偷过马呢。告诉她,我哪怕丢了性命也要给她弄骑马来。   后来他又笑着说,赶快回家去吧。可是俺刚要动身,就普通一声响起来了!俺吓得几乎倒下了,这时他说这没有什么,只不过咱们自己人把火药炸了,免得落到北方佬手里,还有----”“他会来吗?他在设法弄一骑马来?”“他是这么说的。”她长长地舒了口气,觉得轻松了些。瑞德是个能干的人,只要还有办法弄到一骑马,瑞德•巴特勒是一定会弄到的。要是他把她们从这片混乱中救出去了,她就饶恕他一切的过错。   逃跑呀!只要跟瑞德在一起,她就什么也不怕了。瑞德会保护她们。感谢上帝赐予了这个瑞德啊!她现在纯粹从安全着眼,变得很实际了。   “把韦德叫醒,给他穿好衣裳,替我们打点一包常用的衣裳。把它们装进箱子。别告诉媚兰我们要走了。还不到时候呢。不过要用两条厚毛巾小心地把婴儿裹好,把他的衣服也包起来。"百里茜还是拉着她的裙子不放,她除了翻白眼没有一点表情。思嘉推她一把,把她那紧抓着的手摆脱掉。   “快去,"她喊道。这时百里茜才像兔子似的悄悄走开了。   思嘉知道她应当进屋去安慰安慰媚兰,知道媚兰一定被连续不断的轰轰巨响和映红了整个天空火光吓昏了。那光景简直就像世界的末日到了!   但是,她此刻还下不了决心回那间屋去。她跑下楼来,有意要把皮蒂姑妈逃往梅肯时留下的那些瓷器和银器收拾一下。可是等她走进饭厅时,她的一双手却哆嗦颤抖起来,把三只碟子掉在地下打碎了。她跑到走廊上细听外面的动静,随即又回到饭厅里,把些银器当啷一声掉在地板上。不知怎的,她碰到什么就掉落什么。她慌慌张张行走时还在旧地毯上滑了一跤,普通跌倒了呢,不过她即刻跳起来,一点也没有感觉到痛。她听得见百里茜在楼上像只野兽似的到处奔跑,那声音使她怕极了,因为她自己也同样在盲目地跑来跑去。   她跑到走廊上去有十来次了,不过这次她绝不再回来打那个费力不讨好的包裹了。要想收拾一点东西简直是不可能的。她在走廊上坐下。除了怀着一颗忐忑不安的心在这里等待瑞德,看来什么也做不成了。可是左等右等,他就是不来。   最后,从大路前头很远的地方,她听见一种没有上油的车轴的吱吱嘎嘎和缓慢而隐约不清的得得马蹄声。他干吗不快点走呀?他干吗不鞭打着马跑起来呀?   那声音近了,她一跃而起,呼喊瑞德的名字。然后,她隐约看见他从一辆小货车的座位上爬下来,接着大门喀嚓一声,他朝她走过来了。他来到灯光下,才叫思嘉看清楚了。他穿得整整齐齐,像要去参加跳舞会似的。雪白的亚麻布外衣和裤子熨得笔挺,绣边的灰色水绸背心,衬衫胸口镶着一点点褶边。他那顶宽边巴拿马帽时髦地歪戴在头上,裤腰皮带上插着两支象牙柄的长筒决斗手枪。外衣口袋里塞满了沉甸甸的弹药。   他像个野人似的从走道上轻快地大步走来,漂亮的脑袋微微扬起,神气得像个异教徒王子。那种思嘉下了黑夜的恐怖,却像一贴兴奋剂似的使他显得更强悍了。他那黝黑的脸上有一丝勉强掩饰着的残暴无情的神色,这一点如果思嘉头脑清楚,看出来了是会把她吓倒的。   他那对黑眼睛眉飞色舞,仿佛觉得眼前这整个局面倒很有趣,仿佛这震天动地的爆炸声和一派恐怖的火光只不过是吓吓小孩子罢了。他走上台阶时她摇摇晃晃地迎上前去,这时她脸色惨白,那双绿眼睛像在冒火似的。   “晚上好,"他拖长音调说,同时刷地一下摘下了帽子。   “咱们碰上了好天气啦。我听说你要旅行去呢。”“你要是再开玩笑,我就永远不再理睬你了,"她用颤抖的声音说。   “你不见得真的被吓坏了吧!"他装出一副吃惊的样子诡秘地微笑着,她真想把他推回到台阶下去。   “是的,我害怕得要死,我就是被吓坏了。而且如果你也有上帝给山羊的那点意识,你照样会害怕的。不过咱们没时间闲扯了。咱们必须马上离开这里。”“听你的吩咐,太太。不过你琢磨到哪里去好呢?我是怀着好奇心跑到这儿来的,无非想看看你们打算往哪儿去。你们不能往北也不能往东,不能往南也不能往西。四面八方都有北方佬。只有一条出城的路北方佬还没拿到手。咱们的军队就是由这条路撤退的。可这条路也通不了多久了。史蒂夫•李将军的骑兵正在拉甫雷迪打一场后卫战来维持这条通路,以保证部队撤退,部队一撤完,这条通路也就完了。你如果跟随部队沿麦克藺诺公路走,他们就会把马拉去,这匹马尽管不怎么样,可我是费了不少力气才偷到手的呢。你究竟要到哪里去呀?"听他说了这许多话,她站在那里浑身哆嗦,几乎什么也没听见。不过,经他这一问,她却突然明白地要到哪儿去了,她明白在这悲惨的整整一天里她都是知道要到什么地方去的。那唯一的地方呀!   “我要回家去,"她说。   “回家?你的意思是回塔拉?”   “是的,是的!回塔拉去!啊,瑞德,我们得赶紧走呀!"他瞧着她,好像她神志不清了似的。   “塔拉?我的天,思嘉!难道你不知道他们整天在琼斯博罗打吗?就是为了抢夺在拉甫雷迪前后十英里的那段大路打呀,甚至打到琼斯博罗的街上去了。此刻北方佬可能已经占领了整个塔拉,占领整个县了。谁也不清楚他们到了哪里,只知道他们就在那一带。你不能回家!你不能从北方佬军队中间穿过去呀!”“我一定要回去!"她大喊道。"我一定要!我一定要!”“你这小傻瓜,"他的声音又粗又急。"你不能走那条路嘛。   即使你不碰上北方佬,那树林中也到处是双方军队的散兵游勇。而且咱们的许多部队还在陆续从琼斯博罗撤退。他们会像北方佬一样即刻把你的马拉走。你唯一的办法是跟着部队沿麦克诺公路走,上帝保佑,黑夜里他们可能不会看见你。   但是你不能到塔拉去。即使你到了那里,你也很可能会发现它已经被烧光了。那样做简直是发疯。我不让你回家去。”“我一定要回去!"她大声嚷着,嗓子高得尖叫起来了。   “你不能阻拦我!我一定要回去!我要回去!我要我的母亲!   你要是阻拦我,我就杀了你!我要回去!"恐惧和歇斯底里的眼泪从她脸上淌下来,她在长时间紧张的刺激下终于忍不住了。她挥舞着拳头猛击他的胸部,一面继续尖叫:“我要!我要!哪怕得一步步走回去也行!"她突然被他抱在怀里了,她那泪淋淋的胸脸紧贴在他胸前浆过的衬衫褶边上,那捶击他的两个拳头也安静地搁在那里。他用两手轻柔地、安慰地抚摩着她的一头乱发,他的声音也是柔和的。那么柔和,那么宁静,不带丝毫嘲讽意味,好像根本不是瑞德•巴特勒的声音,而一个温和强壮的陌生人的声音了,这个陌生人满身是白兰地、烟草和马汗味,使思嘉不由得想起自己的父亲来。   “好了,好了,亲爱的,"他温柔地说。"别哭,你会回去的,我勇敢的小姑娘。你会回去的。别哭了。"她感到什么东西在触弄她的头发,心中微觉骚动,并模糊地意识到那可能是他的嘴唇。他那么温柔,那么令人无限地欣慰,她简直渴望永远在他怀里。他用那么强壮的胳膊搂抱着她,她觉得什么也不用害怕了。   他从口袋里摸出一条手绢,替她揩掉脸上的泪水。   “来,乖乖地擤擤鼻子,"他用命令的口气说,眼里闪着一丝笑意,"我们得赶快行动了。告诉我该怎么办。”   她顺从地擤擤鼻子,身上仍在哆嗦,可是不知要吩咐他干什么。他见她颤抖着嘴唇仰望着说不出话来,便索性自作主张了。   “威尔克斯太太已经分娩了?可不能随便动她呀!那可太危险了。要让她坐这辆摇摇晃晃的货车颠簸二十几英里,咱们最好让她跟米德太太一起留下来。”“我不能丢开她不管。米德夫妇都不在家呢。”“那很好。让她上车去。那个傻乎乎的小妻子哪儿去了?”“在楼上收拾箱子呢。”“箱子?那车上可什么箱子也不能放。车厢很小,能装下你们几个人就不错了,而且轮子随时就可能掉的。叫她一声,让她把屋里最小的那个羽绒床垫拿出来,搬到车上去。"思嘉仍然不能动弹。他紧紧抓住她的胳臂,他那浑身充溢着的活力部分地流注到她身上。她想:要是她也像他这样冷静,什么也不在乎,那就好了!他扶着推着她走进过厅,可是她仍然站在那里可怜巴巴地望着他。他敝着下嘴唇嘲弄地说:“难道这就是那个向我保证既不怕上帝也不怕人的年轻英雄吗?”他突然哈哈大笑,同时放开了她的胳臂。她好像被刺痛了似的,瞪大眼 Chapter 24 THE BRIGHT GLARE of morning sunlight streaming through the trees overhead awakenedScarlett. For a moment, stiffened by the cramped position in which she had slept, she could notremember where she was. The sun blinded her, the hard boards of the wagon under her were harshagainst her body, and a heavy weight lay across her legs. She tried to sit up and discovered that theweight was Wade who lay sleeping with his head pillowed on her knees. Melanie’s bare feet werealmost in her face and, under the wagon seat, Prissy was curled up like a black cat with the smallbaby wedged in between her and Wade.   Then she remembered everything. She popped up to a sitting position and looked hastily allaround. Thank God, no Yankees in sight! Their hiding place had not been discovered in the night.   It all came back to her now, the nightmare journey after Rhett’s footsteps died away, the endlessnight, the black road full of ruts and boulders along which they jolted, the deep gullies on eitherside into which the wagon slipped, the fear-crazed strength with which she and Prissy had pushedthe wheels out of the gullies. She recalled with a shudder how often she had driven the unwillinghorse into fields and woods when she heard soldiers approaching, not knowing if they were friendsor foes—recalled, too, her anguish lest a cough, a sneeze or Wade’s hiccoughing might betray themto the marching men.   Oh, that dark road where men went by like ghosts, voices stilled, only the muffled tramping offeet on soft dirt, the faint clicking of bridles and the straining creak of leather! And, oh, thatdreadful moment when the sick horse balked and cavalry and light cannon rumbled past in thedarkness, past where they sat breathless, so close she could almost reach out and touch them, soclose she could smell the stale sweat on the soldiers’ bodies!   When, at last, they had neared Rough and Ready, a few camp fires were gleaming where the lastof Steve Lee’s rear guard was awaiting orders to fall back. She had circled through a plowed fieldfor a mile until the light of the fires died out behind her. And then she had lost her way in thedarkness and sobbed when she could not find the little wagon path she knew so well. Then finallyhaving found it, the horse sank in the traces and refused to move, refused to rise even when sheand Prissy tugged at the bridle.   So she had unharnessed him and crawled, sodden with fatigue, into the back of the wagon and stretched her aching legs. She had a faint memory of Melanie’s voice before sleep clamped downher eyelids, a weak voice that apologized even as it begged: “Scarlett, can I have some water,please?”   She had said: “There isn’t any,” and gone to sleep before the words were out of her mouth.   Now it was morning and the world was still and serene and green and gold with dappledsunshine. And no soldiers in sight anywhere. She was hungry and dry with thirst, aching andcramped and filled with wonder that she, Scarlett O’Hara, who could never rest well exceptbetween linen sheets and on the softest of feather beds, had slept like a field hand on hard planks.   Blinking in the sunlight, her eyes fell on Melanie and she gasped, horrified. Melanie lay so stilland white Scarlett thought she must be dead. She looked dead. She looked like a dead, old womanwith her ravaged face and her dark hair snarled and tangled across it. Then Scarlett saw with reliefthe faint rise and fall of her shallow breathing and knew that Melanie had survived the night.   Scarlett shaded her eyes with her hand and looked about her. They had evidently spent the nightunder the trees in someone’s front yard, for a sand and gravel driveway stretched out before her,winding away under an avenue of cedars.   “Why, it’s the Mallory place!” she thought, her heart leaping with gladness at the thought offriends and help.   But a stillness as of death hung over the plantation. The shrubs and grass of the lawn were cut topieces where hooves and wheels and feet had torn frantically back and forth until the soil waschurned up. She looked toward the house and instead of the old white clapboard place she knew sowell, she saw there only a long rectangle of blackened granite foundation stones and two tallchimneys rearing smoke-stained bricks into the charred leaves of still trees.   She drew a deep shuddering breath. Would she find Tara like this, level with the ground, silentas the dead?   “I mustn’t think about that now,” she told herself hurriedly. “I mustn’t let myself think about it.   I’ll get scared again if I think about it.” But, in spite of herself, her heart quickened and each beatseemed to thunder: “Home! Hurry! Home! Hurry!”   They must be starting on toward home again. But first they must find some food and water,especially water. She prodded Prissy awake. Prissy rolled her eyes as she looked about her.   “Fo’ Gawd, Miss Scarlett, Ah din’ spec ter wake up agin ‘cept in de Promise Lan’.”   “You’re a long way from there,” said Scarlett, trying to smooth back her untidy hair. Her facewas damp and her body was already wet with sweat. She felt dirty and messy and sticky, almost asif she smelled bad. Her clothes were crushed and wrinkled from sleeping in them and she hadnever felt more acutely tired and sore in all her life. Muscles she did not know she possessed achedfrom her unaccustomed exertions of the night before and every movement brought sharp pain.   She looked down at Melanie and saw that her dark eyes were opened. They were sick eyes,fever bright, and dark baggy circles were beneath them. She opened cracking lips and whisperedappealingly: “Water.”   “Get up, Prissy,” ordered Scarlett. “We’ll go to the well and get some water.”   “But, Miss Scarlett! Dey mout be hants up dar. Sposin’ somebody daid up dar?”   “I’ll make a hant out of you if you don’t get out of this wagon,” said Scarlett, who was in nomood for argument, as she climbed lamely down to the ground.   And then she thought of the horse. Name of God! Suppose the horse had died in the night! Hehad seemed ready to die when she unharnessed him. She ran around the wagon and saw him lyingon his side. If he were dead, she would curse God and die too. Somebody in the Bible had donejust that thing. Cursed God and died. She knew just how that person felt. But the horse was alive—breathing heavily, sick eyes half closed, but alive. Well, some water would help him too.   Prissy climbed reluctantly from the wagon with many groans and timorously followed Scarlettup the avenue. Behind the ruins the row of whitewashed slave quarters stood silent and desertedunder the overhanging trees. Between the quarters and the smoked stone foundations, they foundthe well, and the roof of it still stood with the bucket far down the well. Between them, they woundup the rope, and when the bucket of cool sparkling water appeared out of the dark depths, Scarletttilted it to her lips and drank with loud sucking noises, spilling the water all over herself.   She drank until Prissy’s petulant: “Well, Ah’s thusty, too, Miss Scarlett,” made her recall theneeds of the others.   “Untie the knot and take the bucket to the wagon and give them some. And give the rest to thehorse. Don’t you think Miss Melanie ought to nurse the baby? He’ll starve.”   “Law, Miss Scarlett, Miss Melly ain’ got no milk—ain’ gwine have none.”   “How do you know?”   “Ah’s seed too many lak her.”   “Don’t go putting on any airs with me. A precious little you knew about babies yesterday. Hurrynow. I’m going to try to find something to eat.”   Scarlett’s search was futile until in the orchard she found a few apples. Soldiers had been therebefore her and there was none on the trees. Those she found on the ground were mostly rotten. Shefilled her skirt with the best of them and came back across the soft earth, collecting small pebblesin her slippers. Why hadn’t she thought of putting on stouter shoes last night? Why hadn’t shebrought her sun hat? Why hadn’t she brought something to eat? She’d acted like a fool. But, ofcourse, she’d thought Rhett would take care of them.   Rhett! She spat on the ground, for the very name tasted bad. How she hated him! Howcontemptible he had been! And she had stood there in the road and let him kiss her—and almostliked it. She had been crazy last night. How despicable he was!   When she came back, she divided up the apples and threw the rest into the back of the wagon.   The horse was on his feet now but the water did not seem to have refreshed him much. He lookedfar worse in the daylight than he had the night before. His hip bones stood out like an old cow’s,his ribs showed like a washboard and his back was a mass of sores. She shrank from touching himas she harnessed him. When she slipped the bit into his mouth, she saw that he was practicallytoothless. As old as the hills! While Rhett was stealing a horse, why couldn’t he have stolen a goodone?   She mounted the seat and brought down the hickory limb on his back. He wheezed and started,but he walked so slowly as she turned him into the road she knew she could walk faster herselfwith no effort whatever. Oh, if only she didn’t have Melanie and Wade and the baby and Prissy tobother with! How swiftly she could walk home! Why, she would run home, run every step of theway that would bring her closer to Tara and to Mother.   They couldn’t be more than fifteen miles from home, but at the rate this old nag traveled itwould take all day, for she would have to stop frequently to rest him. All day! She looked down theglaring red road, cut in deep ruts where cannon wheels and ambulances had gone over it. It wouldbe hours before she knew if Tara still stood and if Ellen were there. It would be hours before shefinished her journey under the broiling September sun.   She looked back at Melanie who lay with sick eyes closed against the sun and jerked loose thestrings of her bonnet and tossed it to Prissy.   “Put that over her face. It’ll keep the sun out of her eyes.” Then as the heat beat down upon herunprotected head, she thought: “I’ll be as freckled as a guinea egg before this day is over.”   She had never in her life been out in the sunshine without a hat or veils, never handled reinswithout gloves to protect the white skin of her dimpled hands. Yet here she was exposed to the sunin a broken-down wagon with a broken-down horse, dirty, sweaty, hungry, helpless to do anythingbut plod along at a snail’s pace through a deserted land. What a few short weeks it had been sinceshe was safe and secure! What a little while since she and everyone else had thought that Atlantacould never fall, that Georgia could never be invaded. But the small cloud which appeared in thenorthwest four months ago had blown up into a mighty storm and men into a screaming tornado,sweeping away her world, whirling her out of her sheltered life, and dropping her down in themidst of this still, haunted desolation.   Was Tara still standing? Or was Tara also gone with the wind which had swept through Georgia?   She laid the whip on the tired horse’s back and tried to urge him on while the waggling wheelsrocked them drunkenly from side to side.   .   There was death in the air. In the rays of the late afternoon sun, every well-remembered fieldand forest grove was green and still, with an unearthly quiet that struck terror to Scarlett’s heart.   Every empty, shell-pitted house they had passed that day, every gaunt chimney standing sentinelover smoke-blackened ruins, had frightened her more. They had not seen a living human being oranimal since the night before. Dead men and dead horses, yes, and dead mules, lying by the road,swollen, covered with flies, but nothing alive. No far-off cattle lowed, no birds sang, no windwaved the trees. Only the tired plop-plop of the horse’s feet and the weak wailing of Melanie’sbaby broke the stillness.   The countryside lay as under some dread enchantment Or worse still, thought Scarlett with achill, like the familiar and dear face of a mother, beautiful and quiet at last, after death agonies. Shefelt that the once-familiar woods were full of ghosts. Thousands had died in the fighting nearJonesboro. They were here in these haunted woods where the slanting afternoon sun gleamedeerily through unmoving leaves, friends and foes, peering at her in her rickety wagon, through eyes blinded with blood and red dust—glazed, horrible eyes.   “Mother! Mother!” she whispered. If she could only win to Ellen! If only, by a miracle of God,Tara were still standing and she could drive up the long avenue of trees and go into the house andsee her mother’s kind, tender face, could feel once more the soft capable hands that drove out fear,could clutch Ellen’s skirts and bury her face in them. Mother would know what to do. Shewouldn’t let Melanie and her baby die. She would drive away all ghosts and fears with her quiet“Hush, hush.” But Mother was ill, perhaps dying.   Scarlett laid the whip across the weary rump of the horse. They must go faster! They had creptalong this never-ending road all the long hot day. Soon it would be night and they would be alonein this desolation that was death. She gripped the reins tighter with hands that were blistered andslapped them fiercely on the horse’s back, her aching arms burning at the movement.   If she could only reach the kind arms of Tara and Ellen and lay down her burdens, far too heavyfor her young shoulders—the dying woman, the fading baby, her own hungry little boy, thefrightened negro, all looking to her for strength, for guidance, all reading in her straight backcourage she did not possess and strength which had long since failed.   The exhausted horse did not respond to the whip or reins but shambled on, dragging his feet,stumbling on small rocks and swaying as if ready to fall to his knees. But, as twilight came, they atlast entered the final lap of the long journey. They rounded the bend of the wagon path and turnedinto the main road. Tara was only a mile away!   Here loomed up the dark bulk of the mock-orange hedge that marked the beginning of theMacintosh property. A little farther on, Scarlett drew rein in front of the avenue of oaks that ledfrom the road to old Angus Macintosh’s house. She peered through the gathering dusk down thetwo lines of ancient trees. All was dark. Not a single light showed in the house or in the quarters.   Straining her eyes in the darkness she dimly discerned a sight which had grown familiar throughthat terrible day—two tall chimneys, like gigantic tombstones towering above the ruined secondfloor, and broken unlit windows blotching the walls like still, blind eyes.   “Hello!” she shouted, summoning all her strength. “Hello!”   Prissy clawed at her in a frenzy of fright and Scarlett, turning, saw that her eyes were rolling inher head.   “Doan holler, Miss Scarlett! Please, doan holler agin!” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Deyain’ no tellin’ whut mout answer!”   “Dear God!” thought Scarlett, a shiver running through her. “Dear God! She’s right Anythingmight come out of there!”   She flapped the reins and urged the horse forward. The sight of the Macintosh house had prickedthe last bubble of hope remaining to her. It was burned, in rums, deserted, as were all theplantations she had passed that day. Tara lay only half a mite away, on the same road, right in thepath of the army. Tara was leveled, too! She would find only the blackened bricks, starlight shiningthrough the roofless walls, Ellen and Gerald gone, the girls gone, Mammy gone, the negroes gone,God knows where, and this hideous stillness over everything.   Why had she come on this fool’s errand, against all common sense, dragging Melanie and herchild? Better that they had died in Atlanta than, tortured by this day of burning sun and joltingwagon, to die in the silent ruins of Tara.   But Ashley had left Melanie in her care. Take care of her.” Oh, that beautiful, heartbreaking daywhen he had kissed her good-by before he went away forever! “You’ll take care of her, won’t you?   Promise!” And she had promised. Why had she ever bound herself with such a promise, doublybinding now that Ashley was gone? Even in her exhaustion she hated Melanie, hated the tiny mewingvoice of her child which, fainter and fainter, pierced the stillness. But she had promised andnow they belonged to her, even as Wade and Prissy belonged to her, and she must struggle andfight for them as long as she had strength or breath. She could have left them in Atlanta, dumpedMelanie into the hospital and deserted her. But had she done that, she could never face Ashley,either on this earth or in the hereafter and tell him she had left his wife and child to die amongstrangers.   Oh, Ashley! Where was he tonight while she toiled down this haunted road with his wife andbaby? Was he alive and did he think of her as he lay behind the bars at Rock Island? Or was hedead of smallpox months ago, rotting in some long ditch with hundreds of other Confederates?   Scarlett’s taut nerves almost cracked as a sudden noise sounded in the underbrush near them.   Prissy screamed loudly, throwing herself to the floor of the wagon, the baby beneath her. Melaniestirred feebly, her hands seeking the baby, and Wade covered his eyes and cowered, too frightenedto cry. Then the bushes beside them crashed apart under heavy hooves and a low moaning bawlassaulted their ears.   “It’s only a cow,” said Scarlett, her voice rough with fright. “Don’t be a fool, Prissy. You’vemashed the baby and frightened Miss Melly and Wade.”   “It’s a ghos’,” moaned Prissy, writhing face down on the wagon boards.   Turning deliberately, Scarlett raised the tree limb she had been using as a whip and brought itdown across Prissy’s back. She was too exhausted and weak from fright to tolerate weakness inanyone else.   “Sit up, you fool,” she said, “before I wear this out on you.”   Yelping, Prissy raised her head and peering over the side of the wagon saw it was, indeed, acow, a red and white animal which stood looking at them appealingly with large frightened eyes.   Opening its mouth, it lowed again as if in pain.   “Is it hurt? That doesn’t sound like an ordinary moo.”   “Soun’ ter me lak her bag full an’ she need milkin’ bad,” said Prissy, regaining some measure ofcontrol. “Spec it one of Mist’ Macintosh’s dat de niggers driv in de woods an’ de Yankees din’ git.”   “Well take it with us,” Scarlett decided swiftly. “Then we can have some milk for the baby.”   “How all we gwine tek a cow wid us, Miss Scarlett? We kain tek no cow wid us. Cow ain’ nogood nohow effen she ain’ been milked lately. Dey bags swells up and busts. Dat’s why shehollerin’.”   “Since you know so much about it, take off your petticoat and tear it up and tie her to the back of the wagon.”   “Miss Scarlett, you knows Ah ain’ had no petticoat fer a month an’ did Ah have one, Ah wouldn’   put it on her fer nuthin’. Ah nebber had no truck wid cows. Ah’s sceered of cows.”   Scarlett laid down the reins and pulled up her skirt. The lace-trimmed petticoat beneath was thelast garment she possessed that was pretty—and whole. She untied the waist tape and slipped itdown over her feet, crushing the soft linen folds between her hands. Rhett had brought her thatlinen and lace from Nassau on the last boat he slipped through the blockade and she had worked aweek to make the garment. Resolutely she took it by the hem and jerked, put it in her mouth andgnawed, until finally the material gave with a rip and tore the length. She gnawed furiously, torewith both hands and the petticoat lay in strips in her hands. She knotted the ends with fingers thatbled from blisters and shook from fatigue.   “Slip this over her horns,” she directed. But Prissy balked.   “Ah’s sceered of cows, Miss Scarlett. Ah ain’ nebber had nuthin’ ter do wid cows. Ah ain’ noyard nigger. Ah’s a house nigger.”   “You’re a fool nigger, and the worst day’s work Pa ever did was to buy you,” said Scarlettslowly, too tired for anger. “And if I ever get the use of my arm again, I’ll wear this whip out onyou.”   There, she thought, I’ve said “nigger” and Mother wouldn’t like that at all.   Prissy rolled her eyes wildly, peeping first at the set face of her mistress and then at the cowwhich bawled plaintively. Scarlett seemed the less dangerous of the two, so Prissy clutched at thesides of the wagon and remained where she was.   Stiffly, Scarlett climbed down from the seat, each movement of agony of aching muscles. Prissywas not the only one who was “sceered” of cows. Scarlett had always feared them, even themildest cow seemed sinister to her, but this was no time to truckle to small fears when great onescrowded so thick upon her. Fortunately the cow was gentle. In its pain it had sought humancompanionship and help and it made no threatening gesture as she looped one end of the tornpetticoat about its horns. She tied the other end to the back of the wagon, as securely as herawkward fingers would permit. Then, as she started back toward the driver’s seat, a vast wearinessassailed her and she swayed dizzily. She clutched the side of the wagon to keep from falling.   Melanie opened her eyes and, seeing Scarlett standing beside her, whispered: “Dear—are wehome?”   Home! Hot tears came to Scarlett’s eyes at the word. Home. Melanie did not know there was nohome and that they were alone in a mad and desolate world.   “Not yet,” she said, as gently as the constriction of her throat would permit, “but we will be,soon. I’ve just found a cow and soon well have some milk for you and the baby.”   “Poor baby,” whispered Melanie, her hand creeping feebly toward the child and falling short.   Climbing back into the wagon required all the strength Scarlett could muster, but at last it wasdone and she picked up the lines. The horse stood with head drooping dejectedly and refused tostart. Scarlett laid on the whip mercilessly. She hoped God would forgive her for hurting a tired animal. If He didn’t she was sorry. After all, Tara lay just ahead, and after the next quarter of amile, the horse could drop in the shafts if he liked.   Finally he started slowly, the wagon creaking and the cow lowing mournfully at every step. Thepained animal’s voice rasped on Scarlett’s nerves until she was tempted to stop and untie the beast.   What good would the cow do them anyway if there should be no one at Tara? She couldn’t milkher and, even if she could, the animal would probably kick anyone who touched her sore udder.   But she had the cow and she might as well keep her. There was little else she had in this worldnow.   Scarlett’s eyes grew misty when, at last, they reached the bottom of a gentle incline, for just overthe rise lay Tara! Then her heart sank. The decrepit animal would never pull the hill. The slope hadalways seemed so slight, so gradual, in days when she galloped up it on her fleet-footed mare. Itdid not seem possible it could have grown so steep since she saw it last. The horse would nevermake it with the heavy load.   Wearily she dismounted and took the animal by the bridle.   “Get out, Prissy,” she commanded, “and take Wade. Either carry him or make him walk. Lay thebaby by Miss Melanie.”   Wade broke into sobs and whimperings from which Scarlett could only distinguish: “Dark—dark— Wade fwightened!”   “Miss Scarlett, Ah kain walk. Mah feets done blistered an’ dey’s thoo mah shoes, an’ Wade an’   me doan weigh so much an’—”   “Get out! Get out before I pull you out! And if I do, I’m going to leave you right here, in thedark by yourself. Quick, now!”   Prissy moaned, peering at the dark trees that closed about them on both sides of the road—treeswhich might reach out and clutch her if she left the shelter of the wagon. But she laid the babybeside Melanie, scrambled to the ground and, reaching up, lifted Wade out. The little boy sobbed,shrinking close to his nurse.   “Make him hush. I can’t stand it,” said Scarlett, taking the horse by the bridle and pulling him toa reluctant start. “Be a little man, Wade, and stop crying or I will come over there and slap you.”   Why had God invented children, she thought savagely as she turned her ankle cruelly on thedark road—useless, crying nuisances they were, always demanding care, always in the way. In herexhaustion, there was no room for compassion for the frightened child, trotting by Prissy’s side,dragging at her hand and sniffling—only a weariness that she had borne him, only a tired wonderthat she had ever married Charles Hamilton.   “Miss Scarlett” whispered Prissy, clutching her mistress’ arm, “doan le’s go ter Tara. Dey’s notdar. Dey’s all done gone. Maybe dey daid—Maw an’ all’m.”   The echo of her own thoughts infuriated her and Scarlett shook off the pinching fingers.   “Then give me Wade’s hand. You can sit right down here and stay.”   “No’m! No’m!”   Then hush!”   How slowly the horse moved! The moisture from his slobbering mouth dripped down upon herhand. Through her mind ran a few words of the song she had once sung with Rhett—she could notrecall the rest:   “Justafew moredaysforto totethewearyload—”   “Just a few more steps,” hummed her brain, over and over, “just a few more steps for to tote theweary load.”   Then they topped the rise and before them lay the oaks of Tara, a towering dark mass against thedarkening sky. Scarlett looked hastily to see if there was a light anywhere. There was none.   “They are gone!” said her heart, like cold lead in her breast. “Gone!”   She turned the horse’s head into the driveway, and the cedars, meeting over their heads, castthem into midnight blackness. Peering up the long tunnel of darkness, straining her eyes, she sawahead—or did she see? Were her tired eyes playing her tricks?—the white bricks of Tara blurredand indistinct Home! Home! The dear white walls, the windows with the fluttering curtains, thewide verandas—were they all there ahead of her, in the gloom? Or did the darkness mercifullyconceal such a horror as the Macintosh house?   The avenue seemed miles long and the horse, pulling stubbornly at her hand, plopped slowerand slower. Eagerly her eyes searched the darkness. The roof seemed to be intact Could it be—could it be—? No, it wasn’t possible. War stopped for nothing, not even Tara, built to last fivehundred years. It could not have passed over Tara.   Then the shadowy outline did take form. She pulled the horse forward faster. The white wallsdid show there through the darkness. And untarnished by smoke. Tara had escaped! Home! Shedropped the bridle and ran the last few steps, leaped forward with an urge to clutch the wallsthemselves in her arms. Then she saw a form, shadowy in the dimness, emerging from theblackness of the front veranda and standing at the top of the steps. Tara was not deserted. Someonewas home!   A cry of joy rose to her throat and died there. The house was so dark and still and the figure didnot move or call to her. What was wrong? What was wrong? Tara stood intact, yet shrouded withthe same eerie quiet that hung over the whole stricken countryside. Then the figure moved. Stifflyand slowly, it came down the steps.   “Pa?” she whispered huskily, doubting almost that it was he. “It’s me—Katie Scarlett. I’ve comehome.”   Gerald moved toward her, silent as a sleepwalker, his stiff leg dragging. He came close to her,looking at her in a dazed way as if he believed she was part of a dream. Putting out his hand, helaid it on her shoulder. Scarlett felt it tremble, tremble as if he had been awakened from anightmare into a half-sense of reality.   “Daughter,” he said with an effort “Daughter.”   Then he was silentWhy—he’s an old man! thought ScarlettGerald’s shoulders sagged. In the face which she could only see dimly, there was none of thevirility, the restless vitality of Gerald, and the eyes that looked into hers had almost the same fear-stunned look that lay in little Wade’s eyes. He was only a little old man and broken.   And now, fear of unknown things seized her, leaped swiftly out of the darkness at her and shecould only stand and stare at him, all the flood of questioning dammed up at her lips.   From the wagon the faint wailing sounded again and Gerald seemed to rouse himself with aneffort“It’s Melanie and her baby,” whispered Scarlett rapidly. “She’s very ill—I brought her home.”   Gerald dropped his hand from her arm and straightened his shoulders. As he moved slowly tothe side of the wagon, there was a ghostly semblance of the old host of Tara welcoming guests, asif Gerald spoke words from out of shadowy memory.   “Cousin Melanie!”   Melanie’s voice murmured indistinctly.   “Cousin Melanie, this is your home. Twelve Oaks is burned. You must stay with us.”   Thoughts of Melanie’s prolonged suffering spurred Scarlett to action. The present was with heragain, the necessity of laying Melanie and her child on a soft bed and doing those small things forher that could be done.   “She must be carried. She can’t walk.”   There was a scuffle of feet and a dark figure emerged from the cave of the front hall. Pork randown the steps.   “Miss Scarlett! Miss Scarlett!” he cried.   Scarlett caught him by the arms. Pork, part and parcel of Tara, as dear as the bricks and the coolcorridors! She felt his tears stream down on her hands as he patted her clumsily, crying: “Sho isglad you back! Sho is—”   Prissy burst into tears and incoherent mumblings: “Poke! Poke, honey!” And little Wade,encouraged by the weakness of his elders, began sniffling: “Wade thirsty!”   Scarlett caught them all in hand.   “Miss Melanie is in the wagon and her baby too. Pork, you must carry her upstairs verycarefully and put her in the back company room. Prissy, take the baby and Wade inside and giveWade a drink of water. Is Mammy here, Pork? Tell her I want her.”   Galvanized by the authority in her voice, Pork approached the wagon and fumbled at thebackboard. A moan was wrenched from Melanie as he half-lifted, half-dragged her from thefeather tick on which she had lain so many hours. And then she was in Pork’s strong arms, herhead drooping like a child’s across his shoulder. Prissy, holding the baby and dragging Wade by thehand, followed them up the wide steps and disappeared into the blackness of the hall.   Scarlett’s bleeding fingers sought her father’s hand urgently.   “Did they get well, Pa?”   “The girls are recovering.”   Silence fell and in the silence an idea too monstrous for words took form. She could not, couldnot force it to her lips. She swallowed and swallowed but a sudden dryness seemed to have stuckthe sides of her throat together. Was this the answer to the frightening riddle of Tara’s silence? As ifanswering the question in her mind Gerald spoke.   “Your mother—” he said and stopped.   “And—Mother?”   “Your mother died yesterday.”   Her father’s arm held tightly in her own, Scarlett felt her way down the wide dark hall which,even in its blackness, was as familiar as her own mind. She avoided the high-backed chairs, theempty gun rack, the old sideboard with its protruding claw feet, and she felt herself drawn byinstinct to the tiny office at the back of the house where Ellen always sat, keeping her endlessaccounts. Surely, when she entered that room, Mother would again be sitting there before thesecretary and would look up, quill poised, and rise with sweet fragrance and rustling hoops to meether tired daughter. Ellen could not be dead, not even though Pa had said it, said it over and overlike a parrot that knows only one phrase: “She died yesterday—she died yesterday—she diedyesterday.”   Queer that she should feel nothing now, nothing except a weariness that shackled her limbs withheavy iron chains and a hunger that made her knees tremble. She would think of Mother later. Shemust put her mother out of her mind now, else she would stumble stupidly like Gerald or sobmonotonously like Wade.   Pork came down the wide dark steps toward them, hurrying to press close to Scarlett like a coldanimal toward a fire.   “Lights?” she questioned. “Why is the house so dark, Pork? Bring candles.”   “Dey tuck all de candles, Miss Scarlett, all ‘cept one we been usin’ ter fine things in de dahkwid, an’ it’s ‘bout gone. Mammy been usin’ a rag in a dish of hawg fat fer a light fer nussin’ MissCareen an’ Miss Suellen.”   “Bring what’s left of the candle,” she ordered. “Bring it into Mother’s—into the office.”   Pork pattered into the dining room and Scarlett groped her way into the inky small room andsank down on the sofa. Her father’s arm still lay in the crook of hers, helpless, appealing, trusting,as only the hands of the very young and the very old can be.   “He’s an old man, an old tired man,” she thought again and vaguely wondered why she couldnot care.   Light wavered into the room as Pork entered carrying high a half-burned candle stuck in a saucer. The dark cave came to life, the sagging old sofa on which they sat, the tall secretaryreaching toward the ceiling with Mother’s fragile carved chair before it, the racks of pigeonholes,still stuffed with papers written in her fine hand, the worn carpet—all, all were the same, exceptthat Ellen was not there, Ellen with the faint scent of lemon verbena sachet and the sweet look inher tip-tilted eyes. Scarlett felt a small pain in her heart as of nerves numbed by a deep wound,struggling to make themselves felt again. She must not let them come to life now; there was all therest of her life ahead of her in which they could ache. But, not now! Please, God, not now!   She looked into Gerald’s putty-colored face and, for the first time in her life, she saw himunshaven, his once florid face covered with silvery bristles. Pork placed the candle on the candlestand and came to her side. Scarlett felt that if he had been a dog he would have laid his muzzle inher lap and whined for a kind hand upon his head.   “Pork, how many darkies are here?”   “Miss Scarlett, dem trashy niggers done runned away an’ some of dem went off wid de Yankeesan’—”   “How many are left?”   “Dey’s me, Miss Scarlett, an’ Mammy. She been nussin’ de young Misses all day. An’ Dilcey,she settin’ up wid de young Misses now. Us three, Miss Scarlett.”   “Us three” where there had been a hundred. Scarlett with an effort lifted her head on her achingneck. She knew she must keep her voice steady. To her surprise, words came out as coolly andnaturally as if there had never been a war and she could, by waving her hand, call ten houseservants to her.   “Pork, I’m starving. Is there anything to eat?”   “No’m. Dey tuck it all.”   “But the garden?”   “Dey tuhned dey hawses loose in it.”   “Even the sweet potato hills?”   Something almost like a pleased smile broke his thick lips.   “Miss Scarlett, Ah done fergit de yams. Ah specs dey’s right dar. Dem Yankee folks ain’ neverseed no yams an’ dey thinks dey’s jes’ roots an’—”   “The moon will be up soon. You go out and dig us some and roast them. There’s no corn meal?   No dried peas? No chickens?”   “No’m. No’m. Whut chickens dey din’ eat right hyah dey cah’ied off ‘cross dey saddles.”   They— They— They— Was there no end to what “They” had done? Was it not enough to burnand kill? Must they also leave women and children and helpless negroes to starve in a countrywhich they had desolated?   “Miss Scarlett, Ah got some apples Mammy buhied unner de house. We been eatin’ on demtoday.”   “Bring them before you dig the potatoes. And, Pork—I—I feel so faint. Is there any wine in thecellar, even blackberry?”   “Oh, Miss Scarlett, de cellar wuz de fust place dey went.”   A swimming nausea compounded of hunger, sleeplessness, exhaustion and stunning blows cameon suddenly and she gripped the carved roses under her hand.   “No wine,” she said dully, remembering the endless rows of bottles in the cellar. A memorystirred.   “Pork, what of the corn whisky Pa buried in the oak barrel under the scuppernong arbor?”   Another ghost of a smile lit the black face, a smile of pleasure and respect.   “Miss Scarlett, you sho is de beatenes’ chile! Ah done plum fergit dat bahn.” But, Miss Scarlett,dat whisky ain’ no good. Ain’ been dar but ‘bout a year an’ whisky ain’ no good fer ladies nohow.”   How stupid negroes were! They never thought of anything unless they were told. And theYankees wanted to free them.   “It’ll be good enough for this lady and for Pa. Hurry, Pork, and dig it up and bring us twoglasses and some mint and sugar and I’ll mix a julep.”   “Miss Scarlett, you knows dey ain’ been no sugar at Tara fer de longes’. An’ dey hawses done etup all de mint an’ dey done broke all de glasses.”   If he says “They” once more, I’ll scream. I can’t help it, she thought, and then, aloud: “Well,hurry and get the whisky, quickly. We’ll take it neat.” And, as he turned: “Wait, Pork. There’s somany things to do that I can’t seem to think. … Oh, yes. I brought home a horse and a cow and thecow needs milking, badly, and unharness the horse and water him. Go tell Mammy to look afterthe cow. Tell her she’s got to fix the cow up somehow. Miss Melanie’s baby will die if he doesn’tget something to eat and—”   “Miss Melly ain’—kain—?” Pork paused delicately.   “Miss Melanie has no milk.” Dear God, but Mother would faint at that!   “Well, Miss Scarlett, mah Dilcey ten’ ter Miss Melly’s chile. Mah Dilcey got a new chile herselfan’ she got mo’n nuff fer both.”   “You’ve got a new baby, Pork?”   Babies, babies, babies. Why did God make so many babies? But no, God didn’t make them.   Stupid people made them.   “Yas’m, big fat black boy. He—”   “Go tell Dilcey to leave the girls. I’ll look after them. Tell her to nurse Miss Melanie’s baby anddo what she can for Miss Melanie. Tell Mammy to look after the cow and put that poor horse in thestable.”   “Dey ain’ no stable, Miss Scarlett. Dey use it fer fiah wood.”   “Don’t tell me any more what ‘They’ did. Tell Dilcey to look after them. And you, Pork, go dig up that whisky and then some potatoes.”   “But, Miss Scarlett, Ah ain’ got no light ter dig by.”   “You can use a stick of firewood, can’t you?”   “Dey ain’ no fiah wood—Dey—”   “Do something. ... I don’t care what. But dig those things and dig them fast. Now, hurry.”   Pork scurried from the room as her voice roughened and Scarlett was left alone with Gerald. Shepatted his leg gently. She noted how shrunken were the thighs that once bulged with saddlemuscles. She must do something to drag him from his apathy—but she could not ask aboutMother. That must come later, when she could stand it.   “Why didn’t they burn Tara?”   Gerald stared at her for a moment as if not hearing her and she repeated her question.   “Why—” he fumbled, “they used the house as a headquarters.”   “Yankees—in this house?”   A feeling that the beloved walls had been defiled rose in her. This house, sacred because Ellenhad lived in it, and those—those—in it.   “So they were, Daughter. We saw the smoke from Twelve Oaks, across the river, before theycame. But Miss Honey and Miss India and some of their darkies had refugeed to Macon, so we didnot worry about them. But we couldn’t be going to Macon. The girls were so sick—your mother—we couldn’t be going. Our darkies ran—I’m not knowing where. They stole the wagons and themules. Mammy and Dilcey and Pork—they didn’t run. The girls—your mother—we couldn’t bemoving them.   “Yes, yes.” He mustn’t talk about Mother. Anything else. Even that General Sherman himselfhad used this room, Mother’s office, for his headquarters. Anything else.   “The Yankees were moving on Jonesboro, to cut the railroad. And they came up the road fromthe river—thousands and thousands—and cannon and horses—thousands. I met them on the frontporch.”   “Oh, gallant little Gerald!” thought Scarlett, her heart swelling, Gerald meeting the enemy onthe stairs of Tara as if an army stood behind him instead of in front of him.   “They said for me to leave, that they would be burning the place. And I said that they would beburning it over my head. We could not leave—the girls—your mother were—”   “And then?” Must he revert to Ellen always?   “I told them there was sickness in the house, the typhoid, and it was death to move them. Theycould burn the roof over us. I did not want to leave anyway—leave Tara—”   His voice trailed off into silence as he looked absently about the walls and Scarlet! understood.   There were too many Irish ancestors crowding behind Gerald’s shoulders, men who had died onscant acres, fighting to the end rather than leave the homes where they had lived, plowed, loved,begotten sons.   “I said that they would be burning the house over the heads of three dying women. But wewould not leave. The young officer was—was a gentleman.”   “A Yankee a gentleman? Why, Pa!”   “A gentleman. He galloped away and soon he was back with a captain, a surgeon, and he lookedat the girls—and your mother.”   “You let a damned Yankee into their room?”   “He had opium. We had none. He saved your sisters. Suellen was hemorrhaging. He was as kindas he knew how. And when he reported that they were—ill—they did not burn the house. Theymoved in, some general, his staff, crowding in. They filled all the rooms except the sick room. Andthe soldiers—”   He paused again, as if too tired to go on. His stubbly chin sank heavily in loose folds of flesh onhis chest With an effort he spoke again.   They camped all round the house, everywhere, in the cotton, in the corn. The pasture was bluewith them. That night there were a thousand campfires. They tore down the fences and burnedthem to cook with and the barns and the stables and the smokehouse. They killed the cows and thehogs and the chickens—even my turkeys.” Gerald’s precious turkeys. So they were gone. Theytook things, even the pictures—some of the furniture, the china—”   “The silver?”   “Pork and Mammy did something with the silver—put it in the well—but I’m not rememberingnow,” Gerald’s voice was fretful. “Then they fought the battle from here—from Tara—there wasso much noise, people galloping up and stamping about. And later the cannon at Jonesboro—itsounded like thunder—even the girls could hear it, sick as they were, and they kept saying overand over: ‘Papa, make it stop thundering.’ ”   “And—and Mother? Did she know Yankees were in the house?”   “She—never knew anything.”   “Thank God,” said Scarlett. Mother was spared that. Mother never knew, never heard the enemyin the rooms below, never heard the guns at Jonesboro, never learned that the land which was partof her heart was under Yankee feet.   “I saw few of them for I stayed upstairs with the girls and your mother. I saw the young surgeonmostly. He was kind, so kind, Scarlett. After he’d worked all day with the wounded, he came andsat with them. He even left some medicine. He told me when they moved on that the girls wouldrecover but your mother— She was so frail, he said—too frail to stand it all. He said she hadundermined her strength. …”   In the silence that fell. Scarlett saw her mother as she must have been in those last days, a thinpower of strength in Tara, nursing, working, doing without sleep and food that the others mightrest and eat.   “And then, they moved on. Then, they moved on.”   He was silent for a long time and then fumbled at her hand.   “It’s glad I am you are home,” he said simply.   There was a scraping noise on the back porch. Poor Pork, trained for forty years to clean hisshoes before entering the house, did not forget, even in a time like this. He came in, carefullycarrying two gourds, and the strong smell of dripping spirits entered before him.   “Ah spilt a plen’y, Miss Scarlett. It’s pow’ful hard ter po’ outer a bung hole inter a go’de.”   “That’s quite all right, Pork, and thank you.” She took the wet gourd dipper from him, hernostrils wrinkling in distaste at the reek.   “Drink this, Father,” she said, pushing the whisky in its strange receptacle into his hand andtaking the second gourd of water from Pork. Gerald raised it, obedient as a child, and gulpednoisily. She handed the water to him but he shook his head.   As she took the whisky from him and held it to her mouth, she saw his eyes follow her, a vaguestirring of disapproval in them.   “I know no lady drinks spirits,” she said briefly. “But today I’m no lady, Pa, and there is work todo tonight.”   She tilted the dipper, drew a deep breath and drank swiftly. The hot liquid burned down herthroat to her stomach, choking her and bringing tears to her eyes. She drew another breath andraised it again.   “Katie Scarlett,” said Gerald, the first note of authority she had heard in his voice since herreturn, “that is enough. You’re not knowing spirits and they will be making you tipsy.”   “Tipsy?” She laughed an ugly laugh. “Tipsy? I hope it makes me drunk. I would like to be drunkand forget all of this.”   She drank again, a slow train of warmth lighting in her veins and stealing through her body untileven her finger tips tingled. What a blessed feeling, this kindly fire. It seemed to penetrate even herice-locked heart and strength came coursing back into her body.’ Seeing Gerald’s puzzled hurtface, she patted his knee again and managed an imitation of the pert smile he used to love.   “How could it make me tipsy, Pa? I’m your daughter. Haven’t I inherited the steadiest head inClayton County?”   He almost smiled into her tired face. The whisky was bracing him too. She handed it back tohim.   “Now you’re going to take another drink and then I am going to take you upstairs and put you tobed.”   She caught herself. Why, this was the way she talked to Wade—she should not address herfather like this. It was disrespectful. But he hung on her words.   “Yes, put you to bed,” she added lightly, “and give you another drink—maybe all the dipper andmake you go to sleep. You need sleep and Katie Scarlett is here, so you need not worry aboutanything. Drink.”   He drank again obediently and, slipping her arm through his, she pulled him to his feet “Pork. …”   Pork took the gourd in one hand and Gerald’s arm in the other. Scarlett picked up the flaringcandle and the three walked slowly into the dark hall and up the winding steps toward Gerald’sroom.   The room where Suellen and Carreen lay mumbling and tossing on the same bed stank vilelywith the smell of the twisted rag burning in a saucer of bacon fat, which provided the only light.   When Scarlett first opened the door the thick atmosphere of the room, with all windows closed andthe air reeking with sick-room odors, medicine smells and stinking grease, almost made her faint.   Doctors might say that fresh air was fatal in a sick room but if she were to sit here, she must haveair or die. She opened the three windows, bringing in the smell of oak leaves and earth, but thefresh air could do little toward dispelling the sickening odors which had accumulated for weeks inthis close room.   Carreen and Suellen, emaciated and white, slept brokenly and awoke to mumble with wide,staring eyes in the tall four-poster bed where they had whispered together in better, happier days.   In the corner of the room was an empty bed, a narrow French Empire bed with curling head andfoot, a bed which Ellen had brought from Savannah. This was where Ellen had lain.   Scarlett sat beside the two girls, staring at them stupidly. The whisky taken on a stomach longempty was playing tricks on her. Sometimes her sisters seemed far away and tiny and theirincoherent voices came to her like the buzz of insects. And again, they loomed large, rushing at herwith lightning speed. She was tired, tired to the bone. She could lie down and sleep for days.   If she could only lie down and sleep and wake to feel Ellen gentry shaking her arm and saying:   “It is late, Scarlett. You must not be so lazy.” But she could not ever do that again. If there wereonly Ellen, someone older than she, wiser and unweary, to whom she could go! Someone in whoselap she could lay her head, someone on whose shoulders she could rest her burdens!   The door opened softly and Dilcey entered, Melanie’s baby held to her breast, the gourd ofwhisky in her hand. In the smoky, uncertain light, she seemed thinner than when Scarlett last sawher and the Indian blood evident in her face. The high cheek bones more prominent,thehawk-bridgedno(was) sewas(more) sharperandhercopperskingleamedwithabrighte(were) r hue.   Her faded calico dress was open to the waist and her large bronze breast exposed. Held closeagainst her, Melanie’s baby pressed his pale rosebud mouth greedily to the dark nipple, sucking,gripping tiny fists against the soft flesh like a kitten in the warm fur of its mother’s belly.   Scarlett rose unsteadily and put a hand on Dilcey’s arm.   “It was good of you to stay, Dilcey.”   “How could I go off wid them trashy niggers, Miss Scarlett, after yo’ pa been so good to buy meand my little Prissy and yo’ ma been so kine?”   “Sit down, Dilcey. The baby can eat all right, then? And how is Miss Melanie?”   “Nuthin’ wrong wid this chile ‘cept he hongry, and what it take to feed a hongry chile I got.   No’m, Miss Melanie is all right. She ain’ gwine die, Miss Scarlett. Doan you fret yo’seff. I seen toomany, white and black, lak her. She mighty tired and nervous like and scared fo’ this baby. But I hesh her and give her some of whut was lef in that go’de and she sleepin’.”   So the corn whisky had been used by the whole family! Scarlett thought hysterically thatperhaps she had better give a drink to little Wade and see if it would stop his hiccoughs— AndMelanie would not die. And when Ashley came home—if he did come home ... No, she wouldthink of that later too. So much to think of—later! So many things to unravel—to decide. If onlyshe could put off the hour of reckoning forever! She started suddenly as a creaking noise and arhythmic “Ker-bunk—ker-bunk—” broke the stillness of the air outside.   “That’s Mammy gettin’ the water to sponge off the young Misses. They takes a heap of bathin’,”   explained Dilcey, propping the gourd on the table between medicine bottles and a glass.   Scarlett laughed suddenly. Her nerves must be shredded if the noise of the well windlass, boundup in her earliest memories, could frighten her. Dilcey looked at her steadily as she laughed, herface immobile in its dignity, but Scarlett felt that Dilcey understood. She sank back in her chair. Ifshe could only be rid of her tight stays, the collar that choked her and the slippers still full of sandand gravel that blistered her feet.   The windlass creaked slowly as the rope wound up, each creak bringing the bucket nearer thetop. Soon Mammy would be with her—Ellen’s Mammy, her Mammy. She sat silent, intent onnothing, while the baby, already glutted with milk, whimpered because he had lost the friendlynipple. Dilcey, silent too, guided the child’s mouth back, quieting him in her arms as Scarlettlistened to the slow scuffing of Mammy’s feet across the back yard. How still the night air was!   The slightest sounds roared in her ears.   The upstairs hall seemed to shake as Mammy’s ponderous weight came toward the door. ThenMammy was in the room, Mammy with shoulders dragged down by two heavy wooden buckets,her kind black face sad with the uncomprehending sadness of a monkey’s face.   Her eyes lighted up at the sight of Scarlett, her white teeth gleamed as she set down the buckets,and Scarlett ran to her, laying her head on the broad, sagging breasts which had held so manyheads, black and white. Here was something of stability, thought Scarlett, something of the old lifethat was unchanging. But Mammy’s first words dispelled this illusion.   “Mammy’s chile is home! Oh, Miss Scarlett, now dat Miss Ellen’s in de grabe, whut is wegwine ter do? Oh, Miss Scarlett, effen Ah wuz jes’ daid longside Miss Ellen! Ah kain make outwidout Miss Ellen. Ain’ nuthin’ lef now but mizry an’ trouble. Jes’ weery loads, honey, jes’ weeryloads.”   As Scarlett lay with her head hugged close to Mammy’s breast, two words caught her attention,“weery loads.” Those the words which had hummed in her brain that afternoon so monotonously they hadsicken(were) ed her. Now, she remembered the rest of the song, remembered witha sinking heart:   “Justafew moredaysforto totethewearyload!   No matter,‘twilllneverbelight!   Justafewmoredaystilllwetotterintheroad—”   “No matter, ‘twill never be light”—she took the words to her tired mind. Would her load neverbe light? Was coming home to Tara to mean, not blessed surcease, but only more loads to carry?   She slipped from Mammy’s arms and, reaching up, patted the wrinkled black face.   “Honey, yo’ han’s!” Mammy took the small hands with their blisters and blood clots in hers andlooked at them with horrified disapproval. “Miss Scarlett, Ah done tole you an’ tole you dat youkin allus tell a lady by her han’s an’—yo’ face sunbuhnt too!”   Poor Mammy, still the martinet about such unimportant things even though war and death hadjust passed over her head! In another moment she would be saying that young Misses withblistered hands and freckles most generally didn’t never catch husbands and Scarlett forestalled theremark.   “Mammy, I want you to tell me about Mother. I couldn’t bear to hear Pa talk about her.”   Tears started from Mammy’s eyes as she leaned down to pick up the buckets. In silence shecarried them to the bedside and, turning down the sheet, began pulling up the night clothes ofSuellen and Carreen. Scarlett, peering at her sisters in the dim flaring light, saw that Carreen worea nightgown, clean but in tatters, and Suellen lay wrapped in an old negligee, a brown linengarment heavy with tagging ends of Irish lace. Mammy cried silently as she sponged the gauntbodies, using the remnant of an old apron as a cloth.   “Miss Scarlett, it wuz dem Slatterys, dem trashy, no-good, low-down po’-w’ite Slatterys dat kiltMiss Ellen. Ah done tole her an’ tole her it doan do no good doin’ things fer trashy folks, but MissEllen wuz so sot in her ways an’ her heart so sof’ she couldn’ never say no ter nobody whut neededher.”   “Slatterys?” questioned Scarlett, bewildered. “How do they come in?”   “Dey wuz sick wid disyere thing,” Mammy gestured with her rag to the two naked girls,dripping with water on their damp sheet. “Ole Miss Slattery’s gal, Emmie, come down wid it an’   Miss Slattery come hotfootin’ it up hyah affer Miss Ellen, lak she allus done w’en anything wrong.   Why din’ she nuss her own? Miss Ellen had mo’n she could tote anyways. But Miss Ellen she wentdown dar an’ she nuss Emmie. An’ Miss Ellen wuzn’ well a-tall her-seff, Miss Scarlett. Yo’ mahadn’ been well fer de longes’. Dey ain’ been too much ter eat roun’ hyah, wid de commissarystealin’ eve’y thing us growed. An’ Miss Ellen eat lak a bird anyways. An’ Ah tole her an’ tole herter let dem w’ite trash alone, but she din’ pay me no mine. Well’m, “bout de time Emmie look lakshe gittin’ better, Miss Carreen come down wid it. Yas’m, de typhoy fly right up de road an’ ketchMiss Carreen, an’ den down come Miss Suellen. So Miss Ellen, she tuck an’ nuss dem too.   “Wid all de fightin’ up de road an’ de Yankees ‘cross de river an’ us not knowin’ whut wuzgwine ter happen ter us an’ de fe’el han’s runnin” off eve’y night, Ah’s ‘bout crazy. But Miss Ellenjes’ as cool as a cucumber. ‘Cept she wuz worried ter a ghos’ ‘bout de young Misses kase wecouldn’ git no medicines nor nuthin’. An’ one night she say ter me affer we done sponge off deyoung Misses ‘bout ten times, she say, ‘Mammy, effen Ah could sell mah soul, Ah’d sell it fersome ice ter put on mah gals’ haids.’   “She wouldn’t let Mist’ Gerald come in hyah, nor Rosa nor Teena, nobody but me, kase Ah donehad de typhoy.An’ den it tuck her, Miss Scarlett, an’Ah seed right off dat twarnt no use.”   Mammy straightened up and, raising her apron, dried her streaming eyes.   “She went fas’, Miss Scarlett, an’ even dat nice Yankee doctah couldn’ do nuthin’ fer her. Shedin’ know nuthin’ a-tall. Ah call ter her an’ talk ter her but she din’ even know her own Mammy.”   “Did she—did she ever mention me—call for me?”   “No, honey. She think she is lil gal back in Savannah, She din’ call nobody by name.”   Dilcey stirred and laid the sleeping baby across her knees.   “Yes’m, she did. She did call somebody.”   “You hesh yo’ mouf, you Injun-nigger!” Mammy turned with threatening violence on Dilcey.   “Hush, Mammy! Who did she call, Dilcey? Pa?”   “No’m. Not yo’ pa. It wuz the night the cotton buhnt—”   “Has the cotton gone—tell me quickly!”   “Yes’m, it buhnt up. The sojers rolls it out of the shed into the back yard and hollers, ‘Here thebigges’ bonfiah in Georgia,’ and tech it off.”   Three years of stored cotton—one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, all in one blaze!   “And the fiah light up the place lak it wuz day—we wuz scared th Chapter 25 THE NEXT MORNING Scarlett’s body was so stiff and sore from the long miles of walking andjolting in the wagon that every movement was agony. Her face was crimson with sunburn and herblistered palms raw. Her tongue was furred and her throat parched as if flames had scorched it andno amount of water could assuage her thirst. Her head felt swollen and she winced even when sheturned her eyes. A queasiness of the stomach reminiscent of the early days of her pregnancy madethe smoking yams on the breakfast table unendurable, even to the smell. Gerald could have toldher she was suffering the normal aftermath of her first experience with hard drinking but Geraldnoticed nothing. He sat at the head of the table, a gray old man with absent, faded eyes fastened onthe door and head cocked slightly to hear the rustle of Ellen’s petticoats, to smell the lemonverbena sachet.   As Scarlett sat down, he mumbled: “We will wait for Mrs. O’Hara. She is late.” She raised anaching head, looked at him with startled incredulity and met the pleading eyes of Mammy, whostood behind Gerald’s chair. She rose unsteadily, her hand at her throat and looked down at herfather in the morning sunlight. He peered up at her vaguely and she saw that his hands wereshaking, that his head trembled a little.   Until this moment she had not realized how much she had counted on Gerald to take command, to tell her what she must do, and now— Why, last night he had seemed almost himself. There hadbeen none of his usual bluster and vitality, but at least he had told a connected story and now—now, he did not even remember Ellen was dead. The combined shock of the coming of the Yankeesand her death had stunned him. She started to speak, but Mammy shook her head vehemently andraising her apron dabbed at her red eyes.   “Oh, can Pa have lost his mind?” thought Scarlett and her throbbing head felt as if it wouldcrack with this added strain. “No, no. He’s just dazed by it all. Ifs like he was sick. He’ll get overit. He must get over it. What will I do if he doesn’t?—I won’t think about it now. I won’t think ofhim or Mother or any of these awful things now. No, not till I can stand it. There are too manyother things to think about—things that can be helped without my thinking of those I can’t help.”   She left the dining room without eating, and went out onto the back porch where she foundPork, barefooted and in the ragged remains of his best livery, sitting on the steps cracking peanuts.   Her head was hammering and throbbing and the bright sunlight stabbed into her eyes. Merelyholding herself erect required an effort of will power and she talked as briefly as possible,dispensing with the usual forms of courtesy her mother had always taught her to use with negroes.   She began asking questions so brusquely and giving orders so decisively Pork’s eyebrows wentup in mystification. Miss Ellen didn’t never talk so short to nobody, not even when she caughtthem stealing pullets and watermelons. She asked again about the fields, the gardens, the stock,and her green eyes had a hard bright glaze which Pork had never seen in them before.   “Yas’m, dat hawse daid, lyin’ dar whar Ah tie him wid his nose in de water bucket he tuhnedover. No’m, de cow ain’ daid. Din’ you know? She done have a calf las’ night Dat why she bellerso.”   “A fine midwife your Prissy will make,” Scarlett remarked caustically. “She said she wasbellowing because she needed milking.”   “Well’m, Prissy ain’ fixin’ ter be no cow midwife, Miss Scarlett,” Pork said tactfully. “An’ ain’   no use quarrelin’ wid blessin’s, ‘cause dat calf gwine ter mean a full cow an’ plen’y buttermilk ferde young Misses, lak dat Yankee doctah say dey’ need.”   “All right, go on. Any stock left?”   “No’m. Nuthin’ ‘cept one ole sow an’ her litter. Ah driv dem inter de swamp de day de Yankeescome, but de Lawd knows how we gwine git dem. She mean, dat sow.”   “Well get them all right. You and Prissy can start right now hunting for her.”   Pork was amazed and indignant.   “Miss Scarlett, dat a fe’el han’s bizness. Ah’s allus been a house nigger.”   A small fiend with a pair of hot tweezers plucked behind Scarlett’s eyeballs.   “You two will catch the sow—or get out of here, like the field hands did.”   Tears trembled in Pork’s hurt eyes. Oh, if only Miss Ellen was here! She understood suchniceties and realized the wide gap between the duties of a field hand and those of a house nigger.   “Git out, Miss Scarlett? Whar’d Ah git out to, Miss Scarlett?”   “I don’t know and I don’t care. But anyone at Tara who won’t work can go hunt up the Yankees.   You can tell the others that too.”   “Yas’m.”   “Now, what about the corn and the cotton, Pork?”   “De cawn? Lawd, Miss Scarlett, dey pasture dey hawses in de cawn an’ cah’ied off whut dehawses din’ eat or spile. An’ dey driv dey cannons an’ waggins ‘cross de cotton till it plum ruint,‘cept a few acres over on de creek bottom dat dey din’ notice. But dat cotton ain’ wuth foolin’ wid,‘cause ain’ but ‘bout three bales over dar.”   Three bales. Scarlett thought of the scores of bales Tara usually yielded and her head hurt worse.   Three bales. That was little more than the shiftless Slatterys raised. To make matters worse, therewas the question of taxes. The Confederate government took cotton for taxes in lieu of money, butthree bales wouldn’t even cover the taxes. Little did it matter though, to her or the Confederacy,now that all the field hands had run away and there was no one to pick the cotton.   “Well, I won’t think of that either,” she told herself. “Taxes aren’t a woman’s job anyway. Paought to look after such things, but Pa— I won’t think of Pa now. The Confederacy can whistle forits taxes. What we need now is something to eat.”   “Pork, have any of you been to Twelve Oaks or the Macintosh place to see if there’s, anythingleft in the gardens there?”   “No, Ma’m! Us ain’ lef’ Tara. De Yankees mout git us.”   “I’ll send Dilcey over to Macintosh. Perhaps she’ll find something there. And I’ll go to TwelveOaks.”   “Who wid, chile?”   “By myself. Mammy must stay with the girls and Mr. Gerald can’t—”   Pork set up an outcry which she found infuriating. There might be Yankees or mean niggers atTwelve Oaks. She mustn’t go alone.”   “That will be enough, Pork. Tell Dilcey to start immediately. And you and Prissy go bring in thesow and her litter,” she said briefly, turning on her heel.   Mammy’s old sunbonnet, faded but clean, hung on its peg on the back porch and Scarlett put iton her head, remembering, as from another world, the bonnet with the curling green plume whichRhett had brought her from Paris. She picked up a large split-oak basket and started down the backstairs, each step jouncing her head until her spine seemed to be trying to crash through the top ofher skull.   The road down to the river lay red and scorching between the ruined cotton fields. There wereno trees to cast a shade and the sun beat down through Mammy’s sunbonnet as if it were made oftarlatan instead of heavy quilted calico, while the dust floating upward sifted into her nose andthroat until she felt the membranes would crack dryly if she spoke. Deep ruts and furrows were cutinto the road where horses had dragged heavy guns along it and the red gullies on either side weredeeply gashed by the wheels. The cotton was mangled and trampled where cavalry and infantry, forced off the narrow road by the artillery, had marched through the green bushes, grinding theminto the earth. Here and mere in the road and fields lay buckles and bits of harness leather, canteensflattened by hooves and caisson wheels, buttons, blue caps, worn socks, bits of bloody rags, all thelitter left by the marching army.   She passed the clump of cedars and the low brick wall which marked the family burying ground,trying not to think of the new grave lying by the three short mounds of her little brothers. Oh, Ellen— She trudged on down the dusty hill, passing the heap of ashes and the stumpy chimney wherethe Slattery house had stood, and she wished savagely that the whole tribe of them had been part ofthe ashes. If it hadn’t been for the Slatterys—if it hadn’t been for that nasty Emmie who’d had abastard brat by their overseer—Ellen wouldn’t have died.   She moaned as a sharp pebble cut into her blistered foot. What was she doing here? Why wasScarlett O’Hara, the belle of the County, the sheltered pride of Tara, tramping down this roughroad almost barefoot? Her little feet were made to dance, not to limp, her tiny slippers to peepdaringly from under bright silks, not to collect sharp pebbles and dust. She was born to bepampered and waited upon, and here she was, sick and ragged, driven by hunger to hunt for foodin the gardens of her neighbors.   At the bottom of the long hill was the river and how cool and still were the tangled treesoverhanging the water! She sank down on the low bank, and stripping off the remnants of herslippers and stockings, dabbled her burning feet in the cool water. It would be so good to sit hereall day, away from the helpless eyes of Tara, here where only the rustle of leaves and the gurgle ofslow water broke the stillness. But reluctantly she replaced her shoes and stockings and trudgeddown the bank, spongy with moss, under the shady trees. The Yankees had burned the bridge butshe knew of a footlog bridge across a narrow point of the stream a hundred yards below. Shecrossed it cautiously and trudged uphill the hot half-mile to Twelve Oaks.   There towered the twelve oaks, as they had stood since Indian days, but with their leaves brownfrom fire and the branches burned and scorched. Within their circle lay the ruins of John Wilkes’   house, the charred remains of that once stately home which had crowned the hill in white-columned dignity. The deep pit which had been the cellar, the blackened field-stone foundationsand two mighty chimneys marked the site. One long column, half-burned, had fallen across thelawn, crushing the cape jessamine bushes.   Scarlett sat down on the column, too sick at the sight to go on. This desolation went to her heartas nothing she had ever experienced. Here was the Wilkes pride in the dust at her feet. Here wasthe end of the kindly, courteous house which had always welcomed her, the house where in futiledreams she had aspired to be mistress. Here she had danced and dined and flirted and here she hadwatched with a jealous, hurting heart how Melanie smiled up at Ashley. Here, too, in the coolshadows of the trees, Charles Hamilton had rapturously pressed her hand when she said she wouldmarry him.   “Oh, Ashley,” she thought, “I hope you are dead! I could never bear for you to see this.”   Ashley had married his bride here but his son and his son’s son would never bring brides to thishouse. There would be no more matings and births beneath this roof which she had so loved andlonged to rule. The house was dead and to Scarlett, it was as if all the Wilkeses, too, were dead in its ashes.   “I won’t think of it now. I can’t stand it now. I’ll think of it later,” she said aloud, turning hereyes away.   Seeking the garden, she limped around the ‘ruins, by the trampled rose beds the Wilkes girls hadtended so zealously, across the back yard and through the ashes to the smokehouse, barns andchicken houses. The split-rail fence around the kitchen garden had been demolished and the onceorderly rows of green plants had suffered the same treatment as those at Tara. The soft earth wasscarred with hoof prints and heavy wheels and the vegetables were mashed into the soil. There wasnothing for her here.   She walked back across the yard and took the path down toward the silent row of whitewashedcabins in the quarters, calling “Hello!” as she went. But no voice answered her. Not even a dogbarked. Evidently the Wilkes negroes had taken flight or followed the Yankees. She knew everyslave had his own garden patch and as she reached the quarters, she hoped these little patches hadbeen spared.   Her search was rewarded but she was too tired even to feel pleasure at the sight of turnips andcabbages, wilted for want of water but still standing, and straggling butter beans and snap beans,yellow but edible. She sat down in the furrows and dug into the earth with hands that shook, fillingher basket slowly. There would be a good meal at Tara tonight, in spite of the lack of side meat toboil with the vegetables. Perhaps some of the bacon grease Dilcey was using for illumination couldbe used for seasoning. She must remember to tell Dilcey to use pine knots and save the grease forcooking.   Close to the back step of one cabin, she found a short row of radishes and hunger assaulted hersuddenly. A spicy, sharp-tasting radish was exactly what her stomach craved. Hardly waiting to rubthe dirt off on her skirt, she bit off half and swallowed it hastily. It was old and coarse and sopeppery that tears started in her eyes. No sooner had the lump gone down than her empty outragedstomach revolted and she lay in the soft dirt and vomited tiredly.   The faint niggery smell which crept from the cabin increased her nausea and, without strength tocombat it, she kept on retching miserably while the cabins and trees revolved swiftly around her.   After a long time, she lay weakly on her face, the earth as soft and comfortable as a featherpillow, and her mind wandered feebly here and there. She, Scarlett O’Hara. was lying behind anegro cabin, in the midst of ruins, too sick and too weak to move, and no one in the world knew orcared. No one would care if they did know, for everyone had too many troubles of his own toworry about her. And all this was happening to her, Scarlett O’Hara, who had never raised her handeven to pick up her discarded stockings from the floor or to tie the laces of her slippers—Scarlett,whose little headaches and tempers had been coddled and catered to all her life.   As she lay prostrate, too weak to fight off memories and worries, they rushed at her likebuzzards waiting for death. No longer had she the strength to say: I’ll think of Mother and Pa andAshley and all this ruin later— Yes, later when I can stand it.” She could not stand it now, but shewas thinking of them whether she willed it or not. The thoughts circled and swooped above her,dived down and drove tearing claws and sharp beaks into her mind. For a timeless time, she lay still, her face in the dirt, the sun beating hotly upon her, remembering things and people who weredead, remembering a way of living that was gone forever—and looking upon the harsh vista of thedark future.   When she arose at last and saw again the black ruins of Twelve Oaks, her head was raised highand something that was youth and beauty and potential tenderness had gone out of her face forever.   What was past was past. Those who were dead were dead. The lazy luxury of the old days wasgone, never to return. And, as Scarlett settled the heavy basket across her arm, she had settled herown mind and her own life.   There was no going back and she was going forward.   Throughout the South for fifty years there would be bitter-eyed women who looked backward,to dead times, to dead men, evoking memories that hurt and were futile, bearing poverty with bitterpride because they had those memories. But Scarlett was never to look back.   She gazed at the blackened stones and, for the last time, she saw Twelve Oaks rise before hereyes as it had once stood, rich and proud, symbol of a race and a way of living. Then she starteddown the road toward Tara, the heavy basket cutting into her flesh.   Hunger gnawed at her empty stomach again and she said aloud: “As God is my witness, as Godis my witness, the Yankees aren’t going to lick me. I’m going to live through this, and when it’sover, I’m never going to be hungry again. No, nor any of my folks. If I have to steal or kill— asGod is my witness, I’m never going to be hungry again.”   In the days that followed, Tara might have been Crusoe’s desert island, so still it was, so isolatedfrom the rest of the world. The world lay only a few miles away, but a thousand miles of tumblingwaves might have stretched between Tara and Jonesboro and Fayetteville and Lovejoy, evenbetween Tara and the neighbors’ plantations. With the old horse dead, their one mode of conveyancewas gone, and there was neither time nor strength for walking the weary red miles.   Sometimes, in the days of backbreaking work, in the desperate struggle for food and the never-ceasing care of the three sick girls, Scarlett found herself straining her ears for familiar sounds—the shrill laughter of the pickaninnies in the quarters, the creaking of wagons home from the fields,the thunder of Gerald’s stallion tearing across the pasture, the crunching of carriage wheels on thedrive and the gay voices of neighbors dropping in for an afternoon of gossip. But she listened invain. The road lay still and deserted and never a cloud of red dust proclaimed the approach ofvisitors. Tara was an island in a sea of rolling green hills and red fields.   Somewhere the world and families who ate and slept safely under their own roofs. Somewheregirlsin(was) thrice-turned dresses were flirting gaily and singing “When This Cruel War IsOver,” as she had done, only a few weeks before. Somewhere there was a war and cannonbooming and burning towns and men who rotted in hospitals amid sickening-sweet stinks.   Somewhere a barefoot army in dirty homespun was marching, fighting, sleeping, hungry andweary with the weariness that comes when hope is gone. And somewhere the hills of Georgia wereblue with Yankees, well-fed Yankees on sleek corn-stuffed horses.   Beyond Tara was the war and the world. But on the plantation the war and the world did not exist except as memories which must be fought back when they rushed to mind in moments ofexhaustion. The world outside receded before the demands of empty and half-empty stomachs andlife resolved itself into two related thoughts, food and how to get it.   Food! Food! Why did the stomach have a longer memory man the mind? Scarlett could banishheartbreak but not hunger and each morning as she lay half asleep, before memory brought back toher mind war and hunger, she curled drowsily expecting the sweet smells of bacon frying and rollsbaking. And each morning she sniffed so hard to really smell the food she woke herself up.   There were apples, yams, peanuts and milk on the table at Tara but never enough of even thisprimitive fare. At the sight of them, three times a day, her memory would rush back to the old days,the meals of the old days, the candle-lit table and the food perfuming the air.   How careless they had been of food then, what prodigal waste! Rolls, corn muffins, biscuits andwaffles, dripping butter, all at one meal. Ham at one end of the table and fried chicken at the other,collards swimming richly in pot liquor iridescent with grease, snap beans in mountains on brightlyflowered porcelain, fried squash, stewed okra, carrots in cream sauce thick enough to cut. Andthree desserts, so everyone might have his choice, chocolate layer cake, vanilla blanc mange andpound cake topped with sweet whipped cream. The memory of those savory meals had the powerto bring tears to her eyes as death and war had failed to do, and the power to turn her ever-gnawingstomach from rumbling emptiness to nausea. For the appetite Mammy had always deplored, thehealthy appetite of a nineteen-year-old girl, now was increased fourfold by the hard andunremitting labor she had never known before.   Hers was not the only troublesome appetite at Tara, for wherever she turned hungry faces, blackand white, met her eyes. Soon Carreen and Suellen would have the insatiable hunger of typhoidconvalescents. Already little Wade whined monotonously: “Wade doan like yams. Wade hungwy.”   The others grumbled, too:   “Miss Scarlett, ‘ness I gits mo’ to eat, I kain nuss neither of these chillun.”   “Miss Scarlett, ef Ah doan have mo’ in mah stummick, Ah kain split no wood.”   “Lamb, Ah’s perishra’ fer real vittles.”   “Daughter, must we always have yams?”   Only Melanie did not complain, Melanie whose face grew thinner and whiter and twitched withpain even in her sleep.   “I’m not hungry, Scarlett. Give my share of the milk to Dilcey. She needs it to nurse the babies.   Sick people are never hungry.”   It was her gentle hardihood which irritated Scarlett more than the nagging whining voices of theothers. She could—and did—shout them down with bitter sarcasm but before Melanie’sunselfishness she was helpless, helpless and resentful. Gerald, the negroes and Wade clung toMelanie now, because even in her weakness she was kind and sympathetic, and these days Scarlettwas neither.   Wade especially haunted Melanie’s room. There was something wrong with Wade, but just whatit was Scarlett had no time to discover. She took Mammy’s word that the little boy had worms and dosed him with the mixture of dried herbs and bark which Ellen always used to worm thepickaninnies. But the vermifuge only made the child look paler. These days Scarlett hardly thoughtof Wade as a person. He was only another worry, another mouth to feed. Some day when thepresent emergency was over, she would play with him, tell him stories and teach him his ABCs butnow she did not have the time or the soul or the inclination. And, because he always seemedunderfoot when she was most weary and worried, she often spoke sharply to him.   It annoyed her that her quick reprimands brought such acute fright to his round eyes, for helooked so simple minded when he was frightened. She did not realize that the little boy livedshoulder to shoulder with terror too great for an adult to comprehend. Fear lived with Wade, fearthat shook his soul and made him wake screaming in the night. Any unexpected noise or sharpword set him to trembling, for in his mind noises and harsh words were inextricably mixed withYankees and he was more afraid of Yankees than of Prissy’s hants.   Until the thunders of the siege began, he had never known anything but a happy, placid, quietlife. Even though his mother paid him little attention, he had known nothing but petting and kindwords until the night when he was jerked from slumber to find the sky aflame and the airdeafening with explosions. In that night and the day which followed, he had been slapped by hismother for the first time and had heard her voice raised at him in harsh words. Life in the pleasantbrick house on Peachtree Street, the only life he knew, had vanished that night and he would neverrecover from its loss. In the flight from Atlanta, he had understood nothing except that the Yankeeswere after him and now he still lived in fear that the Yankees would catch him and cut him topieces. Whenever Scarlett raised her voice in reproof, he went weak with fright as his vaguechildish memory brought up the horrors of the first time she had ever done it. Now, Yankees and across voice were linked forever in his mind and he was afraid of his mother.   Scarlett could not help noticing that the child was beginning to avoid her and, in the raremoments when her unending duties gave her time to think about it, it bothered her a great deal. Itwas even worse than having him at her skirts all the time and she was offended that his refuge wasMelanie’s bed where he played quietly at games Melanie suggested or listened to stories she told.   Wade adored “Auntee” who had a gentle voice, who always smiled and who never said: “Hush,Wade! You give me a headache” or “Stop fidgeting, Wade, for Heaven’s sake!”   Scarlett had neither the time nor the impulse to pet him but it made her jealous to see Melanie doit. When she found him one day standing on his head in Melanie’s bed and saw him collapse onher, she slapped him.   “Don’t you know better than to jiggle Auntee like that when she’s sick? Now, trot right out inthe yard and play, and don’t come in here again.”   But Melanie reached out a weak arm and drew the wailing child to her.   “There, there, Wade. You didn’t mean to jiggle me, did you? He doesn’t bother me, Scarlett. Dolet him stay with me. Let me take care of him. It’s the only thing I can do till I get well, and you’vegot your hands full enough without having to watch him.”   “Don’t be a goose, Melly,” said Scarlett shortly. “You aren’t getting well like you should andhaving Wade fall on your stomach won’t help you. Now, Wade, if I ever catch you on Auntee’s bed again, I’ll wear you out. And stop sniffling. You are always sniffling. Try to be a little man.”   Wade flew sobbing to hide himself under the house. Melanie bit her lip and tears came to hereyes, and Mammy standing in the hall, a witness to the scene, scowled and breathed hard. But noone talked back to Scarlett these days. They were all afraid of her sharp tongue, all afraid of thenew person who walked in her body.   Scarlett reigned supreme at Tara now and, like others suddenly elevated to authority, all theBullying instincts in her nature rose to the surface. It was not that she was basically unkind. It wasbecause she was so frightened and unsure of herself she was harsh lest others learn her inadequacies:   and refuse her authority. Besides, there was some pleasure in shouting at people andknowing they were afraid. Scarlett found that it relieved her overwrought nerves. She was notblind to the fact that her personality was changing. Sometimes when her curt orders made Porkstick out his under lip and Mammy mutter: “Some folks rides mighty high dese days,” shewondered where her good manners had gone. All the courtesy, all the gentleness Ellen had strivento instill in her had fallen away from her as quickly as leaves fall from trees in the first chill windof autumn.   Time and again, Ellen had said: “Be firm but be gentle with inferiors, especially darkies.” But ifshe was gentle the darkies would sit in the kitchen all day, talking endlessly about the good olddays when a house nigger wasn’t supposed to do a field hand’s work.   “Love and cherish your sisters. Be kind to the afflicted,” said Ellen. “Show tenderness to thosein sorrow and in trouble.”   She couldn’t love her sisters now. They were simply a dead weight on her shoulders. And as forcherishing them, wasn’t she bathing them, combing their hair and-feeding them, even at theexpense of walking miles every day to find vegetables? Wasn’t she learning to milk the cow, eventhough her heart was always in her throat when that fearsome animal shook its horns at her? Andas for being kind, that was a waste of time. If she was overly kind to them, they’d probablyprolong their stay in bed, and she wanted them on their feet again as soon as possible, so therewould be four more hands to help her.   They were convalescing slowly and lay scrawny and weak in their bed. While they had beenunconscious, the world had changed. The Yankees had come, the darkies had gone and Mother haddied. Here were three unbelievable happenings and their minds could not take them in. Sometimesthey believed they must still be delirious and these things had not happened at all. CertainlyScarlett was so changed she couldn’t be real. When she hung over the foot of their bed andoutlined the work she expected them to do when they recovered, they looked at her as if she were ahobgoblin. It was beyond their comprehension that they no longer had a hundred slaves to do thework. It was beyond their comprehension that an O’Hara lady should do manual labor.   “But, Sister,” said Carreen, her sweet childish face blank with consternation. “I couldn’t splitkindling! It would ruin my hands!”   “Look at mine,” answered Scarlett with a frightening smile as she pushed blistered andcalloused palms toward her.   “I think you are hateful to talk to Baby and me like this!” cried Suellen. “I think you are lying and trying to frighten us. If Mother were only here, she wouldn’t let you talk to us like this! Splitkindling, indeed!”   Suellen looked with weak loathing at her older sister, feeling sure Scarlett said these things justto be mean. Suellen had nearly died and she had lost her mother and she was lonely and scared andshe wanted to be petted and made much of. Instead, Scarlett looked over the foot of the bed eachday, appraising their improvement with a hateful new gleam in her slanting green eyes and talkedabout making beds, preparing food, carrying water buckets and splitting kindling. And she lookedas if she took a pleasure in saying such awful things.   Scarlett did take pleasure in it. She bullied the negroes and harrowed the feelings of her sistersnot only because she was too worried and strained and tired to do otherwise but because it helpedher to forget her own bitterness that everything her mother had told her about life was wrong.   Nothing her mother had taught her was of any value whatsoever now and Scarlett’s heart wassore and puzzled. It did not occur to her that Ellen could not have foreseen the collapse of thecivilization in which she raised her daughters, could not have anticipated the disappearings of theplaces in society for which she trained them so well. It did not occur to her that Ellen had lookeddown a vista of placid future years, all like the uneventful years of her own life, when she hadtaught her to be gentle and gracious, honorable and kind, modest and truthful. Life treated womenwell when they had learned those lessons, said Ellen.   Scarlett thought in despair: “Nothing, no, nothing, she taught me is of any help to me! Whatgood will kindness do me now? What value is gentleness? Better that I’d learned to plow or chopcotton like a darky. Oh, Mother, you were wrong!”   She did not stop to think that Ellen’s ordered world was gone and a brutal world had taken itsplace, a world wherein every standard, every value had changed. She only saw, or thought she saw,that her mother had been wrong, and she changed swiftly to meet this new world for which shewas not prepared.   Only her feeling for Tara had not changed. She never came wearily home across the fields andsaw the sprawling white house that her heart did not swell with love and the joy of homecoming.   She never looked out of her window at green pastures and red fields and tall tangled swamp forestthat a sense of beauty did not fill her. Her love for this land with its softly rolling hills of bright-redsoil, this beautiful red earth that was blood colored, garnet, brick dust, vermilion, which somiraculously grew green bushes starred with white puffs, was one part of Scarlett which did notchange when all else was changing. Nowhere else in the world was there land like this.   When she looked at Tara she could understand, in part, why wars were fought. Rhett was wrongwhen he said men fought wars for money. No, they fought for swelling acres, softly furrowed bythe plow, for pastures green with stubby cropped grass, for lazy yellow rivers and white housesthat were cool amid magnolias. These were the only things worth fighting for, the red earth whichwas theirs and would be their sons’, the red earth which would bear cotton for their sons and theirsons’ sons.   The trampled acres of Tara were all that was left to her, now that Mother and Ashley were gone,now that Gerald was senile from shock, and money and darkies and security and position had vanished overnight. As from another world she remembered a conversation with her father aboutthe land and wondered how she could have been so young, so ignorant, as not to understand whathe meant when he said that the land was the one thing in the world worth fighting for.   “For ‘tis the only thing in the world that lasts … and to anyone with a drop of Irish blood inthem the land they live on is like their mother. … ‘Tis the only thing worth working for, fightingfor, dying for.”   Yes, Tara was worth fighting for, and she accepted simply and without question the fight. Noone was going to get Tara away from her. No one was going to set her and her people adrift on thecharity of relatives. She would hold Tara, if she had to break the back of every person on it.  第二天早晨,思嘉浑身酸痛,发僵,这是长途跋涉和颠簸的结果,现在每动一下都感到困难得很。她的脸被太阳晒得绯红,起泡的手掌也绽裂了。舌头上长了舌苔,喉咙干得像被火烤焦了似的,任你喝多少水也不解渴。她的头总是发胀,连转动一下眼睛也觉得不舒服。胃里常常有作呕的感觉,这使她想起怀孕时的日子来,吃早点时一看见桌上热气腾腾的山芋就受不了,连那气味闻闻也不行。杰拉尔德可能会说这是头一次喝烈性酒引起的反应,现在活该她受苦了,好在他并没有注意这些。他端坐在餐桌上首,俨然一个须发花白的龙钟老人,一双视力衰弱和茫然若失的眼睛死死地盯着门口,脑袋略略点着,显然在谛听爱伦的衣裙啊啊声,闻着那柠檬马鞭草的香味。   思嘉坐下后,他便喃喃地说:“我们得等等奥哈拉太太。   她晚啦。"她抬起胀痛的头,用惊疑的目光望着他,同时看见站在杰拉尔德椅子背后的嬷嬷在使眼色。她摇摇晃晃地站起身来,一只手模着喉咙,俯视着早晨阳光下的父亲。他朝她茫然地仰望着,这时她发现他的手在颤抖,头也在微微摆动。   直到此刻她才明白,她以前是怎样依靠杰拉尔德来发号施令,来指点她做这做那,而现在----怎么,他昨天晚上还显得很正常呢。尽管已经没有往常那样的神气和活力了,但至少还告诉了她一段连贯的情节,可如今----如今他连爱伦已经去世的事也不记得了。北方佬的到来和爱伦的死这双重打击把他打懵了。思嘉正要开口说话,但嬷嬷拚命摇头,同时撩起围裙揩试她发红的眼睛。   “哦,难道爸神志不清了吗?”思嘉心想,她那本来震颤的头在这新的刺激下觉得就要爆裂了。"不,不。他只是头晕眼花罢了。他会好的,看来他是有点不舒服。他一定会好的。   要是他不会好,我怎么办呢?----我现在不去想这些。我现在不去想他或者母亲,或者任何这些可怕的事情。不,要等到我经受得了以后才去想。要想的事太多了----只有先不去想那些没有办法的事,才能想好眼前这些有办法的事呢。”   她一点饭没吃就离开饭厅,到后院走廊上去了。她在那里遇到了波克,只见他光着脚,披着那件原先最好,但如今已破烂不堪了的礼服,坐在台阶上剥花生。她的脑袋还在轰响和震颤,而耀眼的阳光又刺痛了她的眼睛。她凭借自己最大的毅力才勉强站在那里,并尽量简短地跟波克交谈,把母亲平常教她对待黑人的那套规矩和礼貌全都省掉了。   她一开口便突如起来提出问题,并果断发布命令。波克翻着眼睛手足无措了。爱伦小姐可从不曾这样斩钉截铁地对人说话,即使发现他们在偷小母鸡和西瓜也不用这样的态度呢。思嘉又一次问起田地、园子、牲口,那双绿眼睛闪着严峻的光芒,这是波克以前从未见过的。   “是的,小姐,那骑马死了,躺在我拴着它的地方,鼻子还伸在它打翻的那只水桶里呢。不,小姐,那头母牛没有死。   你不知道吗?它昨天晚上下了个牛犊呢。这就难怪它那样叫了。”“你家百里茜能当一个上好的接生气了,"思嘉挖苦说,"她说过牛那样叫是因为奶袋发胀呢。”“那么,小姐,我家百里茜不一定当得上母牛的接生婆了,"波克圆滑地说,”不过咱们总算运气好,因为牛犊会长大成母牛,会有大量的牛奶给两位小姐喝。照那个北方佬大夫说的,她们很需要呢。”“那很好,你说下去吧。有没有留下什么牲口?”“没有,小姐。除了一头老母猪和一窝猪崽,啥也没有了。   北方佬来的那天,我把它们赶到了沼泽地里,可是如今,天知道到哪里去找呢?那老母猪坏透了。”“我们会找到的。你和百里茜马上就去找。"波克大吃一惊,也有点恼火了。   “思嘉小姐,这种事情是干大田活的黑人做的。我可历来是干家务活的呀。”思嘉仿佛觉得有个小小的恶魔拿着钳子在她的眼球背后使劲拔似的。   “你们两个要把母猪逮回来----要不就从这里滚开,你那些干大田活的人一样。”波克顿时忍不住要哭了。眼泪汪汪,唔,要是爱伦小姐健在,就好了。她为人精细,懂得干大田活和干家务活的黑人之间的巨大区别呢。   “滚开吗,思嘉小姐?我滚到哪里去呀,思嘉小姐?”“我不知道,我也管不了。不过任何一个在塔拉的人,要是不劳动,就可以跑到北方佬那儿去嘛。你也可以把这一点告诉其他的人。”“是的,小姐。”“那么,我们的玉米和棉花怎么样了,波克?”“玉米吗?我的上帝,思嘉小姐,他们在玉米地里放马,还把马没有吃掉或糟蹋掉的玉米通通带走了。他们把炮车和运货车开过棉花田,把棉花全毁了,只剩下小河滩上那边很少几英亩,那是他们没有注意的。不过那点棉花也没多大意思,最多能收三包左右就不错了。"三包。思嘉想起塔拉农庄往常收获棉花包数,不觉更加头痛了。才三包啊!这个产量跟好吃懒做的斯莱特里家比也好不了多少。更为糟糕的是,还有个纳税的问题。联盟政府收税是拿棉花当税金的,可这三包棉花连交税也不够呢。不过,既然所有干大田活的黑人都逃跑了,连摘棉花的人也找不到,那么这个问题对思嘉或对联盟政府都没有多大关系了。   “好吧,我也不去想这些了,"她暗自说道。"不管怎么说,爸应当管这种事情,纳税总不是女人的事。可是爸----现在也不去想他吧。联盟政府休想捞到它的税金了。目前我们需要的是食品呢。”“波克,你们有没有人到'十二橡树'村或麦金托什村去过,看看那边园子里还留下什么东西没有?”“小姐。没人去过,俺没离开过塔拉。北方佬会逮俺呢。”“我要派迪尔茜到麦金托什村去。说不定她会在那里找到点什么。我自己就到'十二橡村'村去走走。”   “谁陪你去呢?”   “我一个人去。嬷嬷得留在家里照料姑娘们,杰拉尔德先生又不能----"波克令人生气地大喝了一声。"十二橡树村"可能还有北方佬或下流黑人呢。她不能一个人去。   “我一个人就够了,波克。叫她马上动身。告诉迪尔茜,你和百里茜去把母猪和那窝猪崽找回来。"她说一不二吩咐,末了转身就走。   嬷嬷的那顶旧遮帽尽管褪色了但还干净,挂在后院走廊的钉子上,现在思嘉戴了它,一面恍若隔世地回想起瑞德从巴黎给她带来的那顶饰着弯弯翠羽的帽子来。她拿起一只用橡树皮编制的篮子,从后面楼梯上走下来,每走一步脑子就跟着震荡一次,她觉得从头盖骨到脊椎都好像要碎裂了似的。   到河边去的那条路是红色的,滚烫的,两旁的棉花地都荒废了。路上没有一棵可以遮荫的树,阳光直射下来,穿透了嬷嬷那顶遮阳帽,仿佛它不是又厚又带有印花布衬里,而是薄纱做的一般。同时尘土飞扬,纷纷钻入她的鼻孔和喉咙里,她觉得只要一说话,干燥的粘膜就会破裂。深深的车辙把大路割得遍体鳞伤,那是骡马拖着重炮碾过之处,两旁都有车辆轧成的红色沟渠。棉苗被碾得支离破碎,因为骑兵步兵都被炮兵挤出这狭窄的通道,跑到了棉田里,他们一路践踏着一丛丛翠绿的棉树,把它们踩入泥土,给彻底毁了。在路上或田里,到处可以看到带扣,马嚼子和马鞍的碎皮件,还有踏遍的水壶、弹药箱的轮子、钮扣、军帽、破袜子和血污的破布,以及行军时丢下的种种七零八碎的东西。   她走过香柏林和一道矮矮的砖墙,是家族墓地的标志,但她尽量设法不去想她三个弟弟的小小坟旁边新添的那座坟墓。啊,爱伦----她蹒跚地走下一个光秃的山坡,经过斯莱特里家住宅遗址上的一堆灰烬和半截残存的烟囱,恨不得整个家族都跟这房子同归于尽了。要不是为了斯莱特里家的人----要不是为了那个淫猥的埃米(她跟他们的监工养了个私生子),爱伦是不会死的!   一颗尖石子扎破了她脚上的血泡,她痛得叫了一声。她在这里干什么呢?思嘉•奥哈拉,全县闻名的美人,塔拉农庄的宠儿,干吗会在这岐岖的山道上几乎光着脚行走呢?她这双娇小的脚生来是要跳舞,而不是瘸着走路的;她这双小巧的便鞋也是从光亮的绸裙底下勇敢地窥探男人,而不是用来收容小石子和尘土的。她生来应当受到纵容和服侍,可如今却弄得憔悴不堪,衣衫褴褛,饿着肚子到邻居园子里去寻找吃的了。   这小山脚下是一条小河,那些枝叶交错悬垂到河上的树木多么荫凉安静啊!她在低低的河岸上坐下来,脱掉破鞋烂袜,把一双发烫的脚浸在清凉的河水里。要是能整天坐在这儿,避开塔拉农场里那些可怜巴巴的眼睛,周围只有瑟瑟的树叶声和汩汩的流水声,那才好呢。但是她不得不重新穿上鞋袜,沿着长满青苔和树荫浓密的河岸一直走下去。北方佬把桥烧毁了,可是她知道再过几百码到河床狭窄的地方有座独木桥。她小心翼翼地走了过去,然后费力地爬上山坡,从这里到"十二橡树”村只有大约半英里了。   十二棵大橡树高耸在那里,从印第安时代以来一直是这样,不过现在树叶被火熏黑了一些,枝柯有的烧毁有的烤焦了。在它围着的那个圈子里,就是约翰•威尔克斯家住宅的遗址。这幢曾经显赫一时的大厦高踞在小山顶上,白柱长廊,庄严宏伟,可现在已沦为一片废墟。那个原来是酒窖的深坑,那些烧黑了的粗石墙基和两个巨大的烟囱,便是这幢大厦所在的唯一标志。有根圆柱还烧剩一半,横倒在草皮上,把茉莉花丛压碎了。   思嘉在那半截圆柱上坐下来;面对这景象她十分伤心,实在看不下去了。这荒凉深深地触动了她,因为她以前从没有过这样的体验。这里,在她脚下的尘土中,就是威尔克斯家族引以自豪的家业啊!这就是那个亲切而彬彬有礼的家庭的下场,这个家庭曾经随时欢迎她,而且她还在天真的美梦里渴望过要当它的女主人呢。她在这里跳过舞,吃过饭,调过情,还怀着嫉恨心里看媚兰怎样迎着艾希礼微笑。也是在这里,在阴凉的树荫下,当她说愿意跟查尔斯•汉密尔顿结婚时,他曾多么狂热地紧紧捏着她的手心啊!   “啊,艾希礼,"她心想,"我真不忍心让你回来看这光景啊!我倒希望你是死了!"艾希礼是在这里跟他的新娘结婚的,可是他的儿子和儿子的儿子永远也不会带着新娘到这个家来了。在这个她曾经那样热爱的盼望来管理的地方,再也不会有人成亲和生儿育女了。这所住宅已经死亡,对于思嘉来说,而且好像所有威尔克斯家的人也全都在灰烬中死了。   “我现在经受不祝我现不去想它。以后再想吧,"她大声说着,回过头去不管它了。为了寻找那个园子,她在废墟中蹒跚行走,经过威尔克斯家姑娘们曾经细心照料过而现在已塌倒了的玫瑰花坛,横过后院,穿过熏腊室、库房和鸡圈。   鸡圈周围的篱笆已经毁坏了,一行行原来整整齐齐的常绿植物也像塔拉农场的一样遭到了厄运。柔润的土地上满是深陷的车辙和马蹄印,青菜完全被踩倒在泥里。这里已没有一点点可以留给她的东西了。   她又经过后院回来,朝住宅区那排粉刷过的棚屋走去,一路喊着"喂!喂!",但是毫无反应,连一声狗吠也没有。显然,威尔克斯家的黑人都跑掉了,或者跟北方佬走了。她知道每个黑人都有自己的一片菜园子,因此走到住宅区时她希望看到那些小小的菜地没有遭灾,给留了下来。   她没有白找,终于发现了萝卜和卷心菜,后者由于缺水已经蔫了,但还没有倒伏;还有棉豆和青豆,虽然发黄,但还是可以吃的。不过她这时已十分疲倦,这些东西引不起她太大的兴趣了。她坐在土垅上,用颤抖的手掘着,慢慢装满了篮子。今天晚上塔拉农场会有一顿美餐了,尽管没有腌猪肉熬青菜。也许迪尔茜用来点灯的那种腊肉油可以当作调味品用一点。她必须记住要告诉迪尔茜,叫她以后点松枝照明,好将油脂省下来炒菜吃。   在一间棚屋后面的台阶旁,她发现了一块红萝卜,这时她突然觉得饿了。她正馋着想吃一个香甜可口的红萝卜呢。几乎没来得及用裙裾把泥土抹掉,半个萝卜就被一口咬下吞到肚里去了。这个萝卜又老又粗,而且辣得她眼泪都流出来了。她咬下的那一块刚刚落肚,本来饿坏了的空胃就产生反感,她当即伏在柔润的泥土上艰难地呕吐起来。   棚屋里隐隐飘出一股黑人所特有的气味,这使思嘉越发感到恶心,她无力反抗,只得继续干呕着,直闹得头晕眼花,觉得周围的棚屋和树木都在飞快地旋转。   过了好一阵,她虚弱地趴在地上,觉得泥土又柔软又舒移,像个羽绒枕头似的,这时她的思想在懒懒地到处飘游。她,思嘉•奥哈拉,躺在一间黑人棚屋的后面,在一片废墟当中,因过度疲乏虚弱而无法动弹,也没有一个人知道。即使有人知道也不会管她的,因为每个人都有自己许多麻烦,不能为她操心了。可是这一切都发生在她思嘉•奥哈拉身上,她本来是什么也不做,连伸手从地板上拾起一只袜子或系系鞋带之类的小事也不做的呀。她那些小小的令人头疼的毛病和坏脾气,便是在娇惯纵容和一味迎合的环境中养成的。   太虚弱了,她直挺挺地躺在那里,无法击退那些记忆和烦恼,只好任凭它们纷纷袭来,包围着她,像兀鹰等待着一个人咽气似的。她再也没有力气这样说:“我以后再去想爸、妈、艾希礼和这片废墟----是的,等我经受得住再去想吧。”她现在还经受不住,可是她却正在想他们,无论愿意与否。她却正在想他们。这些思想在她头上盘旋并猝然扑将下来,把它们的尖嘴利爪戳进她的心里。她静静地躺着,也不知躺了多久,脸贴着尘土,太阳火辣辣地直射在身上,她回想着已经一去不复返的那种生活方式,展望着未来黑暗可怕的远景。   她终于站起来,又看见了“十二橡树”村一片焦黑的废墟,她的头高高地扬着,但她脸上那种显示青春美丽和内在温柔的东西已荡然无存。过去的总归是过去了。死了的总归是死了。往日悠闲奢侈的生活已经一去不返。于是,当思嘉把沉甸甸的篮子挎在臂弯里时,她已经定下心来要过自己的生活了。   既然没有回头路好走,她就一直向前走去。   在未来50年里,整个南方会到处有那种带讽刺眼光的女人在向后看,回顾逝去的年代和已逝去的人,勾起徒然令人伤心的记忆,并且以拥有这些记忆为极大骄傲来忍受眼前的贫困。可是思嘉却不是这样,她永远也不会向后看。   她凝视着那些烧黑了的基石,并且最后一次地看见“十二橡树”村仍像过去那样屹立在她眼前,富丽堂皇,充分像征着一个族系和一种生活方式。然后她走上回塔拉去的大道,一路上那只沉重的篮子把她的臂弯都快吊断了。   她肚里空空,饿得不行了,这时她大声说:“凭上帝作证,凭上帝作证,北方佬是征服不了我的。我要闯过这一难关,以后就不会再挨饿了。不,我家里的人谁也不会挨饿了。即使我被迫去偷,去杀人----凭上帝作证,我也决不会再挨饿了。"在以后的一段日子里,塔拉那么寂静,与世隔绝,几乎造成了鲁宾逊的孤岛,世界就在几英里之外,可是好像有一片波涛滚滚的大洋横亘在塔拉和琼斯博罗和毗邻的几家农场之间似的。随着那匹老马死亡,他们丧失了一种交通工具,现在既没有时间也没有精力去步行那么远的路了。   有时候,思嘉正累得直不起腰来,或者为生活泼命挣扎,为三个生病的姑娘无穷无尽的操劳时,她突然发现自己正侧耳倾听那些熟悉的声音----住宅区黑人孩子尖利的笑声,从田野回来的吱吱嘎嘎的大车声,杰拉尔德的公马在放收地飞驰而过时雷霆般的轰轰声,马车在车道上驶来的辚辚声以及邻居们偶尔进来闲聊时的说笑声,等等。可见结果她什么也看见。大路上静静的,杳无人影,从来不见一团红色的尘雾预告有客人到来。   世界上有的地方和家庭里,人们仍在自己的屋顶下安然吃饭睡觉。有的地方,姑娘们穿着翻改过三次的衣裳正在快乐地调情,高唱着《到这场残酷的战争结束时》,就像几星期前她自己还在做的那样。有的地方还在打仗,炮声隆隆,城市起火,士兵们在臭气熏天的医院里缓缓地溃烂和死亡。有的地方,一支光着脚、穿着脏粗布衣裳的军队还在行进、战斗,打瞌睡,饿肚子,疲惫不堪而希望业已消失。有的在佐治亚山区什么地方,北方佬军队仍漫山遍野,他们吃得好好的,沿着毛色光滑、膘肥腿健的战马……离塔拉不远处就是战争,就是纷纷攘攘的世界,可是在农场里,战争除了作为记忆已不复存在,这些记忆每当你筋疲力竭便会袭上心头,你必须奋力击退,在腹内空空或处于半空虚状态,并要求你予以满足时,世界便暂时退避,让生活把自己改组成两种相互关联的思想,那就是食物和怎样得到食物。   食物!食物!为什么肚子比心有更好的记忆力呢?思嘉能够忘记伤心事,可就是忘不了饥饿,以致每天早晨半睡半醒地躺在床上,当记忆还没有把战争和饥饿带回她心上时,她会蜷在那里迷迷糊糊地等待着煎腊肉和烤卷子的香味。每天早晨她总是使劲地闻着闻着,仿佛真正闻到了食物的香味,这才完全醒过来的。   塔拉的餐桌上有苹果、洋芋、花生和牛奶,但连这样简单的食品也从来是不够的。每天三次,思嘉一看见它们便回想起往日和那时开饭的情形,比如,那灯火辉煌的席面和香甜可口的食品。   那时他们对于食物是多么不在乎,多么奢侈浪费啊!卷子,玉米松饼、小甜面包、鸡蛋饼,滴滴答答的黄油,每顿饭都有。餐桌的一端摆着火腿,另一端是烤鸡。成锅的蓝菜炖得酽酽的,上面飘着一层放彩的油花。青豆在亮晶晶的花瓷盘里,堆得像一座小山。油炸果泥丸子,炖秋葵,拌在浓浓的奶油调味汁里的胡萝卜,等等,餐后有三样点心供每人自己挑选,它们是巧克力饼干,香草奶油糕和堆满甜奶油的重油蛋糕。想起这些喷香可口的食物时,她不禁要伤心得落泪,而战争和死亡却不曾做到这一点,同时这种回忆也能使她由辘辘饥肠转而恶心欲呕。关于食欲,嬷嬷是很替她伤心的的,因为一个19岁姑娘的正常食欲,由于她从未听说过的持续不停的艰苦劳动而增加了四倍。   对于食欲的这种烦恼,在塔拉农场并不只她一个人有,实际上她无论走到哪里,所看到的不分黑人白人都是一张饥饿的脸。卡琳和苏伦也很快会有病愈时难以满足的饥饿感了,甚至小韦德也经常不断地抱怨:“韦德不爱吃洋芋。韦德肚子饿。"旁的人也在嘟嘟囔囔地叫苦。   “俺要是不多吃一点,思嘉小姐,俺的哪个孩子就奶不了了。”“思嘉小姐,俺要是肚子里不多装点东西,俺就劈不动木柴了。”“孩子,这种东西俺实在吃不下去了。”“女儿,难道咱们就经常吃山芋吗?”唯独媚兰不诉苦。媚兰,她的脸愈来愈消瘦,愈来愈苍白了,甚至睡觉时也在抽搐。可她总是说:“我不饿。思嘉,把我那份牛奶给迪尔茜吧。她奶着两个孩子,更需要呢。生病的人是从来不觉得饿的。"不过,正是她的这种温柔的毅力比旁人絮絮叨叨的哀诉更加激怒了思嘉。思嘉对别人可以挖苦地痛骂一阵,可是面对媚兰现在这种无私的态度却无可奈何----无可奈何又十分恼火。杰拉尔德、黑人们和韦德现在都亲近媚兰,因为媚兰即使虚弱也还是亲切的和同情人的,可思嘉近来却既不亲切也没有一点同情心了。   韦德尤其经常到媚兰房里去。看来韦德有点不对头,但究竟是什么毛病,思嘉没有工夫去细究。她听了嬷嬷的话,认为这孩子肚子里有蛔虫,便给他吃了爱伦常给黑人小孩吃的干草药和树皮。可是这种驱虫剂却使韦德越来越苍白。最近她就索性不把他当一个人放在心上了。韦德只不过是又一个累赘,又一张需要喂饱的嘴而已。等到有一天危机过去了,她会跟他玩,给他讲故事,教他拼音,可现在她还没有时间,也没有这个兴致。而且,由于韦德常常在她最疲劳和烦恼的时候显得碍手碍脚,她还时常声色俱厉地训斥他呢。   思嘉感到苦恼的是,她的严厉训斥竟把他吓得瞪大眼睛半天说不出话来,那样子实在又天真又可怜。她不明白,这孩子怎么经常生活在一种大人无法理解的恐怖气氛中。可以说恐惧每天和韦德作伴,这种恐惧震撼着他的心灵,使他在深夜也会惊叫醒来。任何一种突如起来的喧声或一句咒骂的话都会使他吓得发抖。因为在他心目中,喧声和恶言恶语是跟北方佬连在一起的,他对北方佬当然比对百里茜用来吓唬他的鬼更加害怕。   在围城的炮声打响以前,他一直过的是愉快平稳而宁静的生活。他经常听到的都是些宠爱亲切的话,尽管他母亲没有注意他,直到有天夜里他突然从睡梦中惊醒,发现天上一片火光,外面是震耳欲聋的爆炸声。就在那天夜里和第二天白天,他头一次挨了母亲的耳光,听到了母亲对他的高声叫骂。桃树街上那幢可爱的砖房里的生活,他所经历过的唯一生活,就在那天晚上消失了,这一损失是他永远也无法从中恢复过来的。从亚特兰大逃走以后的经过他什么也不清楚,只知道北方佬就在后面,他们会逮住他,把他砍成碎块。他至今仍然在害怕这个。每当思嘉大声责备他时,他便模糊地记起她第一次骂他时那种恐怖感,很快便吓得一声不响了。这样,在他心目中北方佬和一种粗暴的声音永远联系在一起,因此他很怕母亲。   思嘉不能不注意到她的孩子在开始回避她。有时她好不容易有一点空闲,想考虑考虑这个问题,可结果,只引起了一大堆的苦恼。这比他整天跟在屁股后面更叫人难以忍受。她最心火的是韦德把媚兰的床边当避难所,在那里悄悄地玩着媚兰教给他的游戏,或听她讲故事。他敬重"姑姑",因为她声音温柔,笑容满面,从来不说:“别闹,韦德!看你叫我头疼死了,"或者"别烦人了,韦德!看在上帝面上!"思嘉既没功夫也没思想来爱抚他,但是看到媚兰这样做又很妒忌。有一天她发现他在媚兰床上立蜻蜓,并且倒下来压到了媚兰身上,她便抽了他一个耳光。   “你就没有别的好玩,偏要这样跟生病的姑姑捣乱?好,快到后院玩去,别再到这里来了。"可是媚兰伸出瘦弱的胳臂,把号啕的孩子拉了过来。   “好了,好了,韦德。你并不想跟我捣乱,是吗?思嘉,他没有烦我呢。就让他留在我身边吧。让我来照看他。在我病好之前,这是我唯一能做的事,而你手头已经够忙的了,哪能顾上他呀。”“别傻了,媚兰,"思嘉干脆说。"看来你不会很快好的。   要再让韦德摔到你肚子上,又有什么好处呢?我说,韦德,我要是再看见你在姑姑床上胡闹,就狠狠揍你。现在别哭了。一天到晚老在哭。也该学做个大孩子了。"韦德飞跑到楼下躲起来。媚兰咬着嘴唇,眼里闪着泪花,嬷嬷站在穿堂里也看见了这情景,气得横眉瞪眼,直喘粗气。但是以后好几天谁都没有反驳思嘉一声,他们都害怕她那张利嘴,都害怕这个正在悄悄成长的新人物呢。   思嘉现在已处于塔拉的最高统治地位,而且像别人一样突然建立了威信,她天性中那些欺压人的本能也暴露出来了。   这并非因为她本性残暴,而是因为她心里害怕,对自己缺乏信心,又深恐别人发现她无能而拒不承认她的权威,所以才采取了粗暴的态度。此外,她也觉得动辄训人并相信人家对她畏惧是颇为有趣的事。思嘉发现这样可以使她过分紧张的神经放松一些。她并非看不到自己的个性正在改变这一事实。   有时她随意发号施令,使得波克咬住下嘴唇表示不服,嬷嬷也嘟囔着:“有的人近来摆起架子来啦,"她这才惊觉自己怎么这样不客气了。爱伦曾经苦心灌输给她的所有那些礼貌与和蔼态度,现在全都丢光了,就像秋天第一阵凉风吹过后树叶都纷纷掉落了一样。   爱伦曾一再说:“对待下人,尤其对黑人,既要坚定又要和平。"可是她一和平,那些黑人就会整天坐在厨房里闲聊,谈过去的好光景,说那时干家务活的黑人不作兴下大田,等等。   “要爱护和关心你的两个妹妹。对那些受苦特别是有病人的要仁慈一些,"爱伦说,"遇到人家伤心和处境困难,要给他们安慰和温暖。"可现在她并不怎么爱护两个妹妹。她们简直成了她肩上可怕的负担。至于照顾她们,她不是在给她们洗澡、梳头、供养她们,甚至不惜每天跑多少里路去寻找吃的吗?她不是在学着给母牛挤奶,即使提心吊胆怕那摆弄着犄角的家伙会伤害她,也没有动摇过吗?说到和平,这完全是浪费时间。要是她对她们太和平了,她们就会长期赖在病床上,可她需要她们尽快起来,给她增添双手帮着干活呢。   她们在慢慢康复,但仍然消瘦而虚弱地躺在床上。她们不知道就在自己失去知觉的那段时间里世界发生了变化。北方佬来过了,母亲死了,家里的黑人跑了。这三桩令人难以置信的事是她们心目中无法接受的。有时她们相信自己一定还处于精神恍惚的状态,这些事情根本不曾发生。思嘉竟变得这样厉害,这无疑也不可能是真的。每当她坐在她们床脚边,设想她们病好以后她要叫她们做的工作时,她们总是注视着她,仿佛她是个妖魔似的。要说她们再也没有一百个奴隶来干活了,那她们是无法理解的。她们无法理解,一位奥哈拉家的小姐居然要干起这劳力活来了。   “不过,姐姐,"卡琳说,她那张幼稚得可爱的脸上充满了惶惑的神色,"我不会劈柴火呀!那会把我的手给毁了呢!”“你瞧我的,"思嘉面带吓人的微笑回答,同时伸出一双满是血泡和茧子的手给卡琳看。   “我看你这样跟小妹和我说话,实在太吓人了!"苏伦惊叫道,"我想你是在仆人,是在吓唬我们吧。要是母亲还在,她才不让你对我们这样说呢!劈柴火,真是!"苏伦怀着无可奈何而又不屑的神色看着大姐,觉得思嘉说这些话的确是太可耻了。苏伦是死里逃生,而且失去了母亲,现在又这样孤单害怕,她需要人们来爱抚和关怀呀!可思嘉不这样,她每天只坐在床脚看着,那双吊着眼角的绿眼睛里闪着新的可恶的光辉,称赞她们的病好多了,并一味谈什么起床、做饭、挑水和劈柴火的事。看样子,她对这些可怕的事还津津乐道呢。   思嘉的确对此很有兴趣。她之所以威胁那几个黑人,折磨两个妹妹的情感,不仅是因为太苦恼,太紧张,太疲乏,只能这样,而且还因为这可以帮助她忘记自己的痛苦----她发现母亲告诉她的 Chapter 26 SCARLETT HAD BEEN AT TARA two weeks since her return from Atlanta when the largestblister on her foot began to fester, swelling until it was impossible for her to put on her shoe or domore than hobble about on her heel. Desperation plucked at her when she looked at the angry soreon her toe. Suppose it should gangrene like the soldiers’ wounds and she should die, far away froma doctor? Bitter as life was now, she had no desire to leave it. And who would look after Tara if sheshould die?   She had hoped when she first came home that Gerald’s old spirit would revive and he wouldtake command, but in these two weeks that hope had vanished. She knew now that, whether sheliked it or not, she had the plantation and all its people on her two inexperienced hands, for Geraldstill sat quietly, like a man in a dream, so frighteningly absent from Tara, so gentle. To her pleas foradvice he gave as his only answer: “Do what you think best, Daughter.” Or worse still, “Consultwith your mother, Puss.”   He never would be any different and now Scarlett realized the truth and accepted it withoutemotion—that until he died Gerald would always be waiting for Ellen, always listening for her. Hewas in some dim borderline country where time was standing still and Ellen was always in the nextroom. The mainspring of his existence was taken away when she died and with it had gone hisbounding assurance, his impudence and his restless vitality. Ellen was the audience before whichthe blustering drama of Gerald O’Hara had been played. Now the curtain had been rung downforever, the footlights dimmed and the audience suddenly vanished, while the stunned old actorremained on his empty stage, waiting for his cues.   That morning the house was still, for everyone except Scarlett, Wade and the three sick girls wasin the swamp hunting the sow. Even Gerald had aroused a little and stumped off across thefurrowed fields, one hand on Pork’s arm and a coil of rope in the other. Suellen and Careen hadcried themselves to sleep, as they did at least twice a day when they thought of Ellen, tears of griefand weakness oozing down their sunken cheeks. Melanie, who had been propped up on pillows forthe first time that day, lay covered with a mended sheet between two babies, the downy flaxenhead of one cuddled in her arm, the kinky black head of Dilcey’s child held as gently in the other.   Wade sat at the bottom of the bed, listening to a fairy story.   To Scarlett, the stillness at Tara was unbearable, for it reminded her too sharply of the deathlike stillness of the desolate country through which she had passed that long day on her way home fromAtlanta. The cow and the calf had made no sound for hours. There were no birds twittering outsideher window and even the noisy family of mockers who had lived among the harshly rustling leavesof the magnolia for generations had no song that day. She had drawn a low chair close to the openwindow of her bedroom, looking out on the front drive, the lawn and the empty green pastureacross the road, and she sat with her skirts well above her knees and her chin resting on her armson the window sill. There was a bucket of well water on the floor beside her and every now andthen she lowered her blistered foot into it, screwing up her face at the stinging sensation.   Fretting, she dug her chin into her arm. Just when she needed her strength most, this toe had tofester. Those fools would never catch the sow. It had taken them a week to capture the pigs, one byone, and now after two weeks the sow was still at liberty. Scarlett knew that if she were just therein the swamp with them, she could tuck up her dress to her knees and take the rope and lasso thesow before you could say Jack Robinson.   But even after the sow was caught—if she were caught? What then, after she and her litter wereeaten? Life would go on and so would appetites. Winter was coming and there would be no food,not even the poor remnants of the vegetables from the neighbors’ gardens. They must have driedpeas and sorghum and meal and rice and—and—oh, so many things. Corn and cotton seed for nextspring’s planting, and new clothes too. Where was it all to come from and how would she pay forit?   She had privately gone through Gerald’s pockets and his cash box and all she could find wasstacks of Confederate bonds and three thousand dollars in Confederate bills. That was aboutenough to buy one square meal for them all, she thought ironically, now that Confederate moneywas worth almost less than nothing at all. But if she did have money and could find food, howwould she haul it home to Tara? Why had God let the old horse die? Even that sorry animal Rhetthad stolen would make all the difference in the world to them. Oh, those fine sleek mules whichused to kick up their heels in the pasture across the road, and the handsome carriage horses, herlittle mare, the girls’ ponies and Gerald’s big stallion racing about and tearing up the turf— Oh, forone of them, even the balkiest mule!   But, no matter—when her foot healed she would walk to Jonesboro. It would be the longestwalk she had ever taken in her life, but walk it she would. Even if the Yankees had burned the towncompletely, she would certainly find someone in the neighborhood who could tell her where to getfood. Wade’s pinched face rose up before her eyes. He didn’t like yams, he repeated; wanted adrumstick and some rice and gravy.   The bright sunlight in the front yard suddenly clouded and the trees blurred through tears.   Scarlett dropped her head on her arms and struggled not to cry. Crying was so useless now. Theonly time crying ever did any good was when there was a man around from whom you wished favors.   As she crouched there, squeezing her eyes tightly to keep back the tears, she was startled bythe sound of trotting hooves. But she did not raise her head. She had imagined that sound too oftenin the nights and days of these last two weeks, just as she had imagined she heard the rustle ofEllen’s skirts. Her heart hammered, as it always did at such moments, before she told herselfsternly: “Don’t be a fool.”   But the hooves slowed down in a startlingly natural way to the rhythm of a walk and there wasthe measured scrunch-scrunch on the gravel. It was a horse—the Tarletons, the Fontaines! Shelooked up quickly. It was a Yankee cavalryman.   Automatically, she dodged behind the curtain and peered fascinated at him through the dim foldsof the cloth, so startled that the breath went out of her lungs with a gasp.   He sat slouched in the saddle, thick, rough-looking with an unkempt black beard stragglingoverhisunbuttonedbraeja(a) cket.Littleclose-seteyes,s(man) quinting in the sun glare, calmlysurveyed the house from beneath the visor of his tight brae cap. As he slowly dismounted andtossed the bridle reins over the hitching post, Scarlett’s breath came back to her as suddenly andpainfully as after a blow in the stomach. A Yankee, a Yankee with a long pistol on his hip! And shewas alone in the house with three sick girls and the babies!   As he lounged up the walk, hand on holster, beady little eyes glancing to right and left, akaleidoscope of jumbled pictures spun in her mind, stories Aunt Pittypat had whispered of attackson unprotected women, throat cuttings, houses burned over the heads of dying women, childrenbayoneted because they cried, all of the unspeakable horrors that lay bound up in the name of“Yankee.”   Her first terrified impulse was to hide in the closet, crawl under the bed, fly down the back stairsand run screaming to the swamp, anything to escape him. Then she heard his cautious feet on thefront steps and his stealthy tread as he entered the hall and she knew that escape was cut off. Toocold with fear to move, she heard his progress from room to room downstairs, his steps growinglouder and bolder as he discovered no one. Now he was in the dining room and in a moment hewould walk out into the kitchen.   At the thought of the kitchen, rage suddenly leaped up in Scarlett’s breast, so sharply that itjabbed at her heart like a knife thrust, and fear fell away before her overpowering fury. Thekitchen! There, over the open kitchen fire were two pots, one filled with apples stewing and theother with a hodgepodge of vegetables brought painfully from Twelve Oaks and the Macintoshgarden—dinner that must serve for nine hungry people and hardly enough for two. Scarlett hadbeen restraining her appetite for hours, waiting for the return of the others and the thought of theYankee eating their meager meal made her shake with anger.   God damn them all! They descended like locusts and left Tara to starve slowly and now theywere back again to steal the poor leavings. Her empty stomach writhed within her. By God, thiswas one Yankee who would do no more stealing!   She slipped off her worn shoe and, barefooted, she pattered swiftly to the bureau, not evenfeeling her festered toe. She opened the top drawer soundlessly and caught up the heavy pistol shehad brought from Atlanta, the weapon Charles had worn but never fired. She fumbled in the leatherbox that hung on the wall below his saber and brought out a cap. She slipped it into place with ahand that did not shake. Quickly and noiselessly, she ran into the upper hall and down the stairs,steadying herself on the banisters with one hand and holding the pistol close to her thigh in thefolds of her skirt.   “Who’s there?” cried a nasal voice and she stopped on the middle of the stairs, the blood thudding in her ears so loudly she could hardly hear him. “Halt or I’ll shoot!” came the voice.   He stood in the door of the dining room, crouched tensely, his pistol in one hand and, in theother, the small rosewood sewing box fitted with gold thimble, gold-handled scissors and tinygold-topped acorn of emery. Scarlett’s legs felt cold to the knees but rage scorched her face.   Ellen’s sewing box in his hands. She wanted to cry: “Put it down! Put it down, you dirty—” butwords would not come. She could only stare over the banisters at him and watch his face changefrom harsh tenseness to a half-contemptuous, half-ingratiating smile.   “So there is somebody at home,” he said, slipping his pistol back into its holster and moving intothe hall until he stood directly below her. “All alone, little lady?”   Like lightning, she shoved her weapon over the banisters and into the startled bearded face.   Before he could even fumble at his belt, she pulled the trigger. The back kick of the pistol madeher reel, as the roar of the explosion filled her ears and the acrid smoke stung her nostrils. The mancrashed backwards to the floor, sprawling into the dining room with a violence that shook thefurniture. The box clattered from his hand, the contents spilling about him. Hardly aware that shewas moving, Scarlett ran down the stairs and stood over him, gazing down into what was left ofthe face above the beard, a bloody pit where the nose had been, glazing eyes burned with powder.   As she looked, two streams of blood crept across the shining floor, one from his face and one fromthe back of his head.   Yes, he was dead. Undoubtedly. She had killed a man.   The smoke curled slowly to the ceiling and the red streams widened about her feet. For atimeless moment she stood there and in the still hot hush of the summer morning every irrelevantsound and scent seemed magnified, the quick thudding of her heart, like, a drumbeat, the slightrough rustling of the magnolia leaves, the far-off plaintive sound of a swamp bird and the sweetsmell of the flowers outside the window.   She had killed a man, she who took care never to be in at the kill on a hunt, she who could notbear the squealing of a hog at slaughter or the squeak of a rabbit in a snare. Murder! she thoughtdully. I’ve done murder. Oh, this can’t be happening to me! Her eyes went to the stubby hairy handon the floor so close to the sewing box and suddenly she was vitally alive again, vitally glad with acool tigerish joy. She could have ground her heel into the gaping wound which had been his noseand taken sweet pleasure in the feel of his warm blood on her bare feet. She had struck a blow ofrevenge for Tara—and for Ellen.   There were hurried stumbling steps in the upper hall, a pause and then more steps, weakdragging steps now, punctuated by metallic clankings. A sense of time and reality coming back toher, Scarlett looked up and saw Melanie at the top of the stairs, clad only in the ragged chemisewhich served her as a nightgown, her weak arm weighed down with Charles’ saber. Melanie’s eyestook in the scene below in its entirety, the sprawling blue-clad body in the red pool, the sewing boxbeside him, Scarlett, barefooted and gray-faced, clutching the long pistol.   In silence her eyes met Scarlett’s. There was a glow of grim pride in her usually gentle face,approbation and a fierce joy in her smile that equaled the fiery tumult in Scarlett’s own bosom.   “Why—why—she’s like me! She understands how I feel!” thought Scarlett in that long moment “She’d have done the same thing!”   With a thrill she looked up at the frail swaying girl for whom she had never had any feelings butof dislike and contempt. Now, straggling against hatred for Ashley’s wife, there surged a feeling ofadmiration and comradeship. She saw in a flash of clarity untouched by any petty emotion thatbeneath the gentle voice and the dovelike eyes of Melanie there was a thin flashing blade ofunbreakable steel, felt too that there were banners and bugles of courage in Melanie’s quiet blood.   “Scarlett! Scarlett!” shrilled the weak frightened voices of Suellen and Carreen, muffled by theirclosed door, and Wade’s voice screamed “Auntee! Auntee!” Swiftly Melanie put her finger to herlips and, laying the sword on the top step, she painfully made her way down the upstairs hall andopened the door of the sick room.   “Don’t be scared, chickens!” came her voice with teasing gaiety. “Your big sister was trying toclean the rust off Charles’ pistol and it went off and nearly scared her to death!” ... “Now, WadeHampton, Mama just shot off your dear Papa’s pistol! When you are bigger, she will let you shootit.”   “What a cool liar!” thought Scarlett with admiration. “I couldn’t have thought that quickly. Butwhy lie? They’ve got to know I’ve done it.”   She looked down at the body again and now revulsion came over her as her rage and frightmelted away, and her knees began to quiver with the reaction. Melanie dragged herself to the topstep again and started down, holding onto the banisters, her pale lower lip caught between herteeth.   “Go back to bed, silly, you’ll kill yourself!” Scarlett cried, but the half-naked Melanie made herpainful way down into the lower hall.   “Scarlett,” she whispered, “we must get him out of here and bury him. He may not be alone andif they find him here—” She steadied herself on Scarlett’s arm.   “He must be alone,” said Scarlett. “I didn’t see anyone else from the upstairs window. He mustbe a deserter.”   “Even if he is alone, no one must know about it. The negroes might talk and then they’d comeand get you. Scarlett, we must get him hidden before the folks come back from the swamp.”   Her mind prodded to action by the feverish urgency of Melanie’s voice, Scarlett thought hard.   “I could bury him in the corner of the garden under the arbor—the ground is soft there wherePork dug up the whisky barrel. But how will I get him there?”   “We’ll both take a leg and drag him,” said Melanie firmly.   Reluctantly, Scarlett’s admiration went still higher.   “You couldn’t drag a cat. I’ll drag him,” she said roughly. “You go back to bed. You’ll killyourself. Don’t dare try to help me either or I’ll carry you upstairs myself.”   Melanie’s white face broke into a sweet understanding smile. “You are very dear, Scarlett,” shesaid and softly brushed her lips against Scarlett’s cheek. Before Scarlett could recover from hersurprise, Melanie went on: “If you can drag him out, I’ll mop up the—the mess before the folks get home, and Scarlett—”   “Yes?”   “Do you suppose it would be dishonest to go through his knapsack? He might have something toeat.”   “I do not,” said Scarlett, annoyed that she had not thought of this herself. “You take theknapsack and I’ll go through his pockets.”   Stooping over the dead man with distaste, she unbuttoned the remaining buttons of his jacketand systematically began rifling his pockets.   “Dear God,” she whispered, pulling out a bulging wallet, wrapped about with a rag. “Melanie—Melly, I think it’s full of money!”   Melanie said nothing but abruptly sat down on the floor and leaned back against the wall.   “You look,” she said shakily. I’m feeling a little weak.”   Scarlett tore off the rag and with trembling hands opened the leather folds.   “Look, Melly—just look!”   Melanie looked and her eyes dilated. Jumbled together was a mass of bills, United Statesgreenbacks mingling with Confederate money and, glinting from between them, were one ten-dollar gold piece and two five-dollar gold pieces.   “Don’t stop to count it now,” said Melanie as Scarlett began fingering the bills. “We haven’ttime—”   “Do you realize, Melanie, that this money means that we’ll eat?”   “Yes, yes, dear. I know but we haven’t time now. You look in his other pockets and I’ll take theknapsack.”   Scarlett was loath to put down the wallet. Bright vistas opened before her—real money, theYankee’s horse, food! There was a God after all, and He did provide, even if He did take very oddways of providing. She sat on her haunches and stared at the wallet smiling. Food! Melanieplucked it from her hands—“Hurry!” she said.   The trouser pockets yielded nothing except a candle end, a jackknife, a plug of tobacco and a bitof twine. Melanie removed from the knapsack a small package of coffee which she sniffed as if itwere the sweetest of perfumes, hardtack and, her face changing, a miniature of a little girl in a goldframe set with seed pearls, a garnet brooch, two broad gold bracelets with tiny dangling goldchains, a gold thimble, a small silver baby’s cup, gold embroidery scissors, a diamond solitaire ringand a pair of earrings with pendant pear-shaped diamonds, which even their unpracticed eyes couldtell were well over a carat each.   “A thief!” whispered Melanie, recoiling from the still body. “Scarlett, he must have stolen all ofthis!”   “Of course,” said Scarlett. “And he came here hoping to steal more from us.”   “I’m glad you killed him,” said Melanie her gentle eyes hard. “Now hurry, darling, and get himout of here.”   Scarlett bent over, caught the dead man by his boots and tugged. How heavy he was and howweak she suddenly felt. Suppose she shouldn’t be able to move him? Turning so that she backedthe corpse, she caught a heavy boot under each arm and threw her weight forward. He moved andshe jerked again. Her sore foot, forgotten in the excitement, now gave a tremendous throb thatmade her grit her teeth and shift her weight to the heel. Tugging and straining, perspirationdripping from her forehead, she dragged him down the hall, a red stain following her path.   “If he bleeds across the yard, we can’t hide it,” she gasped. “Give me your shimmy, Melanie,and I’ll wad it around his head.”   Melanie’s white face went crimson.   “Don’t be silly, I won’t look at you,” said Scarlett “If I had on a petticoat or pantalets I’d usethem.”   Crouching back against the wall, Melanie pulled the ragged linen garment over her head andsilently tossed it to Scarlett, shielding herself as best she could with her arms.   “Thank God, I’m not that modest,” thought Scarlett, feeling rather than seeing Melanie’s agonyof embarrassment, as she wrapped the ragged cloth about the shattered face.   By a series of limping jerks, she pulled the body down the hall toward the back porch and,pausing to wipe her forehead with the back of her hand, glanced back toward Melanie, sittingagainst the wall hugging her thin knees to her bare breasts. How silly of Melanie to be botheringabout modesty at a time like this, Scarlett thought irritably. It was just part of her nicey-nice way ofacting which had always made Scarlett despise her. Then shame rose in her. After all—after all,Melanie had dragged herself from bed so soon after having a baby and had come to her aid with aweapon too heavy even for her to lift. That had taken courage, the kind of courage Scarlett honestlyknew she herself did not possess, the thin-steel, spun silk courage which had characterizedMelanie on the terrible night Atlanta fell and on the long trip home. It was the same intangible,unspectacular courage that all the Wilkeses possessed, a quality which Scarlett did not understandbut to which she gave grudging tribute.   “Go back to bed,” she threw over her shoulder. “You’ll be dead if you don’t. I’ll clean up themess after I’ve buried him.”   “I’ll do it with one of the rag rugs,” whispered Melanie, looking at the pool of blood with a sickface.   “Well, kill yourself then and see if I care! And if any of the folks come back before I’m finished,keep them in the house and tell them the horse just walked in from nowhere.”   Melanie sat shivering in the morning sunlight and covered her ears against the sickening seriesof thuds as the dead man’s head bumped down the porch steps.   No one questioned whence the horse had come. It was so obvious he was a stray from the recentbattle and they were well pleased to have him. The Yankee lay in the shallow pit Scarlett hadscraped out under the scuppernong arbor. The uprights which held the thick vines were rotten and that night Scarlett hacked at them with the kitchen knife until they fell and the tangled mass ranwild over the grave. The replacing of these posts was one bit of repair work Scarlett did notsuggest and, if the negroes knew why, they kept their silence.   No ghost rose from that shallow grave to haunt her in the long nights when she lay awake, tootired to sleep. No feeling of horror or remorse assailed her at the memory. She wondered why,knowing that even a month before she could never have done the deed. Pretty young Mrs. Hamilton,with her dimple and her jingling earbobs and her helpless little ways, blowing a man’s face toa pulp and then burying him in a hastily scratched-out hole! Scarlett grinned a little grimlythinking of die consternation such an idea would bring to those who knew her.   “I won’t think about it any more,” she decided. “It’s over and done with and I’d have been aninny not to kill him. I reckon—I reckon I must have changed a little since coming home or else Icouldn’t have done it.”   She did not think of it consciously but in the back of her mind, whenever she was confronted byan unpleasant and difficult task, the idea lurked giving her strength: I’ve done murder and so I cansurely do this.”   She had changed more than she knew and the shell of hardness which had begun to form abouther heart when she lay in the slave garden at Twelve Oaks was slowly thickening.   Now that she had a horse, Scarlett could find out for herself what had happened to theirneighbors. Since she came home she had wondered despairingly a thousand times: “Are we theonly folks left in the County? Has everybody else been burned out? Have they all refugeed toMacon?” With the memory of the ruins of Twelve Oaks, the Macintosh place and the Slatteryshack fresh in her mind, she almost dreaded to discover the truth. But it was better to know theworst than to wonder. She decided to ride to the Fontaines’ first, not because they were the nearestneighbors but because old Dr. Fontaine might be there. Melanie needed a doctor. She was notrecovering as she should and Scarlett was frightened by her white weakness.   So on the first day when her foot had healed enough to stand a slipper, she mounted theYankee’s horse. One foot in the shortened stirrup and the other leg crooked about the pommel in anapproximation of a side saddle, she set out across the fields toward Mimosa, steeling herself to findit burned.   To her surprise and pleasure, she saw the faded yellow-stucco house standing amid the mimosatrees, looking as it had always looked. Warm happiness, happiness that almost brought tears,flooded her when the three Fontaine women came out of the house to welcome her with kisses andcries of joy.   But when the first exclamations of affectionate greeting were over and they all had trooped intothe dining room to sit down, Scarlett felt a chill. The Yankees had not reached Mimosa because itwas far off the main road. And so the Fontaines still had their stock and their provisions, butMimosa was held by the same strange silence that hung over Tara, over the whole countryside. Allthe slaves except four women house servants had run away, frightened by the approach of theYankees. There was not a man on the place unless Sally’s little boy, Joe, hardly out of diapers, could be counted as a man. Alone in the big house were Grandma Fontaine, in her seventies, herdaughter-in-law who would always be known as Young Miss, though she was in her fifties, andSally, who had barely turned twenty. They were far away from neighbors and unprotected, but ifthey were afraid it did not show on their faces. Probably, thought Scarlett, because Sally andYoung Miss were too afraid of the porcelain-frail but indomitable old Grandma to dare voice anyqualms. Scarlett herself was afraid of the old lady, for she had sharp eyes and a sharper tongue andScarlett had felt them both in the past.   Though unrelated by blood and far apart in age, there was a kinship of spirit and experiencebinding these women together. All three wore home-dyed mourning, all were worn, sad, worried,all bitter with a bitterness that did not sulk or complain but, nevertheless, peered out from behindtheir smiles and their words of welcome. For their slaves were gone, their money was worthless,Sally’s husband, Joe, had died at Gettysburg and Young Miss was also a widow, for young Dr.   Fontaine had died of dysentery at Vicksburg. The other two boys, Alex and Tony, were somewherein Virginia and nobody knew whether they were alive or dead; and old Dr. Fontaine was offsomewhere with Wheeler’s cavalry.   “And the old fool is seventy-three years old though he tries to act younger and he’s as full ofrheumatism as a hog is of fleas,” said Grandma, proud of her husband, the light in her eyes belyingher sharp words.   “Have you all had any news of what’s been happening in Atlanta?” asked Scarlett when theywere comfortably settled. “We’re completely buried at Tara.”   “Law, child,” said Old Miss, taking charge of the conversation, as was her habit, “we’re in thesame fix as you are. We don’t know a thing except that Sherman finally got the town.”   “So he did get it. What’s he doing now? Where’s the fighting now?”   “And how would three lone women out here in the country know about the war when wehaven’t seen a letter or a newspaper in weeks?” said the old lady tartly. “One of our darkies talkedto a darky who’d seen a darky who’d been to Jonesboro, and except for that we haven’t heardanything. What they said was that the Yankees were just squatting in Atlanta resting up their menand their horses, but whether it’s true or not you’re as good a judge as I am. Not that they wouldn’tneed a rest, after the fight we gave them.”   To think you’ve been at Tara all this time and we didn’t know!” Young Miss broke in. “Oh, howI blame myself for not riding over to see! But there’s been so much to do here with most all thedarkies gone that I just couldn’t get away. But I should have made time to go. It wasn’t neighborlyof me. But, of course, we thought the Yankees had burned Tara like they did Twelve Oaks and theMacintosh house and that your folks had gone to Macon. And we never dreamed you were home,Scarlett.”   “Well, how were we to know different when Mr. O’Hara’s darkies came through here so scaredthey were popeyed and told us the Yankees were going to burn Tara?” Grandma interrupted.   “And we could see—” Sally began.   “I’m telling this, please,” said Old Miss shortly. “And they said the Yankees were camped allover Tara and your folks were fixing to go to Macon. And then that night we saw the glare of fire over toward Tara and it lasted for hours and it scared our fool darkies so bad they all ran off. Whatburned?”   “All our cotton—a hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth,” said Scarlett bitterly.   “Be thankful it wasn’t your house,” said Grandma, leaning her chin on her cane. “You canalways grow more cotton and you can’t grow a house. By the bye, had you all started picking yourcotton?”   “No,” said Scarlett, “and now most of it is ruined. I don’t imagine there’s more than three balesleft standing, in the far field in the creek bottom, and what earthly good will it do? All our fieldhands are gone and there’s nobody to pick it.”   “Mercy me, all our field hands are gone and there’s nobody to pick it!” mimicked Grandma andbent a satiric glance on Scarlett “What’s wrong with your own pretty paws, Miss, and those of yoursisters?”   “Me? Pick cotton?” cried Scarlett aghast, as if Grandma had been suggesting some repulsivecrime. “Like a field hand? Like white trash? Like the Slattery women?”   “White trash, indeed! Well, isn’t this generation soft and ladylike! Let me tell you, Miss, when Iwas a girl my father lost all his money and I wasn’t above doing honest work with my hands and inthe fields too, till Pa got enough money to buy some more darkies. I’ve hoed my row and I’vepicked my cotton and I can do it again if I have to. And it looks like I’ll have to. White trash,indeed!”   “Oh, but Mama Fontaine,” cried her daughter-in-law, casting imploring glances at the two girls,urging them to help her smooth the old lady’s feathers. “That was so long ago, a different dayentirely, and times have changed.”   “Times never change when there’s a need for honest work to be done,” stated the sharp-eyed oldlady, refusing to be soothed. “And I’m ashamed for your mother, Scarlett, to hear you stand thereand talk as though honest work made white trash out of nice people. ‘When Adam delved and Evespan’—”   To change the subject, Scarlett hastily questioned: “What about the Tarletons and the Calverts?   Were they burned out? Have they refugeed to Macon?”   “The Yankees never got to the Tarletons. They’re off the main road, like we are, but they did getto the Calverts and they stole all their stock and poultry and got all the darkies to run off with them—” Sally began.   Grandma interrupted.   “Hah! They promised all the black wenches silk dresses and gold earbobs—that’s what they did.   And Cathleen Calvert said some of the troopers went off with the black fools behind them on theirsaddles. Well, all they’ll get will be yellow babies and I can’t say that Yankee blood will improvethe stock.”   “Oh, Mama Fontaine!”   “Don’t pull such a shocked face, Jane. We’re all married, aren’t we? And, God knows, we’ve seen mulatto babies before this.”   “Why didn’t they burn the Calverts’ house?”   “The house was saved by the combined accents of the second Mrs. Calvert and that Yankeeoverseer of hers, Hilton,” said Old Miss, who always referred to the ex-governess as the “secondMrs. Calvert,” although the first Mrs. Calvert had been dead twenty years.   “ ‘We are staunch Union sympathizers,’ ” mimicked the old lady, twanging the words throughher long thin nose. “Cathleen said the two of them swore up hill and down dale that the wholepassel of Calverts were Yankees. And Mr. Calvert dead in the Wilderness! And Raiford at Gettysburgand Cade in Virginia with the army! Cathleen was so mortified she said she’d rather thehouse had been burned. She said Cade would bust when he came home and heard about it. Butthen, that’s what a man gets for marrying a Yankee woman—no pride, no decency, always thinkingabout their own skins. … How come they didn’t burn Tara, Scarlett?”   For a moment Scarlett paused before answering. She knew the very next question would be:   “And how are all your folks? And how is your dear mother?” She knew she could not tell themEllen was dead. She knew that if she spoke those words or even let herself think of them in thepresence of these sympathetic women, she would burst into a storm of tears and cry until she wassick. And she could not let herself cry. She had not really cried since she came home and she knewthat if she once let down the floodgates, her closely husbanded courage would all be gone. But sheknew, too, looking with confusion at the friendly faces about her, that if she withheld the news ofEllen’s death, the Fontaines would never forgive her. Grandma in particular was devoted to Ellenand there were very few people in the County for whom the old lady gave a snap of her skinnyfingers.   “Well, speak up,” said Grandma, looking sharply at her. “Don’t you know, Miss?”   “Well, you see, I didn’t get home till the day after the battle,” she answered hastily. The Yankeeswere all gone then. Pa— Pa told me that—that he got them not to burn the house because Suellenand Carreen were so ill with typhoid they couldn’t be moved.”   “That’s the first time I ever heard of a Yankee doing a decent thing,” said Grandma, as if sheregretted hearing anything good about the invaders. “And how are the girls now?”   “Oh, they are better, much better, almost well but quite weak,” answered Scarlett. Then, seeingthe question she feared hovering on the old lady’s lips, she cast hastily about for some other topicof conversation.   “I—I wonder if you could lend us something to eat? The Yankees cleaned us out like a swarm oflocusts. But, if you are on short rations, just tell me so plainly and—”   “Send over Pork with a wagon and you shall have half of what we’ve got, rice, meal, ham, somechickens,” said Old Miss, giving Scarlett a sudden keen look.   “Oh, that’s too much! Really, I—”   “Not a word! I won’t hear it. What are neighbors for?”   “You are so kind that I can’t— But I have to be going now. The folks at home will be worryingabout me.”   Grandma rose abruptly and took Scarlett by the arm.   “You two stay here,” she commanded, pushing Scarlett toward the back porch. “I have a privateword for this child. Help me down the steps, Scarlett.”   Young Miss and Sally said good-by and promised to come calling soon. They were devoured bycuriosity as to what Grandma had to say to Scarlett but unless she chose to tell them, they wouldnever know. Old ladies were so difficult, Young Miss whispered to Sally as they went back to theirsewing.   Scarlett stood with her hand on the horse’s bridle, a dull feeling at her heart.   “Now,” said Grandma, peering into her face, “what’s wrong at Tara? What are you keepingback?”   Scarlett looked up into the keen old eyes and knew she could tell the truth, without tears. No onecould cry in the presence of Grandma Fontaine without her express permission.   “Mother is dead,” she said flatly.   The hand on her arm tightened until it pinched and the wrinkled lids over the yellow eyesblinked.   “Did the Yankees kill her?”   “She died of typhoid. Died—the day before I came home.”   “Don’t think about it,” said Grandma sternly and Scarlett saw her swallow. “And your Pa?”   “Pa is—Pa is not himself.”   “What do you mean? Speak up. Is he ill?”   “The shock—he is so strange—he is not—”   “Don’t tell me he’s not himself. Do you mean his mind is unhinged?”   It was a relief to hear the truth put so baldly. How good the old lady was to offer no sympathythat would make her cry.   “Yes,” she said dully, “he’s lost his mind. He acts dazed and sometimes he can’t seem toremember that Mother is dead. Oh, Old Miss, it’s more than I can stand to see him sit by the hour,waiting for her and so patiently too, and he used to have no more patience than a child. But it’sworse when he does remember that she’s gone. Every now and then, after he’s sat still with his earcocked listening for her, he jumps up suddenly and stamps out of the house and down to theburying ground. And then he comes dragging back with the tears all over his face and he says overand over till I could scream: ‘Katie Scarlett, Mrs. O’Hara is dead. Your mother is dead,’ and it’sjust like I was hearing it again for the first time. And sometimes, late at night, I hear him callingher and I get out of bed and go to him and tell him she’s down at the quarters with a sick darky.   And he fusses because she’s always tiring herself out nursing people. And it’s so hard to get himback to bed. He’s like a child. Oh, I wish Dr. Fontaine was here! I know he could do something forPa! And Melanie needs a doctor too. She isn’t getting over her baby like she should—”   “Melly—a baby? And she’s with you?”   “Yes.”   “What’s Melly doing with you? Why isn’t she in Macon with her aunt and her kinfolks? I neverthought you liked her any too well, Miss, for all she was Charles’ sister. Now, tell me all about it.”   “It’s a long story, Old Miss. Don’t you want to go back in the house and sit down?”   “I can stand,” said Grandma shortly. “And if you told your story in front of the others, they’d bebawling and making you feel sorry for yourself. Now, let’s have it.”   Scarlett began haltingly with the siege and Melanie’s condition, but as her story progressedbeneath the sharp old eyes which never faltered in their gaze, she found words, words of powerand horror. It all came back to her, the sickeningly hot day of the baby’s birth, the agony of fear,the flight and Rhett’s desertion. She spoke of the wild darkness of the night, the blazing camp fireswhich might be friends or foes, the gaunt chimneys which met her gaze in the morning sun, thedead men and horses along the road, the hunger, the desolation, the fear that Tara had been burned.   “I thought if I could just get home to Mother, she could manage everything and I could lay downthe weary load. On the way home I thought the worst had already happened to me, but when Iknew she was dead I knew what the worst really was.”   She dropped her eyes to the ground and waited for Grandma to speak. The silence was soprolonged she wondered if Grandma could have failed to comprehend her desperate plight. Finallythe old voice spoke and her tones were kind, kinder than Scarlett had ever heard her use inaddressing anyone.   “Child, it’s a very bad thing for a woman to face the worst that can happen to her, because aftershe’s faced the worst she can’t ever really fear anything again. And it’s very bad for a woman notto be afraid of something. You think I don’t understand what you’ve told me—what you’ve beenthrough? Well, I understand very well. When I was about your age I was in the Creek uprising,right after the Fort Mims massacre—yes,” she said in a far-away voice, “just about your age forthat was fifty-odd years ago. And I managed to get into the bushes and hide and I lay there and sawour house burn and I saw the Indians scalp my brothers and sisters. And I could only lie there andpray that the light of the flames wouldn’t show up my hiding place. And they dragged Mother outand killed her about twenty feet from where I was lying. And scalped her too. And ever so oftenone Indian would go back to her and sink his tommyhawk into her skull again. I—I was mymother’s pet and I lay there and saw it all. And in the morning I set out for the nearest settlementand it was thirty miles away. It took me three days to get there, through the swamps and theIndians, and afterward they thought I’d lose my mind. … That’s where I met Dr. Fontaine. Helooked after me. ... Ah, well, that’s been fifty years ago, as I said, and since that time I’ve neverbeen afraid of anything or anybody because I’d known the worst that could happen to me. And thatlack of fear has gotten me into a lot of trouble and cost me a lot of happiness. God intended womento be timid frightened creatures and there’s something unnatural about woman who isn’t afraid. ... Scarlett, always save something to fear— even as you save something (a) to love. ...”   Her voice trailed off and she stood silent with eyes looking back over half a century to the daywhen she had been afraid. Scarlett moved impatiently. She had thought Grandma was going tounderstand and perhaps show her some way to solve her problems. But like all old people she’d gotten to talking about things that happened before anyone was born, things no one was interestedin. Scarlett wished she had not confided in her.   “Well, go home, child, or they’ll be worrying about you,” she said suddenly. “Send Pork withthe wagon this afternoon. ... And don’t think you can lay down the load, ever. Because you can’t. Iknow.”   Indian summer lingered into November that year and the warm days were bright days for thoseat Tara. The worst was over. They had a horse now and they could ride instead of walk. They hadfried eggs for breakfast and fried ham for supper to vary the monotony of the yams, peanuts anddried apples, and on one festal occasion they even had roast chicken. The old sow had finally beencaptured and she and her brood rooted and grunted happily under the house where they werepenned. Sometimes they squealed so loudly no one in the house could talk but it was a pleasantsound. It meant fresh pork for the white folks and chitterlings for the negroes when cold weatherand hog-killing time should arrive, and it meant food for the winter for all.   Scarlett’s visit to the Fontaines had heartened her more than she realized. Just the knowledgethat she had neighbors, that some of the family friends and old homes had survived, drove out theterrible loss and alone feeling which had oppressed her in her first weeks at Tara. And theFontaines and Tarletons, whose plantations had not been in the path of the army, were mostgenerous in sharing what little they had. It was the tradition of the County that neighbor helpedneighbor and they refused to accept a penny from Scarlett, telling her that she would do the samefor them and she could pay them back, in kind, next year when Tara was again producing.   Scarlett now had food for her household, she had a horse, she had the money and jewelry takenfrom the Yankee straggler, and the greatest need was new clothing. She knew it would be riskybusiness sending Pork south to buy clothes, when the horse might be captured by either Yankees orConfederates. But, at least, she had the money with which to buy the clothes, a horse and wagonfor the trip, and perhaps Pork could make the trip without getting caught. Yes, the worst was over.   Every morning when Scarlett arose she thanked God for the pale-blue sky and the warm sun, foreach day of good weather put off the inevitable time when warm clothing would be needed. Andeach warm day saw more and more cotton piling up in the empty slave quarters, the only storageplace left on the plantation. There was more cotton in the fields than she or Pork had estimated,probably four bales, and soon the cabins would be full.   Scarlett had not intended to do any cotton picking herself, even after Grandma Fontaine’s tartremark. It was unthinkable that she, an O’Hara lady, now the mistress of Tara, should work in thefields. It put her on the same level with the snarly haired Mrs. Slattery and Emmie. She hadintended that the negroes should do the field work, while she and the convalescent girls attended tothe house, but here she was confronted with a caste feeling even stronger than her own. Pork,Mammy and Prissy set up outcries at the idea of working in the fields. They reiterated that theywere house niggers, not field hands. Mammy, in particular, declared vehemently that she had nevereven been a yard nigger. She had been born in the Robillard great house, not in the quarters, andhad been raised in Ole Miss’ bedroom, sleeping on a pallet at the foot of the bed. Dilcey alone saidnothing and she fixed her Prissy with an unwinking eye that made her squirm.   Scarlett refused to listen to the protests and drove them all into the cotton rows. But Mammyand Pork worked so slowly and with so many lamentations that Scarlett sent Mammy back to thekitchen to cook and Pork to the woods and the river with snares for rabbits and possums and linesfor fish. Cotton picking was beneath Pork’s dignity but hunting and fishing were not.   Scarlett next had tried her sisters and Melanie in the fields, but that had worked no better.   Melanie had picked neatly, quickly and willingly for an hour in the hot sun and then fainted quietlyand had to stay in bed for a week. Suellen, sullen and tearful, pretended to faint too, but came backto consciousness spitting like an angry cat when Scarlett poured a gourdful of water in her face. Finallyshe refused point-blank.   “I won’t work in the fields like a darky! You can’t make me. What if any of our friends everheard of it? What if—if Mr. Kennedy ever knew? Oh, if Mother knew about this—”   “You just mention Mother’s name once more, Suellen O’Hara, and I’ll slap you flat,” criedScarlett. “Mother worked harder than any darky on this place and you know it, Miss Fine Airs!”   “She did not! At least, not in the fields. And you can’t make me. I’ll tell Papa on you and hewon’t make me work!”   “Don’t you dare go bothering Pa with any of our troubles!” cried Scarlett, distracted betweenindignation at her sister and fear for Gerald.   “I’ll help you, Sissy,” interposed Carreen docilely. “I’ll work for Sue and me too. She isn’t wellyet and she shouldn’t be out in the sun.”   Scarlett said gratefully: “Thank you, Sugarbaby,” but looked worriedly at her younger sister.   Carreen, who had always been as delicately pink and white as the orchard blossoms that arescattered by the spring wind, was no longer pink but still conveyed in her sweet thoughtful face ablossomlike quality. She had been silent, a little dazed since she came back to consciousness andfound Ellen gone, Scarlett a termagant, the world changed and unceasing labor the order of thenew day. It was not in Carreen’s delicate nature to adjust herself to change. She simply could notcomprehend what had happened and she went about Tara like a sleepwalker, doing exactly whatshe was told. She looked, and was, frail but she was willing, obedient and obliging. When she wasnot doing Scarlett’s bidding, her rosary beads were always in her hands and her lips moving inprayers for her mother and for Brent Tarleton. It did not occur to Scarlett that Carreen had takenBrent’s death so seriously and that her grief was unhealed. To Scarlett, Carreen was still “babysister,” far too young to have had a really serious love affair.   Scarlett, standing in the sun in the cotton rows, her back breaking from the eternal bending andher hands roughened by the dry bolls, wished she had a sister who combined Suellen’s energy andstrength with Carreen’s sweet disposition. For Carreen picked diligently and earnestly. But, aftershe had labored for an hour it was obvious that she, and not Suellen, was the one not yet wellenough for such work. So Scarlett sent Carreen back to the house too.   There remained with her now in the long rows only Dilcey and Prissy. Prissy picked lazily,spasmodically, complaining of her feet, her back, her internal miseries, her complete weariness,until her mother took a cotton stalk to her and whipped her until she screamed. After that sheworked a little better, taking care to stay far from her mother’s reach.   Dilcey worked tirelessly, silently, like a machine, and Scarlett, with her back aching and hershoulder raw from the tugging weight of the cotton bag she carried, thought that Dilcey was worthher weight in gold.   “Dilcey,” she said, “when good times come back, I’m not going to forget how you’ve acted.   You’ve been mighty good.”   The bronze giantess did not grin pleasedly or squirm under praise like the other negroes. Sheturned an immobile face to Scarlett and said with dignity: “Thankee, Ma’m. But Mist’ Gerald andMiss Ellen been good to me. Mist’ Gerald buy my Prissy so I wouldn’ grieve and I doan forgit it. Iis part Indian and Indians doan forgit them as is good to them. I sorry ‘bout my Prissy. She mightyworthless. Look lak she all nigger lak her pa. Her pa was mighty flighty.”   In spite of Scarlett’s problem of getting help from the others in the picking and in spite of theweariness of doing the labor herself, her spirits lifted as the cotton slowly made its way from thefields to the cabins. There was something about cotton that was reassuring, steadying. Tara hadrisen to riches on cotton, even as the whole South had risen, and Scarlett was Southerner enough tobelieve that both Tara and the South would rise again out of the red fields.   Of course, this little cotton she had gathered was not much but it was something. It would bringa little in Confederate money and that little would help her to save the hoarded greenbacks andgold in the Yankee’s wallet until they had to be spent. Next spring she would try to make theConfederate government send back Big Sam and the other field hands they had commandeered,and if the government wouldn’t release them, she’d use the Yankee’s money to hire field handsfrom the neighbors. Next spring, she would plant and plant. ... She straightened her tired back and,looking over the browning autumn fields, she saw next year’s crop standing sturdy and green, acreupon acre.   Next spring! Perhaps by next spring the war would be over and good times would be back. Andwhether the Confederacy won or lost, times would be better. Anything was better than the constantdanger of raids from both armies. When the war was over, a plantation could earn an honest living.   Oh, if the war were only over! Then people could plant crops with some certainty of reaping them!   There was hope now. The war couldn’t last forever. She had her little cotton, she had food, shehad a horse, she had her small but treasured hoard of money. Yes, the worst was over!   思嘉从亚特兰大回到塔拉已两个星期,脚上的血泡已开始化脓,脚肿得没法穿鞋,只能踮着脚跟蹒跚地行走。她瞧着脚尖上的痛处,一种绝望之情便在她心头涌起。没法找到医生,要是它像士兵的创伤那样溃烂起来,就得等死了?尽管现在生活这样艰难,可她还想活下去呢。如果他死了,谁来照管塔拉农场呀?   她刚回到家时,曾经希望杰拉尔德往常的精神依然存在,他会主持家政,可是两周以来这个希望逐渐幻灭了。现在她已十分清楚,不管她乐意与否,这个农场和它所有的人口都得依靠她这双毫无经验的手去安排呢。因为杰拉尔德仍坐在那里一动不动,像个梦中人似的,那么毫不关心塔拉,那么温厚随和。每当她征求他的意见时,他总是这样回答:“你认为最好怎么办就怎么办吧,女儿。"要不便回答更糟,居然说,"孩子,跟你妈商量呀。"他再也不会有什么两样了,这个事实现在思嘉已经心安理得地承认,那就是说杰拉尔德将永远等待爱伦,永远注意倾听有没有她的动静。他是在某个边境地区,那儿时间静止不动,而爱伦始终在隔壁房间里等着他。他的生存的主发条已经在爱伦去世那天被拆掉了,同时消失的还有他那充分的自信,他的鲁莽和无穷的活力。爱伦是杰拉尔德•奥哈拉平生演出过的那场闹剧的观众,现在台前的帷幕永远降落了,脚灯熄了,观众也突然消失,而这个吓呆了的老演员还留在空空的舞台上等待着别人给他提词呢。   那天早晨屋子里很安静,因为除了思嘉、韦德和三个生病的姑娘,大家都到沼泽地里找母猪去了。就连杰拉尔德也来了点劲儿,一手扶着波克的肩膀,一手拿着绳子,在翻过的田地里艰难地向那里走去。苏伦和卡琳哭了一阵睡着了,她们每天至少要来这么两次,因为一想起母亲便感到悲伤,觉得自己孤苦无依,眼泪使簌簌地从深陷的两腮上往下流。媚兰那天头一次支撑着上身靠在枕头上,盖着一条补过的床单夹在两个婴儿中间,一只臂弯里偎着一个浅黄色毛茸茸的头,另一只同样温柔地搂着一个黑色卷发的小脑袋,那是迪尔茜的孩子。韦德坐在床脚边,在听一个童话故事。   对思嘉来说,塔拉的寂静是难以忍受的,因为这使她清楚地想起她从亚特兰大回来那天一路经过的那些寂寞荒凉的地带。母牛和小牛犊已很久没出声了。她卧室的窗外也没有鸟雀啁啾,连那个在木兰树瑟瑟不停的树叶中繁衍了好几代的模仿鸟家族这天也不再歌唱了。她拉过一把矫椅放在敞开的窗口一眺望着屋前的车道、大路那边的草地和碧绿而空旷的牧常她把裙子擦过膝盖,将下巴搁在胳臂肘上,伏在窗口寻思。她身边地板上放着一桶井水,她不时把起泡的脚伸进水里,一面皱着眉头忍受那刺痛的感觉。   她心里烦躁起来,下巴钻进了臂弯里。恰好在她需要拿出最大力气的时候,这只脚尖却溃烂起来了。那些笨蛋是抓不到母猪的。为了把小猪一只只捉回来,他们已经花了一星期,现在又过了两星期,可母猪还没抓到。思嘉知道,如果她跟他们一起在沼泽地里,她就会拿起绳索,高高卷起裤脚,很快把母猪套祝可是把母猪抓到以后----要是真的抓到了,又怎么样呢?   好,你就把它和那窝小崽子吃掉,可是再往后呢?生活还得过下去,食欲也不会减弱呀。冬天快到了,食物眼看就要吃光,连从邻园子里找来的那些蔬菜也所余无几了。他们必须弄到干豆和高粱,玉米糁和大米,还有----啊,还有许许多多东西。明年春播的玉米和棉花种子,新衣服,都需要啊,所有这些东西从哪儿来,她又怎么买得起呢?   她已经偷偷看过杰拉尔德的口袋和钱柜,唯一能找到的只有一堆联盟政府的债券和三千元联盟的钞票了。这大约够他们吃一顿丰盛的午餐吧,她带讽刺意味地想,因为现在联盟的妻子已经一文不值啦。不过,即使她有钱,也能买到食物,她又怎么把它拉回塔拉来呢?上帝为什么让那匹老马也死掉了?要是瑞德偷来的那个可怜的畜生还在,那也会使他们的生活大为改观的。啊,那些皮毛光滑的惯于在大路对面牧场上尥蹶子的骡子,那些漂亮的用来驾车的高头大马,她自己那匹小骡马,姑娘们的马驹子,以及杰拉尔德的到处风驰雷动般飞奔的大公马----啊,哪怕是倔强的骡子,只要它们还有一起留下来,该多好啊!   但是,也不要紧----一旦她的脚好起来,她就要步行到琼斯博罗去一趟。那将是她有生以来最远的一次步行,不过她愿意走着去。即使北方佬把那个城市完全烧毁了,她也一定要在那里找到一个能教她怎样弄到食物的人。这时韦德那张痛苦的小脸浮现在她眼前。他又一次嚷着他不爱吃山芋;他要一只鸡腿,一点米饭和肉汤呢。   前院里灿烂的阳光仿佛忽然被云翳遮住,树影也模糊起来,思嘉眼里已经泪汪汪的了。她紧紧抱着头,强忍着不要哭出声来。如今哭也没有用。只有你身边有个疼爱你的人,哭才有点意思。于是她伏在那里使劲抿着眼皮不让泪水掉下来,但这时忽然听见得得的马蹄声,不免暗暗惊讶。不过她并没有抬起头来。在过去两星期里,无论黑夜白天,就像觉得听见了母亲衣裙的悉卒声那样,她不时觉得听见了什么声响,这已经不足为怪了。她的心在急跳,这也是每逢这种时刻都有的,她随即便断然告诫自己:“别犯傻了。"但是马蹄声很自然地缓慢下来,渐渐变成从容不迫的漫步,在石子路上喀嚓喀嚓地响着。这是一骑马----塔尔顿家或方丹家的!她连忙抬起头来看看。原来是个北方佬骑兵。   她本能地躲到窗帘后面,同时急忙从帘子的褶缝中窥探那人,心情十分紧张,呼吸急促,快要喘不过起来了。   他垂头弓背坐在马鞍上,是个强悍粗暴的家伙,一脸蓬乱的黑胡须披散在没有钮扣子的蓝军服上。他在阳光里眯着一双小眼睛,从帽檐下冷冷地打量这幢房子。他不慌不忙地下了马,把缰绳撂在拴马桩上。这时思嘉突然痛苦地缓过气来,好像肚子上挨了一拳似的。一个北方佬,腰上挎着长筒手枪的北方佬!而且,她是单独跟三个病人和几个孩子在家里呢!   他懒洋洋地从人行道上走来,一只手放在手枪套上,两只小眼睛左顾右盼。这时思嘉心中象万花筒般闪映着一幅幅杂乱的图景,主要是皮蒂姑妈悄悄说过的关于坏人袭击孤单妇女的故事,比如,用刀子割喉咙呀,把病危的女人烧死在屋里呀,拿刺刀把哭叫的孩子捅死呀,种种难以言喻的恐怖场面,都因北方佬缘故而紧紧联在一起了。   她的头一个恐惧的想法是躲到壁橱里去,或者钻到床底下,或者从后面飞跑下楼,一路惊叫着奔向沼泽地,反正只要逃得掉就行。接着她听见他小心翼翼地走上台阶,偷偷地进了过厅,她才知道已经逃不出去了。她吓得浑身发抖,无法动弹,只听见他在楼下从一个房间进入另一个房间,步子愈来愈响,愈来愈胆大,因为他发现屋里一个人也没有。现在他进了饭厅,眼看马上要从饭厅出来,到厨房去了。   思嘉一想到厨房,便仿佛有把刀子扎进她的心窝,顿时怒火万丈,把恐惧都驱散得无影无踪了。厨房啊!厨房的炉火正炖着两锅吃的,一锅是苹果,另一锅是千辛万苦从“十二橡树”和麦金托什村园子里弄来的各种菜蔬的大杂烩,这些尽管不一定够两个人吃,可是要给九个挨饿的人当午餐呢。   思嘉忍着饥饿等待别的人回来,已经好几个小时,现在想到这个北方佬会一口气吃光,难怪她气得全身哆嗦了。   让这些家伙通通见鬼去吧!他们像蚯虫般洗劫了塔拉,让它只好慢慢地饿死,可现在又回来偷这点剩余的东西。思嘉肚子里饥肠辘辘,心想:凭上帝作证,这个北方佬休想再偷东西了!   她轻轻脱掉脚上的破鞋,光着脚匆匆向衣柜走去,连脚尖上的肿痛也不觉得了。她悄悄地拉开最上面的那个抽屉,抓起那把她从亚特兰大带来的笨重手枪,这是查尔斯生前佩带但从没使用过的武器。她把手伸进那个挂在墙上军刀下面的皮盒子里摸了一会,拿出一粒火帽子弹来。她竭力镇静着把子弹装进枪膛里。接着,她蹑手蹑脚跑进楼上过厅,跑下楼梯,一手扶着栏杆定了定神,另一只手抓住手枪紧紧贴在大腿后面的裙褶里。   “谁在那里?"一个带鼻音的声音喊道。这时她在楼梯当中站住,血脉在耳朵里轰轰地跳,她几乎听不见他在说什么。   “站住,要不我就开枪了。"那声音在接着喊叫。   那个人站在饭厅里面的门口,紧张地弓着身子,一手瞄着手枪,另一只手拿着那个木针线盒,里面装满了金顶针、金柄剪刀和金镶小钻石之类的东西。思嘉觉得 Chapter 27 ON A NOONDAY in mid-November, they all sat grouped about the dinner table, eating the lastof the dessert concocted by Mammy from corn meal and dried huckleberries, sweetened withsorghum. There was a chill in the air, the first chill of the year, and Pork, standing behind Scarlett’schair, rubbed his hands together in glee and questioned: “Ain’ it ‘bout time fer de hawg killin’,Miss Scarlett?”   “You can taste those chitlins already, can’t you?” said Scarlett with a grin. “Well, I can tastefresh pork myself and if the weather holds for a few days more, we’ll—”   Melanie interrupted, her spoon at her lips, “Listen, dear! Somebody’s coming!”   “Somebody hollerin’,” said Pork uneasily.   On the crisp autumn air came clear the sound of horse’s hooves, thudding as swiftly as afrightened heart, and a woman’s voice, high pitched, screaming: “Scarlett! Scarlett!”   Eye met eye for a dreadful second around the table before chairs were pushed back andeveryone leaped up. Despite the fear that made it shrill, they recognized the voice of SallyFontaine who, only an hour before, had stopped at Tara for a brief chat on her way to Jonesboro.   Now, as they all rushed pell-mell to crowd the front door, they saw her coming up the drive like thewind on a lathered horse, her hair streaming behind her, her bonnet dangling by its ribbons. Shedid not draw rein but as she galloped madly toward them, she waved her arm back in the directionfrom which she had come.   “The Yankees are coming! I saw them! Down the road! The Yankees—”   She sawed savagely at the horse’s mouth just in time to swerve him from leaping up the frontsteps. He swung around sharply, covered the side lawn in three leaps and she put him across thefour-foot hedge as if she were on the hunting field. They heard the heavy pounding of his hoovesas he went through the back yard and down the narrow lane between the cabins of the quarters andknew she was cutting across the fields to Mimosa.   For a moment they stood paralyzed and then Suellen and Carreen began to sob and clutch eachother’s fingers. Little Wade stood rooted, trembling, unable to cry. What he had feared since thenight he left Atlanta had happened. The Yankees were coming to get him.   “Yankees?” said Gerald vaguely. “But the Yankees have already been here.”   “Mother of God!” cried Scarlett, her eyes meeting Melanie’s frightened eyes. For a swift instantthere went through her memory again the horrors of her last night in Atlanta, the ruined homes thatdotted the countryside, all the stories of rape and torture and murder. She saw again the Yankeesoldier standing in the hall with Ellen’s sewing box in his hand. She thought: “I shall die. I shalldie right here. I thought we were through with all that. I shall die. I can’t stand any more.”   Then her eyes fell on the horse saddled and hitched and waiting for Pork to ride him to theTarleton place on an errand. Her horse! Her only horse! The Yankees would take him and the cowand the calf. And the sow and her litter— Oh, how many tiring hours it had taken to catch that sowand her agile young! And they’d take the rooster and the setting hens and the ducks the Fontaineshad given her. And the apples and the yams in the pantry bins. And the flour and rice and driedpeas. And the money in the Yankee soldier’s wallet. They’d take everything and leave them tostarve.   “They shan’t have them!” she cried aloud and they all turned startled faces to her, fearful hermind had cracked under the tidings. “I won’t go hungry! They shan’t have them!”   “What is it, Scarlett? What is it?”   “The horse! The cow! The pigs! They shan’t have them! I won’t let them have them!”   She turned swiftly to the four negroes who huddled in the doorway, their black faces a peculiarlyashen shade.   “The swamp,” she said rapidly.   “Whut swamp?”   “The river swamp, you fools! Take the pigs to the swamp. All of you. Quickly. Pork, you andPrissy crawl under the house and get the pigs out. Suellen, you and Carreen fill the baskets with asmuch food as you can carry and get to the woods. Mammy, put the silver in the well again. AndPork! Pork, listen to me, don’t stand there like that! Take Pa with you. Don’t ask me where! Anywhere!   Go with Pork, Pa. That’s a sweet pa.”   Even in her frenzy she thought what the sight of bluecoats might do to Gerald’s wavering mind.   She stopped and wrung her hands and the frightened sobbing of little Wade who was clutchingMelanie’s skirt added to her panic.   “What shall I do, Scarlett?” Melanie’s voice was calm amid the wailing and tears and scurryingfeet. Though her face was paper white and her whole body trembled, the very quietness of hervoice steadied Scarlett, revealing to her that they all looked to her for commands, for guidance.   “The cow and the calf,” she said quickly. “They’re in the old pasture. Take the horse and drivethem into the swamp and—”   Before she could finish her sentence, Melanie shook off Wade’s clutches and was down the frontsteps and running toward the horse, pulling up her wide skirts as she ran. Scarlett caught a flashingglimpse of thin legs, a flurry of skirts and underclothing and Melanie was in the saddle, her feetdangling far above the stirrups. She gathered up the reins and clapped her heels against theanimal’s sides and then abruptly pulled him in, her face twisting with horror.   “My baby!” she cried. “Oh, my baby! The Yankees will kill him! Give him to me!”   Her hand was on the pommel and she was preparing to slide off but Scarlett screamed at her.   “Go on! Go on! Get the cow! I’ll look after the baby! Go on, I tell you! Do you think I’d letthem get Ashley’s baby? Go on!”   Melly looked despairingly backward but hammered her heels into the horse and, with ascattering of gravel, was off down the drive toward the pasture.   Scarlett thought: “I never expected to see Melly Hamilton straddling a horse!” and then she raninto the house. Wade was at her heels, sobbing, trying to catch her flying skirts. As she went up thesteps, three at a bound, she saw Suellen and Carreen with split-oak baskets on their arms, runningtoward the pantry, and Pork tugging none too gently at Gerald’s arm, dragging him toward theback porch. Gerald was mumbling querulously and pulling away like a child.   From the back yard she heard Mammy’s strident voice: “You, Priss! You git unner dat house an’   han’ me dem shoats! You knows mighty well Ah’s too big ter crawl thoo dem lattices. Dilcey,comyere an’ mek dis wuthless chile—”   “And I thought it was such a good idea to keep the pigs under the house, so nobody could stealthem,” thought Scarlett, running into her room. “Why, oh, why didn’t I build a pen for them downin the swamp?”   She tore open her top bureau drawer and scratched about in the clothing until the Yankee’s wallet was in her hand. Hastily she picked up the solitaire ring and the diamond earbobs fromwhere she had hidden them in her sewing basket and shoved them into the wallet. But where tohide it? In the mattress? Up the chimney? Throw it in the well? Put it in her bosom? No, neverthere! The outlines of the wallet might show through her basque and if the Yankees saw it theywould strip her naked and search her.   “I shall die if they do!” she thought wildly.   Downstairs there was a pandemonium of racing feet and sobbing voices. Even in her frenzy,Scarlett wished she had Melanie with her, Melly with her quiet voice, Melly who was so brave theday she shot the Yankee. Melly was worth three of the others. Melly—what had Melly said? Oh,yes, the baby!   Clutching the wallet to her, Scarlett ran across the hall to the room where little Beau wassleeping in the low cradle. She snatched him up into her arms and he awoke, waving small fistsand slobbering sleepily.   She heard Suellen crying: “Come on, Carreen! Come on! We’ve got enough. Oh, Sister, hurry!”   There were wild squealings, indignant gruntings in the back yard and, running to the window,Scarlett saw Mammy waddling hurriedly across the cotton field with a struggling young pig undereach arm. Behind her was Pork also carrying two pigs and pushing Gerald before him. Gerald wasstumping across the furrows, waving his cane.   Leaning out of the window Scarlett yelled: “Get the sow, Dilcey! Make Prissy drive her out Youcan chase her across the fields!”   Dilcey looked up, her bronzed face harassed. In her apron was a pile of silver tableware. Shepointed under the house.   “The sow done bit Prissy and got her penned up unner the house.”   “Good for the sow,” thought Scarlett. She hurried back into her room and hastily gathered fromtheir hiding place the bracelets, brooch, miniature and cup she had found on the dead Yankee. Butwhere to hide them? It was awkward, carrying little Beau in one arm and the wallet and the trinketsin the other. She started to lay him on the bed.   He set up a wail at leaving her arms and a welcome thought came to her. What better hidingplace could there be than a baby’s diaper? She quickly turned him over, pulled up his dress andthrust the wallet down the diaper next to his backside. He yelled louder at this treatment and shehastily tightened the triangular garment about his threshing legs.   “Now,” she thought, drawing a deep breath, “now for the swamp!”   Tucking him screaming under one arm and clutching the jewelry to her with the other, she racedinto the upstairs hall. Suddenly her rapid steps paused, fright weakening her knees. How silent thehouse was! How dreadfully still! Had they all gone off and left her? Hadn’t anyone waited for her?   She hadn’t meant for them to leave her here alone. These days anything could happen to a lonewoman and with the Yankees coming—She jumped as a slight noise sounded and, turning quickly, saw crouched by the banisters herforgotten son, his eyes enormous with terror. He tried to speak but his throat only worked silently.   “Get up, Wade Hampton,” she commanded swiftly. “Get up and walk. Mother can’t carry younow.”   He ran to her, like a small frightened animal, and clutching her wide skirt, buried his face in it.   She could feel his small hands groping through the folds for her legs. She started down the stairs,each step hampered by Wade’s dragging hands and she said fiercely: “Turn me loose, Wade! Turnme loose and walk!” But the child only clung the closer.   As she reached the landing, the whole lower floor leaped up at her. All the homely, well-lovedarticles of furniture seemed to whisper: “Good-by! Good-by!” A sob rose in her throat. There wasthe open door of the office where Ellen had labored so diligently and she could glimpse a corner ofthe old secretary. There was the dining room, with chairs pushed awry and food still on the plates.   There on the floor were the rag rugs Ellen had dyed and woven herself. And there was the oldportrait of Grandma Robillard, with bosoms half bared, hair piled high and nostrils cut so deeply asto give her face a perpetual well-bred sneer. Everything which had been part of her earliestmemories, everything bound up with the deepest roots in her: “Good-by! Good-by, ScarlettO’Hara!”   The Yankees would burn it all—all!   This was her last view of home, her last view except what she might see from the cover of thewoods or the swamp, the tall chimneys wrapped in smoke, the roof crashing in flame.   “I can’t leave you,” she thought and her teeth chattered with fear. “I can’t leave you. Pawouldn’t leave you. He told them they’d have to burn you over his head. Then, they’ll burn youover my head for I can’t leave you either. You’re all I’ve got left.”   With the decision, some of her fear fell away and there remained only a congealed feeling in herbreast, as if all hope and fear had frozen. As she stood there, she heard from the avenue the soundof many horses’ feet, the jingle of bridle bits and sabers rattling in scabbards and a harsh voicecrying a command: “Dismount!” Swiftly she bent to the child beside her and her voice was urgentbut oddly gentle.   “Turn me loose, Wade, honey! You run down the stairs quick and through the back yard towardthe swamp. Mammy will be there and Aunt Melly. Run quickly, darling, and don’t be afraid.”   At the change in her tone, the boy looked up and Scarlett was appalled at the look in his eyes,like a baby rabbit in a trap.   “Oh, Mother of God!” she prayed. “Don’t let him have a convulsion! Not—not before theYankees. They mustn’t know we are afraid.” And, as the child only gripped her skirt the tighter,she said clearly: “Be a little man, Wade. They’re only a passel of damn Yankees!”   And she went down the steps to meet them.   Sherman was marching through Georgia, from Atlanta to the sea. Behind him lay the smokingruins of Atlanta to which the torch had been set as the blue army tramped out. Before him lay threehundred miles of territory virtually undefended save by a few state militia and the old men andyoung boys of the Home Guard.   Here lay the fertile state, dotted with plantations, sheltering the women and children, the veryold and the negroes. In a swath eighty miles wide the Yankees were looting and burning. Therewere hundreds of homes in flames, hundreds of homes resounding with their footsteps. But, toScarlett, watching the bluecoats pour into the front hall, it was not a countrywide affair. It wasentirely personal, a malicious action aimed directly at her and hers.   She stood at the foot of the stairs, the baby in her arms, Wade pressed tightly against her, hishead hidden in her skirts as the Yankees swarmed through the house, pushing roughly past her upthe stairs, dragging furniture onto the front porch, running bayonets and knives into upholstery anddigging inside for concealed valuables. Upstairs they were ripping open mattresses and featherbeds until the air in the hall was thick with feathers that floated softly down on her head. Impotentrage quelled what little fear was left in her heart as she stood helpless while they plundered andstole and ruined.   The sergeant in charge was a bow-legged, grizzled little man with a large wad of tobacco in hischeek. He reached Scarlett before any of his men and, spitting freely on the floor and her skirts,said briefly:   “Lemme have what you got in yore hand, lady.”   She had forgotten the trinkets she had intended to hide and, with a sneer which she hoped was aseloquent as that pictured on Grandma Robillard’s face, she flung the articles to the floor and almostenjoyed the rapacious scramble that ensued.   “I’ll trouble you for thet ring and them earbobs.”   Scarlett tucked the baby more securely under her arm so that he hung face downward, crimsonand screaming, and removed the garnet earrings which had been Gerald’s wedding present toEllen. Then she stripped off the large sapphire solitaire which Charles had given her as an engagementring.   “Don’t throw um. Hand um to me,” said the sergeant, putting out his hands. “Them bastards gotenough already. What else have you got?” His eyes went over her basque sharply.   For a moment Scarlett went faint, already feeling rough hands thrusting themselves into herbosom, fumbling at her garters.   “That is all, but I suppose it is customary to strip your victims?”   “Oh, I’ll take your word,” said the sergeant good naturedly, spitting again as he turned away.   Scarlett righted the baby and tried to soothe him, holding her hand over the place on the diaperwhere the wallet was hidden, thanking God that Melanie had a baby and that baby had a diaper.   Upstairs she could hear heavy boots trampling, the protesting screech of furniture pulled acrossthe floor, the crashing of china and mirrors, the curses when nothing of value appeared. From theyard came loud cries: “Head um off! Don’t let um get away!” and the despairing squawks of thehens and quacking and honking of the ducks and geese. A pang went through her as she heard anagonized squealing which was suddenly stilled by a pistol shot and she knew that the sow wasdead. Damn Prissy! She had run off and left her. If only the shoats were safe! If only the familyhad gotten safely to the swamp! But there was no way of knowing.   She stood quietly in the hall while the soldiers boiled about her, shouting and cursing. Wade’sfingers were in her skirt in a terrified grip. She could feel his body shaking as he pressed againsther but she could not bring herself to speak reassuringly to him. She could not bring herself to utterany word to the Yankees, either of pleading, protest or anger. She could only thank God that herknees still had the strength to support her, that her neck was still strong enough to hold her headhigh. But when a squad of bearded men came lumbering down the steps, laden with an assortmentof stolen articles and she saw Charles’ sword in the hands of one, she did cry out.   That sword was Wade’s. It had been his father’s and his grandfather’s sword and Scarlett hadgiven it to the little boy on his last birthday. They had made quite a ceremony of it and Melaniehad cried, cried with tears of pride and sorrowful memory, and kissed him and said he must growup to be a brave soldier like his father and his grandfather. Wade was very proud of it and oftenclimbed upon the table beneath where it hung to pat it. Scarlett could endure seeing her ownpossessions going out of the house in hateful alien hands but not this—not her little boy’s pride.   Wade, peering from the protection of her skirts at the sound of her cry, found speech and couragein a mighty sob. Stretching out one hand he cried:   “Mine!”   “You can’t take that!” said Scarlett swiftly, holding out her hand too.   “I can’t, hey?” said the little soldier who held it, grinning impudently at her. “Well, I can! It’s aRebel sword!”   “It’s—it’s not. It’s a Mexican War sword. You can’t take it. It’s my little boy’s. It was hisgrandfather’s! Oh, Captain,” she cried, turning to the sergeant, “please make him give it to me!”   The sergeant, pleased at his promotion, stepped forward.   “Lemme see thet sword, Bub,” he said. Reluctantly, the little trooper handed it to him. “It’s got asolid-gold hilt,” he said.   The sergeant turned it in his hand, held the hilt up to the sunlight to read the engravedinscription.   “ ‘To Colonel William R. Hamilton,’ ” he deciphered. “ ‘From His Staff. For Gallantry. BuenaVista. 1847.’ ”   “Ho, lady,” he said, “I was at Buena Vista myself.”   “Indeed,” said Scarlett icily.   “Was I? Thet was hot fightin’, lemme tell you. I ain’t seen such hot fightin’ in this war as weseen in thet one. So this sword was this little tyke’s grandaddy’s?”   “Yes.”   “Well, he can have it,” said the sergeant, who was satisfied enough with the jewelry and trinketstied up in his handkerchief.   “But it’s got a solid-gold hilt,” insisted the little trooper.   “We’ll leave her thet to remember us by,” grinned the sergeant.   Scarlett took the sword, not even saying “Thank you.” Why should she thank these thieves forreturning her own property to her? She held the sword against her while the little cavalrymanargued and wrangled with the sergeant.   “By God, I’ll give these damn Rebels something to remember me by,” shouted the privatefinally when the sergeant, losing his good nature, told him to go to hell and not talk back. The littleman went charging toward the back of the house and Scarlett breathed more easily. They had saidnothing about burning the house. They hadn’t told her to leave so they could fire it. Perhaps—perhaps— The men came rambling into the hall from the upstairs and the out of doors.   “Anything?” questioned the sergeant.   “One hog and a few chickens and ducks.”   “Some corn and a few yams and beans. That wildcat we saw on the horse must have given thealarm, all right.”   “Regular Paul Revere, eh?”   “Well, there ain’t much here, Sarge. You got the pickin’s. Let’s move on before the wholecountry gets the news we’re comin’.”   “Didja dig under the smokehouse? They generally buries things there.”   “Ain’t no smokehouse.”   “Didja dig in the nigger cabins?”   “Nothin’ but cotton in the cabins. We set fire to it.”   For a brief instant Scarlett saw the long hot days in the cotton field, felt again the terrible ache inher back, the raw bruised flesh of her shoulders. All for nothing. The cotton was gone.   “You ain’t got much, for a fac’, have you, lady?”   “Your army has been here before,” she said coolly.   “That’s a fac’. We were in this neighborhood in September,” said one of the men, turningsomething in his hand. “I’d forgot.”   Scarlett saw it was Ellen’s gold thimble that he held. How often she had seen it gleaming in andout of Ellen’s fancy work. The sight of it brought back too many hurting memories of the slenderhand which had worn it. There it lay in this stranger’s calloused duly palm and soon it would findits way North and onto the finger of some Yankee woman who would be proud to wear stolenthings. Ellen’s thimble!   Scarlett dropped her head so the enemy could not see her cry and the tears fell slowly down onthe baby’s head. Through the blur, she saw the men moving toward the doorway, heard thesergeant calling commands in a loud rough voice. They were going and Tara was safe, but with thepain of Ellen’s memory on her, she was hardly glad. The sound of the banging sabers and horses’   hooves brought little relief and she stood, suddenly weak and nerveless, as they moved off downthe avenue, every man laden with stolen goods, clothing, blankets, pictures, hens and ducks, thesow.   Then to her nostrils was borne the smell of smoke and she turned, too weak with lesseningstrain, to care about the cotton. Through the open windows of the dining room, she saw smokedrifting lazily out of the negro cabins. There went the cotton. There went the tax money and part ofthe money which was to see them through this bitter winter. There was nothing she could do aboutit either, except watch. She had seen fires in cotton before and she knew how difficult they were toput out, even with many men laboring at it. Thank God, the quarters were so far from the house!   Thank God, there was no wind today to carry sparks to the roof of Tara!   Suddenly she swung about, rigid as a pointer, and stared with horror-struck eyes down the hall,down the covered passageway toward the kitchen. There was smoke coming from the kitchen!   Somewhere between the hall and the kitchen, she laid the baby down. Somewhere she flung offWade’s grip, slinging him against the wall. She burst into the smoke-filled kitchen and reeled back,coughing, her eyes streaming tears from the smoke. Again she plunged in, her skirt held over hernose.   The room was dark, lit as it was by one small window, and so thick with smoke that she wasblinded, but she could hear the hiss and crackle of flames. Dashing a hand across her eyes, shepeered squinting and saw thin lines of flame creeping across the kitchen floor, toward the walls.   Someone had scattered the blazing logs in the open fireplace across the whole room and the tinder-dry pine floor was sucking in the flames and spewing them up like water.   Back she rushed to the dining room and snatched a rag rug from the floor, spilling two chairswith a crash.   “I’ll never beat it out—never, never! Oh, God, if only there was someone to help! Tara is gone—gone! Oh, God! This was what that little wretch meant when he said he’d give me something toremember him by! Oh, if I’d only let him have the sword!”   In the hallway she passed her son lying in the corner with his sword. His eyes were closed andhis face had a look of slack, unearthly peace.   “My God! He’s dead! They’ve frightened him to death!” she thought in agony but she raced byhim to the bucket of drinking water which always stood in the passageway by the kitchen door.   She soused the end of the rug into the bucket and drawing a deep breath plunged again into thesmoke-filled room slamming the door behind her. For an eternity she reeled and coughed, beatingthe rug against the lines of fire that shot swiftly beyond her. Twice her long skirt took fire and sheslapped it out with her hands. She could smell the sickening smell of her hair scorching, as it cameloose from its pins and swept about her shoulders. The flames raced ever beyond her, toward thewalls of the covered runway, fiery snakes that writhed and leaped and, exhaustion sweeping her,she knew that it was hopeless.   Then the door swung open and the sucking draft flung the flames higher. It closed with a bangand, in the swirling smoke, Scarlett, half blind, saw Melanie, stamping her feet on the flames,beating at them with something dark and heavy. She saw her staggering, heard her coughing,caught a lightning-flash glimpse of her set white face and eyes narrow to slits against the smoke,saw her small body curving back and forth as she swung her rug up and down. For another eternitythey fought and swayed, side by side, and Scarlett could see that the lines of fire were shortening.   Then suddenly Melanie turned toward her and, with a cry, hit her across the shoulders with all hermight. Scarlett went down in a whirlwind of smoke and darkness. When she opened her eyes shewas lying on the back porch, her head pillowed comfortably on Melanie’s lap, and the afternoonsunlight was shining on her face. Her hands, face and shoulders smarted intolerably from burns.   Smoke was still rolling from the quarters, enveloping the cabins in thick clouds, and the smell ofburning cotton was strong. Scarlett saw wisps of smoke drifting from the kitchen and she stirredfrantically to rise.   But she was pushed back as Melanie’s calm voice said: “Lie still, dear. The fire’s out.”   She lay quiet for a moment, eyes closed, sighing with relief, and heard the slobbery gurgle of thebaby near by and the reassuring sound of Wade’s hiccoughing. So he wasn’t dead, thank God! Sheopened her eyes and looked up into Melanie’s face. Her curls were singed, her face black withsmut but her eyes were sparkling with excitement and she was smiling.   “You look like a nigger,” murmured Scarlett, burrowing her head wearily into its soft pillow.   “And you look like the end man in a minstrel show,” replied Melanie equably. “Why did youhave to hit me?”   “Because, my darling, your back was on fire. I didn’t dream you’d faint, though the Lord knowsyou’ve had enough today to kill you. ... I came back as soon as I got the stock safe in the woods. Inearly died, thinking about you and the baby alone. Did—the Yankees harm you?”   “If you mean did they rape me, no,” said Scarlett, groaning as she tried to sit up. ThoughMelanie’s lap was soft, the porch on which she was lying was far from comfortable. “But they’vestolen everything, everything. We’ve lost everything— Well, what is there to look so happyabout?”   “We haven’t lost each other and our babies are all right and we have a roof over our heads,” saidMelanie and there was a lilt in her voice. “And that’s all anyone can hope for now. ... Goodness butBeau is wet! I suppose the Yankees even stole his extra diapers. He— Scarlett, what on earth is inhis diaper?”   She thrust a suddenly frightened hand down the baby’s back and brought up the wallet. For amoment she looked at it as if she had never seen it before and then she began to laugh, peal on pealof mirth that had in it no hint of hysteria.   “Nobody but you would ever have thought of it,” she cried and flinging her arms aroundScarlett’s neck she kissed her. “You are the beatenest sister I ever had!”   Scarlett permitted the embrace because she was too tired to struggle, because the words of praisebrought balm to her spirit and because, in the dark smoke-filled kitchen, there had been born agreater respect for her sister-in-law, a closer feeling of comradeship.   “I’ll say this for her,” she thought grudgingly, “she’s always there when you need her.”   11月中旬的一个中午,他们围着餐桌聚在一起,吃最后一道点心,那是嬷嬷用玉米粉和干越桔加高粱饴糖调制成的。   户外已经有了凉意,一年中最初的凉意,这时波克站在思嘉的椅子背后,喜滋地搓着两只手问道:“是不是到了宰猪的时候了,思嘉小姐?"“你可以准备吃那些下水了,不是吗?"思嘉咧嘴一笑说。   “好吧,我自己也可以吃新鲜猪肉,只要这种天气再持续几天,我们就----”这时媚兰插嘴说,汤匙还放在嘴边。   “你听,有人来了!亲爱的!”   “有人在喊呢,"波克心神不安地说。   深秋爽朗的微风传来了清晰的马蹄声,它像一颗受惊的心在怦怦急跳似的,同时一个女人的声音在尖叫:“思嘉!思嘉!"全桌的人都面面相觑,不知是怎么回事,接着才把椅子往后挪动,一起站起来。尽管一时都吓得没敢说话,但毕竟听出了那是萨莉•方丹的声音。一个小时前她因到琼斯博罗去路过塔拉,还在这里停下来闲聊了一会呢。如今大家争着奔向前门,挤在那里观看,只见她骑着一匹汗水淋漓的马在车道上飞驰而来,她的头发披散在脑后,帽子也吊在帽带上迎风飘动。她没有勒马,但一路跑来时向他们挥着手臂,指着后面她来的那个方向。   “北方佬来了!我看见他们了!沿着这条大路来了!那些北方佬----"她拼命把缰绳一收,将马嘴勒转过来,马差一点蹦上台阶。随即马来了个急转弯,腾跃了三次就跨到侧面的草地,然后她像在狩猎场上似的策马越过了那道四英尺高的篱笆。接着,他们听见得得的马蹄声穿过后院,走上住宅区棚屋当中的小道,便知道萨莉正横过田野回来莫萨去了。   他们一时像麻木似了的,呆呆的地站在那里,随后苏伦和卡琳彼此紧紧抓住手哭开了。小韦德站着一动不动,浑身哆嗦,不敢哭出声来。自从那天晚上离开亚特兰大以来,他一直害怕的事情如今终于发生了。北方佬就要来把他捉去呢。   “北方佬?"杰拉尔德困惑不解地说。"可是北方佬已经到过这里呢。"“我的天!"思嘉叫了一声,朝媚兰惊慌的眼睛看了看。这时她突然脑子里一闪,记起在亚特兰大最后一个晚上的恐怖情景,沿途所见乡下那些被烧的住宅和所有关于奸淫虐杀的故事。她又看见那个北方佬大兵手里拿着爱伦的针线盒站在过厅里。她想:“我要死了。我就要死在这里了。我原先还以为一切都熬过去了呢。我要死,我再也无法忍受了。"这时她的眼光落到那匹已套上鞍辔拴在那里的马上,它正等着驮波克到塔尔顿村去办一件事。这是她的马,她唯一的马啊!北方佬会把它抢走,把那头母牛和牛犊也抢走。还有母猪和一窝猪崽----啊,辛辛苦苦花了多少工夫才把这头母猪和一窝活泼的猪仔抓回来啊!他们还会把方丹家给她的那只大公鸡,那些正在孵蛋的母鸡,以及那些鸭子都抢走的。   还有放在食品柜里的苹果和山芋,还有面粉、大米和干豆,还有北方佬大兵钱夹里的那些钱呢。他们会把一切都抢走,让这些人挨饿!   “他们休想得逞!"她大喊一声,旁边的人都吃惊地回过头来,担心这消息把她气炸了。"他们休想得到这些东西!我决不挨饿!"“怎么了!思嘉?怎么了?““那骑马!那头母牛!那些猪!他们休想得到!"她急忙向躲在门道里的四个黑人走去,他们的黑脸早已吓得发灰了。   “到沼泽地去,"她火急火燎地命令他。   “哪个沼泽地?”   “你们这些笨蛋!河边沼泽地嘛,把猪赶到沼泽地去。大家都去。快!波克,你和百里茜钻到屋基底下把猪赶出来。苏伦和卡琳去拿篮子装吃的东西,只要你们提得动就尽量多装一些,带到林子里去。嬷嬷,你把银餐具还是放到井里。还有波克!波克,你听着,别站在那里发呆了!你带着爸走。别问我往哪儿!哪儿都行!爸,爸爸真好。你跟波克走吧。"她虽然忙得要发疯了,可仍然想到杰拉尔德看见那些蓝衣兵时,他那彷徨莫定的心态会经受不祝她站在那里搓着两只手寻思,这时小韦德惊恐的抽泣声使她更加心乱如麻,不知所措了。   “让我干什么呢,思嘉?"媚兰的声音在周围那些啜气啼哭和奔忙的脚步声中显得格外冷静。尽管她脸色惨白,浑身颤抖,但就是那种平静的声调已足以使思嘉冷静一些,觉得大家都在等待她发号施令呢。   “那头母牛和牛犊子,"她赶紧说。"在原来的牧场里。骑马去把它们赶到沼泽地里去,并且----"没等她说完最后一句话,媚兰就摆脱韦德的手下了台阶,提着宽阔的裙裾向那匹马跑去了。思嘉匆匆一眼瞧见媚兰那两条瘦腿和平扬的裙裾和内裤,随即发现她已经跨上马鞍,两只脚垂挂在离马镫很高的地方摆荡着。她迅速拉紧缰绳,用脚后跟在马肋上蹬了几下,那骑马正准备一跃而出,可这时她忽然把马勒住,脸上露出非常惊慌的神色。   “我的孩子!"她惊叫道,"啊,我的孩子!北方佬会把他杀了的!快把他给我呀!"她一手抓住鞍头,准备跳下马来,可这时思嘉厉声喝住她。   “你走吧!你走吧!去赶那头母牛吧!我会照料孩子的!   走吧,我叫你走!你以为我会让他们把艾希礼的孩子抓走吗?   你走吧!”   媚兰绝望地回顾着,同时用脚后跟狠狠蹬着马的两肋,于是四只马蹄踢溅着碎石,冲牧场一溜烟奔去了。   思嘉暗想:“我从没想到会看见媚兰•汉密尔顿叉开两腿骑上马呢!"然后她走进屋里。韦德紧跟在后面,一面哭泣,一面伸手去拉她飘荡的裙子。她一蹦三跳地跑上台阶,看见苏伦和卡琳两人胳臂上挎着橡树皮编的篮子向食品柜走去,波克则有点粗手笨脚地抓住杰拉尔德的臂膀,拖着他往后面走廊上跑。杰拉尔德一路喃喃地抱怨着,像个孩子似的总想挣脱他的手跑开。   她在后院里听到嬷嬷的尖叫声:“喂,百里茜!你钻到屋底下去,给俺把那些猪崽轰出来!你明明知道俺太胖了,钻不进那个格子门。迪尔茜,你来给我把这小坏蛋----"“把猪养在房子底下,我想这可是个好主意,没人能偷它们,"思嘉心里想,一面回自己房里去。”啊,我何不在沼泽地给它们盖个圈呢?"她拉开衣柜顶上的抽屉,在衣服里搜索了一会,找着了那个北方佬的钱包。她急忙从针线篮里取出藏在那里的钻石戒指和耳坠,随即塞进钱包里。可是把钱包藏到哪里好呢?床垫里面?烟囱顶上?扔到井里?或者揣在自己怀里?不,决不能放在这个地方!钱包鼓鼓囊囊的,会从脸衣底下鼓起一大块,要是北方佬看出来了,准会撕开她的衣服来搜呀!   “他们要是那样,我就宁愿死掉!"她愤怒地想。   楼下一片混乱。到处是奔忙的脚步声和哭泣声,思嘉即使暴躁极了,也还是希望媚兰能在身边,因为媚兰的声音那么镇静,而且在她击毙北方佬那天显得那么勇敢。媚兰一人能顶上三个人。媚兰—-媚兰刚才说什么来着?啊,是的,那婴儿!   思嘉一把抓起钱包,跑过穿堂,向小博睡觉的房间奔去。   她把他从矮矮的摇床里抱起来,这时他醒了,正一面挥舞着小拳头一面迷迷糊糊地流涎水。   如今她听见苏伦在喊叫:“来呀,卡琳!来呀!我们装够了。啊,妹妹,快!“后院里是一片尖叫声和愤怒的抱怨声。   思嘉跑到窗口,看见嬷嬷蹒跚着急匆匆地走过棉花地,两个臂弯底下各夹着一只小猪在拼命挣扎。她后面是波克,他也夹着两只小猪,同时推着杰拉尔德在一路奔跑。杰拉尔德踉踉跄跄地跨过一条条垅沟,手里急匆匆地挥舞着拐杖。   思嘉倚在窗棂上唤道:“把母猪带走!迪尔茜,叫百里茜把它轰出来。你们可以赶着它从地里过嘛!"迪尔茜抬起头来,她那青铜色的脸上显得很为难了。她围裙里兜里一堆银餐具呢。她只得指指房子下面。   “母猪咬了百里茜,俺把它关在房子下面了。"“那也好,"思嘉心里想。她连忙跑回房里,赶紧把她从北方佬身上搜出来藏在房里的金镯子、别针、小相框和杯子一一取出来。可是藏到哪里去好呢?多不方便啊!要一手抱着小博,一手抱着那只钱包和这些小玩意儿,她决定先把婴儿放在床上。   婴儿一离开她的臂弯就哇地哭了,这时她忽然想出来一个好主意来。要是将东西藏在婴儿尿布里,那不是最好的办法吗?她连忙把他翻了个身,拉其他的衣裳,把钱包塞进他后腰上的尿布底下。婴儿经这么一摆弄,放声大哭起来,可是她不管,急忙用三角布把他两条乱踢的腿包好,系紧。   “好了,"她深深地抽了一口气,"现在可以到沼泽地去了。"她一只胳臂紧紧搂着哭叫的婴儿,另一只手抱着那些珠宝,迅速跑到楼下穿堂里。可是她突然停下来,吓得两腿发软。这屋里多么寂静啊!静得多么可怕!他们都离开了,只剩下她一个人了吗?难道谁也没等她一会儿?她并没有意思叫他们全都先走,把她单独留在这里。这年月一个孤单的女人是什么都可能碰到的,而且北方佬就要来了----一个微弱的声音把她吓了一跳,她连忙转过身去,看见她那被遗忘的孩子蹲在栏杆旁边,两只受惊的眼睛瞪得老大老大的。他想要说话,可是喉咙颤抖着说不出声。   “站起来,韦德•汉普顿,"她立即命令说。"妈现在不能抱,你起来自己走。“他向她走过来,像只吓坏了的小动物,然后紧紧抓住宽大的裙裾,把脸埋在里面。她能感觉到他的两只小手在裙褶里摸索她的腿。她开始下楼,但因韦德在后面拉着,每走一步都妨碍她,这时她厉声喊道:“放开我,韦德,把手松开,自己走!“可是那孩子反而抓得更紧了。   她好不容易走到楼梯脚下,似乎楼下的一切都迎着她跑上来了。所有那些熟悉的,珍爱的家具似乎都在低声说:“再见!再见!"一阵呜咽涌上她的喉咙,但她极力抑制祝办事房的门敞开着,那里是爱伦生前勤奋工作的地方,现在她还能看上一眼那只旧写字台的一角呢。那是饭厅,桌旁的椅子已经散乱,但食品还在盘子里。地板上铺着爱伦亲手织染的旧地毯。罗毕拉德祖母的肖像挂在墙上,胸脯半袒着,头发堆得高高的,两个鼻孔旁边的纹路很深,使她脸上永远浮出一丝高傲的冷笑。这里的一事一物都是她最早记忆的一部分,都与她身上那些扎根最深的东西紧紧地连在一起,而此刻它们都在低声说:“再见!再见,思嘉•奥哈拉!““北方佬会把它们通通烧掉----通通烧掉啊!"现在是她最后一次看到这个家了,今后除了从树林荫蔽下或沼泽地里看看那包围在烟雾中的高高烟囱和在火焰崩塌的屋顶外,就再也看不见它了。   “我离不开你啊,"思嘉心里念叨着,一面害怕得牙齿直打战。"我离不开你。爸也不愿意离开你。他告诉过他们,要烧房子就把他烧死在里面。那么,就让他们把我烧死在里面吧。因为我也离不开你呀。你是我剩下的唯一财产了。"下了这样的决心,她的惊慌情绪反而减弱了些,现在只觉得胸中堵得慌,好像希望和恐惧都凝结了似的。这时他听见从林荫路上传来杂沓的马蹄声,缰辔和马嚼子的丁当声,铿铿锵锵的军刀磕碰声;接着是一声粗嘎的口令:“下马!"她立即俯身嘱咐身旁的孩子,那口气虽然急迫但却温柔得出奇。   “放开我,韦德,小宝贝!你赶快跑下楼,穿过后院,到沼泽地去。嬷嬷和媚兰姑姑都在那里。亲爱的,赶快跑,不要害怕!"那孩子听出她的声调变了,这时思嘉一见他那眼神就吓坏了,他活像一只陷阱的小野兔呢。   “啊,我的上帝!"她暗暗祈祷。"千万别让他犯惊风症呀!   千万----千万不要在北方佬跟前这样。千万不能让他们看出我们在害怕呢。“可是孩子把她的裙裾拉得更紧了,她才毫不含糊地说:“要像个大孩子了,韦德。他们只是一小伙该死的北方佬嘛!"于是,她下了楼梯,迎着他们走去。   谢尔曼的部队从亚特兰大穿过佐治亚中部向海滨挺进。   他们背后是浓烟滚滚的亚特兰大废墟,这个城市他们撤离时就一把火烧了。他们前面则是三百英里的领土,那里除了少数的本州民兵和由老人孩子组成的乡团之外是毫无抵御能力的。   这里是广袤的沃野,上面散布着许多农场,农场里住着女人和孩子,年迈的老头和黑人。北方佬在沿途八十英里宽的地带掳掠烧杀,形成一片恐怖。成百上千家的住宅毁于烈火,成百上千个家庭遭到蹂躏。但是,对于看着那些蓝衣兵涌入前厅的思嘉来说,这不是一场全县性的灾难,而纯粹是她个人的事,是针对她和她一家的暴虐行动。   她站在楼梯脚下,手里抱着婴儿;韦德紧紧靠在她身边,把头藏在她的裙褶里,因为他不敢看那些北方佬在屋里四处乱窜,从她身边粗鲁地拥挤着跑上楼,有的将家具拖到前面走廊上去,用刺刀和小刀插入椅垫,从里面搜寻贵重的东西。   他们在楼上把床垫和羽绒褥子撕开,开得整个穿堂里羽绒纷飞,轻轻飘落到思嘉头上。眼看着他们连拿抢,糟蹋破坏,她无可奈何地站在那里,满腔怒火不由得把剩余的一点点恐惧也压下去了。   指挥这一切的那个中士是个罗圈腿,头发灰白,嘴里含着一大块烟草。他头一个走到思嘉跟前,随随便便地朝地板上和思嘉裙子上啐唾沫,并且直截了当地说:“把你手里的东西给我吧,太太。"她忘记了那两件本来想藏起来的小首饰,这时只得故意模仿相片上的罗毕拉德祖母发出一声动人的冷笑,索性把它们扔在地上,接着便怀着几乎是欣赏的心情看着他急忙捡起来的那副贪婪相。   “还要麻烦你把戒指和耳环取下来。”   思嘉把婴儿更紧地夹在腋窝下,让他脸朝她挣扎着啼哭起来。同时把那对石榴石耳坠子----杰拉尔德送给爱伦的结婚礼物----摘下来。接着又捋下查尔斯作为订婚纪念给她的那只蓝宝石戒指。   “就交给我吧,别扔在地上,"那个中士向她伸出两手。   “那些狗杂种已经捞得够多的了。你还有什么?"他那双眼睛在她的身上犀利地打量着。   顷刻间思嘉几乎晕过去了,她已经感觉到那两只粗鲁的手伸进她怀里,在摸索怀里的带子。   “全都在这里了。我想,照你们的规矩还得把衣服脱下来吧?"“唔,我相信你的话,”那中士好心地说,然后啐口唾沫走开了。思嘉把婴儿抱好,设法让他安静下来,并伸手摸摸尿布底下藏钱包的地方。谢天谢地,媚兰竟有一个孩子,而这孩子又有一块尿布!   她听见楼上到处是笨重的皮靴声,那些家具被拖过来拖过去,像抗议似的吱嘎乱叫。瓷器和镜子哗哗啦啦被打碎了,中间还夹杂着下流的咒骂,因为找不到什么好东西了。院子里也传来高声喊叫:“砍了它的头!别让它跑了!"同时听见母鸡绝望地咯咯大叫,嘎嘎的鸭叫声和鹅叫声混成一片。突然砰的一声枪响,痛苦的尖叫立即停止,这时一阵剧痛震撼着思嘉全身,因为她知道母猪被打死了。她丢下母猪不管,该死的百里茜,自顾自跑啦!但愿那些小猪平安无事!但愿家里人都安全到达沼泽地!可是你没法知道呀。   她静静地站在穿堂里,眼看着周围的大兵在喊叫咒骂,乱成一团。韦德还是十分害怕,狠狠地抓住她的裙子不放。她感觉到他紧挨着她时身子在索索发抖,可是她自己也没法给他壮胆。她鼓不起勇气来对北方佬说话,无论是祈求、抗议或者表示愤怒。她唯一要感谢上帝的是她两条腿还有力量支撑着她,她的头颈还能把脑袋高高地托着。不过当一小队满脸胡须的人扛着各种各样的东西笨拙地走下楼来,她看见其中有查尔斯的那把军刀时,便不禁大声喊叫起来。   那把军刀是韦德的,是他从祖父和父亲一代代传下来的,后来思嘉又把它当作生日礼物送给了自己的儿子。授予这生日礼物时还举行了小小的仪式,当时媚兰哭了,她感到又骄傲又伤心,并吻着小韦德说他长大后一定要像父亲和祖父那样做个勇敢的军人。小韦德也颇觉自豪,时常爬到桌上去看挂在墙上的这个纪念物,用小手轻轻抚摩它。思嘉对于她自己的东西给仇人和陌生人抢走还能忍受,可是她孩子的珍贵纪念物就不行了。现在小韦德听见她喊叫,便从她的裙裾里探出头来窥视,并鼓起勇气边哭泣边说起话来。他伸出一只手嚷道:”我的!"“那把刀你不能拿!"思嘉也伸出一只手来,赶紧说。   “我不能,嘿?"那个拿军刀的矮小骑兵厚颜无耻地咧嘴一笑。"嗯,我不能!这是把造反的刀呢!"“它是----它不是!这是墨西哥战争时期的军刀。你不能拿走。那是我孩子的。是他祖父的!唔队长,"她大声喊着向那个中士求援,"请叫他还给我吧!"中士听见有人叫他队长,乐是升级了,便走上前来。   他说:“鲍勃,让我瞧瞧这把刀。”   小个儿骑兵很不情愿地把军刀递给他,说:“这刀柄全是金子做的呢。"中士把刀拿在手里转动了一下,又将刀柄举起对着太阳光读刀柄上刻的字:“'给威廉•汉密尔顿上校,纪念他的英勇战功。参谋部敬赠。一八四七年于布埃纳维斯塔。'"“嗬,太太,我本人那时就在布埃纳维斯塔呢。"“真的?"思嘉冷冷地说。   “怎么不是呢?我告诉你,那是一场激战。我在这次战争中可从没见过那样激烈的战斗。那么,这把军刀是这个小娃娃的爷爷的了?"“是的。"“好,他可以留着,"中士说,他有了他包在手帕里的那几件珠宝首饰,就已经十分满足了。   “不过那刀柄是金的呀,"小个儿骑兵坚持不让。   “我们把它留给她,好叫她记得我们,"中士咧嘴笑笑。   思嘉接过军刀,连"谢谢"也没说一声。她干吗因为退还了她自己的东西就要谢这些强盗呢?她紧紧地抱着军刀,让那小个儿骑兵继续跟中士纠缠。   “我要留给这些该死的叛乱分子一点东西,老天爷作证,让他们好记住我,”士兵最后大声嚷着,因为中士生气了,叫他滚蛋,也不许再顶嘴。他一路咒骂着向屋后走去,这时思嘉才松了口气。他们谁也没说要烧房子呢。他们没有叫她离开,好让他们放火。也许----也许----接着士兵们都从楼上和外面松松垮垮地回到穿堂里。   “找到什么没有?"中士问。   “一头猪,还有一些鸡鸭。”   “一些玉米和少量的山芋和豆子。我们看见的那个骑马的野猫一定来报过信了,这就完了。"“保罗•里维尔,怎么样?"“我看,这里没多少油水,中士。你零零碎碎拿到一点就算了。不要等大家都知道咱们来了。咱们还是快走。"“你们挖掘过地下熏腊室没有?他们一般把东西埋在那里呢。"“没有什么熏腊室。”“黑人住的棚屋里挖过了没有?"“别的什么也没有。棚屋里只有棉花,我们把它烧了。"思嘉一时间想起了在棉田里那些漫长的炎热日子,又感到腰酸背痛,两肩磨得皮开肉绽的可怕滋味。一切都白费了。   棉花全完了。   “你们家没多少东西,说真的,太太,是不是?"“你们的部队以前来过了,“思嘉冷冷地说。   “我们九月间来过这一带,这是事实。"有个士兵说,一面在手里转动着一个什么东西。"我忘记了。"思嘉看见他手里拿的是爱伦的金顶针。这个闪闪发光的顶针她以前常常看见母亲戴的。她睹物伤怀,想起母亲纤细的手指辛苦忙碌的情景。可如今顶针却在这个陌生多茧的肮脏的手心里,而且很快就会流落到北方去,戴在北方佬女人的手指上,那个女人还会因为是掠夺来的物品而感到骄傲呢。   爱伦的顶针啊!   思嘉低下头,免得让敌人发现她在哭,这时泪水只能缓缓地往婴儿头上滴。她模糊地看见那些人朝门道走去,听见中士用洪亮而粗暴的声音在喊口令。他们动身走了,塔拉农场已经安全了,可是她仍在伤心地回忆爱伦,很难高兴起来。   军刀磕碰的声音和马蹄声并没有让她感到安心,她站在那里,突然觉得两腿发软,尽管他们已沿着林荫道渐渐走远了,每个人身上都带着掠夺品,衣服、毯子、鸡鸭,还有那头母猪。后来她闻到刺鼻的烟火味,才转过身来想去看看那些棉花,可是经过一阵紧张之后感到特别虚弱,几乎挪不动身子了。从饭窗口望去,她看见浓烟还在缓缓地从黑人棚屋里冒出来。棉花就在那里被烧掉了。纳税的钱和维持他们一家度过这个严冬的衣食开支也化为乌有了。她没有办法,只好眼巴巴地看着。她以前见过棉花着火的情景,知道那是很难扑灭的,不管你有多少人来救都无济于事。谢天谢地,那棚屋区离正房还很远,否则就糟了!谢天谢地,幸好今天没有风,没有把火星刮到农场屋顶上来!   她突然像根指针似的僵直地转身,睁着一双惊恐的眼睛从穿堂、过道一直向厨房望过去,厨房里也在冒烟啊!   她把婴儿随手放在穿堂和厨房之间一个什么地方,随即又甩开韦德的小手,甩得他撞在墙壁上。她冲进烟雾弥漫的厨房,可立即退了回来,连声咳嗽着,呛得眼泪直流。接着,她用裙裾掩住鼻子,又一次冲了进去。   厨房里黑乎乎的,尽管有个小窗口透进亮光,但烟雾太浓,她什么也看不见,只听到火焰的咝咝声和噼啪声。她一只手遮着眼睛窥视了一下,只见地板上到处有细长的火苗在向墙壁扑去。原来有人把炉子里烧着的木柴丢在地板上,干透了的松木地板便很快着火并到处燃烧起来了。   她冲出厨房向饭厅里跑去,把那里的一块破地毯抓起来,弄得两把椅子哗啦啦翻倒在地上。   “我决不可能把它扑灭----决不可能!啊,上帝,要是有人帮忙就好了!塔拉农场完了----完了!啊,上帝!这就是那个小坏蛋干的,他说过他要留给我一点什么,让我好记住他呢!啊,我还不如让他把军刀拿走算了!"在穿堂过道里,她从小韦德身边经过,这孩子现在抱着那把军刀躺在墙角里。他闭着眼睛,脸色显得疲惫松驰,但却异常地平静。   “他死了!我的上帝!他们把他吓死了!"她心里一阵剧痛,但仍然从他身边跑开,赶快拿水桶去了,水桶是经常放在厨房门口的过道里的。   她把地毯的一端浸入水中,然后憋足力气提着它冲进黑烟滚滚的厨房,随手关上了门。似乎过了很久,她在那里摇晃着,咳嗽着,用地毯抽打着一道道的火苗,可不等她抬头火苗又迅速向前蔓延开来。有两次她的长裙着了火,她只得用手把火气灭了。她闻见自己头发上愈来愈浓的焦臭味,因为头发已完全松散了,披在肩上。火焰总是比她跑得快,向四壁和过道蔓延,像火蛇似的蜿蜒跳跃,她早已精疲力竭,浑身瘫软,感到完全绝望了。   这时门突然打开,一股气流涌入,火焰蹿得更高。接着砰的一声门又关了,思嘉从烟雾中隐约看见媚兰在用双脚践踏火苗,同时拿着一件又黑又重的东西用力扑打。她看见她跌跌撞撞,听见她连声咳嗽。偶尔还能看见她苍白而坚毅的面孔和冒着浓烟眯得细细的眼睛,看见她举起地毯抽打时那瘦小的身躯一俯一仰地扭动。不知又过了多久,她们两人并肩战斗,极力挣扎,好不容易思嘉才看见那一道道火焰在逐渐缩短了。这时媚兰突然向她回过头来惊叫一声,用尽全身力气从她肩后猛拍了一阵。思嘉在一团浓烟中昏沉沉地倒下去。   她睁开眼睛,发现自己舒服地枕着媚兰的大腿,躺在屋后走廊上,午后的太阳在她头上暖和地照着。她的两只手、脸孔和肩膀都严重烧伤了。黑人住宅区还在继续冒烟,把那些棚屋笼罩在浓浓的黑雾里,周围弥漫着棉花燃烧的焦臭味。思嘉看见厨房里还有一缕缕黑烟冒出来,便疯狂地挣扎着想爬起来。   但是媚兰用力把她按下去,一面用平静的声音安慰她:“火已经熄了,好好躺着,亲爱的。"她这才放心地舒了一口气,闭上眼睛,静静地躺了一会。   这时她听见媚兰的婴儿在旁边发出的咯咯声和韦德清晰打嗝的声音。原来他没有死啊,感谢上帝!她睁开眼睛,仰望着媚兰的面孔,只见她的卷发烧焦了,脸上被烟弄得又黑又脏,可是眼睛却神采奕奕,而且还在微笑呢。   “你像个黑人了,"思嘉低声说,一面把头懒懒地钻进柔软的枕头里。   “你像个扮演黑人的滑稽演员呢,"媚兰针锋相对地说。   “你干吗那样拍打我呀?”   “亲爱的,因为你背上着火了。可我没有想到你会晕过去,尽管天知道你今天实在累得够呛了……我一把那牲口赶到沼泽地安置好,就立即回来。想到你和孩子们单独留在家里,我也快急死了。那些北方佬----他们伤害了你没有?”“那倒没有,如果你指的是糟蹋。”思嘉说,一面哼哼着想坐起来。枕着媚兰的大腿虽然舒服,但身子躺在走廊地上是很不好受的。"不过他们把所有的东西全都抢走了。我们家的一切都丢光了----唔,什么好事让你这么高兴?"“我们彼此没有丢掉嘛,我们的孩子都安然无恙嘛,而且还有房子住,"媚兰用轻快的口气说,”要知道,这些是目前人人都需要的……我的天,小博尿了!我想北方佬一定把剩下的尿布都拿走了。他----思嘉,他的尿布里藏的什么呀?"她慌忙把手伸到孩子的腰背底下,立即掏出那个钱包来,她一时茫然地注视着,仿佛从来没见过似的,接着便哈哈大笑,笑得那么轻松,那么畅快,一点也没有失常的感觉。   “只有你才想得出来呀!"她大声喊道,一面紧紧搂住思嘉的脖子,连连地吻她。"你真是我的最淘气的妹妹啊!"思嘉任凭她搂着,因为她实在太疲倦,挣扎不动了;因为媚兰的夸奖使她既感到舒服又大受鼓舞;因为刚才在烟雾弥漫的厨房里,她对这位小姑子产生了更大的敬意,一种更亲密的感情。   “我要为她这样说,"她有些不情愿地想道。"一旦你需要她,她就会在身边。” Chapter 28 COLD WEATHER set in abruptly with a killing frost Chilling winds swept beneath the doorsills and rattled the loose windowpanes with a monotonous tinkling sound. The last of the leaves fellfrom the bare trees and only the pines stood clothed, black and cold against pale skies. The ruttedred roads were frozen to flintiness and hunger rode the winds through Georgia.   Scarlett recalled bitterly her conversation with Grandma Fontaine. On that afternoon two monthsago, which now seemed years in the past, she had told the old lady she had already known theworst which could possibly happen to her, and she had spoken from the bottom of her heart. Nowthat remark sounded like schoolgirl hyperbole. Before Sherman’s men came through Tara thesecond time, she had her small riches of food and money, she had neighbors more fortunate thanshe and she had the cotton which would tide her over until spring. Now the cotton was gone, thefood was gone, the money was of no use to her, for there was no food to buy with it, and the neighborswere in worse plight than she. At least, she had the cow and the calf, a few shoats and thehorse, and the neighbors had nothing but the little they had been able to hide in the woods and buryin the ground.   Fairhill, the Tarleton home, was burned to the foundations, and Mrs. Tarleton and the four girlswere existing in the overseer’s house. The Munroe house near Lovejoy was leveled too. Thewooden wing of Mimosa had burned and only the thick resistant stucco of the main house and thefrenzied work of the Fontaine women and their slaves with wet blankets and quilts had saved itThe Calverts’ house had again been spared, due to the intercession of Hilton, the Yankee overseer,but there was not a head of livestock, not a fowl, not an ear of corn left on the place.   At Tara and throughout the County, the problem was food. Most of the families had nothing atall but the remains of their yam crops and their peanuts and such game as they could catch in thewoods. What they had, each shared with less fortunate friends, as they had done in moreprosperous days. But the time soon came when there was nothing to share.   At Tara, they ate rabbit and possum and catfish, if Pork was lucky. On other days a smallamount of milk, hickory nuts, roasted acorns and yams. They were always hungry. To Scarlett itseemed that at every turn she met outstretched hands, pleading eyes. The sight of them drove heralmost to madness, for she was as hungry as they.   She ordered the calf killed, because he drank so much of the precious milk, and that nighteveryone ate so much fresh veal all of them were ill. She knew that she should kill one of theshoats but she put it off from day to day, hoping to raise them to maturity. They were so small.   There would be so little of them to eat if they were killed now and so much more if they could besaved a little longer. Nightly she debated with Melanie the advisability of sending Pork abroad onthe horse with some greenbacks to try to buy food. But the fear that the horse might be capturedand the money taken from Pork deterred them. They did not know where the Yankees were. Theymight be a thousand miles away or only across the river. Once, Scarlett, in desperation, started toride out herself to search for food, but the hysterical outbursts of the whole family fearful of theYankees made her abandon the plan.   Pork foraged far, at times not coming home all night, and Scarlett did not ask him where hewent. Sometimes he returned with game, sometimes with a few ears of corn, a bag of dried peas.   Once he brought home a rooster which he said he found in the woods. The family ate it with relishbut a sense of guilt, knowing very well Pork had stolen it, as he had stolen the peas and corn. One night soon after this, he tapped on Scarlett’s door long after the house was asleep and sheepishlyexhibited a leg peppered with small shot. As she bandaged it for him, he explained awkwardly thatwhen attempting to get into a hen coop at Fayetteville, he had been discovered. Scarlett did not askwhose hen coop but patted Pork’s shoulder gently, tears in her eyes. Negroes were provokingsometimes and stupid and lazy, but there was loyalty in them that money couldn’t buy, a feeling ofoneness with their white folks which made them risk their lives to keep food on the table.   In other days Pork’s pilferings would have been serious matter, probably calling for a whipping.Inotherdaysshewouldhavebeenforcedatl(a) east to reprimand him severely. “Alwaysremember, dear,” Ellen had said, “you are responsible for the moral as well as the physical welfareof the darkies God has entrusted to your care. You must realize that they are like children and mustbe guarded from themselves like children, and you must always set them a good example.”   But now, Scarlett pushed that admonition into the back of her mind. That she was encouragingtheft, and perhaps theft from people worse off than she, was no longer a matter for conscience. Infact the morals of the affair weighed lightly upon her. Instead of punishment or reproof, she onlyregretted he had been shot.   “You must be more careful, Pork. We don’t want to lose you. What would we do without you?   You’ve been mighty good and faithful and when we get some money again, I’m going to buy you abig gold watch and engrave on it something out of the Bible. ‘Well done, good and faithfulservant.’ ”   Pork beamed under the praise and gingerly rubbed his bandaged leg.   “Dat soun’ mighty fine, Miss Scarlett. W’en you speckin’ ter git dat money?”   “I don’t know, Pork, but I’m going to get it some time, somehow.” She bent on him an unseeingglance that was so passionately bitter he stirred uneasily, “Some day, when this war is over, I’mgoing to have lots of money, and when I do I’ll never be hungry or cold again. None of us will everbe hungry or cold. We’ll all wear fine clothes and have fried chicken every day and—”   Then she stopped. The strictest rule at Tara, one which she herself had made and which sherigidly enforced, was that no one should ever talk of the fine meals they had eaten in the past orwhat they would eat now, if they had the opportunity.   Pork slipped from the room as she remained staring moodily into the distance. In the old days,now dead and gone, life had been so complex, so full of intricate and complicated problems. Therehad been the problem of trying to win Ashley’s love and trying to keep a dozen other beauxdangling and unhappy. There had been small breaches of conduct to be concealed from her elders,jealous girls to be flouted or placated, styles of dresses and materials to be chosen, differentcoiffures to be tried and, oh, so many, many other matters to be decided! Now life was soamazingly simple. Now all that mattered was food enough to keep off starvation, clothing enoughto prevent freezing and a roof overhead which did not leak too much.   It was during these days that Scarlett dreamed and dreamed again the nightmare which was tohaunt her for years. It was always the same dream, the details never varied, but the terror of itmounted each time it came to her and the fear of experiencing it again troubled even her wakinghours. She remembered so well the incidents of the day when she had first dreamed it.   Cold rain had fallen for days and the house was chill with drafts and dampness. The logs in thefireplace were wet and smoky and gave little heat. There had been nothing to eat except milk sincebreakfast, for the yams were exhausted and Pork’s snares and fishlines had yielded nothing. One ofthe shoats would have to be killed the next day if they were to eat at all. Strained and hungry faces,black and white, were staring at her, mutely asking her to provide food. She would have to risklosing the horse and send Pork out to buy something. And to make matters worse, Wade was illwith a sore throat and a raging fever and there was neither doctor nor medicine for him.   Hungry, weary with watching her child, Scarlett left him to Melanie’s care for a while and laydown on her bed to nap. Her feet icy, she twisted and turned, unable to sleep, weighed down withfear and despair. Again and again, she thought: “What shall I do? Where shall I turn? Isn’t thereanybody in the world who can help me?” Where had all the security of the world gone? Whywasn’t there someone, some strong wise person to take the burdens from her? She wasn’t made tocarry them. She did not know how to carry them. And then she fell into an uneasy doze.   She was in a wild strange country so thick with swirling mist she could not see her hand beforeher face. The earth beneath her feet was uneasy. It was a haunted land, still with a terrible stillness,and she was lost in it, lost and terrified as a child in the night. She was bitterly cold and hungry andso fearful of what lurked in the mists about her that she tried to scream and could not. There werethings in the fog reaching out fingers to pluck at her skirt, to drag her down into the uneasyquaking earth on which she stood, silent, relentless, spectral hands. Then, she knew thatsomewhere in the opaque gloom about her there was shelter, help, a heaven of refuge and warmth.   But where was it? Could she reach it before the hands clutched her and dragged her down into thequicksands?   Suddenly she was running, running through the mist like a mad thing, crying and screaming,throwing out her arms to clutch only empty air and wet mist Where was the haven? It eluded herbut it was there, hidden, somewhere. If she could only reach it! If she could only reach it shewould be safe! But terror was weakening her legs, hunger making her faint. She gave onedespairing cry and awoke to find Melanie’s worried face above her and Melanie’s hand shaking herto wakefulness.   The dream returned again and again, whenever she went to sleep with an empty stomach. Andthat was frequently enough. It so frightened her that she feared to sleep, although she feverishlytold herself there was nothing in such a dream to be afraid of. There was nothing in a dream aboutfog to scare her so. Nothing at all—yet the thought of dropping off into that mist-filled country soterrified her she began sleeping with Melanie, who would wake her up when her moaning andtwitching revealed that she was again in the clutch of the dream.   Under the strain she grew white and thin. The pretty roundness left her face, throwing her cheekbones into prominence, emphasizing her slanting green eyes and giving her the look of a prowling,hungry cat.   “Daytime is enough like a nightmare without my dreaming things,” she thought desperately andbegan hoarding her daily ration to eat it just before she went to sleep.   At Christmas time Frank Kennedy and a small troop from the commissary department jogged upto Tara on a futile hunt for grain and animals for the army. They were a ragged and ruffianlyappearing crew, mounted on lame and heaving horses which obviously were in too bad conditionto be used for more active service. Like their animals the men had been invalided out of the frontlineforces and, except for Frank, all of them had an arm missing or an eye gone or stiffened joints.   Most of them wore blue overcoats of captured Yankees and, for a brief instant of horror, those atTara thought Sherman’s men had returned.   They stayed the night on the plantation, sleeping on the floor in the parlor, luxuriating as theystretched themselves on the velvet rug, for it had been weeks since they had slept under a roof oron anything softer than pine needles and hard earth. For all their dirty beards and tatters they werea well-bred crowd, full of pleasant small talk, jokes and compliments and very glad to be spendingChristmas Eve in a big house, surrounded by pretty women as they had been accustomed to do indays long past. They refused to be serious about the war, told outrageous lies to make the girlslaugh and brought to the bare and looted house the first lightness, the first hint of festivity it hadknown in many a day.   “It’s almost like the old days when we had house parties, isn’t it?” whispered Suellen happily toScarlett. Suellen was raised to the skies by having a beau of her own in the house again and shecould hardly take her eyes off Frank Kennedy. Scarlett was surprised to see that Suellen could bealmost pretty, despite the thinness which had persisted since her illness. Her cheeks were flushedand there was a soft luminous look in her eyes.   “She really must care about him,” thought Scarlett in contempt. “And I guess she’d be almosthuman if she ever had a husband of her own, even if her husband was old fuss-budget Frank.”   Carreen had brightened a little too, and some of the sleep-walking look left her eyes that night.   She had found that one of the men had known Brent Tarleton and had been with him the day hewas killed, and she promised herself a long private talk with him after supper.   At supper Melanie surprised them all by forcing herself out of her timidity and being almostvivacious. She laughed and joked and almost but not quite coquetted with a one-eyed soldier whogladly repaid her efforts with extravagant gallantries. Scarlett knew the effort this involved bothmentally and physically, for Melanie suffered torments of shyness in the presence of anythingmale. Moreover she was far from well. She insisted she was strong and did more work even thanDilcey but Scarlett knew she was sick. When she lifted things her face went white and she had away of sitting down suddenly after exertions, as if her legs would no longer support her. Buttonight she, like Suellen and Carreen, was doing everything possible to make the soldiers enjoytheir Christmas Eve. Scarlett alone took no pleasure in the guests.   The troop had added their ration of parched corn and side meat to the supper of dried peas,stewed dried apples and peanuts which Mammy set before them and they declared it was the bestmeal they had had in months. Scarlett watched them eat and she was uneasy. She not onlybegrudged them every mouthful they ate but she was on tenterhooks lest they discover somehowthat Pork had slaughtered one of the shoats the day before. It now hung in the pantry and she hadgrimly promised her household that she would scratch out the eyes of anyone who mentioned theshoat to their guests or the presence of the dead pig’s sisters and brothers, safe in their pen in the swamp. These hungry men could devour the whole shoat at one meal and, if they knew of the livehogs, they could commandeer them for the army. She was alarmed, too, for the cow and the horseand wished they were hidden in the swamp, instead of tied in the woods at the bottom of thepasture. If the commissary took her stock, Tara could not possibly live through the winter. Therewould be no way of replacing them. As to what this army would eat, she did not care. Let the armyfeed the army—if it could. It was hard enough for her to feed her own.   The men added as dessert some “ramrod rolls” from their knapsacks, and this was the first timeScarlett had ever seen this Confederate article of diet about which there were almost as many jokesas about lice. They were charred spirals of what appeared to be wood. The men dared her to take abite and, when she did, she discovered that beneath the smoke-blackened surface was unsaltedcorn bread. The soldiers mixed their ration of corn meal with water, and salt too when they couldget it, wrapped the thick paste about their ramrods and roasted the mess over camp fires. It was ashard as rock candy and as tasteless as sawdust and after one bite Scarlett hastily handed it backamid roars of laughter. She met Melanie’s eyes and the same thought was plain in both faces. ...   “How can they go on fighting if they have only this stuff to eat?”   The meal was gay enough and even Gerald, presiding absently at the head of the table, managedto evoke from the back of his dim mind some of the manner of a host and an uncertain smile. Themen talked, the women smiled and flattered—but Scarlett turning suddenly to Frank Kennedy toask him news of Miss Pittypat, caught an expression on his face which made her forget what sheintended to say.   His eyes had left Suellen’s and were wandering about the room, to Gerald’s childlike puzzledeyes, to the floor, bare of rugs, to the mantelpiece denuded of its ornaments, the sagging springsand torn upholstery into which Yankee bayonets had ripped, the cracked mirror above the sideboard,the unfaded squares on the wall where pictures had hung before the looters came, the scanttable service, the decently mended but old dresses of the girls, the flour sack which had been madeinto a kilt for Wade.   Frank was remembering the Tara he had known before the war and on his face was a hurt look, alook of tired impotent anger. He loved Suellen, liked her sisters, respected Gerald and had agenuine fondness for the plantation. Since Sherman had swept through Georgia, Frank had seenmany appalling sights as he rode about the state trying to collect supplies, but nothing had gone tohis heart as Tara did now. He wanted to do something for the O’Haras, especially Suellen, andthere was nothing he could do. He was unconsciously wagging his whiskered head in pity andclicking his tongue against his teeth when Scarlett caught his eye. He saw the flame of indignantpride in them and he dropped his gaze quickly to his plate in embarrassment.   The girls were hungry for news. There had been no mail service since Atlanta fell, now fourmonths past, and they were in complete ignorance as to where the Yankees were, how theConfederate Army was faring, what had happened to Atlanta and to old friends. Frank, whose worktook him all over the section, was as good as a newspaper, better even, for he was kin to or knewalmost everyone from Macon north to Atlanta, and he could supply bits of interesting personalgossip which the papers always omitted. To cover his embarrassment at being caught by Scarlett,he plunged hastily into a recital of news. The Confederates, he told them, had retaken Atlanta afterSherman marched out, but it was a valueless prize as Sherman had burned it completely.   “But I thought Atlanta burned the night I left,” cried Scarlett, bewildered. “I thought our boysburned it!”   “Oh, no, Miss Scarlett!” cried Frank, shocked. “We’d never burn one of our own towns with ourown folks in it! What you saw burning was the warehouses and the supplies we didn’t want theYankees to capture and the foundries and the ammunition. But that was all. When Sherman tookthe town the houses and stores were standing there as pretty as you please. And he quartered hismen in them.”   “But what happened to the people? Did he—did he kill them?”   “He killed some—but not with bullets,” said the one-eyed soldier grimly. “Soon’s he marchedinto Atlanta he told the mayor that all the people in town would have to move out, every livingsoul. And there were plenty of old folks that couldn’t stand the trip and sick folks that ought not tohave been moved and ladies who were—well, ladies who hadn’t ought to be moved either. And hemoved them out in the biggest rainstorm you ever saw, hundreds and hundreds of them, anddumped them in the woods near Rough and Ready and sent word to General Hood to come and getthem. And a plenty of the folks died of pneumonia and not being able to stand that sort of treatment.”   “Oh, but why did he do that? They couldn’t have done him any harm,” cried Melanie.   “He said he wanted the town to rest his men and horses in,” said Frank. “And he rested themthere till the middle of November and then he lit out. And he set fire to the whole town when heleft and burned everything.”   “Oh, surely not everything!” cried the girls in dismay.   It was inconceivable that the bustling town they knew, so full of people, so crowded withsoldiers, was gone. All the lovely homes beneath shady trees, all the big stores and the fine hotels—surely they couldn’t be gone! Melanie seemed ready to burst into tears, for she had been bornthere and knew no other home. Scarlett’s heart sank because she had come to love the place secondonly to Tara.   “Well, almost everything,” Frank amended hastily, disturbed by the expressions on their faces.   He tried to look cheerful, for he did not believe in upsetting ladies. Upset ladies always upset himand made him feel helpless. He could not bring himself to tell them the worst. Let them find outfrom some one else.   He could not tell them what the army saw when it marched back into Atlanta, the acres and acresof chimneys standing blackly above ashes, piles of half-burned rubbish and tumbled heaps of brickclogging the streets, old trees dying from fire, their charred limbs tumbling to the ground in thecold wind. He remembered how the sight had turned him sick, remembered the bitter curses of theConfederates when they saw the remains of the town. He hoped the ladies would never hear of thehorrors of the looted cemetery, for they’d never get over that. Charlie Hamilton and Melanie’smother and father were buried there. The sight of that cemetery still gave Frank nightmares.   Hoping to find jewelry buried with the dead, the Yankee soldiers had broken open vaults, dug upgraves. They had robbed the bodies, stripped from the coffins gold and silver name plates, silvertrimmings and silver handles. The skeletons and corpses, flung helter-skelter among their splintered caskets, lay exposed and so pitiful.   And Frank couldn’t tell them about the dogs and the cats. Ladies set such a store by pets. But thethousands of starving animals, left homeless when their masters had been so rudely evacuated, hadshocked him almost as much as the cemetery, for Frank loved cats and dogs. The animals had beenfrightened, cold, ravenous, wild as forest creatures, the strong attacking the weak, the weak waitingfor the weaker to die so they could eat them. And, above the ruined town, the buzzards splotchedthe wintry sky with graceful, sinister bodies.   Frank cast about in his mind for some mitigating information that would make the ladies feelbetter.   “There’s some houses still standing,” he said, “houses that set on big lots away from otherhouses and didn’t catch fire. And the churches and the Masonic hall are left And a few stores too.   But the business section and all along the railroad tracks and at Five Points—well, ladies, that partof town is flat on the ground.”   “Then,” cried Scarlett-bitterly, “that warehouse Charlie left me, down on the tracks, it’s gonetoo?”   “If it was near the tracks, it’s gone, but—” Suddenly he smiled. Why hadn’t he thought of itbefore? “Cheer up, ladies! Your Aunt Pitty’s house is still standing. It’s kind of damaged but thereit is.”   “Oh, how did it escape?”   “Well, it’s made of brick and it’s got about the only slate roof in Atlanta and that kept the sparksfrom setting it afire, I guess. And then it’s about the last house on the north end of town and the firewasn’t so bad over that way. Of course, the Yankees quartered there tore it up aplenty. They evenburned the baseboard and the mahogany stair rail for firewood, but shucks! It’s in good shape.   When I saw Miss Pitty last week in Macon—”   “You saw her? How is she?”   “Just fine. Just fine. When I told her her house was still standing, she made up her mind to comehome right away. That is—if that old darky, Peter, will let her come. Lots of the Atlanta peoplehave already come back, because they got nervous about Macon. Sherman didn’t take Macon buteverybody is afraid Wilson’s raiders will get there soon and he’s worse than Sherman.”   “But how silly of them to come back if there aren’t any houses! Where do they live?”   “Miss Scarlett, they’re living in tents and shacks and log cabins and doubling up six and sevenfamilies in the few houses still standing. And they’re trying to rebuild. Now, Miss Scarlett, don’tsay they are silly. You know Atlanta folks as well as I do. They are plumb set on that town, most asbad as Charlestonians are about Charleston, and it’ll take more than Yankees and a burning to keepthem away. Atlanta folks are—begging your pardon, Miss Melly—as stubborn as mules aboutAtlanta. I don’t know why, for I always thought that town a mighty pushy, impudent sort of place.   But then, I’m a countryman born and I don’t like any town. And let me tell you, the ones who aregetting back first are the smart ones. The ones who come back last won’t find a stick or stone orbrick of their houses, because everybody’s out salvaging things all over town to rebuild their houses. Just day before yesterday, I saw Mrs. Merriwether and Miss Maybelle and their old darkywoman out collecting brick in a wheelbarrow. And Mrs. Meade told me she was thinking aboutbuilding a log cabin when the doctor comes back to help her. She said she lived in a log cabinwhen she first came to Atlanta, when it was Marthasville, and it wouldn’t bother her none to do itagain. ‘Course, she was only joking but that shows you how they feel about it.”   “I think they’ve got a lot of spirit,” said Melanie proudly. “Don’t you, Scarlett?”   Scarlett nodded, a grim pleasure and pride in her adopted town filling her. As Frank said, it wasa pushy, impudent place and that was why she liked it. It wasn’t hidebound and stick-in-themuddishlike the older towns and it had a brash exuberance that matched her own. “I’m likeAtlanta,” she thought. “It takes more than Yankees or a burning to keep me down.”   “If Aunt Pitty is going back to Atlanta, we’d better go back and stay with her, Scarlett,” saidMelanie, interrupting her train of thought. “She’ll die of fright alone.”   “Now, how can I leave here, Melly?” Scarlett asked crossly. “If you are so anxious to go, go. Iwon’t stop you.”   “Oh, I didn’t mean it that way, darling,” cried Melanie, flushing with distress. “How thoughtlessof me! Of course, you can’t leave Tara and—and I guess Uncle Peter and Cookie can take care ofAuntie.”   “There’s nothing to keep you from going,” Scarlett pointed out, shortly.   “You know I wouldn’t leave you,” answered Melanie. “And I—I would be just frightened todeath without you.”   “Suit yourself. Besides, you wouldn’t catch me going back to Atlanta. Just as soon as they get afew houses up, Sherman will come back and burn it again.”   “He won’t be back,” said Frank and, despite his efforts, his face drooped. “He’s gone on throughthe state to the coast. Savannah was captured this week and they say the Yankees are going on upinto South Carolina.”   “Savannah taken!”   “Yes. Why, ladies, Savannah couldn’t help but fall. They didn’t have enough men to hold it,though they used every man they could get—every man who could drag one foot after another. Doyou know that when the Yankees were marching on Milledgeville, they called out all the cadetsfrom the military academies, matter how young they were, and even opened the state penitentiarytogetfreshtroops?Ye(no) s, sir, they turned loose every convict who was willing to fightand promised him a pardon if he lived through the war. It kind of gave me the creeps to see thoselittle cadets in the ranks with thieves and cutthroats.”   “They turned loose the convicts on us!”   “Now, Miss Scarlett, don’t you get upset. They’re a long way off from here, and furthermorethey’re making good soldiers. I guess being a thief don’t keep a man from being a good soldier,does it?”   “I think it’s wonderful,” said Melanie softly.   “Well, I don’t,” said Scarlett flatly. “There’s thieves enough running around the country anyway,what with the Yankees and—” She caught herself in time but the men laughed.   “What with Yankees and our commissary department,” they finished and she flushed.   “But where’s General Hood’s army?” interposed Melanie hastily. “Surely he could have heldSavannah.”   “Why, Miss Melanie,” Frank was startled and reproachful, “General Hood hasn’t been down inthat section at all. He’s been fighting up in Tennessee, trying to draw the Yankees out of Georgia.”   “And didn’t his little scheme work well!” cried Scarlett sarcastically. “He left the damn Yankeesto go through us with nothing but schoolboys and convicts and Home Guards to protect us.”   “Daughter,” said Gerald rousing himself, “you are profane. Your mother will be grieved.”   “They are damn Yankees!” cried Scarlett passionately. “And I never expect to call themanything else.”   At the mention of Ellen everyone felt queer and conversation suddenly ceased. Melanie againinterposed.   “When you were in Macon did you see India and Honey Wilkes? Did they—had they heardanything of Ashley?”   “Now, Miss Melly, you know if I’d had news of Ashley, I’d have ridden up here from Maconright away to tell you,” said Frank reproachfully. “No, they didn’t have any news but—now, don’tyou fret about Ashley, Miss Melly. I know it’s been a long time since you heard from him, but youcan’t expect to hear from a fellow when he’s in prison, can you? And things aren’t as bad inYankee prisons as they are in ours. After all, the Yankees have plenty to eat and enough medicinesand blankets. They aren’t like we are—not having enough to feed ourselves, much less ourprisoners.”   “Oh, the Yankees have got plenty,” cried Melanie, passionately bitter. “But they don’t givethings to the prisoners. You know they don’t, Mr. Kennedy. You are just saying that to make mefeel better. You know that our boys freeze to death up there and starve too and die without doctorsand medicine, simply because the Yankees hate us so much! Oh, if we could just wipe everyYankee off the face of the earth! Oh, I know that Ashley is—”   “Don’t say it!” cried Scarlett, her heart in her throat. As long as no one said Ashley was dead,there persisted in her heart a faint hope that he lived, but she felt that if she heard the wordspronounced, in that moment he would die.   “Now, Mrs. Wilkes, don’t you bother about your husband,” said the one-eyed man soothingly. “Iwas captured after first Manassas and exchanged later and when I was in prison, they fed me offthe fat of the land, fried chicken and hot biscuits—”   “I think you are a liar,” said Melanie with a faint smile and the first sign of spirit Scarlett hadever seen her display with a man. “What do you think?”   “I think so too,” said the one-eyed man and slapped his leg with a laugh.   “If you’ll all come into the parlor, I’ll sing you some Christmas carols,” said Melanie, glad to change the subject. “The piano was one thing the Yankees couldn’t carry away. Is it terribly out oftune, Suellen?”   “Dreadfully,” answered Suellen, happily beckoning with a smile to Frank.   But as they all passed from the room, Frank hung back, tugging at Scarlett’s sleeve.   “May I speak to you alone?”   For an awful moment she feared he was going to ask about her livestock and she braced herselffor a good lie.   When the room was cleared and they stood by the fire, all the false cheerfulness which hadcolored Frank’s face in front of the others passed and she saw that he looked like an old man. Hisface was as dried and brown as the leaves that were blowing about the lawn of Tara and his ginger-colored whiskers were thin and scraggly and streaked with gray. He clawed at them absently andcleared his throat in an annoying way before he spoke.   “I’m mighty sorry about your ma, Miss Scarlett.”   “Please don’t talk about it.”   “And your pa— Has he been this way since—?”   “Yes—he’s—he’s not himself, as you can see.”   “He sure set a store by her.”   “Oh, Mr. Kennedy, please don’t let’s talk—”   “I’m sorry, Miss Scarlett,” and he shuffled his feet nervously. “The truth is I wanted to take upsomething with your pa and now I see it won’t do any good.”   “Perhaps I can help you, Mr. Kennedy. You see—I’m the head of the house now.”   “Well, I,” began Frank and again clawed nervously at his beard. “The truth is— Well, MissScarlett, I was aiming to ask him for Miss Suellen.”   “Do you mean to tell me,” cried Scarlett in amused amazement, “that you haven’t yet asked Pafor Suellen? And you’ve been courting her for years!”   He flushed and grinned embarrassedly and in general looked like a shy and sheepish boy.   “Well, I—I didn’t know if she’d have me. I’m so much older than she is and—there were somany good-looking young bucks hanging around Tara—”   “Hump!” thought Scarlett, “they were hanging around me, not her!”   “And I don’t know yet if she’ll have me. I’ve never asked her but she must know how I feel. I—I thought I’d ask Mr. O’Hara’s permission and tell him the truth. Miss Scarlett, I haven’t got a centnow. I used to have a lot of money, if you’ll forgive me mentioning it, but right now all I own ismy horse and the clothes I’ve got on. You see, when I enlisted I sold most of my land and I put allmy money in Confederate bonds and you know what they’re worth now. Less than the paperthey’re printed on. And anyway, I haven’t got them now, because they burned up when the Yankeesburned my sister’s house. I know I’ve got gall asking for Miss Suellen now when I haven’t a cent but—well, it’s this way. I got to thinking that we don’t know how things are going to turn outabout this war. It sure looks like the end of the world for me. There’s nothing we can be sure of and—and I thought it would be a heap of comfort to me and maybe to her if we were engaged. Thatwould be something sure. I wouldn’t ask to marry her till I could take care of her, Miss Scarlett,and I don’t know when that will be. But if true love carries any weight with you, you can becertain Miss Suellen will be rich in that if nothing else.”   He spoke the last words with a simple dignity that touched Scarlett, even in her amusement. Itwas beyond her comprehension that anyone could love Suellen. Her sister seemed to her a monsterof selfishness, of complaints and of what she could only describe as pure cussedness.   “Why, Mr. Kennedy,” she said kindly, “it’s quite all right. I’m sure I can speak for Pa. He alwaysset a store by you and he always expected Suellen to marry you.”   “Did he now?” cried Frank, happiness in his face.   “Indeed yes,” answered Scarlett, concealing a grin as she remembered how frequently Geraldhad rudely bellowed across the supper table to Suellen: “How now, Missy! Hasn’t your ardent beaupopped the question yet? Shall I be asking him his intentions?”   “I shall ask her tonight,” he said, his face quivering, and he clutched her hand and shook it.   “You’re so kind, Miss Scarlett.”   “I’ll send her to’ you,” smiled Scarlett, starting for the parlor. Melanie was beginning to play.   The piano was sadly out of tune but some of the chords were musical and Melanie was raising hervoice to lead the others in “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing!”   Scarlett paused. It did not seem possible that war had swept over them twice, that they wereliving in a ravaged country, close to the border of starvation, when this old sweet Christmas hymnwas being sung. Abruptly she turned to Frank.   “What did you mean when you said it looked like the end of the world to you?”   “I’ll talk frankly,” he said slowly, “but I wouldn’t want you to be alarming the other ladies withwhat I say. The war can’t go on much longer. There arent any fresh men to fill the ranks and thedesertions are running high—higher than the army likes to admit You see, the men can’t stand tobe away from their families when they know they’re starving, so they go home to try to provide forthem. I can’t blame them but it weakens the army. And the army can’t fight without food and thereisn’t any food. I know because, you see, getting food is my business. I’ve been all up and downthis section since we retook Atlanta and there isn’t enough to feed a jaybird. It’s the same way forthree hundred miles south to Savannah. The folks are starving and the railroads are torn up andthere aren’t any new rifles and the ammunition is giving out and there’s no leather at all forshoes. ... So, you see, the end is almost here.”   But the fading hopes of the Confederacy weighed less heavily on Scarlett than his remark aboutthe scarcity of food. It had been her intention to send Pork out with the horse and wagon, the goldpieces and the United States money to scour the countryside for provisions and material forclothes. But if what Frank said was true—But Macon hadn’t fallen. There must be food in Macon. Just as soon as the commissary department was safely on its way, she’d start Pork for Macon and take the chance of having theprecious horse picked up by the army. She’d have to risk it.   “Well, let’s don’t talk about unpleasant things tonight, Mr. Kennedy,” she said. “You go and sitin Mother’s little office and I’ll send Suellen to you so you can—well, so you’ll have a littleprivacy.”   Blushing, smiling, Frank slipped out of the room and Scarlett watched him go.   “What a pity he can’t marry her now,” she thought. “That would be one less mouth to feed.”   一旦霜冻来临,严寒天气便突然出现了。冷风从门槛下侵进屋里,把松劲的窗玻璃刮得格格地响个不停。树枝上光秃秃的连最后一片叶子也掉落了,只有松树照常苍翠,挺立在那里,衬印着灰沉沉的天空。满是车辙的红土大道冻得像火石一样坚硬,饥饿乘着寒风在肆虐着整个佐治亚州。   思嘉心酸地记及方丹老太太跟她的那次谈话。两个月前的那天下午,现在仿佛已时隔多年,那时她告诉老太太,她已经经历了她可能碰的最坏处境,这是打心底里说出来的话。   可现在回想起来,那简直是个女学生的夸大之辞,幼稚得很。   在谢尔曼的部队第二次经过塔拉之前,她本已有了小小的一笔财富,包括食品和现金在内,同时还有几家比她幸运的邻居,有一些可以让她度过冬天的棉花。现在棉花烧光了,食品抢走了,金钱也因为买不到吃的而没有用武之地,而且几家邻居的处境比她更坏。至少她还有那头母牛和那只牛犊子,有几只小猪,以及那骑马,而邻居家除了藏在树林里和埋在地底下的那点东西,就什么也没了。   塔尔顿家所在的费尔希尔农场被烧个精光,现在塔尔顿太太和四个姑娘只得住在监工的屋里。芒罗家在洛夫乔伊附近,现在也成了一片废墟。米莫萨农场的木板厢房也烧掉了,正屋全靠它厚厚的一层坚实灰泥,幸亏方丹家的妇女和奴隶们用湿毛毯和棉被拼命扑打,才被救下来。卡尔弗特家的房子由于那个北方佬监工希乐顿从中调停,总算又一次幸免于难,不过那里已没有一头牲口、一只家禽和一粒玉米了。   在塔拉,甚至全县,目前的主要问题是食物。大多数家庭除了剩下未收的一点山芋花生,以及能在树林里抓到的一些猎物外,别无所有。他们剩下的这点东西也得跟那些更不幸的朋友们分享,就像在平时比较富裕的日子里那样。不过眼看就要没有东西可分享的了。   如波克运气好捉得到的话,在塔拉他们能吃到野兔、负鼠和鲶鱼。别的时候就只有少量的牛奶、山胡桃、炒橡子和山芋了。他们经常挨饿。思嘉觉得她动不动就遇到向她伸出的手和祈求的眼光。他们的这副模样逼得她快要发疯了,因为跟他们一样她自己也在饿肚子!   她命令把牛犊宰掉,因为它每天要吃掉那么多宝贵的牛奶。那天晚上人人都吃了过多的新鲜牛肉,结果都生病了。还得宰一只小猪,她知道,可是她一天天往后推,希望把猪崽养大了再说。猪崽还很小呢。要是现在就把它们宰了,那不会有什么好吃的,可是如果再过些时候,就会多得多了。每天晚上她都跟媚兰辩论,要不要打发波克骑马出去用联邦政府的钞票买些粮食回来。不过,由于害怕有人会把马掳去,把钱从波克手里他走。她们才没有下决心。她们不知道北方佬军队现在打到哪里了。他们可能远在千里之外,也可能近在河对岸。一回,思嘉实在急了,便准备自己骑马出门找吃的,可是全家人都生怕她碰上北方佬,这才迫使她放弃了自己的计划。   波克搜寻食物的范围很广,好几次整夜没有回家,思嘉也不问他到哪里去了。有时他带些猎物回来,有时带几个玉米棒子或一袋豌豆。有一次他带回来一只公鸡,说是在林子里捉到的。全家人吃得津津有味,但是觉得有些内疚,因为正像他偷豌豆和玉米一样,明明知道这是偷来的。就在第二天晚上,夜深人静时他来敲思嘉的门,露出一条受了严重枪伤的腿给她看。思嘉替他包扎时他很难为情地解释说,他在弗耶特维尔试图钻进一个鸡窝,结果被人家发现了。思嘉也没有追问那是谁家的鸡窝,只含泪轻轻拍了拍波克的肩膀。   黑人有时让人生气,而且又蠢又懒,不过他有一颗用金钱也买不到的忠心,一种与白人主子一条心的感情,这驱使他们不惜冒生命危险去给一家人找吃的呢!   要是在原来,波克这种小偷小摸的行为就是一件严重的事了,说不定要吃一顿鞭子。要是在从前,思嘉就肯定会至少狠狠地责骂他一通。"你必须记住,亲爱的,"爱伦曾经说过,“对于那些由上帝托付给你照管的黑人,你在物质生活和道德两方面都是要负责的。你必须明白,他们就像小孩子一样管不住自己,你得防备他们误入歧途,而且你要随时随地给他们树立一个好的榜样。"可现在思嘉把这番训诫完全抛到了脑后。现在她鼓励偷窃,哪怕是偷那些比她境况更坏的人家,并且毫不觉得这是违背良心的事了。事实上,那种为人处世的道德准则在思嘉心目中无足轻重。她决定不惩罚或者责备波克,反而为他的受伤感到遗憾。   “波克,你要更加小心。我们可是少不得你埃假如没有你,叫我们怎么办呀?你一直是一个很好,很完美、善良而忠实的人。"听了这句赞扬的话波克不禁眉飞色舞,小心地抚摩着那条包扎好了的腿。   “思嘉小姐,这话可说得太好了。你看什么时候会有那笔钱呢?"“波克,我不知道,不过我总归会有的。"她俯身茫然地看了他一眼,那眼神热情而痛苦,波克被感动得很不自在了。   “总有一天,这场战争一结束,我就会得到许多钱,那时我就该不会再挨饿受冻了。我们谁也不会挨饿受冻。我们人人都要穿得漂漂亮亮,每天都吃烤鸡,而且----"她没有继续说下去。因为塔拉农场有一条由思嘉自己制订和强迫执行的规矩,十分严格的规矩,那就是谁也不许谈他们以前吃得多么好,或者说如果有条件的话,今天想吃什么。   波克看见思嘉愣在那里瞪着眼睛出神,悄悄地便从房间里溜出来。在那早已消逝了的往年,生活曾是那么复杂,那么充满了彼此纠缠不清的问题。那时她一方面极力想赢得艾希礼的爱情,一方面又要维持那十来个围着她转,可又并不讨人喜欢的男朋友。还有些小错小过要设法瞒着大人,有些爱吃醋的姑娘要你去故意嘲弄或安慰;还要挑选不同式样的衣服和不同花色的料子,要试梳各式发型,等等。此外,还有许许多多的事要考虑决定。可现在,生活倒是简单极了。如今唯一重要的是得到足够的食物以免挨饿,有足够的衣裳以免受冻,还需要一个没有过多漏洞的屋顶来遮风蔽雨。   就是在这些日子里,思嘉开始接连做同一个恶梦,那是以后多年都要常常做的。这个梦的内容始终一成不变,但梦中的恐怖气氛却一次比一次更强,以致思嘉连醒着时也因为生怕再梦到它而十分苦恼。她很清楚地记得初次做这种梦那天所经历的意外遭遇。   那时几天连续阴雨,屋里多处透风,又冷又潮湿。生炉子的木柴也是湿的,烟特别多,可是一点不暖和。吃过早餐后,除了牛奶就什么也没了,因为山芋已经吃完,波克打猎钓鱼也毫无所获。看来如果第二天他们还得吃东西,就只能宰一只小猪了。一张张板着的饥饿的面孔,无论黑的白的,都在瞪眼睛看她,默默地请她拿出食物来。她差一点冒丢掉那骑马的危险打发波克去买吃的了。更糟糕的是韦德嗓子痛,正发高烧,可是既没大夫,又买不到药来为他治玻思嘉久久地守着孩子,现在累了,肚子又饿,只得让媚兰照料一会,让自己倒在床上打个盹儿。她冻得双脚冰冷,害怕和绝望的心情又分外沉重,因此在床上翻来覆去睡不着。她反复思量:“我怎么办?我向哪里求援去?世界上还有人能帮助我吗?"世界的安全都到哪里去了呢?为什么就没有一个人,一个强大而聪明的人,能够替她挑起这副担子来呢?她不是生来就挑这副担子的呀。她不知怎么去挑它。想着想着,她进入了一种不安的微睡状态。   她来到一个荒凉古怪的地方,大雾弥漫,伸手不见五指。   她脚下的地面摇晃不定,鬼怪时常出没,而且寂静得可怕;她迷了路,像黑夜里迷路和吓坏了的孩子似的。她又冷又饿,又很害怕浓烟中在她周围潜伏着的东西,因此很想大喊大叫,可是喊不出声来。迷雾中有什么怪物悄悄地伸出无情的双手,张开十指抓她的衣裙,要把她拖到她脚下正在震动的地底下去。   后来,她知道周围一片模糊中有个什么地方,那里可以躲避,可以得到帮助,是个安全而温暖的天堂。但是它在哪里呢?在那双手抓住她拖到脚下的流沙中去之前她能够赶到达那里吗?   她突然飞跑起来,发狂似地穿过密雾,呼喊着,尖叫着,伸出两只胳臂在空中乱抓,但那潮湿的雾中什么也抓不着。天堂在哪里啊?它躲避她,但的确在什么地方,只是看不见罢了。她要是能找到它就好了!要是找到了它,她就安全了!可是恐惧使她两腿发软,饥饿使她头脑发晕。她绝望地大叫一声醒过来,只见媚兰正焦急地俯身瞧着她,一边还在用手摇她,叫她完全清醒过来。   这个梦一再重复,每当她空着肚子睡觉就必然会梦见。它来得太频繁了。它使她害怕极了,以致常常不敢去睡觉,即使她真心实意地告诉自己,这样的梦实际上什么可怕的东西也没有。梦见雾,的确没有什么好叫她这样惊恐的。根本什么也没有----或许她一想起要陷到大雾弥漫的地方就害怕极了,结果只得和媚兰睡在一起了,因为只要她一开始在梦中哼哼挣扎,说明她又在受折磨了,媚兰就会把她摇醒。   在这种紧张心理的压迫下,她变得苍白和消瘦了。她脸上已失去圆乎乎的娇美轮廓,颧骨突了出来,使那双翘着眼角的绿眼睛显得更加触目,她也越发像只急于要抓到猎物的饿猫了。   “就是没有我梦见的那些东西,白天已冗长得像个恶梦了",她怀着这样绝望的心情,开始每天把食物留到临睡前才去吃,看能不能减轻梦中可怖的程度。   弗兰克•肯尼迪在圣诞节期间,带着一支小小的队伍从征购部慢慢来到塔拉,他一路给军队搜集粮食和牲畜,但收获甚少,他们衣衫破烂,性情残暴,骑着又跛又乏,显然又派不上更大用场的马匹。就像这些牲口一样,他们自己也是从前线被淘汰下来的,而且除了弗兰克本人,都是些残废人,不是缺一条胳臂就是瞎了一只眼睛,或者关节僵直了,一瘸一拐的。他们大多穿着北军俘虏的蓝色上衣,所以一时间使塔拉的人大为惊慌,以为是谢尔曼的人又回来了。   他们那天晚上在农场过夜,躺在客厅地板上,垫着暖和的地毯美美地睡了一觉,因为他们已很久不在屋里过夜了,长期睡在松针堆里和硬邦邦的土地上。尽管他们满脸脏的胡子,一身的破衣烂衫,但却是些有教养的人,经常在愉快地闲谈,开玩笑,恭维别人,很高兴能在这大宅子里围着漂亮的女人过圣诞节,就像很久以前惯常过的那样。对战争他们不怎么认真,喜欢说些可怕的谎言来逗引姑娘们欢笑,给这所被洗劫一空的房子头一次带来轻松愉快的气氛,使它头一次接连好几天气有节日的气氛。   “这几乎像我们从前开家庭晚会的那些日子了,你说是吗?"苏伦高兴地小声对思嘉说。苏伦已经想入非非,觉得屋子里又有一个她的情人,那双眼睛始终盯着弗兰克•肯尼迪不离开。思嘉惊奇地发现居然漂亮起来了,尽管她那病后消瘦的容貌并没有完全改变。她的两颊上有了红晕,眼睛也在发光呢。   “她准是看上他了,"思嘉不屑地想。"我猜她要是有了丈夫,即使是弗兰克这样一个苛刻的人,她也很可能变得富于人情味的。"卡琳也显得活泼了些,那天晚上连她眼神中的梦游症也完全消失了。她发现他们中间有个人认识布伦特•塔尔顿,并在布伦特牺牲的那天跟他在一起,因此她答应晚饭后同这个人单独进行一次长谈。   吃晚饭时,媚兰强迫自己一反羞怯的常态,忽然变得活泼了,这叫大家十分惊讶。她又笑又乐,几乎在向一个独眼大兵卖弄风情,以致后者乐得用过分的殷勤回报她。思嘉很清楚,媚兰精神和生理两方面都勉强自己,因为她在任何男性的事情面前都是十分羞涩的。另外,她的身体还没有完全恢复。她坚持说自己很健康,甚至比迪尔茜还要做更多的事情,可是思嘉知道她实际上还着呢。每当她倒拿起什么东西时,脸色就要发白,而且用力过多就会突然坐下来,仿佛两腿支持不住似的。但是今天晚上她也像苏伦和卡琳那样,在尽可能使那些士兵过一个愉快的圣诞节。只有思嘉对这些客人不感兴趣。   嬷嬷做的晚餐有干豌豆、炖苹果干和花生,这些军人又加上他们自己怕炒玉米和腌猪肉,满满摆了一桌子,所以军人们说这是他们好几个月以来吃得最好的一顿饭了。思嘉瞧着他们吃,但心里很不舒服。她不但对于他们每吃一口都感到妒忌和吝啬,而且有点提心吊胆,生怕他们发现波克头天杀了一只小猪。小猪肉如今还挂在食品间,她已经警告过全家的人,谁要是对客人说了这件事或谈到关在沼泽地里的其他几只小猪,她就要把他的眼睛挖掉了。这些饿痨鬼会把整只小猪一顿就吃光的,而且如果知道还有几只活的,他们就会把它们征调走了。同时她也替那头母牛和那骑马担心,但愿当初把它们藏到了沼泽地里而不是拴在牧场那头的树林中。如果是征购队把她的牲口弄走了,塔拉农场就很可能过不了这个冬天。它们是没法取代的啊!她可管不着军队吃什么,要是军队有办法,就让他们自己供养自己好了。她要供养自己的一家已经够困难的了。   那些军人又从自己的背包里取出一种叫做"通条卷子"的点心来,思嘉第一次看到这种联盟军的食品,它曾经像虱子一样引起过许多笑话呢。这是一种像木头似的烤焦了的螺旋形食品。他们鼓励她咬一口尝尝,她真的咬了一点,发现熏黑的表层下面原来是没放盐的玉米面包。士兵们把玉米面加水和好,有盐加点盐,然后把面团在通条上放到营火上烤,这就成了“通条卷子"。卷了像冰糖一样坚硬,像锯木屑屑似的毫无味道,所以思嘉咬了一口就在士兵们的哄笑声中还给了他们。她和媚兰相对而视,两人脸上的表情说明了同一个想法……“如果他们尽吃这种东西,怎么去打仗呀?"这顿饭吃得非常愉快,连心不在焉地坐着首席的杰拉尔德,也居然设法从模糊的意识中搬来了一点当主人应有的礼貌和不可捉摸的笑容。那些军人兴高采烈地谈论着,妇女们也满脸微笑,百般讨好----这时思嘉突然扭过头去想询问弗兰克•肯尼迪关于皮蒂帕特小姐的消息,但她立即发现他脸上有种异的表情,这几乎使她把想要说的话都忘掉了。   原来弗兰克的目光已经离开苏伦的面孔,正在向房子里四顾张望,他有时看看杰拉尔德那双孩子般煌惑的眼睛,有时望着没铺地毯的地板,或者装饰品全部被拿走的壁炉,或者那些弹簧松了、垫子被北方佬用刺刀割开了的沙发,餐具柜上头被打碎的镜子,墙壁上原来挂相框的地方留下的方块,餐桌上的简陋餐具,姑娘的身上仔细补缀过的旧衣裳,以及已经给韦德入成苏格兰式短裙的那个面粉袋,等等。   弗兰克在回忆他战前熟悉的那个塔拉农场,脸上的表情是忧伤的、厌倦和无可奈何的愤怒交织在一块的。他爱苏伦,喜欢她的姐姐妹妹,敬重杰拉尔德,对农场也有真诚的好感。   自从谢尔曼的部队扫荡了佐治亚州以后,他在这个州征集军需平时到处看到许多可怕的景象,可是从没有像现在塔拉农场这样使她深有感触。他要给奥哈拉一家尤其是苏伦做点事情,可是又毫无办法。他正无意识地摇头慨叹,啧啧不已时,忽然发现思嘉在盯着他。他看见思嘉眼睛里闪烁着愤愤不平和傲慢的神色,便感到十分尴尬,默默地垂下眼帘吃饭了。   因为亚特兰大陷落以来,邮路断绝已经四个月了。姑娘们渴望得到一点新闻。现在究竟北方佬到了哪里,联盟军部队打得怎么样,亚特兰大和老朋友们的情况如何,所有这些,她们都一无所知。弗兰克由于工作关系经常在这个地区到处跑动,无疑是个很好的信使,甚至比信使还要好,因为从梅肯以北直到亚特兰大,几乎每个人都跟他亲属关系或者认识他,他还能够提供一些有趣的私下传闻,而这些却常常被报纸删掉了。为了掩盖他遇到思嘉的眼光时那种尴尬局面,他乘机赶快谈起新闻来。他告诉她们,联盟军队已在谢尔曼撤出之后改变了亚特兰大,但是由于谢尔曼已经把它们彻底烧毁,这次收复也就没有什么意思了。   “但是我想亚特兰大是我离开那天晚上烧掉的,"思嘉有点迷惑不解地说。"我还以为那是我们的小伙子们烧的呢!"“啊,不,思嘉小姐!"弗兰克吃惊地回答。“我们可没烧过我们自己人住的任何一个城镇!你看见烧的是我们不让落到北方佬手中的那些仓库和军需品,以及兵工厂和弹药。仅此而已。谢尔曼占领城市时,那些住宅和店铺都还是好好儿的,他的军队就驻扎在里面呢。"“可人们怎么样了?他----他杀过人吗?"“他杀了一些,但不是用枪打死的。"那个独眼大兵冷冷地说。他一开进亚特兰大就告诉市长,城里所有的人都得搬走,一个活人也不让留下。那时有许多老人经不起奔波,有许多病人不应当移动,还有小姐太太们,她们----她们也是不该移动的。结果他在罕见的狂风暴雨中把他们成百上千地赶出城外,将他们扔在拉甫雷迪附近的树林里,然后捎信给胡德将军,叫他来把他们领走。有许多人经不起那种虐待,都患肺炎死了。   “唔,他们对他不会有什么害处嘛,他干吗要这样呢?"媚兰大声嚷道。   “他说他要让他的人马在城里休整,"弗兰克说,"他让他们在城里一直休息到11月中,然后才撤走。临走时他在全城纵火,把一切都烧光了。"“唔,不见得都烧光了吧?"姑娘们沮丧地说。   很难想像她们所熟悉的那个扰扰攘攘的城市,那个人口众多,驻满了军队的城市,就这样完了。那些荫蔽在大树底下的可爱的住宅,所有那些宏大的店铺和豪华的旅馆----决不会全都化为乌有的!媚兰好像要哭出声来了,因为她是出生在那里,从来不知道还有别的家乡。思嘉的心情也很沉重,因为除了塔拉,那是她最爱的一个地方。   “唔,差不多全烧光了,"弗兰克显然对她们脸上的表情感到有点为难,才连忙纠正说。他想要显得愉快一些,因为他不主张叫小姐太太们烦恼。女人一烦恼,他自己也就烦恼起来,不知怎么办好。他不能只顾讲那些最惨的事。让她们向另一个人去打听好了。   他不能告诉她们军队开回亚特兰大,进城时所看见的情景,如,那许许多多耸立在废墟上的烧黑的烟囱,那一堆堆没有烧完的垃圾和堆积在街道的残砖碎瓦,那些已经被烧死但焦黑的枝柯还迎着寒风撑持在地上的古树,等等。他还记得曾如何使他难受的那一片凄凉的光景,面对城市遗迹时联盟军弟兄们曾怎样深恶痛绝地诅咒。他希望妇女们永远也不会听说北军挖掘墓地的惨状,因为那将会使她们一辈子也摆脱不掉。查尔斯•汉密尔顿和媚兰的父母都埋在那里。墓地上的情景至今还常常给弗兰克带来恶梦呢。北方佬士兵希望拿到给死者殉葬的珠宝,便挖掘墓穴,劈开棺木。他们抢劫尸体上的东西,撬掉棺材上的金银名牌,也不放过上面的银饰品的银把手。尸体和骨凌乱地抛散在劈碎的棺木中间,暴露在风吹日晒之下,景象极为凄惨。   弗兰克也不能告诉她们城里猫狗的遭遇。小姐太太们是很爱喂养小动物的。可是成千上万挨饿的动物由于主人被强行撤走而变得无家可归四处流浪了,它们的悲惨境遇也像墓地上那样,使珍爱猫狗的弗兰克大为痛苦。那些受惊的动物忍冻挨饿,变得像林子里的牲畜一样粗野了。它们弱肉强食,彼此等待着对方成为牺牲品供自己饱餐一顿。同时那片废墟上头的凛冽天空中,有不少兀鹰嘴里叼着动物的腐尸残骸在盘旋飞舞。   弗兰克搜索枯肠,想找些缓和的话题,让小姐们感到好过些。   “那里有些房子还没有毁掉,"他说,"如离其他建筑物很远没有着上火的那些房子。教堂和共济会会堂也还在,还有少数的店铺。可是商业区和五点镇铁路两旁的建筑物----是的,女士们,城市的那个部分全都夷为平地了。"“那么,"思嘉痛苦地喊道:“铁路那头查理留给我的那个仓库也一起完了吗?”   “要是靠近铁路,那就没有了,不过----"他突然微微一笑,他怎么事先没有想到这一点呢?"你们应当高兴起来,女士们!你们皮蒂姑妈的房子还在呢。它尽管损坏了一些,但毕竟还在嘛。"“啊,它是怎么幸免的呀?"“我想是这样,那房子是砖造的,还有亚特兰大唯一的一个石板屋顶,因此尽管落上了一些火星也没有烧起来,加上它又是城市最北端的一幢房子,而那一带的火势并不怎么猛,这不就幸免了?当然,也被驻扎在那里的北方佬军队毁坏了不少。他们甚至把护墙板和楼梯上的红木栏杆也拆下来当柴烧了,不过这都算不了什么!反正从外表那房子还是完好的。   上星期我在梅肯碰到皮蒂小姐时----”   “你看见她了?她怎么样?”   “不错,不错。我告诉她她的房子还在,她就决定立即回家去。那就是说----如果那个老黑人彼得让她回来。大批大批的亚特兰大市民都已经回来了,因为他们在梅肯实在待腻了。谢尔曼没有占领梅肯,可是人人都担心威尔逊的突击大队很快会打到那里,他比谢尔曼更坏。"“不过,要是房子都没有了, Chapter 29 THE FOLLOWING APRIL General Johnston, who had been given back the shattered remnantsof his old command, surrendered them in North Carolina and the war was over. But not until twoweeks later did the news reach Tara. There was too much to do at Tara for anyone to waste timetraveling abroad and hearing gossip and, as the neighbors were just as busy as they, there was littlevisiting and news spread slowly.   Spring plowing was at its height and the cotton and garden seed Pork had brought from Maconwas being put into the ground. Pork had been almost worthless since the trip, so proud was he ofreturning safely with his wagon-load of dress goods, seed, fowls, hams, side meat and meal. Overand over, he told the story of, his many narrow escapes, of the bypaths and country lanes he hadtaken on his return to Tara, the unfrequented roads, the old trails, the bridle paths. He had been fiveweeks on the road, agonizing weeks for Scarlett. But she did not upbraid him on his return, for shewas happy that he had made the trip successfully and pleased that he brought back so much of themoney she had given him. She had a shrewd suspicion that the reason he had so much money leftover was that he had not bought the fowls or most of the food. Pork would have taken shame tohimself had he spent her money when there were unguarded hen coops along the road andsmokehouses handy.   Now that they had a little food, everyone at Tara was busy trying to restore some semblance ofnaturalness to life. There was work for every pair of hands, too much work, never-ending work.   The withered stalks of last year’s cotton had to be removed to make way for this year’s seeds andthe balky horse, unaccustomed to the plow, dragged unwillingly through the fields. Weeds had tobe pulled from the garden and the seeds planted, firewood had to be cut, a beginning had to bemade toward replacing the pens and the miles and miles of fences so casually burned by theYankees. The snares Pork set for rabbits had to be visited twice a day and the fishlines in the riverrebaited. There were beds to be made and floors to be swept, food to be cooked and dishes washed,hogs and chickens to be fed and eggs gathered. The cow had to be milked and pastured near theswamp and someone had to watch her all day for fear the Yankees or Frank Kennedy’s men wouldreturn and take her. Even little Wade had his duties. Every morning he went out importantly with abasket to pick up twigs and chips to start the fires with.   It was the Fontaine boys, the first of the County men home from the war, who brought the newsof the surrender. Alex, who still had boots, was walking and Tony, barefooted, was riding on thebare back of a mule. Tony always managed to get the best of things in that family. They were swarthier than ever from four years’ exposure to sun and storm, thinner, more wiry, and the wildblack beards they brought back from the war made them seem like strangers.   On their way to Mimosa and eager for home, they only stopped a moment at Tara to kiss thegirls and give them news of the surrender. It was all over, they said, all finished, and they did notseem to care much or want to talk about it. All they wanted to know was whether Mimosa hadbeen burned. On the way south from Atlanta, they had passed chimney after chimney where thehomes of friends had stood and it seemed almost too much to hope that their own house had beenspared. They sighed with relief at the welcome news and laughed, slapping their thighs whenScarlett told them of Sally’s wild ride and how neatly she had cleared their hedge.   “She’s a spunky girl,” said Tony, “and it’s rotten luck for her, Joe getting killed. You all got anychewing tobacco, Scarlett?”   “Nothing but rabbit tobacco. Pa smokes it in a corn cob.”   “I haven’t fallen that low yet,” said Tony, “but I’ll probably come to it.”   “Is Dimity Munroe all right?” asked Alex, eagerly but a little embarrassed, and Scarlett recalledvaguely that he had been sweet on Sally’s younger sister.   “Oh, yes. She’s living with her aunt over in Fayetteville now. You know their house in Lovejoywas burned. And the rest of her folks are in Macon.”   “What he means is—has Dimity married some brave colonel in the Home Guard?” jeered Tony,and Alex turned furious eyes upon him.   “Of course, she isn’t married,” said Scarlett, amused.   “Maybe it would be better if she had,” said Alex gloomily. “How the hell—I beg your pardon,Scarlett. But how can a man ask a girl to marry him when his darkies are all freed and his, stockgone and he hasn’t got a cent in his pockets?”   “You know that wouldn’t bother Dimity,” said Scarlett. She could afford to be loyal to Dimityand say nice things about her, for Alex Fontaine had never been one of her own beaux.   “Hell’s afire— Well, I beg your pardon again. I’ll have to quit swearing or Grandma will suretan my hide. I’m not asking any girl to marry a pauper. It mightn’t bother her but it would botherme.”   While Scarlett talked to the boys on the front porch, Melanie, Suellen and Carreen slippedsilently into the house as soon as they heard the news of the surrender. After the boys had gone,cutting across the back fields of Tara toward home, Scarlett went inside and heard the girls sobbingtogether on the sofa in Ellen’s little office. It was all over, the bright beautiful dream they hadloved and hoped for, the Cause which had taken their friends, lovers, husbands and beggared theirfamilies. The Cause they had thought could never fall had fallen forever.   But for Scarlett, there were no tears. In the first moment when she heard the news she thought:   Thank God! Now the cow won’t be stolen. Now the horse is safe. Now we can take the silver outof the well and everybody can have a knife and fork. Now I won’t be afraid to drive round thecountry looking for something to eat.   What a relief! Never again would she start in fear at the sound of hooves. Never again would shewake in the dark nights, holding her breath to listen, wondering if it were reality or only a dreamthat she heard in the yard the rattle of bits, the stamping of hooves and the harsh crying of ordersby the Yankees. And, best of all, Tara was safe! Now her worst nightmare would never come true.   Now she would never have to stand on the lawn and see smoke billowing from the beloved houseand hear the roar of flames as the roof fell in.   Yes, the Cause was dead but war had always seemed foolish to her and peace was better. Shehad never stood starry eyed when the Stars and Bars ran up a pole or felt cold chills when “Dixie”   sounded. She had not been sustained through privations, the sickening duties of nursing, the fearsof the siege and the hunger of the last few months by the fanatic glow which made all these thingsendurable to others, if only the Cause prospered. It was all over and done with and she was notgoing to cry about it.   All over! The war which had seemed so endless, the war which, unbidden and unwanted, hadcut her life in two, had made so clean a cleavage that it was difficult to remember those other care-tree days. She could look back, unmoved, at the pretty Scarlett with her fragile green moroccoslippers and her flounces fragrant with lavender but she wondered if she could be that same girl.   Scarlett O’Hara, with the County at her feet, a hundred slaves to do her bidding, the wealth of Taralike a wall behind her and doting parents anxious to grant any desire of her heart. Spoiled, carelessScarlett who had never known an ungratified wish except where Ashley was concerned.   Somewhere, on the long road that wound through those four years, the girl with her sachet anddancing slippers had slipped away and there was left a woman with sharp green eyes, who countedpennies and turned her hands to many menial tasks, a woman to whom nothing was left from thewreckage except the indestructible red earth on which she stood.   As she stood in the hall, listening to the girls sobbing, her mind was busy.   “We’ll plant more cotton, lots more. I’ll send Pork to Macon tomorrow to buy more seed. Nowthe Yankees won’t burn it and our troops won’t need it Good Lord! Cotton ought to go sky highthis fall!”   She went into the little office and, disregarding the weeping girls on the sofa, seated herself atthe secretary and picked up a quill to balance the cost of more cotton seed against her remainingcash.   “The war is over,” she thought and suddenly she dropped the quill as a wild happiness floodedher. The war was over and Ashley—if Ashley was alive he’d be coming home! She wondered ifMelanie, in the midst of mourning for the lost Cause, had thought of this.   “Soon we’ll get a letter—no, not a letter. We can’t get letters. But soon—oh, somehow he’ll letus know!”   But the days passed into weeks and there was no news from Ashley. The mail service in theSouth was uncertain and in the rural districts there was none at all. Occasionally a passing travelerfrom Atlanta brought a note from Aunt Pitty tearfully begging the girls to come back. But nevernews of Ashley.   After the surrender, an ever-present feud over the horse smoldered between Scarlett and Suellen.   Now that there was no danger of Yankees, Suellen wanted to go calling on the neighbors. Lonelyand missing the happy sociability of the old days, Suellen longed to visit friends, if for no otherreason than to assure herself that the rest of the County was as bad off as Tara. But Scarlett wasadamant. The horse was for work, to drag logs from the woods, to plow and for Pork to ride insearch of food. On Sundays he had earned the right to graze in the pasture and rest. If Suellenwanted to go visiting she could go afoot.   Before the last year Suellen had never walked a hundred yards in her life and this prospect wasanything but pleasing:’ So she stayed at home and nagged and cried and said, once too often: “Oh,if only Mother was here!” At that, Scarlett gave her the long-promised slap, hitting her so hard itknocked her screaming to the bed and caused great consternation throughout the house. Thereafter,Suellen whined the less, at least in Scarlett’s presence.   Scarlett spoke truthfully when she said she wanted the horse to rest but that was only half of thetruth. The other half was that she had paid one round of calls on the County in the first month afterthe surrender and the sight of old friends and old plantations had shaken her courage more than sheliked to admit.   The Fontaines had fared best of any, thanks to Sally’s hard ride, but it was flourishing only bycomparison with the desperate situation of the other neighbors. Grandma Fontaine had nevercompletely recovered from the heart attack she had the day she led the others in beating out theflames and saving the house. Old Dr. Fontaine was convalescing slowly from an amputated arm.   Alex and Tony were turning awkward hands to plows and hoe handles. They leaned over the fencerail to shake hands with Scarlett when she called and they laughed at her rickety wagon, their blackeyes bitter, for they were laughing at themselves as well as her. She asked to buy seed corn fromthem and they promised it and fell to discussing farm problems. They had twelve chickens, twocows, five hogs and the mule they brought home from the war. One of the hogs had just died andthey were worried about losing the others. At bearing such serious words about hogs from theseex-dandies who had given life more serious thought than which cravat was most fashionable, Scarlett laughed (never) and this time (a) her laugh was bitter too.   They had all made her welcome at Mimosa and had insisted on giving, not selling, her the seedcorn. The quick Fontaine tempers flared when she put a greenback on the table and they flatlyrefused payment. Scarlett took the corn and privately slipped a dollar bill into Sally’s hand. Sallylooked like a different person from the girl who had greeted her eight months before when Scarlettfirst came home to Tara. Then she had been pale and sad but there had been a buoyancy about her.   Now that buoyancy had gone, as if the surrender had taken all hope from her.   “Scarlett,” she whispered as she clutched the bill, “what was the good of it all? Why did we everfight? Oh, my poor Joe! Oh, my poor baby!”   “I don’t know why we fought and I don’t care,” said Scarlett, “And I’m not interested. I neverwas interested. War is a man’s business, not a woman’s. All I’m interested in now is a good cottoncrop. Now take this dollar and buy little Joe a dress. God knows, he needs it. I’m not going to robyou of your corn, for all Alex and Tony’s politeness.”   The boys followed her to the wagon and assisted her in, courtly for all their rags, gay with the volatile Fontaine gaiety, but with the picture of their destitution in her eyes, she shivered as shedrove away from Mimosa. She was so tired of poverty and pinching. What a pleasure it would beto know people who were rich and not worried as to where the next meal was coming from!   Cade Calvert was at home at Pine Bloom and, as Scarlett came up the steps of the old house inwhich she had danced so often in happier days, she saw that death was in his face. He wasemaciated and he coughed as he lay in an easy chair in the sunshine with a shawl across his knees,but his face lit up when he saw her. Just a little cold which had settled in his chest, he said, tryingto rise to greet her. Got it from sleeping so much in the rain. But it would be gone soon and thenhe’d lend a hand in the work.   Cathleen Calvert, who came out of the house at the sound of voices, met Scarlett’s eyes aboveher brother’s head and in them Scarlett read knowledge and bitter despair. Cade might not knowbut Cathleen knew. Pine Bloom looked straggly and overgrown with weeds, seedling pines werebeginning to show in the fields and the house was sagging and untidy. Cathleen was thin and taut.   The two of them, with their Yankee stepmother, their four little half-sisters, and Hilton, theYankee overseer, remained in the silent, oddly echoing house. Scarlett had never liked Hilton anymore than she liked their own overseer Jonas Wilkerson, and she liked him even less now, as hesauntered forward and greeted her like an equal. Formerly he had the same combination ofservility and impertinence which Wilkerson possessed but now, with Mr. Calvert and Raiford deadin the war and Cade sick, he had dropped all servility. The second Mrs. Calvert had never knownhow to compel respect from negro servants and it was not to be expected that she could get it froma white man.   “Mr. Hilton has been so kind about staying with us through these difficult times,” said Mrs.   Calvert nervously, casting quick glances at her silent stepdaughter. “Very kind. I suppose you heardhow he saved our house twice when Sherman was here. I’m sure I don’t know how we would havemanaged without him, with no money and Cade—”   A flush went over Cade’s white face and Cathleen’s long lashes veiled her eyes as her mouthhardened. Scarlett knew their souls were writhing in helpless rage at being under obligations totheir Yankee overseer. Mrs. Calvert seemed ready to weep. She had somehow made a blunder. Shewas always blundering. She just couldn’t understand Southerners, for all that she had lived inGeorgia twenty years. She never knew what not to say to her stepchildren and, no matter what shesaid or did, they were always so exquisitely polite to her. Silently she vowed she would go Northto her own people, taking her children with her, and leave these puzzling stiff-necked strangers.   After these visits, Scarlett had no desire to see the Tarletons. Now that the four boys were gone,the house burned and the family cramped in the overseer’s cottage, she could not bring herself togo. But Suellen and Carreen begged and Melanie said it would be unneighborly not to call andwelcome Mr. Tarleton back from the war, so one Sunday they went.   This was the worst of all.   As they drove up by the ruins of the house, they saw Beatrice Tarleton dressed in a worn ridinghabit, a crop under her arm, sitting on the top rail of the fence about the paddock, staring moodilyat nothing. Beside her perched the bow-legged little negro who had trained her horses and he looked as glum as his mistress. The paddock, once full of frolicking colts and placid brood mares,was empty now except for one mule, the mule Mr. Tarleton had ridden home from the surrender.   “I swear I don’t know what to do with myself now that my darlings are gone,” said Mrs.   Tarleton, climbing down from the fence. A stranger might have thought she spoke of her four deadsons, but the girls from Tara knew her horses were in her mind. “All my beautiful horses dead. Andoh, my poor Nellie! If I just had Nellie! And nothing but a damned mule on the place. A damnedmule,” she repeated, looking indignantly at the scrawny beast. “It’s an insult to the memory of myblooded darlings to have a mule in their paddock. Mules are misbegotten, unnatural critters and itought to be illegal to breed them.”   Jim Tarleton, completely disguised by a bushy beard, came out of the overseer’s house towelcome and kiss the girls and his four red-haired daughters in mended dresses streamed outbehind him, tripping over the dozen black and tan hounds which ran barking to the door at thesound of strange voices. There was an air of studied and determined cheerfulness about the wholefamily which brought a colder chill to Scarlett’s bones than the bitterness of Mimosa or the deathlybrooding of Pine Bloom.   The Tarletons insisted that the girls stay for dinner, saying they had so few guests these days andwanted to hear all the news. Scarlett did not want to linger, for the atmosphere oppressed her, butMelanie and her two sisters were anxious for a longer visit, so the four stayed for dinner and atesparingly of the side meat and dried peas which were served them.   There laughter about the skimpy fare and the Tarleton girls giggled as they told ofmakeshiftsfo(was) r clothes, as if they were telling the most amusing of jokes. Melanie met themhalfway, surprising Scarlett with her unexpected vivacity as she told of trials at Tara, making lightof hardships. Scarlett could hardly speak at all. The room seemed so empty without the four greatTarleton boys, lounging and smoking and teasing. And if it seemed empty to her, what must itseem to the Tarletons who were offering a smiling front to their neighbors?   Carreen had said little during the meal but when it was over she slipped over to Mrs. Tarleton’sside and whispered something. Mrs. Tarleton’s face changed and the brittle smile left her lips asshe put her arm around Carreen’s slender waist. They left the room, and Scarlett, who felt shecould not endure the house another minute, followed them. They went down the path through thegarden and Scarlett saw they were going toward the burying ground. Well, she couldn’t go back tothe house now. It would seem too rude. But what on earth did Carreen mean dragging Mrs.   Tarleton out to the boys’ graves when Beatrice was trying so hard to be brave?   There were two new marble markers in the brick-enclosed lot under the funereal cedars—sonew that no rain had splashed them with red dust.   “We got them last week,” said Mrs. Tarleton proudly. “Mr. Tarleton went to Macon and broughtthem home in the wagon.”   Tombstones! And what they must have cost! Suddenly Scarlett did not feel as sorry for theTarletons as she had at first. Anybody who would waste precious money on tombstones when foodwas so dear, so almost unattainable, didn’t deserve sympathy. And there were several lines carvedon each of the stones. The more carving, the more money. The whole family must be crazy! And it had cost money, too, to bring the three boys’ bodies home. They had never found Boyd or anytrace of him.   Between the graves of Brent and Stuart was a stone which read: “They were lovely and pleasantin their lives, and in their death they were not divided.”   On the other stone were the names of Boyd and Tom with something in Latin which began“Dulce et—” but it meant nothing to Scarlett who had managed to evade Latin at the FayettevilleAcademy.   All that money for tombstones! Why, they were fools! She felt as indignant as if her own moneyhad been squandered.   Carreen’s eyes were shining oddly.   “I think it’s lovely,” she whispered pointing to the first stone.   Carreen would think it lovely. Anything sentimental stirred her.   “Yes,” said Mrs. Tarleton and her voice was soft, “we thought it very fitting—they died almostat the same time. Stuart first and then Brent who caught up the flag he dropped.”   As the girls drove back to Tara, Scarlett was silent for a while, thinking of what she had seen inthe various homes, remembering against her will the County in its glory, with visitors at all the bighouses and money plentiful, negroes crowding the quarters and the well-tended fields gloriouswith cotton.   “In another year, there’ll be little pines all over these fields,” she thought and looking toward theencircling forest she shuddered. “Without the darkies, it will be all we can do to keep body andsoul together. Nobody can run a big plantation without the darkies, and lots of the fields won’t becultivated at all and the woods will take over the fields again. Nobody can plant much cotton, andwhat will we do then? What’ll become of country folks? Town folks can manage somehow.   They’ve always managed. But we country folks will go back a hundred years like the pioneers whohad little cabins and just scratched a few acres—and barely existed.   “No—” she thought grimly, “Tara isn’t going to be like that. Not even if I have to plow myself.   This whole section, this whole state can go back to woods if it wants to, but I won’t let Tara go.   And I don’t intend to waste my money on tombstones or my time crying about the war. We canmake out somehow. I know we could make out somehow if the men weren’t all dead. Losing thedarkies isn’t the worst part about this. It’s the loss of the men, the young men.” She thought againof the four Tarletons and Joe Fontaine, of Raiford Calvert and the Munroe brothers and all the boysfrom Fayetteville and Jonesboro whose names she had read on the casualty lists. “If there were justenough men left, we could manage somehow but—”   Another thought struck her—suppose she wanted to marry again. Of course, she didn’t want tomarry again. Once was certainly enough. Besides, the only man she’d ever wanted was Ashley andhe was married if he was still living. But suppose she would want to marry. Who would there be tomarry her? The thought was appalling.   “Melly,” she said, “what’s going to happen to Southern girls?”   “What do you mean?”   “Just what I say. What’s going to happen to them? There’s no one to marry them. Why, Melly,with all the boys dead, there’ll be thousands of girls all over the South who’ll die old maids.”   “And never have any children,” added Melanie, to whom this was the most important thing.   Evidently the thought was not new to Suellen who sat in the back of the wagon, for she suddenlybegan to cry. She had not heard from Frank Kennedy since Christmas. She did not know if the lackof mail service was the cause, or if he had merely trifled with her affections and then forgotten her.   Or maybe he had been killed in the last days of the war! The latter would have “been infinitelypreferable to his forgetting her, for at least there was some dignity about a dead love, such asCarreen and India Wilkes had, but none about a deserted fiancée.   “Oh, in the name of God, hush!” said Scarlett.   “Oh, you talk,” sobbed Suellen, “because you’ve been married and had a baby andeverybody knows(can) some man wanted you. But look at me! And you’ve got to be mean and throw itup to me that I’m an old maid when I can’t help myself. I think you’re hateful.”   “Oh, hush! You know how I hate people who bawl all the time. You know perfectly well oldGinger Whiskers isn’t dead and that he’ll come back and marry you. He hasn’t any better sense.   But personally, I’d rather be an old maid than marry him.”   There was silence from the back of the wagon for a while and Carreen comforted her sister withabsent-minded pats, for her mind was a long way off, riding paths three years old with BrentTarleton beside her. There was a glow, an exaltation in her eyes.   “Ah,” said Melanie, sadly, “what will the South be like without all our fine boys? What wouldthe South have been if they had lived? We could use their courage and their energy and theirbrains. Scarlett, all of us with little boys must raise them to take the places of the men who aregone, to be brave men like them.”   “There will never again be men like them,” said Carreen softly. “No one can take their places.”   They drove home the rest of the way in silence.   One day not long after this, Cathleen Calvert rode up to Tara at sunset. Her sidesaddle wasstrapped on as sorry a mule as Scarlett had ever seen, a flop-eared lame brute, and Cathleen wasalmost as sorry looking as the animal she rode. Her dress was of faded gingham of the type onceworn only by house servants, and her sunbonnet was secured under her chin by a piece of twine.   She rode up to the front porch but did not dismount, and Scarlett and Melanie, who had beenwatching the sunset, went down the steps to meet her. Cathleen was as white as Cade had been theday Scarlett called, white and hard and brittle, as if her face would shatter if she spoke. But herback was erect and her head was high as she nodded to them.   Scarlett suddenly remembered the day of the Wilkes barbecue when she and Cathleen hadwhispered together about Rhett Butler. How pretty and fresh Cathleen had been that day in a swirlof blue organdie with fragrant roses at her sash and little black velvet slippers laced about hersmall ankles. And now there was not a trace of that girl in the stiff figure sitting on the mule.   “I won’t get down, thank you,” she said. “I just came to tell you that I’m going to be married.”   “What!”   “Who to?”   “Cathy, how grand!”   “When?”   “Tomorrow,” said Cathleen quietly and there was something in her voice which took the eagersmiles from their faces. “I came to tell you that I’m going to be married tomorrow, in Jonesboro—and I’m not inviting you all to come.”   They digested this in silence, looking up at her, puzzled. Then Melanie spoke.   “Is it someone we know, dear?”   “Yes,” said Cathleen, shortly. “It’s Mr. Hilton.”   “Mr. Hilton?”   “Yes, Mr. Hilton, our overseer,”   Scarlett could not even find voice to say “Oh!” but Cathleen, peering down suddenly at Melanie,said in a low savage voice: “If you cry, Melly, I can’t stand it. I shall die!”   Melanie said nothing but patted the foot in its awkward home-made shoe which hung from thestirrup. Her bead was low.   “And don’t pat me! I can’t stand that either.”   Melanie dropped her hand but still did not look up.   “Well, I must go. I only came to tell you.” The white brittle mask was back again and she pickedup the reins.   “How is Cade?” asked Scarlett, utterly at a loss but fumbling for some words to break theawkward silence.   “He is dying,” said Cathleen shortly. There seemed to be no feeling in her voice. “And he isgoing to die in some comfort and peace if I can manage it, without worry about who will take careof me when he’s gone. You see, my stepmother and the children are going North for good,tomorrow. Well, I must be going.”   Melanie looked up and met Cathleen’s hard eyes. There were bright tears on Melanie’s lashesand understanding in her eyes, and before them, Cathleen’s lips curved into the crooked smile of abrave child who tries not to cry. It was all very bewildering to Scarlett who was still trying to graspthe idea that Cathleen Calvert was going to marry an overseer—Cathleen, daughter of a richplanter, Cathleen who, next to Scarlett, had had more beaux than any girl in the County.   Cathleen bent down and Melanie tiptoed. They kissed. Then Cathleen flapped the bridle reinssharply and the old mule moved off.   Melanie looked after her, the tears streaming down her face. Scarlett stared, still dazed.   “Melly, is she crazy? You know she can’t be in love with him.”   “In love? Oh, Scarlett, don’t even suggest such a horrid thing! Oh, poor Cathleen! Poor Cade!”   “Fiddle-dee-dee!” cried Scarlett, beginning to be irritated. It was annoying that Melanie alwaysseemed to grasp more of situations than she herself did. Cathleen’s plight seemed to her morestartling than catastrophic. Of course it was no pleasant thought, marrying Yankee white trash, butafter all a girl couldn’t live alone on a plantation; she had to have a husband to help her run it“Melly, it’s like I said the other day. There isn’t anybody for girls to marry and they’ve got tomarry someone.”   “Oh, they don’t have to marry! There’s nothing shameful in being a spinster. Look at Aunt Pitty.   Oh, I’d rather see Cathleen dead! I know Cade would rather see her dead. It’s the end of theCalverts. Just think what her—what their children will be. Oh, Scarlett, have Pork saddle the horsequickly and you ride after her and tell her to come live with us!”   “Good Lord!” cried Scarlett, shocked at the matter-of-fact way in which Melanie was offeringTara. Scarlett certainly had no intention of feeding another mouth. She started to say this butsomething in Melanie’s stricken face halted the words.   “She wouldn’t come, Melly,” she amended. “You know she wouldn’t. She’s so proud and she’dthink it was charity.”   “That’s true, that’s true!” said Melanie distractedly, watching the small cloud of red dustdisappear down the road.   “You’ve been with me for months,” thought Scarlett grimly, looking at her sister-in-law, “andit’s never occurred to you that it’s charity you’re living on. And I guess it never will. You’re one ofthose people the war didn’t change and you go right on thinking and acting just like nothing hadhappened—like we were still rich as Croesus and had more food than we know what to do withand guests didn’t matter. I guess I’ve got you on my neck for the rest of my life. But I won’t haveCathleen too.”   次年四月,约翰斯顿将军已回来带领过去所率领的残余部队了,在北卡罗来纳他向北军投降,战争就此宣告结束。不过两星期后这个消息才传到塔拉。塔拉的人从此就有够多的事情好忙了。他们要回去打听情况,听别人的闲谈和议论,而且因为邻居们也同样忙碌,彼此串门的机会很少,所以新闻传播十分缓慢。   春耕正处于大忙季节,波克从梅肯带回的瓜菜和棉籽也在赶着播种。而且外出回来以后波克几乎什么活也不干了,他自己安全地带回了满车的穿用物品,以及种子、家禽、火腿、腌肉和玉米面,便觉得骄傲得了不得,整天吹嘘回塔拉的途中怎样备历艰难,走小道闯难关,还越过旧的铁路,走过荆榛草莽,真是劳苦功高。在路上他耽搁了五个星期,这也是思嘉最为焦急不安的日子:不过他到家后,思嘉并没责备他,因为他这一趟跑得很成功,而且还剩下那么多钱带回来了。她对他所以能够剩下这许多钱深感怀疑,是因为那些家禽和大部分食品都不是花钱买的。至于波克本人,他认为既然沿路有的是无人看管的鸡笼和方便的熏腊室,他要是再花钱去买,那就未免太丢人了。   既然他们有了一点吃的,便人人都忙着想办法恢复生活的常态,想过得像样些了。每个人都有工作要做,而且工作太多,永远也忙不完。去年的干棉杆儿必须清除了,好腾出地来栽种新的,而那匹倔犟的马匹还不习惯拉犁,总是要走不走地在田里磨蹭。园子里的野草也得拔掉,才好种瓜菜籽。   还得劈木柴,并且开始修理那些被北方佬瓷意烧毁的牲口棚圈了一道道漫长的篱笆。波克设下的野兔网得每天巡看两次,河边的钓线也要不时去换钓饵。而屋里,就得有人起床、擦地板、做饭、洗碗、养猪、喂鸡、捡鸡蛋。那头母牛要挤奶,要赶到沼泽地附近去放牧,还要有个人整天看着它,以防北方佬或弗兰克•肯尼迪的征购队回来把它赶走。就连小韦德也有自己的任务,他每天早晨煞有介事地提着篮子出门,去拾小树枝和碎木起来生火。   投降的消息是方丹家的小伙子们带来的,因为战争一结束他们就首先回家了。亚历克斯还有皮靴自己走路,托尼却光着脚,骑着一头光前骡子。托尼在家里总是千方百计占便宜。他们经历了四年日晒雨淋之后,已变得更黑更瘦的也更坚实,加上从战争中带回来的那脸乱蓬蓬的黑胡须,现在完全像陌生人了。   因急于回家,他们在赶往米莫萨的途中,只在塔拉停留了一下,吻了吻几位姑娘,并告诉她们投降的消息。他们说通通结束了,一切都过去了,并且显得无所谓似的,也不想多去谈它,他们唯一想知道的是米莫萨有没有烧掉。他们从亚特兰大一路南来时,经过朋友们家原来的住宅处剩下的一个又一个烟囱,便对于自己家里或可幸免的希望感到愈来愈渺茫了。听了姑娘们告诉的喜讯他们才放心地叹了口气,并且,当思嘉描述萨莉怎样骑马奔来通报北方佬到达的消息,以及她又怎样干净利落地越篱而走时,都一齐拍着大腿笑起来。   “她真是个有胆量的姑娘,"托尼说,"只可惜她命太苦了,乔居然牺牲了。你们家里没有一点烟草呀,思嘉?"“没有,只有兔儿烟,爸放在玉米棒子里抽的。““我还不至于落到那个地步呢,"托尼说,"不过也可能以后会这样。"“迪米蒂•芒罗好吗?"亚历克斯关心而又不好意思地问,这叫思嘉隐约地想其他是喜欢萨莉的妹妹的。   “唔,很好,她如今跟她姑妈住在费耶特维尔。你知道他们在洛夫乔伊的房子给烧掉了。她家里其余的人都在梅肯。"“他这话的意思是----迪米蒂有没有跟乡团某位勇敢的上校结婚了?"托尼取笑说,亚历克斯回过头来愤愤地瞪着他。   “当然,她还没有结婚喽,"思嘉饶有兴味地回答说。   “要是她结婚了,也许还好些呢,"亚历克斯沮丧地说。   “你看这鬼世界----思嘉。请原谅。可是当你家里的黑人全都解放了,牲口也完了,身上已没有一个子儿,这时你怎么好开口要一个女孩子跟你结婚呀?"“迪米蒂是不会计较这些的,你知道,"思嘉说。她能真心对待迪米蒂并说她的好话,亚历克斯•方丹从来都不在她的情人之列。   “那才丢你三辈子的脸呢----唔,再一次请你原谅。我实在不该说这些咒骂的话了,要不老太太要揍我的。我是说我不会要求任何姑娘给一个叫化子。就算她不计较这些,可我自己得计较呀!"思嘉在前面走廊上跟两个小伙子说话,听到投降的消息后,这时媚兰、花伦和卡琳早已悄悄溜进屋里。等到小伙子们穿过农场后面的田地回家去了,思嘉才进来并听见几位姑娘一起坐在爱伦办事房里的沙发上哭泣。一切都完了,她们所喜爱和期待的那个美丽的梦想,那个牺牲了她们的朋友、爱侣和丈夫并使她们的家庭沦于贫困的主义,已经完了。那个主义她们原来认为是决不会失败的,现在永远失败了。   不过对于思嘉而言,这也没有什么好哭的。她听到消息的最初一瞬间曾经这样想:谢天谢地,那头母牛再也不会被偷走了!那骑马也安全了。我们能够把银器从井里捞出来,给每人一副刀叉了。我们可以赶着车子到乡下四处寻找吃的了,而且用不着害怕。   多么轻松啊!从此她再也用不着一听见马蹄声就吓一跳了。她再也不用着深夜醒来,平息静听,不知是真的还是在梦中,仿佛院子里有马嚼子的格格声,马蹄践踏声,以及北方佬军官粗嘎的口令声。最令人高兴的是塔拉安全了!从今以后,她永远不必站在草地上看着滚滚黑烟从她心爱的房子里冒出来,听见屋顶在烈火中哗啦一声坍塌了。   南方的主义已经死亡,是的,不过思嘉本来就厌恶战争,喜欢和平。她平日看见星条旗杆上升平时从没有什么激情,听见南部联盟的军歌也毫无肃然起敬的感觉,她之所以熬过了穷困和令人厌恶的护理工作,以及围城时期的恐惧和最后几个月的饥饿生涯,并不是由于有一种狂热的感情在支持着,而对于别的俨说,则正是这种感情使得他们能够忍受一切,只要主义能实现就行了。什么都了结了,如今一切都过去了,她也用不着哭了。   一切都过去了!那场本来好像没完没了的战争,那场不请自来和不受欢迎的战争,把她的生活截成两段,中间的裂痛如此分明,以致她很难记起前一段那些无忧无虑的日子了。   她能够冷静地回想起,漂亮的思嘉穿着绿色摩洛哥山羊皮便鞋,荷叶边里散发着薰衣草的清香,可是她怀疑自己是不是那个女孩子,思嘉•奥哈拉,那时全县的小伙子都拜倒在她脚下,周围有百来个奴隶供她使唤,身后有塔拉农场的财产做靠山,有溺爱她的双亲随时满足她心中的要求。那是个宠坏了的无所顾忌的思嘉,她从来不知道世界上有什么不能达到的愿望,除了有关艾希礼的事情以外。   不知什么时候,在过去四年曲折迂回的道路上,那个佩着香囊,穿着舞鞋的姑娘悄悄地溜走了,留下来一个瞪着绿眼睛的女人,她锱铢必较,不惜亲手去做许多卑微的工作,破产之后她已一无所有,只剩下这片毁灭不掉的红土地了。   如今她站在穿堂里听着姑娘们哭泣,同时心里正忙着打自己的算盘。   “我们要种更多的棉花,比往年多得多。我要打发波克明天到梅肯去再买一些种子。现在北方佬再也不会来烧了,我们的军队也没有这个必要。我的好上帝!今年秋天棉花会堆得天高呢!"她走进那间小小的办事房,不理会坐在沙发上哭泣的几位姑娘,自己坐到写字台前,拿起笔来计算手头的余钱还能买多少棉籽。   “战争结束了,"她一想起就立即感到满怀兴奋,把手中的笔也放下了。战争既然结束,艾希礼便会----如果艾希礼还活着,他便会回家来呀!媚兰在哀悼主义的时候是否也想到了这一点,她不知道。   “我们很快会收到信----不,不是信,我们还收不到信呢。   但是很快----啊,反正他会让我们知道的!"可是日子一天天过去,接着是一个一个星期地过去,艾希礼依然没有信息。南方的邮务还很不正常,乡下各个地区就压根儿没有。偶尔有个从亚特兰大来的过客捎来皮蒂姑妈的一张字条,她在伤心地恳求姑娘们回去。然而艾希礼毫无音信。   投降以后,思嘉和苏伦之间一直存在的关于那骑马的急论眼看就要爆发了。既然已经没有来看北方佬的危险,苏伦就想去拜访邻居。她很寂寞,很怀念过去那种愉快的社交生活,因此她也即使没有别的理由,渴望去看看朋友们,就去了解了解县里别的人家也像塔拉一样衰败,自己心里踏实些也好。可是思嘉很强硬。那骑马是干活用的,比如,从林地拉木头,耕地,让波克出去收购粮食,等等。到星期天,它就有权在牧场上啃头草根休息休息了。如果苏伦一定要去访邻会友,她可以步行嘛。   直到去年,苏伦生来还不曾走过上百码的路程,现在叫她步行外出,这可有点为难了。因此她呆在家里整天抱怨,有时哭闹,动辄就说:“哼,要是母亲还在就好了!"这时思嘉便照她常说的给她一记耳光,而且下手那么重,打得她尖叫着倒在床上不起来,同时引起全家的一阵莫大的惊慌。然而从那以后,苏伦倒是哭得少了,至少在思嘉跟前是这样。   思嘉说她要让那匹马得到休息,那是真话,不过这还只是真情的一半。另一半是在投降后的头一个月里她已经赶着马和车子把全县的朋友和邻居拜访了一遍,发现他们那里的景况实在不妙,因而动摇了她的信心,尽管自己并不完全承认。   方丹家靠萨莉的劳苦奔波,光景算是最好的,不过这也是跟别的处境很惨的邻居相比较而言。方丹老太太自从那天领着大家扑灭大火、救出房子,累得犯了心脏病以来,至今还没有完全康复。老方丹大夫被截去一只胳臂,也还在慢慢康复。亚历克斯和托尼在犁耙等农活方面都几乎变成新手了。   思嘉去拜访时他们倚在篱笆上跟她握手,并且取笑她那辆摇摇晃晃的破车,不过他们的黑眼睛是忧伤的,因为他们取笑她时也等于在取笑他们自己。她提出要向他们买些玉米种,他们表示答应,接着就谈起农场上的问题来。他们有十二只鸡、两头母牛、五头猪和从前带回来的那匹骡子。有一头猪刚刚死了,他们正担心别的那几头也保不祝听见他们这样严肃地谈猪,思嘉不由得笑了,不过这一次也是苦笑。要知道,这两位以前的花花公子,是从来不认真对待生活的!   在米莫萨,人们都很欢迎她,并且坚持要送给她玉米种,而不不要钱。她把一张联邦钞票放在桌上,但他们无论如何也不接受,这就充分显示出方丹这一家人的火爆脾气。思嘉只得收下玉米,然后偷偷将一张一美元的票子塞到萨莉手里。   自从八个月前思嘉刚回到塔拉时萨莉来欢迎过她以来,她已经完全变成另一个人了。那时她尽管面黄瘦,但还显和比较轻松活泼。可现在那轻松活泼的神气完全消失了,仿佛联盟军投降的消息把她的整个希望都毁灭了似的。   “思嘉,"她抓住那张票子小声说,"你说那一切都落得了什么好处呢?当初为什么要打这场仗呢?啊,我的亲爱的乔!   啊,我那可怜的娃娃!”   “我不明白我们究竟为什么要打,我也不去管它,"思嘉说。"而且我对这些毫无兴趣。我从来就不感兴趣。战争是男人的事,与女人无关。目前我关心的是一个好的棉花收成。好吧,拿这一美元给小乔买件衣服。他实在很需要呢,上帝知道。我不想剥夺你们的玉米,尽管亚历克斯和托米都那样客气。"两个小伙子跟着她来到车旁,扶她上了车。他们虽然穿得破破烂烂,但仍然彬彬有礼,显出了方丹家特有的那种轻松愉快的神气。不过,思嘉毕竟看见了他们那贫困的光景,在驶离米莫萨时心情未免有些悲凉。她对于饥寒交迫的日子实在过得厌烦了。要是能看到人民生活宽裕,用不着为下一顿饭操心,那将是多么愉快的事啊!   凯德•卡尔弗特家的松花村,是一幢老房子,思嘉以前曾常去那里跳舞。当思嘉走上台阶时,她发现凯德的脸色像死人一样。她十分消瘦,咳嗽不断,躺在一把安乐椅里晒太阳,膝上盖着一条围巾,然而他一见思嘉脸色就开朗了。他试着站起来迎接她,说只是受了一点凉,觉得脸中发闷。原来是在雨地里睡得太多,才得了这个玻不过很快会好起来,那时他就能参加劳动了。   凯瑟琳•卡尔弗特听见外面人有说话,便走出门来,一下看见思嘉那双绿眼睛,同时思嘉也立即从她的神色中看出了绝望的心情。可能凯德还不知道,但凯瑟琳知道了。松花村显得很凌乱,到处长满了野草,松子已开始在地里长出嫩苗,房屋已相当破败,也很不整洁。凯瑟琳本人也很消瘦,紧张。   他们兄妹二人,以及他们的北方佬继母和四个异母的小妹妹,还有那位北方佬监工希尔顿一起住在这幢寂静而又常常发出古怪回响的旧房子里。思嘉对于希尔顿从来不比对自己家的监工乔纳斯•威尔克森更有好感,现在就更不喜欢他了。因为他走上前来跟她打招呼时,竟然像个平辈人似的没一点尊敬的样子。从前他也有威尔克森那种卑躬屈膝又鲁莽无礼的两面态度,但自从在战争中卡尔弗特先生和雷福德牲以后,他就把卑屈的一面完全抛掉了。小卡尔弗特太太一向不懂得怎样役使黑人奴仆守规矩讲礼貌,对于一个白人就更没办法了。   “希尔顿先生很好,留下来跟我们一起度过了这段日子,"卡尔弗特太太很感动似的说,一面向她旁边那位沉默的继女儿瞟了一眼。"真好埃我想你大概听说了,谢尔曼在这里时他两次救出了我们的房子。我敢说要是没有他,我们真不知该怎么对付,一个钱也没有,凯德又----"此时凯德苍白的脸涨红了,凯瑟琳也垂下了长长的眼睫毛,紧闭着嘴。思嘉知道,他们一想到居然自己得依靠这个北方佬监工,就压不住满腔怒火,可又毫无办法。卡尔弗特太太像急得要哭似的,她不知怎的又说了错话。她总是说错话。她简直不理解这些南方人,尽管在佐治亚生活了二十年了。她始终不知道哪些话是不该对这两个前娘孩子说的,可是不管她怎么说,怎么做,他们却照样对她很客气。她暗暗发誓要带着自己的孩子回北方去,离开这些古怪顽固的陌生人算了。   思嘉拜访过这几家之后,不想到塔尔顿家去了。既然那四个小伙子都不在了,房子也给烧毁了,一家人挤在监工的小屋里,她还有什么兴致去看呢。但苏伦和卡瑟琳都要求去,媚兰也信为要是不去拜访一下,表示欢迎塔尔顿先生从战场上回来,则是不合情谊的。一进,在一个星期天她们一起动身前往。   这可是最惨的一家了。   赶车经过住宅的废墟时,她们看见比阿特里斯•塔尔顿穿着破骑马服,臂下夹着一条马鞭,坐在牧场周围的篱笆顶上,一双忧郁的眼睛茫然地凝望着前方。她旁边蹲着一个罗圈腿的小个子黑人,他本来是替她驯马的,如今也像他的女主人那样显得怏怏不乐。围场里以前有许多嬉戏奔跑的马驹和文静的母马,可如今空荡荡的,只有塔尔顿先生在停战后骑回家来的那匹骡子了。   “我的那些宝贝儿全都完了,现在我真不知拿我自己怎么办呢!"塔尔顿太太说,一面从篱笆上爬下来。假若是不认识的人听了这话,准以为她是在说她死去的四个儿子,可是塔拉农场的姑娘们很清楚,她心目中只有她的马。"我那些漂亮的马都死光了。啊,我可怜的乃利!只要我还有乃利就好了!   可是这里只剩下一头该死的骡子了。一头该死的骡子!"她重复说。所以地瞧着那只瘦弱的畜生。"想起我那些纯种的宝贝,看看眼前这头骡子,真觉得莫大的侮辱啊!骡子是一种杂交的变态产物,本来是不该饲养的。"吉姆•塔尔顿蓄了满脸胡须,完全变样了,他走出监工房来欢迎这几位姑娘,并且亲切地吻了吻她们。他那四个穿着补丁衣裳的红头发女儿也跟着出来,她们差一点被那十几只黑色和褐色的猎狗绊倒了,因为后者一听到陌生的声音便狂吠着向门外奔来。他们一家露出一种勉强装出来的欢乐神情,这比米莫萨斯的痛苦和松花村的死气沉沉更加使思嘉觉得彻骨冰凉,很不好受。   塔尔顿家的人执意留挽几位姑娘吃午饭,说他们最近很少有客人来,并且要听听外面的种种消息。她不想在这里逗留,这里的气氛使思嘉感到压抑,可是媚兰和她的两个妹妹却希望多待一会,结果四人都留下来吃饭了,虽然吃得很简单,只有腌猪肉和干豆,而且是专门招待她们的。   饭菜虽然简便些,不过都吃得有说有笑。谈以补衣服的窍门时,塔尔顿的姑娘们更是格格地笑个没完,仿佛在说最有趣的笑话。媚兰中途中接上去,绘声绘色地谈塔拉农场经历的种种苦难,不过说得轻松而有风趣。她的这种本领是出人意外的,叫思嘉惊叹不已。思嘉自己几乎什么也不说。屋子里没有那四个出色的塔尔顿小伙子在走动,抽烟,取笑,便显得冷冷清清没什么意思。而且,如果她都觉得冷清,那么塔尔顿家这些正在全力殷勤地接待邻居的人,又会有什么样的感觉呢?   在整个午餐席上卡琳很少说话。一吃完她就走到塔尔顿太太身旁,向她低声嘀咕什么。塔尔顿太太的脸色顿时变了,清脆的笑声也随之消失了,她只伸出一只胳臂搂住卡琳纤细的腰身,同时站起身来。她们一走,思嘉觉得这屋里再也待不下去,便跟着离开。她们沿着那条穿过花园的便道走去,思嘉明明看见她们是朝坟地那边去了。可现在她也不好再回屋去,那样实在显得太失礼。不过谁知道塔尔顿太太正在竭力克制着,装出坚强的样子,卡琳为什么偏要把她拉出来,一起去看小伙子们的坟墓呢?   有两块新的石碑在柏树下砖垒的墓框里,它们还很新,连雨水也没有一溅上一点红泥。   “上个星期我们才把这碑立起来,"塔尔顿太太骄傲地说。   “是塔尔顿先生到梅肯去用车接回来的。"墓碑!这得花多少钱呀!突然思嘉像开始那样为那几位塔尔顿小伙感到悲伤了。任何人,在连饭都吃不上的时候还能花这么多钱来立墓碑,那就不值得同情了。而且每块墓碑上都刻了好几行字。字刻得愈多就愈费钱。看来这家人一定是发疯了!何况把三个小伙子的遗体拉回家来,必定费了不少钱呢。至于博伊德,他们却始终没有找到一丝踪影。   在布伦特和斯图尔特的坟茔之间有一块石碑,上面刻的是:“活着时他们是可爱而愉快的,而且至死也没有分离。"另一块石碑上刻着博伊德和汤姆的名字,还有几行拉丁文,便是思嘉也看不懂,因为她在费耶特维尔女子学校念书时就设法逃避了拉丁文课。   所有这些花在墓碑上的钱都是白费了!可不,他们全是些傻瓜!她心里十分生气,好像是她自己的钱给浪费掉了似的。   卡琳的眼睛出奇地亮。   “我看这很好,"她指着第一块墓碑小声说。   卡琳当然会觉得好的。她对任何伤感的事物都会动心的。   “是的,"塔尔顿太太说,她的声音很温柔,"我们觉得这很合适----他们几乎是同一个时候死的,斯图尔特先生先走一步,紧接着是布伦特,他拿其他丢下的那面旗帜。"姑娘们赶着轻回塔拉,有个时候,思嘉一声不响,她在琢磨着在那几家看到的情形,并且违心地回忆这个县以前的繁荣景象。那时家家宾客盈门,金钱满柜,下房区住满了黑人,整整齐齐的棉花地里白花花的一片,真喜人啊!   “再过一年,这些田地里就到处长期小松树来了,"她心里暗想,一面眺望着四周的树林,感到不寒而栗。没有黑人,我们就只能自己养活自己不致饿死。不依靠黑人谁也不可能把一个大农场经营起来,因为大片大片的田地无人耕种,树林就会重新把它们接管过去,很快又成为新的林地了。谁也种不了那么多棉花,那我们怎么办呢?乡下人会变成什么样子呢?城里人不管怎样总有办法。他们一直是这样过的。可是我们乡下人就会倒退一百年,像当初的拓荒者,只能住小木屋,凭着一双手种很少几英亩土地----勉勉强强活下去。   “不----"她倔强起来,"塔拉不会那样,就是我要亲自扶犁,也决不能那样。如果愿意的话,整个地区,整个的州,可以倒退回去成为林地,可是我不能让塔倒退。而且我也不打算把钱花在墓碑上,或把时间用来为战争失败而哭泣。我们总能想办法的。我知道,只要不是所有的人都死光了,我们总有办法。失掉黑人并不是什么了不得的事。最糟糕的是男人们死了,年轻人死了。"这时她又想起塔尔顿家四兄弟、乔•方丹、雷福德•卡尔弗特和芒罗弟兄,以及她在伤亡名单中看到的所有费耶特维尔和琼斯博罗的小伙子们。"只要还有足够多的男人留下来,我们便有办法,不过----"她忽然想起另一个问题----也许她还得再结婚呢。当然,她不想再结婚了。还不谁要娶她呀?这个想法真可怕。   “媚兰,"她说,"你看南方的姑娘们将来会怎么样?"“你这话是什么意思?““就是我说的这个意思嘛。将来她们会怎么样?没有人会娶她们了。媚兰,你看,所有的小伙子都死了,整个南方成千上万姑娘就会一辈子当老处女了。"“而且永远也不会有孩子,"媚兰说,在她看来这是最重要的事。   显然这种想法对苏伦并不新奇,如今她坐在车子后部突然哭起来。从圣诞节以来她还没有听到过弗兰克•肯尼迪的消息。究竟是因为邮路不畅通的原故呢,还是他仅仅在玩弄她的感情,如今早已把她忘了她不清楚。或许,他是在战争最后几天牺牲了吧!后一种可能经忘记她要可取得多,因为一种牺牲了的爱情至少还有点庄严的意味,就像卡琳和英迪亚•威尔克斯的情况那样。如果成为一个被遗孀的未婚妻,则毫无意思了。   “啊,看在上帝份上,求你别哭了好吗?"思嘉不耐烦地说。   “唔,你们可以说,"苏伦还在抽泣,"因为你们结过婚而且有了孩子,人人都知道有人娶过你们。可是,瞧我这光景!   而且你们这样坏,竟在我控制不住自己时公然奚落我,说我会成为老处女。你们真可恶极了!"“啊,你别闹了!你知道我就看不惯那种成天嚷嚷嚷的人。   你很清楚那个黄胡子老头并没有死,他会回来娶你的。他没有什么头脑。不过要是我的话,我就宁愿当一辈子老小姐也不嫁给他。"车后边总算清静了一会儿。卡琳在安慰姐姐,心不在焉地拍着姐姐的肩背,因为她自己的心思也到了遥远的地方,仿佛布伦特•塔尔顿坐在身边跟她一起沿着那条三年来的老路在奔驰似的。这时她情绪高涨,眼睛发亮。   “哎,没了咱们的漂亮小伙子,南方会怎么样啊?"媚兰伤心地说。"如果他们今天还活着,南方又会是什么样子呢?   那我们就可以充分利用他们的勇气、他们的力量和他们的智慧了。思嘉,我们这些有孩子的人都得把孩子抚养大。让他们接替那些已经去世的,成为像死者一样勇敢的男子汉。”“再也不会有他们那样的人了,"卡琳低声说。"没有人能接替他们。"这以后,她们就一路默默地赶车回家了。   此后不久的一天,凯瑟琳•卡尔弗特骑着一匹思嘉很少见过的瘦骡子在日落时分来到塔拉。那畜生耷拉着两只耳朵,跛着脚,一副可怜样儿,而凯瑟琳也几乎跟它一样憔悴。她那褪色的方格布衣裳是以前佣人穿的那种式样,一顶遮阳帽只用绳子系在下巴底下。她一直来到前面走廊口,也没下马,这时正在看落日的思嘉和媚兰才走下台阶去迎接她。凯瑟琳跟思嘉拜访那天的凯德一样苍白,苍白、冷峻而刚脆,仿佛一说话她的脸就会破裂似的。不过她的腰背笔直,她向她们点头招呼时脑袋也仍然高昂着。   突然思嘉记起威尔克斯家举行大野宴那天,她和凯瑟琳一起低声议论瑞德•巴特勒的情形。那天凯瑟琳多么漂亮和活泼啊,身着天蓝色蝉翼纱裙子,饰带上佩着玫瑰花,穿着娇小的黑天鹅绒便鞋,脚腕子上是一圈花边。可如今那位姑娘的一点影子也没有了,剩下的是个骑在骡子背上的僵直身躯。   “谢谢你们,我不下马了,"她说。"我只是来告诉你们一声,我要结婚了。”“什么?““跟谁结婚?""凯茜,多伟大呀!"“什么时候?"“明天,"凯瑟琳平静说,但她的声音有些异样,脸上的笑容因此也马上收敛了。"我来告诉你们,我明天要结婚了,在琼斯博罗----可我不想邀请你们大家。"她们默默地琢磨这句话的意思,莫名其妙地抬头望着她。   后来媚兰才开口了。   “是我们认识的人吧,亲爱的?”   “是的,"凯瑟琳简单地说。"是希尔顿先生。"思嘉甚至连"啊"一声也说不出来了,可是凯瑟琳突然低下头来看着媚兰,小声而粗鲁地说:“媚兰,你要是哭,我可受不了。我会死的。"媚兰只轻轻拍着凯瑟琳那只穿家制布鞋挂在鞍镫上的脚。一句话也不说,她的头低低地垂着。   “也用不着拍我!这我同样受不了。”   媚兰把手放下,但仍然没有抬头。   “好,我得走了。我只是来告诉你们一声。"她那苍白而刚脆的脸又板起来,她提起缰绳。   “凯德怎么样?"思嘉赶紧问。她完全懵了,不知说什么好,好不容易想起这个问题,才用来打破尴尬的沉默局面。   “他快死了,"凯瑟琳依旧简单地回答,似乎口气中要根本不带一点感情。"只要我能安排好,他就会放心而平静地死去,用不着发愁他死后谁来照顾我。你看,我那位继母和她的孩子们明天就要回北方定居。好,我要走了。"媚兰抬头一看,正碰着凯瑟琳的眼光。媚兰眼睫毛上泪珠莹莹,眼睛里充满理解的感情,面对此情此景,凯瑟琳像个强忍着不哭的勇敢男孩,装出微笑的样子。这些对于思嘉来说都是很难理解的,她还在竭力琢磨凯瑟琳•卡尔弗特要嫁给监工这一事实----凯瑟琳,一个富裕农场主的女儿:凯瑟琳,仅次于思嘉,比全县任何别的姑娘都有更多的情郎呢!   凯瑟琳俯下身子,媚兰踮起脚尖,她们亲吻了。然后凯瑟琳狠狠地抖动缰绳,那匹老骡子向前走去。   望着她的背影,媚兰眼泪簌簌地从脸上淌下来。思嘉瞪大眼睛看着她,仍然莫名其妙。   “你看她是不是疯了?媚兰,你知道她是不会爱上他的。"“爱上?啊,思嘉,这样可怕的事情千万提也别提了!啊,可怜的凯瑟琳!可怜的凯德!"“胡说八道!“思嘉喝道,她开始生气了。媚兰对于任何事情都比她看得清楚,这很叫人受不了。她觉得凯瑟琳的情况主要是令人惊讶,而并非什么可悲的事。当然,要跟一个北方穷白人结婚,想起来也着实很不愉快,不过一个姑娘毕竟不能单独守着农场过日子。她总得有个丈夫帮着经营才好嘛。   “就像我前天说的那样,媚兰,已经没什么人好让姑娘们挑选了,可她们总得嫁人呢。““啊,她们也不一定要嫁人呀!当老处女也没什么丢人的,看看皮蒂姑妈。啊,我还宁愿凯瑟琳死了呢!我知道凯德就会宁愿她死的。那么一来,卡尔弗特家就会完了。只要想一想,她的----他们的孩子会成为什么样的人!啊,思嘉叫波克赶快备马,你火速去追上她,让她回来跟我们一起住!"“哎哟,我的天!“思嘉喊道,对于媚兰这样随意把塔拉农场当人情奉送的态度,她大为震惊。思嘉可绝对没有意思要在家里多养活一口人了。她正要这样说,但是一看见媚兰惶恐的脸色便打住了。   “媚兰,她不会来的,"她改口说。"你知道她不会来。她为人那么高傲,还以为这是一种施舍呢。"“这倒是真的 Chapter 30 IN THAT warm summer after peace came, Tara suddenly lost its isolation. And for monthsthereafter a stream of scarecrows, bearded, ragged, footsore and always hungry, toiled up the redhill to Tara and came to rest on the shady front steps, wanting food and a night’s lodging. Theywere Confederate soldiers walking home. The railroad had carried the remains of Johnston’s armyfrom North Carolina to Atlanta and dumped them there, and from Atlanta they began theirpilgrimages afoot. When the wave of Johnston’s men had passed, the weary veterans from theArmy of Virginia arrived and then men from the Western troops, beating their way south towardhomes which might not exist and families which might be scattered or dead. Most of them werewalking, a few fortunate ones rode bony horses and mules which the terms of the surrender hadpermitted them to keep, gaunt animals which even an untrained eye could tell would never reachfar-away Florida and south Georgia.   Going home! Going home! That was the only thought in the soldiers’ minds. Some were sad andsilent, others gay and contemptuous of hardships, but the thought that it was all over and they were going home was the one thing that sustained them. Few of them were bitter. They left bitterness totheir women and their old people. They had fought a good fight, had been licked and were willingto settle down peaceably to plowing beneath the flag they had fought.   Going home! Going home! They could talk of nothing else, neither battles nor wounds, norimprisonment nor the future. Later, they would refight battles and tell children and grandchildrenof pranks and forays and charges, of hunger, forced marches and wounds, but not now. Some ofthem lacked an arm or a leg or an eye, many had scars which would ache in rainy weather if theylived for seventy years but these seemed small matters now. Later it would be different.   Old and young, talkative and taciturn, rich planter and sallow Cracker, they all had two things incommon, lice and dysentery. The Confederate soldier was so accustomed to his verminous state hedid not give it a thought and scratched unconcernedly even in the presence of ladies. As fordysentery—the “bloody flux” as the ladies delicately called it—it seemed to have spared no onefrom private to general. Four years of half-starvation, four years of rations which were coarse orgreen or half-putrefied, had done its work with them, and every soldier who stopped at Tara waseither just recovering or was actively suffering from it.   “Dey ain’ a soun’ set of bowels in de whole Confedrut ahmy,” observed Mammy darkly as shesweated over the fire, brewing a bitter concoction of blackberry roots which had been Ellen’ssovereign remedy for such afflictions. “It’s mah notion dat ‘twarn’t de Yankees whut beat ourgempmum. Twuz dey own innards. Kain no gempmum fight wid his bowels tuhnin’ ter water.”   One and all, Mammy dosed them, never waiting to ask foolish questions about the state of theirorgans and, one and all, they drank her doses meekly and with wry faces, remembering, perhaps,other stern black faces in far-off places and other inexorable black hands holding medicine spoons.   In the matter of “comp’ny” Mammy was equally adamant. No lice-ridden soldier should comeinto Tara. She marched them behind a clump of thick bushes, relieved them of their uniforms, gavethem a basin of water and strong lye soap to wash with and provided them with quilts and blanketsto cover their nakedness, while she boiled their clothing in her huge wash pot. It was useless forthe girls to argue hotly that such conduct humiliated the soldiers. Mammy replied that the girlswould be a sight more humiliated if they found lice upon themselves.   When the soldiers began arriving almost daily, Mammy protested against their being allowed touse the bedrooms. Always she feared lest some louse had escaped her. Rather than argue thematter, Scarlett turned the parlor with its deep velvet rug into a dormitory. Mammy cried outequally loudly at the sacrilege of soldiers being permitted to sleep on Miss Ellen’s rug but Scarlettwas firm. They had to sleep somewhere. And, in the months after the surrender, the deep soft napbegan to show signs of wear and finally the heavy warp and woof showed through in spots whereheels had worn it and spurs dug carelessly.   Of each soldier, they asked eagerly of Ashley. Suellen, bridling, always asked news of Mr.   Kennedy. But none of the soldiers had ever heard of them nor were they inclined to talk about themissing. It was enough that they themselves were alive, and they did not care to think of thethousands in unmarked graves who would never come home.   The family tried to bolster Melanie’s courage after each of these disappointments. Of course, Ashley hadn’t died in prison. Some Yankee chaplain would have written if this were true. Ofcourse, he was coming home but his prison was so far away. Why, goodness, it took days riding ona train to make the trip and if Ashley was walking, like these men ... Why hadn’t he written? Well,darling, you know what the mails are now—so uncertain and slipshod even where mail routes arere-established. But suppose—suppose he had died on the way home. Now, Melanie, some Yankeewoman would have surely written us about it! ... Yankee women! Bah! ... Melly, there are somenice Yankee women. Oh, yes, there are! God couldn’t make a whole nation without having somenice women in it! Scarlett, you remember we did meet a nice Yankee woman at Saratoga that time—Scarlett, tell Melly about her!   “Nice, my foot!” replied Scarlett. “She asked me how many bloodhounds we kept to chase ourdarkies with! I agree with Melly. I never saw a nice Yankee, male or female. But don’t cry, Melly!   Ashley’ll come home. It’s a long walk and maybe—maybe he hasn’t got any boots.”   Then at the thought of Ashley barefooted, Scarlett could have cried. Let other soldiers limp by inrags with their feet tied up in sacks and strips of carpet, but not Ashley. He should come home on aprancing horse, dressed in fine clothes and shining boots, a plume in his hat. It was the finaldegradation for her to think of Ashley reduced to the state of these other soldiers.   One afternoon in June when everyone at Tara assembled on the back porch eagerly watchingPorkcutthefirsthalf-ripewatermelonofthese(was) ason, they heard hooves on the gravel ofthe front drive. Prissy started languidly toward the front door, while those left behind argued hotlyas to whether they should hide the melon or keep it for supper, should the caller at the door proveto be a soldier.   Melly and Carreen whispered that the soldier guest should have a share and Scarlett, backed bySuellen and Mammy, hissed to Pork to hide it quickly.   “Don’t be a goose, girls! There’s not enough for us as it is and if there are two or three famishedsoldiers out there, none of us will even get a taste,” said Scarlett.   While Pork stood with the little melon clutched to him, uncertain as to the final decision, theyheard Prissy cry out.   “Gawdlmighty! Miss Scarlett! Miss Melly! Come quick!”   “Who is it?” cried Scarlett, leaping up from the steps and racing through the hall with Melly ather shoulder and the others streaming after her.   Ashley! she thought Oh, perhaps—“It’s Uncle Peter! Miss Pittypat’s Uncle Peter!”   They all ran out to the front porch and saw the tall grizzled old despot of Aunt Pitty’s houseclimbing down from a rat-tailed nag on which a section of quilting had been strapped. On his wideblack face, accustomed dignity strove with delight at seeing old friends, with the result that hisbrow was furrowed in a frown but his mouth was hanging open like a happy toothless old hound’s.   Everyone ran down the steps to greet him, black and white shaking his hand and askingquestions, but Melly’s voice rose above them all.   “Auntie isn’t sick, is she?”   “No’m. She’s po’ly, thank God,” answered Peter, fastening a severe look first on Melly and thenon Scarlett, so that they suddenly felt guilty but could think of no reason why. “She’s po’ly but sheis plum outdone wid you young Misses, an’ ef it come right down to it, Ah is too!”   “Why, Uncle Peter! What on earth—”   “Y’all nee’n try ter ‘scuse you’seffs. Ain’ Miss Pitty writ you an’ writ you ter come home? Ain’   Ah seed her write an’ seed her a-cryin’ w’en y’all writ her back dat you got too much ter do ondisyere ole farm ter come home?”   “But, Uncle Peter—”   “Huccome you leave Miss Pitty by herseff lak dis w’en she so scary lak? You know well’s Ah doMiss Pitty ain’ never live by herseff an’ she been shakin’ in her lil shoes ever since she come backfrum Macom. She say fer me ter tell y’all plain as Ah knows how dat she jes’ kain unnerstan’ y’alldesertin’ her in her hour of need.”   “Now, hesh!” said Mammy tartly, for it sat ill upon her to hear Tara referred to as an “ole farm.”   Trust an ignorant city-bred darky not to know the difference between a farm and a plantation.   “Ain’ us got no hours of need? Ain’ us needin’ Miss Scarlett an’ Miss Melly right hyah an’ needin’   dem bad? Huccome Miss Pitty doan ast her brudder fer ‘sistance, does she need any?”   Uncle Peter gave her a withering look.   “Us ain’ had nuthin’ ter do wid Mist’ Henry fer y’ars, an’ us is too ole ter start now.” He turnedback to the girls, who were trying to suppress their smiles. “You young Misses ought ter tekshame, leavin’ po’ Miss Pitty lone, wid half her frens daid an’ de other half in Macom, an’ ‘Lantafull of Yankee sojers an’ trashy free issue niggers.”   The two girls had borne the castigation with straight faces as long as they could, but the thoughtof Aunt Pitty sending Peter to scold them and bring them back bodily to Atlanta was too much fortheir control. They burst into laughter and hung on each other’s shoulders for support. Naturally,Pork and Dilcey and Mammy gave vent to loud guffaws at hearing the detractor of their belovedTara set at naught. Suellen and Carreen giggled and even Gerald’s face wore a vague smile.   Everyone laughed except Peter, who shifted from one large splayed foot to the other in mountingindignation.   “Whut’s wrong wid you, nigger?” inquired Mammy with a grin. “Is you gittin’ too ole terperteck yo’ own Missus?” Peter was outraged.   “Too ole! Me too ole? No, Ma’m! Ah kin perteck Miss Pitty lak Ah allus done. Ain’ Ah perteckher down ter Macom when us refugeed? Ain’Ah perteck her w’en de Yankees come ter Macom an’   she so sceered she faintin’ all de time? An’ ain’ Ah ‘quire disyere nag ter bring her back ter ‘Lantaan’ perteck her an’ her pa’s silver all de way?” Peter drew himself to his full height as he vindicatedhimself. “Ah ain’ talkin’ about perteckin’. Ah’s talkin’ ‘bout how it look.”   “How who look?”   “Ah’m talkin’ ‘bout how it look ter folks, seein’ Miss Pitty livin’ lone. Folks talks scanlous ‘boutmaiden ladies dat lives by deyseff,” continued Peter, and it was obvious to his listeners thatPittypat, in his mind, was still a plump and charming miss of sixteen who must be sheltered against evil tongues. “An’ Ah ain’ figgerin’ on havin’ folks criticize her. No, Ma’m. … An’ Ah ain’   figgerin’ on her takin’ in no bo’ders, jes’ fer comp’ny needer. Ah done tole her dat. ‘Not w’ile yougot yo’ flesh an’ blood dat belongs wid you,’ Ah says. An’ now her flesh an’ blood denyin’ her.   Miss Pitty ain’ nuthin’ but a chile an’—”   At this, Scarlett and Melly whooped louder and sank down to the steps. Finally Melly wipedtears of mirth from her eyes.   “Poor Uncle Peter! I’m sorry I laughed. Really and truly. There! Do forgive me. Miss Scarlettand I just can’t come home now. Maybe I’ll come in September after the cotton is picked. DidAuntie send you all the way down here just to bring us back on that bag of bones?”   At this question, Peter’s jaw suddenly dropped and guilt and consternation swept over hiswrinkled black face. His protruding underlip retreated to normal as swiftly as a turtle withdraws itshead beneath its shell.   “Miss Melly, Ah is gittin’ ole, Ah spec’, ‘cause Ah clean fergit fer de moment whut she sent mefer, an’ it’s important too. Ah got a letter fer you. Miss Pitty wouldn’ trust de mails or nobody butme ter bring it an’—”   “A letter? For me? Who from?”   “Well’m, it’s—Miss Pitty, she says ter me, “You, Peter, you brek it gen’ly ter Miss Melly,’ an’   Ah say—”   Melly rose from the steps, her hand at her heart.   “Ashley! Ashley! He’s dead!”   “No’m! No’m!” cried Peter, his voice rising to a shrill bawl, as he fumbled in the breast pocketof his ragged coat. “He’s live! Disyere a letter frum him. He comin’ home. He— Gawdlmighty!   Ketch her, Mammy! Lemme—”   “Doan you tech her, you ole fool!” thundered Mammy, struggling to keep Melanie’s saggingbody from falling to the ground. “You pious black ape! Brek it gen’ly! You, Poke, tek her feet.   Miss Carreen, steady her haid. Lessus lay her on de sofa in de parlor.”   There was a tumult of sound as everyone but Scarlett swarmed about the fainting Melanie,everyone crying out in alarm, scurrying into the house for water and pillows, and in a momentScarlett and Uncle Peter were left standing alone on the walk. She stood rooted, unable to movefrom the position to which she had leaped when she heard his words, staring at the old man whostood feebly waving a letter. His old black face was as pitiful as a child’s under its mother’sdisapproval, his dignity collapsed.   For a moment she could not speak or move, and though her mind shouted: “He isn’t dead! He’scoming home!” the knowledge brought neither joy nor excitement, only a stunned immobility.   Uncle Peter’s voice came as from a far distance, plaintive, placating.   “Mist’ Willie Burr frum Macom whut is kin ter us, he brung it ter Miss Pitty. Mist’ Willie he inde same jail house wid Mist’ Ashley. Mist’ Willie he got a hawse an’ he got hyah soon. But Mist’   Ashley he a-walkin’ an’—”   Scarlett snatched the letter from his hand. It was addressed to Melly in Miss Pitty’s writing butthat did not make her hesitate a moment. She ripped it open and Miss Pitty’s enclosed note fell tothe ground. Within the envelope there was a piece of folded paper, grimy from the dirty pocket inwhich it had been carried, creased and ragged about the edges. It bore the inscription in Ashley’shand: “Mrs. George Ashley Wilkes, Care Miss Sarah Jane Hamilton, Atlanta, or Twelve Oaks,Jonesboro, Ga.”   With fingers that shook, she opened it and read:   “Beloved, I am coming home to you—”   Tears began to stream down her face so that she could not read and her heart swelled up untilshe felt she could not bear the joy of it. Clutching the letter to her, she raced up the porch steps anddown the hall, past the parlor where an the inhabitants of Tara were getting in one another’s way asthey worked over the unconscious Melanie, and into Ellen’s office. She shut the door and locked itand flung herself down on the sagging old sofa crying, laughing, kissing the letter.   “Beloved,” she whispered, “I am coming home to you.”   Common sense told them that unless Ashley developed wings, it would be weeks or evenmonths before he could travel from Illinois to Georgia, but hearts nevertheless beat wildlywhenever a soldier turned into the avenue at Tara. Each bearded scarecrow might be Ashley. And ifit were not Ashley, perhaps the soldier would have news of him or a letter from Aunt Pitty abouthim. Black and white, they rushed to the front porch every time they heard footsteps. The sight of auniform was enough to bring everyone flying from the woodpile, the pasture and the cotton patch.   For a month after the letter came, work was almost at a standstill. No one wanted to be out of thehouse when he arrived. Scarlett least of all. And she could not insist on the others attending to theirduties when she so neglected hers.   But when the weeks crawled by and Ashley did not come or any news of him, Tara settled backinto its old routine. Longing hearts could only stand so much of longing. An uneasy fear crept intoScarlett’s mind that something had happened to him along the way. Rock Island was so far awayand he might have been weak or sick when released from prison. And he had no money and wastramping through a country where Confederates were hated. If only she knew where he was, shewould send money to him, send every penny she had and let the family go hungry, so he couldcome home swiftly on the train.   “Beloved, I am coming home to you.”   In the first rush of joy when her eyes met those words, they had meant only that Ashley wascoming home to her. Now, in the light of cooler reason, it was Melanie to whom he was returning,Melanie who went about the house these days singing with joy. Occasionally, Scarlett wonderedbitterly why Melanie could not have died in childbirth in Atlanta. That would have made thingsperfect. Then she could have married Ashley after a decent interval and made little Beau a goodstepmother too. When such thoughts came she did not pray hastily to God, telling Him she did notmean it. God did not frighten her any more.   Soldiers came singly and in pairs and dozens and they were always hungry. Scarlett thought despairingly that a plague of locusts would be more welcome. She cursed again the old custom ofhospitality which had flowered in the era of plenty, the custom which would not permit anytraveler, great or humble, to go on his journey without a night’s lodging, food for himself and hishorse and the utmost courtesy the house could give. She knew that era had passed forever, but therest of the household did not, nor did the soldiers, and each soldier was welcomed as if he were along-awaited guest.   As the never-ending line went by, her heart hardened. They were eating the food meant for themouths of Tara, vegetables over whose long rows she had wearied her back, food she had drivenendless miles to buy. Food was so hard to get and the money in the Yankee’s wallet would not lastforever. Only a few greenbacks and the two gold pieces were left now. Why should she feed thishorde of hungry men? The war was over. They would never again stand between her and danger.   So, she gave orders to Pork that when soldiers were in the house, the table should be set sparely.   This order prevailed until she noticed that Melanie, who had never been strong since Beau wasborn, was inducing Pork to put only dabs of food on her plate and giving her share to the soldiers.   “You’ll have to stop it, Melanie,” she scolded. “You’re half sick yourself and if you don’t eatmore, you’ll be sick in bed and we’ll have to nurse you. Let these men go hungry. They can standit. They’ve stood it for four years and it won’t hurt them to stand it a little while longer.”   Melanie turned to her and on her face was the first expression of naked emotion Scarlett hadever seen in those serene eyes.   “Oh, Scarlett, don’t scold me! Let me do it. You don’t know how it helps me. Every time I givesome poor man my share I think that maybe, somewhere on the road up north, some woman isgiving my Ashley a share of her dinner and it’s helping him to get home to me!”   “My Ashley.”   “Beloved, I am coming home to you.”   Scarlett turned away, wordless. After that, Melanie noticed there was more food on the tablewhen guests were present, even though Scarlett might grudge them every mouthful.   When the soldiers were too ill to go on, and there were many such, Scarlett put them to bed withnone too good grace. Each sick man meant another mouth to feed. Someone had to nurse him andthat meant one less worker at the business of fence building, hoeing, weeding and plowing. Oneboy, on whose face a blond fuzz had just begun to sprout, was dumped on the front porch by amounted soldier bound for Fayetteville. He had found him unconscious by the roadside and hadbrought him, across his saddle, to Tara, the nearest house. The girls thought he must be one of thelittle cadets who had been called out of military school when Sherman approached Milledgevillebut they never knew, for he died without regaining consciousness and a search of his pocketsyielded no information.   A nice-looking boy, obviously a gentleman, and somewhere to the south, some woman waswatching the roads, wondering where he was and when he was coming home, just as she andMelanie, with a wild hope in their hearts, watched every bearded figure that came up their walk.   They buried the cadet in the family burying ground, next to the three little O’Hara boys, andMelanie cried sharply as Pork filled in the grave, wondering in her heart if strangers were doing this same thing to the tall body of Ashley.   Will Benteen was another soldier, like the nameless boy, who arrived unconscious across thesaddle of a comrade. Will was acutely ill with pneumonia and when the girls put him to bed, theyfeared he would soon join the boy in the burying ground.   He had the sallow malarial face of the south Georgia Cracker, pale pinkish hair and washed-outblue eyes which even in delirium were patient and mild. One of his legs was gone at the knee andto the stump was fitted a roughly whittled wooden peg. He was obviously a Cracker, just as theboy they had buried so short a while ago was obviously a planter’s son. Just how the girls knewthis they could not say. Certainly Will was no dirtier, no more hairy, no more lice infested thanmany fine gentlemen who came to Tara. Certainly the language he used in his delirium was no lessgrammatical than that of the Tarleton twins. But they knew instinctively, as they knewthoroughbred horses from scrubs, that he was not of their class. But this knowledge did not keepthem from laboring to save him.   Emaciated from a year in a Yankee prison, exhausted by his long tramp on his ill-fitting woodenpeg, he had little strength to combat pneumonia and for days he lay in the bed moaning, trying toget up, fighting battles over again. Never once did he call for mother, wife, sister or sweetheart andthis omission worried Carreen.   “A man ought to have some folks,” she said. “And he sounds like he didn’t have a soul in theworld.”   For all his lankiness he was tough, and good nursing pulled him through. The day came whenhis pale blue eyes, perfectly cognizant of his surroundings, fell upon Carreen sitting beside him,telling her rosary beads, the morning sun shining through her fair hair.   “Then you warn’t a dream, after all,” he said, in his flat toneless voice. “I hope I ain’t troubledyou too much, Ma’m.”   His convalescence was a long one and he lay quietly looking out of the window at the magnoliasand causing very little trouble to anyone. Carreen liked him because of his placid andunembarrassed silences. She would sit beside him through the long hot afternoons, fanning himand saying nothing.   Carreen had very little to say these days as she moved, delicate and wraithlike, about the taskswhich were within her strength. She prayed a good deal, for when Scarlett came into her roomwithout knocking, she always found her on her knees by her bed. The sight never failed to annoyher, for Scarlett felt that the time for prayer had passed. If God had seen fit to punish them so, thenGod could very well do without prayers. Religion had always been a bargaining process withScarlett. She promised God good behavior in exchange for favors. God had broken the bargaintime and again, to her way of thinking, and she felt that she owed Him nothing at all now. Andwhenever she found Carreen on her knees when she should have been taking an afternoon nap ordoing the mending, she felt that Carreen was shirking her share of the burdens.   She said as much to Will Benteen one afternoon when he was able to sit up in a chair and wasstartled when he said in his flat voice: “Let her be, Miss Scarlett. It comforts her.”   “Comforts her?”   “Yes, she’s prayin’ for your ma and him.”   “Who is ‘him’?”   His faded blue eyes looked at her from under sandy lashes without surprise. Nothing seemed tosurprise or excite him. Perhaps he had seen too much of the unexpected ever to be startled again.   That Scarlett did not know what was in her sister’s heart did not seem odd to him. He took it asnaturally as he did the fact that Carreen had found comfort in talking to him, a stranger.   “Her beau, that boy Brent something-or-other who was killed at Gettysburg.”   “Her beau?” said Scarlett shortly. “Her beau, nothing! He and his brother were my beaux.”   “Yes, so she told me. Looks like most of the County was your beaux. But, all the same, he washer beau after you turned him down, because when he come home on his last furlough they gotengaged. She said he was the only boy she’d ever cared about and so it kind of comforts her topray for him.”   “Well, fiddle-dee-dee!” said Scarlett, a very small dart of jealousy entering her.   She looked curiously at this lanky man with his bony stooped shoulders, his pinkish hair andcalm unwavering eyes. So he knew things about her own family which she had not troubled todiscover. So that was why Carreen mooned about, praying all the time. Well, she’d get over it. Lotsof girls got over dead sweethearts, yes, dead husbands, too. She’d certainly gotten over Charles.   And she knew one girl in Atlanta who had been widowed three times by the war and was still ableto take notice of men. She said as much to Will but he shook his head.   “Not Miss Carreen,” he said with finality.   Will was pleasant to talk to because he had so little to say and yet was so understanding alistener. She told him about her problems of weeding and hoeing and planting, of fattening thehogs and breeding the cow, and he gave good advice for he had owned a small farm in southGeorgia and two negroes. He knew his slaves were free now and the farm gone to weeds andseedling pines. His sister, his only relative, had moved to Texas with her husband years ago and hewas alone in the world. Yet, none of these things seemed to bother him any more than the leg hehad left in Virginia.   Yes, Will was a comfort to Scarlett after hard days when the negroes muttered and Suellennagged and cried and Gerald asked too frequently where Ellen was. She could tell Will anything.   She even told him of killing the Yankee and glowed with pride when he commented briefly: “Goodwork!”   Eventually all the family found their way to Will’s room to air their troubles—even Mammy,who had at first been distant with him because he was not quality and had owned only two slaves.   When he was able to totter about the house, he turned his hands to weaving baskets of split oakand mending the furniture ruined by the Yankees. He was clever at whittling and Wade wasconstantly by his side, for he whittled out toys for him, the only toys the little boy had. With Willin the house, everyone felt safe in leaving Wade and the two babies while they went about theirtasks, for he could care for them as deftly as Mammy and only Melly surpassed him at soothing thescreaming black and white babies.   “You’ve been mighty good to me, Miss Scarlett,” he said, “and me a stranger and nothin’ to youall. I’ve caused you a heap of trouble and worry and if it’s all the same to you, I’m goin’ to stayhere and help you all with the work till I’ve paid you back some for your trouble. I can’t ever payit all, ‘cause there ain’t no payment a man can give for his life.”   So he stayed and, gradually, unobtrusively, a large part of the burden of Tara shifted fromScarlett’s shoulders to the bony shoulders of Will Benteen.   It was September and time to pick the cotton. Will Benteen sat on the front steps at Scarlett’sfeet in the pleasant sunshine of the. early autumn afternoon and his flat voice went on and onlanguidly about the exorbitant costs of ginning the cotton at the new gin near Fayetteville. However,he had learned that day in Fayetteville that he could cut this expense a fourth by lending thehorse and wagon for two weeks to the gin owner. He had delayed closing the bargain until hediscussed it with Scarlett.   She looked at the lank figure leaning against the porch column, chewing a straw. Undoubtedly,as Mammy frequently declared, Will was something the Lord had provided and Scarlett oftenwondered how Tara could have lived through the last few months without him. He never had muchto say, never displayed any energy, never seemed to take much interest in anything that went onabout him, but he knew everything about everybody at Tara. And he did things. He did themsilently, patiently and competently. Though he had only one leg, he could work faster than Pork.   And he could get work out of Pork, which was, to Scarlett, a marvelous thing. When the cow hadthe colic and the horse fell ill with mysterious ailment which threatened to remove him permanently fromthem,Willsatupnight(a) s with them and saved them. That he was a shrewd traderbrought him Scarlett’s respect, for he could ride out in the mornings with a bushel or two of apples,sweet potatoes and other vegetables and return with seeds, lengths of cloth, flour and other necessitieswhich she knew she could never have acquired, good trader though she was.   He had gradually slipped into the status of a member of the family and slept on a cot in the littledressing room off Gerald’s room. He said nothing of leaving Tara, and Scarlett was careful not toquestion him, fearful that he might leave them. Sometimes, she thought that if he were anybodyand had any gumption he would go home, even if he no longer had a home. But even with thisthought, she would pray fervently that he would remain indefinitely. It was so convenient to have aman about the house.   She thought, too, that if Carreen had the sense of a mouse she would see that Will cared for her.   Scarlett would have been eternally grateful to Will, had he asked her for Carreen’s hand. Of course,before the war, Will would certainly not have been an eligible suitor. He was not of the planterclass at all, though he was not poor white. He was just plain Cracker, a small farmer, half-educated,prone to grammatical and ignorant of of the finer the O’Haras were accustomedtoingentlemen.I(errors) nfact,Scarlettwondered(some) ifhecouldbecalleda(manners) gentleman at all anddecided that he couldn’t. Melanie hotly defended him, saying that anyone who had Will’s kindheart and thoughtfulness of others was of gentle birth. Scarlett knew that Ellen would have faintedat the thought of a daughter of hers marrying such a man, but now Scarlett had been by necessityforced too far away from Ellen’s teachings to let that worry her. Men were scarce, girls had to marry someone and Tara had to have a man. But Carreen, deeper and deeper immersed in herprayer book and every day losing more of her touch with the world of realities, treated Will asgently as a brother and took him as much for granted as she did Pork.   “If Carreen had any sense of gratitude to me for what I’ve done for her, she’d marry him and notlet him get away from here,” Scarlett thought indignantly. “But no, she must spend her timemooning about a silly boy who probably never gave her a serious thought.”   So Will remained at Tara, for what reason she did not know and she found his businesslike man-to-man attitude with her both pleasant and helpful. He was gravely deferential to the vague Geraldbut it was to Scarlett that he turned as the real head of the house.   She gave her approval to the plan of hiring out the horse even though it meant the family wouldbe without any means of transportation temporarily. Suellen would be especially grieved at this.   Her greatest joy lay in going to Jonesboro or Fayetteville with Will when he drove over onbusiness. Adorned in the assembled best of the family, she called on old friends, heard all thegossip of the County and felt herself again Miss O’Hara of Tara. Suellen never missed theopportunity to leave the plantation and give herself airs among people who did not know sheweeded the garden and made beds.   Miss Fine Airs will just have to do without gadding for two weeks, thought Scarlett, and we’llhave to put up with her nagging and her bawling.   Melanie joined them on the veranda, the baby in her arms, and spreading an old blanket on thefloor, set little Beau down to crawl. Since Ashley’s letter Melanie had divided her time betweenglowing, singing happiness and anxious longing. But happy or depressed, she was too thin, toowhite. She did her share of the work uncomplainingly but she was always ailing. Old Dr. Fontainediagnosed her trouble as female complaint and concurred with Dr. Meade in saying she shouldnever have had Beau. And he said frankly that another baby would kill her.   “When I was over to Fayetteville today,” said Will, “I found somethin’ right cute that I thoughtwould interest you ladies and I brought it home.” He fumbled in his back pants pocket and broughtout the wallet of calico, stiffened with bark, which Carreen had made him. From it, he drew aConfederate bill.   “If you think Confederate money is cute, Will, I certainly don’t,” said Scarlett shortly, for thevery sight of Confederate money made her mad. “We’ve got three thousand dollars of it in Pa’strunk this minute, and Mammy’s after me to let her paste it over the holes in the attic walls so thedraft won’t get her. And I think I’ll do it. Then it’ll be good for something.”   “ ‘Imperious Caesar, dead and turned to clay,’ ” said Melanie with a sad smile. “Don’t do that,Scarlett. Keep it for Wade. He’ll be proud of it some day.”   “Well, I don’t know nothin’ about imperious Caesar,” said Will, patiently, “but what I’ve got isin line with what you’ve just said about Wade, Miss Melly. It’s a poem, pasted on the back of thisbill. I know Miss Scarlett ain’t much on poems but I thought this might interest her.”   He turned the bill over. On its back was pasted a strip of coarse brown wrapping paper, inscribedin pale homemade ink. Will cleared his throat and read slowly and with difficulty.   “The name is ‘Lines on the Back of a Confederate Note,’ ” he said.   “RepresentingnothingonGod’searthnowAndnaughtinthewatersbelowit—Asthepledgeofnationthat’spassedawayKeepit,dearfriend,andshow it.   Show ittothosewho willllendanearTo thetalethistriflewillltelllOfLiberty,bornofpatriots’dream,Ofastorm-cradlednationthatfelll.”   “Oh, how beautiful! How touching!” cried Melanie. “Scarlett, you mustn’t give the money toMammy to paste in the attic. It’s more than paper—just like this poem said: ‘The pledge of anation that’s passed away!’ ”   “Oh, Melly, don’t be sentimental! Paper is paper and we’ve got little enough of it and I’m tiredof hearing Mammy grumble about the cracks in the attic. I hope when Wade grows up I’ll haveplenty of greenbacks to give him instead of Confederate trash.”   Will, who had been enticing little Beau across the blanket with the bill during this argument,looked up and, shading his eyes, glanced down the driveway.   “More company,” he said, squinting in the sun. “Another soldier.”   Scarlett followed his gaze and saw a familiar sight, a bearded man coming slowly up the avenueunder the cedars, a man clad in a ragged mixture of blue and gray uniforms, head bowed tiredly,feet dragging slowly.   “I thought we were about through with soldiers,” she said. “I hope this one isn’t very hungry.”   “He’ll be hungry,” said Will briefly.   Melanie rose.   “I’d better tell Dilcey to set an extra plate,” she said, “and warn Mammy not to get the poorthing’s clothes off his back too abruptly and—”   She stopped so suddenly that Scarlett turned to look at her. Melanie’s thin hand was at herthroat, clutching it as if it was torn with pain, and Scarlett could see the veins beneath the whiteskin throbbing swiftly. Her face went whiter and her brown eyes dilated enormously.   She’s going to faint, thought Scarlett, leaping to her feet and catching her arm.   But, in an instant, Melanie threw off her hand and was down the steps. Down the graveled pathshe flew, skimming lightly as a bird, her faded skirts streaming behind her, her arms outstretched.   Then, Scarlett knew the truth, with the impact of a blow. She reeled back against an upright of theporch as the man lifted a face covered with a dirty blond beard and stopped still, looking towardthe house as if he was too weary to take another step. Her heart leaped and stopped and then beganracing, as Melly with incoherent cries threw herself into the dirty soldier’s arms and his head bent down toward hers. With rapture, Scarlett took two running steps forward but was checked whenWill’s hand closed upon her skirt.   “Don’t spoil it,” he said quietly.   “Turn me loose, you fool! Turn me loose! It’s Ashley!”   He did not relax his grip.   “After all, he’s her husband, ain’t he?” Will asked calmly and, looking down at him in aconfusion of joy and impotent fury, Scarlett saw in the quiet depths of his eyes understanding andpity.   战争结束之后第一个炎热的夏天,突然塔拉的隔离状态被打破了。从那以后好几个月里,一些衣衫褴褛,满脸胡须、走坏了脚又往往饿着肚子的人,源源不绝地翻过红土山起来到塔拉农场,在屋前阴凉的台阶上休息,既要吃的又要在那里过夜。他们都是些复员回家的联盟军士兵。火车把约翰斯顿的残余部队从北卡罗来纳运到亚特兰大,在那里下车后就只好长途跋涉步行回家了。这股人流过去以后,从弗吉尼亚军队中来的一批疲惫的老兵又来了,然后是从西部军复员的人,他们要赶回南边去,虽然他们的家可能已不存在,他们的亲人也早已逃散或死掉了。他们大都走路,只有极少数幸运的人骑着投降协议允许保留的瘦骨嶙峋的马和骡子。不过全是些又羸又乏的畜生,即使一个外行人也能断定走不到弗罗里达和南佐治亚了。   回家去啊!回家去啊!这是士兵心中唯一的想法。有些人沉默忧郁,也有些人比较快活,他们没把困难放在心上,觉得一切都已过去,现在支持他们活下去的只有还乡一事了。很少有人表示怨恨,他们把怨恨留给自己的女人和老人了。但被打败了,他们已英勇地战斗过,现在很想起安地待下来,在他们为之战斗的旗帜下种地过日子。   回家去啊!回家去啊!他们别的什么也不谈,不谈打仗也不谈受伤,不谈坐牢也不谈今后。往后,他们可能还要打仗,要把他们曾经怎样搞恶作剧,怎样抢东西怎样冲锋和饿肚子,怎样连夜行军和受伤住院等等,通通告诉自己的儿子和孙子可是现在不谈这些。他们有的缺胳膊短腿,有的瞎了一只眼,但更多的人带着枪伤,如果他们活到七十岁,这些枪伤,是每到阴雨天就要痛的,不过现在还不要紧。至于以后,那就是另一回事了。   年老和年轻的,健谈的和沉默的,富农和森林地带憔悴的穷白人,他们都有两种共同的东西,既虱子和痢疾。联盟军士兵对于受虱子折磨的尴尬局面已习惯了,他们已经毫不介意,甚至在妇女面前也泰然自若地搔起来痒来,至于痢疾----妇女们巧妙地称之为"血污"----那仿佛对谁也不饶过,从小兵到将军一视同仁。为时四年的半饥半饱状态,四年粗糙的、半生不熟和腐烂发酸的配给食品,对这些人起到了应有的作用,以致每个在亚特兰大停留的士兵要么刚在逐渐康复,要么还病得厉害。   “他联盟军部队里就没一个肚子是好的。"嬷嬷一面流着汗在炉子上煎黑莓根汤药,一面这样苛刻地评论。黑莓根是爱伦生前拿来治这种病的主要药方,嬷嬷当然学会了。"据俺看,打垮咱们部队的不是北方佬,倒是咱们自家的肚肠。先生们总不能一面拉肚子一面打仗嘛。"嬷嬷给他们所有的人,吃这个药方,也不问他们的肠胃情况究竟怎样;所有的人都乖乖地皱着眉头吃她给的这种黑汤,也许还记得在很远的地方曾经也有这样严厉的黑女人用无情的手喂他们吃过药呢。   嬷嬷在住宿方面的态度也一样坚决。凡是身上有虱子的士兵都不许进入塔拉农常她把他们赶到后面丛密的灌木林里。   给他们一盆和一块含强碱的肥皂,叫他们脱下军服,好好洗浴一番,还准备了被褥和床单让他们把赤裸的身子暂时覆盖住,这时她用一口大锅把他们的衣服煮起来,直到虱子彻底消灭为止。姑娘们热烈争论,说这样做使士兵们太丢脸了,嬷嬷说,要是将来姑娘们发现自己也有虱子,不是更丢脸吗?   等到每天都有士兵到达的时候,嬷嬷就提出抗议,反对让他们使用卧室。她总是害怕有个虱子逃过了他的惩处。思嘉知道跟她争论也无济于事,便把那间铺了厚天鹅绒地毯的客厅改宿舍。嬷嬷认为让这些大兵睡在爱伦亲手编织的地毯上简直是一种亵渎行为,便大嚷大叫起来,可是思嘉仍很坚决。他们总得有个地方睡嘛。而且,几个月来,地毯上的绒毛已开始出现磨损的迹象,尤其是鞋跟践踏和靴刺不小心划着的地方,连那下面的线纹也快露出来了。   她们急切地向每个士兵打听艾希礼的消息。苏伦也克制着经常探询肯尼迪先生的情况。可是这些士兵谁也没听说过他们,同时也不想谈失踪的事。只要他们自己还活着就够了,谁还高兴去管成千上万没有标明姓氏的坟。   每次打听没有结果的时候,全家人都支持媚兰不要灰心丧气。当然,艾希礼没有死在狱中。如果他真的死了,北方佬监狱里的牧师会写信的。当然他快要回来了,不过他所在的监狱离这里远着呢。可不,坐火车也得几天呢,艾希礼如果也像这些人是步行的话……那他干吗没写信呢?唔,亲爱的,你知道现今的邮路是个什么情况----即使在那些已经恢复了的地方也很不可靠;丢三落四的。不过也许----也许他在回家的路上死了呢。要是那样,媚兰,也一定会有北方佬女人写信告诉我们嘛!……北方佬女人,呸!……媚兰,北方佬女人也有好的呀。唔,是的,是有的!上帝不可能让整个一个民族没有几位好的妇女在里面呢!思嘉,你记得在萨拉托加那一次,我们不是就遇见了一个很好的北方佬女人吗?----思嘉跟媚兰谈谈那个女人吧!"“好吗,去你的吧!"思嘉答道:“她问我们家养了几只猎狗用来追赶黑人呢!我同意媚兰的看法。无论男的女的,我从没见过一个好的北方佬,不过你别哭,媚兰,艾希礼会回来的。因为要走很远的路,而且可能----可能他没有弄到靴子呢。"想到艾希礼在光脚走路,于是思嘉也快哭了。让别的士兵穿着破衣烂衫,用麻布袋和破毡条裹着脚,一瘸一拐去走路吧,但艾希礼可不行:他应当骑一匹风驰电掣般的快马,穿着整洁的戎装,登着雪亮的靴子,帽子上插着羽毛,威风凛凛地赶回家来。要是设想艾希礼也已经沦落到像这些士兵一样的境遇,那是她把自己大大地贬低了。   六月间的一个下午,所有塔拉农场的人都聚在后面走廊上,急切地看着波克将头一个半熟的西瓜打开,这时忽然他们听见屋前车道上马蹄踏着碎石的声音,百里茜没精打采地动身朝前门走去,其余的人留在后面热烈争论,如果门外的来客又是一个士兵的话,究竟要不要把西瓜藏起来,或者留到晚餐时再吃。   媚兰和卡琳在小声嘀咕,说士兵也应当分给一份,可思嘉在苏伦和嬷嬷的支持下示意波克快去把西瓜藏起来。   “姑娘们!别傻了,实际上还不够我们自己吃呢,要是外面还有两三个饿急了的士兵,我们大家连尝一口的希望也没有了,"思嘉说。   波克紧抱着那小西瓜站在那里,不知究竟怎么办好,这时恰巧听见百里茜在大声喊叫。   “思嘉小姐!媚兰小姐!快出来呀!我的上帝!"“那是谁呢?"思嘉惊叫道,一面从台阶上跳起来奔过堂直往外跑,媚兰紧跟着她,别的人也随即一哄而出。   她想一定是艾希礼。唔,也许----   “是彼得大叔呢!皮蒂帕特小姐家的彼得大叔!"他们一起向前面走廊上奔去,看见皮蒂姑妈家那那个头发花白的高个子老暴君,正在从一匹尾巴细长的老马背上爬下来,老马背上还捆着一块皮褥当马鞍呢。他那张宽宽的黑脸上,即有习惯的庄严也有看见老朋友的欢乐,两相争斗,结果就使得他额头皱成了几道深沟,而他的嘴却像没牙的老猎狗似的咧开了。   人人都跑下台阶欢迎他,不管黑人白人都争着跟他握手,提出问题,但是媚兰的声音比谁都响。   “姑妈没生病吧,是吗?”   “没有,太太。只是有点不舒坦,感谢上帝!"彼得回答说,先是严厉地看一眼媚兰,接着看看思嘉,这样她们便忽然感到内疚,可是也不明白是什么原因。“她不怎么舒坦,但她对你们两位年轻小姐很生气,而且认真说起来,俺也有气。““怎么,彼得大叔!究竟是什么----"“你们都休想为你们自己辩护。皮蒂小姐不是给你们写过信,叫你们回去吗?俺不是看见她边写边哭,可你们总是回信说这个老种植园事情太忙,回不去吗?"“彼得大叔,不过----"“你们怎能把皮蒂小姐一个人丢开不管,让她担惊受怕呢?你们和俺一样很清楚,她从没一个人生活过,从梅肯回来后就一直挪着两只小脚走来走去。她叫俺来老实告诉你们,她真不明白你们怎么在她最困难的时候把她给抛弃了。"“好,别说了!"嬷嬷尖刻地说,在旁边听人家把塔拉叫做"老种植园",她便再也按捺不住了。毫无疑问的,一个生长在城里的黑人弄不清农场和种植园的区别。"难道俺没有困难的时候了?俺这里就不需要思嘉小姐和媚兰小姐而且需要得厉害?皮蒂小姐要是真的需要,怎么没去请求她哥哥帮助呢?”彼得大叔狠狠地瞪了她一眼。   “我们已经多年不跟享利先生打交道了,何况我们现在已老得走不动了。"他回过头来看着几位姑娘。她们正强忍着笑呢。"你们年轻小姐们应当感到羞耻,把可怜的皮蒂小姐单独丢在那里。她的朋友半数都死了,另一半住在梅肯,加上亚特兰大到处都是北方佬大兵和新放出来的下流黑人。"两位姑娘硬着头皮尽量忍受着彼得大叔的谴责,可是一想到皮蒂姑妈会打发彼得来责备她们,并要把她们带回亚特兰大去,便觉得有点太过份,实在克制不住了。她们不由得前俯后仰地大笑起来,彼此靠着肩膀才没有倒下去。自然,波克、迪尔茜和嬷嬷听见这位对她们亲爱的塔拉妄加诽谤的人受到了藐视,也乐得大声哄笑了一阵。苏伦和卡琳也格格地笑着,连杰拉尔德的脸上也露笑容了。人人都在笑,只有彼得除外,他感到万分难堪,两只笨大的八字脚交替挪动着,不知怎样摆好。   “黑老头儿,你怎么了?"嬷嬷咧着嘴问。"难道你老得连自己的女主人也保护不好了?“彼得深感受了侮辱。   “老了!我老了?不,太太!我还能跟往常一样保护皮蒂小姐呢。我逃难时不是一路护送她到梅肯了吗?北方佬打到梅肯时,她吓得整天晕过去,不是我保护着她吗?不是我弄到了这匹老马把她带回亚特兰大,并且一路保护着她和她爸的银器吗?"彼得挺着身子站得笔直,理直气壮地为自己辩护,"我不要谈什么保护。我谈的是态度如何。"“谁的态度呢?”“我谈的是有些人采取的态度,眼见皮蒂小姐独个儿住在那里。对于那些独个儿生活的未婚姑娘人们尽说坏话呢,"彼得继续说,他的话你听起来很明显,皮蒂帕特在他心目中还是个十六岁的丰满迷人的小姐呢,因此她得有人保护不受别人的议论。"我是决不让人家议论她的。不,太太……我已经跟她说过了,我也决不让他请人住进来给自己作伴。我已经跟她说过了。'现在你还有自己的亲骨肉,她们适合来陪伴你呢',我说。可如今她的亲骨肉拒绝她了。皮蒂小姐只不过是个孩子罢了,而且----"思嘉和媚兰听到这里,笑得更响了,由于支持不住,便一起坐到了台阶上。最后媚兰才把欢乐的眼泪拭掉,开口说话。   “我对不起笑了你了,可怜的彼得大叔啊!千真万确的。   你看!请饶恕我吧。思嘉小姐和我目前还回不去。也许九月间收过棉花以后我能走成。姑妈打发你一路跑来,难道就是要让这把瘦骨把我们带回去呀?"被她这样一问,彼得下巴立即耷拉下来,那张皱巴巴的黑脸上也露出又抱歉又狼狈的神情,他突出的下嘴唇即刻缩回去,就像乌龟把头缩进壳底下似的。   “我说过我已经老了,媚兰小姐,我一时间干脆忘了她打发我干什么来了,可那是很重要的呢。我给你带了封信来。皮蒂小姐不信任邮局或任何别的人,专门叫我来送,而且----“"一封信?给我?谁的?"“唔,那是----皮蒂小姐,她对我说,'彼得,你,轻轻地告诉媚兰小姐,'我说----"媚兰一只手放在胸口从台阶上站起身来。   “艾希礼!艾希礼!他死了!”   “没有,太太!没有,太太!"彼得叫嚷着,他的声音提高到了嘶喊的地步,一面在破上衣胸前的口袋里摸索。"这就是他寄来的信。他活着呢,他快要回来了。他----我的上帝!   搀住她,嬷嬷!让我----”   “你这老笨蛋!不许你碰她!"嬷嬷怒气冲冲地吼着,一面挣扎着扶住媚兰瘫软的身子不让她倒下。"你这个假正经的黑猴子!还说轻轻地告诉她呢!你抱住她的脚,波克。卡琳,托住她的头。咱们把她抬到客厅里的沙发上去。"除思嘉以外,所有的人都围着晕倒的媚兰手忙脚乱,七嘴八舌地大声嚷嚷,有的跑去打水,有的跑去拿枕头,一时间思嘉和彼得大叔两人给留在人行道上没人管了。思嘉站在原来的地方,像生了根似的,她是听到彼得谈起艾希礼时一下跳过来的,可现在也给吓得不能动弹了。只瞪大眼睛望着彼得手里那封颤动的信发呆。彼得像个受了母亲责骂的孩子似的,那张又老又黑的面孔显得十分可怜。他那庄严的神气已经彻底垮了。   她一时说不出话来,也挪不动脚,尽管思嘉在心里喊叫:“他没有死!他快回来了!”这消息给她带来的既不是喜悦也不是激动,而是一种目蹬口呆的麻木状态。彼得大叔这时说话了,他的声音犹如自一个遥远的地方起来,既带有哀愁又给人以安慰。   “我们的一个亲戚威利•伯尔先生给皮蒂小姐带了这封信来。威利先生跟艾希礼先生呆在同一个牢房里,威利先生弄到一骑马,所以他很快就回来了。可艾希礼先生是走路,所以----"思嘉从他手里把信抢过来,信封上写的收信人是媚兰,是皮蒂小姐的手笔,不过对此她毫不犹疑,便把它拆开了,里面一个由皮蒂小姐封入了字条随即掉落在地上。信封里装着一张折叠的信笺,因为被带信人揣在肮脏的口袋里弄得灰糊糊的而且有点破了。艾希礼开头是这样写的:“佐治亚亚特兰大萨拉•简•汉密尔顿小姐转,或琼斯博罗'十二橡树'村,乔治•艾希礼•威尔克斯太太收。"她颤抖地手把信笺打开,默默地读道:“亲爱的,我就要回到你身边来了----"眼泪开始潸然下流,她没法再读下去。她只觉得心在发胀,顿时高兴得无法克制自己了。于是她抓住那封信贴在胸口,迅速跳上台阶,跑进穿堂,经过那间闹哄哄的客厅,径直来到爱伦的办事房。此时塔拉农场所有的人都还拥挤在客厅里为打救不省人事的媚兰忙碌着呢。可思嘉不管这些。她把门关好,锁上,猛地倒在那张下塌的旧沙发里,哭着,笑着,吻着那封信。   “亲爱的,我就要回到你身边了,"她悄悄地念着。   人们凭常识也知道,除非艾希礼长了翅膀,否则他要从伊利诺斯回到佐治亚就得走好几个星期,甚至几个月,不过大家还是天天盼望,只要军人在塔拉的林荫道上出现,心就禁不住急跳起来。仿佛每一个破衣衫的人都可能是艾希礼,即使不是艾希礼,那个士兵也许知道一点艾希礼的消息,或者带来了皮蒂姑妈写的一封有关他的信。不分黑人白人,每一次听到脚步声他们就向前面走廊上奔去。只要看到一个穿军服的人影,每个在柴堆旁、在牧场上和在棉花地里劳动的人,就有理由飞跑过去了。收到那封信以后的一个月里,农田里的活儿已几乎陷于停顿状态。因为谁都不愿意当艾希礼到家时自己不在屋里。思嘉是最不愿意碰上这种情况的人,既然自己如此安心工作。她也就没法坚持要别人认真劳动了。   但是一个一个星期过去,艾希礼还是没有回来,也没有什么消息,于是塔拉农场又恢复了原先的秩序。渴望的心情也只能到这种地步。不过思嘉心里产生了一种恐惧感,那就是担心艾希礼在路上出了什么事。罗克艾兰离这里那么远,可能他获释出狱时身体就十分虚弱或者有病呢。而且他身边无钱,所走过的区域又都是憎恨联盟军的地方。要是她知道他如今在哪里,她倒愿意寄钱给他,把她手头所有的钱都寄去,哪怕让全家的人都饿肚子也罢,只要他能够坐火车赶回来就行了。   “亲爱的,我就要回到你身边来了。”   在她刚看到这句话便引起第一阵喜悦中,它好像只意味着他就要回到她身边来了。可现在比较理智而冷静地想起来,才发现他原来是要回到媚兰身边来呢。媚兰最近总是在屋子里到处走动,高兴地唱个不停。有时思嘉恨恨地想起,为什么媚兰在亚特兰大生孩子时竟没有死呀?要是死了,事情就全然不同了!那样她就可以在一个适当的时期以后嫁给艾希礼,将小博也作为一个很好的前娘儿子抚养起来。每当想到这些,她也并不急于向上帝祈祷,告诉他她不是这个意思,她对上帝已不再害怕了。   士兵还陆陆续续地来,有时一个两个,有时十几二十个,一般都饿肚子。思嘉绝望地觉得这比经受一次蝗灾还要可怕。   这时她又诅咒起那种好客的习惯来。那是富裕时代盛行起来的,它规定对任何一个旅客,不分贵贱都得留下住一晚,以尽可能体面的方式连人带马好好地款待一番。她知道那个时代已经永远过去了,可是家里其余的人却不这样想,那些士兵也不这样想,所以每个士兵照样受欢迎,仿佛是盼望已久的客人似的。   士兵没完没了地经过,她的心肠便渐渐硬了。他们吃的是塔拉农场养家糊口的粮食,思嘉辛辛苦苦种下的蔬菜,以及她从远处买来的食品。这些东西得来如此不易,而且那个北方佬皮夹里的钱也不是用不完的。现在只剩下少数的联邦钞票和那两个金币了。她干吗要养活这群饿痨鬼呢?战争已经结束。他们再也没有保卫她的安全的作用了。因此,她命令波克,凡是家里来士兵,伙食必须尽量节俭一些。这个命令一生效,她便发现媚兰说服波克在她的盘子里只盛上少量的食品,剩下的大部分口粮全给了士兵,自从生了孩子以来,媚兰身体还一直很虚弱呢。   “媚兰,你不能再这样了,"思嘉责骂她。"你自己还有病在身,如果不多吃一点,你就会躺倒了,那时我们还得服侍你,让这些人挨饿去吧。他们经受得起,他们已经熬了四年,再多熬一会也无妨的。"媚兰回头看着她,脸上流露出她头一次从这双宁静的眼睛里看到的公然表示激动的神情。   “啊,请不要责怪我!思嘉,让我这样做吧。你不知道这使我多么高兴。每次我给一个挨饿的人吃一部分我的食品,我就想也许在路上什么地方有个女人把她的午餐给了我的艾希礼一点,帮助他早日回家来。"“我的艾希礼。"“亲爱的,我就要回到你身边来了。"思嘉一声不响地走开了。媚兰注意到从那以后家里有客人时餐桌上的食品丰富了些。即使思嘉每吃一口都要抱怨。   有时那些士兵病得走不动了,而且这是常有的事,思嘉便让他们躺在床上,但不怎么照顾。因为每留下一个病人就是添一张要你给饭吃的嘴。还得有人去护理他,这就意味着少一个劳动力来打篱笆、锄地、拔草和犁田。有个脸上刚刚开始长出浅色茸毛的小伙子,被一个到费耶特维尔去的骑兵卸在前面走廊上,骑兵发现他昏迷不醒,躺在大路边,便把他横塔在马鞍上带到最近的一户人家塔拉农常姑娘们认为他肯定是谢尔曼逼近米列奇维尔时从军事学校征调出来的一个学生。可是结果谁也没弄清楚,因为他没有恢复知觉便死了,而且从他的口袋里也找不出什么线索来。   那小伙子长相很好,显然是个上等人家的子弟,而且是南部什么地方的人,那儿一定有位妇女在守望着各条大路,琢磨着他究竟在哪里。何时会回家来,就像思嘉和媚兰怀着急不可耐的心情注视着每一个来到她们屋前的有胡子的人那样。她们把这个小伙子埋葬在她们家墓地里,紧靠着奥哈拉的三个孩子。当波克往墓穴填土时,媚兰不住放声恸哭,心想不知有没有什么陌生人也在给艾希礼的长长的身躯同样处理呢。   还有一个士兵叫威尔•本廷,也像那个无名无姓的小伙子,是在昏迷中由一个同伙放在马鞍上带来的。威尔得了肺炎,病情严重,姑娘们把他抬到床上时,担心他很快就会进墓地跟那个小伙子作伴。   他有一张南佐治亚山地穷白人痢疾患者的蜡黄脸,淡红色的头发,一双没精打彩的蓝眼睛,即使在昏迷中也显得坚忍而温和。他有一条腿被平膝截掉了,马马虎虎地装上了一段木头。他显然是个山地穷白人,就像她们刚埋葬的那个小伙子显然是个农场主的儿子一样。至于为什么姑娘们会知道这个,那就很难说了。可以肯定的是威尔跟许多到塔拉来的上等人比较起来,他决不比他们更脏,或者身上有更多的毛和虱子。可以肯定的是,他在胡言乱语时用的语言决不比塔尔顿家那对孪生兄弟的语言更蹩脚。不过她们也很清楚,就像她们分得出纯种马和劣等马一样,他决不是她们这个阶级的人。然而,这并不妨碍她们尽力挽救他。   在经受了北方佬监狱一年的折磨,拐着那条安装得很糟的木制假腿步行了那么远之后,他已经十分疲惫,几乎没有一点力气来跟痢疾作斗争了。因此他躺在床上呻吟好几天,挣扎着要爬起来,再一次进行战斗。他始终没有叫过母亲、妻子、姐妹或情人一声,这一点是很 Chapter 31 ON A COLD January afternoon in 1866, Scarlett sat in the office writing a letter to Aunt Pitty,explaining in detail for the tenth time why neither she, Melanie nor Ashley could come back toAtlanta to live with her. She wrote impatiently because she knew Aunt Pitty would read no fartherthan the opening lines and then write her again, wailing: “But I’m afraid to live by myself!”   Her hands were chilled and she paused to rub them together and to scuff her feet deeper into thestrip of old quilting wrapped about them. The soles of her slippers were practically gone and werereinforced with pieces of carpet. The carpet kept her feet off the floor but did little to keep themwarm. That morning Will had taken the horse to Jonesboro to get him shod. Scarlett thoughtgrimly that things were indeed at a pretty pass when horses had shoes and people’s feet were asbare as yard dogs’.   She picked up her quill to resume her writing but laid it down when she heard Will coming in atthe back door. She heard the thump-thump of his wooden leg in the hall outside the office and thenhe stopped. She waited for a moment for him to enter and when he made no move she called tohim. He came in, his ears red from the cold, his pinkish hair awry, and stood looking down at her, afaintly humorous smile on his lips.   “Miss Scarlett,” he questioned, “just how much cash money have you got?”   “Are you going to try to marry me for my money, Will?” she asked somewhat crossly.   “No, Ma’m. But I just wanted to know.”   She stared at him inquiringly. Will didn’t look serious, but then he never looked serious.   However, she felt that something was wrong.   “I’ve got ten dollars in gold,” she said. “The last of that Yankee’s money.”   “Well, Ma’m, that won’t be enough.”   “Enough for what?”   “Enough for the taxes,” he answered and, stumping over to the fireplace, he leaned down andheld his red hands to the blaze.   “Taxes?” she repeated. “Name of God, Will! We’ve already paid the taxes.”   “Yes’m. But they say you didn’t pay enough. I heard about it today over to Jonesboro.”   “But, Will, I can’t understand. What do you mean?”   “Miss Scarlett, I sure hate to bother you with more trouble when you’ve had your share but I’vegot to tell you. They say you ought to paid lots more taxes than you did. They’re runnin’ theassessment up on Tara sky high—higher than any in the County, I’ll be bound.”   “But they can’t make us pay more taxes when we’ve already paid them once.”   “Miss Scarlett, you don’t never go to Jonesboro often and I’m glad you don’t. It ain’t no placefor a lady these days. But if you’d been there much, you’d know there’s a mighty rough bunch ofScallawags and Republicans and Carpetbaggers been runnin’ things recently. They’d make youmad enough to pop. And then, too, niggers pushin’ white folks off the sidewalks and—”   “But what’s that got to do with our taxes?”   “I’m gettin’ to it, Miss Scarlett. For some reason the rascals have histed the taxes on Tara tillyou’d think it was a thousand-bale place. After I heard about it, I sorter oozed around the barroomspickin’ up gossip and I found out that somebody wants to buy in Tara cheap at the sheriffs sale, ifyou can’t pay the extra taxes. And everybody knows pretty well that you can’t pay them. I don’tknow yet who it is wants this place. I couldn’t find out. But I think that pusillanimous feller,Hilton, that married Miss Cathleen knows, because he laughed kind of nasty when I tried to soundhim out.”   Will sat down on the sofa and rubbed the stump of his leg. It ached in cold weather and thewooden peg was neither well padded nor comfortable. Scarlett looked at him wildly. His mannerwas so casual when he was sounding the death knell of Tara. Sold out at the sheriff’s sale? Wherewould they all go? And Tara belonging to some one else! No, that was unthinkable!   She had been so engrossed with the job of making Tara produce she had paid little heed to whatwas going on in the world outside. Now that she had Will and Ashley to attend to whateverbusiness she might have in Jonesboro and Fayetteville, she seldom left the plantation. And even asshe had listened with deaf ears to her father’s war talk in the days before the war came, so she hadpaid little heed to Will and Ashley’s discussions around the table after supper about the beginningsof Reconstruction.   Oh, of course, she knew about the Scalawags—Southerners who had turned Republican veryprofitably—and the Carpetbaggers, those Yankees who came South like buzzards after thesurrender with all their worldly possessions in one carpetbag. And she had had a few unpleasantexperiences with the Freedmen’s Bureau. She had gathered, also, that some of the free negroeswere getting quite insolent. This last she could hardly believe, for she had never seen an insolentnegro in her life.   But there were many things which Will and Ashley had conspired to keep from her. The scourgeof war had been followed by the worse scourge of Reconstruction, but the two men had agreed notto mention the more alarming details when they discussed the situation at home. And when Scarletttook the trouble to listen to them at all, most of what they said went in one ear and out the other.   She had heard Ashley say that the South was being treated as a conquered province and thatvindictiveness was the dominant policy of the conquerors. But that was the kind of statementwhich meant less than nothing at all to Scarlett. Politics was men’s business. She had heard Willsay it looked to him like the North just wasn’t aiming to let the South get on its feet again. Well,thought Scarlett, men always had to have something foolish to worry about. As far as she wasconcerned, the Yankees hadn’t whipped her once and they wouldn’t do it this time. The thing to dowas to work like the devil and stop worrying about the Yankee government. After all, the war wasover.   Scarlett did not realize that all the rules of the game had been changed and that honest laborcould no longer earn its just reward. Georgia was virtually under martial law now. The Yankeesoldiers garrisoned throughout the section and the Freedmen’s Bureau were in complete commandof everything and they were fixing the rules to suit themselves.   This Bureau, organized by the Federal government to take care of the idle and excited ex-slaves,was drawing them from the plantations into the villages and cities by the thousands. The Bureaufed them while they loafed and poisoned their minds against their former owners. Gerald’s oldoverseer, Jonas Wilkerson, was in charge of the local Bureau, and his assistant was Hilton,Cathleen Calvert’s husband. These two industriously spread the rumor that the Southerners andDemocrats were just waiting for a good chance to put the negroes back into slavery and that thenegroes’ only hope of escaping this fate was the protection given them by the Bureau and theRepublican party.   Wilkerson and Hilton furthermore told the negroes they were as good as the whites in every wayand soon white and negro marriages would be permitted, soon the estates of their former ownerswould be divided and every negro would be given forty acres and a mule for his own. They keptthe negroes stirred up with tales of cruelty perpetrated by the whites and, in a section long famedfor the affectionate relations between slaves and slave owners, hate and suspicion began to grow.   The Bureau was backed up by the soldiers and the military had issued many and conflictingorders governing the conduct of the conquered. It was easy to get arrested, even for snubbing theofficials of the Bureau. Military orders had been promulgated concerning the schools, sanitation,the kind of buttons one wore on one’s suit, the sale of commodities and nearly everything else.   Wilkerson and Hilton had the power to interfere in any trade Scarlett might make and to fix theirown prices on anything she sold or swapped.   Fortunately Scarlett had come into contact with the two men very little, for Will had persuadedher to let him handle the trading while she managed the plantation. In his mild-tempered way, Willhad straightened out several difficulties of this kind and said nothing to her about them. Will couldget along with Carpetbaggers and Yankees—if he had to. But now a problem had arisen which wastoo big for him to handle. The extra tax assessment and the danger of losing Tara were mattersScarlett had to know about—and right away.   She looked at him with flashing eyes.   “Oh, damn the Yankees!” she cried. “Isn’t it enough that they’ve licked us and beggared uswithout turning loose scoundrels on us?”   The war was over, peace had been declared, but the Yankees could still rob her, they could stillstarve her, they could still drive her from her house. And fool that she was, she had thoughtthrough weary months that if she could just hold out until spring, everything would be all right.   This crushing news brought by Will, coming on top of a year of back-breaking work and hopedeferred, was the last straw.   “Oh, Will, and I thought our troubles were all over when the war ended!”   “No’m.” Will raised his lantern-jawed, country-looking face and gave her a long steady look.   “Our troubles are just gettin’ started.”   “How much extra taxes do they want us to pay?”   “Three hundred dollars.”   She was struck dumb for a moment. Three hundred dollars! It might just as well be three milliondollars.   “Why,” she floundered, “why—why, then we’ve got to raise three hundred, somehow.”   “Yes’m—add a rainbow and a moon or two.”   “Oh, but Will! They couldn’t sell out Tara. Why—”   His mild pale eyes showed more hate and bitterness than she thought possible.   “Oh, couldn’t they? Well, they could and they will and they’ll like doin’ it! Miss Scarlett, thecountry’s gone plumb to hell, if you’ll pardon me. Those Carpetbaggers and Scalawags can voteand most of us Democrats can’t. Can’t no Democrat in this state vote if he was on the tax books formore than two thousand dollars in ‘sixty-five. That lets out folks like your pa and Mr. Tarleton andthe McRaes and the Fontaine boys. Can’t nobody vote who was a colonel and over in the war and,Miss Scarlett, I bet this state’s got more colonels than any state in the Confederacy. And can’tnobody vote who held office under the Confederate government and that lets out everybody fromthe notaries to the judges, and the woods are full of folks like that. Fact is, the way the Yankeeshave framed up that amnesty oath, can’t nobody who was somebody before the war vote at all. Notthe smart folks nor the quality folks nor the rich folks.   “Huh! I could vote if I took their damned oath. I didn’t have any money in ‘sixty-five and Icertainly warn’t a colonel or nothin’ remarkable. But I ain’t goin’ to take their oath. Not by adinged sight! If the Yankees had acted right, I’d have taken their oath of allegiance but I ain’t now.   I can be restored to the Union but I can’t be reconstructed into it. I ain’t goin’ to take their oatheven if I don’t never vote again— But scum like that Hilton feller, he can vote, and scoundrels likeJonas Wilkerson and pore whites like the Slatterys and no-counts like the Macintoshes, they canvote. And they’re runnin’ things now. And if they want to come down on you for extra taxes adozen times, they can do it. Just like a nigger can kill a white man and not get hung or—” Hepaused, embarrassed, and the memory of what had happened to a lone white woman on an isolatedfarm near Lovejoy was in both their minds. ... “Those niggers can do anything against us and theFreedmen’s Bureau and the soldiers will back them up with guns and we can’t vote or do nothin’   about it.”   “Vote!” she cried. “Vote! What on earth has voting got to do with all this, Will? It’s taxes we’re talking about. ... Will, everybody knows what a good plantation Tara is. We could mortgage it forenough to pay the taxes, if we had to.”   “Miss Scarlett, you ain’t any fool but sometimes you talk like one. Who’s got any money to lendyou on this property? Who except the Carpetbaggers who are tryin’ to take Tara away from you?   Why, everybody’s got land. Everybody’s land pore. You can’t give away land.”   “I’ve got those diamond earbobs I got off that Yankee. We could sell them.”   “Miss Scarlett, who ‘round here has got money for ear-bobs? Folks ain’t got money to buy sidemeat, let alone gewgaws. If you’ve got ten dollars in gold, I take oath that’s more than most folkshave got.”   They were silent again and Scarlett felt as if she were butting her head against a stone wall.   There had been so many stone walls to butt against this last year.   “What are we goin’ to do, Miss Scarlett?”   “I don’t know,” she said dully and felt that she didn’t care. This was one stone wall too manyand she suddenly felt so tired that her bones ached. Why should she work and struggle and wearherself out? At the end of every struggle it seemed that defeat was waiting to mock her.   “I don’t know,” she said. “But don’t let Pa know. It might worry him.”   “I won’t.”   “Have you told anyone?”   “No, I came right to you.”   Yes, she thought, everyone always came right to her with bad news and she was tired of it.   “Where is Mr. Wilkes? Perhaps he’ll have some suggestion.”   Will turned his mild gaze on her and she felt, as from the first day when Ashley came home, thathe knew everything.   “He’s down in the orchard splittin’ rails. I heard his axe when I was puttin’ up the horse. But heain’t got any money any more than we have.”   “If I want to talk to him about it, I can, can’t I?” she snapped, rising to her feet and kicking thefragment of quilting from her ankles.   Will did not take offense but continued rubbing his hands before the flame. “Better get yourshawl, Miss Scarlett. It’s raw outside.”   But she went without the shawl, for it was upstairs and her need to see Ashley and lay hertroubles before him was too urgent to wait.   How lucky for her if she could find him alone! Never once since his return had she had a privateword with him. Always the family clustered about him, always Melanie was by his side, touchinghis sleeve now and again to reassure herself he was really there. The sight of that happy possessivegesture had aroused in Scarlett all the jealous animosity which had slumbered during the monthswhen she had thought Ashley probably dead. Now she was determined to see him alone. This timeno one was going to prevent her from talking with him alone.   She went through the orchard under the bare boughs and the damp weeds beneath them wet herfeet. She could hear the sound of the axe ringing as Ashley split into rails the logs hauled from theswamp. Replacing the fences the Yankees had so blithely burned was a long hard task. Everythingwas a long hard task, she thought wearily, and she was tired of it, tired and mad and sick of it all. Ifonly Ashley were her husband, instead of Melanie’s, how sweet it would be to go to him and layher head upon his shoulder and cry and shove her burdens onto him to work out as best he might.   She rounded a thicket of pomegranate trees which were shaking bare limbs in the cold wind andsaw him leaning on his axe, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He was wearing theremains of his butternut trousers and one of Gerald’s shirts, a shirt which in better times went onlyto Court days and barbecues, a ruffled shirt which was far too short for its present owner. He hadhung his coat on a tree limb, for the work was hot, and he stood resting as she came up to him.   At the sight of Ashley in rags, with an axe in his hand, her heart went out in a surge of love andof fury at fate. She could not bear to see him in tatters, working, her debonair immaculate Ashley.   His hands were not made for work or his body for anything but broadcloth and fine linen. Godintended him to sit in a great house, talking with pleasant people, playing the piano and writingthings which sounded beautiful and made no sense whatsoever.   She could endure the sight of her own child in aprons made of sacking and the girls in dingy oldgingham, could bear it that Will worked harder than any field hand, but not Ashley. He was toofine for all this, too infinitely dear to her. She would rather split logs herself than suffer while hedid it.   “They say Abe Lincoln got his start splitting rails,” he said as she came up to him. “Just think towhat heights I may climb!”   She frowned. He was always saying light things like this about their hardships. They weredeadly serious matters to her and sometimes she was almost irritated at his remarks.   Abruptly she told him Will’s news, tersely and in short words, feeling a sense of relief as shespoke. Surely, he’d have something helpful to offer. He said nothing but, seeing her shiver, he tookhis coat and placed it about her shoulders.   “Well,” she said finally, “doesn’t it occur to you that well have to get the money somewhere?”   “Yes,” he said, “but where?”   “I’m asking you,” she replied, annoyed. The sense of relief at unburdening herself haddisappeared. Even if he couldn’t help, why didn’t he say something comforting, even if it wasonly: “Oh, I’m so sorry.”   He smiled.   “In all these months since I’ve been home I’ve only heard of one person, Rhett Butler, whoactually has money,” he said.   Aunt Pittypat had written Melanie the week before that Rhett was back in Atlanta with acarriage and two fine horses and pocketfuls of greenbacks. She had intimated, however, that hedidn’t come by them honestly. Aunt Pitty had a theory, largely shared by Atlanta, that Rhett had managed to get away with the mythical millions of the Confederate treasury.   “Don’t let’s talk about him,” said Scarlett shortly. “He’s a skunk if ever there was one. What’s tobecome of us all?”   Ashley put down the axe and looked away and his eyes seemed to be journeying to some far-offcountry where she could not follow.   “I wonder,” he said. “I wonder not only what will become of us at Tara but what will become ofeverybody in the South.”   She felt like snapping out abruptly: “To hell with everybody in the South! What about us?” butshe remained silent because the tired feeling was back on her more strongly than ever. Ashleywasn’t being any help at all.   “In the end what will happen will be what has happened whenever a civilization breaks up. Thepeople who have brains and courage come through and the ones who haven’t are winnowed out. Atleast, it has been interesting, if not comfortable, to witness a G.tterd.mmerung.”   “A what?”   “A dusk of the gods. Unfortunately, we Southerners did think we were gods.”   “For Heaven’s sake, Ashley Wilkes! Don’t stand there and talk nonsense at me when it’s us whoare going to be winnowed out!”   Something of her exasperated weariness seemed to penetrate his mind, calling it back from itswanderings, for he raised her hands with tenderness and, turning them palm up, looked at thecalluses.   “These are the most beautiful hands I know,” he said and kissed each palm lightly. “They arebeautiful because they are strong and every callus is a medal, Scarlett, every blister an award forbravery and unselfishness. They’ve been roughened for all of us, your father, the girls, Melanie,the baby, the negroes and for me. My dear, I know what you are thinking. You’re thinking, ‘Herestands an impractical fool talking tommyrot about dead gods when living people are in danger.’   Isn’t that true?”   She nodded, wishing he would keep on holding her hands forever, but he dropped them.   “And you came to me, hoping I could help you. Well, I can’t.”   His eyes were bitter as he looked toward the axe and the pile of logs.   “My home is gone and all the money that I so took for granted I never realized I had it. And I amfitted for nothing in this world, for the world I belonged in has gone. I can’t help you, Scarlett,except by learning with as good grace as possible to be a clumsy farmer. And that won’t keep Tarafor you. Don’t you think I realize the bitterness of our situation, living here on your charity— Oh,yes, Scarlett, your charity. I can never repay you what you’ve done for me and for mine out of thekindness of your heart. I realize it more acutely every day. And every day I see more clearly howhelpless I am to cope with what has come on us all— Every day my accursed shrinking fromrealities makes it harder for me to face the new realities. Do you know what I mean?”   She nodded. She had no very clear idea what he meant but she clung breathlessly on his words, this was the first time he had ever spoken to her of the things he was thinking when he seemed soremote from her. It excited her as if she were on the brink of a discovery.   “It’s a curse—this not wanting to look on naked realities. Until the war, life was never more realto me than a shadow show on a curtain. And I preferred it so. I do not like the outlines of things tobe too sharp. I like them gently blurred, a little hazy.”   He stopped and smiled faintly, shivering a little as the cold wind went through his thin shirt.   “In other words, Scarlett, I am a coward.”   His talk of shadow shows and hazy outlines conveyed-no meaning to her but his last words werein language she could understand. She knew they were untrue. Cowardice was not in him. Everyline of his slender body spoke of generations of brave and gallant men and Scarlett knew his warrecord by heart.   “Why, that’s not so! Would a coward have climbed on the cannon at Gettysburg and rallied themen? Would the General himself have written Melanie a letter about a coward? And—”   “That’s not courage,” he said tiredly. “Fighting is like champagne. It goes to the heads ofcowards as quickly as of heroes. Any fool can be brave on a battle field when it’s be brave or elsebe killed. I’m talking of something else. And my kind of cowardice is infinitely worse than if I hadrun the first time I heard a cannon fired.”   His words came slowly and with difficulty as if it hurt to speak them and he seemed to stand offand look with a sad heart at what he had said. Had any other man spoken so, Scarlett would havedismissed such protestations contemptuously as mock modesty and a bid for praise. But Ashleyseemed to mean them and there was a look in his eyes which eluded her—not fear, not apology,but the bracing to a strain which was inevitable and overwhelming. The wintry wind swept herdamp ankles and she shivered again but her shiver was less from the wind than from the dread hiswords evoked in her heart.   “But, Ashley, what are you afraid of?”   “Oh, nameless things. Things which sound very silly when they are put into words. Mostly ofhaving life suddenly become too real, of being brought into personal, too personal, contact withsome of the simple facts of life. It isn’t that I mind splitting logs here in the mud, but I do mindwhat it stands for. I do mind, very much, the loss of the beauty of the old life I loved. Scarlett,before the war, life was beautiful. There was a glamour to it, a perfection and a completeness and asymmetry to it like Grecian art. Maybe it wasn’t so to everyone. I know that now. But to me, livingat Twelve Oaks, there was a real beauty to living. I belonged in that life. I was a part of it. And nowit is gone and I am out of place in this new life, and I am afraid. Now, I know that in the old days itwas a shadow show I watched. I avoided everything which was not shadowy, people and situationswhich were too real, too vital. I resented their intrusion. I tried to avoid you too, Scarlett. You weretoo full of living and too real and I was cowardly enough to prefer shadows and dreams.”   “But—but—Melly?”   “Melanie is the gentlest of dreams and a part of my dreaming. And if the war had not come Iwould have lived out my life, happily buried at Twelve Oaks, contentedly watching life go by and never being a part of it. But when the war came, life as it really is thrust itself against me. The firsttime I went into action—it was at Bull Run, you remember—I saw my boyhood friends blown tobits and heard dying horses scream and learned the sickeningly horrible feeling of seeing mencrumple up and spit blood when I shot them. But those weren’t the worst things about the war,Scarlett. The worst thing about the war was the people I had to live with.   “I had sheltered myself from people an my life, I had carefully selected my few friends. But thewar taught me I had created a world of my own with dream people in it. It taught me what peoplereally are, but it didn’t teach me how to live with them. And I’m afraid I’ll never learn. Now, Iknow that in order to support my wife and child, I will have to make my way among a world ofpeople with whom I have nothing in common. You, Scarlett, are taking life by the horns andtwisting it to your will. But where do I fit in the world any more? I tell you I am afraid.”   While his low resonant voice went on, desolate, with a feeling she could not understand, Scarlettclutched at words here and there, trying to make sense of them. But the words swooped from herhands like wild birds. Something was driving him, driving him with a cruel goad, but she did notunderstand what it was.   “Scarlett, I don’t know just when it was that the bleak realization came over me that my ownprivate shadow show was over. Perhaps in the first five minutes at Bull Run when I saw the firstman I killed drop to the ground. But I knew it was over and I could no longer be a spectator. No, Isuddenly found myself on the curtain, an actor, posturing and making futile gestures. My littleinner world was gone, invaded by people whose thoughts were not my thoughts, whose actionswere as alien as a Hottentot’s. They’d tramped through my world with slimy feet and there was noplace left where I could take refuge when things became too bad to stand. When I was in prison, Ithought: When the war is over, I can go back to the old life and the old dreams and watch theshadow show again. But, Scarlett, there’s no going back. And this which is facing all of us now isworse than war and worse than prison—and, to me, worse than death. ... So, you see, Scarlett, I’mbeing punished for being afraid.”   “But, Ashley,” she began, floundering in a quagmire of bewilderment, “if you’re afraid we’llstarve, why—why— Oh, Ashley, we’ll manage somehow! I know we will!”   For a moment, his eyes came back to her, wide and crystal gray, and there was admiration inthem. Then, suddenly, they were remote again and she knew with a sinking heart that he had notbeen thinking about starving. They were always like two people talking to each other in differentlanguages. But she loved him so much that, when he withdrew as he had now done, it was like thewarm son going down and leaving her in chilly twilight dews. She wanted to catch him by theshoulders and hug him to her, make him realize that she was flesh and blood and not something hehad read or dreamed. If she could only feel that sense of oneness with him for which she hadyearned since that day, so long ago, when he had come home from Europe and stood on the stepsof Tara and smiled up at her.   “Starving’s not pleasant,” he said. “I know for I’ve starved, but I’m not afraid of that. I amafraid of facing life without the slow beauty of our old world that is gone.”   Scarlett thought despairingly that Melanie would know what he meant. Melly and he werealways talking such foolishness, poetry and books and dreams and moonrays and star dust. He was not fearing the things she feared, not the gnawing of an empty stomach, nor the keenness of thewinter wind nor eviction from Tara. He was shrinking before some fear she had never known andcould not imagine. For, in God’s name, what was there to fear in this wreck of a world but hungerand cold and the loss of home?   And she had thought that if she listened closely she would know the answer to Ashley.   “Oh!” she said and the disappointment in her voice was that of a child who opens a beautifullywrapped package to find it empty. At her tone, he smiled ruefully as though apologizing.   “Forgive me, Scarlett, for talking so. I can’t make you understand because you don’t know themeaning of fear. You have the heart of a lion and an utter lack of imagination and I envy you bothof those qualities. You’ll never mind facing realities and you’ll never want to escape from them asI do.”   “Escape!”   It was as if that were the only understandable word he had spoken. Ashley, like her, was tired ofthe struggle and he wanted to escape. Her breath came fast.   “Oh, Ashley,” she cried, “you’re wrong. I do want to escape, too. I am so very tired of it all!”   His eyebrows went up in disbelief and she laid a hand, feverish and urgent, on his arm.   “Listen to me,” she began swiftly, the words tumbling out one over the other. “I’m tired of it all,I tell you. Bone tired and I’m not going to stand it any longer. I’ve struggled for food and formoney and I’ve weeded and hoed and picked cotton and I’ve even plowed until I can’t stand itanother minute. I tell you, Ashley, the South is dead! It’s dead! The Yankees and the free niggersand the Carpetbaggers have got it and there’s nothing left for us. Ashley, let’s run away!”   He peered at her sharply, lowering his head to look into her face, now flaming with color.   “Yes, let’s run away—leave them all! I’m tired of working for the folks. Somebody will takeof them. There’s always somebody who takes of people who can’t take care of them(care) selves.Oh,Ashley,let’srunaway,youandI.Wecould(care) go to Mexico—they want officers inthe Mexican Army and we could be so happy there. I’d work for you, Ashley. I’d do anything foryou. You know you don’t love Melanie—”   He started to speak, a stricken look on his face, but she stemmed his words with a torrent of herown.   “You told me you loved me better than her that day— oh, you remember that day! And I knowyou haven’t changed! I can tell you haven’t changed! And you’ve just said she was nothing but adream— Oh, Ashley, let’s go away! I could make you so happy. And anyway,” she addedvenomously, “Melanie can’t— Dr. Fontaine said she couldn’t ever have any more children and Icould give you—”   His hands were on her shoulders so tightly that they hurt and she stopped, breathless.   “We were to forget that day at Twelve Oaks.”   “Do you think I could ever forget it? Have you forgotten it? Can you honestly say you don’tlove me?”   He drew a deep breath and answered quickly.   “No. I don’t love you.”   “That’s a lie.”   “Even if it is a lie,” said Ashley and his voice was deadly quiet, “it is not something which canbe discussed.”   “You mean—”   “Do you think I could go off and leave Melanie and the baby, even if I hated them both? BreakMelanie’s heart? Leave them both to the charity of friends? Scarlett, are you mad? Isn’t there anysense of loyalty in you? You couldn’t leave your father and the girls. They’re your responsibility,just as Melanie and Beau are mine, and whether you are tired or not, they are here and you’ve gotto bear them.”   “I could leave them—I’m sick of them—tired of them—”   He leaned toward her and, for a moment, she thought with a catch at her heart that he was goingto take her in his arms. But instead, he patted her arm and spoke as one comforting a child.   “I know you’re sick and tired. That’s why you are talking this way. You’ve carried the load ofthree men. But I’m going to help you—I won’t always be so awkward—”   “There’s only one way you can help me,” she said dully, “and that’s to take me away from hereand give us a new start somewhere, with a chance for happiness. There’s nothing to keep us here.”   “Nothing,” he said quietly, “nothing—except honor.”   She looked at him with baffled longing and saw, as if for the first time, how the crescents of hislashes were the thick rich gold of ripe wheat, how proudly his head sat upon his bared neck andhow the look of race and dignity persisted in his slim erect body, even through its grotesque rags.   Her eyes met his, hers naked with pleading, his remote as mountain lakes under gray skies.   She saw in them defeat of her wild dream, her mad desires.   Heartbreak and weariness sweeping over her, she dropped her head in her hands and cried. Hehad never seen her cry. He had never thought that women of her strong mettle had tears, and aflood of tenderness and remorse swept him. He came to her swiftly and in a moment had her in hisarms, cradling her comfortingly, pressing her black head to his heart, whispering: “Dear! My bravedear—don’t! You mustn’t cry!”   At his touch, he felt her change within his grip and there was madness and magic in the slimbody he held and a hot soft glow in the green eyes which looked up at him. Of a sudden, it was nolonger bleak winter. For Ashley, spring was back again, that half-forgotten balmy spring of greenrustlings and murmurings, a spring of ease and indolence, careless days when the desires of youthwere warm in his body. The bitter years since then fell away and he saw that the lips turned up tohis were red and trembling and he kissed her.   There was a curious low roaring sound in her ears as of sea shells held against them and throughthe sound she dimly heard the swift thudding of her heart. Her body seemed to melt into his and,for a timeless time, they stood, fused together as his lips took hers hungrily as if he could never have enough.   When he suddenly released her she felt that she could not stand alone and gripped the fence forsupport. She raised eyes blazing with love and triumph to him.   “You do love me! You do love me! Say it—say it!”   His hands still rested on her shoulders and she felt them tremble and loved their trembling. Sheleaned toward him ardently but he held her away from him, looking at her with eyes from whichall remoteness had fled, eyes tormented with struggle and despair.   “Don’t!” he said. “Don’t! If you do, I shall take you now, here.”   She smiled a bright hot smile which was forgetful of time or place or anything but the memoryof his mouth on hers.   Suddenly he shook her, shook her until her black hair tumbled down about her shoulders, shookher as if in a mad rage at her—and at himself.   “We won’t do this!” he said. “I tell you we won’t do it!”   It seemed as if her neck would snap if he shook her again. She was blinded by her hair andstunned by his action. She wrenched herself away and stared at him. There were small beads ofmoisture on his forehead and his fists were curled into claws as if in pain. He looked at her directly,his gray eyes piercing.   “It’s all my fault—none of yours and it will never happen again, because I am going to takeMelanie and the baby and go.”   “Go?” she cried in anguish. “Oh, no!”   “Yes, by God! Do you think I’ll stay here after this? When this might happen again—”   “But, Ashley, you can’t go. Why should you go? You love me—”   “You want me to say it? All right, I’ll say it. I love you.”   He leaned over her with a sudden savagery which made her shrink back against the fence.   “I love you, your courage and your stubbornness and your fire and your utter ruthlessness. Howmuch do I love you? So much that a moment ago I would have outraged the hospitality of thehouse which has sheltered me and my family, forgotten the best wife any man ever had—enoughto take you here in the mud like a—”   She struggled with a chaos of thoughts and there was a cold pain in her heart as if an icicle hadpierced it. She said haltingly: “If you felt like that—and didn’t take me—then you don’t love me.”   “I can never make you understand.”   They fell silent and looked at each other. Suddenly Scarlett shivered and saw, as if coming backfrom a long journey, that it was winter and the fields were bare and harsh with stubble and she wasvery cold. She saw too that the old aloof face of Ashley, the one she knew so well, had come backand it was wintry too, and harsh with hurt and remorse.   She would have turned and left him then, seeking the shelter of the house to hide herself, but she was too tired to move. Even speech was a labor and a weariness.   There is nothing left,” she said at last. “Nothing left for me. Nothing to love. Nothing to fightfor. You are gone and Tara is going.”   He looked at her for a long space and then, leaning, scooped up a small wad of red clay from theground.   “Yes, there is something left,” he said, and the ghost of his old smile came back, the smile whichmocked himself as well as her. “Something you love better than me, though you may not know it.   You’ve still got Tara.”   He took her limp hand and pressed the damp clay into it and closed her fingers about it. Therewas no fever in his hands now, nor in hers. She looked at the red soil for a moment and it meantnothing to her. She looked at him and realized dimly that there was an integrity of spirit in himwhich was not to be torn apart by her passionate hands, nor by any hands.   If it killed him, he would never leave Melanie. If he burned for Scarlett until the end of his days,he would never take her and he would fight to keep her at a distance. She would never again getthrough that armor. The words, hospitality and loyalty and honor, meant more to him than she did.   The clay was cold in her hand and she looked at it again.   “Yes,” she said, I’ve still got this.”   At first, the words meant nothing and the clay was only red clay. But unbidden came the thoughtof the sea of red dirt which surrounded Tara and how very dear it was and how hard she had foughtto keep it—how hard she was going to have to fight if she wished to keep it hereafter. She lookedat him again and wondered where the hot flood of feeling had gone. She could think but could notfeel, not about him nor Tara either, for she was drained of all emotion.   “You need not go,” she said clearly. “I won’t have you all starve, simply because I’ve thrownmyself at your head. It will never happen again.”   She turned away and started back toward the house across the rough fields, twisting her hair intoa knot upon her neck. Ashley watched her go and saw her square her small thin shoulders as shewent. And that gesture went to his heart, more than any words she had spoken.  1866年一月一个寒冷的下午,思嘉•奥哈拉坐在房里给皮蒂姑妈写信,详累解释为什么她自己、媚兰或艾希礼都无法回到亚特兰大去同她一起祝这已是第十次写这样的信了,她很不耐烦,因为知道皮蒂姑妈一读完开头几句就会把信放下,然后再一次来信诉苦:“可是我真害怕独自一个人生活呀!"她的手已经冻僵了,便停下来使劲搓搓,同时将双脚深深踹入裹着脚的旧棉絮里,她的拖鞋后跟实际上早已磨掉,只好用碎毡皮包起来。毡皮尽管可以使脚不必直接踩地,但已起不了多少保暖作用。那天早晨,威尔把马牵到琼斯博罗钉蹄铁去了。思嘉暗想这世道怎么变得这么怪了,马还有鞋穿,而人却像院子里的狗还光着脚呢。   她继续拿起笔写信,但这时听到威尔正从后门进来,便又把笔放下。她听见他那条木腿在房外面的穿堂里梆梆地响,后来没有声息了。等了一会儿,想必他会进来,但没有一点动静,于是她只好喊他。他进来了,两只耳朵冻得通红,淡红色的头发一片蓬乱,站在那里俯视着她,嘴角浮现着一丝幽幽的笑意。   “思嘉小姐,你究竟攒了多少钱呀?"他问。   “难道你是贪图我的钱要是我结婚吗?威尔?"她有点粗鲁地反问他。   “不,小姐,我只是想现在想知道。”   她审讯似地注视着他。威尔显得不很认真,不过他从来就是这个样子。反正她觉得出了什么事。   “我手头只有十个金元,"她说。"这是那个北方佬留下的最后一点钱了。”“唔,小姐,这会不够的。”   “不够干什么?”   “不够交纳税金,"他答道,一面蹒跚地走到壁炉前面,弯下腰伸手烤火。   “税金?"她简单地重复了一遍,"我的上帝,威尔!我们已经交过税了呀!”“是的,小姐。但他们说你交得不够。这是今天我在琼斯博罗那边听到的。"“可是,威尔,我弄不明白。你究竟是什么意思?"“思嘉小姐,我的确很怕再给你添烦恼,因为你已经够苦的了,可是我又不能不告诉你。他们说你还得付更大一笔的税金。他们把塔拉的税额增加得吓人地高----我敢说超过了县里任何一宗不动产。"“既然我们已经付过一次了,他们就不能再让我们交更多的税金。"“思嘉小姐,你从来不大到琼斯博罗去,我也高兴你这样。   那是这些日子一位夫人不该去的地方。可是假如你去得多了,你就会知道,那里近来有不少的流氓,共和党和提包党人在当政。他们会叫你气炸的。而且,还常常发生黑鬼把白人从人行道上推下去的事,以及----"“可这同我们的税金有什么关系呢?"“我正要说呢,思嘉小姐。由于某种原因,那些无赖已经对塔拉的税金表示很不满意,仿佛那是个年产上千包棉花的地方。当我听到这消息,便到那些酒吧间附近去打听,收集人们的闲言碎语。然后我才发现,有人希望在你付不出这些额外税金时,州府将公开拍卖,于是他们可以用低价买下塔拉。谁都明白你交不出这么高的税款。现在我还不知道究竟是谁想买这块地方。我调查不出来。不过我想,希尔顿这胆怯的家伙,那个娶了凯瑟琳小姐的人,他肯定会知道的,因为我正要向他探听,他便尴尬地笑了。"威尔在沙发上坐下,抚摩着他的半截腿。这条残腿每逢天气寒冷就要疼痛,而好半截木头又镶嵌得不很好,弄得他很不舒服。思嘉呆呆地望着他。他谈到塔拉这个要命的消息时,态度还是那么随便。由州府公开拍卖吗?那么大家往啊儿去呢?而且搭拉会属于另外一个人!不,这根本是不可思议的!   她早已专心致志于塔拉的生产,因此不大关心外界发生的事。既然有威尔和艾希礼去料理她在琼斯博罗和费耶特维尔可能要办的一切事务,她就没必要离开农常在战争爆发前她对于父亲有关战争的谈论听而不闻,她如今才对于威尔和艾希礼在晚餐后有关开始重建的闲谈也不怎么在意了。   当然喽,她听说那些倚仗共和党大谋私利的南方败类,以及那些提包党人。后者是南方一宣告投降就像蝗虫般拥来的北方佬,他们把自己的全部财产装在一个提包里带到这里。她还同那个所谓的"自由人局"打过几次很不愉快交道。她也听说过有些被解放的黑人已变得相当傲慢无礼了。可最后一点她却难以相信,因为她有生以来还从没见过一个傲慢的黑人呢。   但是,有许多事情是威尔和艾希礼合谋向她隐瞒了。随着战争灾害而来的是重建故园时期的更大灾害,只不过他们两人早商量好了,在家里谈论当前形势时不提外面那些更可怕的具体情况。而当思嘉不加回避高兴听听时,也大多是一只耳朵进另一只耳朵出。   她听艾希礼说过,南部正在被当作一个被征服的省份对待,而征服者所采取的主要政策便是给予报复。不过,这样一种报道对于思嘉来说丝毫没有意义,因政治是男人们的事。   她听威尔说过,似乎北部就是不准备让南部重新建立起来。好吧,思嘉心想,男人们总爱为一些蠢事操心。而她,北方佬过去没有鞭打过她,这一次看来也不会。如今最要紧的是拚命工作,再用不着为北方佬政府忧虑。反正,战争已经过去了。   思嘉并不明白竞争的一切规律都已经改变,诚实的劳动不会再赚到公正的报酬了。佐治亚州如今几乎处于军法管制之下。北方佬士兵镇守着整个地区,"自由人局"完全控制这里的一切,而他们正在确立适合于他们自己的法规。   这个由联邦政府组织起来的局,其职责是管理那些懒惰而激动的前黑奴,现在正吸引他们成千上万地从种植园转移到乡村和城城市中来。局里供养着他们,任其游手好闲,并且腐蚀毒化他们的思想,激发他们反对以前的主人。杰拉尔德家从前的监工乔纳斯•威尔克森负责设在塔拉的分局,他的助手是凯瑟琳•卡尔弗特的丈夫希尔顿。他们两人大肆散布谣言,说南方人和民主党人正等待时机要让黑人回到种植园重新沦为奴隶,而黑人为逃避这一厄运的唯一希望在于这个局以及共和党给他们提供的种种保护。   威尔克森和希尔顿进一步告诉黑人们,他们在哪个方面都不比白人弱,并且很快就会允许白人与黑人通婚了,而他们以前的主人们财产也将很快被瓜分完,每个黑人都将分到四十英亩地和一头骡子归自己所有。他们以所谓白人逞凶犯罪的故事来煽动黑人,因此在一个一贯以主奴关系亲密闻名的地区,仇恨和猜疑又开始抬头了。   “自由人局"由士兵撑腰,同时军方发布了一些自由矛盾的管制被征服者行为的命令。人们动辄被捕,甚至对该局官员表示冷淡也会构成罪名。军方颁发的命令有关于学校的,关于卫生的,关于谁的衣服上所钉的钮扣是什么种类,关于日用品销售以及包括其他几乎一切事物的。威尔克森和希尔顿有权干涉思嘉所经营的任何买卖,并且有权对她所售出和交换的一切物品规定价格。   幸好思嘉很少同这两个人发生什么联系,因为威尔早已说服她让他来管理买卖上的事,而她自己只管理农常威尔用他那种温和的办法克服了好几种这一类的困难。并对她什么也没有说。同时威尔能够同提包党和北方佬周旋下去----如果他必须这样做的话。不过现在出现了一个大问题,大到他自己无法处理了。这就是那笔额外规定的税金和丧失塔拉农场的危险,这些事不能不让思嘉知道----而且得马上知道。   她瞪着两眼望着他。   “啊,该死的北方佬!"她叫道:“他们打击了我们,让我们已成了乞丐,难道这还不够吗,要放任流氓来凌辱我们吗?"战争已经结束,和平已宣布到来,可是北方佬仍然有权掠夺她,仍然可以叫她挨饿,仍然能把她赶出家门。而她竟然那么傻,曾经以为熬过这段艰难的日子,只要她能够坚持到春天,就会万事大吉的。可威尔带来的这个令人可怕和绝望的消息却在整整一年累死累活和苦苦盼望之后降临,这已经是将她彻底压垮的最后一份负担了。   “唔,威尔,我还满以为战争结束后我们的困难也就会完了呢!"“不会的,“威尔扬起他那张瘦削的乡巴佬面孔,镇定地注视着她。"我们的困难还刚刚开头呢。"“他们要我们付多少额外税金呢?"“三百美元。"一瞬间她被吓得说不出话来了。三百美元呀!这听起来就像三百万美元一样。   “怎么,"她慌乱地嚷嚷着,"怎么----怎么,那我们无论如何得筹集三百美元了。"”是的,又是月亮又是虹,或者两个都要,很不容易埃"“啊,不过威尔!他们是不能出卖塔拉的。你看----"他那温和暗淡的眼睛流露出深深的仇恨和痛苦,这远远超过了她原先的估计。   “唔,他们不能?我看,他们不但能而且会很乐意出卖的!   思嘉小姐,国家已经完全沦为地狱了,如果你原谅我这样说的话,那些提包党和流氓都有投票权,而我们民主党人大多数没有。这个州的任何民主党人,只要他一八六五年在税收册上有两千美元以上的税额,就不能投票选举。这个规定把你父亲和塔尔顿先生以及麦克雷家和方丹家的少爷们都排除在外了。还有凡在战时担任过联盟军上校以上军官的人都不能投票。而且,思嘉小姐,我打赌这个州有比南部联盟任何一个别的州更多的上校。同时,凡是在联盟政府下面担任过公职的人也不能投票,这样一来,从公证人到法官都被排除了,而林区是到处有这种人的。事实上,北方佬制造那个大赦誓言的办法就是让每个在战前稍有身分的人都一律不能投票。聪明能干的人不能,上流社会的人不能,有钱的人也不能。   “哼,我就能投票只要我履行他们那该死的宣誓。一八六五年我一个钱也没有,更不是上校或别的什么体面人物。可是我就不去宣誓。再怎么倒霉也不去!如果北方佬行为很正当,我也许早已经立誓忠于他们了。可如今已经不行。我可以被迫回到联邦,但决不会被改造成一个联邦分子。我宁愿永远丧失选举权,也决不去宣那个誓。然而像希尔顿那样的流氓,他却有选举权;像乔纳斯•威尔克森,像斯莱特里那样的下流白人,以及像麦金托什家那样的废物,他们却有选举权。且都在管事。而且,如果他们要欺负你,叫你付上十倍的额外税款,也是办得到的。就像一个黑人杀了白人而不会判刑。或者----"他没有说下去,觉得难以开口,因为他们两人都清楚记得,在洛夫乔伊附近那个农场里一个孤单的白人妇女曾遭遇到什么……"那些黑人能够做出任何不利于我们的事,而'自由人局'和士兵们都用枪杆子给他们撑腰,可我们不能参加选举,对此没有丝毫办法。"“选举,”思嘉嚷道:“选举!投票选举对于眼前的事到底有什么相干呀,威尔?我们谈的是税金……威尔,谁都知道塔拉是一个多么好的农常如果逼不得已,我们可以用它抵押到一笔钱,够付税金就行了。"“思嘉小姐,你为人一点也不傻,可有时说起话来却有点傻乎乎的。请问,谁还有钱来押贷这个农场呢?除了那些想要从你手里弄到塔拉的提包党,还会有谁呀?你看,每个人都有了土地。每个人的土地都是贫瘠的。你的土地怎么能押出去。"“我还有从那个北方佬身上取下的钻石耳坠呢,我们可以把它卖掉。"“思嘉小姐,这附近谁还有钱买耳坠呢!人们连买腌肉的钱也没有,别说什么首饰了。如果你有了十个金元,那么我敢打赌,这已经超过大多数人的存款了。"这时他们又沉默下来,思嘉感到她的头好像在撞一堵坚固的石壁,过去一年已有那么多石壁来让她撞埃"我们怎么办呢,思嘉小姐?”“我不知道,"他茫然地说,并且觉得没必要管它了。因为这实在是意外碰到的一堵石墙,而她突然感到特别乏,连骨头都酸疼了。她为什么要那样拼命工作,拼命挣扎,并把自己折磨完呢?每一番挣扎的结果都好像是失败在等待着嘲弄她。   “我不知怎么办好,"她说。"但是千万别让爸知道了。那会使他烦恼的。”“我不会。““你告诉过别人吗?"“没有,我一听说就来找你了。"是的,她想,无论是谁听到了什么坏消息都会立即来找她的,而她对此感到烦透了。   “威尔克斯先生在哪里?说不定他能出些主意。"威尔用温和的眼光看着她,这使她感到,就像从艾希礼回家的头一天那样,他是什么都明白的。   “他在下面果园里劈栅栏呢。我刚才拴马时听见他的斧子声。不过他赚到的钱决不会比我们所有的更多一些。"“要是我想同他谈谈这件事,我可以谈,难道不行吗?"她突然高声说,同时踢开那块裹着双脚的旧棉絮,站了起来。   威尔不表示反对,但继续在炉火前搓着双手。"最好披上你的围巾,思嘉小姐。外面怪冷的。"可是她没戴围巾便出去了,因为围巾在楼上,而她现在需要见艾希礼,把她遇到的麻烦摆在他面前。这可是非常紧急的事,不容再等了。   要是能发现他独自一人在那里,那该多幸运啊!自从他回来以后,她一直没有私下单独同他谈过半句话。他常同家人在一起,经常有媚兰在他身边,后者总不时地摸摸他的袖子,好像只有这样才能确信他真的在那里。这副亲昵的样子曾惹起思嘉的满腔炉火,虽然有几个月她心想艾希礼兴许已经亡故,因此这种情感也逐渐平息。如今她决定独自去见他。这一次不会有什么人妨碍她同他单独谈话了。   她从光秃秃的树枝下穿过果园,她的双脚全被潮湿的野草打湿了。她听见从沼泽地传来艾希礼劈栅栏时斧子震动的响音。要把北方佬恣意烧光的那些篱笆重新修复,是一桩很艰苦而费时的劳动。一切工作都是艰苦费时的,她很不耐烦地这样想,并为此感到既厌倦又恼火又烦闷透了。假如艾希礼就是她的丈夫而不是媚兰的,那么她去找他时,可以把自己的头靠在他的肩膀上嚷着搡着,将身上的负担都推给他,叫他尽最大的努力加以解决,那该有多好埃她绕过一丛在寒风中摇摆着光秃秃的树枝的石榴树,便看见他倚着斧把,用手背擦拭着额头。他身上穿的是一条粗布裤子和一件杰拉尔德的衬衫,这件衬衫以前完好的时候只有开庭和参加野宴时才穿的,如今已经邹巴巴的,穿在新主人身上显然是太短了。他把上衣挂在树枝上,因为这种劳动是要流大汗的,她走过来时,他正站着休息。   眼见艾希礼身披褴褛,手持利斧,她心中顿时涌起一股怜爱和怨天之情,激动得难以自禁了。她不忍心看见那温文尔雅、心地纯洁而善良的艾希礼竟是一副破衣烂衫,辛苦劳累的模样。他的手天生不是来劳动的,他的身体天生也只能穿戴绫罗。上帝是叫他坐在深院大宅之中,同宾客们高谈阔论,或者弹琴写诗,而这些音韵优雅的作品又毋需有什么涵义。   她能容忍让自己的孩子用麻布袋作围裙,姑娘们穿着肮脏的旧布衣裳,让威尔比大田里苦力工作得更辛苦,可是决不忍心让艾希礼受这种委屈。他太文雅了,对于她来说是太宝贵了。决不能让他过这样的生活,她宁愿自己去劈木头,免得眼见他干这种活时自己心里难受。   “人们说亚伯•林肯就是劈栅栏出身的呢,"当她走上前来时艾希礼这样说。“想想看,我可能爬到多么高的地位!"她皱起眉头,他总是在困难面前谈一些很轻松的事。但在她看来都是很严重的问题,所以她几乎被他的话激怒了。   她直截了当地把威尔带来的消息告诉他,话是那和简洁,一说出来觉得便如释重负了。当然,他会提供一些有益的意见的。可是他什么也没说,只不过发现她正在哆嗦时连忙把上衣取下来披在她的肩上。   “怎么,"她终于说,"难道你不觉得我们必须从哪儿弄到那笔钱吗?"“当然,“他说,"可是哪儿有弄呢?"“我在问你呀,"她有点恼火的答道。那种卸了担子的感觉早已消失。即使他帮不上忙,可为什么连句宽慰的话也没有,哪怕说一声“唔,我很抱歉"也可以埃他微微一笑。   “我回来好几个月了,只听说过一个人是真正有钱的。那就是瑞德•巴特勒,“他说。   原来上星期皮蒂帕特姑妈已给媚兰寄来了信,说瑞德带了一辆马车和两匹骏马以及满袋满袋的美钞回到了亚特兰大。不过她表示了这样的意思,即他的这些东西都是来路不正的。皮蒂姑妈有这种看法,这在亚特兰大颇为流行,那就是瑞德曾经设法夹带联盟州金库里一笔数百万的神秘款子跑掉了。   “让我们别谈他了。"思嘉打断他的话头。"只要世界上有下流坯,他就算是一个。可是,我们大家会怎么样呢?"艾希礼放下斧子,朝前望去,他的眼光仿佛伸向很远很远她无法跟上的地方。   “我担心的不仅是在塔拉的我们,而且是整个南部的每一个人,大家都会怎么样呢?”他这样说。   她觉得想要突然大喊:“让南部的每个人见鬼去吧!问题是我们怎么办?"但是她忍着没有说,因为那种厌倦的感觉又回到她心头,而且比以前更强烈了。原来艾希礼竟一点忙也帮不上。   “到头来究竟会怎么样,只要看看历史上每当一种文明遭到毁灭时所发生的情况就知道了。那些有头脑有勇气的人要以通过这种动,而那些没有头脑和勇气的就将被淘汰掉。我们能亲眼看到这样一次Gotterdammerung这尽管令人不怎么舒服,但毕竟还是很有趣的。"“看到一次什么?"“一次诸神的末日。不幸的是我们南方人并不承认自己是神。"“看在苍天面上,艾希礼•威尔克斯!请你不要站在这里给我胡扯淡了,这次是我们要被淘汰呢!"她这种夸张了的疲惫似乎稍渗入他的心灵,将他从遥远的遐想中唤了回来,因而他亲切地捧起她的双手,把她的手翻转过来,手心朝上,审视手上的老茧。   “这是我一生中见过的最美的两只手,"他一面说,一面轻轻亲吻两只手心。“这双手很美,因为这双手很坚强,每个老茧都象一枚纪念章,思嘉,每个血泡都是对你勇敢无私的奖赏。这双手是为了我们大家,为了你父亲,那些女孩子,媚兰,那婴儿,那些黑人,以及我,而磨出老茧来的。亲爱的,我知道你现在在想什么。你是在想,'这里站着一个不切实际的傻瓜在空谈关于古代诸神的废话,而活着的人却面临危机,'难道不是这样?"她点点头,但愿他继续握着她的双手永远不松开,可是他却把她的双手放开了。   “你现在跑到我这里来,是希望我能帮助你。可是我没这能耐。"他用困苦的眼光望着那把斧子和那堆木头。   “我的家和全部财产都早已经完了,我过去从来不清楚那些财产是归我所有的。我在这个世界上已毫无用处,因为我所属于的那个世界已经消失。我无法帮助你,思嘉,只能以尽可能老老实实的态度学着当个农夫。可这样做并不能帮你保全塔拉。你以为我们在这里依靠你的周济过活,还不明白这处境的悲惨吗----唔,是的,全靠你的周济,我永远也报答不了你为我 Chapter 32 SHE WAS STILL CLUTCHING the ball of red clay when she went up the front steps. She hadcarefully avoided the back entrance, for Mammy’s sharp eyes would certainly have seen thatsomething was greatly amiss. Scarlett did not want to see Mammy or anyone else. She did not feelthat she could endure seeing anyone or talking to anyone again. She had no feeling of shame ordisappointment or bitterness now, only a weakness of the knees and a great emptiness of heart. Shesqueezed the clay so tightly it ran out from her clenched fist and she said over and over, parrot-like: “I’ve still got this. Yes, I’ve still got this.”   There was nothing else she did have, nothing but this red land, this land she had been willing tothrow away like a torn handkerchief only a few minutes before, Now, it was dear to her again and she wondered dully what madness had possessed her to hold it so lightly. Had Ashley yielded, shecould have gone away with him and left family and friends without a backward look but, even inher emptiness, she knew it would have torn her heart to leave these dear red hills and long washedgullies and gaunt black pines. Her thoughts would have turned back to them hungrily until the dayshe died. Not even Ashley could have filled the empty spaces in her heart where Tara. had beenuprooted. How wise Ashley was and how well he knew her! He had only to press the damp earthinto her hand to bring her to her senses.   She was in the hall preparing to close the door when she heard the sound of horse’s hooves andturned to look down the driveway. To have visitors at this of all times was too much. She’d hurryto her room and plead a headache.   But when the carriage came nearer, her flight was checked by her amazement. It was a newcarriage, shiny with varnish, and “the harness was new too, with bits of polished brass here andthere. Strangers, certainly. No one she knew had the money for such a grand new turn-out as this.   She stood in the doorway watching, the cold draft blowing her skirts about her damp ankles.   Then the carriage stopped in front of the house and Jonas Wilkerson alighted. Scarlett was sosurprised at the sight of their former overseer driving so fine a rig and in so splendid a greatcoatshe could not for a moment believe her eyes. Will had told her he looked quite prosperous since hegot his new job with the Freedmen’s Bureau. Made a lot of money, Will said, swindling the niggersor the government, one or tuther, or confiscating folks’ cotton and swearing it was Confederategovernment cotton. Certainly he never came by all that money honestly in these hard times.   And here he was now, stepping out of an elegant carriage and handing down a woman dressedwithin an inch of her life. Scarlett saw in a glance that the dress was bright in color to the point ofvulgarity but nevertheless her eyes went over the outfit hungrily. It had been so long since she hadeven seen stylish new clothes. Well! So hoops aren’t so wide this year, she thought, scanning thered plaid gown. And, as she took in the black velvet paletot, how short jackets are! And what acunning hat! Bonnets must be out of style, for this hat was only an absurd flat red velvet affair,perched on the top of the woman’s head like a stiffened pancake. The ribbons did not tie under thechin as bonnet ribbons tied but in the back under the massive bunch of curls which fell from therear of the hat, curls which Scarlett could not help noticing did not match the woman’s hair ineither color or texture.   As the woman stepped to the ground and looked toward the house, Scarlett saw there wassomething familiar about the rabbity face, caked with white powder.   “Why, it’s Emmie Slattery!” she cried, so surprised she spoke the words aloud.   “Yes’m, it’s me,” said Emmie, tossing her head with an ingratiating smile and starting towardthe steps.   Emmie Slattery! The dirty tow-headed slut whose illegitimate baby Ellen had baptized, Emmiewho had given typhoid to Ellen and killed her. This overdressed, common, nasty piece of poorwhite trash was coming up the steps of Tara, bridling and grinning as if she belonged here. Scarlettthought of Ellen and, in a rush, feeling came back into the emptiness of her mind, a murderousrage so strong it shook her like the ague.   “Get off those steps, you trashy wench!” she cried. “Get off this land! Get out!”   Emmie’s jaw sagged suddenly and she glanced at Jonas who came up with lowering brows. Hemade an effort at dignity, despite his anger.   “You must not speak that way to my wife,” he said.   “Wife?” said Scarlett and burst into a laugh that was cutting with contempt. “High time youmade her your wife. Who baptized your other brats after you killed my mother?”   Emmie said “Oh!” and retreated hastily down the steps but Jonas stopped her flight toward thecarriage with a rough grip on her arm.   “We came out here to pay a call—a friendly call,” he snarled. “And talk a little business with oldfriends—”   “Friends?” Scarlett’s voice was like a whiplash. “When were we ever friends with the like ofyou? The Slatterys lived on our charity and paid it back by killing Mother—and you—you— Padischarged you about Emmie’s brat and you know it. Friends? Get off this place before I call Mr.   Benteen and Mr. Wilkes.”   Under the words, Emmie broke her husband’s hold and fled for the carriage, scrambling in witha flash of patent-leather boots with bright-red tops and red tassels.   Now Jonas shook with a fury equal to Scarlett’s and his sallow face was as red as an angryturkey gobbler’s.   “Still high and mighty, aren’t you? Well, I know all about you. I know you haven’t got shoes foryour feet. I know your father’s turned idiot—”   “Get off this place!”   “Oh, you won’t sing that way very long. I know you’re broke. I know you can’t even pay yourtaxes. I came out here to offer to buy this place from you—to make you a right good offer. Emmiehad a hankering to live here. But, by God, I won’t give you a cent now! You highflying, bog-trotting Irish will find out who’s running things around here when you get sold out for taxes. AndI’ll buy this place, lock, stock and barrel—furniture and all—and I’ll live in it.”   So it was Jonas Wilkerson who wanted Tara—Jonas and Emmie, who in some twisted waythought to even past slights by living in the home where they had been slighted. All her nerveshummed with hate, as they had hummed that day when she shoved the pistol barrel into theYankee’s bearded face and fired. She wished she had that pistol now.   “I’ll tear this house down, stone by stone, and burn it and sow every acre with salt before I seeeither of you put foot over this threshold,” she shouted. “Get out, I tell you! Get out!”   Jonas glared at her, started to say more and then walked toward the carriage. He climbed inbeside his whimpering wife and turned the horse. As they drove off, Scarlett had the impulse tospit at them. She did spit. She knew it was a common, childish gesture but it made her feel better.   She wished she had done it while they could see her.   Those damned nigger lovers daring to come here and taunt her about her poverty! That houndnever intended offering her a price for Tara. He just used that as an excuse to come and flaunt himself and Emmie in her face. The dirty Scalawags, the lousy trashy poor whites, boasting theywould live at Tara!   Then, sudden terror struck her and her rage melted. God’s nightgown! They will come and livehere! There was nothing she could do to keep them from buying Tara, nothing to keep them fromlevying on every mirror and table and bed, on Ellen’s shining mahogany and rosewood, and everybit of it precious to her, scarred though it was by the Yankee raiders. And the Robillard silver too. Iwon’t let them do it, thought Scarlett vehemently. No, not if I’ve got to burn the place down!   Emmie Slattery will never set her foot on a single bit of flooring Mother ever walked on!   She closed the door and leaned against it and she was very frightened. More frightened eventhan she had been that day when Sherman’s army was in the house. That day the worst she couldfear was that Tara would be burned over her head. But this was worse—these low commoncreatures living in this house, bragging to their low common friends how they had turned the proudO’Haras out. Perhaps they’d even bring negroes here to dine and sleep. Will had told her Jonasmade a great to-do about being equal with the negroes, ate with them, visited in their houses, rodethem around with him in his carriage, put his arms around their shoulders.   When she thought of the possibility of this final insult to Tara, her heart pounded so hard shecould scarcely breathe. She was trying to get her mind on her problem, trying to figure some wayout, but each time she collected her thoughts, fresh gusts of rage and fear shook her. There must besome way out, there must be someone somewhere who had money she could borrow. Moneycouldn’t just dry up and blow away. Somebody had to have money. Then the laughing words ofAshley came back to her:   “Only one person, Rhett Butler … who has money.”   Rhett Butler. She walked quickly into the parlor and shut the door behind her. The dim gloom ofdrawn blinds and winter twilight closed about her. No one would think of hunting for her here andshe wanted time to think, undisturbed. The idea which had just occurred to her was so simple shewondered why she had not thought of it before.   “I’ll get the money from Rhett. I’ll sell him the diamond earbobs. Or I’ll borrow the money fromhim and let him keep the earbobs till I can pay him back.”   For a moment, relief was so great she felt weak. She would pay the taxes and laugh in JonasWilkerson’s face. But close on this happy thought came relentless knowledge.   “It’s not only for this year that I’ll need tax money. There’s next year and all the years of my life.   If I pay up this time, they’ll raise the taxes higher next time till they drive me out. If I make a goodcotton crop, they’ll tax it till I’ll get nothing for it or maybe confiscate it outright and say it’sConfederate cotton. The Yankees and the scoundrels teamed up with them have got me where theywant me. All my life, as long as I live, I’ll be afraid they’ll get me somehow. All my life I’ll bescared and scrambling for money and working myself to death, only to see my work go for nothingand my cotton stolen. ... Just borrowing three hundred dollars for the taxes will be only a stopgap.   What I want is to get out of this fix, for good—so I can go to sleep at night without worrying overwhat’s going to happen to me tomorrow, and next month, and next year.”   Her mind ticked on steadily. Coldly and logically an idea grew in her brain. She thought of Rhett, a flash of white teeth against swarthy skin, sardonic black eyes caressing her. She recalledthe hot night in Atlanta, close to the end of the siege, when he sat on Aunt Pitty’s porch half hiddenin the summer darkness, and she felt again the heat of his hand upon her arm as he said: “I wantyou more than I have ever wanted any woman—and I’ve waited longer for you than I’ve everwaited for any woman.”   “I’ll marry him,” she thought coolly. “And then I’ll never have to bother about money again.”   Oh, blessed thought, sweeter than hope of Heaven, never to worry about money again, to knowthat Tara was safe, that the family was fed and clothed, that she would never again have to bruiseherself against stone walls!   She felt very old. The afternoon’s events had drained her of all feeling, first the startling newsabout the taxes, then Ashley and, last, her murderous rage at Jonas Wilkerson. Now there was noemotion left in her. If all her capacity to feel had not been utterly exhausted, something in herwould have protested against the plan taking form in her mind, for she hated Rhett as she hated noother person in all the world. But she could not feel. She could only think and her thoughts werevery practical.   “I said some terrible things to him that night when he deserted us on the road, but I can makehim forget them,” she thought contemptuously, still sure of her power to charm. “Butter won’t meltin my mouth when I’m around him. I’ll make him think I always loved him and was just upset andfrightened that night. Oh, men are so conceited they’ll believe anything that flatters them. ... I mustnever let him dream what straits we’re in, not till I’ve got him. Oh, he mustn’t know! If he evensuspected how poor we are, he’d know it was his money I wanted and not himself. After all, there’sno way he could know, for even Aunt Pitty doesn’t know the worst. And after I’ve married him,he’ll have to help us. He can’t let his wife’s people starve.” His wife. Mrs. Rhett Butler. Somethingof repulsion, buried deep beneath her cold thinking, stirred faintly and then was stilled. Sheremembered the embarrassing and disgusting events of her brief honeymoon with Charles, hisfumbling hands, his awkwardness, his incomprehensible emotions—and Wade Hampton.   “I won’t think about it now. I’ll bother about it after I’ve married him. ...”   After she had married him. Memory rang a bell. A chill went down her spine. She rememberedagain that night on Aunt Pitty’s porch, remembered how she asked him if he was proposing to her,remembered how hatefully he had laughed and said: “My dear, I’m not a marrying man.”   Suppose he was still not a marrying man. Suppose despite all her charms and wiles, he refusedto marry her. Suppose—oh, terrible thought!—suppose he had completely forgotten about her andwas chasing after some other woman.   “I want you more than I have ever wanted any woman. ...”   Scarlett’s nails dug into her palms as she clenched her fists. “If he’s forgotten me, I’ll make himremember me. I’ll make him want me again.”   And, if he would not marry her but still wanted her, there was a way to get the money. After all,he had once asked her to be his mistress.   In the dim grayness of the parlor she fought a quick decisive battle with the three most binding ties of her soul—the memory of Ellen, the teachings of her religion and her love for Ashley. Sheknew that what she had in her mind must be hideous to her mother even in that warm far-offHeaven where she surely was. She knew that fornication was a mortal sin. And she knew that,loving Ashley as she did, her plan was doubly prostitution.   But all these things went down before the merciless coldness of her mind and the goad ofdesperation. Ellen was dead and perhaps death gave an understanding of all things. Religionforbade fornication on pain of hell fire but if the Church thought she was going to leave one stoneunturned in saving Tara and saving the family from starving—well, let the Church bother aboutthat. She wouldn’t. At least, not now. And Ashley—Ashley didn’t want her. Yes, he did want her.   The memory of his warm mouth on hers told her that. But he would never take her away with him.   Strange that going away with Ashley did not seem like a sin, but with Rhett—In the dull twilight of the winter afternoon she came to the end of the long road which had begunthe night Atlanta fell. She had set her feet upon that road a spoiled, selfish and untried girl, full ofyouth, warm of emotion, easily bewildered by life. Now, at the end of the road, there was nothingleft of that girl. Hunger and hard labor, fear and constant strain, the terrors of war and the terrors ofReconstruction had taken away all warmth and youth and softness. About the core of her being, ashell of hardness had formed and, little by little, layer by layer, the shell had thickened during theendless months.   But until this very day, two hopes had been left to sustain her. She had hoped that the war beingover, life would gradually resume its old face. She had hoped that Ashley’s return would bringback some meaning into life. Now both hopes were gone. The sight of Jonas Wilkerson in the frontwalk of Tara had made her realize that for her, for the whole South, the war would never end. Thebitterest fighting, the most brutal retaliations, were just beginning. And Ashley was imprisonedforever by words which were stronger than any jail.   Peace had failed her and Ashley had failed her, both in the same day, and it was as if the lastcrevice in the shell had been sealed, the final layer hardened. She had become what GrandmaFontaine had counseled against, a woman who had seen the worst and so had nothing else to fear.   Not life nor Mother nor loss of love nor public opinion. Only hunger and her nightmare dream ofhunger could make her afraid.   A curious sense of lightness, of freedom, pervaded her now that she had finally hardened herheart against all that bound her to the old days and the old Scarlett. She had made her decision and,thank God, she wasn’t afraid. She had nothing to lose and her mind was made up.   If she could only coax Rhett into marrying her, all would be perfect. But if she couldn’t—well,she’d get the money just the same. For a brief moment she wondered with impersonal curiositywhat would be expected of a mistress. Would Rhett insist on keeping her in Atlanta as people saidhe kept the Watling woman? If he made her stay in Atlanta, he’d have to pay well—pay enough tobalance what her absence from Tara would be worth. Scarlett was very ignorant of the hidden sideof men’s lives and had no way of knowing just what the arrangement might involve. And shewondered if she would have a baby. That would be distinctly terrible.   “I won’t think of that now. I’ll think of it later,” and she pushed the unwelcome idea into theback of her mind lest it shake her resolution. She’d tell the family tonight she was going to Atlanta to borrow money, to try to mortgage the farm if necessary. That would be all they needed to knowuntil such an evil day when they might find out differently.   With the thought of action, her head went up and her shoulders went back. This affair was notgoing to be easy, she knew. Formerly, it had been Rhett who asked for her favors and she who heldthe power. Now she was the beggar and a beggar in no position to dictate terms.   “But I won’t go to him like a beggar. I’ll go like a queen granting favors. He’ll never know.”   She walked to the long pier glass and looked at herself, her head held high. And she saw framedin the cracking gilt molding a stranger. It was as if she were really seeing herself for the first timein a year. She had glanced in the mirror every morning to see that her face was clean and her hairtidy but she had always been too pressed by other things to really see herself. But this stranger!   Surely this thin hollow-cheeked woman couldn’t be Scarlett O’Hara! Scarlett O’Hara had a pretty,coquettish, high-spirited face. This face at which she stared was not pretty at all and had none ofthe charm she remembered so well. It was white and strained and the black brows above slantinggreen eyes swooped up startlingly against the white skin like frightened bird’s wings. There was ahard and hunted look about this face.   “I’m not pretty enough to get him!” she thought and desperation came back to her. “I’m thin—oh, I’m terribly thin!”   She patted her cheeks, felt frantically at her collar bones, feeling them stand out through herbasque. And her breasts were so small, almost as small as Melanie’s. She’d have to put ruffles inher bosom to make them look larger and she had always had contempt for girls who resorted tosuch subterfuges. Ruffles! That brought up another thought. Her clothes. She looked down at herdress, spreading its mended folds wide between her hands. Rhett liked women who were welldressed, fashionably dressed. She remembered with longing the flounced green dress she had wornwhen she first came out of mourning, the dress she wore with the green plumed bonnet he hadbrought her and she recalled the approving compliments he had paid her. She remembered, too,with hate sharpened by envy the red plaid dress, the red-topped boots with tassels and the pancakehat of Emmie Slattery. They were gaudy but they were new and fashionable and certainly theycaught the eye. And, oh, how she wanted to catch the eye! Especially the eye of Rhett Butler! If heshould see her in her old clothes, he’d know everything was wrong at Tara. And he must not know.   What a fool she had been to think she could go to Atlanta and have him for the asking, she withher scrawny neck and hungry cat eyes and raggedy dress! If she hadn’t been able to pry a proposalfrom him at the height of her beauty, when she had her prettiest clothes, how could she expect toget one now when she was ugly and dressed tackily? If Miss Pitty’s story was true, he must havemore money than anyone in Atlanta and probably had his pick of all the pretty ladies, good andbad. Well, she thought grimly, I’ve got something that most pretty ladies haven’t got—and that’s amind that’s made up. And if I had just’ one nice dress—There wasn’t a nice dress in Tara or a dress which hadn’t been turned twice and mended.   “That’s that,” she thought, disconsolately looking down at the floor. She saw Ellen’s moss-greenvelvet carpet, now worn and scuffed and torn and spotted from the numberless men who had sleptupon it, and the sight depressed her more, for it made her realize that Tara was just as ragged as she. The whole darkening room depressed her and, going to the window, she raised the sash,unlatched the shutters and let the last light of the wintry sunset into the room. She closed thewindow and leaned her head against the velvet curtains and looked out across the bleak pasturetoward the dark cedars of the burying ground.   The moss-green velvet curtains felt prickly and soft beneath her cheek and she rubbed her faceagainst them gratefully, like a cat And then suddenly she looked at them.   A minute later, she was dragging a heavy marble-topped table across the floor. Its rusty castorsscreeching in protest. She rolled the table under the window, gathered up her skirts, climbed on itand tiptoed to reach the heavy curtain pole. It was almost out of her reach and she jerked at it soimpatiently the nails came out of the wood, and the curtains, pole and all, fell to the floor with aclatter.   As if by magic, the door of the parlor opened and the wide black face of Mammy appeared,ardent curiosity and deepest suspicion evident in every wrinkle. She looked disapprovingly atScarlett, poised on the table top, her skirts above her knees, ready to leap to the floor. There was alook of excitement and triumph on her face which brought sudden distrust to Mammy.   “Whut you up to wid Miss Ellen’s po’teers?” she demanded.   “What are you up to listening outside doors?” asked Scarlett, leaping nimbly to the floor andgathering up a length of the heavy dusty velvet.   “Dat ain’ needer hyah no dar,” countered Mammy, girding herself for combat “You ain’ got nobizness wid Miss Ellen’s po’teers, juckin’ de poles plum outer de wood, an’ drappin’ dem on deflo’ in de dust. Miss Ellen set gret sto’ by dem po’teers an’ Ah ain’ ‘tendin’ ter have you muss demup dat way.”   Scarlett turned green eyes on Mammy, eyes which were feverishly gay, eyes which looked likethe bad little girl of the good old days Mammy sighed about.   “Scoot up to the attic and get my box of dress patterns, Mammy,” she cried, giving her a slightshove. “I’m going to have a new dress.”   Mammy was torn between indignation at the very idea of her two hundred pounds scootinganywhere, much less to the attic, and the dawning of a horrid suspicion. Quickly she snatched thecurtain lengths from Scarlett, holding them against her monumental, sagging breasts as if theywere holy relics.   “Not outer Miss Ellen’s po’teers is you gwine have a new dress, ef dat’s whut you figgerin’ on.   Not wile Ah got breaf in mah body.”   For a moment the expression Mammy was won’t to describe to herself as “bullheaded” flittedover her young mistress’ face and then it passed into a smile, so difficult for Mammy to resist. Butit did not fool the old woman. She knew Miss Scarlett was employing that smile merely to getaround her and in this matter she was determined not to be gotten around.   “Mammy, don’t be mean. I’m going to Atlanta to borrow some money and I’ve got to have anew dress.”   “You doan need no new dress. Ain’ no other ladies got new dresses. Dey weahs dey ole ones an’ dey weahs dem proudfully. Ain’ no reason why Miss Ellen’s chile kain weah rags ef she wants ter,an’ eve’ybody respec’ her lak she wo’ silk.”   The bullheaded expression began to creep back. Lordy, ‘twus right funny how de older MissScarlett git de mo’ she look lak Mist’ Gerald and de less lak Miss Ellen!   “Now, Mammy, you know Aunt Pitty wrote us that Miss Fanny Elsing is getting married thisSaturday, and of course I’ll go to the wedding. And I’ll need a new dress to wear.”   “De dress you got on’ll be jes’ as nice as Miss Fanny’s weddin’ dress. Miss Pitty done wrote datde Elsings mighty po’.”   “But I’ve got to have a new dress! Mammy, you don’t know how we need money. The taxes—”   “Yas’m, Ah knows all ‘bout de taxes but—”   “You do?”   “Well’m, Gawd give me ears, din’ he, an’ ter hear wid? Specially w’en Mist’ Will doan never tektrouble ter close de do’.”   Was there nothing Mammy did not overhear? Scarlett wondered how that ponderous body whichshook the floors could move with such savage stealth when its owner wished to eavesdrop.   “Well, if you heard all that, I suppose you heard Jonas Wilkerson and that Emmie—”   “Yas’m,” said Mammy with smoldering eyes.   “Well, don’t be a mule, Mammy. Don’t you see I’ve got to go to Atlanta and get money for thetaxes? I’ve got to get some money. I’ve got to do it!” She hammered one small fist into the other.   “Name of God, Mammy, they’ll turn us all out into the road and then where’ll we go? Are yougoing to argue with me about a little matter of Mother’s curtains when that trash Emmie Slatterywho killed Mother is fixing to move into this house and sleep in the bed Mother slept in?”   Mammy shifted from one foot to another like a restive elephant. She had a dim feeling that shewas being got around.   “No’m, Ah ain’ wantin’ ter see trash in Miss Ellen’s house or us all in de road but—” She fixedScarlett with a suddenly accusing eye: “Who is you fixin’ ter git money frum dat you needs a newdress?”   “That,” said Scarlett, taken aback, “is my own business.”   Mammy looked at her piercingly, just as she had done when Scarlett was small and had triedunsuccessfully to palm off plausible excuses for misdeeds. She seemed to be reading her mind andScarlett dropped her eyes unwillingly, the first feeling of guilt at her intended conduct creepingover her.   “So you needs a spang new pretty dress ter borry money wid. Dat doan lissen jes’ right ter me.   An’ you ain’ sayin’ whar de money ter come frum.”   “I’m not saying anything,” said Scarlett indignantly. “It’s my own business. Are you going togive me that curtain and help me make the dress?”   “Yas’m,” said Mammy softly, capitulating with a suddenness which aroused all the suspicion in Scarlett’s mind. “Ah gwine he’p you mek it an’ Ah specs we mout git a petticoat outer de satinlinin’ of de po’teers an’ trim a pa’r pantalets wid de lace cuttins.”   She handed the velvet curtain back to Scarlett and a sly smile spread over her face.   “Miss Melly gwine ter ‘Lanta wid you, Miss Scarlett?”   “No,” said Scarlett sharply, beginning to realize what was coming. “I’m going by myself.”   “Dat’s whut you thinks,” said Mammy firmly, “but Ah is gwine wid you an’ dat new dress. Yas,Ma’m, eve’y step of de way.”   For an instant Scarlett envisaged her trip to Atlanta and her conversation with Rhett withMammy glowering chaperonage like a large black Cerberus in the background. She smiled againand put a hand on Mammy’s arm.   “Mammy darling, you’re sweet to want to go with me and help me, but how on earth would thefolks here get on without you? You know you just about run Tara.”   “Huh!” said Mammy. “Doan do no good ter sweet talk me, Miss Scarlett. Ah been knowin’ yousence Ah put de fust pa’r of diapers on you. Ah’s said Ah’s gwine ter ‘Lanta wid you an’ gwine Ahis. Miss Ellen be tuhnin’ in her grabe at you gwine up dar by yo’seff wid dat town full up widYankees an’ free niggers an’ sech like.”   “But I’ll be at Aunt Pittypat’s,” Scarlett offered frantically.   “Miss Pittypat a fine woman an’ she think she see eve’ything but she doan,” said Mammy, andturning with the majestic air of having closed the interview, she went into the hall. The boardstrembled as she called:   “Prissy, child! Fly up de stairs an’ fotch Miss Scarlett’s pattun box frum de attic an’ try an’ finede scissors without takin’ all night ‘bout it.”   “This is a fine mess,” thought Scarlett dejectedly. “I’d as soon have a bloodhound after me.”   After supper had been cleared away, Scarlett and Mammy spread patterns on the dining-roomtable while Suellen and Carreen busily ripped satin linings from curtains and Melanie brushed thevelvet with a clean hairbrush to remove the dust. Gerald, Will and Ashley sat about the roomsmoking, smiling at the feminine tumult. A feeling of pleasurable excitement which seemed toemanate from Scarlett was on them all, an excitement they could not understand. There was colorin Scarlett’s face and a bright hard glitter in her eyes and she laughed a good deal. Her laughterpleased them all, for it had been months since they had heard her really laugh. Especially did itplease Gerald. His eyes were less vague than-usual as they followed her swishing figure about theroom and he patted her approvingly whenever she was within reach. The girls were as excited as ifpreparing for a ball and they ripped and cut and basted as if making a ball dress of their own.   Scarlett was going to Atlanta to borrow money or to mortgage Tara if necessary. But what was amortgage, after all? Scarlett said they could easily pay it off out of next year’s cotton and havemoney left over, and she said it with such finality they did not think to question. And when theyasked who was going to lend the money she said: “Layovers catch meddlers,” so archly they alllaughed and teased her about her millionaire friend.   “It must be Captain Rhett Butler,” said Melanie slyly and they exploded with mirth at thisabsurdity, knowing how Scarlett hated him and never failed to refer to him as “that skunk, RhettButler.”   But Scarlett did not laugh at this and Ashley, who had laughed, stopped abruptly as he sawMammy shoot a quick, guarded glance at Scarlett.   Suellen, moved to generosity by the party spirit of the occasion, produced her Irish-lace collar,somewhat worn but still pretty, and Carreen insisted that Scarlett wear her slippers to Atlanta, forthey were in better condition than any others at Tara. Melanie begged Mammy to leave her enoughvelvet scraps to recover the frame of her battered bonnet and brought shouts of laughter when shesaid the old rooster was going to part with his gorgeous bronze and green-black tail feathers unlesshe took to the swamp immediately.   Scarlett, watching the flying fingers, heard the laughter and looked at them all with concealedbitterness and contempt.   “They haven’t an idea what is really happening to me or to themselves or to the South. They stillthink, in spite of everything, that nothing really dreadful can happen to any of them because theyare who they are, O’Haras, Wilkeses, Hamiltons. Even the darkies feel that way. Oh, they’re allfools! They’ll never realize! They’ll go right on thinking and living as they always have, andnothing will change them. Melly can dress in rags and pick cotton and even help me murder a manbut it doesn’t change her. She’s still the shy well-bred Mrs. Wilkes, the perfect lady! And Ashleycan see death and war and be wounded and lie in jail and come home to less than nothing and stillbe the same gentleman he was when he had all Twelve Oaks behind him. Will is different. Heknows how things really are but then Will never had anything much to lose. And as for Suellen andCarreen—they think all this is just a temporary matter. They don’t change to meet changed conditionsbecause they think it’ll all be over soon. They think God is going to work a miracle especiallyfor their benefit. But He won’t. The only miracle that’s going to be worked around here is the oneI’m going to work on Rhett Butler. ... They won’t change. Maybe they can’t change. I’m the onlyone who’s changed—and I wouldn’t have changed if I could have helped it.”   Mammy finally turned the men out of the dining room and closed the door, so the fitting couldbegin. Pork helped Gerald upstairs to bed and Ashley and Will were left alone in the lamplight inthe front hall. They were silent for a while and Will chewed his tobacco like a placid ruminantanimal. But his mild face was far from placid.   “This goin’ to Atlanta,” he said at last in a slow voice, “I don’t like it. Not one bit.”   Ashley looked at Will quickly and then looked away, saying nothing but wondering if Will hadthe same awful suspicion which was haunting him. But that was impossible. Will didn’t know whathad taken place in the orchard that afternoon and how it had driven Scarlett to desperation. Willcouldn’t have noticed Mammy’s face when Rhett Butler’s name was mentioned and, besides, Willdidn’t know about Rhett’s money or his foul reputation. At least, Ashley did not think he couldknow these things, but since coming back to Tara he had realized that Will, like Mammy, seemedto know things without being told, to sense them before they happened. There was somethingominous in the air, exactly what Ashley did nut know, but he was powerless to save Scarlett fromit. She had not met his eyes once that evening and the hard bright gaiety with which she had treated him was frightening. The suspicions which tore at him were too terrible to be put intowords. He did not have the right to insult her by asking her if they were true. He clenched his fists.   He had no rights at all where she was concerned; this afternoon he had forfeited them all, forever.   He could not help her. No one could help her. But when he thought of Mammy and the look ofgrim determination she wore as she cut into the velvet curtains, he was cheered a little. Mammywould take care of Scarlett whether Scarlett wished it or not.   “I have caused all this,” he thought despairingly. “I have driven her to this.”   He remembered the way she had squared her shoulders when she turned away from him thatafternoon, remembered the stubborn lift of her head. His heart went out to her, torn with his ownhelplessness, wrenched with admiration. He knew she had no such word in her vocabulary asgallantry, knew she would have stared blankly if he had told her she was the most gallant soul hehad ever known. He knew she would not understand how many truly fine things he ascribed to herwhen he thought of her as gallant He knew that she took life as it came, opposed her tough-fiberedmind to whatever obstacles there might be, fought with a determination that would not recognize defeat, and kept on fighting even when she saw d(on) efeat was inevitable.   But, for four years, he had seen others who had refused to recognize defeat, men who rode gailyinto sure disaster because they were gallant And they had been defeated, just the same.   He thought as he stared at Will in the shadowy hall that he had never known such gallantry asthe gallantry of Scarlett O’Hara going forth to conquer the world in her mother’s velvet curtainsand the tail feathers of a rooster.   思嘉走上屋前的台阶时,她手里还抓着那团红泥。她小心翼翼地避免走后门,因为嬷嬷眼尖,一定会看出她做了什么大不该的事。她不想看见嬷嬷或任何别的人,她觉得她再也没有勇气同别人见面或交谈了。她没有什么难为情、失望或痛苦的感觉,只觉得两腿发软,心里空虚到了极点。她用力捏紧那团泥土,捏得从拳头缝里挤出泥来,同时她一次又一次像鹦鹉学舌似地说:“我还有这个呢。是的,我还有这个。"她已没有什么别的东西了;除了这块土地,除了这块她刚才几分钟前还想将它像块破手帕似的遗弃的土地,她什么也没有了。现在,这土地又显得可爱起来,她暗暗诧异,不知是一股什么疯劲儿支使她,竟会把这块土地看得一钱不值了。要是艾希礼让步,她这时肯定已经和他一起离开这里,义无反顾地丢下家庭和朋友,不过,即使在内心空虚时她也明白,要丢下这些可爱的红色山冈和久经冲洗的沟渠,以及黑黝黝的枯瘦松林,那是多么令人揪心的事。她的心思一定会如饥似渴地回到它们身边来,直到她临终那一天为止。即使是艾希礼也难以填补她心中因塔拉被挖走而留下的空白。艾希礼是多么聪明又多么清楚地了解她呀!他只要把一团湿土塞到她手里,她头脑马上就清醒了。   她正在穿堂里准备关门,这时她听到了马蹄声,便转过身去看马车道上的动静。万一在这个时候有客人来,那就讨厌了。她得赶快回自己房里去推说头疼。   但是马车驶近时,她大为惊讶,便不再逃跑了。那是一辆新马车,擦得铮亮,鞍辔也是新的,还镶着许多闪光的铜片。这无疑是生客。凡是她认识的人当中没有一个能买得起这样显赫而簇新的装备。   她站在门道里看着。冷风吹动着她的衣裙,在她那双湿脚周围飕飕地刮着。这时马车在屋前停下,乔纳斯•威尔克森跳下车来。思嘉看见他们家这位监工居然坐上了这么漂亮的马车,穿上了这么精致的大衣,不觉大吃一惊,几乎不相信自己的眼睛。威尔告诉过她,自从他在"自由人局"谋到新的差使以来,他显得很阔绰,敲诈黑人或政府,或者没收人们的棉花,硬说那是联邦政府的。因此赚了许多钱,毫无疑问,这些钱决不是他在这样的艰难岁月里能正当挣来的。   如今就是这个威尔克森,从那辆漂亮的马车上下来,然后又搀扶一个穿着打扮与她身份相称的妇人下了车。思嘉一眼便觉得那衣服颜色亮得刺眼,庸俗到了极点,不过她还是很有兴趣地从头到脚打量了一番。很久以来,对于时髦的衣着她甚至连看的机会也没有了。嗯!今年不怎么兴宽阔的裙箍了,她心里想,同时打量着那件红色花纹的长衣。还有,合拢那个黑鹅绒宽外套后,你便知道当今的外套有多短了。多小巧的帽子!无边帽准是过时了。因这顶带檐帽戴在妇女头顶上像个硬邦邦的大饼。帽带不是像软帽那样系在下巴底下,而是系在背后那束高高的发卷下面,发鬈从帽子后边往下垂着,使得思嘉不能不特别注意,但帽子无论在颜色或质地上都与这个女人的头发不相配。   那女人下了马车后,一双眼睛立即朝房子望去。思嘉发现她扑满了白粉的兔儿脸上有些似曾相识的东西。   “呀,原来是埃米•斯莱特里!"她嚷道,因为十分惊异,不觉提高了嗓门。   “是的,是我!"埃米说,含一丝傲慢的微笑扬起头来,开始走上台阶。   埃米•斯莱特里!这个狡猾的荡妇,爱伦给她的婴儿施过洗礼,可她却把伤寒症传染给爱伦,送了她的命。这个浓妆艳抹、粗俗而肮脏的白人渣滓,如今正昂首阔步、得意洋洋地走上塔拉的台阶,仿佛她就是这里的人了。思嘉想起爱伦来,感觉又突如起来地回到她那空虚的心田,一股暴怒像疟疾似的震憾着她。   “滚下台阶,你这贱货!"她大声喝道。"从这里滚开!滚开!"埃米的颚骨顿时垂下来,她看看乔纳斯,只见他正皱着眉头往上走。他尽管很生气,但仍竭力保持威严。   “不许你用这种态度对我妻子说话,"他说。   “妻子?"思嘉不禁轻蔑地笑起来,这大大刺伤了对方。   “你早该讨她做老婆了。你害死我母亲以后,是谁替你后来的孩子们施洗礼的啊?"埃米"啊!"了一声便连忙转身下台阶,但乔纳斯一把拉住她的胳臂,不让她向马车那边逃跑。   “我们是来拜访的----友好的拜访嘛,"他竭力嚷道,"想同老朋友谈一桩小事情----”“朋友?"思嘉的声音厉害得像抽了一鞭子。"我们什么时候跟你们这样下贱的人交过朋友?斯莱特里家当初靠我们的施舍过活。后来却以害死我母亲当作回报----而你----你----我爸因为你跟埃米养了私生子才把你开除了,这一点你很清楚。这是朋友吗?赶快从这里滚开吧,免得我把本廷先生和威尔克斯先生叫来。"听到这里,埃米便挣脱了丈夫的手向马车逃去,拖着那双带有雪亮的红鞋帮和红流苏的小靴爬上马车。   这时乔纳斯也跟思嘉一样气得浑身发抖,他那张松驰的胖脸涨得发紫,活像一只愤怒的土耳其火鸡。   “你以为现在还是有权有势?可是,我对你一清二楚。我知道你连双鞋也没有,打赤脚了。我知道你父亲已经成了白痴----"“从这里给我滚开!"“哼,我看你这腔调也叫不了多久了。我知道,你已经完蛋了。你连税金也付不起。我到这儿来是想买你的这个地方----给你出个公道的价钱。埃米巴望住在这里。可现在,说实话,我连一分钱也不给你了!你们这些住惯了沼泽地、自以为了不起的爱尔兰人,等你们因为交不起税金被赶走的时候,便会明白现在在这里掌权的究竟是些什么人了。到了那个时候,我要买下这块地方,通通买下来----连家具及所有的一切----那时我要住在这里。"原来,一心想要夺走塔拉的人就是乔纳斯•威尔克森—-乔纳斯和埃米,他们用迂回的手法极力要搬进曾经使他们蒙受侮辱的住所,以达到报复的目的。思嘉的全部神经充满了仇恨,就像那天她把枪筒对准那个长满络腮胡的北方佬面孔开火时似的。她恨不得此刻手里还握着那支枪呢。   “不等你们的脚迈进门槛,我就要把这所房子一块石头一块石头地拆掉,把它烧光,然后遍地撒上盐。"她高声喊道。   “我叫你滚出去!给我滚开!”   乔纳斯恶狠狠地瞪着她。想继续说下去,但随即向马车走去。他爬进马车,坐在那个正在抽泣的新娘身边,然后掉转马头。他们走时,思嘉还真想啐他们一口。她真的啐了,她明知这是一种粗俗的孩子气的举动,但却因此觉得心里舒畅多了。她巴不得他们还看得见这一举动。   那些该死的黑人同情者竟敢跑到这里来当面奚落她的贫穷!那个卑鄙的家伙根本就不想给塔拉出什么价钱。他只不过以此为借口到思嘉面前炫耀自己和埃米罢了。那些厚颜无耻的提包党人,浑身长满虱子的穷白人,还吹牛要住到塔拉来呢。   可是,她突然害怕起来,这时怒气全消了。该死的!他们想住到这里来呢!她竟毫无办法能阻止他们购买塔拉,毫无办法阻止他们扣押每一面镜子,每一张桌子和床,扣押爱伦的桃花心木家具,以及每一件尽管已经被北方佬暴徒弄坏但对她却仍然十分珍贵的东西。还有那些罗毕拉德家的银器。我决不让他们得逞,思嘉忿忿地想。不,即使我不得不把这地方烧毁!埃米•斯莱特里永远也休想踏上任何一小块母亲曾经走动过的地方!   她关起门来,将背靠在门上,但仍然感到非常害怕,甚至比谢尔曼的军队住进这所房子里的那天还怕得厉害得多。   那天她最感到害怕的是塔拉可能会不由她分说硬被烧掉。可这次更糟----这些卑劣的家伙将住在这所房子里向他们的狐朋狗党大肆吹嘘他们如何把骄傲的奥哈拉家赶出去了。说不定他们还会把黑人带到这里吃饭睡觉。威尔告诉过她,乔纳斯曾煞有介事地让黑人与他平起平坐,同他们一起吃喝,到他们家去拜访,让他们坐他的马车同他一起兜风,还一路抱着他们的肩膀亲热呢。   她一想到塔拉有可能遭到这样最后一次侮辱,心怦怦乱跳得几乎要透不过起来了。她竭力镇静下来考虑眼前的问题,设想一条出路,但她每次集中思考时,总有一股新的愤怒与恐惧的激情震撼她。出路一定会有的,有钱人总是有的。一定会有人能借钱给她。不可能恰好这时候钱都用光了,或者吹走了。于是艾希礼开玩笑的话又回到她的耳边:“只有一个人,瑞德•巴特勒……他有钱。"瑞德•巴特勒。她匆忙走进客厅,随手把门关上。从百叶窗透进来的幽暗的微光和冬天的暮色把她紧紧地包围着。   谁也不会想起要到这里打扰她,而她正需要时间来安静地想一想。刚才脑子里闪出的那个念头原来这样简单,她不明白以前为什么她竟没有想到过。   “我要从巴特勒那里弄到钱。我要把钻石耳环卖给他,要不就向他借钱,用耳环作抵押,将来有了钱再还给他。"这时候,她觉得大大放松了,结果反而显得虚弱起来。她将交纳税金,并在乔纳斯•威尔克森面前放声大笑。可是紧跟着这个愉快的念头,出现了严酷的事实。   “我不光是今年要交纳税金,还有明年和我今后一生中的每一年呢。要是我这次交了,他们下次定会将税额提得更高,直到把我赶走为止。如果我的棉田得一次丰收,他们就抽它的税,到头来叫我一无所得,或者干脆将棉花没收,说它是联邦政府的。北方佬和那帮追随他们的恶棍已经把我带到他们所需要的地步了。只要我还活着,便一辈子都得担心他们会把我抓祝我得一辈子担惊受吓,拼命挣钱,直到累死为止,眼看着自己的劳动一无所获,棉花被人家抢走了事……就说借三百美元来交税款,这也只能救当务之急。我所需要的是永远脱出这个圈套,好让我每晚安心睡觉,用不着为明天、下个月、乃至明年将要发生的事情操心。“她继续这样思索着。有个念头冷静而自然地在她的脑子里形成了。她想起瑞德,想起他那在黝黑皮肤衬托下闪光的雪白牙齿,以及那双一直在抚慰她的黑眼睛。她记起亚特兰大被围困的最后阶段那个十分炎热的夜晚,那时他坐在皮蒂姑妈的一半为夏天的朦胧月色所掩蔽的走廊上,她感觉到他那只炙热的手又握住了她的胳膊,他一面说:“我想要你超过以前想过以前想要的任何一个女人----我对你比对任何一个女人都等待得更久了。"“我要跟他结婚,"她冷静地想道。"到那时,我就再也用不着为钱操心了。"多么美好的念头啊,比登天的希望还可爱呢,永远也不必再为钱操心,相信塔拉永远平安无事,而且全家不愁吃穿,她自己也无需再在石壁上碰得鼻青脸肿了!   她觉得自己很老了。下午的几件事已耗尽了她的全部感情,最初是那个关于税金的惊人消息,然后是艾希礼,最后是她对乔纳斯•威尔克森的一场暴怒。现在,她已没有什么感情了。如果说她的感觉能力还没有完全枯竭,那么她身上一定会有某种力量起来反对她头脑中正在形成的那个计划,因为这世界上没有第二个像瑞德那样叫她憎恨了。但是她已经没有感情作用。她只能思考,而她的思想是非常实际的。   “那天晚上当他在路上把我们甩掉的时候,我对他说过些可怕的话,不过我可以让他忘掉,”她这样毫不在意地想着,显然相信自己依旧是迷人的。"只要我在他身旁,巴特勒还是不好轻易消受的。我要叫他感到我曾经一直爱他,而且那天晚上不过是心烦意乱又十分害怕而已。唔,男人总是自命不凡的,只要你恭维他,说什么他也相信……我决不能让巴特勒意识到我们当前处于怎样的困境,要先征服他再说。嗯,决不能让他知道!即使他怀疑我们已经穷了,他也得知道我所需要的是钱而不是他这个人。反正他无法知道,因为连皮蒂姑妈也不了解真实情况呢。而等到我同他结婚以后,他便不得不帮助我们了。他总不能让自己妻子家的人饿肚子呀。"他的妻子。瑞德•巴特勒夫人。在她的静静思考之下潜藏着的某种带着反感的意识隐约动了动,但很快就平静了。她想起她同查尔斯度过的那个矩暂密月中的令人厌恶的情景,他那摸索的双手,他那笨拙劲儿,他那不可思议的激情----以及韦德•汉普顿。   “现在不去想它。等同他结了婚再去动这个脑筋吧……"等到同他结了婚以后,记忆摇动了警铃。一股冷冰冰的感觉从她的脊椎直往下流。她再一次记起在皮蒂姑妈家的走廊上那个夜晚,记起她怎样询问他是否在向她求婚,记起他又是怎样恶狠狠地笑起来,并且说:”亲爱的,我是不打算结婚的呀!"也许他是不打算结婚。也许,尽管她那样迷人和狡黠,他还是拒绝娶她。也许----啊,多可怕的想法!----也许他完全把她忘了,并且正在追逐别的女人。   “我想要你超过以前我想要的任何一个女人……"思嘉紧紧地握着拳头,几乎把指甲插到手心肉里去了。   “如果他把我忘掉了,我也要叫他记起来。我要叫他再一次想要我。"而且,如果他不想娶她而只是仍然想要她,那也有办法拿到钱的。毕竟,他曾经有一次要求她当他的情妇嘛。   她在客厅暗淡的光线中竭力要同那三条最能束缚她灵魂的绳子进行一次迅速的决战----那就是对爱伦的思念、她的宗教信条,以及对艾希礼的爱,她知道自己心中的主意对于她那位即使远在温暖天国(她一定在那里)的母亲来说也必然是丑恶的。她知道私通是一种莫大的犯罪。她也知道,像她现在这样爱着艾希礼,她的计策更是双重的卖淫。   但所有这些在她心里头无情的冷酷和绝望的驱策面前都让步了。爱伦已经死了,而死亡或许会赋予人们理解一切的能力。宗教用地狱之火来胁迫,禁止私通,可是只要教会想想她是在不遗余力挽救塔拉,使它安然无恙,同时挽救她一家免于饥饿----那么,如果教会还要懊恼就让它懊恼去吧。她自己才不懊恼呢。至少现在还不。而且艾希礼----艾希礼并不要她呀。是的,他是要她的。她每回想起他吻她的嘴唇时那种温馨的感觉,便相信这一点。但是他永远了不会把她带走。真奇,怎么想跟艾希礼逃走就好像不是犯罪似的,而一跟瑞德----在这个冬天傍晚的苍苍暮色中,她来到了从亚特兰大沦陷之夜开端的那条漫漫长路的尽头。当初踏上这条路时,她还是个娇惯了的、自私自利而不谙世故的少女,浑身的青春活力,满怀热忱,很容易为生活所迷惑。如今,走到了这条长路的尽头,那个少女在她身上已经无影无踪了。饥饿和劳累,恐惧和紧张,战争和恐怖,早已带走了她的全部温暖、青春和柔情。在她生命的内核周围已经形成一层硬壳,而且,随着无尽的岁月,这支硬壳已经一点一点、一层一层地变得很厚了。   然而,直到今天为止,还两个希望在支撑着她。她一直希望战争结束后生活会逐渐恢复它的本来面目。她一直希望艾希礼的归来会给生活带回某种意义。如今这两个希望都已成了泡影。而乔纳斯•威尔克森在塔拉前面走道上的出现更使她明白了,原来对于她,对于整个南方来说,战争是永远不会结束的。最激烈的战斗,最残酷的报复,还刚刚开始呢。   而且艾希礼已经被自己的话永远禁锢起来,这是比牢房还要坚固的呀。   和平令她失望了,艾希礼令她失望了,两者都在同一天发生,这仿佛那层硬壳上的最后一丝缝隙已被堵上。最后一层皮已经硬化了。她已经成为方丹老太太曾劝她不要做的那种人,即成为一个饱经艰险因而敢做敢为的妇女。无论是生活或者母亲,或者爱情的丧失,或者社会舆论,一概不在乎了。只有饥饿和饥饿的梦魇才是她觉得可怕。   她一经横下心来反对那些将她捆缚在旧时代和旧的思嘉的一切,这时她便感到浑身轻松自在了。她已经作出决定,并且托上帝的福一点也不害怕了。她已经没有什么可以丧失的了,她的决心已经下定。   只要她能够诱惑瑞德跟她结婚,便一切称心如意了。可是万一----他办不到呢----那也没有什么,她同样会拿到那笔钱。她有那么一会儿竟怀着自然的好奇心想起当情妇会是什么样的滋味。瑞德会不会要她留在亚特兰大,就像人们说的他把沃特琳那个女人养在那里一样呢?如果他叫她留在亚特兰大那就得付钱----付出足够的钱来补偿因她离开塔拉而受到的损失。思嘉对于男人生活中的隐秘一面毫无所知,也无法去了解这种安排可能涉及到的问题。她还说不准要不要有个孩子。那可毫不含糊是活受罪呀。   “我现在不去想它,以后再去想吧,"就这样她把这个令人心烦的念头抛到脑后,免得动摇自己的决心。今晚她就告诉家人,她要到亚特兰大去借钱,必要时设法用农场作抵押。   他们只需要知道这一点就行。等到以后他们发现根本不是那么回事时,那就活该了。   一想到行动,她就昂头挺胸起来。她清楚,这桩事不会是轻而易举的。上一次,那是瑞德在讨好她,而她自己是掌权人。可如今她成了乞丐,是个无权提出条件的乞丐了。   “可是我决不像乞丐去求他。我要像个施恩的王后那样到他那里去。他万万不会知道的。   她来到那块高高的壁前,昂起头端详自己。她看见带有裂纹的镀金镜框里站着一个陌生人。仿佛一年来她真是第一次看见自己。实际上她每天早晨都照镜子,看自己的脸是否干净,头发是否整齐,不过她每次因为有别的事情压在心上,很少真正端详自己,可是这个陌生人呀!这个脸颊瘦削的女人不可能就是思嘉呀,思嘉有着一个漂亮的迷人的、容光焕发的脸蛋呀!可是她看见的这张脸一点不漂亮,也丝毫没有她清楚记得的那种魅力了。这是张苍白憔粹的脸,而且那双向上斜挑着的绿眼睛上方的黑眉毛,在苍白皮肤的衬托下,也像受惊鸟儿的双翅那样突然扬起,给人以骇异的感觉。她脸上呈现出一种艰辛而窘迫的神态。她想:“我的容貌已引诱不了他。"于是又有了绝望的心情。"我消瘦了----消瘦得多么可怕啊!”她拍拍自己的脸蛋,又急切地摸摸锁骨,觉得它们已经从紧身上衣里矗出来了,而她的乳房已那么干瘪,几乎跟媚兰的一样小了。看来她已不得不在胸部塞些棉絮什么的,使乳房显得丰满些才行,可她一贯瞧不起搞这种假名堂的女孩子的呀。假乳房嘛!这叫她想起另外一件事来。她的衣着。她低头看看自己的衣裙,把补过的衣褶摊在手里看着。瑞德喜欢女人穿着好,穿得时髦。她怀着期待的心情想起她服丧后第一次出门时穿的那件有荷叶边的绿衣裳和他带来的那顶羽毛装饰的绿色帽子,这些得到了他的连声赞赏。她还怀着羡慕甚至忌妒的心情想起埃米•斯莱特里那件红格衣服,那双带穗的红靴子和那顶煎饼式的宽边帽。这些东西都很俗气,但是又新又时髦,准能惹人注意。而现在,瞧,她多么需要惹人注意啊!尤其是瑞德•巴特勒的注意!要是他看见她穿着旧衣服,他便会明白在塔拉什么都不行了。可是万万不能让他明白呀。   她竟然以为凭着她这又细又瘦的脖子,馋猫般的眼睛,破旧的衣着,就可以到亚特兰大去按自己的需要拿住人家,这是多么愚蠢的想法啊!要是她在自己最美、穿着漂亮的时候还没能赢得他向她求爱,那么如今邋邋遢遢,她怎么还敢存这种希望呢?如果皮蒂姑妈讲故事属实,那他会是亚特兰大最有钱的人,并且很可能对那里所有的漂亮女人,好的坏的都挑拣过了。好吧,她泄气地想,我只具有大多数漂亮女人所没有的东西,那就是下定了决心。不过,要是我有一件漂亮衣服----在塔拉可没有什么漂亮衣服,甚至连一件没有翻改两次的衣服也没有。   “就这样吧,"她心里嘀咕着,失望地俯视着地板。她看见爱伦的苔绿色天鹅绒地毯,它已经很旧,有的地方磨坏了,撕破了,而且由于无数人在上面睡过而留下了许多污渍,何况思嘉看见便明白塔拉也像这地毯一样破旧不堪,更加觉得丧。整个那间愈来愈暗的房子都令她沮丧,这时她走到窗前,举起窗棂,打开百叶窗,将冬日傍晚最后的光线放进房里。她关好窗户,把头倚在天鹅绒窗帘上,两眼越过荒凉的田野向墓地上的苍苍柏树林望去。   那苔绿色的窗帘使她脸颊上有一种刺痒而柔软的感觉,她欣慰地把脸贴在上面轻轻摩擦。忽然她像一只猫似的瞪着眼睛呆呆地看着它。   几分种后,她将那张沉重的大理石面桌上从对面拉过来。   桌腿下面生锈的脚轮像抗议似的吱吱作响。她把桌子推到窗下,将裙子扎起来,爬到桌上,踮起脚尖去抓那笨重的窗帘杆。但是,那杆子挂得太高,她很难够得着,只得耐心地一次又一次跳起来去抓它,好不容易才把铁钉从木框上拉出来,窗帘和杆子一起掉下来,哗啦一声落在地板上。   仿佛施了魔法似的,那扇客厅的门忽地开了,嬷嬷那张宽大的黑脸随即出现在门口,几乎每道皱纹都流露出热切的好奇和深深的疑惑。她很不以为然地看着思嘉,后者正站在桌上,撩起裙子,露出膝盖,准备跳下地来。她脸上浮出激动和胜利的神色,嬷嬷马上怀疑起来。   “你动爱伦小姐的窗帘干什么?"嬷嬷问。   “你站在门外偷听?"思嘉反问道,一面轻捷地跳下地来,然后将这块因年久尘封而越发沉重的天鹅绒叠好。   “根本用不着在门外偷听,"嬷嬷反驳她,一面双手叉腰,准备干仗了。"爱伦小姐的窗帘碍你什么了,犯得着你把杆子也拔出来,一古脑儿拽下来。爱伦小姐生前那么爱惜这些帘子,我可不让你这样糟踏!"恩嘉用忌妒的目光盯着嬷嬷,这双热切而愉快的眼睛使人想起从前幸福年月里那个顽劣的小姑娘,对于那些年月,嬷嬷如今只有惋叹了。   “嬷嬷,快到阁楼上去把我那只装衣服样子的箱子取下来。"她喊着,轻轻推了她一把。"我要做一件新衣裳。"嬷嬷一面想着要她这二百磅的笨重身躯爬上爬下十分恼怒,一面又恐惧地感到有什么可怕的一事要发生了。她连忙把几块窗帘从思嘉手里一把抢过来,紧紧抱着压在她那对下垂的乳房上,仿佛那神圣不可侵犯的遗物。   “你不能用爱伦小姐的窗帘来作新衣服,要是你居然打这个主意的话,只要我还有一口气,你就休想。"一瞬间, Chapter 33 A COLD WIND was blowing stiffly and the scudding clouds overhead were the deep gray ofslate when Scarlett and Mammy stepped from the train in Atlanta the next afternoon. The depothad not been rebuilt since the burning of the city and they alighted amid cinders and mud a fewyards above the blackened ruins which marked the site. Habit strong upon her, Scarlett lookedabout for Uncle Peter and Pitty’s carriage, for she had always been met by them when returningfrom Tara to Atlanta during the war years. Then she caught herself with a sniff at her own absentmindedness.   Naturally, Peter wasn’t there for she had given Aunt Pitty no warning of her comingand, moreover, she remembered that one of the old lady’s letters had dealt tearfully with the deathof the old nag Peter had “ ‘quired” in Macon to bring her back to Atlanta after the surrender.   She looked about the rutted and cut-up space around the depot for the equipage of some oldfriend or acquaintance who might drive them to Aunt Pitty’s house but she recognized no one,black or white. Probably none of her old friends owned carriages now, if what Pitty had writtenthem was true. Times were so hard it was difficult to feed and lodge humans, much less animals.   Most of Pitty’s friends, like herself, were afoot these days.   There were a few wagons loading at the freight cars and several mud-splashed buggies withrough-looking strangers at the reins but only two carriages. One was a closed carriage, the otheropen and occupied by a well-dressed woman and a Yankee officer. Scarlett drew in her breathsharply at the sight of the uniform. Although Pitty had written that Atlanta was garrisoned and the streets full of soldiers, the first sight of the bluecoat startled and frightened her. It was hard toremember that the war was over and that this man would not pursue her, rob her and insult her.   The comparative emptiness around the train took her mind back to that morning in 1862 whenshe had come to Atlanta as a young widow, swathed in crêpe and wild with boredom. She recalledhow crowded this space had been with wagons and carriages and ambulances and how noisy withdrivers swearing and yelling and people calling greetings to friends. She sighed for the lightheartedexcitement of the war days and sighed again at the thought of walking all the way to AuntPitty’s house. But she was hopeful that once on Peachtree Street, she might meet someone sheknew who would give them a ride.   As she stood looking about her a saddle-colored negro of middle age drove the dosed carriagetoward her and, leaning from the box, questioned: “Cah’ige, lady? Two bits fer any whar in‘Lanta.”   Mammy threw him an annihilating glance.   “A hired hack!” she rumbled. “Nigger, does you know who we is?”   Mammy was a country negro but she had not always been a country negro and she knew that nochaste woman ever rode in a hired conveyance—especially a closed carriage—without the escortof some male member of her family. Even the presence of a negro maid would not satisfy theconventions. She gave Scarlett a glare as she saw her look longingly at the hack.   “Come ‘way frum dar, Miss Scarlett! A hired hack an’ a free issue nigger! Well, dat’s a goodcombination.”   “Ah ain’ no free issue nigger,” declared the driver with heat. “Ah b’longs ter Ole Miss Talbot an’   disyere her cah’ige an’ Ah drives it ter mek money fer us.”   “Whut Miss Talbot is dat?”   “Miss Suzannah Talbot of Milledgeville. Us done move up hyah affer Old Marse wuz kilt.”   “Does you know her, Miss Scarlett?”   “No,” said Scarlett, regretfully. “I know so few Milledgeville folks.”   “Den us’ll walk,” said Mammy sternly. “Drive on, nigger.”   She picked up the carpetbag which held Scarlett’s new velvet frock and bonnet and nightgownand tucked the neat bandanna bundle that contained her own belongings under her arm andshepherded Scarlett across the wet expanse of cinders. Scarlett did not argue the matter, much asshe preferred to ride, for she wished no disagreement with Mammy. Ever since yesterday afternoonwhen Mammy had caught her with the velvet curtains, there had been an alert suspicious look inher eyes which Scarlett did not like. It was going to be difficult to escape from her chaperonageand she did not intend to rouse Mammy’s fighting blood before it was absolutely necessary.   As they walked along the sidewalk toward Peachtree, Scarlett was dismayed and sorrowful,forAtlantalookedsodevast(narrow) ated and different from what she remembered. They passedbeside what had been the Atlanta Hotel where Rhett and Uncle Henry had lived and of that eleganthostelry there remained only a shell, a part of the blackened walls. The warehouses which had bor dered the train tracks for a quarter of a mile and held tons of military supplies had not been rebuiltand their rectangular foundations looked dreary under the dark sky. Without the wall of buildingson either side and with the car shed gone, the railroad tracks seemed bare and exposed. Somewhereamid these ruins, undistinguishable from the others, lay what remained of her own warehouse onthe property Charles had left her. Uncle Henry had paid last year’s taxes on it for her. She’d haveto repay that money some time. That was something else to worry about.   As they turned the corner into Peachtree Street and she looked toward Five Points, she cried outwith shock. Despite all Frank had told her about the town burning to the ground, she had neverreally visualized complete destruction. In her mind the town she loved so well still stood full ofclose-packed buildings and fine houses. But this Peachtree Street she was looking upon was sodenuded of landmarks it was as unfamiliar as if she had never seen it before. This muddy streetdown which she had driven a thousand times during the war, along which she had fled with duckedhead and fear-quickened legs when shells burst over her during the siege, this street she had lastseen in the heat and hurry and anguish of the day of the retreat, was so strange looking she felt likecrying.   Though many new buildings had sprung up in the year since Sherman marched out of theburning town and the Confederates returned, there were still wide vacant lots around Five Pointswhere heaps of smudged broken bricks lay amid a jumble of rubbish, dead weeds and broom-sedge. There were the remains of a few buildings she remembered, roofless brick walls throughwhich the dull daylight shone, glassless windows gaping, chimneys towering lonesomely. Here andthere her eyes gladly picked out a familiar store which had partly survived shell and fire and hadbeen repaired, the fresh red of new brick glaring bright against the smut of the old walls. On newstore fronts and new office windows she saw the welcome names of men she knew but more oftenthe names were unfamiliar, especially the dozens of shingles of strange doctors and lawyers andcotton merchants. Once she had known practically everyone in Atlanta and the sight of so manystrange names depressed her. But she was cheered by the sight of new buildings going up all alongthe street.   There were dozens of them and several were three stories high! Everywhere building was goingon, for as she looked down the street, trying to adjust her mind to the new Atlanta, she heard theblithe sound of hammers and saws, noticed scaffoldings rising and saw men climbing ladders withhods of bricks on their shoulders. She looked down the street she loved so well and her eyes misteda little.   “They burned you,” she thought, “and they laid you flat. But they didn’t lick you. They couldn’tlick you. You’ll grow back just as big and sassy as you used to be!”   As she walked along Peachtree, followed by the waddling Mammy, she found the sidewalks justas crowded as they were at the height of the war and there was the same air of rush and bustleabout the resurrecting town which had made her blood sing when she came here, so long ago, onher first visit to Aunt Pitty. There seemed to be just as many vehicles wallowing in the mud holesas there had been then, except that there were no Confederate ambulances, and just as many horsesand mules tethered to hitching racks in front of the wooden awnings of the stores. Though thesidewalks were jammed, the faces she saw were as unfamiliar as the signs overhead, new people,many rough-looking men and tawdrily dressed women. The streets were black with loafing negroes who leaned against walls or sat on the curbing watching vehicles go past with the na.vecuriosity of children at a circus parade.   “Free issue country niggers,” snorted Mammy. “Ain’ never seed a proper cah’ige in dere lives.   An’ impident lookin’, too.”   They were impudent looking, Scarlett agreed, for they stared at her in an insolent manner, butshe forgot them in the renewed shock of seeing blue uniforms. The town was full of Yankeesoldiers, on horses, afoot, in army wagons, loafing on the street, reeling out of barrooms.   I’ll never get used to them, she thought, clenching her fists. Never! and over her shoulder:   “Hurry, Mammy, let’s get out of this crowd.”   “Soon’s Ah kick dis black trash outer mah way,” answered Mammy loudly, swinging thecarpetbag at a black buck who loitered tantalizingly in front of her and making him leap aside. “Ahdoan lak disyere town, Miss Scarlett. It’s too full of Yankees an’ cheap free issue.”   “It’s nicer where it isn’t so crowded. When we get across Five Points, it won’t be so bad.”   They picked their way across the slippery stepping stones that bridged the mud of Decatur Streetand continued up Peachtree, through a thinning crowd. When they reached Wesley Chapel whereScarlett had paused to catch her breath that day in 1864 when she had run for Dr. Meade, shelooked at it and laughed aloud, shortly and grimly. Mammy’s quick old eyes sought hers with suspicionand question but her curiosity went unsatisfied. Scarlett was recalling with contempt theterror which had ridden her that day. She had been crawling with fear, rotten with fear, terrified bythe Yankees, terrified by the approaching birth of Beau. Now she wondered how she could havebeen so frightened, frightened like a child at a loud noise. And what a child she had been to thinkthat Yankees and fire and defeat were the worst things that could happen to her! What trivialitiesthey were beside Ellen’s death and Gerald’s vagueness, beside hunger and cold and back-breakingwork and the living nightmare of insecurity. How easy she would find it now to be brave before aninvading army, but how hard to face the danger that threatened Tara! No, she would never again beafraid of anything except poverty.   Up Peachtree came a closed carriage and Scarlett went to the curb eagerly to see if she knew theoccupant, for Aunt Pitty’s house was still several blocks away. She and Mammy leaned forward asthe carriage came abreast and Scarlett, with a smile arranged, almost called out when a woman’shead appeared for a moment at the window—a too bright red head beneath a fine fur hat. Scarletttook a step back as mutual recognition leaped into both faces. It was Belle Watling and Scarlett hada glimpse of nostrils distended with dislike before she disappeared again. Strange that Belle’sshould be the first familiar face she saw.   “Who dat?” questioned Mammy suspiciously. “She knowed you but she din’ bow. Ah ain’ neverseed ha’r dat color in mah life. Not even in de Tarleton fambly. It look—well, it look dyed ter me!”   “It is,” said Scarlett shortly, walking faster.   “Does you know a dyed-ha’rd woman? Ah ast you who she is.”   “She’s the town bad woman,” said Scarlett briefly, “and I give you my word I don’t know her, soshut up.”   “Gawdlmighty!” breathed Mammy, her jaw dropping as she looked after the carriage withpassionate curiosity. She had not seen a professional bad woman since she left Savannah withEllen more than twenty years before and she wished ardently that she had observed Belle moreclosely.   “She sho dressed up fine an’ got a fine cah’ige an’ coachman,” she muttered. “Ah doan knowwhut de Lawd thinkin’ ‘bout lettin’ de bad women flurrish lak dat w’en us good folks is hongry an’   mos’ barefoot.”   “The Lord stopped thinking about us years ago,” said Scarlett savagely. “And don’t go tellingme Mother is turning in her grave to hear me say it, either.”   She wanted to feel superior and virtuous about Belle but she could not. If her plans went well,she might be on the same footing with Belle and supported by the same man. While she did notregret her decision one whit, the matter in its true light discomfited her. “I won’t think of it now,”   she told herself and hurried her steps.   They passed the lot where the Meade house had stood and there remained of it only a forlornpair of stone steps and a walk, leading up to nothing. Where the Whitings’ home had been was bareground. Even the foundation stones and the brick chimneys were gone and there were wagontracks where they had been carted away. The brick house of the Elsings still stood, with a new roofand a new second floor. The Bonnell home, awkwardly patched and roofed with rude boardsinstead of shingles, managed to look livable for all its battered appearance. But in neither housewas there a face at the window or a figure on the porch, and Scarlett was glad. She did not want totalk to anyone now.   Then the new slate roof of Aunt Pitty’s house came in view with its red-brick walls, andScarlett’s heart throbbed. How good of the Lord not to level it beyond repair! Coming out of thefront yard was Uncle Peter, a market basket on his arm, and when he saw Scarlett and Mammytrudging along, a wide, incredulous smile split his black face.   I could kiss the old black fool, I’m so glad to see him, thought Scarlett, joyfully and she called:   “Run get Auntie’s swoon bottle, Peter! It’s really me!”   That night the inevitable hominy and dried peas were on Aunt Pitty’s supper table and, asScarlett ate them, she made a vow that these two dishes would never appear on her table when shehad money again. And, no matter what price she had to pay, she was going to have money again,more than just enough to pay the taxes on Tara. Somehow, some day she was going to have plentyof money if she had to commit murder to get it.   In the yellow lamplight of the dining room, she asked Pitty about her finances, hoping againsthope that Charles’ family might be able to lend her the money she needed. The questions werenone too subtle but Pitty, in her pleasure at having a member of the family to talk to, did not evennotice the bald way the questions were put. She plunged with tears into the details of hermisfortunes. She just didn’t know where her farms and town property and money had gone buteverything had slipped away. At least, that was what Brother Henry told her. He hadn’t been ableto pay the taxes on her estate. Everything except the house she was living in was gone and Pitty did not stop to think that the house had never been hers but was the joint property of Melanie andScarlett. Brother Henry could just barely pay taxes on this house. He gave her a little somethingevery month to live on and, though it was very humiliating to take money from him, she had to doit.   “Brother Henry says he doesn’t know how he’ll make ends meet with the load he’s carrying andthe taxes so high but, of course, he’s probably lying and has loads of money and just won’t give memuch.”   Scarlett knew Uncle Henry wasn’t lying. The few letters she had had from him in connectionwith Charles’ property showed that. The old lawyer was battling valiantly to save the house and theone piece of downtown property where the warehouse had been, so Wade and Scarlett would havesomething left from the wreckage. Scarlett knew he was carrying these taxes for her at a greatsacrifice.   “Of course, he hasn’t any money,” thought Scarlett grimly. “Well, check him and Aunt Pitty offmy list. There’s nobody left but Rhett. I’ll have to do it. I must do it. But I mustn’t think about itnow. ... I must get her to talking about Rhett so I can casually suggest to her to invite him to calltomorrow.”   She smiled and squeezed the plump palms of Aunt Pitty between her own.   “Darling Auntie,” she said, “don’t let’s talk about distressing things like money any more. Let’sforget about them and talk of pleasanter things. You must tell me all the news about our oldfriends. How is Mrs. Merriwether, and Maybelle? I heard that Maybelle’s little Creole came homesafely. How are the Elsings and Dr. and Mrs. Meade?”   Pittypat brightened at the change of subject and her baby face stopped quivering with tears. Shegave detailed reports about old neighbors, what they were doing and wearing and eating andthinking. She told with accents of horror how, before René Picard came home from the war, Mrs.   Merriwether and Maybelle had made ends meet by baking pies and selling them to the Yankeesoldiers. Imagine that! Sometimes there were two dozen Yankees standing in the back yard of theMerriwether home, waiting for the baking to be finished. Now that René was home, he drove anold wagon to the Yankee camp every day and sold cakes and pies and beaten biscuits to the soldiers.   Mrs. Merriwether said that when she made a little more money she was going to open a bakeshop downtown. Pitty did not wish to criticize but after all— As for herself, said Pitty, she wouldrather starve than have such commerce with Yankees. She made a point of giving a disdainful lookto every soldier she met, and crossed to the other side of the street in as insulting a manner aspossible, though, she said, this was quite inconvenient in wet weather. Scarlett gathered that nosacrifice, even though it be muddy shoes, was too great to show loyalty to the Confederacy, in sofar as Miss Pittypat was concerned.   Mrs. Meade and the doctor had lost their home when the Yankees fired the town and they hadneither the money nor the heart to rebuild, now that Phil and Darcy were dead. Mrs. Meade saidshe never wanted a home again, for what was a home without children and grandchildren in it?   They were very lonely and had gone to live with the Elsings who had rebuilt the damaged part oftheir home. Mr. and Mrs. Whiting had a room there, too, and Mrs. Bonnell was talking of movingin, if she was fortunate enough to rent her house to a Yankee officer and his family.   “But how do they all squeeze in?” cried Scarlett “There’s Mrs. Elsing and Fanny and Hugh—”   “Mrs. Elsing and Fanny sleep in the parlor and Hugh in the attic,” explained Pitty, who knew thedomestic arrangements of all her friends. “My dear, I do hate to tell you this but—Mrs. Elsing callsthem ‘paying guests’ but, Pitty dropped her voice, “they are really nothing at all except boarders.   Mrs. Elsing is running a boarding “house! Isn’t that dreadful?”   “I think it’s wonderful,” said Scarlett shortly. “I only wish we’d had ‘paying guests’ at Tara forthe last year instead of free boarders. Maybe we wouldn’t be so poor now.”   “Scarlett, how can you say such things? Your poor mother must be turning in her grave at thevery thought of charging money for the hospitality of Tara! Of course, Mrs. Elsing was simplyforced to it because, while she took in fine sewing and Fanny painted china and Hugh made a littlemoney peddling firewood, they couldn’t make ends meet. Imagine darling Hugh forced to peddlewood! And he all set to be a fine lawyer! I could just cry at the things our boys are reduced to!”   Scarlett thought of the rows of cotton beneath the glaring coppery sky at Tara and how her backhad ached she bent over them. She remembered the feel of plow handles between herinexperienced, (as) blistered palms and she felt that Hugh Elsing was deserving of no special sympathy.   What an innocent old fool Pitty was and, despite the ruin all around her, how sheltered!   “If he doesn’t like peddling, why doesn’t He practice law? Or isn’t there any law practice left inAtlanta?”   “Oh dear, yes! There’s plenty of law practice. Practically everybody is suing everybody elsethese days. With everything burned down and boundary lines wiped out, no one knows just wheretheir land begins or ends. But you can’t get any pay for suing because nobody has any money. SoHugh sticks to his peddling. ... Oh, I almost forgot! Did I write you? Fanny Elsing is gettingmarried tomorrow night and, of course, you must attend. Mrs. Elsing will be only too pleased tohave you when she knows you’re in town. I do hope you have some other frock besides that one.   Not that it isn’t a very sweet frock, darling, but—well, it does look a bit worn. Oh, you have apretty frock? I’m so glad because it’s going to be the first real wedding we’ve had in Atlanta sincebefore the town fell. Cake and wine and dancing afterward, though I don’t know how the Elsingscan afford it, they are so poor.”   “Who is Fanny marrying? I thought after Dallas McLure was killed at Gettysburg—”   “Darling, you mustn’t criticize Fanny. Everybody isn’t as loyal to the dead as you are to poorCharlie. Let me see. What is his name? I can never remember names—Tom somebody. I knew hismother well, went to La-Grange Female Institute together. She a Tomlinson from LaGrange and her(we) mother was—letmesee.... Perkins?Parkins? Parkinson!Th(was) at’s it. From Sparta.   A very good family but just the same—well, I know I shouldn’t say it but I don’t see how Fannycan bring herself to marry him!”   “Does he drink or—”   “Dear, no! His character is perfect but, you see, he was wounded low down, by a bursting shelland it did something to his legs—makes them—makes them, well, I hate to use the word but itmakes him spraddle. It gives him a very vulgar appearance when he walks—well, it doesn’t lookvery pretty. I don’t see why she’s marrying him.”   “Girls have to marry someone.”   “Indeed, they do not,” said Pitty, ruffling. “I never had to.”   “Now, darling, I didn’t mean you! Everybody knows how popular you were and still are! Why,old Judge Carlton used to throw sheep’s eyes at you till I—”   “Oh, Scarlett, hush! That old fool!” giggled Pitty, good humor restored. “But, after all, Fannywas so popular she could have made a better match and I don’t believe she loves this Tom what’shis-name. I don’t believe she’s ever gotten over Dallas McLure getting killed, but she’s not likeyou, darling. You’ve remained so faithful to dear Charlie, though you could have married dozensof times. Melly and I have often said how loyal you were to his memory when everyone else saidyou were just a heartless coquette.”   Scarlett passed over this tactless confidence and skillfully led Pitty from one friend to anotherbut all the while she was in a fever of impatience to bring the conversation around to Rhett. Itwould never do for her to ask outright about him, so soon after arriving. It might start the oldlady’s mind to working on channels better left untouched. There would be time enough for Pitty’ssuspicions to be aroused if Rhett refused to marry her.   Aunt Pitty prattled on happily, pleased as a child at having an audience. Things in Atlanta werein a dreadful pass, she said, due to the vile doings of the Republicans. There was no end to theirgoings on and the worst thing was the way they were putting ideas in the poor darkies’ heads.   “My dear, they want to let the darkies vote! Did you ever hear of anything more silly? Though—I don’t know—now that I think about it, Uncle Peter has much more sense than any Republican Iever saw and much better manners but, of course, Uncle Peter is far too well bred to want to vote.   But the very notion has upset the darkies till they’re right addled. And some of them are soinsolent. Your life isn’t safe on the streets after dark and even in the broad daylight they pushladies off the sidewalks into the mud. And if any gentleman dares to protest, they arrest him and—My dear, did I tell you that Captain Butler was in jail?”   “Rhett Butler?”   Even with this startling news, Scarlett was grateful that Aunt Pitty had saved her the necessity ofbringing his name into the conversation herself.   “Yes, indeed!” Excitement colored Pitty’s cheeks pink and she sat upright. “He’s in jail this veryminute for killing a negro and they may hang him! Imagine Captain Butler hanging!”   For a moment, the breath went out of Scarlett’s lungs in a sickening gasp and she could onlystare at the fat old lady who was so obviously pleased at the effect of her statement.   “They haven’t proved it yet but somebody killed this darky who had insulted a white woman.   And the Yankees are very upset because so many uppity darkies have been killed recently. Theycan’t prove it on Captain Butler but they want to make an example of someone, so Dr. Meade says.   The doctor says that if they do hang him it will be the first good honest job the Yankees ever did,but then, I don’t know. ... And to think that Captain Butler was here just a week ago and broughtme the loveliest quail you ever saw for a present and he was asking about you and saying he fearedhe had offended you during the siege and you would never forgive him.”   “How long will he be in jail?”   “Nobody knows. Perhaps till they hang him, but maybe they won’t be able to prove the killingon him, after all. However, it doesn’t seem to bother the Yankees whether folks are guilty or not, solong as they can hang somebody. They are so upset”—Pitty dropped her voice mysteriously—“about the Ku Klux Klan. Do you have the Klan down in the County? My dear, I’m sure youmust and Ashley just doesn’t tell you girls anything about it Klansmen aren’t supposed to tell.   They ride around at night dressed up like ghosts and call on Carpetbaggers who steal money andnegroes who are uppity. Sometimes they just scare them and warn them to leave Atlanta, but whenthey don’t behave they whip them and,” Pitty whispered, “sometimes they kill them and leavethem where they’ll be easily found with the Ku Klux card on them. ... And the Yankees are veryangry about it and want to make an example of someone. ... But Hugh Elsing told me he didn’tthink they’d hang Captain Butler because the Yankees think he does know where the money is andjust won’t tell. They are trying to make him tell.”   “The money?”   “Didn’t you know? Didn’t I write you? My dear, you have been buried at Tara, haven’t you? Thetown simply buzzed when Captain Butler came back here with a fine horse and carriage and hispockets full of money, when all the rest of us didn’t know where our next meal was coming from.   It simply made everybody furious that an old speculator who always said nasty things about theConfederacy should have so much money when we were all so poor. Everybody was bursting toknow how he managed to save his money but no one had the courage to ask him—except me andhe just laughed and said: ‘In no honest way, you may be sure.’ You know how hard it is to getanything sensible out of him.”   “But of course, he made his money out of the blockade—”   “Of course, he did, honey, some of it. But that’s not a drop in the bucket to what that man hasreally got. Everybody, including the Yankees, believes he’s got millions of dollars in goldbelonging to the Confederate government hid out somewhere.”   “Millions—in gold?”   “Well, honey, where did all our Confederate gold go to? Somebody got it and Captain Butlermust be one of the somebodies. The Yankees thought President Davis had it when he leftRichmond but when they captured the poor man he had hardly a cent. There just wasn’t any moneyin the treasury when the war was over and everybody thinks some of the blockade runners got itand are keeping quiet about it.”   “Millions—in gold! But how—”   “Didn’t Captain Butler take thousands of bales of cotton to England and Nassau to sell for theConfederate government?” asked Pitty triumphantly. “Not only his own cotton but governmentcotton too? And you know what cotton brought in England during the war! Any price you wantedto ask! He was a free agent acting for the government and he was supposed to sell the cotton andbuy guns with the money and run the guns in for us. Well, when the blockade got too tight, hecouldn’t bring in the guns and he couldn’t have spent one one-hundredth of the cotton money onthem anyway, so there were simply millions of dollars in English banks put there by Captain Butler and other blockaders, waiting till the blockade loosened. And you can’t tell me they banked thatmoney in the name of the Confederacy. They put it in their own names and it’s still there. ...   Everybody has been talking about it ever since the surrender and criticizing the blockadersseverely, and when the Yankees arrested Captain Butler for killing this darky they must have heardthe rumor, because they’ve been at him to tell them where the money is. You see, all of ourConfederate funds belong to the Yankees now—at least, the Yankees think so. But Captain Butlersays he doesn’t know anything. ... Dr. Meade says they ought to hang him anyhow, only hanging istoo good for a thief and a profiteer— Dear, you look so oddly! Do you feel faint? Have I upset youtalking like this? I knew he was once a beau of yours but I thought you’d fallen out long ago.   Personally, I never approved of him, for he’s such a scamp—”   “He’s no friend of mine,” said Scarlett with an effort. “I had a quarrel with him during the siege,after you went to Macon. Where—where is he?”   “In the firehouse over near the public square!”   “In the firehouse?”   Aunt Pitty crowed with laughter.   “Yes, he’s in the firehouse. The Yankees use it for a military jail now. The Yankees are campedin huts all round the city hall in the square and the firehouse is just down the street, so that’s whereCaptain Butler is. And Scarlett, I heard the funniest thing yesterday about Captain Butler. I forgetwho told me. You know how well groomed he always was—really a dandy—and they’ve beenkeeping him in the firehouse and not letting him bathe and every day he’s been insisting that hewanted a bath and finally they led him out of his cell onto the square and there was a long, horsetrough where the whole regiment had bathed in the same water! And they told him he could bathethere and he said No, that he preferred his own brand of Southern dirt to Yankee dirt and—”   Scarlett heard the cheerful babbling voice going on and on but she did not hear the words. In hermind there were only two ideas, Rhett had more money than she had even hoped and he was injail. The fact that he was in jail and possibly might be hanged changed the face of matterssomewhat, in fact made them look a little brighter. She had very little feeling about Rhett beinghanged. Her need of money was too pressing, too desperate, for her to bother about his ultimatefate. Besides, she half shared Dr. Meade’s opinion that hanging was too good for him. Any manwho’d leave a woman stranded between two armies in the middle of the night, just to go off andfight for a Cause already lost, deserved hanging. ... If she could somehow manage to marry himwhile he was in jail, all those millions would be hers and hers alone should he be executed. And ifmarriage was not possible, perhaps she could get a loan from him by promising to marry him whenhe was released or by promising—oh, promising anything! And if they hanged him, her day ofsettlement would never come.   For a moment her imagination flamed at the thought of being made a widow by the kindlyintervention of the Yankee government. Millions in gold! She could repair Tara and hire hands andplant miles and miles of cotton. And she could have pretty clothes and all she wanted to eat and socould Suellen and Carreen. And Wade could have nourishing food to fill out his thin cheeks andwarm clothes and a governess and afterward go to the university ... and not grow up barefootedand ignorant like a Cracker. And a good doctor could look after Pa and as for Ashley—what couldn’t she do for Ashley!   Aunt Pittypat’s monologue broke off suddenly as she said inquiringly: “Yes, Mammy?” andScarlett, coming back from dreams, saw Mammy standing in the doorway, her hands under herapron and in her eyes an alert piercing look. She wondered how long Mammy had been standingthere and how much she had heard and observed. Probably everything, to judge by the gleam inher old eyes.   “Miss Scarlett look lak she tared. Ah spec she better go ter bed.”   “I am tired,” said Scarlett, rising and meeting Mammy’s eyes with a childlike, helpless look,“and I’m afraid I’m catching a cold too. Aunt Pitty, would you mind if I stayed in bed tomorrowand didn’t go calling with you? I can go calling any time and I’m so anxious to go to Fanny’swedding tomorrow night. And if my cold gets worse I won’t be able to go. And a day in bed wouldbe such a lovely treat for me.”   Mammy’s look changed to faint worry as she felt Scarlett’s hands and looked into her face. Shecertainly didn’t look well. The excitement of her thoughts had abruptly ebbed, leaving her whiteand shaking.   “Yo’ han’s lak ice, honey. You come ter bed an’ Ah’ll brew you some sassfrass tea an’ git you ahot brick ter mek you sweat.”   “How thoughtless I’ve been,” cried the plump old lady, hopping from her chair and pattingScarlett’s arm. “Just chattering on and not thinking of you. Honey, you shall stay in bed alltomorrow and rest up and we can gossip together— Oh, dear, no! I can’t be with you. I’ve promisedto sit with Mrs. Bonnell tomorrow. She is down with la grippe and so is her cook. Mammy,I’m so glad you are here. You must go over with me in the morning and help me.”   Mammy hurried Scarlett up the dark stairs, muttering fussy remarks about cold hands and thinshoes and Scarlett looked meek and was well content. If she could only lull Mammy’s suspicionsfurther and get her out of the house in the morning, all would be well. Then she could go to theYankee jail and see Rhett. As she climbed the stairs, the faint rumbling of thunder began and,standing on the well-remembered landing, she thought how like the siege cannon it sounded. Sheshivered. Forever, thunder would mean cannon and war to her.  第二天一早,思嘉和嬷嬷迎着寒风凛冽和彤云疾卷的阴沉天气在亚特兰大下了火车。火车站在全城大火中毁了,还没有重建起来,她们是在那堆高出废墟好几码的灰烬和烂泥中跳下来的,它们告诉人们,这里就是火车站了。思嘉习惯性的环顾一下周围,寻找彼得大叔和皮蒂姑妈的马车,因为在战争年月每次她从塔拉回到亚特兰大时都是他们来接的。   随即她忽然醒悟起来,对自己的下意识举动一笑置之。当然了,彼得没有来,因为她并没有把自己要到这里来的事预先通告皮蒂姑妈,而且她想起老太太在有一封信里悲伤地说过,投降后彼得在梅里要求领回来的那匹老马已经死了。她环顾车站周围车辙纵横和被分割得零零碎碎的空地,想找到一位老朋友和旧相识的马车,好恳求人家把她们带到皮蒂姑妈的住处去,可是无论黑人白人她一个也不认识。如果皮蒂写信告诉他们的情况属实,也许她的熟人中谁都没有马车了。时世这么艰苦,人有吃有住就很不容易了,那顾得上牲畜。皮蒂的大多数朋友,像她自己一样,现在都是双脚步行了。   有很少几辆货车在运化车厢旁装货,还有几辆溅满了泥污的四轮单座马,车上坐着粗壮的车夫,但载人的车只有两辆,其中一辆是轿车,另一辆是逢车,里面坐着一个穿着华丽的妇人和一个军官。思嘉一见那身制服便狠狠地吸了一口气。尽管皮蒂姑妈在信中说过亚特兰大驻扎一军队,街上到处是大兵,思嘉猛一见到这些穿蓝军服的人还是觉得惊异和害怕。这很难使人感到战争已经结束,也难相信这些人不会追逐她,抢劫她,侮辱她。   车站周围空荡荡的景象使她想起1862年的一个早晨,那时她作为年轻寡妇身穿丧服、满怀厌倦地来到了亚特兰大。她记得这个地方当时多么拥挤,到处是货车、客车和运送伤员的车辆,车夫们的漫骂声和叹息声,人们迎接朋友的招呼声汇成一片喧闹,她不禁为战时那种心情轻松愉快的景象而感叹,接着又叹息又如今不得不步行到皮蒂姑妈家去。但他仍然满怀希望,觉得只要到了桃树街,她就会遇到熟人让她们搭车。   正当她站在那里环顾观望时,一个棕色皮肤的中年黑人赶着一辆轿车向她驶来,并从车里探出身来问:“要车吗,太太?两块钱,到亚特兰大城里啥地方都行。“嬷嬷恶狠狠地瞪了他一眼。   “是辆野鸡车!"她嘀古着,"黑鬼,你把我们当成什么人了?"嬷嬷是个乡下黑人,但她又并不经常住乡下;她清楚没有哪个体面妇女会坐野鸡车,尤其是轿车的,除非家里有男人在身边护送。即使有个黑人侍女跟在身边,从习俗上讲也还是不够的。嬷嬷看见思嘉仍在恋恋不舍地打量那辆出租马车,便恶狠狠地瞪了她一眼。   “我们走吧,思嘉小姐!一辆野鸡车和一个刚刚冒出来的黑鬼!不错,真是个好搭档!““我可不是刚冒出来的自由黑人。"车夫生气地辩解道。   “我是老塔尔拍特小姐家的。这是她家的马车,我赶出来给家里挣点钱花。”“哪个老塔尔伯特小姐?"“米尔格维尔的苏珊娜•塔尔伯特小姐呀。我们是老马尔斯被打死以后搬到这里来的。"“你认识她吗,思嘉小姐?”   “不认识,"思嘉遗憾地说。"我认识的米尔格维尔人很少。"“那好,我们走,“嬷嬷断然地说。"你赶你的车吧,黑鬼。"她提起里面装着思嘉的新天鹅绒长袍、帽子和睡衣的帆衣布袋,把包着自己衣物的干净包袱夹在腋下,然后领着思嘉走过到处是煤渣和灰烬的湿地。思嘉尽管想坐车,但没和她理论,因为她不想与嬷嬷发生争执。自头一天午她摘窗帘被嬷嬷抓住,嬷嬷眼里始流露出一副警惕的疑惑神情,这是思嘉很厌烦的。看来难以逃脱她的陪伴,而且只要不是必须要求,她也并不想激起嬷嬷的好斗脾气。   她们沿着狭窄的人行道向桃树街走去,思嘉一路上都感到惊恐和悲伤,因为亚特兰大已经变得如此荒凉,跟她记忆中的情景大不一样了。她们走过从前瑞德和享利大叔叔住过的亚特兰大饭店所在地,如今那高雅的建筑只剩下一个空架和部分焦黑的断垣残壁了。那些毗连铁路长达四分之一英里、存放着大量军需品的库房还没重建起来,它们那些长方形屋基在灰暗的天空下看来分外凄凉。由于两旁都没有了建筑物的墙壁,同时车库已经消失,因此火车道上的铁轨便显得赤裸裸地毫无遮掩了。这些废墟中有一个与别处没有什么区别的地方,还保留着查尔斯留给她的产业上的仓库遗址。享利叔叔已经替她付过去年的租金。过些时她得偿还这笔钱。这又是一件叫她烦恼的事。   她们拐了个弯走进桃树街时,她向五点镇望去,不禁大声惊叫起来,尽管佛兰克告诉过她城镇已被大火夷为平地,她也从没想到这样彻底的毁灭。在她心目中,她所热爱的那个城镇仍然处处是密集的建筑物和漂亮的房子。可是她现在看到的这条桃树街连一个旧的标志也没有了,它显得如此陌生,仿佛她从没见过似的。这条泥泞的大街,战时她曾驾车走过千百次的大街,围城时她低着头冒着在空中开花的炮弹慌慌张张奔跑过的大街,她在撤离那天紧张匆忙而痛苦的时刻最后告别的大街,如今竟是这样陌生,以致她伤心得要哭了。   尽管自从谢尔曼在大火中撤出这座城镇和联盟军回来那一年起,这里已陆续重建了许多新房子,可是五点镇周围依然有大片大片的空地,荒榛枯草中是一堆堆烧焦的断砖碎瓦,其中又有几幢房子的遗址是她能勉强辩认出来的,房子只剩下几截砖墙在暗淡的阳光里兀立着,没有玻璃的窗户张开大口,摇摇欲坠的烟囱显得分外孤单。她也偶尔高兴地看见一两家熟悉的店铺,那是在炮火中幸存下来并修复了的,其中那些耀眼的新红砖与灰色的旧墙形成强烈的对照。她从那些新店铺门面和新办公楼的窗口看到令人兴奋的旧相识的牌号,但更多的名字是不的熟悉的,尤其那成百上千的陌行医生、律师和棉花商的牌号。以前她在亚特兰大几乎认识每个人,而现在眼前出现了这么多陌生的名字,这使她感到丧气。当然,眼看着街道两旁新建筑物迎面而来,她也不能不为之振奋。这些建筑物也是成百千的,有些还是三层楼房呢!到处都处在兴建新房子。她在大街上朝前望去,想要让自己的观念适应这新的亚特兰大,这时她耳边是一片欢快的锯子声和锒头声,眼前是一个又一个高耸的脚手架,人们扛着砖头在梯子上攀登。她朝前望去,望着这条自己那么喜爱的大街,眼睛不觉有点湿润了。   她心想:“他们把你烧成灰烬了,他们把你夷为了平地,可是他们并没有把你打垮。他们打不垮你。你重获新生,变得像你过去那样雄伟,那样壮丽!"她顺着桃树街往前走。后面跟着蹒跚的嬷嬷。一路发现人行道上仍像战争紧张时期那么拥挤,这复苏的城镇周围仍然是那种仓皇喧扰的气氛,许久以前,她头一次拜访皮蒂姑妈来到这里时,这城镇曾使她极为兴奋,仿佛浑身血液都要歌唱似的,如今也像当时一样有那么多的车辆(只不过没有运送伤员的军车)在泥泞中挣扎,有那么多马匹和骡子拴在店铺木棚前面的拴马桩上。人行道上拥挤不堪,她所看到的面孔像头顶上的招牌一样,都是陌生的,都是些新人,许许多多容貌粗鲁的男人和穿着俗丽的女人。街上到处是游手好闲的黑人,有的斜靠着墙壁,有的坐在路边石上,像小孩天真地看马戏团游行的一样,好奇地观看着过往的车辆。大街上一片乌黑。   “尽是些刚放出来的自由黑鬼!"嬷嬷打鼻子里哼了一声。   “他们一辈子都没有个体面样儿。还有那一脸的粗鲁相。"他们就是一副粗鲁相,思嘉也这样想,因为他们总是无礼地盯着她,不过她一看到那些穿蓝军服的大兵,便吓得把这些黑人忘记了。城里到处是北方佬士兵,有的骑着马,有的步行,有的坐在军车里,在街上闲档,从酒吧间出出进进。   我永远也看不惯这些家伙,她握紧双拳,心里想。永远也不会!一面回过头去对嬷嬷说:“快说,嬷嬷,赶快离开这群家伙。"“等我踢开这些挡路的黑鬼再说,"嬷嬷大声回答道,一面用提包猛撞那个在她前面故意慢悠悠地磨蹭的黑人,使他不得不闪到一边去了。"我不喜欢这个城镇,思嘉小姐。这里北方佬和刚放出来的黑鬼太多了。"“那些不怎么拥挤的地方会好一些。只要我们过了五点镇,就不会这样了。"她们择路越过那些放置在迪凯特街泥泞里的溜滑的垫脚石,然后继续顺桃树街往前走。这里行人比较稀疏了。她们到了韦斯利礼拜堂,这是1864年思嘉去找米德大夫那天停下来歇口气的地方,现在她注视着它,不由得鄙夷地冷冷一笑。   嬷嬷的机警眼光带着猜疑和询问的神色搜索她,但她的好奇心没有获得满足。原来思嘉是在回想那天自己的恐惧心情,觉得太可笑了。那时她被北方佬吓坏了,被媚兰既将分娩的紧张状况吓坏了,简直是在心惊胆战地爬行埃现在想起来,她真不明白有什么必要那样害怕,就像孩子听到一声巨声那样害怕呢?而且那时她觉得,北方佬和大火,以及战争失败的结局,将是她可能碰到的最坏的事情。可它们同爱伦的死和杰拉尔德的精神恍惚比起来,同饥饿,同累断脊梁的劳动和面临不安全的活生生的梦魇比起来,是多么无关紧要的事啊!   如今叫她在侵略军面前英勇无畏,那是很容易做到的,可是要面对塔拉被侵吞的危险却显得非常困难了。不,除了挨饿,她什么也不怕!   一辆轿式马车在桃树街迎面驶来,思嘉急切地站到路边石上瞧是否认识车上的人,因为皮蒂姑妈的住处离这里还有好几条街呢。马车路过身边,她和嬷嬷都凑近去细看,这时思嘉正准备露出一个微笑,可是当轿车窗口探出一个女人的头----一个戴着高贵的毛皮帽的红得耀眼的头时,她几乎失声喊叫起来。原来双方都认出来了,脸上都露出惊异的神情,思嘉更不由得后退了一步。这是贝夭•沃特琳!在她再次缩回头去之前,思嘉还瞧见她那两只因表示憎恶而张大的鼻孔。   真奇怪,她首先看到的那张熟悉面孔竟然是贝尔的!   “是谁呀?"嬷嬷猜疑地问。"她认识你却不向你鞠躬。我可一辈子也没见过这样颜色的头发。就连在塔尔顿家也没见过。可好像—-嗯,我看是染过的!"“是染过,"思嘉不屑地回答了一声,加快了脚步。   “你认识一个染了发的女人?我问你,她究竟是谁?"“她是一个坏女人,"思嘉简捷地回答说。"我向你保证,我并不认识她,你别问了。"“天哪,"嬷嬷轻轻叹了一口气,用满怀好奇的眼光望着那辆驶去的马车,呆呆地连下颚都快掉下来了。自从二十年前她同爱伦离开萨凡纳以来,还从没见过妓女,因此她很遗憾刚才没有仔细看个清楚。   “她穿得这么华丽,还有这么漂亮的一辆马车和一个车夫,"她喃喃地自言自语。"我不懂上帝安的什么心,让那些坏女人这样享福,而我们好人倒要饿肚子,打赤脚。"“很久以来上帝就不管我们了,"思嘉粗鲁地说。"可是你也不用对我说,母亲听我这种话会在坟墓里翻来覆去睡不着。"她理应觉得自己在社会地位和德行上高于贝尔,但是做不到。如果她的计划能顺利进行,她就会处于贝尔同样的地位并受到同一个男人的资助了。她尽管对自己的决定一点也不后悔,但这件事实质上还是使她感到难堪的。"我现在不去想它,"她心里对自己说,同时加快了脚步。   她们经过以前米德大夫住宅所在的那个地段,可是住宅只剩下两个石级和一条走道,上面什么都没有了。至于原来惠廷家所在的地方,如今已完全夷为平地,连那些屋基石和砖AE?的烟囱也不见了,只有运走它们留下的车轮痕迹还依稀可辩。埃尔辛家的砖房仍兀立在那里,而且新盖了二楼层和一个新的屋顶,邦内尔家修补得很难看,上面用粗木板当瓦AE?盖了个屋顶,看来是在设法掩饰那副破烂相,想尽量显得适合于居祝然而,这些房子的窗口没有一张面孔露出来,门廊里也看不见一个人,这倘使思嘉感到高兴些。她现在不想跟任何人谈话。   皮蒂姑妈家的新石板屋顶和红色砖墙,终于在前面出现了,这时思嘉的心也怦怦地跳起来。上帝多么仁慈啊,竟没有让这所房子损毁得不可收拾!彼得大叔正从前院走出来,胳膊上縜e着一只采购的篮子,他瞧见思嘉和嬷嬷一跟艰难地走过来,黝黑的脸庞上漾开了一丝爽朗又不敢轻信似的微笑。   思嘉暗暗想道,"我要狠狠地吻这个老迈的黑傻瓜,我多么高兴看到他呀!”她随即快活地喊道:“彼得,快去把姑妈的眩晕药瓶子拿来,真的是我呀!"当天晚上,皮蒂姑妈家的晚餐上摆着不少了的玉米粥和干碗豆。思嘉一面吃一面暗暗发誓,一旦她又有了钱,便决不让这两样东西出现在她的餐桌上。而且,无论付出什么样的代价,她也要再捞些钱,比交纳塔拉的税金还要多的钱。总之,有一天她会捞到许多钱,即使杀人也在的所不惜。   在饭厅的暗淡灯光下,思嘉问皮蒂的经济状况怎样,她希望事情会出乎她的意料,查尔斯家能够借给她所需要的那笔钱。这个问题本来一点儿也不微妙,皮蒂正高兴有机会同一位亲戚谈话,对于提问题的这种方式并没有注意,她马上伤心地谈起自己所有的苦难来了。她连自己的农尝城里的财产和钱到哪里去了也不知道,只发现一切都失去了。至少享利兄弟是这样对她说的。他已经付不出她的地产税了。除了她现在住的这栋房子外,一切都已化为乌有,何况皮蒂还没有想到这所房子并不属她一人所有,而是与媚兰和思嘉的共同财产。享利兄弟仅仅能够交纳这所房子税金。他每月给一点点生活费。尽管要他的钱十分寒碜的。她也只好这样做了。   “享利兄弟说,他肩上的负担那么重,租税又那么高,他真不知怎样维持下去。不过,当然喽,他也许是在撒谎,而手头还有一大笔钱,只是不想多给我一点罢了。"思嘉知道享利叔叔说的不是谎话。这从他写给她的几封谈查尔斯财产的信中可以看出,这位老律师在顽强奋斗要保住房子和城里原先仓库所在的那平地产,好让韦德和思嘉在破产之后还剩有一点东西,思嘉知道他正在冒很大的牺牲替她维持这些税金。   “当然,他没有什么钱了,"思嘉冷静地想。"好吧,把他和皮蒂姑妈从名单是划掉。现在除了瑞德,没有别的人了。我只好这么办。我必须这么办。不过,我现在用不着想它。………我得让她自己谈起瑞德,然后我再乘机提出叫她邀请他明天到这里来。"她满面笑容地紧紧握住皮蒂姑妈那双胖乎乎的手。   “好姑妈,"她说,"我们别再谈那些关于金钱什么的烦恼事了。让我们把这些事抛到脑后,谈些愉快的话题吧。你得告诉我每一桩关于老朋友们的新闻呀。梅里韦瑟太太怎么样了?还有梅贝尔呢?我听说梅贝尔的小克留尔安全返家了。可是埃尔辛家和米德大夫夫妇呢?“皮蒂帕特一转换话题就开颜了,她那张娃娃脸已不再在泪痕下伤心地抽搐。她一桩桩地报道老邻居的近况,他们在干什么、吃什么、穿什么、想什么。她用惊异的声调告诉思嘉,在雷内•卡德从战场上回来之前,梅里韦瑟太太和梅贝尔怎样靠做馅饼卖给北方佬大兵来维持自己的生活,想想那光景吧!有时候几十个北方佬站在梅里韦瑟家的后院里,等着母女俩把馅饼烤出来。现在雷内回来了,他每天赶着一辆旧货车到北方佬军营去卖蛋糕、馅和小面包。梅里韦瑟太太说,等到她再多赚点钱,她就要在城里开个面包铺。皮蒂并不想批评这种事,不过毕竟----至少她自己,皮蒂说,她是宁愿挨饿也不会跟北方佬做这种买卖的。她特别注意每次碰到大兵都要给他蔑神的脸色,并且走到街道的另一边去,以此来表示最大的蔑视,尽管这样做在雨天是很不方便的。思嘉看出,对于皮蒂特小姐来说,只要能表示对联盟政府的忠诚,无论什么样的牺牲,就算是两天弄脏一双鞋,都不是过分的。   米德大夫夫妇的房屋是在北方佬放火烧城时毁掉的,后来费尔和达西相继牺牲,他们便既无钱也无心思来重建了。米德太太说她再也不想建立家庭,因为没有儿孙住在一起还算个什么家呢。他们感到十分孤独,只得去和埃尔辛一家住在一起,后者总算把自己房子的损坏地方修复了。惠廷夫妇也在那里占有一个房间,如果邦内尔太太能幸运地把自己的房子租给一个北方佬军官和他一家去住,那么她也有意要搬进去。   “可是,他们这么多人怎么挤得下呀?"思嘉大声问。"有埃尔辛太太,有范妮,还有休----"埃尔辛太太和范妮住在厅里,休住在阁楼上,"皮蒂解释说,她是了解所有朋友们的家务安排的。"亲爱的,我本不想告诉你这些事,可是----埃尔辛太太称他们为'房客',可是,"皮蒂压低声音,"他们真是地地道道的寄宿者埃埃尔辛太太就是在开旅店嘛!你说可怕不可怕?"“我想这是了不起的。"思嘉冷冷地说,"我倒宁愿去年在塔拉有这样一批房客,而不是免费寄宿。要是这样,我们现在也不会这样穷了。"“思嘉,你怎么能说出这种话来?你母亲在坟墓里连想起要向在塔拉接待的亲友们收费,也会感到不安的!当然,埃尔辛太太这样做也纯粹是迫不得已的,因为单靠她揽点缝纫活,范妮画瓷器,休叫卖柴火,是维持不了生活的。想想看吧,小小的休竟卖起柴火来了!而他原来是一心要当个出色的律师的。眼看着我们的孩子竟落到这个地步,我真想哭呢。"思嘉想起塔拉像铜钱般闪耀的天空下那一行行的棉花和她弓着身子侍弄它们时那种腰酸背痛的感觉。她想起自己用一双毫无经验的、满是血泡的手扶着犁把时的滋味。她觉得休•埃尔辛也并不是特别值得同情的。皮蒂是个多么天真的老傻瓜呀,而且,尽管是一片废墟,她还过得真不错呢!   “要是他不高兴卖柴火,干吗不当律师呢?难道在亚特兰大就不需要律师了吗?““啊,亲爱的,不是这样!律师的事还多着呢。这些日子,实际上每个人都在控告别人。由于什么都烧光了,界线也消失了,谁也说不清自己的地界在哪里。因为大家都没有钱了。   所以你要打官司也打不起。因此休只好一心一意卖自己的柴火。……啊,我差点忘了!我写信告诉了你了吗?范妮•埃尔辛明天晚上要结婚了。当然,你应该参加婚礼。埃尔辛太太只要知道你到了城里,一定很欢迎你去。我真希望你除了这身穿着还另外有件衣服。并不是说这一件不好看,亲爱的,可是----嗯,它显得有点旧了。啊,你有件漂亮的长袍?我真高兴,这将是亚特兰大沦陷以来头一次举行的真正的婚礼呢。   婚礼上将有蛋糕,有酒,然后是舞会,尽管我不明白埃尔辛家怎么花得起,因为他们本来是够穷的。"“范妮嫁给谁呀?我想达拉斯•麦克卢尔在葛底堡牺牲之后----"_“乖乖,你不应该批评范妮。不是每个人都像你对查尔斯那样忠于死者呀。让我想想,他叫什么名字来着?我总是记不住名字----也许叫汤姆什么的。我和他母亲很熟,曾经一起上过拉格兰奇女子学院。她姓托姆林森,是拉格兰奇人,而她母亲是----让我想想。……姓珀金斯,珀金斯?珀金森!对了。斯巴达人。门第很好,可还是一样----嗯,我知道本来不该说的,可不明白范妮怎么愿意去嫁给他的!"“他喝酒?还是----"“不,亲爱的。他的个性完美无缺,不过你瞧,他下身受了伤,被一颗开花弹打的,打坏了两腿----把它们----把它们,唉,我很讨厌用那个字眼,总之他只能叉开两腿走路了。   因此他行走起来非常难看----嗯,可真不体面呢。我不明白她为什么要嫁给他。"“姑娘们总得嫁人嘛!"“说真的,那倒不一定。"皮蒂皱皱眉头,表示异议。“我就从没想过。““你看,亲爱的,我不是说你呀!谁都知道你多么惹人爱慕,而且至今还是这样。要不,老法官卡尔顿还常常向你飞媚眼呢,以致我----"“唔,思嘉,别说了!那个老傻瓜!"皮蒂格格地笑着,情绪又好起来。"不过,无论怎么说,范妮是那样可爱,她本该嫁一个更好的人,而且我就不信她真的爱上这个汤什姆什么的。我不信她忘了达拉斯•麦克卢尔。不过她跟你不一样,亲爱的,你对心爱的查理至今忠贞不渝,要是你想再嫁,可能又嫁过多次了。媚兰和我时常谈起你为查理守节多么坚贞,虽然别人在背地里议论你,说你简直是个没心肝的风流女子。"思嘉对于这种不高明的恭维漠然置之,只一心要诱导皮蒂从一个朋友谈到另一个朋友,而且始终迫不及待地将谈话绕到瑞德身上。她决不会直截了当问起他的,何况自己刚到这里。而且那样做可能会引起老太太琢磨一些最好不去触动的想法。要是瑞德拒绝娶她,不愁没有机会惹起皮蒂对她的猜疑呢!   皮蒂姑妈很高兴喋喋不休地说下去,就像一个孩子好不容易获得了自己的听众似的。她说在亚特兰大,因为共和党人做了许多缺德事,目前的局面是可怕的。况且这一趋势没有尽头,其中最糟糕的是他们向穷黑人头脑里灌输思想的那种方式。   “亲爱的,他们要让黑人投票选举呢!你说世界上还有比这更荒谬的事吗?尽管----我不明白----反正我这样想,彼得大叔比任何一个共和党人都更加清醒,也更有礼貌,不过,当然喽,像彼得大叔这样有教养的人是不会参加选举的。可是,光这种想法本身就把黑人搞得简直昏昏然了。何况他们中间有些人是那么粗野无礼。天黑以后你在大街上走路是有生命危险的,甚至大白天他们也会把姑娘们推掇到路边的泥洼里去。而且,如果有位绅士胆敢表示抗议,他们就逮捕他,以致----亲爱的,我告诉过你没有?巴特船长已经进监狱了。"”瑞德•巴特勒?“即使是这么个消息,思嘉也要感激不尽,因为皮蒂使她无需亲自提到巴特勒的名字就谈起他来了。   “是的,千真万确!"皮蒂已兴奋得两颊发红,腰也挺得笔直了。"他就是因为杀了一个黑人立即被抓起来的。说不定要判处绞刑呢!想想吧,巴特勒船长要被判处绞刑!"思嘉顿时像个泄了气的皮球,喘不过起来了,只是呆呆地盯着这位胖老太太,老太太却因自己讲的事产生了效果而洋洋自得。   “他们还没有找到充分的证据,不过的确有人杀了这个侮辱白人妇女的黑鬼。北方佬感到十分恼火,因为最近有那么多气势汹汹的黑人被杀了。他们在巴特勒船长身上找不到任何证据,可是正如米德大夫说的,他们总得搞出一个样板。大夫认为如果他们真把他绞死,也是北方佬的第一桩大好事,不过那样一来,我就想不通。……想想看,巴特勒船长上星期还到过里,给我带来了一只怪可爱的鹌鹑当礼物呢。他还问起你,说他担心围城期间得罪过你,你大概永远也不会原谅他的。"“他得在监狱里呆多久?"“谁知道呢。也许一直要关到执行绞刑那天吧。不过,也可能他们最终落实不了他的杀人证据。当然喽,对于北方佬来说,只要能抓住一个人判绞刑就行了。至于究竟谁有罪谁没罪,那是用不着操心的。他们愤怒极了"----皮蒂神秘地压低声音----"至于那个三K党,在你们乡下也有吧?亲爱的,我相信一定有的,只不过艾希礼不会把这种事告诉你们姑娘家罢了。三K党人是不许谈这个的,他们在晚上装扮得像魔鬼似的,骑着马四处转悠,寻找偷钱的提包党人和盛气凌人的黑鬼。有时三K党只吓唬吓唬他们。警告他们快离开亚特兰大,可是如果他们不服从就动手用鞭子抽,并且,"皮蒂悄悄地说,"有时把他们杀掉,扔到很容易发现的地方,上面还着三K党的名片呢。……所以北方佬非常气恼,想来个杀一儆百。……不过休•埃尔辛告诉我,他认为他们不至于绞死巴特勒船长,因为北方佬觉得他知道那笔钱的下落,只是不说罢了。 Chapter 34 THE SUN SHONE intermittently the next morning and the hard wind that drove dark cloudsswiftly across its face rattled the windowpanes and moaned faintly about the house. Scarlett said abrief prayer of thanksgiving that the rain of the previous night had ceased, for she had lain awakelistening to it, knowing that it would mean the ruin of her velvet dress and new bonnet. Now thatshe could catch fleeting glimpses of the sun, her spirits soared. She could hardly remain in bed andlook languid and make croaking noises until Aunt Pitty, Mammy and Uncle Peter were out of thehouse and on their way to Mrs. Bonnell’s. When, at last, the front gate banged and she was alone inthe house, except for Cookie who was singing in the kitchen, she leaped from the bed and liftedher new clothes from the closet hooks.   Sleep had refreshed her and given her strength and from the cold hard core at the bottom of herheart, she drew courage. There was something about the prospect of a straggle of wits with a man—with any man—that put her on her mettle and, after months of battling against countlessdiscouragements, the knowledge that she was at last facing a definite adversary, one whom shemight unhorse by her own efforts, gave her a buoyant sensation.   Dressing unaided was difficult but she finally accomplished it and putting on the bonnet with itsrakish feathers she ran to Aunt Pitty’s room to preen herself in front of the long mirror. How prettyshe looked! The cock feathers gave her a dashing air and the dull-green velvet of the bonnet madeher eyes startlingly bright, almost emerald colored. And the dress was incomparable, so rich andhandsome looking and yet so dignified! It was wonderful to have a lovely dress again. It was sonice to know that she looked pretty and provocative, and she impulsively bent forward and kissedher reflection in the mirror and then laughed at her own foolishness. She picked up Ellen’s Paisleyshawl to wrap about her but the colors of the faded old square clashed with the moss-green dressand made her appear a little shabby. Opening Aunt Pitty’s closet she removed a black broadclothcloak, a thin fall garment which Pitty used only for Sunday wear, and put it on. She slipped intoher pierced ears the diamond earrings she had brought from Tara, and tossed her head to observethe effect. They made pleasant clicking noises which were very satisfactory and she thought thatshe must remember to toss her head frequently when with Rhett. Dancing earrings always attracteda man and gave a girl such a spirited air.   What a shame Aunt Pitty had no other gloves than the ones now on her fat hands! No womancould really feel like a lady without gloves, but Scarlett had not had a pair since she left Atlanta.   And the long months of hard work at Tara had roughened her hands until they were far from pretty.   Well, it couldn’t be helped. She’d take Aunt Pitty’s little seal muff and hide her bare hands in itScarlett felt that it gave her the final finishing touch of elegance. No one, looking at her now,would suspect that poverty and want were standing at her shoulder.   It was so important that Rhett should not suspect. He must not think that anything but tenderfeelings were driving her.   She tiptoed down the stairs and out of the house while Cookie bawled on unconcernedly in thekitchen. She hastened down Baker Street to avoid the all seeing eyes of the neighbors and sat downon a carriage block on Ivy Street in front of a burned house, to wait for some passing carriage orwagon which would give her a ride. The sun dipped in and out from behind hurrying clouds,lighting the street with a false brightness which had no warmth in it, and the wind fluttered the laceof her pantalets. It was colder than she had expected and she wrapped Aunt Pitty’s thin cloak abouther and shivered impatiently. Just as she was preparing to start walking the long way across townto the Yankee encampment, a battered wagon appeared. In it was an old woman with a lip full ofsnuff and a weather-beaten face under a drab sunbonnet, driving a dawdling old mule. She wasgoing in the direction of the city hall and she grudgingly gave Scarlett a ride. But it was obviousthat the dress, bonnet and muff found no favor with her.   “She thinks I’m a hussy,” thought Scarlett “And perhaps she’s right at that!”   When at last they reached the town square and the tall white cupola of the city hall loomed up,she made her thanks, climbed down from the wagon and watched the country woman drive off.   Looking around carefully to see that she was not observed, she pinched her cheeks to give themcolor and bit her lips until they stung to make them red. She adjusted the bonnet and smoothedback her hair and looked about the square. The two-story red-brick city hall had survived theburning of the city. But it looked forlorn and unkempt under the gray sky. Surrounding the buildingcompletely and covering the square of land of which it was the center were row after row of armyhuts, dingy and mud splashed. Yankee soldiers loitered everywhere and Scarlett looked at themuncertainly, some of her courage deserting her. How would she go about finding Rhett in thisenemy camp?   She looked down the street toward the firehouse and saw that the wide arched doors were closedand heavily barred and two sentries passed and repassed on each side of the building. Rhett was inthere. But what should she say to the Yankee soldiers? And what would they say to her? Shesquared her shoulders. If she hadn’t been afraid to kill one Yankee, she shouldn’t fear merelytalking to another.   She picked her way precariously across the stepping stones of the muddy street and walkedforward until a sentry, his blue overcoat buttoned high against the wind, stopped her.   “What is it, Ma’m?” His voice had a strange mid-Western twang but it was polite and respectful.   “I want to see a man in there—he is a prisoner.”   “Well, I don’t know,” said the sentry, scratching his head. “They are mighty particular aboutvisitors and—” He stopped and peered into her face sharply. “Lord, lady! Don’t you cry! You goover to post headquarters and ask the officers. They’ll let you see him, I bet.”   Scarlett, who had no intention of crying, beamed at him. He turned to another sentry who wasslowly pacing his beat: “Yee-ah, Bill. Come’eer.”   The second sentry, a large man muffled in a blue overcoat from which villainous black whiskersburst, came through the mud toward them.   “You take this lady to headquarters.”   Scarlett thanked him and followed the sentry.   “Mind you don’t turn your ankle on those stepping stones,” said the soldier, taking her arm.   “And you’d better hist up your skirts a little to keep them out of the mud.”   The voice issuing from the whiskers had the same nasal twang but was kind and pleasant and hishand was firm and respectful. Why, Yankees weren’t bad at all!   “It’s a mighty cold day for a lady to be out in,” said her escort. “Have you come a fer piece?”   “Oh, yes, from clear across the other side of town,” she said, warming to the kindness in hisvoice.   “This ain’t no weather for a lady to be out in,” said the soldier reprovingly, “with all this lagrippe in the air. Here’s Post Command, lady— What’s the matter?”   “This house—this house is your headquarters?” Scarlett looked up at the lovely old dwellingfacing on the square and could have cried. She had been to so many parties in this house during thewar. It had been a gay beautiful place and now—there was a large United States flag floating over it.   “What’s the matter?”   “Nothing—only—only—I used to know the people who lived here.”   “Well, that’s too bad. I guess they wouldn’t know it themselves if they saw it, for it shore is tornup on the inside. Now, you go on in, Ma’m, and ask for the captain.”   She went up the steps, caressing the broken white banisters, and pushed open the front door. Thehall was dark and as cold as a vault and a shivering sentry was leaning against the closed foldingdoors of what had been, in better days, the dining room.   “I want to see the captain,” she said.   He pulled back the doors and she entered the room, her heart beating rapidly, her face flushingwith embarrassment and excitement. There was a close stuffy smell in the room, compounded ofthe smoking fire, tobacco fames, leather, damp woolen uniforms and unwashed bodies. She had aconfused impression of bare walls with torn wallpaper, rows of blue overcoats and slouch hatshung on nails, a roaring fire, a long table covered with papers and a group of officers in blueuniforms with brass buttons.   She gulped once and found her voice. She mustn’t let these Yankees know she was afraid. Shemust look and be her prettiest and most unconcerned self. “The captain?”   “I’m one captain,” said a fat man whose tunic was unbuttoned.   “I want to see a prisoner, Captain Rhett Butler.”   “Butler again? He’s popular, that man,” laughed the captain, taking a chewed cigar from hismouth. “You a relative, Ma’m?”   “Yes—his—his sister.”   He laughed again.   “He’s got a lot of sisters, one of them here yesterday.”   Scarlett flushed. One of those creatures Rhett consorted with, probably that Watling woman.   And these Yankees thought she was another one. It was unendurable. Not even for Tara would shestay here another minute and be insulted. She turned to the door and reached angrily for the knobbut another officer was by her side quickly. He was clean shaven and young and had merry, kindeyes.   “Just a minute, Ma’m. Won’t you sit down here by the fire where it’s warm? I’ll go see what Ican do about it. What is your name? He refused to see the—lady who called yesterday.”   She sank into the proffered chair, glaring at the discomfited fat captain, and gave her name. Thenice young officer slipped on his overcoat and left the room and the others took themselves off tothe far end of the table where they talked in low tones and pawed at the papers. She stretched herfeet gratefully toward the fire, realizing for the first time how cold they were and wishing she hadthought to put a piece of cardboard over the hole in the sole of one slipper. After a time, voicesmurmured outside the door and she heard Rhett’s laugh. The door opened, a cold draft swept the room and Rhett appeared, hatless, a long cape thrown carelessly across his shoulders. He was dirtyand unshaven and without a cravat but somehow jaunty despite his dishabille, and his dark eyeswere snapping joyfully at the sight of her.   “Scarlett!”   He had her hands in both of his and, as always, there was something hot and vital and excitingabout his grip. Before she quite knew what he was about, he had bent and kissed her cheek, hismustache tickling her. As he felt the startled movement of her body away from him, he hugged herabout the shoulders and said: “My darling little sister!” and grinned down at her as if he relishedher helplessness in resisting his caress. She couldn’t help laughing back at him for the advantagehe had taken. What a rogue he was! Jail had not changed him one bit.   The fat captain was muttering through his cigar to the merry-eyed officer.   “Most irregular. He should be in the firehouse. You know the orders.”   “Oh, for God’s sake, Henry! The lady would freeze in that barn.”   “Oh, all right, all right! It’s your responsibility.”   “I assure you, gentlemen,” said Rhett, turning to them but still keeping a grip on Scarlett’sshoulders, “my—sister hasn’t brought me any saws or files to help me escape.”   They all laughed and, as they did, Scarlett looked quickly about her. Good Heavens, was shegoing to have to talk to Rhett before six Yankee officers! Was he so dangerous a prisoner theywouldn’t let him out of their sight? Seeing her anxious glance, the nice officer pushed open a doorand spoke brief low words to two privates who had leaped to their feet at his entrance. They pickedup their rifles and went out into the hall, closing the door behind them.   “If you wish, you may sit here in the orderly room,” said the young captain, “And don’t try tobolt through that door. The men are just outside.”   “You see what a desperate character I am, Scarlett,” said Rhett “Thank you, Captain. This ismost kind of you.”   He bowed carelessly and taking Scarlett’s arm pulled her to her feet and propelled her into thedingy orderly room. She was never to remember what the room looked like except that it wassmall and dim and none too warm and there were handwritten papers tacked on the mutilated wallsand chairs which had cowhide seats with the hair still on them.   When he had closed the door behind them. Rhett came to her swiftly and bent over her.   Knowing his desire, she turned her head quickly but smiled provocatively at him out of the cornersof her eyes.   “Can’t I really kiss you now?”   “On the forehead, like a good brother,” she answered demurely.   “Thank you, no. I prefer to wait and hope for better things.” His eyes sought her lips andlingered there a moment. “But how good of you to come to see me, Scarlett! You are the firstrespectable citizen who has called on me since my incarceration, and being in jail makes oneappreciate friends. When did you come to town?”   “Yesterday afternoon.”   “And you came out this morning? Why, my dear, you are more than good.” He smiled down ather with the first expression of honest pleasure she had ever seen on his face. Scarlett smiledinwardly with excitement and ducked her head as if embarrassed.   “Of course, I came out right away. Aunt Pitty told me about you last night and I—I just couldn’tsleep all night for thinking how awful it was. Rhett, I’m so distressed!”   “Why, Scarlett!”   His voice was soft but there was a vibrant note in it, and looking up into his dark face she saw init none of the skepticism, the jeering humor she knew so well. Before his direct gaze her eyes fellagain in real confusion. Things were going even better than she hoped.   “It’s worth being in jail to see you again and to hear you say things like that. I really couldn’tbelieve my ears when they brought me your name. You see, I never expected you to forgive me formy patriotic conduct that night on the road near Rough and Ready. But I take it that this call meansyou have forgiven me?”   She could feel swift anger stir, even at this late date, as she thought of that night but she subduedit and tossed her head until the earrings danced.   “No, I haven’t forgiven you,” she said and pouted.   “Another hope crushed. And after I offered up myself for my country and fought barefooted inthe snow at Franklin and got the finest case of dysentery you ever heard of for my pains!”   “I don’t want to hear about your—pains,” she said, still pouting hut smiling at him from tip-tilted eyes. “I still think you were hateful that night and I never expect to forgive you. Leaving mealone like that when anything might have happened to me!”   “But nothing did happen to you. So, you see, my confidence in you was justified. I knew you’dget home safely and God help any Yankee who got in your way!”   “Rhett, why on earth did you do such a silly thing—enlisting at the last minute when you knewwe were going to get licked? And after all you’d said about idiots who went out and got shot!”   “Scarlett, spare me! I am always overcome with shame when I think about it.”   “Well, I’m glad to learn you are ashamed of the way you treated me.”   “You misunderstand. I regret to say that my conscience has not troubled me at all aboutdeserting you. But as for enlisting—when I think of joining the army in varnished boots and awhite linen suit and armed with only a pair of dueling pistols— And those long cold miles in thesnow after my boots wore out and I had no overcoat and nothing to eat ... I cannot understand whyI did not desert. It was all the purest insanity. But it’s in one’s blood. Southerners can never resist alosing cause. But never mind my reasons. It’s enough that I’m forgiven.”   “You’re not. I think you’re a hound.” But she caressed the last word until it might have been“darling.”   “Don’t fib. You’ve forgiven me. Young ladies don’t dare Yankee sentries to see a prisoner, just for charity’s sweet sake, and come all dressed up in velvet and feathers and seal muffs too. Scarlett,how pretty you look! Thank God, you aren’t in rags or mourning! I get so sick of women in dowdyold clothes and perpetual crêpe. You look like the Rue de la Paix. Turn around, my dear, and let melook at you.”   So he had noticed the dress. Of course, he would notice such things, being Rhett. She laughed insoft excitement and spun about on her toes, her arms extended, her hoops tilting up to show herlace trimmed pantalets. His black eyes took her in from bonnet to heels in a glance that missednothing, that old impudent unclothing glance which always gave her goose bumps.   “You look very prosperous and very, very tidy. And almost good enough to eat. If it wasn’t forthe Yankees outside—but you are quite safe, my dear. Sit down. I won’t take advantage of you as Idid the last time I saw you.” He rubbed his cheek with pseudo ruefulness. “Honestly, Scarlett,don’t you think you were a bit selfish, that night? Think of all I had done for you, risked my life—stolen a horse—and such a horse! Rushed to the defense of Our Glorious Cause! And what did Iget for my pains? Some hard words and a very hard slap in the face.”   She sat down. The conversation was not going in quite the direction she hoped. He had seemedso nice when he first saw her, so genuinely glad she had come. He had almost seemed like ahuman being and not the perverse wretch she knew so well.   “Must you always get something for your pains?”   “Why, of course! I am a monster of selfishness, as you ought to know. I always expect paymentfor anything I give.”   That sent a slight chill through her but she rallied and jingled her earbobs again.   “Oh, you really aren’t so bad, Rhett. You just like to show off.”   “My word, but you have changed!” he said and laughed. “What has made a Christian of you? Ihave kept up with you through Miss Pittypat but she gave me no intimation that you had developedwomanly sweetness. Tell me more about yourself, Scarlett. What have you been doing since I lastsaw you?”   The old irritation and antagonism which he roused in her was hot in her heart and she yearned tospeak tart words. But she smiled instead and the dimple crept into her cheek. He had drawn a chairclose beside hers and she leaned over and put a gentle hand on his arm, in an unconscious manner.   “Oh, I’ve been doing nicely, thank you, and everything at Tara is fine now. Of course, we had adreadful time right after Sherman went through but, after all, he didn’t burn the house and thedarkies saved most of the livestock by driving it into the swamp. And we cleared a fair crop thislast fall, twenty bales. Of course, that’s practically nothing compared with what Tara can do but wehaven’t many field hands. Pa says, of course, we’ll do better next year. But, Rhett, it’s so dull inthe country now! Imagine, there aren’t any balls or barbecues and the only thing people talk aboutis hard times! Goodness, I get sick of it! Finally last week I got too bored to stand it any longer, soPa said I must take a trip and have a good time. So I came up here to get me some frocks made andthen I’m going over to Charleston to visit my aunt. It’ll be lovely to go to balls again.”   There, she thought with pride, I delivered that with just the right airy way! Not too rich but certainly not poor.   “You look beautiful in ball dresses, my dear, and you know it too, worse luck! I suppose the realreason you are going, visiting is that you have run through the County swains and are seeking freshones in fields afar.”   Scarlett had a thankful thought that Rhett had spent the last several months abroad and had onlyrecently come back to Atlanta. Otherwise, he would never have made so ridiculous a statement.   She thought briefly of the County swains, the ragged embittered little Fontaines, the poverty-stricken Munroe boys, the Jonesboro and Fayetteville beaux who were so busy plowing, splittingrails and nursing sick old animals that they had forgotten such things as balls and pleasantflirtations ever existed. But she put down this memory and giggled self-consciously as if admittingthe truth of his assertion.   “Oh, well,” she said deprecatingly.   “You are a heartless creature, Scarlett, but perhaps that’s part of your charm.” He smiled in hisold way, one corner of his mouth curving down, but she knew he was complimenting her. “For, ofcourse, you know you have more charm than the law should permit. Even I have felt it, casehardenedthough I am. I’ve often wondered what it was about you that made me always rememberyou, for I’ve known many ladies who were prettier than you and certainly more clever and, I fear,morally more upright and kind. But, somehow, I always remembered you. Even during the monthssince the surrender when I was in France and England and hadn’t seen you or heard of you andwas enjoying the society of many beautiful ladies, I always remembered you and wondered whatyou were doing.”   For a moment she was indignant that he should say other women were prettier, more clever andkind than she, but that momentary flare was wiped out in her pleasure that he had remembered herand her charm. So he hadn’t forgotten! That would make things easier. And he was behaving sonicely, almost like a gentleman would do under the circumstances. Now, all she had to do wasbring the subject around to himself, so she could intimate that she had not forgotten him either andthen—She gently squeezed his arm and dimpled again.   “Oh, Rhett, how you do run on, teasing a country girl like me! I know mighty well you nevergave me a thought after you left me that night. You can’t tell me you ever thought of me with allthose pretty French and English girls around you. But I didn’t come all the way out here to hearyou talk foolishness about me. I came—I came— because—”   “Because?”   “Oh, Rhett, I’m so terribly distressed about you! So frightened for you! When will they let youout of that terrible place?” He swiftly covered her hand with his and held it hard against his arm.   “Your distress does you credit. There’s no telling when I’ll be out. Probably when they’vestretched the rope a bit more.”   “The rope?”   “Yes, I expect to make my exit from here at the rope’s end.”   “They won’t really hang you?”   “They will if they can get a little more evidence against me.”   “Oh, Rhett!” she cried, her hand at her heart.   “Would you be sorry? If you are sorry enough, I’ll mention you in my will.”   His dark eyes laughed at her recklessly and he squeezed her hand.   His will! She hastily cast down her eyes for fear of betrayal but not swiftly enough, for his eyesgleamed, suddenly curious.   “According to the Yankees, I ought to have a fine will. There seems to be considerable interestin my finances at present. Every day, I am hauled up before another board of inquiry and askedfoolish questions. The rumor seems current that I made off with the mythical gold of the Confederacy.”   “Well—did you?”   “What a leading question! You know as well as I do that the Confederacy ran a printing pressinstead of a mint.”   “Where did you get all your money? Speculating? Aunt Pittypat said—”   “What probing questions you ask!”   Damn him! Of course, he had the money. She was so excited it became difficult to talk sweetlyto him.   “Rhett, I’m so upset about your being here. Don’t you think there’s a chance of your gettingout?”   “ ‘Nihil desperandum’ is my motto.”   “What does that mean?”   “It means ‘maybe,’ my charming ignoramus.”   She fluttered her thick lashes up to look at him and fluttered them down again.   “Oh, you’re too smart to let them hang you! I know you’ll think of some clever way to beatthem and get out! And when you do—”   “And when I do?” he asked softly, leaning closer.   “Well, I—” and she managed a pretty confusion and a blush. The blush was not difficult for shewas breathless and her heart was beating like a drum. “Rhett, I’m so sorry about what I—I said toyou that night—you know—at Rough and Ready. I was—oh, so very frightened and upset and youwere so—so—” She looked down and saw his brown hand tighten over hers. “And—I thoughtthen that I’d never, never forgive you! But when Aunt Pitty told me yesterday that you—that theymight hang you—it came over me of a sudden and I—I—” She looked up into his eyes with oneswift imploring glance and in it she put an agony of heartbreak. “Oh, Rhett, I’d die if they hangedyou! I couldn’t bear it! You see, I—” And, because she could not longer sustain the hot leapinglight that was in his eyes, her lids fluttered down again.   In a moment I’ll be crying, she thought in a frenzy of wonder and excitement. Shall I let myselfcry? Would that seem more natural?   He said quickly: “My God, Scarlett, you can’t mean that you—” and his hands closed over hersin so hard a grip that it hurt.   She shut her eyes tightly, trying to squeeze out tears, but remembered to turn her face up slightlyso he could kiss her with no difficulty. Now, in an instant his lips would be upon hers, the hardinsistent lips which she suddenly remembered with a vividness that left her weak. But he did notkiss her. Disappointment queerly stirring her, she opened her eyes a trifle and ventured a peep athim. His black head was bent over her hands and, as she watched, he lifted one and kissed it and,taking the other, laid it against his cheek for a moment. Expecting violence, this gentle andloverlike gesture startled her. She wondered what expression was on his face but could not tell forhis head was bowed.   She quickly lowered her gaze lest he should look up suddenly and see the expression on herface. She knew that the feeling of triumph surging through her was certain to be plain in her eyes.   In a moment he would ask her to marry him—or at least say that he loved her and then ... As shewatched him through the veil of her lashes he turned her hand over, palm up, to kiss it too, andsuddenly he drew a quick breath. Looking down she saw her own palm, saw it as it really was forthe first time in a year, and a cold sinking fear gripped her. This was a stranger’s palm, not ScarlettO’Hara’s soft, white, dimpled, helpless one. This hand was rough from work, brown with sunburn,splotched with freckles. The nails were broken and irregular, there were heavy calluses on thecushions of the palm, a half-healed blister on the thumb. The red scar which boiling fat had left lastmonth was ugly and glaring. She looked at it in horror and, before she thought, she swiftlyclenched her fist.   Still he did not raise his head. Still she could not see his face. He pried her fist open inexorablyand stared at it, picked up her other hand and held them both together silently, looking down atthem.   “Look at me,” he said finally raising his head, and his voice was very quiet. “And drop thatdemure expression.”   Unwillingly she met his eyes, defiance and perturbation on her face. His black brows were upand his eyes gleamed.   “So you have been doing very nicely at Tara, have you? Cleared so much money on the cottonyou can go visiting. What have you been doing with your hands—plowing?”   She tried to wrench them away but he held them hard, running his thumbs over the calluses.   “These are not the hands of a lady,” he said and tossed them into her lap.   “Oh, shut up!” she cried, feeling a momentary intense relief at being able to speak her feelings.   “Whose business is it what I do with my hands?”   What a fool I am, she thought vehemently. I should have borrowed or stolen Aunt Pitty’s gloves.   But I didn’t realize my hands looked so bad. Of course, he would notice them. And now I’ve lostmy temper and probably ruined everything. Oh, to have this happen when he was right at the point of a declaration!   “Your hands are certainly no business of mine,” said Rhett coolly and lounged back in his chairindolently, his face a smooth blank.   So he was going to be difficult. Well, she’d have to bear it meekly, much as she disliked it, if sheexpected to snatch victory from this debacle. Perhaps if she sweet-talked him—“I think you’re real rude to throw off on my poor hands. Just because I went riding last weekwithout my gloves and ruined them—”   “Riding, hell!” he said in the same level voice. “You’ve been working with those hands,working like a nigger. What’s the answer? Why did you lie to me about everything being nice atTara?”   “Now, Rhett—”   “Suppose we get down to the truth. What is the real purpose of your visit? Almost, I waspersuaded by your coquettish airs that you cared something about me and were sorry for me.”   “Oh, I am sorry! Indeed—”   “No, you aren’t. They can hang me higher than Haman for all you care. It’s written as plainly onyour face as hard work is written on your hands. You wanted something from me and you wantedit badly enough to put on quite a show. Why didn’t you come out in the open and tell me what itwas? You’d have stood a much better chance of getting it, for if there’s one virtue I value inwomen it’s frankness. But no, you had to come jingling your earbobs and pouting and frisking likea prostitute with a prospective client.”   He did not raise his voice at the last words or emphasize them in any way but to Scarlett theycracked like a whiplash, and with despair she saw the end of her hopes of getting him to proposemarriage. Had he exploded with rage and injured vanity or upbraided her, as other men would havedone, she could have handled him. But the deadly quietness of his voice frightened her, left her utterlyat a loss as to her next move. Although he was a prisoner and the Yankees were in the nextroom, it came to her suddenly that Rhett Butler was a dangerous man to run afoul of.   “I suppose my memory is getting faulty. I should have recalled that you are just like me and thatyou never do anything without an ulterior motive. Now, let me see. What could you have had upyour sleeve, Mrs. Hamilton? It isn’t possible that you were so misguided as to think I wouldpropose matrimony?”   Her face went crimson and she did not answer.   “But you can’t have forgotten my oft-repeated remark that I am not a marrying man?”   When she did not speak, he said with sudden violence:   “You hadn’t forgotten? Answer me.”   “I hadn’t forgotten,” she said wretchedly.   “What a gambler you are, Scarlett,” he jeered. “You took a chance that my incarceration awayfrom female companionship would put me in such a state I’d snap at you like a trout at a worm.”   And that’s what you did, thought Scarlett with inward rage, and if it hadn’t been for my hands—“Now, we have most of the truth, everything except your reason. See if you can tell me the truthabout why you wanted to lead me into wedlock.”   There was a suave, almost teasing note in his voice and she took heart. Perhaps everythingwasn’t lost, after all. Of course, she had ruined any hope of marriage but, even in her despair, shewas glad. There was something about this immobile man which frightened her, so that now thethought of marrying him was fearful. But perhaps if she was clever and played on his sympathiesand his memories, she could secure a loan. She pulled her face into a placating and childlikeexpression.   “Oh, Rhett, you can help me so much—if you’ll just be sweet.”   “There’s nothing I like better than being—sweet.”   “Rhett, for old friendship’s sake, I want you to do me a favor.”   “So, at last the horny-handed lady comes to her real mission. I feared that ‘visiting the sick andthe imprisoned’ was not your proper role. What do you want? Money?”   The bluntness of his question ruined all hopes of leading up to the matter in any circuitous andsentimental way.   “Don’t be mean, Rhett,” she coaxed. “I do want some money. I want you to lend me threehundred dollars.”   “The truth at last. Talking love and thinking money. How truly feminine! Do you need themoney badly?”   “Oh, ye— Well, not so terribly but I could use it”   “Three “hundred dollars. That’s a vast amount of money. What do you want it for?”   “To pay taxes on Tara.”   “So you want to borrow some money. Well, since you’re so businesslike, I’ll be businesslike too.   What collateral will you give me?”   “What what?”   “Collateral. Security on my investment. Of course, I don’t want to lose all that money.” Hisvoice was deceptively smooth, almost silky, but she did not notice. Maybe everything would turnout nicely after all.   “My earrings.”   “I’m not interested in earrings.”   “I’ll give you a mortgage on Tara.”   “Now just what would I do with a farm?”   “Well, you could—you could—it’s a good plantation. And you wouldn’t lose. I’d pay you backout of next year’s cotton.”   “I’m not so sure.” He tilted back in his chair and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Cotton pricesare dropping. Times are so hard and money’s so tight.”   “Oh, Rhett, you are teasing me! You know you have millions!”   There was a warm dancing malice in his eyes as he surveyed her.   “So everything is going nicely and you don’t need the money very badly. Well, I’m glad to hearthat. I like to know that all is well with old friends.”   “Oh, Rhett, for God’s sake ...” she began desperately, her courage and control breaking,“Do lower your voice. You don’t want the Yankees to hear you, I hope. Did anyone ever tell youyou had eyes like a cat—a cat in the dark?”   “Rhett, don’t! I’ll tell you everything. I do need the money so badly. I—I lied about everythingbeing all right. Everything’s as wrong as it could be. Father is—is—he’s not himself. He’s beenqueer ever since Mother died and he can’t help me any. He’s just like a child. And we haven’t asingle field hand to work the cotton and there’s so many to feed, thirteen of us. And the taxes—they are so high. Rhett, I’ll tell you everything. For over a year we’ve been just this side ofstarvation. Oh, you don’t know! You can’t know! We’ve never had enough to eat and it’s terrible towake up hungry and go to sleep hungry. And we haven’t any warm clothes and the children are alwayscold and sick and—”   “Where did you get the pretty dress?”   “It’s made out of Mother’s curtains,” she answered, too desperate to lie about this shame. “Icould stand being hungry and cold but now—now the Carpetbaggers have raised our taxes. Andthe money’s got to be paid right away. And I haven’t any money except one five-dollar gold piece.   I’ve got to have money for the taxes! Don’t you see? If I don’t pay them, I’ll—we’ll lose Tara andwe just can’t lose it! I can’t let it go!”   “Why didn’t you tell me all this at first instead of preying on my susceptible heart—alwaysweak where pretty ladies are concerned? No, Scarlett, don’t cry. You’ve tried every trick exceptthat one and I don’t think I could stand it. My feelings are already lacerated with disappointment atdiscovering it was my money and not my charming self you wanted.”   She remembered that he frequently told bald truths about himself when he spoke mockingly—mocking himself as well as others, and she hastily looked up at him. Were his feelings really hurt?   Did he really care about her? Had he been on the verge of a proposal when he saw her palms? Orhad he only been leading up to another such odious proposal as he had made twice before? If hereally cared about her, perhaps she could smooth him down. But his black eyes raked her in nolover-like way and he was laughing softly.   “I don’t like your collateral. I’m no planter. What else have you to offer?”   Well, she had come to it at last. Now for it! She drew a deep breath and met his eyes squarely,all coquetry and airs gone as her spirit rushed out to grapple that which she feared most.   “I—I have myself.”   “Yes?”   Her jaw line tightened to squareness and her eyes went emerald.   “You remember that night on Aunt Pitty’s porch, during the siege? You said—you said then thatyou wanted me.”   He leaned back carelessly in his chair and looked into her tense face and his own dark face wasinscrutable. Something flickered behind his eyes but he said nothing.   “You said—you said you’d never wanted a woman as much as you wanted me. If you still wantme, you can have me, Rhett, I’ll do anything you say but, for God’s sake, write me a draft for themoney! My word’s good. I swear it. I won’t go back on it. I’ll put it in writing if you like.”   He looked at her oddly, still inscrutable and as she hurried on she could not tell if he wereamused or repelled. If he would only say something, anything! She felt her cheeks getting hot.   “I have got to have the money soon, Rhett. They’ll turn us out in the road and that damnedoverseer of Father’s will own the place and—”   “Just a minute. What makes you think I still want you? What makes you think you are worththree hundred dollars? Most women don’t come that high.”   She blushed to her hair line and her humiliation was complete.   “Why are you doing this? Why not let the farm go and live at Miss Pittypat’s. You own half thathouse.”   “Name of God!” she cried. “Are you a fool? I can’t let Tara go. It’s home. I won’t let it go. Notwhile I’ve got breath left in me!”   “The Irish,” said he, lowering his chair back to level and removing his hands from his pockets,“are the damnedest race. They put so much emphasis on so many wrong things. Land, for instance.   And every bit of earth is just like every other bit. Now, let me get this straight, Scarlett. You arecoming to me with a business proposition. I’ll give you three hundred dollars and you’ll becomemy mistress.”   “Yes.”   Now that the repulsive word had been said, she felt somehow easier and hope awoke in heragain. He had said “I’ll give you.” There was a diabolic gleam in his eyes as if something amusedhim greatly.   “And yet, when I had the effrontery to make you this same proposition, you turned me out of thehouse. And also you called me a number of very hard names and mentioned in passing that youdidn’t want a ‘passel of brats.’ No, my dear, I’m not rubbing it in. I’m only wondering at thepeculiarities of your mind. You wouldn’t do it for your own pleasure but you will to keep the wolfaway from the door. It proves my point that all virtue is merely a matter of prices.”   “Oh, Rhett, how you run on! If you want to insult me, go on and do it but give me the money.”   She was breathing easier now. Being what he was, Rhett would naturally want to torment andinsult her as much as possible to pay her back for past slights and for her recent attempted trickery.   Well, she could stand it. She could stand anything. Tara was worth it all. For a brief moment it wasmid-summer and the afternoon skies were blue and she lay drowsily in the thick clover of Tara’s lawn, looking up at the billowing cloud castles, the fragrance of white blossoms in her nose and thepleasant busy humming of bees in her ears. Afternoon and hush and the far-off sound of thewagons coming in from the spiraling red fields. Worth it all, worth more.   Her head went up.   “Are you going to give me the money?”   He looked as if he were enjoying himself and when he spoke there was suave brutality in hisvoice.   “No, I’m not,” he said.   For a moment her mind could not adjust itself to his words.   “I couldn’t give it to you, even if I wanted to. I haven’t a cent on me. Not a dollar in Atlanta. Ihave some money, yes, but not here. And I’m not saying where it is or how much. But if I tried todraw a draft on it, the Yankees would be on me like a duck on a June bug and then neither of uswould get it. What do you think of that?”   Her face went an ugly green, freckles suddenly standing out across her nose and her contortedmouth was like Gerald’s in a killing rage. She sprang to her feet with an incoherent cry whichmade the hum of voices in the next room cease suddenly. Swift as a panther, Rhett was beside her,his heavy hand across her mouth, his arm tight about her waist. She struggled against him madly,trying to bite his hand, to kick his legs, to scream her rage, despair, hate, her agony of brokenpride. She bent and twisted every way against the iron of his arm, her heart near bursting, her tightstays cutting off her breath. He held her so tightly, so roughly that it hurt and the hand over hermouth pinched into her jaws cruelly. His face was white under its tan, his eyes hard and anxious ashe lifted her completely off her feet, swung her up against his chest and sat down in the chair,holding her writhing in his lap.   “Darling, for God’s sake! Stop! Hush! Don’t yell. They’ll be in here in a minute if you do. Docalm yourself. Do you want the Yankees to see you like this?”   She was beyond caring who saw her, beyond anything except a fiery desire to kill him, butdizziness was sweeping her. She could not breathe; he was choking her; her stays were like aswiftly compressing band of iron; his arms about her made her shake with helpless hate and fury.   Then his voice became thin and dim and his face above her swirled in a sickening mist whichbecame heavier and heavier until she no longer saw him—or anything else.   When she made feeble swimming motions to come back to consciousness, she was tired to herbones, weak, bewildered. She was lying back in the chair, her bonnet off, Rhett was slapping herwrist, his black eyes searching her face anxiously. The nice young captain was trying to pour aglass of brandy into her mouth and had spilled it down her neck. The other officers hoveredhelplessly about, whispering and waving their hands.   “I—guess I must have fainted,” she said, and her voice sounded so far away it frightened her.   “Drink this,” said Rhett, taking the glass and pushing it against her lips. Now she rememberedand glared feebly at him but she was too tired for anger.   “Please, for my sake.”   She gulped and choked and began coughing but he pushed it to her mouth again. She swalloweddeeply and the hot liquid burned suddenly in her throat.   “I think she’s better now, gentlemen,” said Rhett, “and I thank you very much. The realizationthat I’m to be executed was too much for her.”   The group in blue shuffled their feet and looked embarrassed and after several clearings ofthroats, they tramped out. The young captain paused in the doorway.   “If there’s anything more I can do—”   “No, thank you.”   He went out, closing the door behind him.   “Drink some more,” said Rhett“No.”   “Drink it.”   She swallowed another mouthful and the warmth began spreading through her body and strengthflowed slowly back into her shaking legs. She pushed away the glass and tried to rise but hepressed her back.   “Take your hands off me. I’m going.”   “Not yet. Wait a minute. You might faint again.”   “I’d rather faint in the road than be here with you.”   “Just the same, I won’t have you fainting in the road.”   “Let me go. I hate you.”   A faint smile came back to his face at her words.   “That sounds more like you. You must be feeling better.”   She lay relaxed for a moment, trying to summon anger to her aid, trying to draw on her strength.   But she was too tired. She was too tired to hate or to care very much about anything. Defeat lay onher spirit like lead. She had gambled everything and lost everything. Not even pride was left. Thiswas the dead end of her last hope. This was the end of Tara, the end of them all. For a long timeshe lay back with her eyes closed, hearing his heavy breathing near her, and the glow of the brandycrept gradually over her, giving a false strength and warmth. When finally she opened her eyes andlooked him in the face, anger had roused again. As her slanting eyebrows rushed down together ina frown Rhett’s old smile came back.   “Now you are better. I can tell it by your scowl.”   “Of course, I’m all right. Rhett Butler, you are hateful, a skunk, if ever I saw one! You knewvery well what I was going to say as soon as I started talking and you knew you weren’t going togive me the money. And yet you let me go right on. You could have spared me—”   “Spared you and missed hearing all that? Not much. I have so few diversions here. I don’t knowwhen I’ve ever heard anything so gratifying.” He laughed his sudden mocking laugh. At the sound she leaped to her feet, snatching up her bonnet.   He suddenly had her by the shoulders.   “Not quite yet. Do you feel well enough to talk sense?”   “Let me go!”   “You are well enough, I see. Then, tell me this. Was I the only iron you had in the fire?” Hiseyes were keen and alert, watching every change in her face.   “What do you mean?”   “Was I the only man you were going to try this on?”   “Is that any of your business?”   “More than you realize. Are there any other men on your string? Tell me!”   “No.”   “Incredible. I can’t imagine you without five or six in reserve. Surely someone will turn up toaccept your interesting proposition. I feel so sure of it that I want to give you a little advice.”   “I don’t want your advice.”   “Nevertheless I will give it. Advice seems to be the only thing I can give you at present. Listento it, for it’s good advice. When you are trying to get something out of a man, don’t blurt it out asyou did to me. Do try to be more subtle, more seductive. It gets better results. You used to knowhow, to perfection. But just now when you offered me your—er—collateral for my money youlooked as hard as nails. I’ve seen eyes like yours above a dueling pistol twenty paces from me andthey aren’t a pleasant sight. They evoke no ardor in the male breast. That’s no way to handle men,my dear. You are forgetting your early training.”   “I don’t need you to tell me how to behave,” she said and wearily put on her bonnet. Shewondered how he could jest so blithely with a rope about his neck and her pitiful circumstancesbefore him. She did not even notice that his hands were jammed in his pockets in hard fists as if hewere straining at his own impotence.   “Cheer up,” he said, as she tied the bonnet strings. “You can come to my hanging and it willmake you feel lots better. It’ll even up all your old scores with me—even this one. And I’llmention you in my will.”   “Thank you, but they may not hang you till it’s too late to pay the taxes,” she said with a suddenmalice that matched his own, and she meant it.   第二天清晨,太阳断断续续地照耀着,狂风驱赶乌云飞速地掠过它的面孔,刮得窗玻璃发出嘎嘎的响声,在房屋周围隐隐地呼喊着。思嘉念了一句简短的祈祷。感谢头天晚上的雨已经停了,因为她曾躲在床上听着雨哗哗地下个不停,心想这样下去她的开鹅绒新衣服和新帽子就全完了。如今她能偶尔看见太阳在短暂地露用了,她的兴致便飞扬起来。她在床上几乎躺不住了,也没法再装出困倦的样子和发出抱怨的叫声,一心等待皮蒂姑妈,嬷嬷和彼得大叔出门到邦内太太家去。终于,大门砰的一声关了,剩下她一个留在家里,另外只有厨娘在厨房里唱歌,这时她从床上一跃而起,赶快把衣橱挂钩上的新衣裳取下来。   经过一夜休息,她又觉得头脑清醒、精力充沛了,于是她开始从内心深处汲取勇气。看来她还得同一个男人----同任何一个男人----在智力上进行一声无情的搏斗。这使得她大受鼓舞,而且经历了期以来的无数挫折和斗争,她懂得自己终于遇到了一个毫不含糊、而她能够凭自己的努力予以打翻的敌手,想到这里她颇有洋洋得意之感。   没有人帮忙穿衣裳,这确是一件难事,但最终还是完成了,接着她戴上那顶装有华丽的羽饰的帽子,跑到皮蒂姑妈房里,在穿衣镜前装扮起来,她看上去多么漂亮啊!那几支公鸡毛赋予她一种俏皮的神气,而暗绿天鹅绒帽子更使她的眼睛分外增辉,几乎成了翡翠色了。而且衣裳也是无比出色的。显得那么富丽、大方,可又十高雅!能够再次穿上一件称心的衣裳,真是妙不可言了!看到自己显得美丽动人,这是令人愉快的,她不禁俯身向前去亲吻镜子里的映像,但立即又自嘲太傻气了。她拿起爱伦的那条羊毛披肩围在自己身上,可是它那些暗淡了的方块的颜色与苔绿色的衣裳极不协调,这反而使她显得有点寒酸了。她把皮蒂姑妈的衣橱打开,取下一件宽幅绒布的外套,一件皮蒂姑妈只在礼拜日才穿的薄薄的秋大衣,把它穿在身上。她把从塔拉带来的那副钻石耳环利落地穿进自己那两只穿过耳朵眼的耳垂上,然后把晃晃头观看效果。耳环发出愉快的丁当声,令人听着非常满意,以致她想同瑞德在一起时一定要记住常常摇头才好。跳跃着的耳环总是能吸引男人并给予一个姑娘天真活泼的神气的。   多寒碜,皮蒂姑妈除了她那双胖手上戴的手套以外便没有别的手套了!女人不戴手套就难以叫人觉得是位上流社会的太太,可是思嘉自从离开亚特兰大以来就没有过。在塔拉的期艰苦岁月中,她的手被磨得粗糙乃至很难说是秀丽的了。好吧,这已经是无法弥补的事。她想用皮蒂姑妈那个海豹皮手筒,好将自己的手戴在里面。思嘉觉得这样一来她那身雅致的打扮就算完美无缺了。现在谁见了她也不会疑心她正负荷着贫穷和匮乏的重担了吧?   最重要的是不要让瑞德产生疑心,决不能叫他想她这次来访可能别有所图,而不是出于对他的好感。   她踮着脚尖走下楼梯,走出屋外,此时厨娘还在厨房里随意叫嚷着呢。她沿着贝克街匆匆向前走,避免邻居们所有注视的眼光,接着在艾维街一所烧毁了的房子前面的候车处坐下,等待有马车或货车经过时请人家让她搭乘一程,太阳在匆匆飞渡的云朵后面时隐时现,以一种变幻莫测的光辉照辉着大街,毫无暖意的寒风却吹拂着内裤腿下的饰边,这使她觉得天气比原先设想的冷多了,便把皮蒂姑妈的那件薄外套紧裹着身子,但仍禁不住瑟瑟发抖。正当她准备步行穿过城镇到北方佬营地去时,一辆破旧的货车来了,车上有个老太婆,嘴唇上满是鼻烟潭,那张久经风霜的脸躲在一顶皱巴巴的太阳帽底下,她赶着一匹慢悠悠的老骡子,她是朝市政厅方向去的。但经过思嘉恳求才无可奈何地答应带她一程。不过显然,那衣裳、帽子和皮毛手筒并没有赢得老太婆对她的好感。   “她还以为我是个贱货呢,"思嘉心想。"不过也许她竟猜对了!"她们终于到了广场,看得见市政厅的圆屋顶了。她向老太婆道谢,爬下货车,眼看着这个老太婆驾车走了。她仔细环顾四周,发现没有人注意她,便使劲捏了捏两颊,让面颊泛起红晕,又紧咬嘴唇,直到嘴唇痛得涨红了,她整了整头上的帽子,将头发往后抿得整整齐齐,然后环顾广常那幢两屋楼的红砖市政厅是城镇被焚毁时幸存下来的,它在灰蒙蒙的天宇下显得荒凉而又凌乱。它的四周,在以这一建筑物为中心的广场上,遍布着一排排溅满泥污的军营棚屋。北方士兵在到处溜达。思嘉心怀疑惧地看着他们,原先的勇气有点动摇了。她怎么在这座敌人军营中去寻找瑞德呢?   她朝大街前边的消防站望去,发现那些宽阔的拱门都紧紧闭着并且扣上了笨重的铁杠。有两个哨兵分别在房子的两旁来回走动。瑞德就在那里面,可是她该对那些北方佬怎么说呢?他们又会怎样回答她呢?她两肩向后一靠,挺起胸来。   既然她有胆量杀死一个北方佬,她就不应该连对另一个北方佬说话的胆怯啊!   她小翼翼踩着街上泥泞中那些垫脚石朝前走去,直到一个因为怕冷而把外套扣子全部扣上的哨兵把她拦祝"怎么回事,太太?"他带有中西部口音,但还是客客气气的。   “我想到里面去看一个人----他是个犯人。"“这个嘛,恐怕不行,"哨兵说,一边摸摸头。"这里对于探监规定可严格呢,而且----"他说到这时便打住了,一面机警地注视着思嘉。"怎么,太太,你别哭呀!你到那边总部去问问那些当官的。我敢保证他们会让你去看他的。"思嘉本来不想哭,这时便朝他笑了。他回过头来对另一个正在缓缓踱步的哨兵喊道:“喂,比尔,你来一下。"后一个哨兵是个大块头,穿着一件蓝上衣,只露出一脸令人厌恶的黑络腮胡。他踩着泥泞向他们走来。   “你带这位太太到总部去。”   思嘉向他道谢,然后跟着哨兵走了。   “请当心,别在这些垫脚石上扭伤了脚,"哨兵说着,搀着她的胳臂。"你最好把衣裳撩起一点,免得溅上污泥。"从络腮胡中发出的声音带有浓重的鼻音,但也是温和愉快的。他搀扶着她的手显得既坚定又有礼貌。怎么,北方佬并不全是坏人嘛!   “这么大冷天,一位太太出门可不容易呀,"她的这位"扈从"温情地说,"你走了很远一段路吧?"“唔,是的,从城镇对面一直走过来的呢!"她答道,由于哨兵说话的气使她感觉暖和起来。   “这天气可不适于让太太们外出的呀,”哨兵似乎带点责备地说,"很容易感冒埃喏,这就是哨兵指挥部,太太----你有什么事?"“这房子----这房子就是你们的总部?"思嘉抬头注视着这所可爱的面对广场的老住宅,几乎要哭了。战争年代她参加过在这里举行的多少晚会埃它本来是个那么令人愉快美丽的地方,可如今----屋顶上飘扬着一面合众国的旗帜。   “怎么啦?”   “没什么----只不过----只不过我从前认识住在这里的人。"“唔,那可太叫人扫兴了。我猜想现在连他们自己看见了认不出来了,因为里面实在已经损毁得不成样子。好,你进去吧,太太,去找队长。"她走上台阶,一路抚摩着那些损坏的白栏杆,然后推开前门,大厅阴暗而寒冷,像个地下墓穴似的。一个冻得瑟瑟发抖的哨兵倚在那扇紧闭的双开门上,在过去兴旺的时候这里原是饭厅。   “我要见队长,"她说。   他把门拉开,让她进去,此时她的心脏紧张地跳着,她的脸颊因感到窘迫和激动而涨得通红。房子里一股闭塞沉闷的气息,混杂着烟火、烟叶、皮革、发潮的毛料制服和汗臭的身躯的气味,她的看到破碎壁纸的光裸的墙壁,一排排挂在铁钉上的蓝军服和皱巴巴的帽子,一堆咝咝响的柴火,一张放满了文件的长桌和一群穿铜钮扣蓝制服的军官。   她吞了一口气,觉得自己能说出话来了。她可能让这些北方佬知道她害怕呀。她一定要在他们面前显露出她最漂亮最大方的本相。   “谁是队长?”   “我是队长,"一个敞开紧身上衣的胖子回答说。   “我要看个犯人,他叫瑞德•巴特勒船长。"“又是巴特勒!此人可真是交际广泛,"队长笑着说,从嘴上摘下一支咬碎了的雪茄。"你是亲属,太太?"“是的----是----他的妹妹。"他又笑起来。   “他的姐妹可真多呀,昨天还刚来过一个呢!"思嘉脸红了。同瑞德•巴特勒厮混的一个贱货,很可能就是那个叫沃特琳的女人。而这些北方佬却把她当作又一个那样的人了。这是不能容忍的。即算是为了塔拉的命运,她也决不能再地这里逗留哪怕一分钟来蒙受这样的耻辱了。她转身向门口走去恼怒地去抓住门把手,这时另一个军官很快来到她身旁。他是个刚刮过脸、眼神显得愉快而和气的青年人。   “等一等,太太,你在火炉边暖的地方坐坐好吗?我去试试给你想点办法。你叫什么名字?昨天的那位----女士,他可是拒绝会见她呢。"她在挪过来的椅子坐下,瞪着眼睛看着显得很尴尬的胖队长,报了自己名字。机灵的青年军官匆匆穿上外套出去了,其余的人都挪到桌子的另一边,在那里低志谈论和翻动公文。   她乐得把双脚伸到火炉边取暖。这时才发现脚已冻得多么厉害,她想起如果事先在那只便鞋脚跟的洞里塞进一块硬纸片,那该多么好呀。不一会儿,门外传来一阵低声细语,她听见瑞德的笑声。门一打开,随着一股冷风冲进房里,瑞德出现了,他没戴帽子,只随便披上了一个披肩。他显得很脏,没有刮脸,也没系领结。但看起来情绪还挺不错,一见思嘉便眨着那双黑眼睛笑开了。   “思嘉!”   他拉起她的双手,并像以往那样热烈、充满激情地紧紧握住不放。在她还没意识到他的用意时,他已经低直头吻她的两颊,那髭须刺得她痒痒的了。他感到她的身子在惊惶中回避他,但他紧紧抱住她的双肩说:“我的乖妹妹!"接着便列开大嘴笑嘻嘻地瞧着她,似乎在欣赏她无法抗拒他的爱抚时的窘相,她也只好对他这种强占便宜的手段报以笑声了。真是十足的流氓!监狱也没能改变他一丝一毫。   胖队长边吸雪茄边对那个快活的军官嘀咕着什么。 Chapter 35 IT WAS RAINING when she came out of the building and the sky was a dull putty color. Thesoldiers on the square had taken shelter in their huts and the streets were deserted. There was novehicle in sight and she knew she would have to walk the long way home.   The brandy glow faded as she trudged along. The cold wind made her shiver and the chilly needle-like drops drove hard into her face. The rain quickly penetrated Aunt Pitty’s thin cloak untilit hung in clammy folds about her. She knew the velvet dress was being ruined and as for the tailfeathers on the bonnet, they were as drooping and draggled as when their former owner had wornthem about the wet barn yard of Tara. The bricks of the sidewalk were broken and, for longstretches, completely gone. In these spots the mud was ankle deep and her slippers stuck in it as ifit were glue, even coming completely off her feet. Every time she bent over to retrieve them, thehem of the dress fell in the mud. She did not even try to avoid puddles but stepped dully into them,dragging her heavy skirts after her. She could feel her wet petticoat and pantalets cold about herankles, but she was beyond caring about the wreck of the costume on which she had gambled somuch. She was chilled and disheartened and desperate.   How could she ever go back to Tara and face them after her brave words? How could she tellthem they must all go—somewhere? How could she leave it all, the red fields, the tall pines, thedark swampy bottom lands, the quiet burying ground where Ellen lay in the cedars’ deep shade?   Hatred of Rhett burned in her heart as she plodded along the slippery way. What a blackguard hewas! She hoped they did hang him, so she would never have to face him again with his knowledgeof her disgrace and her humiliation. Of course, he could have gotten the money for her if he’dwanted to get it. Oh, hanging was too good for him. Thank God, he couldn’t see her now, with herclothes soaking wet and her hair straggling and her teeth chattering. How hideous she must lookand how he would laugh!   The negroes she passed turned insolent grins at her and laughed among themselves as shehurried by, slipping and sliding in the mud, stopping, panting to replace her slippers. How daredthey laugh, the black apes! How dared they grin at her, Scarlett O’Hara of Tara! She’d like to havethem all whipped until the blood ran down their backs. What devils the Yankees were to set themfree, free to jeer at white people!   As she walked down Washington Street the landscape was as dreary as her own heart. Herethere was none of the bustle and cheerfulness which she had noted on Peachtree Street. Here manyhandsome homes had once stood, but few of them had been rebuilt. Smoked foundations and thelonesome blackened chimneys, now known as “Sherman’s Sentinels,” appeared with dishearteningfrequency. Overgrown paths led to what had been houses—old lawns thick with dead weeds,carriage blocks bearing names she knew so well, hitching posts which would never again know theknot of reins. Cold wind and rain, mud and bare trees, silence and desolation. How wet her feetwere and how long the journey home!   She heard the splash of hooves behind her and moved farther over on the narrow sidewalk toavoid more mud splotches on Aunt Pittypat’s cloak. A horse and buggy came slowly up the roadand she turned to watch it, determined to beg a ride if the driver was a white person. The rainobscured her vision as the buggy came abreast, but she saw the driver peer over the tarpaulin thatstretched from the dashboard to his chin. There was something familiar about his face and as shestepped out into the road to get a closer view, there was an embarrassed little cough from the manand a well-known voice cried in accents of pleasure and astonishment: “Surely, it can’t be MissScarlett!”   “Oh, Mr. Kennedy!” she cried, splashing across the road and leaning on the muddy wheel, heedless of further damage to the cloak. “I was never so glad to see anybody in my life!”   He colored with pleasure at the obvious sincerity of her words, hastily squirted a stream oftobacco juice from the opposite side of the buggy and leaped spryly to the ground. He shook herhand enthusiastically and holding up the tarpaulin, assisted her into the buggy.   “Miss Scarlett, what are you doing over in this section by yourself? Don’t you know ifsdangerous these days? And you are soaking wet. Here, wrap the robe around your feet.”   As he fussed over her, clucking like a hen, she gave herself up to the luxury of being taken careof. It was nice to have a man fussing and clucking and scolding, even if it was only that old maidin pants, Frank Kennedy. It was especially soothing after Rhett’s brutal treatment. And oh, howgood to see a County face when she was so far from home! He was well dressed, she noticed, andthe buggy was new too. The horse looked young and well fed, but Frank looked far older than hisyears, older than on that Christmas eve when he had been at Tara with his men. He was thin andsallow faced and his yellow eyes were watery and sunken in creases of loose flesh. His ginger-colored beard was scantier than ever, streaked with tobacco juice and as ragged as if he clawed at itincessantly. But he looked bright and cheerful, in contrast with the lines of sorrow and worry andweariness which Scarlett saw in faces everywhere.   “It’s a pleasure to see you,” said Frank warmly. I didn’t know you were in town. I saw MissPittypat only last week and she didn’t tell me you were coming. Did—er—ahem—did anyone elsecome op from Tara with you?”   He was thinking of Suellen, the silly old fool!   “No,” she said, wrapping the warm lap robe about her and trying to pull it up around her neck.   “I came alone. I didn’t give Aunt Pitty any warning.”   He chirruped to the horse and it plodded off, picking its way carefully down the slick road.   “All the folks at Tara well?”   “Oh, yes, so-so.”   She must think of something to talk about, yet it was so hard to talk. Her mind was leaden withdefeat and all she wanted was to lie back in this warm blanket and say to herself: I won’t think ofTara now. I’ll think of it later, when it won’t hurt so much.” If she could just get him started talkingon some subject which would hold him all the way home, so she would have nothing to do butmurmur “How nice” and “You certainly are smart” at intervals.   “Mr. Kennedy, I’m so surprised to see you. I know I’ve been a bad girl, not keeping up with oldfriends, but I didn’t know you were here in Atlanta. I thought somebody told me you were inMarietta.”   “I do business in Marietta, a lot of business,” he said. “Didn’t Miss Suellen tell you I had settledin Atlanta? Didn’t she tell you about my store?”   Vaguely she had a memory of Suellen chattering about Frank and a store but she never paidmuch heed to anything Suellen said. It had been sufficient to know that Frank was alive and wouldsome day take Suellen off her hands.   “No, not a word,” she lied. “Have you a store? How smart you must be!”   He looked a little hurt at hearing that Suellen had not published the news but brightened at theflattery.   “Yes, I’ve got a store, and a pretty good one I think. Folks tell me I’m a born merchant.” Helaughed pleasedly, the tittery cackling laugh which she always found so annoying.   Conceited old fool, she thought.   “Oh, you could be a success at anything you turned your hand to, Mr. Kennedy. But how onearth did you ever get started with the store? When I saw you Christmas before last you said youdidn’t have a cent in the world.”   He cleared his throat raspingly, clawed at his whiskers and smiled his nervous timid smile.   “Well, it’s a long story, Miss Scarlett.”   Thank the Lord! she thought. Perhaps it will hold him till we get home. And aloud: “Do tell!”   “You recall when we came to Tara last, hunting for supplies? Well, not long after that I went intoactive service. I mean real fighting. No more commissary for me. There wasn’t much need for acommissary, Miss Scarlett, because we couldn’t hardly pick up a thing for the army, and I thoughtthe place for an able-bodied man was in the fighting line. Well, I fought along with the cavalry fora spell till I got a minie ball through the shoulder.”   He looked very proud and Scarlett said: “How dreadful!”   “Oh, it wasn’t so bad, just a flesh wound,” he said deprecatingly. “I was sent down south to ahospital and when I was just about well, the Yankee raiders came through. My, my, but that was ahot time! We didn’t have much warning and all of us who could walk helped haul out the armystores and the hospital equipment to the train tracks to move it. We’d gotten one train about loadedwhen the Yankees rode in one end of town and out we went the other end as fast as we could go.   My, my, that was a mighty sad sight, sitting on top of that train and seeing the Yankees burn thosesupplies we had to leave at the depot. Miss Scarlett, they burned about a half-mile of stuff we hadpiled up there along the tracks. We just did get away ourselves.”   “How dreadful!”   “Yes, that’s the word. Dreadful. Our men had come back into Atlanta then and so our train wassent here. Well, Miss Scarlett, it wasn’t long before the war was over and—well, there was a lot ofchina and cots and mattresses and blankets and nobody claiming them. I suppose rightfully theybelonged to the Yankees. I think those were the terms of the surrender, weren’t they?”   “Um,” said Scarlett absently. She was getting warmer now and a little drowsy.   “I don’t know till now if I did right,” he said, a little querulously. “But the way I figured it, allthat stuff wouldn’t do the Yankees a bit of good. They’d probably burn it. And our folks had paidgood solid money for it, and I thought it still ought to belong to the Confederacy or to theConfederates. Do you see what I mean?”   “Um.”   “I’m glad you agree with me, Miss Scarlett. In a way, it’s been on my conscience. Lots of folkshave told me: ‘Oh, forget about it, Frank,’ but I can’t I couldn’t hold up my head if I thought I’ddone what wasn’t right. Do you think I did right?”   “Of course,” she said, wondering what the old fool had been talking about. Some struggle withhis conscience. When a man got as old as Frank Kennedy he ought to have learned not to botherabout things that didn’t matter. But he always was so nervous and fussy and old maidish.   “I’m glad to hear you say it. After the surrender I had about ten dollars in silver and nothing elsein the world. You know what they did to Jonesboro and my house and store there. I just didn’tknow what to do. But I used the ten dollars to put a roof on an old store down by Five Points and Imoved the hospital equipment in and started selling it. Everybody needed beds and china and mattressesand I sold them cheap, because I figured it was about as much other folks’ stuff as it wasmine. But I cleared money on it and bought some more stuff and the store just went along fine. Ithink I’ll make a lot of money on it if things pick up.”   At the word “money,” her mind came back to him, crystal clear.   “You say you’ve made money?”   He visibly expanded under her interest. Few women except Suellen had ever given him morethan perfunctory courtesy and it was very flattering to have a former belle like Scarlett hanging onhis words. He slowed the horse so they would not reach home before he had finished his story.   “I’m not a millionaire, Miss Scarlett, and considering the money I used to have, what I’ve gotnow sounds small. But I made a thousand dollars this year. Of course, five hundred of it went topaying for new stock and repairing the store and paying the rent. But I’ve made five hundred clearand as things are certainly picking up, I ought to clear two thousand next year. I can sure use it,too, for you see, I’ve got another iron in the fire.”   Interest had sprung up sharply in her at the talk of money. She veiled her eyes with thick bristlylashes and moved a little closer to him.   “What does that mean, Mr. Kennedy?”   He laughed and slapped the reins against the horse’s back.   “I guess I’m boring you, talking about business, Miss Scarlett. A pretty little woman like youdoesn’t need to know anything about business.”   The old fool.   “Oh, I know I’m a goose about business but I’m so interested! Please tell me all about it and youcan explain what I don’t understand.”   “Well, my other iron is a sawmill.”   “A what?”   “A mill to cut up lumber and plane it. I haven’t bought it yet but I’m going to. There’s a mannamed Johnson who has one, way out Peachtree road, and he’s anxious to sell it. He needs somecash right away, so he wants to sell and stay and run it for me at a weekly wage. It’s one of the fewmills in this section, Miss Scarlett. The Yankees destroyed most of them. And anyone who owns a sawmill owns a gold mine, for nowadays you can ask your own price for lumber. The Yankeesburned so many houses here and there aren’t enough for people to live in and it looks like folkshave gone crazy about rebuilding. They can’t get enough lumber and they can’t get it fast enough.   People are just pouring into Atlanta now, all the folks from the country districts who can’t make ago of farming without darkies and the Yankees and Carpetbaggers who are swarming in trying topick our bones a little barer than they already are. I tell you Atlanta’s going to be a big town soon.   They’ve got to have lumber for their houses, so I’m going to buy this mill just as soon as—well, assoon as some of the bills owing me are paid. By this time next year, I ought to be breathing easierabout money. I—I guess you know why I’m so anxious to make money quickly, don’t you?”   He blushed and cackled again. He’s thinking of Suellen, Scarlett thought in disgust.   For a moment she considered asking him to lend her three hundred dollars, but wearily sherejected the idea. He would be embarrassed; he would stammer, he would offer excuses, but hewouldn’t lend it to her. He had worked hard for it, so he could marry Suellen in the spring and if heparted with it, his wedding would be postponed indefinitely. Even if she worked on his sympathiesand his duty toward his future family and gained his promise of a loan, she knew Suellen wouldnever permit it. Suellen was getting more and more worried over the fact that she was practicallyan old maid and she would move heaven and earth to prevent anything from delaying her marriage.   What was there in that whining complaining girl to make this old fool so anxious to give her asoft nest? Suellen didn’t deserve a loving husband and the profits of store and a sawmill. Theminute Sue got her hands little money she’d give herself unendurable airs and never contributeonecenttowardtheu(on) pk(a) eep of Tara. Not Suellen! She’d think herself well out of it andnot care if Tara went for taxes or burned to the ground, so long as she had pretty clothes and a“Mrs.” in front of her name.   As Scarlett thought of Suellen’s secure future and the precarious one of herself and Tara, angerflamed in her at the unfairness of life. Hastily she looked out of the buggy into the muddy street,lest Frank should see her expression. She was going to lose everything she had, while Sue—Suddenly a determination was born in her.   Suellen should not have Frank and his store and his mill!   Suellen didn’t deserve them. She was going to have them herself. She thought of Tara andremembered Jonas Wilkerson, venomous as a rattler, at the foot of the front steps, and she graspedat the last straw floating above the shipwreck of her life. Rhett had failed her but the Lord hadprovided Frank.   But can I get him? Her fingers clenched as she looked unseeingly into the rain. Can I make himforget Sue and propose to me real quick? If I could make Rhett almost propose, I know I could getFrank! Her eyes went over him, her lids flickering. Certainly, he’s no beauty, she thought coolly,and he’s got very bad teeth and his breath smells bad and he’s old enough to be my father. Moreover,he’s nervous and timid and well meaning, and I don’t know of any more damning qualities aman can have. But at least, he’s a gentleman and I believe I could stand living with him better thanwith Rhett. Certainly I could manage him easier. At any rate, beggars can’t be choosers.   That he was Suellen’s fiancé caused her no qualm of conscience. After the complete moral collapse which had sent her to Atlanta and to Rhett, the appropriation of her sister’s betrothedseemed a minor affair and one not to be bothered with at this time.   With the rousing of fresh hope, her spine stiffened and she forgot that her feet were wet andcold. She looked at Frank so steadily, her eyes narrowing, that he became somewhat alarmed andshe dropped her gaze swiftly, remembering Rhett’s words: “I’ve seen eyes like yours above adueling pistol. ... They evoke no ardor in the male breast.”   “What’s the matter, Miss Scarlett? You got a chill?”   “Yes,” she answered helplessly. “Would you mind—” She hesitated timidly. “Would you mind ifI put my hand in your coat pocket? It’s so cold and my muff is soaked through.”   “Why—why—of course not! And you haven’t any gloves! My, my, what a brute I’ve beenidling along like this, talking my head off when you must be freezing and wanting to get to a fire.   Giddap, Sally! By the way, Miss Scarlett, I’ve been so busy talking about myself I haven’t evenasked you what you were doing in this section in this weather?”   “I was at the Yankee headquarters,” she answered before she thought. His sandy brows went upin astonishment.   “But Miss Scarlett! The soldiers— Why—”   “Mary, Mother of God, let me think of a real good lie,” she prayed hastily. It would never do forFrank to suspect she had seen Rhett. Frank thought Rhett the blackest of blackguards and unsafefor decent women to speak to.   “I went there—I went there to see if—if any of the officers would buy fancy work from me tosend home to their wives. I embroider very nicely.”   He sank back against the seat aghast, indignation struggling with bewilderment.   “You went to the Yankees— But Miss Scarlett! You shouldn’t. Why—why ... Surely your fatherdoesn’t know! Surely, Miss Pittypat—”   “Oh, I shall die if you tell Aunt Pittypat!” she cried in real anxiety and burst into tears. It waseasy to cry, because she was so cold and miserable, but the effect was startling. Frank could nothave been more embarrassed or helpless if she had suddenly begun disrobing. He clicked histongue against his teeth several times, muttering “My! My!” and made futile gestures at her. Adaring thought went through his mind that he should draw her head onto his shoulder and pat herbut he had never done this to any woman and hardly knew how to go about it. Scarlett O’Hara, sohigh spirited and pretty, crying here in his buggy. Scarlett O’Hara, the proudest of the proud, tryingto sell needlework to the Yankees. His heart burned.   She sobbed on, saying a few words now and then, and he gathered that all was not well at Tara.   Mr. O’Hara was still “not himself at all,” and there wasn’t enough food to go around for so many.   So she had to come to Atlanta to try to make a little money for herself and her boy. Frank clickedhis tongue again and suddenly he found that her head was on his shoulder. He did not quite knowhow it got there. Surely he had not placed it there, but there her head was and there was Scarletthelplessly sobbing against his thin chest, an exciting and novel sensation for him. He patted hershoulder timidly, gingerly at first, and when she did not rebuff him he became bolder and patted her firmly. What a helpless, sweet, womanly little thing she was. And how brave and silly to try herhand at making money by her needle. But dealing with the Yankees—that was too much.   “I won’t tell Miss Pittypat, but you must promise me, Miss Scarlett, that you won’t do anythinglike this again. The idea of your father’s daughter—”   Her wet green eyes sought his helplessly.   “But, Mr. Kennedy, I must do something. I must take care of my poor little boy and there is noone to look after us now.”   “You are a brave little woman,” he pronounced, “but I won’t have you do this sort of thing. Yourfamily would die of shame.”   “Then what will I do?” The swimming eyes looked up to him as if she knew he knew everythingand was hanging on his words.   “Well, I don’t know right now. But I’ll think of something.”   “Oh, I know you will! You are so smart—Frank.”   She had never called him by his first name before and the sound came to him as a pleasant shockand surprise. The poor girl was probably so upset she didn’t even notice her slip. He felt verykindly toward her and very protecting. If there was anything he could do for Suellen O’Hara’ssister, he would certainly do it. He pulled out a red bandanna handkerchief and handed it to her andshe wiped her eyes and began to smile tremulously.   “I’m such a silly little goose,” she said apologetically. “Please forgive me.”   “You aren’t a silly little goose. You’re a very brave little woman and you are trying to carry tooheavy a load. I’m afraid Miss Pittypat isn’t going to be much help to you. I hear she lost most ofher property and Mr. Henry Hamilton’s in bad shape himself. I only wish I had a home to offer youshelter in. But, Miss Scarlett, you just remember this, when Miss Suellen and I are married, there’llalways be a place for you under our roof and for Wade Hampton too.”   Now was the time! Surely the saints and angels watched over her to give her such a Heaven-sentopportunity. She managed to look very startled and embarrassed and opened her mouth as if tospeak quickly and then shut it with a pop.   “Don’t ten me you didn’t know I was to be your brother-in-law this spring,” he said withnervous jocularity. And then, seeing her eyes fill up with tears, he questioned in alarm: “What’s thematter? Miss Sue’s not ill, is she?”   “Oh, no! No!”   “There is something wrong. You must tell me.”   “Oh, I can’t! I didn’t know! I thought surely she must have written you— Oh, how mean!”   “Miss Scarlett, what is it?”   “Oh, Frank, I didn’t mean to let it out but I thought, of course, you knew—that she had writtenyou—”   “Written me what?” He was trembling.   “Oh, to do this to a fine man like you!”   “What’s she done?”   “She didn’t write you? Oh, I guess she was too ashamed to write you. She should be ashamed!   Oh, to have such a mean sister!”   By this time, Frank could not even get questions to his lips. He sat staring at her, gray faced, thereins slack in his hands.   “She’s going to marry Tony Fontaine next month. Oh, I’m so sorry, Frank. So sorry to be the oneto tell you. She just got tired of waiting and she was afraid she’d be an old maid.”   Mammy was standing on the front porch when Frank helped Scarlett out of the buggy. She hadevidently been standing there for some time, for her head rag was damp and the old shawl clutchedtightly about her showed rain spots. Her wrinkled black face a study in anger and apprehensionandherlipwaspushedoutfartherthanScarlettcouldeve(was) r remember. She peeredquickly at Frank and, when she saw who it was, her face changed— pleasure, bewilderment andsomething akin to guilt spreading over it. She waddled forward to Frank with pleased greetingsand grinned and curtsied when he shook her hand.   “It sho is good ter see home folks,” she said. “How is you, Mist’ Frank? My, ain’ you lookin’   fine an’ gran’! Effen Ah’d knowed Miss Scarlett wuz out wid you, Ah wouldn’ worrit so. Ah’dknowed she wuz tekken keer of. Ah come back hyah an’fine she gone an’Ah been as ‘stracted as achicken wid its haid off, thinkin’ she runnin’ roun’ dis town by herseff wid all dese trashy freeissue niggers on de street. Huccome you din’ tell me you gwine out, honey? An’ you wid a cole!”   Scarlett winked slyly at Frank and, for all his distress at the bad news he had just heard, hesmiled, knowing she was enjoining silence and making him one in a pleasant conspiracy.   “You run up and fix me some dry clothes, Mammy,” she said. “And some hot tea.”   “Lawd, yo’ new dress is plum ruint,” grumbled Mammy. “Ah gwine have a time dryin’ it an’   brushin’ it, so it’ll be fit ter be wo’ ter de weddin’ ternight.”   She went into the house and Scarlett leaned close to Frank and whispered: “Do come to suppertonight. We are so lonesome. And we’re going to the wedding afterward. Do be our escort! And,please don’t say anything to Aunt Pitty about—about Suellen. It would distress her so much and Ican’t bear for her to know that my sister—”   “Oh, I won’t! I won’t!” Frank said hastily, wincing from the very thought.   “You’ve been so sweet to me today and done me so much good. I feel right brave again.” Shesqueezed his hand in parting and turned the full battery of her eyes upon him.   Mammy, who was waiting just inside the door, gave her an inscrutable look and followed her,puffing, up the stairs to the bedroom. She was silent while she stripped off the wet clothes andhung them over chairs and tucked Scarlett into bed. When she had brought up a cup of hot tea anda hot brick, rolled in flannel, she looked down at Scarlett and said, with the nearest approach to anapology in her voice Scarlett had ever heard: “Lamb, huccome you din’ tell yo’ own Mammy whut you wuz upter? Den Ah wouldn’ had ter traipse all dis way up hyah ter ‘Lanta. Ah is too ole an’ toofat fer sech runnin’ roun’.”   “What do you mean?”   “Honey, you kain fool me. Ah knows you. An’ Ah seed Mist’ Frank’s face jes’ now an’ Ah seedyo’ face, an’ Ah kin read yo’ mine lak a pahson read a Bible. An’ Ah heerd dat whisperin’ you wuzgivin’ him ‘bout Miss Suellen. Effen Ah’d had a notion ‘twuz Mist’ Frank you wuz affer, Ah’dstayed home whar Ah b’longs.”   “Well,” said Scarlett shortly, snuggling under the blankets and realizing it was useless to try tothrow Mammy off the scent, “who did you think it was?”   “Chile, Ah din’ know but Ah din’ lak de look on yo’ face yestiddy. An’ Ah ‘membered MissPittypat writin’ Miss Melly dat dat rapscallion Butler man had lots of money an’ Ah doan fergitwhat Ah hears. But Mist’ Frank, he a gempmum even ef he ain’ so pretty.”   Scarlett gave her a sharp look and Mammy returned the gaze with calm omniscience.   “Well, what are you going to do about it? Tattle to Suellen?”   “Ah is gwine ter he’p you pleasure Mist’ Frank eve’y way Ah knows how,” said Mammy,tucking the covers about Scarlett’s neck.   Scarlett lay quietly for a while, as Mammy fussed about the room, relief flooding her that therewas no need for words between them. No explanations were asked, no reproaches made. Mammyunderstood and was silent. In Mammy, Scarlett had found a realist more uncompromising thanherself. The mottled wise old eyes saw deeply, saw clearly, with the directness of the savage andthe child, undeterred by conscience when danger threatened her pet. Scarlett was her baby andwhat her baby wanted, even though it belonged to another, Mammy was willing to help her obtain.   The rights of Suellen and Frank Kennedy did not even enter her mind, save to cause a grim inwardchuckle. Scarlett was in trouble and doing the best she could, and Scarlett was Miss Ellen’s child.   Mammy rallied to her with never a moment’s hesitation.   Scarlett felt the silent reinforcement and, as the hot brick at her feet warmed her, the hope whichhad flickered faintly on the cold ride home grew into a flame. It swept through her, making herheart pump the blood through her veins in pounding surges. Strength was coming back and areckless excitement which made her want to laugh aloud. Not beaten yet, she thought exultantly.   “Hand me the mirror, Mammy,” she said.   “Keep yo’ shoulders unner dat kivver,” ordered Mammy, passing the hand mirror to her, a smileon her thick lips.   Scarlett looked at herself.   “I look white as a hant,” she said, “and my hair is as wild as a horse’s tail.”   “You doan look peart as you mout.”   “Hum. ... Is it raining very hard?”   “You know it’s po’in’.”   “Well, just the same, you’ve got to go downtown for me.”   “Not in dis rain, Ah ain’.”   “Yes, you are or I’ll go myself.”   “What you got ter do dat woan wait? Look ter me lak you done nuff fer one day.”   “I want,” said Scarlett, surveying herself carefully in the mirror, “a bottle of cologne water. Youcan wash my hair and rinse it with cologne. And buy me a jar of quince-seed jelly to make it liedown flat.”   “Ah ain’ gwine wash yo’ ha’r in dis wedder an’ you ain’ gwine put no cologne on yo’ haid lak afas’ woman needer. Not w’ile Ah got breaf in mah body.”   “Oh, yes, I am. Look in my purse and get that five-dollar gold piece out and go to town. And—er, Mammy, while you are downtown, you might get me a—a pot of rouge.”   “Whut dat?” asked Mammy suspiciously.   Scarlett met her eyes with a coldness she was far from feeling. There was never any way ofknowing just how far Mammy could be bullied.   “Never you mind. Just ask for it.”   “Ah ain’ buyin nuthin’ dat Ah doan know whut ‘tis.”   “Well, it’s paint, if you’re so curious! Face paint. Don’t stand there and swell up like a toad. Goon.”   “Paint!” ejaculated Mammy. “Face paint! Well, you ain’ so big dat Ah kain whup you! Ah ain’   never been so scan’lized! You is los’ yo’ mine! Miss Ellen be tuhnin’ in her grabe dis minute!   Paintin’ yo face lak a—”   “You know very well Grandma Robillard painted her face and—”   “Yas’m, an’ wo’ only one petticoat an’ it wrang out wid water ter mek it stick an’ show de shapeof her laigs, but dat ain’ sayin’ you is gwine do sumpin’ lak dat! Times wuz scan’lous w’en OleMiss wuz young but times changes, dey do an’—”   “Name of God!” cried Scarlett, losing her temper and throwing back the covers. “You can gostraight back to Tara!”   “You kain sen’ me ter Tara ness Ah wants ter go. Ah is free,” said Mammy heatedly. “An’ Ah isgwine ter stay right hyah. Git back in dat baid. Does you want ter ketch pneumony jes’ now? Putdown dem stays! Put dem down, honey. Now, Miss Scarlett, you ain’ gwine nowhars in dis wedder.   Lawd God! But you sho look lak yo’ pa! Git back in baid—Ah kain go buyin’ no paint! Ah die ofshame, eve’ybody knowin ‘it wud fer mah chile! Miss Scarlett, you is so sweet an’ pretty lookin’   you doan need no paint. Honey, doan nobody but bad womens use dat stuff.”   “Well, they get results, don’t they?”   “Jesus, hear her! Lamb, doan say bad things lak dat! Put down dem wet stockin’s, honey. Ahkain have you buy dat stuff yo’seff. Miss Ellen would hant me. Git back in baid. Ah’ll go. MaybeAh fine me a sto’ what dey doan know us.”   That night at Mrs. Elsing’s, when Fanny had been duly married and old Levi and the othermusicians were tuning up for the dance, Scarlett looked about her with gladness. It was so excitingto be actually at a party again. She was pleased also with the warm reception she had received.   When she entered the house on Frank’s arm, everyone had rushed to her with cries of pleasure andwelcome, kissed her, shaken her hand, told her they had missed her dreadfully and that she mustnever go back to Tara. The men seemed gallantly to have forgotten she had tried her best to breaktheir hearts in other days and the girls that she had done everything in her power to entice theirbeaux away from them. Even Mrs. Merriwether, Mrs. Whiting, Mrs. Meade and the otherdowagers who had been so cool to her during the last days of the war, forgot her flighty conductand their disapproval of it and recalled only that she had suffered in their common defeat and thatshe was Pitty’s niece and Charles’ widow. They kissed her and spoke gently with tears in their eyesof her dear mother’s passing and asked at length about her father and her sisters. Everyone askedabout Melanie and Ashley, demanding the reason why they, too, had not come back to Atlanta.   In spite of her pleasure at the welcome, Scarlett felt a slight uneasiness which she tried toconceal, an uneasiness about the appearance of her velvet dress. It was still damp to the knees andstill spotted about the hem, despite the frantic efforts of Mammy and Cookie with a steaming kettle,a clean hair brush and frantic wavings in front of an open fire. Scarlett was afraid someonewould notice her bedraggled state and realize that this was her only nice dress. She was a littlecheered by the fact that many of the dresses of the other guests looked far worse than hers. Theywere so old and had such carefully mended and pressed looks. At least, her dress was whole andnew, damp though it was—in fact, the only new dress at the gathering with the exception ofFanny’s white-satin wedding gown.   Remembering what Aunt Pitty had told her about the Elsing finances, she wondered where themoney for the satin dress had been obtained and for the refreshments, and decorations andmusicians too. It must have cost a pretty penny. Borrowed money probably or else the wholeElsing clan had contributed to give Fanny this expensive wedding. Such a wedding in these hardtimes seemed to Scarlett an extravagance on a par with the tombstones of the Tarleton boys andshe felt the same irritation and lack of sympathy she had felt as she stood in the Tarleton buryingground. The days when money could be thrown away carelessly had passed. Why did these peoplepersist in making the gestures of the old days when the old days were gone?   But she shrugged off her momentary annoyance. It wasn’t her money and she didn’t want herevening’s pleasure spoiled by irritation at other people’s foolishness.   She discovered she knew the groom quite well, for he was Tommy Wellburn from Sparta andshe had nursed him in 1863 when he had a wound in his shoulder. He had been a handsome youngsix-footer then and had given up his medical studies to go in the cavalry. Now he looked like alittle old man, so bent was he by the wound in his hip. He walked with some difficulty and, as AuntPitty had remarked, spraddled in a very vulgar way. But he seemed totally unaware of hisappearance, or unconcerned about it, and had the manner of one who asks no odds from any man.   He had given up all hope of continuing his medical studies and was now a contractor, working alabor crew of Irishmen who were building the new hotel. Scarlett wondered how he managed soonerous a job in his condition but asked no questions, realizing wryly that almost anything was possible when necessity drove.   Tommy and Hugh Elsing and the little monkey-like René Picard stood talking with her while thechairs and furniture were pushed back to the wall in preparation for the dancing. Hugh had notchanged since Scarlett last saw him in 1862. He was still the thin sensitive boy with the same lockof pale brown hair hanging over his forehead and the same delicate useless-looking hands sheremembered so well. But René had changed since that furlough when he married MaybelleMerriwether. He still had the Gallic twinkle in his black eyes and the Creole zest for living but, forall his easy laughter, there was something hard about his face which had not been there in the earlydays of the war. And the air of supercilious elegance which had clung about him in his strikingZouave uniform was completely gone.   “Cheeks lak ze rose, eyes lak ze emerald!” he said, kissing Scarlett’s hand and paying tribute tothe rouge upon her face. “Pretty lak w’en I first see you at ze bazaar. You remembaire? Nevairehave I forgot how you toss your wedding ring in my basket. Ha, but zat was brave! But I shouldnevaire have zink you wait so long to get anothaire ring!”   His eyes sparkled wickedly and he dug his elbow into Hugh’s ribs.   “And I never thought you’d be driving a pie wagon, Renny Picard,” she said. Instead of beingashamed at having his degrading occupation thrown in his face, he seemed pleased and laugheduproariously, slapping Hugh on the back.   “Touché!” he cried. “Belle Mère, Madame Merriwether, she mek me do eet, ze first work I do enall my life, René Picard, who was to grow old breeding ze race horse, playing ze feedle! Now, Idrive ze pie wagon and I lak eet! Madame Belle Mère, she can mek a man do annyzing. She shouldhave been ze general and we win ze war, eh, Tommy?”   Well! thought Scarlett. The idea of liking to drive a pie wagon when his people used to own tenmiles along the Mississippi River and a big house in New Orleans, too!   “If we’d had our mothers-in-law in the ranks, we’d have beat the Yankees in a week,” agreedTommy, his eyes straying to the slender, indomitable form of his new mother-in-law. The onlyreason we lasted as long as we did was because of the ladies behind us who wouldn’t give up.”   “Who’ll never give up,” amended Hugh, and his smile was proud but a little wry. There’s not alady here tonight who has surrendered, no matter what her men folks did at Appomattox. It’s a lotworse on them than it ever was on us. At least, we took it out in fighting.”   “And they in hating,” finished Tommy. “Eh, Scarlett? It bothers the ladies to see what their menfolks have come down to lots more than it bothers us. Hugh was to be a judge, René was to playthe fiddle before the crowned heads of Europe—” He ducked as René aimed a blow at him. “And Iwas to be a doctor and now—”   “Geeve us ze time!” cried René. “Zen I become ze Pie Prince of ze South! And my good Hughze King of ze Kindling and you, my Tommy, you weel own ze Irish slaves instead of ze darkyslaves. What changes—what fun! And what eet do for you. Mees Scarlett, and Mees Melly? Youmeelk ze cow, peek ze cotton?”   “Indeed, no!” said Scarlett coolly, unable to understand René’s gay acceptance of hardships.   “Our darkies do that.”   “Mees Melly, I hear she call her boy ‘Beauregard.’ You tell her I, René, approve and say thatexcept for ‘Jesus’ there is no bettaire name.”   And though he smiled, his eyes glowed proudly at the name of Louisiana’s dashing hero.   “Well, there’s ‘Robert Edward Lee,’ ” observed Tommy. “And while I’m not trying to lessen OldBeau’s reputation, my first son is going to be named ‘Bob Lee Wellburn.’ ”   René laughed and shrugged.   “I recount to you a joke but eet eez a true story. And you see how Creoles zink of our braveBeauregard and of your General Lee. On ze train near New Orleans a man of Virginia, a man ofGeneral Lee, he meet wiz a Creole of ze troops of Beauregard. And ze man of Virginia, he talk,talk, talk how General Lee do zis, General Lee say zat. And ze Creole, he look polite and hewreenkle hees forehead lak he try to remembaire, and zen he smile and say: ‘General Lee! Ah oui!   Now I know! General Lee! Ze man General Beauregard speak well of!”   Scarlett tried to join politely in the laughter but she did not see any point to the story except thatCreoles were just as stuck up as Charleston and Savannah people. Moreover, she had alwaysthought Ashley’s son should have been named after him.   The musicians after preliminary tunings and whangings broke into “Old Dan Tucker” andTommy turned to her.   “Will you dance, Scarlett? I can’t favor you but Hugh or René—”   “No, thank you. I’m still mourning my mother,” said Scarlett hastily. “I will sit them out.”   Her eyes singled out Frank Kennedy and beckoned him from the side of Mrs. Elsing.   “I’ll sit in that alcove yonder if you’ll bring me some refreshments and then we can have a nicechat,” she told Frank as the other three men moved off.   When he had hurried away to bring her a glass of wine and a paper thin slice of cake, Scarlett satdown in the air cove at the end of the drawing room and carefully arranged her skirts so that theworst spots would not show. The humiliating events of the morning with Rhett were pushed fromher mind by the excitement of seeing so many people and hearing music again. Tomorrow shewould think of Rhett’s conduct and her shame and they would make her writhe again. Tomorrowshe would wonder if she had made any impression on Frank’s hurt and bewildered heart. But nottonight. Tonight she was alive to her finger tips, every sense alert with hope, her eyes sparkling.   She looked from the alcove into the huge drawing room and watched the dancers, rememberinghow beautiful this room had been when first she came to Atlanta during the war. Then thehardwood floors had shone like glass, and overhead the chandelier with its hundreds of tiny prismshad caught and reflected every ray of the dozens of candles it bore, flinging them, like gleams fromdiamonds, flame and sapphire about the room. The old portraits on the walls had been dignifiedand gracious and had looked down upon guests with an air of mellowed hospitality. The rosewoodsofas had been soft and inviting and one of them, the largest, had stood in the place of honor in thissame alcove where she now sat. It had been Scarlett’s favorite seat at parties. From this pointstretched the pleasant vista of drawing room and dining room beyond, the oval mahogany table which seated twenty and the twenty slim-legged chairs demurely against the walls, the massivesideboard and buffet weighted with heavy silver, with seven-branched candlesticks, goblets, cruets,decanters and shining little glasses. Scarlett had sat on that sofa so often in the first years of thewar, always with some handsome officer beside her, and listened to violin and bull fiddle, accordionand banjo, and heard the exciting swishing noises which dancing feet made on the waxedand polished floor.   Now the chandelier hung dark. It was twisted askew and most of the prisms were broken, as ifthe Yankee occupants had made their beauty a target for their boots. Now an oil lamp and a fewcandles lighted the room and the roaring fire in the wide hearth gave most of the illumination. Itsflickering light showed how irreparably scarred and splintered the dull old floor was. Squares onthe faded paper on the wall gave evidence that once the portraits had hung there, and wide cracksin the plaster recalled the day during the siege when a shell had exploded on the house and torn offparts of the roof and second floor. The heavy old mahogany table, spread with cake and decanters,still presided in the empty-looking dining room but it was scratched and the broken legs showedsigns of clumsy repair. The sideboard, the silver and the spindly chairs were gone. The dull-golddamask draperies which had covered the arching French windows at the back of the room weremissing, and only the remnants of the lace curtains remained, clean but obviously mended.   In place of the curved sofa she had liked so much was a hard bench that was none toocomfortable. She sat upon it with as good grace as possible, wishing her skirts were in suchcondition that she could dance. It would be so good to dance again. But, of course, she could domore with Frank in this sequestered alcove than in a breathless reel and she could listen fascinatedto his talk and encourage him to greater flights of foolishness.   But the music certainly was inviting. Her slipper patted longingly in time with old Levi’s largesplayed foot as he twanged a strident banjo and called the figures of the reel. Feet swished andscraped and patted as the twin lines danced toward each other, retreated, whirled and made archesof their arms.   “ ‘Ole Dan Tucker he got drunk—’   (Swing yo’ padners!)‘Fell in de fiah’ an’ he kick up a chunk!’   (Skip tight, ladies!)”   After the dull and exhausting months at Tara it was good to hear music again and the sound ofdancing feet, good to see familiar friendly faces laughing in the feeble light, calling old jokes andcatchwords, bantering, rallying, coquetting. It was like coming to life again after being dead. Italmost seemed that the bright days of five years ago had come back again. If she could close hereyes and not see the worn made-over dresses and the patched boots and mended slippers, if hermind did not call up the faces of boys missing from the reel, she might almost think that nothinghad changed. But as she looked, watching the old men grouped about the decanter in the diningroom, the matrons lining the walls, talking behind fanless hands, and the swaying, skipping young dancers, it came to her suddenly, coldly, frighteningly that it was all as greatly changed as if thesefamiliar figures were ghosts.   They looked the same but they were different. What was it? Was it only that they were five yearsolder? No, it was something more than the passing of time. Something had gone out of them, outof their world. Five years ago, a feeling of security had wrapped them all around so gently theywere not even aware of it. In its shelter they had flowered. Now it was gone and with it had gonethe old thrill, the old sense of something delightful and exciting just around the corner, the oldglamour of their way of living.   She knew she had changed too, but not as they had changed, and it puzzled her. She sat andwatched them and she felt herself an alien among them, as alien and lonely as if she had comefrom another world, speaking a language they did not understand and she not understanding theirs.   Then she knew that this feeling was the same one she felt with Ashley. With him and with peopleof his kind—and they made up most of her world—she felt outside of something she could notunderstand.   Their faces were little changed and their manners not at all but it seemed to her that these twothings were all that remained of her old friends. An ageless dignity, a timeless gallantry still clungabout them and would cling until they died but they would carry undying bitterness to their graves,a bitterness too deep for words. They were a soft-spoken, fierce, tired people who were defeatedand would not know defeat, broken yet standing determinedly erect. They were crushed andhelpless, citizens of conquered provinces. They were looking on the state they loved, seeing ittrampled by the enemy, rascals making a mock of the law, their former slaves a menace, their mendisfranchised, their women insulted. And they were remembering graves.   Everything in their old world had changed but the old forms. The old usages went on, must goon, for the forms were all that were left to them. They were holding tightly to the things they knewbest and loved best in the old days, the leisured manners, the courtesy, the pleasant casualness inhuman contacts and, most of all, the protecting attitude of the men toward their women. True to thetradition in which they had been reared, the men were courteous and tender and they almostsucceeded in creating an atmosphere of sheltering their women from all that was harsh and unfitfor feminine eyes. That, thought Scarlett, was the height of absurdity, for there was little, now,which even the most cloistered women had not seen and known in the last five years. They hadnursed the wounded, closed dying eyes, suffered war and fire and devastation, known terror andflight and starvation.   But, no matter what sights they had seen, what menial tasks they had done and would have todo, they remained ladies and gentlemen, royalty in exile—bitter, aloof, incurious, kind to oneanother, diamond hard, as bright and brittle as the crystals of the broken chandelier over theirheads. The old days had gone but these people would go their ways as if the old days still existed,charming, leisurely, determined not to rush and scramble for pennies as the Yankees did,determined to part with none of the old ways.   Scarlett knew that she, too, was greatly changed. Otherwise she could not have done the thingsshe had done since she was last in Atlanta; otherwise she would not now be contemplating doingwhat she desperately hoped to do. But there was a difference in their hardness and hers and just what the difference was, she could not, for the moment, tell. Perhaps it was that there was nothingshe would not do, and there were so many things these people would rather die than do. Perhaps itwas that they were without hope but still smiling at life, bowing gracefully and passing it by. Andthis Scarlett could not do.   She could not ignore life. She had to live it and it was too brutal, too hostile, for her even to tryto gloss over its harshness with a smile. Of the sweetness and courage and unyielding pride of herfriends, Scarlett saw nothing. She saw only a silly stiff-neckedness which observed facts butsmiled and refused to look them in the face.   As she stared at the dancers, flushed from the reel, she wondered if things drove them as shewas driven, dead lovers, maimed husbands, children who were hungry, acres slipping away,beloved roofs that sheltered strangers. But, of course, they driven! She knew theircircumstances only a little less thoroughly than she knew her own.(were) Their losses had been herlosses, their privations her privations, their problems her same problems. Yet they had reacteddifferently to them. The faces she was seeing in the room were not faces; they were masks,excellent masks which would never drop.   But if they were suffering as acutely from brutal circumstances as she was—and they were—how could they this air of gaiety and lightness of heart? Why, indeed, should they even try to do it?   They were beyond her comprehension and vaguely irritating. She couldn’t be like them. Shecouldn’t survey the wreck of the world with an air of casual unconcern. She was as hunted as afox, running with a bursting heart, trying to reach a burrow before the hounds caught up.   Suddenly she hated them all because they were different from her, because they carried theirlosses with an air that she could never attain, would never wish to attain. She hated them, thesesmiling, light-footed strangers, these proud fools who took pride in something they had lost,seeming to be proud that they had lost it. The women bore themselves like ladies and she knewthey were ladies, though menial tasks were their daily lot and they didn’t know where their nextdress was coming from. Ladies all! But she could not feel herself a lady, for all her velvet dressand scented hair, for all the pride of birth that stood behind her and the pride of wealth that hadonce been hers. Harsh contact with the red earth of Tara had stripped gentility from her and sheknew she would never feel like a lady again until her table was weighted with silver and crystaland smoking with rich food, until her own horses and carriages stood in her stables, until blackhands and not white took the cotton from Tara.   “Ah!” she thought angrily, sucking in her breath. That’s the difference! Even though they’repoor, they still feel like ladies and I don’t. The silly fools don’t seem to realize that you can’t be alady without money!”   Even in this flash of revelation, she realized vaguely that, foolish though they seemed, theirswas the right attitude. Ellen would have thought so. This disturbed her. She knew she should feelas these people felt, but she could not. She knew she should believe devoutly, as they did, that aborn lady remained a lady, even if reduced to poverty, but she could not make herself believe itnow.   All her life she had heard sneers hurled at the Yankees because their pretensions to gentilitywere based on wealth, not breeding. But at this moment, heresy though it was, she could not help thinking the Yankees were right on this one matter, even if wrong in all others. It took money to bea lady. She knew Ellen would have fainted had she ever heard such words from her daughter. Nodepth of poverty could ever have made Ellen feel ashamed. Ashamed! Yet, that was how Scarlettfelt. Ashamed that she was poor and reduced to galling shifts and penury and work that negroesshould do.   She shrugged in irritation. Perhaps these people were right and she was wrong but, just thesame, these proud fools weren’t looking forward as she was doing, straining every nerve, riskingeven honor and good name to get back what they had lost. It was beneath the dignity of any ofthem to indulge in a scramble for money. The times were rude and hard. They called for rude andhard struggle if one was to conquer them. Scarlett knew that family tradition would forciblyrestrain many of these people from such a struggle—with the making of money admittedly its aim.   They all thought that obvious money-making and even talk of money were vulgar in the extreme.   Of course, there were exceptions. Mrs. Merriwether and her baking and René driving the piewagon. And Hugh Elsing cutting and peddling firewood and Tommy contracting. And Frankhaving the gumption to start a store. But what of the rank and file of them? The planters wouldscratch a few acres and live in poverty. The lawyers and doctors would go back to their professionsand wait for clients who might never come. And the rest, those who had lived in leisure on theirincomes? What would happen to them?   But she wasn’t going to be poor all her life. She wasn’t going to sit down and patiently wait fora miracle to help her. She was going to rush into life and wrest from it what she could. Her fatherhad started as a poor immigrant boy and had won the broad acres of Tara. What he had done, hisdaughter could do. She wasn’t like these people who had gambled everything on a Cause that wasgone and were content to be proud of having lost that Cause, because it was worth any sacrifice.   They drew their courage from the past. She was drawing hers from the future. Frank Kennedy, atpresent, was her future. At least, he had the store and he had cash money. And if she could onlymarry him and get her hands on that money, she could make ends meet at Tara for another year.   And after that—Frank must buy the sawmill. She could see for herself how quickly the town wasrebuilding and anyone who could establish a lumber business now, when there was so littlecompetition, would have a gold mine.   There came to her, from the recesses of her mind, words Rhett had spoken in the early years ofthe war about the money he made in the blockade. She had not taken the trouble to understandthem then, but now they seemed perfectly clear and she wondered if it had been only her youth orplain stupidity which had kept her from appreciating them.   “There’s just as much money to be made in the wreck of a civilization as in the upbuilding ofone.”   “This is the wreck he foresaw,” she thought, “and he was right. There’s still plenty of money tobe made by anyone who isn’t afraid to work—or to grab.”   She saw Frank coming across the floor toward her with a glass of blackberry wine in his handand a morsel of cake on a saucer and she pulled her face into a smile. It did not occur to her toquestion whether Tara was worth marrying Frank. She knew it was worth it and she never gave thematter a second thought.   She smiled up at him as she sipped the wine, knowing that her cheeks were more attractivelypink than any of the dancers’. She moved her skirts for him to sit by her and waved herhandkerchief idly so that the faint sweet smell of the cologne could reach his nose. She was proudof the cologne, for no other woman in the room was wearing any and Frank had noticed it. In a fitof daring he had whispered to her that she was as pink and fragrant as a rose.   If only he were not so shy! He reminded her of a timid old brown field rabbit. If only he had thegallantry and ardor of the Tarleton boys or even the coarse impudence of Rhett Butler. But, if hepossessed those qualities, he’d probably have sense enough to feel the desperation that lurked justbeneath her demurely fluttering eyelids. As it was, he didn’t know enough about women even tosuspect what she was up to. That was her good fortune but it did not increase her respect for him.   她从消防站走出来时天正在下雨,天空阴沉沉的一片浅灰色。广场上的士兵们都到棚屋里躲雨去了,大街上也很少有行人。她看不到哪里有什么车辆,便明白自己只有一路步行回家,可路还远着呢。   她一路艰难地走着,白兰地的热劲渐渐消退了。寒风吹得她瑟瑟发抖,冰冷刺骨的雨点迎面向她打来。雨水很快淋透了皮蒂姑妈那件薄薄的外套,弄得它湿糊糊地贴着她的身子。她知道那件天鹅绒新衣也快糟踏完了,至于帽子上的羽毛已水淋淋地耷拉下来,就像它们原先的主人雨天戴着它们在塔拉后仓场院里走动时那样,人行道上的砖块多已损坏,而且大段大段的路面上已根本没有砖了。这些地方的泥已经齐脚踝深,她的便鞋陷在里面像被胶粘住似的,有时一拔脚鞋就掉了。每回她弯下腰去用手提鞋时,衣服的前襟便落在泥里。她甚至懒得绕过泥坑,而随意踏到里面,提着沉重的衣裙径直走过去。她能感觉到那湿透的裙子和裤腿边缘冰冷地纠缠在脚踝上,可是她已不再去关心这套衣裳的命运了,尽管在它身上她曾经押了那么大一笔赌注。她只觉得寒冷、沮丧和绝望。   她怎么能在说过那些大话之后就这样回到塔拉去见大伙呢?她怎能告诉他们,说他们都得流落到别处去呢?她怎能失去那一切,失去那些红色的田地、高大的松树、褐黑色的沼泽腹地,寂静的坟地呢?那坟地上的柏林深处还躺着她的母亲爱伦呀!   她在溜滑的道路上吃力地走着,心中又燃起了对瑞德的仇恨之火。这个简直是个无赖!她巴不得他们把他绞死,免得她以后还要同这个对她的丑事和受的侮辱了如指掌的人见面。当然,如果他愿意,他是完全可以替她弄到那笔钱的。啊,绞刑还太便宜了他呢!感谢上帝,他现在已经看不见她,看不见她浑身湿透、披头散发、牙关打颤的模样!她一定显得十分狼狈,而他见了准会哈哈大笑的!   她一路上碰到的一些黑人都对她露齿而笑,他们还相互嬉笑着看她在泥泞中连行带滑地匆匆走过,有时停下来喘着气换鞋,显得非常狼狈。他们竟敢嘲笑她,这些黑鬼!他们竟敢对她这位塔拉农场的思嘉•奥哈拉小姐呲牙咧嘴!她恨不得把他们全都痛打一顿,打得他们的脊背鲜血淋漓。那些把他们解放、让他们来嘲笑白人的北方佬,真该死啊!   她沿着华盛顿大街走去,此时周围的景色同她自己的心情一样地阴沉。这里一点也没有她在桃树待见到的那种喧闹和欢乐气氛,这里曾经有过许多漂亮的民房,但现在很少有重建起来的。那些经过烟熏火燎的房基是黑糊糊的烟囟(如今叫做谢尔曼的哨兵)令人失望地不断出现。杂草丛生的小径所到之处,往往是原来有房子的地方,或者 Chapter 36 SHE MARRIED Frank Kennedy two weeks later after a whirlwind courtship which sheblushingly told him left her too breathless to oppose his ardor any longer.   He did not know that during those two weeks she had walked the floor at night, gritting her teethat the slowness with which he took hints and encouragements, praying that no untimely letter fromSuellen would reach him and ruin her plans. She thanked God that her sister was the poorest ofcorrespondents, delighting to receive letters and disliking to write them. But there was always achance, always a chance, she thought in the long night hours as she padded back and forth acrossthe cold floor of her bedroom, with Ellen’s faded shawl clutched about her nightdress. Frank didnot know she had received a laconic letter from Will, relating that Jonas Wilkerson had paidanother call at Tara and, finding her gone to Atlanta, had stormed about until Will and Ashleythrew him bodily off the place. Will’s letter hammered into her mind the fact she knew only toowell—that time was getting shorter and shorter before the extra taxes must be paid. A fierce desperationdrove her as she saw the days slipping by and she wished she might grasp the hourglass inher hands and keep the sands from running.   But so well did she conceal her feelings, so well did she enact her role, Frank suspected nothing,saw no more than what lay on the surface—the pretty and helpless young widow of CharlesHamilton who greeted him every night in Miss Pittypat’s parlor and listened, breathless withadmiration, as he told of future plans for his store and how much money he expected to make whenhe was able to buy the sawmill. Her sweet sympathy and her bright-eyed interest in every word heuttered were balm upon the wound left by Suellen’s supposed defection. His heart was sore andbewildered at Suellen’s conduct and his vanity, the shy, touchy vanity of a middle-aged bachelorwho knows himself to be unattractive to women, was deeply wounded. He could not write Suellen,upbraiding her for her faithlessness; he shrank from the very idea. But he could ease his heart bytalking about her to Scarlett. Without saying a disloyal word about Suellen, she could tell him sheunderstood how badly her sister had treated him and what good treatment he merited from awoman who really appreciated him.   Little Mrs. Hamilton was such a pretty pink-cheeked person, alternating between melancholysighs when she thought of her sad plight, and laughter as gay and sweet as the tinkling of tinysilver bells when he made small jokes to cheer her. Her green gown, now neatly cleaned by Mammy, showed off her slender figure with its tiny waist to perfection, and how bewitching wasthe faint fragrance which always clung about her handkerchief and her hair! It was a shame thatsuch a fine little woman should be alone and helpless in a world so rough that she didn’t evenunderstand its harshness. No husband nor brother nor even a father now to protect her. Frankthought the world too rude a place for a lone woman and, in that idea, Scarlett silently and heartilyconcurred.   He came to call every night, for the atmosphere of Pitty’s house was pleasant and soothing.   Mammy’s smile at the front door was the smile reserved for quality folks, Pitty served him coffeelaced with brandy and fluttered about him and Scarlett hung on his every utterance. Sometimes inthe afternoons he took Scarlett riding with him in his buggy when he went out on business. Theserides were merry affairs because she asked so many foolish questions—“just like a woman,” hetold himself approvingly. He couldn’t help laughing at her ignorance about business matters andshe laughed too, saying: “Well, of course, you can’t expect a silly little woman like me tounderstand men’s affairs.”   She made him feel, for the first time in his old-maidish life, that he was a strong upstanding manfashioned by God in a nobler mold than other men, fashioned to protect silly helpless women.   When, at last, they stood together to be married, her confiding little hand in his and herdowncast lashes throwing thick black crescents on her pink cheeks, he still did not know how it allcame about. He only knew he had done something romantic and exciting for the first time in hislife. He, Frank Kennedy, had swept this lovely creature off her feet and into his strong arms. Thatwas a heady feeling.   No friend or relative stood up with them at their marriage. The witnesses were strangers calledin from the street. Scarlett had insisted on that and he had given in, though reluctantly, for hewould have liked his sister and his brother-in-law from Jonesboro to be with him. And a receptionwith toasts drunk to the bride in Miss Pitty’s parlor amid happy friends would have been a joy tohim. But Scarlett would not hear of even Miss Pitty being present.   “Just us two, Frank,” she begged, squeezing his arm. “Like an elopement. I always did want torun away and be married! Please, sweetheart, just for me!”   It was that endearing term, still so new to his ears, and the bright teardrops which edged her palegreen eyes as she looked up pleadingly at him that won him over. After all, a man had to makesome concessions to his bride, especially about the wedding, for women set such a store bysentimental things.   And before he knew it, he was married.   Frank gave her the three hundred dollars, bewildered by her sweet urgency, reluctant at first,because it meant the end of his hope of buying the sawmill immediately. But he could not see herfamily evicted, and his disappointment soon faded at the sight of her radiant happiness,disappeared entirely at the loving way she “took on” over his generosity. Frank had never beforehad a woman “take on” over him and he came to feel that the money had been well spent, after all.   Scarlett dispatched Mammy to Tara immediately for the triple purpose of giving Will the money, announcing her marriage and bringing Wade to Atlanta. In two days she had a brief note from Willwhich she carried about with her and read and reread with mounting joy. Will wrote that the taxeshad been paid and Jonas Wilkerson “acted up pretty bad” at the news but had made no other threatsso far. Will closed by wishing her happiness, a laconic formal statement which he qualified in noway. She knew Win understood what she had done and why she had done it and neither blamed norpraised. But what must Ashley think? she wondered feverishly. What must he think of me now,after what I said to him so short a while ago in the orchard at Tara?   She also had a letter from Suellen, poorly spelled, violent, abusive, tear splotched, a letter so fullof venom and truthful observations upon her character that she was never to forget it nor forgivethe writer. But even Suellen’s words could not dim her happiness that Tara was safe, at least fromimmediate danger.   It was hard to realize that Atlanta and not Tara was her permanent home now. In her desperationto obtain the tax money, no thought save Tara and the fate which threatened it had any place in hermind. Even at the moment of marriage, she had not given a thought to the fact that the price shewas paying for the safety of home was permanent exile from it. Now that the deed was done, sherealized this with a wave of homesickness hard to dispel. But there it was. She had made herbargain and she intended to stand by it. And she was so grateful to Frank for saving Tara she felt awarm affection for him and an equally warm determination that he should never regret marryingher.   The ladies of Atlanta knew their neighbors’ business only slightly less completely than theyknew their own and were far more interested in it. They all knew that for years Frank Kennedy hadhad an “understanding” with Suellen O’Hara. In fact, he had said, sheepishly, that he expected toget married in the spring. So the tumult of gossip, surmise and deep suspicion which followed theannouncement of his quiet wedding to Scarlett was not surprising. Mrs. Merriwether, who never lether curiosity go long unsatisfied if she could help it, asked him point-blank just what he meant bymarrying one sister when he was betrothed to the other. She reported to Mrs. Elsing that all theanswer she got for her pains was a silly look. Not even Mrs. Merriwether, doughty soul that shewas, dared to approach Scarlett on the subject. Scarlett seemed demure and sweet enough thesedays, but there was a pleased complacency in her eyes which annoyed people and she carried achip on her shoulder which no one cared to disturb.   She knew Atlanta was talking but she did not care. After all, there wasn’t anything immoral inmarrying a man. Tare was safe. Let people talk. She had too many other matters to occupy hermind. The most important was how to make Frank realize, in a tactful manner, that his store shouldbring in more money. After the fright Jonas Wilkerson had given her, she would never rest easyuntil she and Frank had some money ahead. And even if no emergency developed, Frank wouldneed to make more money, if she was going to save enough for next year’s taxes. Moreover, whatFrank had said about the sawmill stuck in her mind. Frank could make lots of money out of a mill.   Anybody could, with lumber selling at such outrageous prices. She fretted silently because Frank’smoney had not been enough to pay the taxes on Tara and buy the mill as well. And she made upher mind that he had to make more money on the store somehow, and do it quickly, so he couldbuy that mill before some one else snapped it up. She could see it was a bargain.   If she were a man she would have that mill, if she had to mortgage the store to raise the money.   But, when she intimated this delicately to Frank, the day after they married, he smiled and told hernot to bother her sweet pretty little head about business matters. It had come as a surprise to himthat she even knew what a mortgage was and, at first, he was amused. But this amusement quicklypassed and a sense of shock took its place in the early days of their marriage. Once, incautiously,he had told her that “people” (he was careful not to mention names) owed him money but couldnot pay just now and he was, of course, unwilling to press old friends and gentlefolk. Frankregretted ever mentioning it for, thereafter, she had questioned him about it again and again. Shehad the most charmingly childlike air but she was just curious, she said, to know who owed himand how much they owed. Frank was very evasive about the matter. He coughed nervously andwaved his hands and repeated his annoying remark about her sweet pretty little head.   It had begun to dawn on him that this same sweet pretty little head was a “good head forfigures.” In fact, a much better one than his own and the knowledge was disquieting. He wasthunderstruck to discover that she could swiftly add a long column of figures in her head when heneeded a pencil and paper for more than three figures. And fractions presented no difficulties to herat all. He felt there was something unbecoming about a woman understanding fractions andbusiness matters and he believed that, should be unfortunate as to have such unladylikecomprehension,sheshouldpretendnott(a) o.Nowh(woman) edislik(so) ed talking business with her asmuch as be had enjoyed it before they were married. Then he had thought it all beyond her mentalgrasp and it had been pleasant to explain things to her. Now he saw that she understood entirely toowell and he felt the usual masculine indignation at the duplicity of women. Added to it was theusual masculine disillusionment in discovering that a woman has a brain.   Just how early in his married life Frank learned of the deception Scarlett had used in marryinghim, no one ever knew. Perhaps the truth dawned on him when Tony Fontaine, obviously fancyfree, came to Atlanta on business. Perhaps it was told him more directly in letters from his sister inJonesboro who was astounded at his marriage. Certainly he never learned from Suellen herself.   She never wrote him and naturally he could not write her and explain. What good wouldexplanations do anyway, now that he was married? He writhed inwardly at the thought that Suellenwould never know the truth and would always think he had senselessly jilted her. Probablyeveryone else was thinking this too and criticizing him. It certainly put him in an awkwardposition. And he had no way of clearing himself, for a man couldn’t go about saying he had lost hishead about a woman—and a gentleman couldn’t advertise the fact that his wife had entrapped himwith a lie.   Scarlett was his wife and a wife was entitled to the loyalty of her husband. Furthermore, hecould not bring himself to believe she had married him coldly and with no affection for him at all.   His masculine vanity would not permit such a thought to stay long in his mind. It was morepleasant to think she had fallen so suddenly in love with him she had been willing to lie to get him.   But it was all very puzzling. He knew he was no great catch for a woman half his age and prettyand smart to boot, but Frank was a gentleman and he kept his bewilderment to himself. Scarlettwas his wife and he could not insult her by asking awkward questions which, after all, would notremedy matters.   Not that Frank especially wanted to remedy matters, for it appeared that his marriage would be ahappy one. Scarlett was the most charming and exciting of women and he thought her perfect in all things—except that she was so headstrong. Frank learned early in his marriage that so long as shehad her own way, life could be very pleasant, but when she was opposed— Given her own way,she was as gay as a child, laughed a good deal, made foolish little jokes, sat on his knee andtweaked his beard until he vowed he felt twenty years younger. She could be unexpectedly sweetand thoughtful, having his slippers toasting at the fire when he came home at night, fussingaffectionately about his wet feet and interminable head colds, remembering that he always likedthe gizzard of the chicken and three spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee. Yes, life was very sweet andcozy with Scarlett—as long as she had her own way.   When the marriage was two weeks old, Frank contracted the grippe and Dr. Meade put him tobed. In the first year of the war, Frank had spent two months in the hospital with pneumonia and hehad lived in dread of another attack since that time, so he was only too glad to lie sweating underthree blankets and drink the hot concoctions Mammy and Aunt Pitty brought him every hour.   The illness dragged on and Frank worried more and more about the store as each day passed.   The place was in charge of the counter boy, who came to the house every night to report on theday’s transactions, but Frank was not satisfied. He fretted until Scarlett who had only been waitingfor such an opportunity laid a cool hand on his forehead and said: “Now, sweetheart, I shall bevexed if you take on so. I’ll go to town and see how things are.”   And she went, smiling as she smothered his feeble protests. During the three weeks of her newmarriage, she had been in a fever to see his account books and find out just how money mattersstood. What luck that he was bedridden!   The store stood near Five Points, its new roof glaring against the smoked bricks of the old walls.   Wooden awnings covered the sidewalk to the edge of the street, and at the long iron barsconnecting the uprights horses and mules were hitched, their heads bowed against the cold mistyrain, their backs covered with torn blankets and quilts. The inside of the store was almost likeBullard’s store in Jonesboro, except that there were no loungers about the roaring red-hot stove,whittling and spitting streams of tobacco juice at the sand boxes. It was bigger than Bullard’s storeand much darker. The wooden awnings cut off most of the winter daylight and the interior was dimand dingy, only a trickle of light coming in through the small fly-specked windows high up on theside walls. The floor was covered with muddy sawdust and everywhere was dust and dirt. Therewas a semblance of order in the front of the store, where tall shelves rose into the gloom stackedwith bright bolts of cloth, china, cooking utensils and notions. But in the back, behind the partition,chaos reigned.   Here there was no flooring and the assorted jumble of stock was piled helter-skelter on the hard-packed earth. In the semi-darkness she saw boxes and bales of goods, plows and harness andsaddles and cheap pine coffins. Secondhand furniture, ranging from cheap gum to mahogany androsewood, reared up in the gloom, and the rich but worn brocade and horsehair upholstery gleamedincongruously in the dingy surroundings. China chambers and bowl and pitcher sets littered thefloor and all around the four walls were deep bins, so dark she had to hold the lamp directly overthem to discover they contained seeds, nails, bolts and carpenters’ tools.   “I’d think a man as fussy and old maidish as Frank would keep things tidier,” she thought, scrubbing her grimy hands with her handkerchief. “This place is a pig pen. What a way to run astore! If he’d only dust up this stuff and put it out in front where folks could see it, he could sellthings much quicker.”   And if his stock was in such condition, what mustn’t his accounts be!   I’ll look at his account book now, she thought and, picking up the lamp, she went into the frontof the store. Willie, the counter boy, was reluctant to give her the large dirty-backed ledger. It wasobvious that, young as he was, he shared Frank’s opinion that women had no place in business. ButScarlett silenced him with a sharp word and sent him out to get his dinner. She felt better when hewas gone, for his disapproval annoyed her, and she settled herself in a split-bottomed chair by theroaring stove, tucked one foot under her and spread the book across her lap. It was dinner time andthe streets were deserted. No customers called and she had the store to herself.   She turned the pages slowly, narrowly scanning the rows of names and figures written in Frank’scramped copperplate hand. It was just as she had expected, and she frowned as she saw this newestevidence of Frank’s lack of business sense. At least five hundred dollars in debts, some of themmonths old, were set down against the names of people she knew well, the Merriwethers and theElsings among other familiar names. From Frank’s deprecatory remarks about the money “people”   owed him, she had imagined the sums to be small. But this!   “If they can’t pay, why do they keep on buying?” she thought irritably. “And if he knows theycan’t pay, why does he keep on selling them stuff? Lots of them could pay if he’d just make themdo it. The Elsings certainly could if they could give Fanny a new satin dress and an expensivewedding. Frank’s just too soft hearted, and people take advantage of him. Why, if he’d collectedhalf this money, he could have bought the sawmill and easily spared me the tax money, too.”   Then she thought: “Just imagine Frank trying to operate a sawmill! God’s nightgown! If he runsthis store like a charitable institution, how could he expect to make money on a mill? The sheriffwould have it in a month. Why, I could run this store better than he does! And I could run a millbetter than he could, even if I don’t know anything about the lumber business!”   A startling thought this, that a woman could handle business matters as well as or better than aman, a revolutionary thought to Scarlett who had been reared in the tradition that men wereomniscient and women none too bright. Of course, she had discovered that this was not altogethertrue but the pleasant fiction still stuck in her mind. Never before had she put this remarkable ideainto words. She sat quite still, with the heavy book across her lap, her mouth a little open withsurprise, thinking that during the lean months at Tara she had done a man’s work and done it well.   She had been brought up to believe that a woman alone could accomplish nothing, yet she hadmanaged the plantation without men to help her until Will came. Why, why, her mind stuttered, Ibelieve women could manage everything in the world without men’s help—except having babies,and God knows, no woman in her right mind would have babies if she could help it.   With the idea that she was as capable as a man came a sudden rush of pride and a violentlonging to prove it, to make money for herself as men made money. Money which would be herown, which she would neither have to ask for nor account for to any man.   “I wish I had money enough to buy that mill myself,” she said aloud and sighed. “I’d sure make it hum. And I wouldn’t let even one splinter go out on credit.”   She sighed again. There was nowhere she could get any money, so the idea was out of thequestion. Frank would simply have to collect this money owing him and buy the mill. It was a sureway to make money, and when he got the mill, she would certainly find some way to make him bemore businesslike in its operation than he had been with the store.   She pulled a back page out of the ledger and began copying the list of debtors who had made nopayments in several months. She’d take the matter up with Frank just as soon as she reached home.   She’d make him realize that these people had to pay their bills even if they were old friends, evenif it did embarrass him to press them for money. That would probably upset Frank, for he wastimid and fond of the approbation of his friends. He was so thin skinned he’d rather lose the moneythan be businesslike about collecting it.   And he’d probably tell her that no one had any money with which to pay him. Well, perhaps thatwas true. Poverty was certainly no news to her. But nearly everybody had saved some silver orjewelry or was hanging on to a little real estate. Frank could take them in lieu of cash.   She could imagine how Frank would moan when she broached such an idea to him. Take the.   jewelry and property of his friends! Well, she shrugged, he can moan all he likes. I’m going to tellhim that he may be willing to stay poor for friendship’s sake but I’m not. Frank will never getanywhere if he doesn’t get up some gumption. And he’s got to get somewhere! He’s got to makemoney, even if I’ve got to wear the pants in the family to make him do it.   She was writing busily, her face screwed up with the effort, her tongue clamped between herteeth, when the front door opened and a great draft of cold wind swept the store. A tall man cameinto the dingy room walking with a light Indian-like tread, and looking up she saw Rhett Butler.   He was resplendent in new clothes and a greatcoat with a dashing cape thrown back from hisheavy shoulders. His tall hat was off in a deep bow when her eyes met his and his hand went to thebosom of a spotless pleated shirt. His white teeth gleamed startlingly against his brown face andhis bold eyes raked her.   “My dear Mrs. Kennedy,” he said, walking toward her. “My very dear Mrs. Kennedy!” and hebroke into a loud merry laugh.   At first she was as startled as if a ghost had invaded the store and then, hastily removing her footfrom beneath her, she stiffened her spine and gave him a cold stare.   “What are you doing here?”   “I called on Miss Pittypat and learned of your marriage and so I hastened here to congratulateyou.”   The memory of her humiliation at his hands made her go crimson with shame.   “I don’t see how you have the gall to face me!” she cried.   “On the contrary! How have you the gall to face me?”   “Oh, you are the most—”   “Shall we let the bugles sing truce?” he smiled down at her, a wide flashing smile that had impudence in it but no shame for his own actions or condemnation for hers. In spite of herself, shehad to smile too, but it was a wry, uncomfortable smile.   “What a pity they didn’t hang you!”   “Others share your feeling, I fear. Come, Scarlett, relax. You look like you’d swallowed aramrod and it isn’t becoming. Surely, you’ve had time to recover from my—er—my little joke.”   “Joke? Ha! I’ll never get over it!”   “Oh, yes, you will. You are just putting on this indignant front because you think it’s proper andrespectable. May I sit down?”   “No.”   He sank into a chair beside her and grinned.   “I hear you couldn’t even wait two weeks for me,” he said and gave a mock sigh. “How fickle iswoman!”   When she did not reply he continued.   “Tell me, Scarlett, just between friends—between very old and very intimate friends—wouldn’tit have been wiser to wait until I got out of jail? Or are the charms of wedlock with old FrankKennedy more alluring than illicit relations with me?”   As always when his mockery aroused wrath within her, wrath fought with laughter at hisimpudence.   “Don’t be absurd.”   “And would you mind satisfying my curiosity on one point which has bothered me for sometime? Did you have no womanly repugnance, no delicate shrinking from marrying not just oneman but two for whom you had no love or even affection? Or have I been misinformed about thedelicacy of our Southern womanhood?”   “Rhett!”   “I have my answer. I always felt that women had a hardness and endurance unknown to men,despite the pretty idea taught me in childhood that women are frail, tender, sensitive creatures. Butafter all, according to the Continental code of etiquette, it’s very bad form for husband and wife tolove each other. Very bad taste, indeed. I always felt that the Europeans had the right idea in thatmatter. Marry for convenience and love for pleasure. A sensible system, don’t you think? You arecloser to the old country than I thought.”   How pleasant it would be to shout at him: “I did not marry for convenience!” But unfortunately,Rhett had her there and any protest of injured innocence would only bring more barbed remarksfrom him.   “How you do run on,” she said coolly. Anxious to change the subject, she asked: “How did youever get out of jail?”   “Oh, that!” he answered, making an airy gesture. “Not much trouble. They let me out thismorning. I employed a delicate system of blackmail on a friend in Washington who is quite high in the councils of the Federal government. A splendid fellow—one of the staunch Union patriots fromwhom I used to buy muskets and hoop skirts for the Confederacy. When my distressingpredicament was brought to his attention in the right way, he hastened to use his influence, and so Iwas released. Influence is everything, and guilt or innocence merely an academic question.”   “I’ll take oath you weren’t innocent.”   “No, now that I am free of the toils, I’ll frankly admit that I’m as guilty as Cain. I did kill thenigger. He was uppity to a lady, and what else could a Southern gentleman do? And while I’mconfessing, I must admit that I shot a Yankee cavalryman after some words in a barroom. I was notcharged with that peccadillo, so perhaps some other poor devil has been hanged for it, long since.”   He was so blithe about his murders her blood chilled. Words of moral indignation rose to herlips but suddenly she remembered the Yankee who lay under the tangle of scuppernong vines atTara. He had not been on her conscience any more than a roach upon which she might havestepped. She could not sit in judgment on Rhett when she was as guilty as he.   “And, as I seem to be making a clean breast of it, I must tell you, in strictest confidence (thatmeans, don’t tell Miss Pittypat!) that I did have the money, safe in a bank in Liverpool.”   “The money?”   “Yes, the money the Yankees were so curious about. Scarlett, it wasn’t altogether meanness thatkept me from giving you the money you wanted. If I’d drawn a draft they could have traced itsomehow and I doubt if you’d have gotten a cent. My only hope lay in doing nothing. I knew themoney was pretty safe, for if worst came to worst, if they had located it and tried to take it awayfrom me, I would have named every Yankee patriot who sold me bullets and machinery during thewar. Then there would have been a stink, for some of them are high up in Washington now. In fact,it was my threat to unbosom my conscience about them that got me out of jail. I—”   “Do you mean you—you actually have the Confederate gold?”   “Not all of it. Good Heavens, no! There must be fifty or more ex-blockaders who have plentysalted away in Nassau and England and Canada. We will be pretty unpopular with theConfederates who weren’t as slick as we were. I have got close to half a million. Just think, Scarlett,a half-million dollars, if you’d only restrained your fiery nature and not rushed into wedlockagain!”   A half-million dollars. She felt a pang of almost physical sickness at the thought of so muchmoney. His jeering words passed over her head and she did not even hear them. It was hard tobelieve there was so much money in all this bitter and poverty-stricken world. So much money, sovery much money, and someone else had it, someone who took it lightly and didn’t need it. Andshe had only a sick elderly husband and this dirty, piddling, little store between her and a hostileworld. It wasn’t fair that a reprobate like Rhett Butler should have so much and she, who carried soheavy a load, should have so little. She hated him, sitting there in his dandified attire, taunting her.   Well, she wouldn’t swell his conceit by complimenting him on his cleverness. She longedviciously for sharp words with which to cut him.   “I suppose you think it’s honest to keep the Confederate money. Well, it isn’t. It’s plain out andout stealing and you know it. I wouldn’t have that on my conscience.”   “My! How sour the grapes are today!” he exclaimed, screwing up his face. “And just whom amI stealing from?”   She was silent, trying to think just whom indeed. After all, he had only done what Frank haddone on a small scale.   “Half the money is honestly mine,” he continued, “honestly made with the aid of honest Unionpatriots who were willing to sell out the Union behind its back—for one-hundred-per-cent profiton their goods. Part I made out of my little investment in cotton at the beginning of the war, thecotton I bought cheap and sold for a dollar a pound when the British mills were crying for it. Part Igot from food speculation. Why should I let the Yankees have the fruits of my labor? But the restdid belong to the Confederacy. It came from Confederate cotton which I managed to run throughthe blockade and sell in Liverpool at sky-high prices. The cotton was given me in good faith to buyleather and rifles and machinery with. And it was taken by me in good, faith to buy the same. Myorders were to leave the gold in English banks, under my own name, in order that my credit wouldbe good. You remember when the blockade tightened, I couldn’t get a boat out of any Confederateport or into one, so there the money stayed in England. What should I have done? Drawn out allthat gold from English banks, like a simpleton, and tried to run it into Wilmington? And let theYankees capture it? Was it my fault that the blockade got too tight? Was it my fault that our Causefailed? The money belonged to the Confederacy. Well, there is no Confederacy now—thoughyou’d never know it, to hear some people talk. Whom shall I give the money to? The Yankeegovernment? I should so hate for people to think me a thief.”   He removed a leather case from his pocket, extracted a long cigar and smelled it approvingly,meanwhile watching her with pseudo anxiety as if he hung on her words.   Plague take him, she thought, he’s always one jump ahead of me. There is always somethingwrong with his arguments but I never can put my finger on just what it is.   “You might,” she said with dignity, “distribute it to those who are in need. The Confederacy isgone but there are plenty of Confederates and their families who are starving.”   He threw back his head and laughed rudely.   “You are never so charming or so absurd as when you are airing some hypocrisy like that,” hecried in frank enjoyment. “Always tell the truth, Scarlett. You can’t lie. The Irish are the poorestliars in the world. Come now, be frank. You gave damn about the late lamented ConfederacyandyoucarelessaboutthestarvingConfe(never) derates.(a) You’d scream in protest if I evensuggested giving away all the money unless I started off by giving you the lion’s share.”   “I don’t want your money,” she began, trying to be coldly dignified.   “Oh, don’t you! Your palm is itching to beat the band this minute. If I showed you a quarter,you’d leap on it.”   If you have come here to insult me and laugh at my poverty, I will wish you good day,” sheretorted, trying to rid her lap of the heavy ledger so she might rise and make her words moreimpressive. Instantly, he was on his feet bending over her, laughing as he pushed her back into herchair.   “When will you ever get over losing your temper when you hear the truth? You never mindspeaking the truth about other people, so why should you mind hearing it about yourself? I’m notinsulting you. I think acquisitiveness is a very fine quality.”   She was not sure what acquisitiveness meant but as he praised it she felt slightly mollified.   “I didn’t come to gloat over your poverty but to wish you long life and happiness in yourmarriage. By the way, what did sister Sue think of your larceny?”   “My what?”   “Your stealing Frank from under her nose.”   “I did not—”   “Well, we won’t quibble about the word. What did she say?”   “She said nothing,” said Scarlett. His eyes danced as they gave her the lie.   “How unselfish of her. Now, let’s hear about your poverty. Surely I have the right to know, afteryour little trip out to the jail not long ago. Hasn’t Frank as much money as you hoped?”   There was no evading his impudence. Either she would have to put up with it or ask him toleave. And now she did not want him to leave. His words were barbed but they were the barbs oftruth. He knew what she had done and why she had done it and he did not seem to think the less ofher for it. And though his questions were unpleasantly blunt, they seemed actuated by a friendlyinterest. He was one person to whom she could tell the truth. That would be, a relief, for it hadbeen so long since she had told anyone the truth about herself and her motives. Whenever shespoke her mind everyone seemed to be shocked. Talking to Rhett was comparable only to onething, the feeling of ease and comfort afforded by a pair of old slippers after dancing in a pair tootight.   “Didn’t you get the money for the taxes? Don’t tell me the wolf is still at the door of Tara.”   There was a different tone in his voice.   She looked up to meet his dark eyes and caught an expression which startled and puzzled her atfirst, and then made her suddenly smile, a sweet and charming smile which was seldom on her facethese days. What a perverse wretch he was, but how nice he could be at times! She knew now thatthe real reason for his call was not to tease her but to make sure she had gotten the money forwhich she had been so desperate. She knew now that he had hurried to her as soon as he wasreleased, without the slightest appearance of hurry, to tend her the money if she still needed it. Andyet he would torment and insult her and deny that such was his intent, should she accuse him. Hewas quite beyond all comprehension. Did he really care about her, more than he was willing toadmit? Or did he have some other motive? Probably the latter, she thought. But who could tell? Hedid such strange things sometimes.   “No,” she said, “the wolf isn’t at the door any longer. I—I got the money.”   “But not without a struggle, I’ll warrant. Did you manage to restrain yourself until you got thewedding ring on your finger?”   She tried not to smile at his accurate summing up of her conduct but she could not help dimpling. He seated himself again, sprawling his long legs comfortably.   “Well, tell me about your poverty. Did Frank, the brute, mislead you about his prospects? Heshould be soundly thrashed for taking advantage of a helpless female. Come, Scarlett. tell meeverything. You should have no secrets from me. Surely, I know the worst about you.”   “Oh, Rhett. you’re the worst—well, I don’t know what! No, he didn’t exactly fool me but—”   Suddenly it became a pleasure to unburden herself. “Rhett, if Frank would just collect the moneypeople owe him, I wouldn’t be worried about anything. But, Rhett, fifty people owe him and hewon’t press them. He’s so thin skinned. He says a gentleman can’t do that to another gentleman.   And it may be months and may be never before we get the money.”   “Well, what of it? Haven’t you enough to eat on until he does collect?”   “Yes, but—well, as a matter of fact, I could use a little money right now.” Her eyes brightenedas she thought of the mill. Perhaps—“What for? More taxes?”   “Is that any of your business?”   “Yes, because you are getting ready to touch me for a loan. Oh, I know all the approaches. AndI’ll lend it to you—without, my dear Mrs. Kennedy, that charming collateral you offered me ashort while ago. Unless, of course, you insist.”   “You are the coarsest—”   “Not at all. I merely wanted to set your mind at ease. I knew you’d be worried about that point.   Not much worried but a little. And I’m willing to lend you the money. But I do want to know howyou are going to spend it. I have that right, I believe. If it’s to buy you pretty frocks or a carriage,take it with my blessing. But if it’s to buy a new pair of breeches for Ashley Wilkes, I fear I mustdecline to lend it.”   She was hot with sudden rage and she stuttered until words came.   “Ashley Wilkes has never taken a cent from me! I couldn’t make him take a cent if he werestarving! You don’t understand him, how honorable, how proud he is! Of course, you can’tunderstand him, being what you are—”   “Don’t let’s begin calling names. I could call you a few that would match any you could think offor me. You forget that I have been keeping up with you through Miss Pittypat, and the dear soultells all she knows to any sympathetic listener. I know that Ashley has been at Tara ever since hecame home from Rock Island. I know that you have even put up with having his wife around,which must have been a strain on you.”   “Ashley is—”   “Oh, yes,” he said, waving his hand negligently. “Ashley is too sublime for my earthycomprehension. But please don’t forget I was an interested witness to your tender scene with himat Twelve Oaks and something tells me he hasn’t changed since then. And neither have you. Hedidn’t cut so sublime a figure that day, if I remember rightly. And I don’t think the figure he cutsnow is much better. Why doesn’t he take his family and get out and find work? And stop living at Tara? Of course, it’s just a whim of mine, but I don’t intend to tend you a cent for Tara to helpsupport him. Among men, there’s a very unpleasant name for men who permit women to supportthem.”   “How dare you say such things? He’s been working like a field hand!” For all her rage, her heartwas wrung by the memory of Ashley splitting fence rails.   “And worth his weight in gold, I dare say. What a hand he must be with the manure and—”   “He’s—”   “Oh, yes, I know. Let’s grant that he does the best he can but I don’t imagine he’s much help.   You’ll never make a farm hand out of a Wilkes—or anything else that’s useful. The breed is purelyornamental. Now, quiet your ruffled feathers and overlook my boorish remarks about the proudand honorable Ashley. Strange how these illusions will persist even in women as hard headed asyou are. How much money do you want and what do you want it for?”   When she did not answer he repeated:   “What do you want it for? And see if you can manage to tell me the truth. It will do as well as alie. In fact, better, for if you lie to me, I’ll be sure to find it out, and think how embarrassing thatwould be. Always remember this, Scarlett, I can stand anything from you but a lie—your dislikefor me, your tempers, all your vixenish ways, but not a lie. Now what do you want it for?”   Raging as she was at his attack on Ashley, she would have given anything to spit on him andthrow his offer of money proudly into his mocking face. For a moment she almost did, but the coldhand of common sense held her back. She swallowed her anger with poor grace and tried toassume an expression of pleasant dignity. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs towardthe stove.   “If there’s one thing in the world that gives me more amusement than anything else,” heremarked, “it’s the sight of your mental struggles when a matter of principle is laid up againstsomething practical like money. Of course, I know the practical in you will always win, but I keephanging around to see if your better nature won’t triumph some day. And when that day comes Ishall pack my bag and leave Atlanta forever. There are too many women whose better natures arealways triumphing. ... Well, let’s get back to business. How much and what for?”   “I don’t know quite how much I’ll need,” she said sulkily. “But I want to buy a sawmill—and Ithink I can get it cheap. And I’ll need two wagons and two mules. I want good mules, too. And ahorse and buggy for my own use.”   “A sawmill?”   “Yes, and if you’ll lend me the money, I’ll give you a half-interest in it.”   “Whatever would I do with a sawmill?”   “Make money! We can make loads of money. Or I’ll pay you interest on the loan—let’s see,what is good interest?”   “Fifty per cent is considered very fine.”   “Fifty—oh, but you are joking! Stop laughing, you devil. I’m serious.”   “That’s why I’m laughing. I wonder if anyone but me realizes what goes on in that head back ofyour deceptively sweet face.”   “Well, who cares? Listen, Rhett, and see if this doesn’t sound like good business to you. Franktold me about this man who has a sawmill, a little one out Peachtree road, and be wants to sell it.   He’s got to have cash money pretty quick and he’ll sell it cheap. There aren’t many sawmillsaround here now, and the way people are rebuilding—why, we could sell lumber sky high. Theman will stay and run the mill for a wage. Frank told me about it. Frank would buy the millhimself if he had the money. I guess he was intending buying it with the money he gave me for thetaxes.”   “Poor Frank! What is he going to say when you tell him you’ve bought it yourself right out fromunder him? And how are you going to explain my lending you the money without compromisingyour reputation?”   Scarlett had given no thought to this, so intent was she upon the money the mill would bring in.   “Well, I just won’t tell him.”   “He’ll know you didn’t pick it off a bush.”   “I’ll tell him—why, yes, I’ll tell him I sold you my diamond earbobs. And I will give them toyou, too. That’ll be my collat—my whatchucallit.”   “I wouldn’t take your earbobs.”   “I don’t want them. I don’t like them. They aren’t really mine, anyway.”   “Whose are they?”   Her mind went swiftly back to the still hot noon with the country hush deep about Tara and thedead man in blue sprawled in the hall.   “They were left with me—by someone who’s dead. They’re mine all right. Take them. I don’twant them. I’d rather have the money for them.”   “Good Lord!” he cried impatiently. “Don’t you ever think of anything but money?”   “No,” she replied frankly, turning hard green eyes upon him. “And if you’d been through what Ihave, you wouldn’t either. I’ve found out that money is the most important thing in the world and,as God is my witness, I don’t ever intend to be without it again.”   She remembered the hot sun, the soft red earth under her sick head, the niggery smell of thecabin behind the ruins of Twelve Oaks, remembered the refrain her heart had beaten: I’ll never behungry again. I’ll never be hungry again,”   I’m going to have money some day, lots of it, so I can have anything I want to eat. And thenthere’ll never be any hominy or dried peas on my table. And I’m going to have pretty clothes andall of them are going to be silk—”   “All?”   “All,” she said shortly, not even troubling to blush at his implication. “I’m going to have moneyenough so the Yankees can never take Tara away from me. And I’m going to have a new roof for Tara and a new barn and fine mules for plowing and more cotton than you ever saw. And Wadeisn’t ever going to know what it means to do without the things he needs. Never! He’s going tohave everything in the world. And all my family, they aren’t ever going to be hungry again. I meanit. Every word. You don’t understand, you’re such selfish hound. You’ve never had theCarpetbaggerstryingtodriveyouout. You’veneverbeen(a) cold and ragged and had to break yourback to keep from starving!”   He said quietly: “I was in the Confederate Army for eight months. I don’t know any better placefor starving.”   “The army! Bah! You’ve never had to pick cotton and weed corn. You’ve— Don’t you laugh atme!”   His hands were on hers again as her voice rose harshly.   “I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at the difference in what you look and what you reallyare. And I was remembering the first time I ever saw you, at the barbecue at the Wilkes’. You hadon a green dress and little green slippers, and you were knee deep in men and quite full of yourself.   I’ll wager you didn’t know then how many pennies were in a dollar. There was only one idea inyour whole mind then and that was ensnaring Ash—”   She jerked her hands away from him.   “Rhett, if we are to get on at all, you’ll have to stop talking about Ashley Wilkes. We’ll alwaysfall out about him, because you can’t understand him.”   “I suppose you understand him like a book,” said Rhett maliciously. “No, Scarlett, if I am tolend you the money I reserve the right to discuss Ashley Wilkes in any terms I care to. I waive theright to collect interest on my loan but not that right. And there are a number of things about thatyoung man I’d like to know.”   “I do not have to discuss him with you,” she answered shortly.   “Oh, but you do! I hold the purse strings, you see. Some day when you are rich, you can havethe power to do the same to others. ... It’s obvious that you still care about him—”   “I do not.”   “Oh, it’s so obvious from the way you rush to his defense. You—”   “I won’t stand having my friends sneered at.”   “Well, we’ll let that pass for the moment. Does he still care for you or did Rock Island make himforget? Or perhaps he’s learned to appreciate what a jewel of a wife he has?”   At the mention of Melanie, Scarlett began to breathe hard and could scarcely restrain herselffrom crying out the whole story, that only honor kept Ashley with Melanie. She opened her mouthto speak and then closed it.   “Oh. So he still hasn’t enough sense to appreciate Mrs. Wilkes? And the rigors of prison didn’tdim his ardor for you?”   “I see no need to discuss the subject.”   “I wish to discuss it,” said Rhett. There was a low note in his voice which Scarlett did notunderstand but did not like to hear. “And, by God, I will discuss it and I expect you to answer me.   So he’s still in love with you?”   “Well, what if he is?” cried Scarlett, goaded. “I don’t care to discuss him with you because youcan’t understand him or his kind of love. The only kind of love you know about is just—well, thekind you carry on with creatures like that Watling woman.”   “Oh,” said Rhett softly. “So I am only capable of carnal lusts?”   “Well, you know it’s true.”   “Now I appreciate your hesitance in discussing the matter with me. My unclean hands and lipsbesmirch the purity of his love.”   “Well, yes—something like that.”   “I’m interested in this pure love—”   “Don’t be so nasty, Rhett Butler. If you are vile enough to think there’s ever been anythingwrong between us—”   “Oh, the thought never entered my head, really. That’s why it all interests me. Just why hasn’tthere been anything wrong between you?”   “If you think that Ashley would—”   “Ah, so it’s Ashley, and not you, who has fought the fight for purity. Really, Scarlett, you shouldnot give yourself away so easily.”   Scarlett looked into his smooth unreadable face in confusion and indignation.   “We won’t go any further with this and I don’t want your money. So, get out!”   “Oh, yes, you do want my money and, as we’ve gone this far, why stop? Surely there can be noharm in discussing so chaste an idyll—when there hasn’t been anything wrong. So Ashley lovesyou for your mind, your soul, your nobility of character?”   Scarlett writhed at his words. Of course, Ashley loved her for just these things. It was thisknowledge that made life endurable, this knowledge that Ashley, bound by honor, loved her fromafar for beautiful things deep buried in her that he alone could see. But they did not seem sobeautiful when dragged to the light by Rhett, especially in that deceptively smooth voice thatcovered sarcasm.   “It gives me back my boyish ideals to know that such a love can exist in this naughty world,” hecontinued. “So there’s no touch of the flesh in his love for you? It would be the same if you wereugly and didn’t have that white skin? And if you didn’t have those green eyes which make a manwonder just what you would do if he took you in his arms? And a way of swaying your hips, that’san allurement to any man under ninety? And those lips which are—well, I mustn’t let my carnallusts obtrude. Ashley sees none of these things? Or if he sees them, they move him not at all?”   Unbidden, Scarlett’s mind went back to that day in the orchard when Ashley’s arms shook as heheld her, when his mouth was hot on hers as if he would never let her go. She went crimson at the memory and her blush was not lost on Rhett.   “So,” he said and there was a vibrant note almost like anger in his voice. “I see. He loves you foryour mind alone.”   How dare he pry with dirty fingers, making the one beautiful sacred thing in her life seem vile?   Coolly, determinedly, he was breaking down the last of her reserves and the information he wantedwas forthcoming.   “Yes, he does!” she cried, pushing back the memory of Ashley’s lips.   “My dear, he doesn’t even know you’ve got a mind. If it was your mind that attracted him, hewould not need to struggle against you, as he must have done to keep this love so—shall we say“holy”? He could rest easily for, after all, a man can admire a woman’s mind and soul and still bean honorable gentleman and true to his wife. But it must be difficult for him to reconcile the honorof the Wilkeses with coveting your body as he does.”   “You judge everybody’s mind by your own vile one!”   “Oh, I’ve never denied coveting you, if that’s what you mean. But, thank God, I’m not botheredabout matters of honor. What I want I take if I can get it, and so I wrestle neither with angels nordevils. What a merry hell you must have made for Ashley! Almost I can be sorry for him.”   “I—I make a hell for him?”   “Yes, you! There you are, a constant temptation to him, but like most of his breed he preferswhat passes in these parts as honor to any amount of love. And it looks to me as if the poor devilnow had neither love nor honor to warm himself!”   “He has love! ... I mean, he loves me!”   “Does he? Then answer me this and we are through for the day and you can take the money andthrow it in the gutter for all I care.”   Rhett rose to his feet and threw his half-smoked cigar into the spittoon. There was about hismovements the same pagan freedom and leashed power Scarlett had noted that night Atlanta fell,something sinister and a little frightening. “If he loved you, then why in hell did he permit you tocome to Atlanta to get the tax money? Before I’d let a woman I loved do that, I’d—”   “He didn’t know! He had no idea that I—”   “Doesn’t it occur to you that he should have known?” There was barely suppressed savagery inhis voice. “Loving you as you say he does, he should have known just what you would do whenyou were desperate. He should have killed you rather than let you come up here—and to me, of allpeople! God in Heaven!”   “But he didn’t know!”   “If he didn’t guess it without being told, he’ll never know anything about you and your preciousmind.”   How unfair he was! As if Ashley was a mind reader! As if Ashley could have stopped her, evenhad he known! But, she knew suddenly, Ashley could have stopped her. The faintest intimation from him, in the orchard, that some day things might be different and she would never havethought of going to Rhett. A word of tenderness, even a parting caress when she was getting on thetrain, would have held her back. But he had only talked of honor. Yet—was Rhett right? ShouldAshley have known her mind? Swiftly she put the disloyal thought from her. Of course, he didn’tsuspect. Ashley would never suspect that she would even think of doing anything so immoral.   Ashley was too fine to have such thoughts. Rhett was just trying to spoil her love. He was trying totear down what was most precious to her. Some day, she thought viciously, when the store was onits feet and the mill doing nicely and she had money, she would make Rhett Butler pay for themisery and humiliation he was causing her.   He was standing over her, looking down at her, faintly amused. The emotion which had stirredhim was gone.   “What does it all matter to you anyway?” she asked. “It’s my business and Ashley’s and notyours.”   He shrugged.   “Only this. I have a deep and impersonal admiration for your endurance, Scarlett, and I do notlike to see your spirit crushed beneath too many millstones. There’s Tara. That’s a man-sized job initself. There’s your sick father added on. He’ll never be any help to you. And the girls and thedarkies. And now you’ve taken on a husband and probably Miss Pittypat, too. You’ve enoughburdens without Ashley Wilkes and his family on your hands.”   “He’s not on my hands. He helps—”   “Oh, for God’s sake,” he said impatiently. “Don’t let’s have any more of that. He’s no help. He’son your hands and he’ll be on them, or on somebody’s, till he dies. Personally, I’m sick of him as atopic of conversation. ... How much money do you want?”   Vituperative words rushed to her lips. After all his insults, after dragging from her those thingswhich were most precious to her and trampling on them, he still thought she would take hismoney!   But the words were checked unspoken. How wonderful it would be to scorn his offer and orderhim out of the store! But only the truly rich and the truly secure could afford this luxury. So long asshe was poor, just so long would she have to endure such scenes as this. But when she was rich—oh, what a beautiful warming thought that was!—when she was rich, she wouldn’t stand anythingshe didn’t like, do without anything she desired or even be polite to people unless they pleased her.   I shall tell them all to go to Halifax, she thought, and Rhett Butler will be the first one!   The pleasure in the thought brought a sparkle into her green eyes and a half-smile to her lips.   Rhett smiled too.   “You’re a pretty person, Scarlett,” he said. “Especially when you are meditating devilment. Andjust for the sight of that dimple I’ll buy you a baker’s dozen of mules if you want them.”   The front door opened and the counter boy entered, picking his teeth with a quill. Scarlett rose,pulled her shawl about her and tied her bonnet strings firmly under her chin. Her mind was madeup.   “Are you busy this afternoon? Can you come with me now?” she asked.   “Where?”   “I want you to drive to the mill with me. I promised Frank I wouldn’t drive out of town bymyself.”   “To the mill in this rain?”   “Yes, I want to buy that mill now, before you change your mind.”   He laughed so loudly the boy behind the counter started and looked at him curiously.   “Have you forgotten you are married? Mrs. Kennedy can’t afford to be seen driving out into thecountry with that Butler reprobate, who isn’t received in the best parlors. Have you forgotten yourreputation?”   “Reputation, fiddle-dee-dee! I want that mill before you change your mind or Frank finds outthat I’m buying it. Don’t be a slow poke, Rhett. What’s a little rain? Let’s hurry.”   That sawmill! Frank groaned every time he thought of it, cursing himself for ever mentioning itto her. It was bad enough for her to sell her earrings to Captain Butler (of all people!) and buy themill without even consulting her own husband about it, but it was worse still that she did not turn itover to him to operate. That looked bad. As if she did not trust him or his judgment.   Frank, in common with all men he knew, felt that a wife should be guided by her husband’ssuperior knowledge, should accept his opinions in full and have none of her own. He would havegiven most women their own way. Women were such funny little creatures and it never hurt tohumor their small whims. Mild and gentle by nature, it was not in him to deny a wife much. Hewould have enjoyed gratifying the foolish notions of some soft little person and scolding herlovingly for her stupidity and extravagance. But the things Scarlett set her mind on wereunthinkable.   That sawmill, for example. It was the shock of his life when she told him with a sweet smile, inanswer to his questions, that she intended to run it herself. “Go into the lumber business myself,”   was the way she put it. Frank would never forget the horror of that moment. Go into business forherself! It was unthinkable. There were no women in business in Atlanta. In fact, Frank had neverheard of a woman in business anywhere. If women were so unfortunate as to be compelled to makea little money to assist their families in these hard times, they made it in quiet womanly ways—baking as Mrs. Merriwether was doing, or painting china and sewing and keeping boarders, likeMrs. Elsing and Fanny, or teaching school like Mrs. Meade or giving music lessons like Mrs.   Bonnell. These ladies made money but they kept themselves at home while they did it, as a womanshould. But for a woman to leave the protection of her home and venture out into the rough worldof men, competing with them in business, rubbing shoulders with them, being exposed to insultand gossip ... Especially when she wasn’t forced to do it, when she had a husband amply able toprovide for her!   Frank had hoped she was only Chapter 37 IT WAS on a wild wet night in April that Tony Fontaine rode in from Jonesboro on a latheredhorse that was half dead from exhaustion and came knocking at their door, rousing her and Frankfrom sleep with their hearts in their throats. Then for the second time in four months, Scarlett wasmade to feel acutely what Reconstruction in an its implications meant, made to understand morecompletely what was in Will’s mind when he said “Our troubles have just begun,” to know that thebleak words of Ashley, spoken in the wind-swept orchard of Tara, were true: “This that’s facing allof us is worse than war—worse than prison—worse than death.”   The first time she had come face to face with Reconstruction was when she teamed that JonasWilkerson with the aid of the Yankees could evict her from Tara. But Tony’s advent brought it allhome to her in a far more terrifying manner. Tony came in the dark and the lashing rain and in afew minutes he was gone back into the night forever, but in the brief interval between he raised thecurtain on a scene of new horror, a curtain that she felt hopelessly would never be lowered again.   That stormy night when the knocker hammered on the door with such hurried urgency, she stoodon the landing, clutching her wrapper to her and, looking down into the hall below, had oneglimpse of Tony’s swarthy saturnine face before he leaned forward and blew out the candle inFrank’s hand. She hurried down in the darkness to grasp his cold wet hand and hear him whisper:   “They’re after me—going to Texas—my horse is about dead—and I’m about starved. Ashley saidyou’d— Don’t light the candle! Don’t wake the darkies. ... I don’t want to get you folks in troubleif I can help it.”   With the kitchen blinds drawn and all the shades pulled down to the sills, he permitted a lightand he talked to Frank in swift jerky sentences as Scarlett hurried about, trying to scrape together ameal for him.   He was without a greatcoat and soaked to the skin. He was hatless and his black hair wasplastered to his little skin. But the merriment of the Fontaine boys, a chilling merriment that night,was in his little dancing eyes as he gulped down the whisky she brought him. Scarlett thanked Godthat Aunt Pittypat was snoring undisturbed upstairs. She would certainly swoon if she saw thisapparition.   “One damned bast—Scalawag less,” said Tony, holding out his glass for another drink. “I’veridden hard and it’ll cost me my skin if I don’t get out of here quick, but it was worth it By God,yes! I’m going to try to get to Texas and lay low there. Ashley was with me in Jonesboro and hetold me to come to you all. Got to have another horse, Frank, and some money. My horse is nearlydead—all the way up here at a dead run—and like a fool I went out of the house today like a batout of hell without a coat or hat or a cent of money. Not that there’s much money in our house.”   He laughed and applied himself hungrily to the cold corn pone and cold turnip greens on whichcongealed grease was thick in white flakes.   “You can have my horse,” said Frank calmly. “I’ve only ten dollars with me but if you can waittill morning—”   “Hell’s afire, I can’t wait!” said Tony, emphatically but jovially. “They’re probably right behind me. I didn’t get much of a start. If it hadn’t been for Ashley dragging me out of there and makingme get on my horse, I’d have stayed there like a fool and probably had my neck stretched by now.   Good fellow, Ashley.”   So Ashley was mixed up in this frightening puzzle. Scarlett went cold, her hand at her throat.   Did the Yankees have Ashley now? Why, why didn’t Frank ask what it was all about? Why did hetake it all so coolly, so much as a matter of course? She struggled to get the question to her lips.   “What—” she began. “Who—”   “Your father’s old overseer—that damned—Jonas Wilkerson.”   “Did you—is he dead?”   “My God, Scarlett O’Hara!” said Tony peevishly. “When I start out to cut somebody up, youdon’t think I’d be satisfied with scratching him with the blunt side of my knife, do you? No, byGod, I cut him to ribbons.”   “Good,” said Frank casually. “I never liked the fellow.”   Scarlett looked at him. This was not the meek Frank she knew, the nervous beard clawer whoshe had learned could be bullied with such ease. There was an air about him that was crisp andcool and he was meeting the emergency with no unnecessary words. He was a man and Tony was aman and this situation of violence was men’s business in which a woman had no part.   “But Ashley— Did he—”   “No. He wanted to kill him but I told him it was my right, because Sally is my sister-in-law, andhe saw reason finally. He went into Jonesboro with me, in case Wilkerson got me first. But I don’tthink old Ash will get in any trouble about it. I hope not. Got any jam for this corn pone? And canyou wrap me up something to take with me?”   “I shall scream if you don’t tell me everything.”   “Wait till I’ve gone and then scream if you’ve got to. I’ll tell you about it while Frank saddlesthe horse. That damned—Wilkerson has caused enough trouble already, know how he did youabout your taxes. That’s just one of his meannesses. But the worst thing was the way he kept thedarkies stirred up. If anybody had told me I’d ever live to see the day when I’d hate darkies! Damntheir black souls, they believe anything those scoundrels tell them and forget every living thingwe’ve done for them. Now the Yankees are talking about letting the darkies vote. And they won’tlet us vote. Why, there’s hardly a handful of Democrats in the whole County who aren’t barredfrom voting, now that they’ve ruled out every man who fought in the Confederate Army. And ifthey give the negroes the vote, it’s the end of us. Damn it, it’s our state! It doesn’t belong to theYankees! By God, Scarlett, it isn’t to be borne! And it won’t be borne! We’ll do something about itif it means another war. Soon we’ll be having nigger judges, nigger legislators—black apes out ofthe jungle—”   “Please—hurry, tell me! What did you do?”   “Give me another mite of that pone before you wrap it up. Well, the word got around thatWilkerson had gone a bit too far with his nigger-equality business. Oh, yes, he talks it to thoseblack fools by the hour. He had the gall—the—” Tony spluttered helplessly, “to say niggers had a right to—to—white women.”   “Oh, Tony, no!”   “By God, yes! I don’t wonder you look sick. But hell’s afire, Scarlett, it can’t be news to you.   They’ve been telling it to them here in Atlanta.”   “I—I didn’t know.”   “Well, Frank would have kept it from you. Anyway, after that, we all sort of thought we’d callon Mr. Wilkerson privately by night and tend to him, but before we could— You remember thatblack buck, Eustis, who used to be our foreman?”   “Yes.”   “Came to the kitchen door today while Sally was fixing dinner and—I don’t know what he saidto her. I guess I’ll never know now. But he said something and I heard her scream and I ran into thekitchen and there he was, drunk as a fiddler’s bitch—I beg your pardon, Scarlett, it just slippedout.”   “Go on.”   “I shot him and when Mother ran in to take care of Sally, I got my horse and started toJonesboro for Wilkerson. He was the one to blame. The damned black fool would never havethought of it but for him. And on the way past Tara, I met Ashley and, of course, he went with me.   He said to let him do it because of the way Wilkerson acted about Tara and I said No, it was myplace because Sally was my own dead brother’s wife, and he went with me arguing the whole way.   And when we got to town, by God, Scarlett, do you know I hadn’t even brought my pistol, I’d leftit in the stable. So mad I forgot—”   He paused and gnawed the tough pone and Scarlett shivered. The murderous rages of theFontaines had made County history long before this chapter had opened.   “So I had to take my knife to him. I found him in the barroom. I got him in a corner with Ashleyholding back the others and I told him why before I lit into him. Why, it was over before I knewit,” said Tony reflecting. “First thing I knew, Ashley had me on my horse and told me to come toyou folks. Ashley’s a good man in a pinch. He keeps his head.”   Frank came in, his greatcoat over his arm, and handed it to Tony. It was his only heavy coat butScarlett made no protest. She seemed so much on the outside of this affair, this purely masculineaffair.   “But Tony—they need you at home. Surely, if you went back and explained—”   “Frank, you’ve married a fool,” said Tony with a grin, struggling into the coat. “She thinks theYankees will reward a man for keeping niggers off his women folks. So they will, with a drumheadcourt and a rope. Give me a kiss, Scarlett. Frank won’t mind and I may never see you again. Texasis a long way off. I won’t dare write, so let the home folks know I got this far in safety.”   She let him kiss her and the two men went out into the driving rain and stood for a moment,talking on the back porch. Then she heard a sudden splashing of hooves and Tony was gone. Sheopened the door a crack and saw Frank leading a heaving, stumbling horse into the carriage house.   She shut the door again and sat down, her knees trembling.   Now she knew what Reconstruction meant, knew as well as if the house were ringed about bynaked savages, squatting in breech clouts. Now there came rushing to her mind many things towhich she had given little thought recently, conversations she had heard but to which she had notlistened, masculine talk which had been checked half finished when she came into rooms, smallincidents in which she had seen no significance at the time, Frank’s futile warnings to her againstdriving out to the mill with only the feeble Uncle Peter to protect her. Now they fitted themselvestogether into one horrifying picture.   The negroes were on top and behind them were the Yankee bayonets. She could be killed, shecould be raped and, very probably, nothing would ever be done about it. And anyone who avengedher would be hanged by the Yankees, hanged without benefit of trial by judge and jury. Yankeeofficers who knew nothing of law and cared less for the circumstances of the crime could gothrough the motions of holding a trial and put a rope around a Southerner’s neck.   “What can we do?” she thought, wringing her hands in an agony of helpless fear. “What can wedo with devils who’d hang a nice boy like Tony just for killing a drunken buck and a scoundrellyScalawag to protect his women folks?”   “It isn’t to be borne!” Tony had cried and he was right. It couldn’t be borne. But what could theydo except bear it, helpless as they were? She fell to trembling and, for the first time in her life, shepeople and events something apart from herself, saw clearly that Scarlett O’Hara,frigh(saw) tenedandhelpless,was(as) not all that mattered. There were thousands of women like her, allover the South, who were frightened and helpless. And thousands of men, who had laid down theirarms at Appomattox, had taken them up again and stood ready to risk their necks on a minute’snotice to protect those women.   There had been something in Tony’s face which had been mirrored in Frank’s, an expression shehad seen recently on the faces of other men in Atlanta, a look she had noticed but had not troubledto analyze. It was an expression vastly different from the tired helplessness she had seen in thefaces of men coming home from the war after the surrender. Those men had not cared aboutanything except getting home. Now they were caring about something again, numbed nerves werecoming back to life and the old spirit was beginning to burn. They were caring again with a coldruthless bitterness. And, like Tony, they were thinking: “It isn’t to be borne!”   She had seen Southern men, soft voiced and dangerous in the days before the war, reckless andhard in the last despairing days of the fighting. But in the faces of the two men who stared at eachother across the candle flame so short a while ago there had been something that was different,something that heartened her but frightened her—fury which could find no words, determinationwhich would stop at nothing.   For the first time, she felt a kinship with the people about her, felt one with them in their fears,their bitterness, their determination. No, it wasn’t to be borne! The South was too beautiful a placeto be let go without a struggle, too loved to be trampled by Yankees who hated Southerners enoughto enjoy grinding them into the dirt, too dear a homeland to be turned over to ignorant negroesdrunk with whisky and freedom.   As she thought of Tony’s sudden entrance and swift exit, she felt herself akin to him, for sheremembered the old story how her father had left Ireland, left hastily and by night, after a murderwhich was no murder to him or to his family. Gerald’s blood was in her, violent blood. Sheremembered her hot joy in shooting the marauding Yankee. Violent blood was in them all,perilously close to the surface, lurking just beneath the kindly courteous exteriors. All of them, allthe men she knew, even the drowsy-eyed Ashley and fidgety old Frank, were like that underneath—murderous, violent if the need arose. Even Rhett, conscienceless scamp that he was, had killed anegro for being “uppity to a lady.”   “Oh, Frank, how long will it be like this?” she leaped to her feet.   “As long as the Yankees hate us so, Sugar.”   “Is there nothing anybody can do?”   Frank passed a tired hand over his wet beard. “We are doing things.”   “What?”   “Why talk of them till we have accomplished something? It may take years. Perhaps—perhapsthe South will always be like this.”   “Oh, no!”   “Sugar, come to bed. You must be chilled. You are shaking.”   “When will it all end?”   “When we can all vote again, Sugar. When every man who fought for the South can put a ballotin the box for a Southerner and a Democrat.”   “A ballot?” she cried despairingly. “What good’s a ballot when the darkies have lost their minds—when the Yankees have poisoned them against us?”   Frank went on to explain in his patient manner, but the idea that ballots could cure the troublewas too complicated for her to follow. She was thinking gratefully that Jonas Wilkerson wouldnever again be a menace of Tara and she was thinking about Tony.   “Oh, the poor Fontaines!” she exclaimed. “Only Alex left and so much to do at Mimosa. Whydidn’t Tony have sense enough to—to do it at night when no one would know who it was? A sightmore good he’d do helping with the spring plowing than in Texas.”   Frank put an arm about her. Usually he was gingerly when he did this, as if he anticipated beingimpatiently shaken off, but tonight there was a far-off look in his eyes and his arm was firm abouther waist.   “There things more important now than plowing, Sugar. And scaring the darkies andteachingtheS(are) calawags a lesson is one of them. As long as there are fine boys like Tony left, Iguess we won’t need to worry about the South too much. Come to bed.”   “But, Frank—”   “If we just stand together and don’t give an inch to the Yankees, we’ll win, some day. Don’t youbother your pretty head about it, Sugar. You let your men folks worry about it Maybe it won’t come in our time, but surely it will come some day. The Yankees will get tired of pestering uswhen they see they can’t even dent us, and then we’ll have a decent world to live in and raise ourchildren in.”   She thought of Wade and the secret she had carried silently for some days. No, she didn’t wanther children raised in this welter of hate and uncertainty, of bitterness and violence lurking justbelow the surface, of poverty and grinding hardships and insecurity. She never wanted children ofhers to know what all this was like. She wanted a secure and well-ordered world in which shecould look forward and know there was a safe future ahead for them, a world where her childrenwould know only softness and warmth and good clothes and fine food.   Frank thought this could be accomplished by voting. Voting? What did votes matter? Nicepeople in the South would never have the vote again. There was only one thing in the world thatwas a certain bulwark against any calamity which fate could bring, and that was money. Shethought feverishly that they must have money, lots of it to keep them safe against disaster.   Abruptly, she told him she was going to have a baby.   For weeks after Tony’s escape, Aunt Pitty’s house was subjected to repeated searches by partiesof Yankee soldiers. They invaded the house at all hours and without warning. They swarmedthrough the rooms, asking questions, opening closets, prodding clothes hampers, peering underbeds. The military authorities had heard that Tony had been advised to go to Miss Pitty’s house,and they were certain he was still hiding there or somewhere in the neighborhood.   As a result, Aunt Pitty was chronically in what Uncle Peter called a “state,” never knowingwhen her bedroom would be entered by an officer and a squad of men. Neither Frank nor Scarletthad mentioned Tony’s brief visit, so the old lady could have revealed nothing, even had she beenso inclined. She was entirely honest in her fluttery protestations that she had seen Tony Fontaineonly once in her life and that was at Christmas time in 1862.   “And,” she would add breathlessly to the Yankee soldiers, in an effort to be helpful, “he wasquite intoxicated at the time.”   Scarlett, sick and miserable in the early stage of pregnancy, alternated between a passionatehatred of the bluecoats who invaded her privacy, frequently carrying away any little knick-knackthat appealed to them, and an equally passionate fear that Tony might prove the undoing of themall. The prisons were full of people who had been arrested for much less reason. She knew that ifone iota of the truth were proved against them, not only she and Frank but the innocent Pitty aswell would go to jail.   For some time there had been an agitation in Washington to confiscate all “Rebel property” topay the United States’ war debt and this agitation had kept Scarlett in a state of anguishedapprehension. Now, in addition to this, Atlanta was full of wild rumors about the confiscation ofproperty of offenders against military law, and Scarlett quaked lest she and Frank lose not onlytheir freedom but the house, the store and the mill. And if their property were not appropriatedbythemilitary,itwouldbeasgoodaslostifsheand(even) Frank went to jail, for whowould look after their business in their absence?   She hated Tony for bringing such trouble upon them. How could he have done such a thing tofriends? And how could Ashley have sent Tony to them? Never again would she give aid to anyoneif it meant having the Yankees come down on her like a swarm of hornets. No, she would bar thedoor against anyone needing help. Except, of course, Ashley. For weeks after Tony’s brief visit shewoke from uneasy dreams at any sound in the road outside, fearing it might be Ashley trying tomake his escape, fleeing to Texas because of the aid he had given Tony. She did not know howmatters stood with him, for they did not dare write to Tara about Tony’s midnight visit. Theirletters might be intercepted by the Yankees and bring trouble upon the plantation as well. But,when weeks went by and they heard no bad news, they knew that Ashley had somehow come clear.   And finally, the Yankees ceased annoying them.   But even this relief did not free Scarlett from the state of dread which began when Tony cameknocking at their door, a dread which was worse than the quaking fear of the siege shells, worseeven than the terror of Sherman’s men during the last days of the war. It was as if Tony’sappearance that wild rainy night had stripped merciful blinders from her eyes and forced her to seethe true uncertainty of her life.   Looking about her in that cold spring of 1866, Scarlett realized what was facing her and thewhole South. She might plan and scheme, she might work harder than her slaves had ever worked,she might succeed in overcoming all of her hardships, she might through dint of determinationsolve problems for which her earlier life had provided no training at all. But for all her labor andsacrifice and resourcefulness, her small beginnings purchased at so great a cost might be snatchedaway from her at any minute. And should this happen, she had no legal rights, no legal redress,except those same drumhead courts of which Tony had spoken so bitterly, those military courtswith their arbitrary powers. Only the negroes had rights or redress these days. The Yankees had theSouth prostrate and they intended to keep it so. The South had been tilted as by a giant malicioushand, and those who had once ruled were now more helpless than their former slaves had everbeen.   Georgia heavily garrisoned with troops and Atlanta had than its share. Thecommandants of (was) the Yankee troops in the various cities had complete power, (more) even the power of lifeand death, over the civilian population, and they used that power. They could and did imprison citizensfor any cause, or no cause, seize their property, hang them. They could and did harass andhamstring them with conflicting regulations about the operation of their business, the wages theymust pay their servants, what they should say in public and private utterances and what they shouldwrite in newspapers. They regulated how, when and where they must dump their garbage and theydecided what songs the daughters and wives of ex-Confederates could sing, so that the singing of“Dixie” or “Bonnie Blue Flag” became an offense only a little less serious than treason. They ruledthat no one could get a letter out of. the post office without taking the Iron Clad oath and, in someinstances, they even prohibited the issuance of marriage licenses unless the couples had taken thehated oath.   The newspapers were so muzzled that no public protest could be raised against the injustices ordepredations of the military, and individual protests were silenced with jail sentences. The jailswere full of prominent citizens and there they stayed without hope of early trial. Trial by jury andthe law of habeas corpus were practically suspended. The civil courts still functioned after a fashion but they functioned at the pleasure of the military, who could and did interfere with theirverdicts, so that citizens so unfortunate as to get arrested were virtually at the mercy of the militaryauthorities. And so many did get arrested. The very suspicion of seditious utterances against thegovernment, suspected complicity in the Ku Klux Klan, or complaint by a negro that a white manhad been uppity to him were enough to land a citizen in jail. Proof and evidence were not needed.   The accusation was sufficient. And thanks to the incitement of the Freedmen’s Bureau, negroescould always be found who were willing to bring accusations.   The negroes had not yet been given the right to vote but the North was determined that theyshould vote and equally determined that their vote should be friendly to the North. With this inmind, nothing was too good for the negroes. The Yankee soldiers backed them up in anything theychose to do, and the surest way for a white person to get himself into trouble was to bring acomplaint of any kind against a negro.   The former slaves were now the lords of creation and, with the aid of the Yankees, the lowestand most ignorant ones were on top. The better class of them, scorning freedom, were suffering asseverely as their white masters. Thousands of house servants, the highest caste in the slavepopulation, remained with their white folks, doing manual labor which had been beneath them inthe old days. Many loyal field hands also refused to avail themselves of the new freedom, but thehordes of “trashy free issue niggers,” who were causing most of the trouble, were drawn largelyfrom the field-hand class.   In slave days, these lowly blacks had been despised by the house negroes and yard negroes ascreatures of small worth. Just as Ellen had done, other plantation mistresses throughout the Southhad put the pickaninnies through courses of training and elimination to select the best of them forthe positions of greater responsibility. Those consigned to the fields were the ones least willing orable to learn, the least energetic, the least honest and trustworthy, the most vicious and brutish. Andnow this class, the lowest in the black social order, was making life a misery for the South.   Aided by the unscrupulous adventurers who operated the Freedmen’s Bureau and urged on by afervor of Northern hatred almost religious in its fanaticism, the former field hands foundthemselves suddenly elevated to the seats of the mighty. There they conducted themselves ascreatures of small intelligence might naturally be expected to do. Like monkeys or small childrenturned loose among treasured objects whose value is beyond their comprehension, they ran wild—either from perverse pleasure in destruction or simply because of their ignorance.   To the credit of the negroes, including the least intelligent of them, few were actuated by maliceand those few had usually been “mean niggers” even in slave days. But they were, as a class,childlike in mentality, easily led and from long habit accustomed to taking orders. Formerly theirwhite masters had given the orders. Now they had a new set of masters, the Bureau and theCarpetbaggers, and their orders were: “You’re just as good as any white man, so act that way. Justas soon as you can vote the Republican ticket, you are going to have the white man’s property. It’sas good as yours now. Take it, if you can get it!”   Dazzled by these tales, freedom became a never-ending picnic, a barbecue every day of theweek, a carnival of idleness and theft and insolence. Country negroes flocked into the cities,leaving the rural districts without labor to make the crops. Atlanta was crowded with them and still they came by the hundreds, lazy and dangerous as a result of the new doctrines being taught them.   Packed into squalid cabins, smallpox, typhoid and tuberculosis broke out among them.   Accustomed to the care of their mistresses when they were ill in slave days, they did not know howto nurse themselves or their sick. Relying upon their masters in the old days to care for their agedand their babies, they now had no sense of responsibility for their helpless. And the Bureau was fartoo interested in political matters to provide the care the plantation owners had once given.   Abandoned negro children ran like frightened animals about the town until kind-hearted whitepeople took them into their kitchens to raise. Aged country darkies, deserted by their children,bewildered and panic stricken in the bustling town, sat on the curbs and cried to the ladies whopassed: “Mistis, please Ma’m, write mah old Marster down in Fayette County dat Ah’s up hyah.   He’ll come tek dis ole nigger home agin. ‘Fo’ Gawd, Ah done got nuff of dis freedom!”   The Freedmen’s Bureau, overwhelmed by the numbers who poured in upon them, realized toolate a part of the mistake and tried to send them back to their former owners. They told the negroesthat if they would go back, they would go as free workers, protected by written contractsspecifying wages by the day. The old darkies went back to the plantations gladly, making a heavierburden than ever on the poverty-stricken planters who had not the heart to turn them out, but theyoung ones remained in Atlanta. They did not want to be workers of any kind, anywhere. Whywork when the belly is full?   For the first time in their lives the negroes were able to get all the whisky they might want. Inslave days, it was something they never tasted except at Christmas, when each one received a“drap” along with his gift. Now they had not only the Bureau agitators and the Carpetbaggersurging them on, but the incitement of whisky as well, and outrages were inevitable. Neither life norproperty was safe from them and the white people, unprotected by law, were terrorized. Men wereinsulted on the streets by drunken blacks, houses and barns were burned at night, horses and cattleand chickens stolen in broad daylight, crimes of all varieties were committed and few of the perpetratorswere brought to justice.   But these ignominies and dangers were as nothing compared with the peril of white women,many bereft by the war of male protection, who lived alone in the outlying districts and on lonelyroads. It was the large number of outrages on women and the ever-present fear for the safety oftheir wives and daughters that drove Southern men to cold and trembling fury and caused the KuKlux Klan to spring up overnight. And it was against this nocturnal organization that thenewspapers of the North cried out most loudly, never realizing the tragic necessity that brought itinto being. The North wanted every member of the Ku Klux hunted down and hanged, becausethey had dared take the punishment of crime into their own hands at a time when the ordinaryprocesses of law and order had been overthrown by the invaders.   Here was the astonishing spectacle of half a nation attempting, at the point of bayonet, to forceupon the other half the rule of negroes, many of them scarcely one generation out of the Africanjungles. The vote must be given to them but it must be denied to most of their former owners. TheSouth must be kept down and disfranchisement of the whites was one way to keep the South down.   Most of those who had fought for the Confederacy, held office under it or given aid and comfort toit were not allowed to vote, had no choice in the selection of their public officials and were whollyunder the power of an alien rule. Many men, thinking soberly of General Lee’s words and example, wished to take the oath, become citizens again and forget the past. But they were notpermitted to take it. Others who were permitted to take the oath, hotly refused to do so, scorning toswear allegiance to a government which was deliberately subjecting them to cruelty andhumiliation.   Scarlett heard over and over until she could have screamed at the repetition: “I’d have takentheir damned oath right after the surrender if they’d acted decent I can be restored to the Union, butby God, I can’t be reconstructed into it!”   Through these anxious days and nights, Scarlett was torn with fear. The ever-present menace oflawless negroes and Yankee soldiers preyed on her mind, the danger of confiscation was constantlywith her, in her dreams, and she dreaded worse terrors to come. Depressed by thehelplessnessof(even) herself and her friends, of the whole South, it was not strange that she oftenremembered during these days the words which Tony Fontaine had spoken so passionately:   “God God, Scarlett, it isn’t to be borne! And it won’t be borne!”   In spite of war, fire and Reconstruction, Atlanta had again become a boom town. In many ways,the place resembled the busy young city of the Confederacy’s early days. The only trouble was thatthe soldiers crowding the streets wore the wrong kind of uniforms, the money was in the hands ofthe wrong people, and the negroes were living in leisure while their former masters struggled andstarved.   Underneath the surface were misery and fear, but all the outward appearances were those of athriving town that was rapidly rebuilding from its ruins, a bustling, hurrying town. Atlanta, itseemed, must always be hurrying, no matter what its circumstances might be. Savannah,Charleston, Augusta, Richmond, New Orleans would never hurry. It was ill bred and Yankeefied tohurry. But in this period, Atlanta was more ill bred and Yankeefied than it had ever been before orwould ever be again. With “new people” thronging in from all directions, the streets were chokedand noisy from morning till night. The shiny carriages of Yankee officers’ wives and newly richCarpetbaggers splashed mud on the dilapidated buggies of the townspeople, and gaudy new homesof wealthy strangers crowded in among the sedate dwellings of older citizens.   The war had definitely established the importance of Atlanta in the affairs of the South and thehitherto obscure town was now known far and wide. The railroads for which Sherman had foughtan entire summer and killed thousands of men were again stimulating the life of the city they hadbrought into being. Atlanta was again the center of activities for a wide region, as it had beenbefore its destruction, and the town was receiving a great influx of new citizens, both welcome andunwelcome.   Invading Carpetbaggers made Atlanta their headquarters and on the streets they jostled againstrepresentatives of the oldest families in the South who were likewise newcomers in the town.   Families from the country districts who had been burned out during Sherman’s march and whocould no longer make a living without the slaves to till the cotton had come to Atlanta to live. Newsettlers were coming in every day from Tennessee and the Carolinas where the hand ofReconstruction lay even heavier than in Georgia. Many Irish and Germans who had been bounty men in the Union Army had settled in Atlanta after their discharge. The wives and families of theYankee garrison, filled with curiosity about the South after four years of war, came to swell thepopulation. Adventurers of every kind swarmed in, hoping to make their fortunes, and the negroesfrom the country continued to come by the hundreds.   The town was roaring—wide open like a frontier village, making no effort to cover its vices andsins. Saloons blossomed overnight, two and sometimes three in a block, and after nightfall thestreets were full of drunken men, black and white, reeling from wall to curb and back again.   Thugs, pickpockets and prostitutes lurked in the unlit alleys and shadowy streets. Gambling housesran full blast and hardly a night passed without its shooting or cutting affray. Respectable citizenswere scandalized to find that Atlanta had a large and thriving red-light district, larger and morethriving than during the war. All night long pianos jangled from behind drawn shades and rowdysongs and laughter floated out, punctuated by occasional screams and pistol shots. The inmates ofthese houses were bolder than the prostitutes of the war days and brazenly hung out of theirwindows and called to passers-by. And on Sunday afternoons, the handsome closed carriages ofthe madams of the district rolled down the main streets, filled with girls in their best finery, takingthe air from behind lowered silk shades.   Belle Watling was the most notorious of the madams. She had opened a new house of her own, alarge two-story building that made neighboring houses in the district look like shabby rabbitwarrens. There was a long barroom downstairs, elegantly hung with oil paintings, and a negroorchestra played every night. The upstairs, so rumor said, was fitted out with the finest of plushupholstered furniture, heavy lace curtains and imported mirrors in gilt frames. The dozen youngladies with whom the house was furnished were comely, if brightly painted, and comportedthemselves more quietly than those of other houses. At least, the police were seldom summoned toBelle’s.   This house was something that the matrons of Atlanta whispered about furtively and ministerspreached against in guarded terms as a cesspool of iniquity, a hissing and a reproach. Everyoneknew that a woman of Belle’s type couldn’t have made enough money by herself to set up such aluxurious establishment. She had to have a backer and a rich one at that. And Rhett Butler hadnever had the decency to conceal his relations with her, so it was obvious that he and no other mustbe that backer. Belle herself presented a prosperous appearance when glimpsed occasionally in herclosed carriage driven by an impudent yellow negro. When she drove by, behind a fine pair ofbays, all the little boys along the street who could evade their mothers ran to peer at her andwhisper excitedly: “That’s her! That’s ole Belle! I seen her red hair!”   Shouldering the shell-pitted houses patched with bits of old lumber and smoke-blackened bricks,the fine homes of the Carpetbaggers and war profiteers were rising, with mansard roofs, gables andturrets, stained-glass windows and wide lawns. Night after night, in these newly built homes, thewindows were ablaze with gas light and the sound of music and dancing feet drifted out upon theair. Women in stiff bright-colored silks strolled about long verandas, squired by men in eveningclothes. Champagne corks popped, and on lace tablecloths seven-course dinners were laid. Hamsin wine, pressed duck, paté de foie gras, rare fruits in and out of season, were spread in profusion.   Behind the shabby doors of the old houses, poverty and hunger lived—all the more bitter for thebrave gentility with which they were borne, all the more pinching for the outward show of proud indifference to material wants. Dr. Meade could tell unlovely stories of those families who hadbeen driven from mansions to boarding houses and from boarding houses to dingy rooms on backstreets. He had too many lady patients who were suffering from “weak hearts” and “declines.” Heknew, and they knew he knew, that slow starvation was the trouble. He could tell of consumptionmaking inroads on entire families and of pellagra, once found only among poor whites, which wasnow appearing in Atlanta’s best families. And there were babies with thin rickety legs and motherswho could not nurse them. Once the old doctor had been wont to thank God reverently for eachchild he brought into the world. Now he did not think life was such a boon. It was a hard world forlittle babies and so many died in their first few months of life.   Bright lights and wine, fiddles and dancing, brocade and broadcloth in the showy big housesand, just around the corners, slow starvation and cold. Arrogance and callousness for theconquerors, bitter endurance and hatred for the conquered.   四月的一个黑夜,外面上着暴雨,托尼•方丹从琼斯博罗骑着一匹大汗淋漓累得半死的马来到他们家门口敲门,将弗兰克和思嘉从睡梦中惊醒,搞得他们心惊肉跳。这是四个月以来思嘉第二次敏锐地感觉到重建时期的全部含义是什么,而且更深刻地理解了威尔说"我们的麻烦还刚刚开始"的含意,同时也懂得了艾希礼那天在寒冷飕飕的塔拉果园里说的那些凄凉的话是多么正确----他当时说:“我们大家面对的是比战争还在坏、比监狱还在坏----比死亡还要坏的局面呢。"她首次与重建时期直接地接触是她听说乔纳斯•威尔克森在北方佬支持下要将她从塔拉撵出去的时候。但这次托尼的到来以一种可怕多的方式使她更深切地明白了重建时期的含义。托尼在黑夜里冒着大雨奔来,几分钟之后又重新消失在黑夜里,但就在这短暂的时间内他拉开了一场新恐怖剧的帷幕,而思嘉绝望地感到这帷幕永远也不会再落下来了。   在那个下大雨的夜晚,来人急促地敲打着他们家大门,思嘉披着围巾站在楼梯平台上往下面大厅一看,瞧见了托尼那张黝黑阴郁的面孔,而托尼上前立即把弗兰克手里的蜡烛吹灭了。她赶紧摸黑下楼,紧握着她那双冰冷潮湿的手,听他轻轻地说:“他们在追我----我要到得克萨斯去----我的马快死了----我也快饿死了。艾希礼说你们会----可不要点蜡烛呀!千万不要把黑人弄醒了。……我希望尽可能不给你们带来什么麻烦。"直到厨房里的百叶窗被放下来,所有的帘子也都拉到了底之后,托尼才允许点上一支蜡烛,向弗兰克急急忙忙说起来,思嘉则在一旁忙碌着为他张罗吃的。   他没有穿大衣,浑身都被雨淋透了,帽子也没戴,一头黑发在小脑壳上。不过,当他一口吞下思嘉端来的威士忌之后,那双飞舞的小眼睛又流露出方丹家小伙子们的快活劲儿,尽管在当时情况下,它有点令人寒心。思嘉感谢上帝,幸亏皮蒂小姐正在楼上大打呼噜,没有被惊醒,否则她看见这个幽灵准会晕过去的。   “该死的杂种,不中用的家伙,"托尼咒骂着,一面伸出杯子想再要一杯。"我已经精疲力尽了,不过要是我不迅速离开这里,我的这张AE?就完了,不过这也值得。上帝作证,真是如此!我如今得设法赶到得克萨斯去,在那里藏起来。艾希礼在琼斯博罗跟我在一起,是他叫我来找你们的。弗兰克,我得另外找一骑马,还得在一点钱。我这骑马快要死了----它一路上在拼命赶呢—-我今天像个傻瓜,像从地狱里出来的蝙蝠一样从家里跑出来,既没穿大衣又没戴帽子,身上一个钱子儿也没有。不过家里也真没多少钱了。"说着说着他竟笑起来,开始贪婪地吃着涂了厚厚一层冻黄油的凉玉米面包和凉萝卜叶子。   “你可以把我的马骑去,"弗兰克平静地说。"我手头只有十块钱,不过,要是思你能等明天早晨----"“啊,地狱着了火,我可等不及了!"托尼加重语气但仍很高兴地说。"也许他们就在我后面。我就是急急忙忙动身的。   要不是艾希礼把我从那里拉出来,催我赶快上马,我会像个傻瓜似的还待在那里,说不定现在已经被绞死了。艾希礼可真是个好人。"这么说,艾希礼也卷进了这个可怕的令人费解的事件中去了。思嘉浑身冷得发抖,心快蹦到喉咙里了。北方佬现在抓到了艾希礼没有?为什么弗兰克不问个究竟?为什么他把这一切看得如此平淡,似乎是理所当然的呢?她忍不住开口提问了。   “是什么事情----是谁----”   “是你父亲过去的监工----那个该死的乔纳斯•威尔克森。"“是你把----他打死了吗?"“天哪,思嘉•奥哈拉!"托尼愤怒地说。"要是我打算杀了某某人,你不会以为我只拿刀子钝的那面刮他一下就满意了吧?不,天哪,我将他碎尸万段了。"“好,"弗兰克平静地说。"我向来就不喜欢这个家伙。"思嘉向他看了看。这可不像她所了解的那个温顺的弗兰克,那个她觉得可以随便欺侮、只会胆怯地捋胡子的人。他此时显得那么干脆、冷静,在紧急情况面前一句废话也不说了。他成了一个男子汉,托尼也是个男子汉,而这种暴乱场合正是他们男子汉大显身手的时候,可没有女人的份儿呢。   “不过艾希礼----他有没有----”   “没有。他想杀那人家伙,但我告诉他这是我的权利,因为萨莉是我的弟媳。最后他明白了这个道理。他同我一起去琼斯博罗,怕万一威尔克森先伤了我。不过我并不认为艾希礼会受到牵连的。但愿如此。给我在这玉米面包上涂点果酱好吗?能不能再给我包点东西留在路上吃?"“要是你不把一切情况都告诉我,我可要大声嚷嚷了。"“等我走了以后,如果你想嚷嚷就请便吧。趁弗兰克给我备马的这会儿功夫,我把事情讲给你听吧。那个该死的-威尔克森早就惹了不少麻烦。你当然知道,他在你的税金问题上做了些什么文章。这只不过是他卑鄙无耻的一个方面罢了。   最可恨的是他不断煽动那些黑人。要是有人告诉我,说我能活着看到我可以憎恨黑人的那一天就好了。那些黑人真该死,他们居然相信那帮流氓告诉他们的一切,却忘了我们为他们做的每一件事情。现在北方佬又主张要让黑人参加选举,可他们却不让我们选举。嗨,全县几乎只有极少几个民主党人没有被剥夺选举权了,因为他们又排除了所有在联盟军部队里打过仗的人呢。要是他们让黑人有选举权,我们就完了,该死的,这是我们的国家呀!并不属于北方佬!天哪,思嘉,这实在无法忍受,也不能忍受了!我们得起来干,即便这导致着另一场战争也在所不惜,很我们便将有黑人法官,黑人议员----全是些从树林里蹦出来的黑猴子----"“请你----快点告诉我吧!你到底干了什么?"“慢点包,让我再吃口玉米面包吧。是这样,据说威尔克森干的那些搞黑人平等的事走得实在太远了点。他成天同那些傻黑鬼谈这些事,他竟胆敢-—"托尼无奈地急急地说,“说黑人有权跟----白种女人----"“唔,托尼,不会呢!"“天哪,就是这样!你好像很伤心,这我并不奇怪。不过,地狱着了火,思嘉,这对你来说,不会是新闻了。他们在亚特兰大这里也正在对黑鬼这样说呢。"“这我----我可不知道。"“唔,一定是弗兰克不让你知道。不管怎样,在这之后我们大家认为我们得在夜里私下去拜访威尔克森先生,教训他一顿,可是还没等我们去----你记得那个叫尤斯蒂斯的黑鬼吗,就是过去一直在我们家当工头的那个人?"“记得。"“就是那个尤斯蒂斯,今天萨莉正在厨房做饭的时候,他跑到厨房里面----我不知道他跟她说了些什么。我想我再也不会知道他说些什么了。反正他说了些什么,拉着我听见萨莉尖叫起来,便跑到厨房里去,只见他站在那里,喝得烂醉像个浪荡子----思嘉,请原凉我说漏了嘴。"“说下去吧。"”我用枪把他打死了,母亲急急忙忙赶来照顾萨莉,我便骑上马跑到琼斯博罗去找威尔克森,他是应该对此负责的。要不是他,那该死的傻黑鬼是决不会想到干这种事情。一路经过塔拉时,我碰到了艾希礼,当然他便跟我一起去了。他说让他来干掉威尔克森,因为他早想对他在塔拉的行为进行报复了。不过我说不行,因为萨莉是我死去的同胞兄弟的妻子,所以这该是我的事。他一路上跟我争论不休。等我们到了城里,天哪,思嘉你看,我竟没带手枪!我把它丢在马房里了。   把我给气疯了----”   他停下来,咬一了口硬面包,这时思嘉在发抖。方丹家族中那种危险的狂暴性格在本县历史上早就闻名了。   “所以我只得用刀子来对付他。我在酒吧间找到了他,把他逼到一个角落里,艾希礼把别的人挡祝我首先向他说明来意,然后才将刀子猛戳过去,随即,还没等我明白过来事情便完了,"托尼边想,边说着。"等我明白过来的第一件事是艾希礼让我上马,叫我到你们这里来,艾希礼在紧要关头是个好样的。他一直保持着清醒的头脑。"弗兰克拿着自己的大衣进来了,顺手把大衣递给了托尼。   这是他唯一的一件厚大衣,但思嘉没有表示异议。她好像对这件事完全站在局外,这可纯粹是男人的事呀。   “不过,托尼,家里需要你着呢。真的,要是你回去解释一下----"“弗兰克,你真是娶个傻老婆呀,"托尼一面挣扎着把大衣穿上,一面列着嘴笑笑。"她可能还以为北方佬会给一个保护女同胞不受黑鬼污辱的男人发奖呢。他们会发的,那就是临时法庭和一根绳子。思嘉,亲我一下吧,弗兰克,你可别介意,我也许和你从此永别了。得克萨斯离这里远着呢。我可不敢写信,所以请告诉我家里人,到目前为止,我还平安无事。"思嘉让他亲了一下,两个男人便一起走出去,进入倾盆大雨之中。他们在后门口又站了一会说了些什么。接着,思嘉突然听到一阵马蹄溅水的声音,托尼走了,她打开一道门缝,看见弗兰克牵着一匹喘着气、跌跌绊绊的马进了马房。她关上门,颓然坐下,两个膝盖仍在发抖。   现在她知道重建运动究竟意味着什么了,就像知道如果家里被一群只束着遮羞布蹲在那里的光身子野人所包围时意味着什么一样。归近许多她很少想到的事情如今一下子涌上了心头,比如说,她听到过但当时并没有在意去听的那些话,男人们正在进行但她一进来便中止的议论,还有一些当是看来并没有什么意思的小事情,以及弗兰克费尽心机地警告她不要在只有虚弱的彼得大叔保护下赶车去木厂,等等。现在这一切汇在一起,便形成一幅令人害怕的景象了。   黑人爬到了上层,他们背后有北方佬的刺刀保护着。思嘉可能被人杀死,被人强奸,对于这种事很可能谁也没有办法。要有人替他报仇,这个人就会被北方佬绞死,也无需经过法官和陪审团的审判。那些对法律一窍不通、对犯罪情节毫不在意的北方佬军官门,只需草草经过举行一次审判的动议,便可以把绞索套到南方人的脖子上了。   “我们怎么办呢?"她双手绞着,处于一种恐怖无依的极端痛苦之中。"那些魔鬼会绞死像托尼这样好的小伙子,就为他为了保护自己的女同胞而杀死了一个黑醉鬼和一个恶棍般的无赖,对这些魔鬼我们怎么办呀?"“实在无法忍受!"托尼曾经大声呐喊过,他是对的。实在是无法忍受。不过他们既然无依无靠,不忍受又怎么办呢?   她开始浑身发抖,并且有生以来第一次客观地看待一些人和事,清楚地认识到吓怕了孤弱无助的思嘉•奥哈拉并不是世界上唯一重要的事了。成千上成像她那样的女人遍布南方,她们都吓怕了,都是些孤弱无助的人。还有成千上万的男人,他们本来在阿波马托克斯放下了武器,现在又将武器拿起来,准备随时冒生命危险去保护这些女人。   托尼脸上显出某种在弗兰克脸上也反映出来的表情,一种她最近在亚特兰大别的男人脸上也看见了的表情,一种她注意到了但没有想到要去分析的神色。这种表情同投降后从战场上回来的男人脸上那种厌倦而无可奈何的表情完全不一样。当时那些男人只想回家,别的什么也不管。可现在他们又在关心某些事情了,麻木的神经恢复了知觉,原先的锐气又在燃烧。他们正怀着一种残酷无情的痛苦在重新关心周围的一切。像托尼一样,他们也在思索:”实在无法忍受!"她见过多少南方的男人,他们在战前说话温和,但好勇斗险,在最后战斗的绝望日子里不顾一切,坚韧不拔。但是,就在短短的片刻之前,从那两个男人隔着烛光相对注视的面孔中,她看到了某种不同的东西,某种使她感到振奋而又害怕的东西----那是无法形容的愤怒,难以阻挡的决心。   她第一次觉得自己同周围的人有了一种类似亲属的亲密关系,感到与他们的愤怒、痛苦和决心已融为一体了。的确,实在难以忍受!南方是这么美好的一个地方,决不容许轻易放弃它;南方是如此可爱,决不容许那些痛恨南方人、想把他们碾得粉碎的北方佬来加取践踏;南方是这么珍贵的家乡,决不容许让它落在那些沉醉在威士忌和自由之中的无知黑人手中。   她一想到托尼的匆匆到来,便觉得自己与他有了血缘关系,因为她想起她父亲在一次对他或他的家族来说不算杀人的谋杀事件之后连夜匆匆离开爱尔兰的故事。她身上有杰拉尔德的血,暴力的血。他记起自己开枪打死那个抢东西的北方佬时那股激动的高兴劲儿。他们身上都有暴力的血,它危险地接近表面,就潜伏在那温文尔雅的外貌下。他们大家,她认识的所有男人,连那两眼朦胧的艾希礼和哆哆嗦嗦的老弗兰克也在内,都有那种潜伏在底下的品质----必要时都能杀人,都会使用暴力。就连瑞德这个没有一点道德观念的流氓,也因为一个黑人"对贵妇人傲慢无礼"而把他杀了呢。   当弗兰克浑身湿淋淋,咳嗽着进来时,她才猛地一跃而起。   “唔,弗兰克,像这种日子,我们还要熬多久呀?"“只要北方佬还恨我们,我们就得过下去,宝贝儿。"“难道就没有了一点办法吗?"弗兰克用疲倦的手捋了捋湿胡子。"我们正在想办法呢。"“什么办法?"“干吗不等我们搞出点名堂以后再谈呢?也许得花好多年的时间。也许----也许南方将永远是这个样子了。”“唔,不会的。"“宝贝儿,睡觉去吧。你一定着凉了。你在发抖。"“这一切什么时候才结束呀?"“等我们大家有权利,可以投票选举的时候,宝贝儿。等每一个为南方打过仗的人都能投票选举南方人和民主党人的时候。““投票选举?"她绝望地叫喊道。"投票选举管什么用,要是黑人都失去了理智----要是北方佬毒化了他们,让他们反对我们?"弗兰克耐心地跟她解释,可是说通过投票选举能摆脱这一困境,这道理实在令人费解,她怎能听得懂呢。对于乔纳斯•威尔克森永远不会再对塔拉构成威胁了。她十分感激她还在想托尼。   “啊,可怜的方丹这一家!"她大声叫喊道。"只剩下亚历克斯了,而在米莫萨却有那么多的事情要做。托尼干吗不理智一点-—等到半夜再干,那样是谁干的就没人知道了。春耕的时候他要能帮上忙。比在得克萨斯要强得多了。"弗兰克伸出臂膀搂住她。通常他总是战战兢兢地搂她,好像总感到她会不耐烦地推开。而今夜他的眼睛似乎望着遥远的地方,竟无所畏惧地把她的腰紧紧搂住了。   “如今有比耕种更重要的事情要做呀,宝贝儿。教训这些黑鬼,狠狠地打击那些无赖,这就是我们要做的事情之一。只要像托尼这样的好青年还在,我想我们就不用过多地为南方担忧。让我们去睡吧。"“不过,弗兰克----"“我们只要团结在一起,对北方佬寸步不让,我们总有一天会胜利的。别让你那可爱的小脑袋瓜为这事烦恼了,宝贝儿。让男同胞的去操心吧。也许那一天不会在我们这一代来临,但相信总有一会来到的。当北方佬看到他们无法削弱我们的力量,他们会感到腻烦,不再纠缠我们。到那时候,我们就可以一个合我们意的世界里生活,养育我们的子女了。"她想起韦德,还有好几天来暗藏在她心头的那个秘密。   不,她决不愿意让她的孩子们在充满仇恨和不安、酝酿着暴力和痛苦,陷于贫穷、苦难和危险的一片混乱之中成长。她决不希望她的孩子们知道这一切。她需要一个安定的、有良好秩序的世界,可以让她朝前看,深信孩子们未来平平安安的。她希望她的孩子们面对的是宽厚、温暖和丰衣足食的世界。   弗兰克以为这一理想可以通地投票选举来实现。投票选举?那又用吗?南方的好人再也不会有选举权了。世界上只有一种东西,一种能抵抗命运带来任何灾难的可靠保障,那就是金钱。她狂热地向往着要有钱,要有许多许多钱,便他们能抵抗一切灾难,平平安安。   她突然告诉弗兰克,她快要有孩子了。   托尼逃走以后的几星期日子日子里,皮蒂姑妈家屡遭北方佬大兵的搜查。他们事先不打招呼随时闯进屋里来,在各个房间穿来穿去,见人便盘问,翻箱倒柜,甚至连床底下也要搜查。军方当局听说有人曾劝过托尼到皮蒂小姐家去,因此他们断定他藏在那里或附近什么地方。   这样,皮蒂姑妈便经常处于彼得大叔所谓的"过分紧张"之中,不知道什么时候自己的卧室里会闯入一个军官和一帮子大兵。弗兰克和思嘉都没有提到过托尼的匆匆来访,因此老太太即便想透露出透露不出任何消息来。她哆哆嗦嗦地分辩她有生以来只见过一次托尼•方丹。那是1862年的圣诞节,这话倒一点不假。   “而且,"她为了把情况说得更有利些,又赶忙向北方佬士兵们补充一句,"那时候他喝得烂醉呢。"思嘉刚刚怀孕,感到很不舒服,心情也很不好,一方面很憎恨那些穿蓝军服的大兵闯入她的私室,顺手牵羊拿走一些他们喜欢的小玩意儿,一方面也非常害怕托尼的事会最终毁了他们大家。监狱里关满了人,他们都是没有多少理由便被抓进去的。她晓得哪怕查出来蛛丝马迹,不仅她和弗兰克,就连无事的皮蒂也得去坐牢。   有一段时间华盛顿大肆宣传动没收全部"叛逆者的财产",以便偿还合众国战绩。这种宣传鼓动合得思嘉处于一种极为痛苦的忧虑之中。此处,当前亚特兰大还盛传一种谣言,说凡是触犯军法者都要没收其财产,思嘉知道了更是吓得发抖,生怕她和弗兰克不仅会失去自由,还会失去房子、店AE蘚par和木厂。即使财产没有被军方没收,但是如果她和弗兰克被送进了监狱,那同没收还有什么两样呢,要是他们自己不在,谁来照管他们的生意呀?   她埋怨托尼给他们带来了可怕的麻烦。托尼怎样对自己的朋友作出这样的事来?艾希礼怎么会叫托尼到他们这里来呢?她再也不愿帮任何人的忙了,因为这似乎意味着让北方佬像一窝蜂似地拥来向她勒索。是的,她会将需要她帮助的人都拒之门外。当然艾希礼除外。托尼来过之后的几个星AE赲par里,只要外面路上有一点动静,她便会从不安的睡梦中惊醒,生怕是艾希礼由于帮了托尼的忙也在设法逃跑,到得克萨斯去。她不知道艾希礼现在的情况怎样,因为他们不敢往塔拉写信透露托尼半夜来访的事。他们的信可能会被北方佬截取,给农场带来麻烦。但是几个星期过去了,没有什么坏消息传来,知道艾希礼总算没有被牵连上。最后,北方佬也不再来打扰他们了。   但是,即使这样,思嘉仍然没有从托尼来访时开始的恐惧中摆脱出来。这种恐惧比围城时的炮弹所引起的震惊更为厉害,甚至比战争最后几天里谢尔曼的部队所造成的恐怖还要厉害。似乎托尼在那个暴风雨之夜的出现一下子把她眼前那幅仁慈的AE?障搬走了,迫使她看到了自己的生活确实是很不牢靠的。   1866年早春,思嘉环顾周围,明白了自己和整个南方面临着怎样的前途。她可以筹划和设计未来,她可以比自己的奴隶干得更加卖力,她可以战胜种种艰难困苦,她可以凭藉自己的坚强意志解决她在早年生活中从未经历过的种种问题。然而,无论她作出多大的努力和牺牲。也无论她有多大的应变能力,她那付出了巨大代价才创立的一个小小开端却可能随时被人家一把夺走。如果真的发生这样的事情,那么除了像托尼痛苦地提到过的那种临时法庭和横行霸道的军画裁判之外,她是没有任何合法权利,也不可能得到任何补偿的。那些日子只有黑人才拥有权利或者能取得补偿。北方佬已经使南方屈服了,他们还打算继续下去。南方就像被一只狠毒的巨手弄得完全颠倒了,过去当权的人现在比他们以前的奴隶还要束手无策了。   佐治亚州到处有重兵把守,派到亚特兰大的人比别的地方更多,各个城市北方佬部队的指挥官们有着绝对的权利,对于当地居民甚至操有生杀大权,而且他们行使了这种权利。他们可以而且确实凭一点点微不足道理由或者无缘无故地将市民送进监狱,夺走他们的财产,将他们绞死。他们可以确实用种种自相矛盾的法规来折磨市民,例如,怎样经商、付仆人多少工资、在公开或私下场合说什么话、给报纸写什么文章,等等,都是有规定的。他们甚至规定垃圾该什么时候倒,倒在什么地方,如何倒法。他们规定过去南部联盟拥护者的妻子女儿只能唱什么样的歌,因此谁要是唱了《狄克西》或《美丽的蓝旗》,便构成仅次于叛逆的罪名了。他们规定任何人如果没有履行"绝对忠诚"的宣誓,就休想从邮局领取信件。他们甚至禁止发给新婚夫妇结婚证书,除非他们乖乖地宣读了这令人憎恶的誓言。   报界被剥夺了言论自由,以致军方的种种目无法纪或劫掠行为根本没有敢提出公开的抗议,而个人的抗议也由于惧怕遭到逮捕而沉默下来。监狱里关满了有声望的市民,他们待在那里没有获得早日审判的希望。陪审团审讯和人身保护法实际上都已废除。民事法庭勉强还存在,但完全由军方随心所欲人地行使职能。军方可以也确实在干预裁决,所以那些 Chapter 38 SCARLETT SAW IT ALL, lived with it by day, took it to bed with her at night, dreading alwayswhat might happen next. She knew that she and Frank were already in the Yankees’ black books,because of Tony, and disaster might descend on them at any hour. But, now of all times, she couldnot afford to be pushed back to her beginnings—not now with a baby coming, the mill justcommencing to pay and Tara depending on her for money until the cotton came in in the fall. Oh,suppose she should lose everything! Suppose she should have to start all over again with only herpuny weapons against this mad world! To have to pit her red lips and green eyes and her shrewdshallow brain against the Yankees and everything the Yankees stood for. Weary with dread, she feltthat she would rather kill herself than try to make a new beginning.   In the ruin and chaos of that spring of 1866, she single mindedly turned her energies to makingthe mill pay. There was money in Atlanta. The wave of rebuilding was giving her the opportunityshe wanted and she knew she could make money if only she could stay out of jail. But, she toldherself time and again, she would have to walk easily, gingerly, be meek under insults, yielding toinjustices, never giving offense to anyone, black or white, who might do her harm. She hated theimpudent free negroes as much as anyone and her flesh crawled with fury every time she heardtheir insulting remarks and high-pitched laughter as she went by. But she never even gave them aglance of contempt. She hated the Carpetbaggers and Scalawags who were getting rich with easewhile she struggled, but she said nothing in condemnation of them. No one in Atlanta could haveloathed the Yankees more than she, for the very sight of a blue uniform made her sick with rage,but even in the privacy of her family she kept silent about them.   I won’t be a big-mouthed fool, she thought grimly. Let others break their hearts over the olddays and the men who’ll never come back. Let others burn with fury over the Yankee rule andlosing the ballot. Let others go to jail for speaking their minds and get themselves hanged for beingin the Ku Klux Klan. (Oh, what a dreaded name that was, almost as terrifying to Scarlett as to thenegroes.) Let other women be proud that their husbands belonged. Thank God, Frank had neverbeen mixed up in it! Let others stew and fume and plot and plan about things they could not help.   What did the past matter compared with the tense present and the dubious future? What did the ballot matter when bread, a roof and staying out of jail were the real problems? And, please God,just let me stay out of trouble until June!   Only till June! By that month Scarlett knew she would be forced to retire into Aunt Pitty’s houseand remain secluded there until after her child was born. Already people were criticizing her forappearing in public when she was in such a condition. No lady ever showed herself when she waspregnant. Already Frank and Pitty were begging her not to expose herself—and them—toembarrassment and she had promised them to stop work in June.   Only till June! By June she must have the mill well enough established for her to leave it. ByJune she must have money enough to give her at least some little protection against misfortune. Somuch to do and so little time to do it! She wished for more hours of the day and counted theminutes, as she strained forward feverishly in her pursuit of money and still more money.   Because she nagged the timid Frank, the store was doing better now and he was even collectingsome of the old bills. But it was the sawmill on which her hopes were pinned. Atlanta these dayswas like a giant plant which had been cut to the ground but now was springing up again withsturdier shoots, thicker foliage, more numerous branches. The demand for building materials wasfar greater than could be supplied. Prices of lumber, brick and stone soared and Scarlett kept themill running from dawn until lantern light.   A part of every day she spent at the mill, prying into everything, doing her best to check thethievery she felt sure was going on. But most of the time she was riding about the town, makingthe rounds of builders, contractors and carpenters, even calling on strangers she had heard mightbuild at future dates, cajoling them into promises of buying from her and her only.   Soon she was a familiar sight on Atlanta’s streets, sitting in her buggy beside the dignified,disapproving old darky driver, a lap robe pulled high about her, her little mittened hands clasped inher lap. Aunt Pitty had made her a pretty green mantelet which hid her figure and a green pancakehat which matched her eyes, and she always wore these becoming garments on her business calls.   A faint dab of rouge on her cheeks and a fainter fragrance of cologne made her a charming picture,as long as she did not alight from the buggy and show her figure. And there was seldom any needfor this, for she smiled and beckoned and the men came quickly to the buggy and frequently stoodbareheaded in the rain to talk business with her.   She was not the only one who had seen the opportunities for making money out of lumber, butshe did not fear her competitors. She knew with conscious pride in her own smartness that she wasthe equal of any of them. She was Gerald’s own daughter and the shrewd trading instinct she hadinherited was now sharpened by her needs.   At first the other dealers had laughed at her, laughed with good-natured contempt at the veryidea of a woman in business. But now they did not laugh. They swore silently as they saw her rideby. The fact that she was a woman frequently worked in her favor, for she could upon occasionlook so helpless and appealing that she melted hearts. With no difficulty whatever she couldmutely convey the impression of a brave but timid lady, forced by brutal circumstance into adistasteful position, a helpless little lady who would probably starve if customers didn’t buy herlumber. But when ladylike airs failed to get results she was coldly businesslike and willinglyundersold her competitors at a loss to herself if it would bring her a new customer. She was not above selling a poor grade of lumber for the price of good lumber if she thought she would not bedetected, and she had no scruples about blackguarding the other lumber dealers. With everyappearance of reluctance at disclosing the unpleasant truth, she would sigh and tell prospectivecustomers that her competitors’ lumber was far too high in price, rotten, full of knot holes and ingeneral of deplorably poor quality.   The first time Scarlett lied in this fashion she felt disconcerted and guilty—disconcerted becausethe lie sprang so easily and naturally to her lips, guilty because the thought flashed into her mind:   What would Mother say?   There was no doubt what Ellen would say to a daughter who told lies and engaged in sharppractices. She would be stunned and incredulous and would speak gentle words that stung despitetheir gentleness, would talk of honor and honesty and truth and duty to one’s neighbor. Momentarily,Scarlett cringed as she pictured the look on her mother’s face. And then the picturefaded, blotted out by an impulse, hard, unscrupulous and greedy, which had been born in the leandays at Tara and was now strengthened by the present uncertainty of life. So she passed thismilestone as she had passed others before it—with a sigh that she was not as Ellen would like herto be, a shrug and the repetition of her unfailing charm: “I’ll think of all this later.”   But she never again thought of Ellen in connection with her business practices, never againregretted any means she used to take trade away from other lumber dealers. She knew she wasperfectly safe in lying about them. Southern chivalry protected her. A Southern lady could lie abouta gentleman but a Southern gentleman could not lie about a lady or, worse still, call the lady a liar.   Other lumbermen could only fume inwardly and state heatedly, in the bosoms of their families, thatthey wished to God Mrs. Kennedy was a man for just about five minutes.   One poor white who operated a mill on the Decatur road did try to fight Scarlett with her ownweapons, saying openly that she was a liar and a swindler. But it hurt him rather than helped, foreveryone was appalled that even a poor white should say such shocking things about a lady ofgood family, even when the lady was conducting herself in such an unwomanly way. Scarlett borehis remarks with silent dignity and, as time went by, she turned all her attention to him and hiscustomers. She undersold him so relentlessly and delivered, with secret groans, such an excellentquality of lumber to prove her probity that he was soon bankrupt. Then, to Frank’s horror, shetriumphantly bought his mill at her own price.   Once in her possession there arose the perplexing problem of finding a trustworthy man to put incharge of it. She did not want another man like Mr. Johnson. She knew that despite all herwatchfulness he was still selling her lumber behind her back, but she thought it would be easy tofind the right sort of man. Wasn’t everybody as poor as Job’s turkey, and weren’t the streets full ofmen, some of them formerly rich, who were without work? The day never went by that Frank didnot give money to some hungry ex-soldier or that Pitty and Cookie did not wrap up food for gauntbeggars.   But Scarlett, for some reason she could not understand, did not want any of these. “I don’t wantmen who haven’t found something to do after a year,” she thought. “If they haven’t adjusted topeace yet, they couldn’t adjust to me. And they all look so hangdog and licked. I don’t want a manwho’s licked. I want somebody who’s smart and energetic like Renny or Tommy Wellburn or Kells Whiting or one of the Simmons boys or—or any of that tribe. They haven’t got that I-don’t-careabout-anything look the soldiers had right after the surrender. They look like they cared a heapabout a heap of things.”   But to her surprise the Simmons boys, who had started a brick kiln, and Kells Whiting, who wasselling a preparation made up in his mother’s kitchen, that was guaranteed to straighten the lankiestnegro hair in six applications, smiled politely, thanked her and refused. It was the same with thedozen others she approached. In desperation she raised the wage she was offering but she was stillrefused. One of Mrs. Merriwether’s nephews observed impertinently that while he didn’tespecially enjoy driving a dray, it was his own dray and he would rather get somewhere under hisown steam than Scarlett’s.   One afternoon, Scarlett pulled up her buggy beside René Picard’s pie wagon and hailed Renéand the crippled Tommy Wellburn, who was catching a ride home with his friend.   “Look here, Renny, why don’t you come and work for me? Managing a mill is a sight morerespectable than driving a pie wagon. I’d think, you’d be ashamed.”   “Me, I am dead to shame,” grinned René. “Who would be respectable? All of my days I wasrespectable until ze war set me free lak ze darkies. Nevaire again must I be deegneefied and full ofennui. Free lak ze bird! I lak my pie wagon. I lak my mule. I lak ze dear Yankees who so kindlybuy ze pie of Madame Belle Mère. No, my Scarlett, I must be ze King of ze Pies. Eet ees my destiny!   Lak Napoleon, I follow my star.” He flourished his whip dramatically.   “But you weren’t raised to sell pies any more than Tommy was raised to wrastle with a bunch ofwild Irish masons. My kind of work is more—”   “And I suppose you were raised to run a lumber mill,” said Tommy, the corners of his mouthtwitching. “Yes, I can just see little Scarlett at her mother’s knee, lisping her lesson, ‘Never sellgood lumber if you can get a better price for bad.’ ”   René roared at this, his small monkey eyes dancing with glee as he whacked Tommy on histwisted back.   “Don’t be impudent,” said Scarlett coldly, for she saw little humor in Tommy’s remark. “Ofcourse, I wasn’t raised to run a sawmill.”   “I didn’t mean to be impudent. But you are running a sawmill, whether you were raised to it ornot. And running it very well, too. Well, none of us, as far as I can see, are doing what we intendedto do right now, but I think well make out just the same. It’s a poor person and a poor nation thatsits down and cries because life isn’t precisely what they expected it to be. Why don’t you pick upsome enterprising Carpetbagger to work for you, Scarlett? The woods are full of them, Godknows.”   “I don’t want a Carpetbagger. Carpetbaggers will steal anything that isn’t red hot or naileddown. If they amounted to anything they’d have stayed where they were, instead of coming downhere to pick our bones. I want a nice man, from nice folks, who is smart and honest and energeticand—”   “You don’t want much. And you won’t get it for the wage you’re offering. All the men of that description, barring the badly maimed ones, have already got something to do. They may be roundpegs in square holes but they’ve all got something to do. Something of their own that they’d ratherdo than work for a woman.”   “Men haven’t got much sense, have they, when you get down to rock bottom?”   “Maybe not but they’ve got a heap of pride,” said Tommy soberly.   “Pride! Pride tastes awfully good, especially when the crust is flaky and you put meringue onit,” said Scarlett tartly.   The two men laughed, a bit unwillingly, and it seemed to Scarlett that they drew together inunited masculine disapproval of her. What Tommy said was true, she thought, running over in hermind the men she had approached and the ones she intended to approach. They were all busy, busyat something, working hard, working harder than they would have dreamed possible in the daysbefore the war. They weren’t doing what they wanted to do perhaps, or what was easiest to do, orwhat they had been reared to do, but they were doing something. Times were too hard for men tobe choosy. And if they were sorrowing for lost hopes, longing for lost ways of living, no one knewit but they. They were fighting a new war, a harder war than the one before. And they were caringabout life again, caring with the same urgency and the same violence that animated them beforethe war had cut their lives in two.   “Scarlett,” said Tommy awkwardly, “I do hate to ask a favor of you, after being impudent toyou, but I’m going to ask it just the same. Maybe it would help you anyway. My brother-in-law,Hugh Elsing, isn’t doing any too well peddling kindling wood. Everybody except the Yankees goesout and collects his own kindling wood. And I know things are mighty hard with the whole Elsingfamily. I—I do what I can, but you see I’ve got Fanny to support, and then, too, I’ve got mymother and two widowed sisters down in Sparta to look after. Hugh is nice, and you wanted a niceman, and he’s from nice folks, as you know, and he’s honest.”   “But—well, Hugh hasn’t got much gumption or else he’d make a success of his kindling.”   Tommy shrugged.   “You’ve got a hard way of looking at things, Scarlett,” he said. “But you think Hugh over. Youcould go far and do worse. I think his honesty and his willingness will outweigh his lack ofgumption.”   Scarlett did not answer, for she did not want to be too rude. But to her mind there were few, ifany, qualities that out-weighed gumption.   After she had unsuccessfully canvassed the town and refused the importuning of many eagerCarpetbaggers, she finally decided to take Tommy’s suggestion and ask Hugh Elsing. He had beena dashing and resourceful officer during the war, but two severe wounds and four years of fightingseemed to have drained him of all his resourcefulness, leaving him to face the rigors of peace asbewildered as a child. There was a lost-dog look in his eyes these days as he went about peddlinghis firewood, and he was not at all the kind of man she had hoped to get.   “He’s stupid,” she thought. “He doesn’t know a thing about business and I’ll bet he can’t addtwo and two. And I doubt if he’ll ever learn. But, at least, he’s honest and won’t swindle me.”   Scarlett had little use these days for honesty in herself, but the less she valued it in herself themore she was beginning to value it in others.   “It’s a pity Johnnie Gallegher is tied up with Tommy Wellburn on that construction work,” shethought. “He’s just the kind of man I want He’s hard as nails and slick as a snake, but he’d behonest if it paid him to be honest I understand him and he understands me and we could dobusiness together very well. Maybe I can get him when the hotel is finished and till then I’ll haveto make out on Hugh and Mr. Johnson. If I put Hugh in charge of the new mill and leave Mr.   Johnson at the old one, I can stay in town and see to the selling while they handle the milling andhauling. Until I can get Johnnie I’ll have to risk Mr. Johnson robbing me if I stay in town all thetime. If only he wasn’t a thief! I believe I’ll build a lumber yard on half that lot Charles left me. Ifonly Frank didn’t holler so loud about me building a saloon on the other half! Well, I shall buildthe saloon just as soon as I get enough money ahead, no matter how he takes on. If only Frankwasn’t so thin skinned. Oh, God, if only I wasn’t going to have a baby at this of all times! In a littlewhile I’ll be so big I can’t go out. Oh, God, if only I wasn’t going to have a baby! And oh, God, ifthe damned Yankees will only let me alone! If—”   If! If! If! There were so many ifs in life, never any certainty of anything, never any sense ofsecurity, always the dread of losing everything and being cold and hungry again. Of course, Frankwas making a little more money now, but Frank was always ailing with colds and frequently forcedto stay in bed for days. Suppose he should become an invalid. No, she could not afford to count onFrank for much. She must not count on anything or anybody but herself. And what she could earnseemed so pitiably small. Oh, what would she do if the Yankees came and took it all away fromher? If! If! If!   Half of what she made every month went to Will at Tara, part to Rhett to repay his loan and therest she hoarded. No miser ever counted his gold oftener than she and no miser ever had greaterfear of losing it. She would not put the money in the bank, for it might fail or the Yankees mightconfiscate it. So she carried what she could with her, tucked into her corset, and hid small wads ofbills about the house, under loose bricks on the hearth, in her scrap bag, between the pages of theBible. And her temper grew shorter and shorter as the weeks went by, for every dollar she savedwould be just one more dollar to lose if disaster descended.   Frank, Pitty and the servants bore her outbursts with maddening kindness, attributing her baddisposition to her pregnancy, never realizing the true cause. Frank knew that pregnant women mustbe humored, so he put his pride in his pocket and said nothing more about her running the millsand her going about town at such a time, as no lady should do. Her conduct was a constantembarrassment to him but he reckoned he could endure it for a while longer. After the baby came,he knew she would be the same sweet feminine girl he had courted. But in spite of everything hedid to appease her, she continued to have her tantrums and often he thought she acted like onepossessed.   No one seemed to realize what really possessed her, what drove her like a mad woman. It was apassion to get her affairs in order before she had to retire behind doors, to have as much money aspossible in case the deluge broke upon her again, to have a stout levee of cash against the risingtide of Yankee hate. Money was the obsession dominating her mind these days. When she thoughtof the baby at all, it was with baffled rage at the untimeliness of it.   “Death and taxes and childbirth! There’s never any convenient time for any of them!”   Atlanta had been scandalized enough when Scarlett, a woman, began operating the sawmill butas time went by, the town decided there was no limit to what she would do. Her sharp trading wasshocking, especially when her poor mother had been a Robillard, and it was positively indecent theway she kept on going about the streets when everyone knew she was pregnant. No respectablewhite woman and few negroes ever went outside their homes from the moment they first suspectedthey were with child, and Mrs. Merriwether declared indignantly that from the way Scarlett wasacting she was likely to have the baby on the public streets.   But all the previous criticism of her conduct was as nothing compared with the buzz of gossipthat now went through the town. Scarlett was not only trafficking with the Yankees but was givingevery appearance of really liking it!   Mrs. Merriwether and many other Southerners were also doing business with the newcomersfrom the North, but the difference was that they did not like it and plainly showed they did not likeit. And Scarlett did, or seemed to, which was just as bad. She had actually taken tea with theYankee officers’ wives in their homes! In fact, she had done practically everything short of invitingthem into her own home, and the town guessed she would do even that, except for Aunt Pitty andFrank.   Scarlett knew the town was talking but she did not care, could not afford to care. She still hatedthe Yankees with as fierce a hate as on the day when they tried to burn Tara, but she coulddissemble that hate. She knew that if she was going to make money, she would have to make it outof the Yankees, and she had learned that buttering them up with smiles and kind words was thesurest way to get their business for her mill.   Some day when she was very rich and her money was hidden away where the Yankees could notfind it, then, then she would tell them exactly what she thought of them, tell them how she hatedand loathed and despised them. And what a joy that would be! But until that time came, it was justplain common sense to get along with them. And if that was hypocrisy, let Atlanta make the mostof it.   She discovered that making friends with the Yankee officers was as easy as shooting birds on theground. They were lonely exiles in a hostile land and many of them were starved for politefeminine associations in a town where respectable women drew their skirts aside in passing andlooked as if they would like to spit on them. Only the prostitutes and the negro women had kindwords for them. But Scarlett was obviously a lady and a lady of family, for all that she worked, andthey thrilled to her flashing smile and the pleasant light in her green eyes.   Frequently when Scarlett sat in her buggy talking to them and making her dimples play, herdislike for them rose so strong that it was hard not to curse them to their faces. But she restrainedherself and she found that twisting Yankee men around her finger was no more difficult than thatsame diversion had been with Southern men. Only this was no diversion but a grim business. Therole she enacted was that of a refined sweet Southern lady in distress. With an air of dignifiedreserve she was able to keep her victims at their proper distance, but there was nevertheless a graciousness in her manner which left a certain warmth in the Yankee officers’ memories of Mrs.   Kennedy.   This warmth was very profitable—as Scarlett had intended it to be. Many of the officers of thegarrison, not knowing how long they would be stationed in Atlanta, had sent for their wives andfamilies. As the hotels and boarding houses were overflowing, they were building small houses;and they were glad to buy their lumber from the gracious Mrs. Kennedy, who treated them morepolitely than anyone else in town. The Carpetbaggers and Scalawags also, who were building finehomes and stores and hotels with their new wealth, found it more pleasant to do business with herthan with the former Confederate soldiers who were courteous but with a courtesy more formaland cold than outspoken hate.   So, because she was pretty and charming and could appear quite helpless and forlorn at times,they gladly patronized her lumber yard and also Frank’s store, feeling that they should help aplucky little woman who apparently had only a shiftless husband to support her. And Scarlett,watching the business grow, felt that she was safeguarding not only the present with Yankee moneybut the future with Yankee friends.   Keeping her relations with the Yankee officers on the plane she desired was easier man sheexpected, for they all seemed to be in awe of Southern ladies, but Scarlett soon found that theirwives presented a problem she had not anticipated. Contacts with the Yankee women were not ofher seeking. She would have been glad to avoid them but she could not, for the officers’ wiveswere determined to meet her. They had an avid curiosity about the South and Southern women,and Scarlett gave them their first opportunity to satisfy it. Other Atlanta women would havenothing to do with them and even refused to bow to them in church, so when business broughtScarlett to their homes, she was like an answer to prayer. Often when Scarlett sat in her buggy infront of a Yankee home talking of uprights and shingles with the man of the house, the wife cameout to join in the conversation or insist that she come inside for a cup of tea. Scarlett seldomrefused, no matter how distasteful the idea might be, for she always hoped to have an opportunityto suggest tactfully that they do their trading at Frank’s store. But her self-control was severelytested many times, because of the personal questions they asked and because of the smug andcondescending attitude they displayed toward all things Southern.   Accepting Uncle Tom’s Cabin as revelation second only to the Bible, the Yankee women allwanted to know about the bloodhounds which every Southerner kept to track down runawayslaves. And they never believed her when she told them she had only seen one bloodhound in allher life and it was a small mild dog and not a huge ferocious mastiff. They wanted to know aboutthe dreadful branding irons which planters used to mark the faces of their slaves and the cat-o’nine-tails with which they beat them to death, and they evidenced what Scarlett felt was a verynasty and ill-bred interest in slave concubinage. Especially did she resent this in view of theenormous increase in mulatto babies in Atlanta since the Yankee soldiers had settled in the town.   Any other Atlanta woman would have expired in rage at having to listen to such bigotedignorance but Scarlett managed to control herself. Assisting her in this was the fact that theyaroused her contempt more than her anger. After all, they were Yankees and no one expected anythingbetter from Yankees. So their unthinking insults to her state, her people and their morals,glanced off and never struck deep enough to cause her more than a well-concealed sneer until an incident occurred which made her sick with rage and showed her, if she needed any showing, howwide was the gap between North and South and how utterly impossible it was to bridge it.   While driving home with Uncle Peter one afternoon, she passed the house into which werecrowded the families of three officers who were building their own homes with Scarlett’s lumber.   The three wives were standing in the walk as she drove by and they waved to her to stop. Comingout to the carriage block they greeted her in accents that always made her feel that one couldforgive Yankees almost anything except their voices.   “You are just the person I want to see, Mrs. Kennedy,” said a tall thin woman from Maine. “Iwant to get some information about this benighted town.”   Scarlett swallowed the insult to Atlanta with the contempt it deserved and smiled her best.   “And what can I tell you?”   “My nurse, my Bridget, has gone back North. She said she wouldn’t stay another day down hereamong the ‘nay-gurs’ as she calls them. And the children are just driving me distracted! Do tell mehow to go about getting another nurse. I do not know where to apply.”   That shouldn’t be difficult,” said Scarlett and laughed. “If you can find a darky just in from thecountry who hasn’t been spoiled by the Freedmen’s Bureau, you’ll have the best kind of servantpossible. Just stand at your gate here and ask every darky woman who passes and I’m sure—”   The three women broke into indignant outcries.   “Do you think I’d trust my babies to a black nigger?” cried the Maine woman. “I want a goodIrish girl.”   “I’m afraid you’ll find no Irish servants in Atlanta,” answered Scarlett, coolness in her voice.   “Personally, I’ve never seen a white servant and I shouldn’t care to have one in my house. And,”   she could not keep a slight note of sarcasm from her words, “I assure you that darkies aren’tcannibals and are quite trustworthy.”   “Goodness, no! I wouldn’t have one in my house. The idea!”   “I wouldn’t trust them any farther than I could see them and as for letting them handle mybabies ...”   Scarlett thought of the kind, gnarled hands of Mammy worn rough in Ellen’s service and hersand Wade’s. What did these strangers know of black hands, how dear and comforting they couldbe, how unerringly they knew how to soothe, to pat, to fondle? She laughed shortly.   “It’s strange you should feel that way when it was you all who freed them.”   “Lor’! Not I, dearie,” laughed the Maine woman. “I never saw a nigger till I came South lastmonth and I don’t care if I never see another. They give me the creeps. I wouldn’t trust one ofthem. ...”   For some moments Scarlett had been conscious that Uncle Peter was breathing hard and sittingup very straight as he stared steadily at the horse’s ears. Her attention was called to him moreforcibly when the Maine woman broke off suddenly with a laugh and pointed him out to hercompanions.   “Look at that old nigger swell up like a toad,” she giggled. “I’ll bet he’s an old pet of yours, isn’the? You Southerners don’t know how to treat niggers. You spoil them to death.”   Peter sucked in his breath and his wrinkled brow showed deep furrows but he kept his eyesstraight ahead. He had never had the term “nigger” applied to him by a white person in all his life.   By other negroes, yes. But never by a white person. And to be called untrustworthy and an “oldpet,” he, Peter, who had been the dignified mainstay of the Hamilton family for years!   Scarlett felt, rather than saw, the black chin begin to shake with hurt pride, and a killing rageswept over her. She had listened with calm contempt while these women had underrated theConfederate Army, blackguarded Jeff Davis and accused Southerners of murder and torture of theirslaves. If it were to her advantage she would have endured insults about her own virtue andhonesty. But the knowledge that they had hurt the faithful old darky with their stupid remarks firedher like a match in gunpowder. For a moment she looked at the big horse pistol in Peter’s belt andher hands itched for the feel of it. They deserved killing, these insolent, ignorant, arrogantconquerors. But she bit down on her teeth until her jaw muscles stood out, reminding herself thatthe time had not yet come when she could tell the Yankees just what she thought of them. Someday, yes. My God, yes! But not yet.   “Uncle Peter is one of our family,” she said, her voice shaking. “Good afternoon. Drive on,Peter.”   Peter laid the whip on the horse so suddenly that the startled animal jumped forward and as thebuggy jounced off, Scarlett heard the Maine woman say with puzzled accents: “Her family? Youdon’t suppose she meant a relative? He’s exceedingly black.”   God damn them! They ought to be wiped off the face of the earth. If ever I get money enough,I’ll spit in all their faces! I’ll—She glanced at Peter and saw that a tear was trickling down his nose. Instantly a passion oftenderness, of grief for his humiliation swamped her, made her eyes sting. It was as thoughsomeone had been senselessly brutal to a child. Those women had hurt Uncle Peter—Peter whohad been through the Mexican War with old Colonel Hamilton, Peter who had held his master inhis arms when he died, who had raised Melly and Charles and looked after the feckless, foolishPittypat, “pertecked” her when she refugeed, and “ ‘quired” a horse to bring her back from Maconthrough a war-torn country after the surrender. And they said they wouldn’t trust niggers!   “Peter,” she said, her voice breaking as she put her hand on his thin arm. “I’m ashamed of youfor crying. What do you care? They aren’t anything but damned Yankees!”   “Dey talked in front of me lak Ah wuz a mule an’ couldn’ unnerstan’ dem—lak Ah wuz aAffikun an’ din’ know whut dey wuz talkin’ ‘bout,” said Peter, giving a tremendous sniff. “An’ deycall me a nigger an’ Ah’ ain’ never been call a nigger by no w’ite folks, an’ dey call me a ole petan’ say dat niggers ain’ ter be trus’ed! Me not ter be trus’ed! Why, w’en de ole Cunnel wuz dyin’   he say ter me, “You, Peter! You look affer mah chillun. Tek keer of yo’ young Miss Pittypat,’ hesay, ‘ ‘cause she ain’ got no mo’ sense dan a hoppergrass.’ An’ Ah done tek keer of her good alldese y’ars—”   “Nobody but the Angel Gabriel could have done better,” said Scarlett soothingly. “We just couldn’t have lived without you.”   “Yas’m, thankee kinely, Ma’m. Ah knows it an’ you knows it, but dem Yankee folks doan knowit an’ dey doan want ter know it, Huccome dey come mixin’ in our bizness, Miss Scarlett? Deydoan unnerstan’ us Confedruts.”   Scarlett said nothing for she was still burning with the wrath she had not exploded in the Yankeewomen’s faces. The two drove home in silence. Peter’s sniffles stopped and his underlip began toprotrude gradually until it stuck out alarmingly. His indignation was mounting, now that the initialhurt was subsiding.   Scarlett thought: What damnably queer people Yankees are! Those women seemed to think thatbecause Uncle Peter was black, he had no ears to hear with and no feelings, as tender as their own,to be hurt. They did not know that negroes had to be handled gently, as though they were children,directed, praised, petted, scolded. They didn’t understand negroes or the relations between thenegroes and their former masters. Yet they had fought a war to free them. And having freed them,they didn’t want to have anything to do with them, except to use them to terrorize Southerners.   They didn’t like them, didn’t trust them, didn’t understand them, and yet their constant cry was thatSoutherners didn’t know how to get along with them.   Not trust a darky! Scarlett trusted them far more than most white people, certainly more than shetrusted any Yankee. There were qualities of loyalty and tirelessness and love in them that no straincould break, no money could buy. She thought of the faithful few who remained at Tara in the faceof the Yankee invasion when they could have fled or joined the troops for lives of leisure. But theyhad stayed. She thought of Dilcey toiling in the cotton fields beside her, of Pork risking his life inneighboring hen houses that the family might eat, of Mammy coming to Atlanta with her to keepher from doing wrong. She thought of the servants of her neighbors who had stood loyally besidetheir white owners, protecting their mistresses while the men were at the front, refugeeing withthem through the terrors of the war, nursing the wounded, burying the dead, comforting thebereaved, working, begging, stealing to keep food the tables. And even now, with the Freedmen’sBureaupromisingallmannerofwonders,the(on) y still stuck with their white folks andworked much harder than they ever worked in slave times. But the Yankees didn’t understand thesethings and would never understand them.   “Yet they set you free,” she said aloud.   “No, Ma’m! Dey din’ sot me free. Ah wouldn’ let no sech trash sot me free,” said Peterindignantly. “Ah still b’longs ter Miss Pitty an’ w’en Ah dies she gwine lay me in de Hamiltonbuhyin’ groun’ whar Ah b’longs. ... Mah Miss gwine ter be in a state w’en Ah tells her ‘bout howyou let dem Yankee women ‘sult me.”   “I did no such thing!” cried Scarlett, startled.   “You did so, Miss Scarlett,” said Peter, pushing out his lip even farther. “De pint is, needer younor me had no bizness bein’ wid Yankees, so dey could ‘sult me. Ef you hadn’t talked wid dem,dey wouldn’ had no chance ter treat me lak a mule or a Affikun. An’ you din’ tek up fer me,needer.”   “I did, too!” said Scarlett, stung by the criticism. “Didn’t I tell them you were one of the family?”   “Dat ain’ tekkin’ up. Dat’s jes’ a fac’,” said Peter. “Miss Scarlett, you ain’ got no bizness havin’   no truck wid Yankees. Ain’ no other ladies doin’ it. You wouldn’ ketch Miss Pitty wipin’ her lilshoes on sech trash. An’ she ain’ gwine lake it w’en she hear ‘bout whut dey said ‘bout me.”   Peter’s criticism hurt worse than anything Frank or Aunt Pitty or the neighbors had said and it soannoyed her she longed to shake the old darky until his toothless gums clapped together. WhatPeter said was true but she hated to hear it from a negro and a family negro, too. Not to stand highin the opinion of one’s servants was as humiliating a thing as could happen to a Southerner.   “A ole pet!” Peter grumbled. “Ah specs Miss Pitty ain’t gwine want me ter drive you roun’ nomo’ after dat. No, Ma’m!”   “Aunt Pitty will want you to drive me as usual,” she said sternly, “so let’s hear no more aboutit.”   “Ah’ll git a mizry in mah back,” warned Peter darkly. “Mah back huttin’ me so bad dis minuteAh kain sceercely set up. Mah Miss ain’ gwine want me ter do no drivin’ w’en Ah got a mizry. ...   Miss Scarlett, it ain’ gwine do you no good ter stan’ high wid de Yankees an’ de w’ite trash, ef yo’   own folks doan ‘prove of you.”   That was as accurate a summing up of the situation as could be made and Scarlett relapsed intoinfuriated silence. Yes, the conquerors did approve of her and her family and her neighbors did not.   She knew all the things the town was saying about her. And now even Peter disapproved of her tothe point of not caring to be seen in public with her. That was the last straw.   Heretofore she had been careless of public opinion, careless and a little contemptuous. ButPeter’s words caused fierce resentment to burn in her breast, drove her to a defensive position,made her suddenly dislike her neighbors as much as she disliked the Yankees.   “Why should they care what I do?” she thought. “They must think I enjoy associating withYankees and working like a field hand. They’re just making a hard job harder for me. But I don’tcare what they think. I won’t let myself care. I can’t afford to care now. But some day—some day—”   Oh some day! When there was security in her world again, then she would sit back and fold herhands and be a great lady as Ellen had been. She would be helpless and sheltered, as a lady shouldbe, and then everyone would approve of her. Oh, how grand she would be when she had moneyagain! Then she could permit herself to be kind and gentle, as Ellen had been, and thoughtful ofother people and of the proprieties, too. She would not be driven by fears, day and night, and lifewould be a placid, unhurried affair. She would have time to play with her children and listen totheir lessons. There would be long warm afternoons when ladies would call and, amid the rustlingsof taffeta petticoats and the rhythmic harsh cracklings of palmetto fans, she would serve tea anddelicious sandwiches and cakes and leisurely gossip the hours away. And she would be so kind tothose who were suffering misfortune, take baskets to the poor and soup and jelly to the sick and“air” those less fortunate in her fine carriage. She would be a lady in the true Southern manner, asher mother had been. And then, everyone would love her as they had loved Ellen and they wouldsay how unselfish she was and call her “Lady Bountiful.”   Her pleasure in these thoughts of the future was un-dimmed by any realization that she had noreal desire to be unselfish or charitable or kind. All she wanted was the reputation for possessingthese qualities. But the meshes of her brain were too wide, too coarse, to filter such smalldifferences. It was enough that some day, when she had money, everyone would approve of her.   Some day! But not now. Not now, in spite of what anyone might say of her. Now, there was notime to be a great lady.   Peter was as good as his word. Aunt Pitty did get into a state, and Peter’s misery developedovernight to such proportions that he never drove the buggy again. Thereafter Scarlett drove aloneand the calluses which had begun to leave her palms came back again.   So the spring months went by, the cool rains of April passing into the warm balm of green Mayweather. The weeks were packed with work and worry and the handicaps of increasing pregnancy,with old friends growing cooler and her family increasingly kind, more maddeningly solicitousandmorecompletelyblindtowhatwasdrivingher.During(more) those days of anxiety andstruggle there was only one dependable, understanding person in her world, and that person wasRhett Butler. It was odd that he of all people should appear in this light, for he was as unstable asquicksilver and as perverse as a demon fresh from the pit. But he gave her sympathy, somethingshe had never had from anyone and never expected from him.   Frequently he was out of town on those mysterious trips to New Orleans which he neverexplained but which she felt sure, in a faintly jealous way, were connected with a woman—orwomen. But after Uncle Peter’s refusal to drive her, he remained in Atlanta for longer and longerintervals.   While in town, he spent most of his time gambling in the rooms above the Girl of the PeriodSaloon, or in Belle Watling’s bar hobnobbing with the wealthier of the Yankees and Carpetbaggersin money-making schemes which made the townspeople detest him even more than his cronies. Hedid not call at the house now, probably in deference to the feelings of Frank and Pitty who wouldhave been outraged at a male caller while Scarlett was in a delicate condition. But she met him byaccident almost every day. Time and again, he came riding up to her buggy when she was passingthrough lonely stretches of Peachtree road and Decatur road where the mills lay. He always drewrein and talked and sometimes he tied his horse to the back of the buggy and drove her on herrounds. She tired more easily these days than she liked to admit and she was always silentlygrateful when he took the reins. He always left her before they reached the town again but allAtlanta knew about their meetings, and it gave the gossips something new to add to the long list ofScarlett’s affronts to the proprieties.   She wondered occasionally if these meetings were not more than accidental. They became moreand more numerous as the weeks went by and as the tension in town heightened over negrooutrages. But why did he seek her out, now of all times when she looked her worst? Certainly hehad no designs upon her if he had ever had any, and she was beginning to doubt even this. It hadbeen months since he made any joking references to their distressing scene at the Yankee jail. Henever mentioned Ashley and her love for him, or made any coarse and ill-bred remarks about“coveting her.” She thought it best to let sleeping dogs lie, so she did not ask for an explanation oftheir frequent meetings. And finally she decided that, because he had little to do besides gamble and had few enough nice friends in Atlanta, he sought her out solely for companionship’s sake.   Whatever his reason might be, she found his company most welcome. He listened to her moansabout lost customers and bad debts, the swindling ways of Mr. Johnson and the incompetency ofHugh. He applauded her triumphs, where Frank merely smiled indulgently and Pitty said “Dearme!” in a dazed manner. She was sure that rich Yankees and Carpetbaggers intimately, but healways denied being helpful. She knew him for what he was and she never trusted him, but herspirits always rose with pleasure at the sight of him riding around the curve of a shady road on hisbig black horse. When he climbed into the buggy and took the reins from her and threw her someimpertinent remark, she felt young and gay and attractive again, for an her worries and herincreasing bulk. She could talk to him about almost everything, with no care for concealing hermotives or her real opinions and she never ran out of things to say as she did with Frank—or evenwith Ashley, if she must be honest with herself. But of course, in all her conversations with Ashleythere were so many things which could not be said, for honor’s sake, that the sheer force of theminhibited other remarks. It comforting to have friend like Rhett, that for some unaccountablereasonhehaddec(was) idedtobeongoodbeh(a) aviorwithher.Verycom(now) forting, for shehad so few friends these days.   “Rhett,” she asked stormily, shortly after Uncle Peter’s ultimatum, “why do folks in this towntreat me so scurvily and talk about me so? It’s a toss-up who they talk worst about, me or theCarpetbaggers! I’ve minded my own business and haven’t done anything wrong and—”   “If you haven’t done anything wrong, it’s because you haven’t had the opportunity, and perhapsthey dimly realize it.”   “Oh, do be serious! They make me so mad. All I’ve done is try to make a little money and—”   “All you’ve done is to be different from other women and you’ve made a little success at it. AsI’ve told you before, that is the one unforgivable sin in any society. Be different and be damned!   Scarlett, the mere fact that you’ve made a success of your mill is an insult to every man who hasn’tsucceeded. Remember, a well-bred female’s place is in the home and she should know nothingabout this busy, brutal world.”   “But if I had stayed in my home, I wouldn’t have had any home left to stay in.”   “The inference is that you should have starved genteelly and with pride.”   “Oh, fiddle-dee-dee! But look at Mrs. Merriwether. She’s selling pies to Yankees and that’sworse than running a sawmill, and Mrs. Elsing takes in sewing and keeps boarders, and Fannypaints awful-looking china things that nobody wants and everybody buys to help her and—”   “But you miss the point, my pet. They aren’t successful and so they aren’t affronting the hotSouthern pride of their men folks. The men can still say, ‘Poor sweet sillies, how hard they try!   Well, I’ll let them think they’re helping.’And besides, the ladies you mentioned don’t enjoy havingto work. They let it be known that they are only doing it until some man conies along to relievethem of their unwomanly burdens. And so everybody feels sorry for them. But obviously you dolike to work and obviously you aren’t going to let any man tend to your business for you, and so noone can feel sorry for you. And Atlanta is never going to forgive you for that. It’s so pleasant tofeel sorry for people.”   “I wish you’d be serious, sometimes.”   “Did you ever hear the Oriental proverb: The dogs bark but the caravan passes on?” Let thembark, Scarlett. I fear nothing will stop your caravan.”   “But why should they mind my making a little money?”   “You can’t have everything, Scarlett. You can either make money in your present unladylikemanner and meet cold shoulders everywhere you go, or you can be poor and genteel and have lotsof friends. You’ve made your choice.”   “I won’t be poor,” she said swiftly. “But—it is the right choice, isn’t it?”   “If it’s money you want most.”   “Yes, I want money more than anything else in the world.”   “Then you’ve made the only choice. But there’s a penalty attached, as there is to most thingsyou want. It’s loneliness.”   That silenced her for a moment. It was true. When she stopped to think about it, she was a littlelonely—lonely for feminine companionship. During the war years she had had Ellen to visit whenshe felt blue. And since Ellen’s death, there had always been Melanie, though she and Melanie hadnothing in common except the hard work at Tara. Now there was no one, for Aunt Pitty had noconception of life beyond her small round of gossip.   “I think—I think,” she began hesitantly, “that I’ve always been lonely where women wereconcerned. It isn’t just my working that makes Atlanta ladies dislike me. They just don’t like meanyway. No woman ever really liked me, except Mother. Even my sisters. I don’t know why, buteven before the war, even before I married Charlie, ladies didn’t seem to approve of anything I did—”   “You forget Mrs. Wilkes,” said Rhett and his eyes gleamed maliciously. “She has alwaysapproved of you up to the hilt. I daresay she’d approve of anything you did, short of murder.”   Scarlett thought grimly: “She’s even approved of murder,” and she laughed contemptuously.   “Oh, Melly!” she said, and then, ruefully: “It’s certainly not to my credit that Melly is the onlywoman who approves of me, for she hasn’t the sense of a guinea hen. If she had any sense—” Shestopped in some confusion.   “If she had any sense, she’d realize a few things and she couldn’t approve,” Rhett finished.   “Well, you know more about that than I do, of course.”   “Oh, damn your memory and your bad manners!”   “I’ll pass over your unjustified rudeness with the silence it deserves and return to our formersubject. Make up your mind to this. If you are different; you are isolated, not only from people ofyour own age but from those of your parents’ generation and from your children’s generation too.   They’ll understand you and they’ll be shocked no matter what you do. But yourgrandparentsw(never) ould probably be proud of you and say: ‘There’s a chip off the old block,’ and yourgrandchildren will sigh enviously and say: ‘What an old rip Grandma must have been!’ and they’lltry to be like you.”   Scarlett laughed with amusement.   “Sometimes you do hit on the truth! Now there was my Grandma Robillard. Mammy used tohold her over my head whenever I was naughty. Grandma was as cold as an icicle and strict abouther manners and everybody else’s manners, but she married three times and had any number ofduels fought over her and she wore rouge and the most shockingly low-cut dresses and no—well,er—not much under her dresses.”   “And you admired her tremendously, for all that you tried to be like your mother! I had agrandfather on the Butler side who was a pirate.”   “Not really! A walk-the-plank kind?”   “I daresay he made people walk the plank if there was any money to be made that way. At anyrate, he made enough money to leave my father quite wealthy. But the family always referred tohim carefully as a ‘sea captain.’ He was killed in a saloon brawl long before I was born. His deathwas, needless to say, a great relief to his children, for the old gentleman was drunk most of thetime and when in his cups apt to forget that he retired sea captain and give reminiscencesthatcurledhischild(was) ren’shair.However,Iadmir(was) ed(a) him and tried to copy him farmore than I ever did my father, for Father is an amiable gentleman full of honorable habits andpious saws—so you see how it goes. I’m sure your children won’t approve of you, Scarlett, anymore than Mrs. Merriwether and Mrs. Elsing and their broods approve of you now. Your childrenwill probably be soft, prissy creatures, as the children of hard-bitten characters usually are. And tomake them worse, you, like every other mother, are probably determined that they shall neverknow the hardships you’ve known. And that’s all wrong. Hardships make or break people. Soyou’ll have to wait for approval from your grandchildren.”   “I wonder what our grandchildren will be like!”   “Are you suggesting by that ‘our’ that you and I will have mutual grandchildren? Fie, Mrs.   Kennedy!”   Scarlett, suddenly conscious of her error of speech, went red. It was more than his joking wordsthat shamed her, for she was suddenly aware again of her thickening body. In no way had either ofthem ever hinted at her condition and she had always kept the lap robe high under her armpitswhen with him, even on warm days, comforting herself in the usual feminine manner with thebelief that she did not show at all when thus covered, and she was suddenly sick with quick rage ather own condition and shame that he should know.   “You get out of this buggy, you dirty-minded varmint,” she said, her voice shaking.   “I’ll do nothing of the kind,” he returned calmly. “It’ll be dark before you get home and there’s anew colony of darkies living in tents and shanties near the next spring, mean niggers I’ve beentold, and I see no reason why you should give the impulsive Ku Klux a cause for putting on theirnightshirts and riding abroad this evening.”   “Get out!” she cried, tugging at the reins and suddenly nausea overwhelmed her. He stopped thehorse quickly, passed her two clean handkerchiefs and held her head over the side of the buggywith some skill. The afternoon sun, slanting low through the newly leaved trees, spun sickeninglyfor a few moments in a swirl of gold and green. When the spell had passed, she put her head in her hands and cried from sheer mortification. Not only had she vomited before a man—in itself ashorrible a contretemps as could overtake a woman—but by doing so, the humiliating fact of herpregnancy must now be evident. She felt that she could never look him in the face again. To havethis happen with him, of all people, with Rhett who had no respect for women! She cried,expecting some coarse and jocular remark from him which she would never be able to forget.   “Don’t be a fool,” he said quietly. “And you are a fool, if you are crying for shame. Come,Scarlett, don’t be a child. Surely you must know that, not being blind, I knew you were pregnant.”   She said “Oh” in a stunned voice and tightened her fingers over her crimson face. The worditself horrified her. Frank always referred to her pregnancy embarrassedly as “your condition,”   Gerald had been won’t to say delicately “in the family way,” when he had to mention such matters,and ladies genteelly referred to pregnancy as being “in a fix.”   “You are a child if you thought I didn’t know, for all your smothering yourself under that hot laprobe. Of course, I knew. Why else do you think I’ve been—”   He stopped suddenly and a silence fell between them. He picked up the reins and clucked to thehorse. He went on talking quietly and as his drawl fell pleasantly on her ears, some of the colorfaded from her down-tucked face.   “I didn’t think you could be so shocked, Scarlett. I thought you were a sensible person and I’mdisappointed. Can it be possible that modesty still lingers in your breast? I’m afraid I’m not agentleman to have mentioned the matter. And I know I’m not a gentleman, in view of the fact thatpregnant women do not embarrass me as they should. I find it possible to treat them as normalcreatures and not look at the ground or the sky or anywhere else in the universe except their waistlines—and then cast at them those furtive glances I’ve always thought the height of indecency.   Why should I? It’s a perfectly normal state. The Europeans are far more sensible than we are. Theycompliment expectant mothers upon their expectations. While I wouldn’t advise going that far, stillit’s more sensible than our way of trying to ignore it. It’s a normal state and women should beproud of it, instead of hiding behind closed doors as if they’d committed a crime.”   “Proud!” she cried in a strangled voice. “Proud—ugh!”   “Aren’t you proud to be having a child?”   “Oh dear God, no! I—I hate babies!”   “You mean—Frank’s baby.”   “No—anybody’s baby.”   For a moment she went sick again at this new error of speech, but his voice went on as easily asthough he had not marked it.   “Then we’re different. I like babies.”   “You like them?” she cried, looking up, so startled at the statement that she forgot herembarrassment “What a liar you are!”   “I like babies and I like little children, till they begin to grow up and acquire adult habits ofthought and adult abilities to lie and cheat and be dirty. That can’t be news to you. You know I like Wade Hampton a lot, for all that he isn’t the boy he ought to be.”   That was true, thought Scarlett, suddenly marveling. He did seem to enjoy playing with Wadeand often brought him presents.   “Now that we’ve brought this dreadful subject into the light and you admit that you expect ababy some time in the not too distant future, I’ll say something I’ve been wanting to say for weeks—two things. The first is that it’s dangerous for you to drive alone. You know it. You’ve been toldit often enough. If you don’t care personally whether or not you are raped, you might consider theconsequences. Because of your obstinacy, you may get yourself into a situation where your gallantfellow townsmen will be forced to avenge you by stringing up a few darkies. And that will bringthe Yankees down on them and someone will probably get hanged. Has it ever occurred to you thatperhaps one of the reasons the ladies do not like you is that your conduct may cause the neck-stretching of their sons and husbands? And furthermore, if the Ku Klux handles many morenegroes, the Yankees are going to tighten up on Atlanta in a way that will make Sherman’s conductlook angelic. I know what I’m talking about, for I’m hand in glove with the Yankees. Shameful tostate, they treat me as one of them and I hear them talk openly. They mean to stamp out the KuKlux if it means burning the whole town again and hanging every male over ten. That would hurtyou, Scarlett. You might lose money. And there’s no telling where a prairie fire will stop, once itgets started. Confiscation of property, higher taxes, fines for suspected women—I’ve heard themall suggested. The Ku Klux—”   “Do you know any Ku Klux? Is Tommy Wellburn or Hugh or—”   He shrugged impatiently.   “How should I know? I’m a renegade, a turncoat, a Scalawag. Would I be likely to know? But Ido know men who are suspected by the Yankees and one false move from them and they are asgood as hanged. While I know you would have no regrets at getting your neighbors on the gallows,I do believe you’d regret losing your mills. I see by the stubborn look on your face that you do notbelieve me and my words are falling on stony ground. So all I can say is, keep that pistol of yourshandy—and when I’m in town, I’ll try to be on hand to drive you.”   “Rhett, do you really—is it to protect me that you—”   “Yes, my dear, it is my much advertised chivalry that makes me protect you.” The mocking lightbegan to dance in his black eyes and all signs of earnestness fled from his face. “And why?   Because of my deep love for you, Mrs. Kennedy. Yes, I have silently hungered and thirsted for youand worshipped you from afar; but being an honorable man, like Mr. Ashley Wilkes, I haveconcealed it from you. You are, alas, Frank’s wife and honor has forbidden my telling this to you.   But even as Mr. Wilkes’ honor cracks occasionally, so mine is cracking now and I reveal my secretpassion and my—”   &l Chapter 39 THE TRAIN was very late and the long, deeply blue twilight of June was settling over thecountryside when Scarlett alighted in Jonesboro. Yellow gleams of lamplight showed in the storesand houses which remained in the village, but they were few. Here and there were wide gapsbetween the buildings on the main street where dwellings had been shelled or burned. Ruinedhouses with shell holes in their roofs and half the walls torn away stared at her, silent and dark. Afew saddle horses and mule teams were hitched outside the wooden awning of Bullard’s store. Thedusty red road was empty and lifeless, and the only sounds in the village were a few whoops anddrunken laughs that floated on the still twilight air from a saloon far down the street.   The depot had not been rebuilt since it was burned in the battle and in its place was only awooden shelter, with no sides to keep out the weather. Scarlett walked under it and sat down onone of the empty kegs that were evidently put there for seats. She peered up and down the streetfor Will Benteen. Will should have been here to meet her. He should have known she would takethe first tram possible after receiving his laconic message that Gerald was dead.   She had come so hurriedly that she had in her small carpetbag only a nightgown and a toothbrush, not even a change of underwear. She was uncomfortable in the tight black dress she hadborrowed from Mrs. Meade, for she had had no time to get mourning clothes for herself. Mrs.   Meade thin now, and Scarlett’s pregnancy being advanced, the dress was doublyuncomfortab(was) le. Even in her sorrow at Gerald’s death, she did not forget the appearance she wasmaking and she looked down at her body with distaste. Her figure was completely gone and herface and ankles were puffy. Heretofore she had not cared very much how she looked but now thatshe would see Ashley within the hour she cared greatly. Even in her heartbreak, she shrank fromthe thought of facing him when she was carrying another man’s child. She loved him and he lovedher, and this unwanted child now seemed to her a proof of infidelity to that love. But much as shedisliked having him see her with the slenderness gone from her waist and the lightness from herstep, it was something she could not escape now.   She patted her foot impatiently. Will should have met her. Of course, she could go over toBullard’s and inquire after him or ask someone there to drive her over to Tara, should she find hehad been unable to come. But she did not want to go to Bullard’s. It was Saturday night andprobably half the men of the County would be there. She did not want to display her condition inthis poorly fitting black dress which accentuated rather than hid her figure. And she did not want tohear the kindly sympathy that would be poured out about Gerald. She did not want sympathy. Shewas afraid she would cry if anyone even mentioned his name to her. And she wouldn’t cry. Sheknew if she once began it would be like the time she cried into the horse’s mane, that dreadfulnight when Atlanta fell and Rhett had left her on the dark road outside the town, terrible tears thattore her heart and could not be stopped.   No, she wouldn’t cry! She felt the lump in her throat rising again, as it had done so often sincethe news came, but crying wouldn’t do any good. It would only confuse and weaken her. Why, oh,why hadn’t Will or Melanie or the girls written her that Gerald was ailing? She would have takenthe first train to Tara to care for him, brought a doctor from Atlanta if necessary. The fools—all ofthem! Couldn’t they manage anything without her? She couldn’t be in two places at once and thegood Lord knew she was doing her best for them all in Atlanta.   She twisted about on the keg, becoming nervous and fidgety as Will still did not come. Wherewas he? Then she heard the scrunching of cinders on the railroad tracks behind her and, twistingher body, she saw Alex Fontaine crossing the tracks toward a wagon, a sack of oats on hisshoulder.   “Good Lord! Isn’t that you, Scarlett?” he cried, dropping the sack and running to take her hand,pleasure written all over his bitter, swarthy little face. “I’m so glad to see you. I saw Will over atthe blacksmith’s shop, getting the horse shod. The train was late and he thought he’d have time.   Shall I run fetch him?”   “Yes, please, Alex,” she said, smiling in spite of her sorrow. It was good to see a County faceagain.   “Oh—er—Scarlett,” he began awkwardly, still holding her hand, I’m mighty sorry about yourfather.”   “Thank you,” she replied, wishing he had not said it. His words brought up Gerald’s florid faceand bellowing voice so clearly.   “If it’s any comfort to you, Scarlett, we’re mighty proud of him around here,” Alex continued,dropping her hand. “He—well, we figure he died like a soldier and in a soldier’s cause.”   Now what did he mean by that, she thought confusedly. A soldier? Had someone shot him? Hadhe gotten into a fight with the Scalawags as Tony had? But she mustn’t hear more. She would cryif she talked about him and she mustn’t cry, not until she was safely in the wagon with Will and outin the country where no stranger could see her. Will wouldn’t matter. He was just like a brother.   “Alex, I don’t want to talk about it,” she said shortly.   “I don’t blame you one bit, Scarlett,” said Alex while the dark blood of anger flooded his face.   “If it was my sister, I’d—well, Scarlett, I’ve never yet said a harsh word about any woman, butpersonally I think somebody ought to take a rawhide whip to Suellen.”   What foolishness was he talking about now, she wondered. What had Suellen to do with it all?   “Everybody around here feels the same way about her, I’m sorry to say. Will’s the only one whotakes up for her—and, of course, Miss Melanie, but she’s a saint and won’t see bad in anyone and—”   “I said I didn’t want to talk about it,” she said coldly but Alex did not seem rebuffed. He lookedas though he understood her rudeness and that was annoying. She didn’t want to hear bad tidingsabout her own family from an outsider, didn’t want him to know of her ignorance of what hadhappened. Why hadn’t Will sent her the full details?   She wished Alex wouldn’t look at her so hard. She felt that he realized her condition and itembarrassed her. But what Alex was thinking as he peered at her in the twilight was that her facehad changed so completely he wondered how he had ever recognized her. Perhaps it was becauseshe was going to have a baby. Women did look like the devil at such times. And, of course, shemust be feeling badly about old man O’Hara. She had been his pet. But, no, the change was deeperthan that. She really looked as if she had three square meals a day. And the hunted-animal look hadpartly gone from her eyes. Now, the eyes which had been fearful and desperate were hard. Therewas an air of command, assurance and determination about her, even when she smiled. Bet she ledold Frank a merry life! Yes, she had changed. She was a handsome woman, to be sure, but all thatpretty, sweet softness had gone from her face and that flattering way of looking up at a man, likehe knew more than God Almighty, had utterly vanished.   Well, hadn’t they all changed? Alex looked down at his rough clothes and his face fell into itsusual bitter lines. Sometimes at night when he lay awake, wondering how his mother was going toget that operation and how poor dead Joe’s little boy was going to get an education and how hewas going to get money for another mule, he wished the war was still going on, wished it had goneon forever. They didn’t know their luck then. There was always something to eat in the army, evenif it was just corn bread, always somebody to give orders and none of this torturing sense of facingproblems that couldn’t be solved—nothing to bother about in the army except getting killed. Andthen there was Dimity Munroe. Alex wanted to marry her and he knew he couldn’t when so manywere already looking to him for support. He had loved her for so long and now the roses werefading from her cheeks and the joy from her eyes. If only Tony hadn’t had to run away to Texas.   Another man on the place would make all the difference in the world. His lovable bad-temperedlittle brother, penniless somewhere in the West. Yes, they had all changed. And why not? He sighedheavily.   “I haven’t thanked you for what you and Frank did for Tony,” he said. “It was you who helpedhim get away, wasn’t it? It was fine of you. I heard in a roundabout way that he was safe in Texas.   I was afraid to write and ask you—but did you or Frank lend him any money? I want to repay—”   “Oh, Alex, please hush! Not now!” cried Scarlett For once, money meant nothing to her.   Alex was silent for a moment.   “I’ll get Will for you,” he said, “and we’ll all be over tomorrow for the funeral.”   As he picked up the sack of oats and turned away, a wobbly-wheeled wagon swayed out of aside street and creaked up to them. Will called from the seat: “I’m sorry I’m late, Scarlett.”   Climbing awkwardly down from the wagon, he stumped toward her and, bending, kissed hercheek. Will had never kissed her before, had never failed to precede her name with “Miss” and,while it surprised her, it warmed her heart and pleased her very much. He lifted her carefully overthe wheel and into the wagon and, looking down, she saw that it was the same old rickety wagon inwhich she had fled from Atlanta. How had it ever held together so long? Will must have kept itpatched up very well. It made her slightly sick to look at it and to remember that night. If it tookthe shoes off her feet or food from Aunt Pitty’s table, she’d see that there was a new wagon at Taraand this one burned.   Will did not speak at first and Scarlett was grateful. He threw his battered straw hat into the backof the wagon, clucked to the horse and they moved off. Will was just the same, lank and gangling,pink of hair, mild of eye, patient as a draft animal.   They left the village behind and turned into the red road to Tara. A faint pink still lingered aboutthe edges of the sky and fat feathery clouds were tinged with gold and palest green. The stillness ofthe country twilight came down about them as calming as a prayer. How had she ever borne it, shethought, away for all these months, away from the fresh smell of country air, the plowed earth andthe sweetness of summer nights? The moist red earth smelled so good, so familiar, so friendly, shewanted to get out and scoop up a handful. The honeysuckle which draped the gullied red sides ofthe road in tangled greenery was piercingly fragrant as always after rain, the sweetest perfume inthe world. Above their heads a flock of chimney swallows whirled suddenly on swift wings andnow and then a rabbit scurried startled across the road, his white tail bobbing like an eiderdownpowder puff. She saw with pleasure that the cotton stood well, as they passed between plowedfields where the green bushes reared themselves sturdily out of the red earth. How beautiful all thiswas! The soft gray mist in the swampy bottoms, the red earth and growing cotton, the slopingfields with curving green rows and the black pines rising behind everything like sable walls. Howhad she ever stayed in Atlanta so long?   “Scarlett, before I tell you about Mr. O’Hara—and I want to tell you everything before you gethome—I want to ask your opinion on a matter. I figger you’re the head of the house now.”   “What is it, Will?”   He turned his mild sober gaze on her for a moment.   “I just wanted your approval to my marryin’ Suellen.”   Scarlett clutched the seat, so surprised that she almost fell backwards. Marry Suellen! She’dnever thought of anybody marrying Suellen since she had taken Frank Kennedy from her. Whowould have Suellen?   “Goodness, Will!”   “Then I take it you don’t mind?”   “Mind? No, but— Why, Will, you’ve taken my breath away! You marry Suellen? Will, I alwaysthought you were sweet on Carreen.”   Will kept his eyes on the horse and flapped the reins. His profile did not change but she thoughthe sighed slightly.   “Maybe I was,” he said.   “Well, won’t she have you?”   “I never asked her.”   “Oh, Will, you’re a fool. Ask her. She’s worth two of Suellen!”   “Scarlett, you don’t know a lot of things that’s been going on at Tara. You ain’t favored us withmuch of your attention these last months.”   “I haven’t, haven’t I?” she flared. “What do you suppose I’ve been doing in Atlanta? Ridingaround in a coach and four and going to balls? Haven’t I sent you money every month? Haven’t Ipaid the taxes and fixed the roof and bought the new plow and the mules? Haven’t—”   “Now, don’t fly off the handle and get your Irish up,” he interrupted imperturbably. “If anybodyknows what you’ve done, I do, and it’s been two men’s work.”   Slightly mollified, she questioned, “Well then, what do you mean?”   “Well, you’ve kept the roof over us and food in the pantry and I ain’t denyin’ that, but you ain’tgiven much thought to what’s been goin’ on in anybody’s head here at Tara. I ain’t blamin’ you,Scarlett. That’s just your way. You warn’t never very much interested in what was in folks’ heads.   But what I’m tryin’ to tell you is that I didn’t never ask Miss Carreen because I knew it wouldn’tbe no use. She’s been like a little sister to me and I guess she talks to me plainer than to anybody inthe world. But she never got over that dead boy and she never will. And I might as well tell younow she’s aimin’ to go in a convent over to Charleston.”   “Are you joking?”   “Well, I knew it would take you back and I just want to ask you, Scarlett, don’t you argue withher about it or scold her or laugh at her. Let her go. It’s all she wants now. Her heart’s broken.”   “But God’s nightgown! Lots of people’s hearts have been broken and they didn’t run off toconvents. Look at me. I lost a husband.”   “But your heart warn’t broken,” Will said calmly and, picking up a straw from the bottom of thewagon, he put it in his mouth and chewed slowly. That remark took the wind out of her. As alwayswhen she heard the truth spoken, no matter how unpalatable it was, basic honesty forced her toacknowledge it as truth. She was silent a moment, trying to accustom herself to the idea of Carreenas a nun.   “Promise you won’t fuss at her.”   “Oh, well, I promise,” and then she looked at him with understanding and some amazement.WillhadlovedCarreen,lovedhernowenoughtotak(a) eher(new) part and make her retreateasy. And yet he wanted to marry Suellen.   “Well, what’s all this about Suellen? You don’t care for her, do you?”   “Oh, yes, I do in a way,” he said removing the straw and surveying it as if it were highlyinteresting. “Suellen ain’t as bad as you think, Scarlett. I think we’ll get along right well. The onlytrouble with Suellen is that she needs a husband and some children and that’s just what every woman needs.”   The wagon jolted over the rutty road and for a few minutes while the two sat silent Scarlett’smind was busy. There must be something more to it than appeared on the surface, somethingdeeper, more important, to make the mild and soft-spoken Will want to marry a complainingnagger like Suellen.   “You haven’t told me the real reason, Will. If I’m head of the family, I’ve got a right to know.”   “That’s right,” said Will, “and I guess you’ll understand. I can’t leave Tara. It’s home to me,Scarlett, the only real home I ever knew and I love every stone of it. I’ve worked on it like it wasmine. And when you put out work on somethin’, you come to love it. You know what I mean?”   She knew what he meant and her heart went out in a surge of warm affection for him, hearinghim say he, too, loved the thing she loved best.   “And I figger it this way. With your pa gone and Carreen a nun, there’ll be just me and Suellenleft here and, of course, I couldn’t live on at Tara without marryin’ Suellen. You know how folkstalk.”   “But—but Will, there’s Melanie and Ashley—”   At Ashley’s name he turned and looked at her, his pale eyes unfathomable. She had the oldfeeling that Will knew all about her and Ashley, understood all and did not either censure orapprove.   “They’ll be goin’ soon.”   “Going? Where? Tara is their home as well as yours.”   “No, it ain’t their home. That’s just what’s eatin’ on Ashley. It ain’t his home and he don’t feellike he’s earnin’ his keep. He’s a mighty pore farmer and he knows it. God knows he tries his bestbut he warn’t cut out for farmin’ and you know it as well as I do. If he splits kindlin’, like as nothe’ll slice off his foot. He can’t no more keep a plow straight in a furrow than little Beau can, andwhat he don’t know about makin’ things grow would fill a book. It ain’t his fault. He just warn’tbred for it. And it worries him that he’s a man livin’ at Tara on a woman’s charity and not givin’   much in return.”   “Charity? Has he ever said—”   “No, he’s never said a word. You know Ashley. But I can tell. Last night when we were sittin’ upwith your pa, I tole him I had asked Suellen and she’d said Yes. And then Ashley said that relievedhim because he’d been feelin’ like a dog, stayin’ on at Tara, and he knew he and Miss Melly wouldhave to keep stayin’ on, now that Mr. O’Hara was dead, just to keep folks from talkin’ about meand Suellen. So then he told me he was aimin’ to leave Tara and get work.”   “Work? What kind? Where?”   “I don’t know exactly what he’ll do but he said he was goin’ up North. He’s got a Yankee friendin New York who wrote him about workin’ in a bank up there.”   “Oh, no!” cried Scarlett from the bottom of her heart and, at the cry, Will gave her the same lookas before.   “Maybe ‘twould be better all ‘round if he did go North.”   “No! No! I don’t think so.”   Her mind was working feverishly. Ashley couldn’t go North! She might never see him again.   Even though she had not seen him in months, had not spoken to him alone since that fateful scenein the orchard, there had not been a day when she had not thought of him, been glad he wassheltered under her roof. She had never sent a dollar to Will that she had not been pleased that itwould make Ashley’s life easier. Of course, he wasn’t any good as a farmer. Ashley was bred forbetter things, she thought proudly. He was born to rule, to live in a large house, ride fine horses,read books of poetry and tell negroes what to do. That there were no more mansions and horsesand negroes and few books did not alter matters. Ashley wasn’t bred to plow and split rails. Nowonder he wanted to leave Tara.   But she could not let him go away from Georgia. If necessary, she would bully Frank into givinghim a job in the store, make Frank turn off the boy he now had behind the counter. But, no—Ashley’s place was no more behind a counter than it was behind a plow. A Wilkes a shopkeeper!   Oh, never that! There must be something—why, her mill of course! Her relief at the thought wasso great that she smiled. But would he accept an offer from her? Would he still think it wascharity? She must manage it so he would think he was doing her a favor. She would discharge Mr.   Johnson and put Ashley in charge of the old mill while Hugh operated the new one. She wouldexplain to Ashley how Frank’s ill health and the pressure of work at the store kept him fromhelping her, and she would plead her condition as another reason why she needed his help.   She would make him realize somehow that she couldn’t do without his aid at this time. And shewould give him a half-interest in the mill, if he would only take it over—anything just to have himnear her, anything to see that bright smile light up his face, anything for the chance of catching anunguarded look in his eyes that showed he still cared. But, she promised herself, never, neverwould she again try to prod him into words of love, never again would she try to make him throwaway that foolish honor he valued more than love. Somehow, she must delicately convey to himthis new resolution of hers. Otherwise he might refuse, fearing another scene such as that last terribleone had been.   “I can get him something to do in Atlanta,” she said.   “Well, that’s yours and Ashley’s business,” said Will and put the straw back in his mouth.   “Giddap, Sherman. Now, Scarlett, there’s somethin’ else I’ve got to ask you before I tell you aboutyour pa. I won’t have you lightin’ into Suellen. What she’s done, she’s done, and you snatchin’ herbaldheaded won’t bring Mr. O’Hara back. Besides she honestly thought she was actin’ for thebest!”   “I wanted to ask you about that What is all this about Suellen? Alex talked riddles and said sheought to be whipped. What has she done?”   “Yes, folks are pretty riled up about her. Everybody I run into this afternoon in Jonesboro waspromisin’ to cut her dead the next time they seen her, but maybe they’ll get over it. Now, promiseme you won’t light into her. I won’t be havin’ no quarrelin’ tonight with Mr. O’Hara layin’ dead inthe parlor.”   He won’t be having any quarreling! thought Scarlett, indignantly. He talks like Tara was hisalready!   And then she thought of Gerald, dead in the parlor, and suddenly she began to cry, cry in bitter,gulping sobs. Will put his arm around her, drew her comfortably close and said nothing.   As they jolted slowly down the darkening road, her head on his shoulder, her bonnet askew, shehad forgotten the Gerald of the last two years, the vague old gentleman who stared at doors waitingfor a woman who would never enter. She was remembering the vital, virile old man with his maneof crisp white hair, his bellowing cheerfulness, his stamping boots, his clumsy jokes, hisgenerosity. She remembered how, as a child, he had seemed the most wonderful man in the world,this blustering father who carried her before him on his saddle when he jumped fences, turned herup and paddled her when she was naughty, and then cried when she cried and gave her quarters toget her to hush. She remembered him coming home from Charleston and Atlanta laden with giftsthat were never appropriate, remembered too, with a faint smile through tears, how he came homein the wee hours from Court Day at Jonesboro, drunk as seven earls, jumping fences, his rollickingvoice raised in “The Wearin’ o’ the Green.” And how abashed he was, facing Ellen on the morningafter. Well, he was with Ellen now.   “Why didn’t you write me that he was ill? I’d have come so fast—”   “He warn’t ill, not a minute. Here, honey, take my handkerchief and I’ll tell you all about it.”   She blew her nose on his bandanna, for she had come from Atlanta without even a handkerchief,and settled back into the crook of Will’s arm. How nice Will was. Nothing ever upset him.   “Well, it was this way, Scarlett. You been sendin’ us money right along and Ashley and me, well,we’ve paid taxes and bought the mule and seeds and what-all and a few hogs and chickens. MissMelly’s done mighty well with the hens, yes sir, she has. She’s a fine woman, Miss Melly is. Well,anyway, after we bought things for Tara, there warn’t so much left over for folderols, but none ofus warn’t complainin’. Except Suellen.   “Miss Melanie and Miss Carreen stay at home and wear their old clothes like they’re proud ofthem but you know Suellen, Scarlett. She hasn’t never got used to doin’ without. It used to stick inher craw that she had to wear old dresses every time I took her into Jonesboro or over toFayetteville. ‘Specially as some of those Carpetbaggers’ ladi-women was always flouncin’ aroundin fancy trimmin’s. The wives of those damn Yankees that run the Freedmen’s Bureau, do theydress up! Well, it’s kind of been a point of honor with the ladies of the County to wear their worstlookin’   dresses to town, just to show how they didn’t care and was proud to wear them. But not Suellen.   And she wanted a hone and carriage too. She pointed out that you had one.”   It’s not a carriage, it’s an old buggy,” said Scarlett indignantly.   “Well, no matter what. I might as well tell you Suellen never has got over your marryin’ FrankKennedy and I don’t know as I blame her. You know that was a kind of scurvy trick to play on asister.”   Scarlett rose from his shoulder, furious as a rattler ready to strike.   “Scurvy trick, hey? I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head, Win Benteen! Could I help it if he preferred me to her?”   “You’re a smart girl, Scarlett, and I figger, yes, you could have helped him preferrin’ you. Girlsalways can. But I guess you kind of coaxed him. You’re a mighty takin’ person when you want tobe, but all the same, he was Suellen’s beau. Why, she’d had a letter from him a week before youwent to Atlanta and he was sweet as sugar about her and talked about how they’d get married whenhe got a little more money ahead. I know because she showed me the letter.”   Scarlett was silent because she knew he was telling the truth and she could think of nothing tosay. She had never expected Will, of all people, to sit in judgment on her. Moreover the lie she hadtold Frank had never weighed heavily upon her conscience. If a girl couldn’t keep a beau, shedeserved to lose him.   “Now, Will, don’t be mean,” she said. “If Suellen had married him, do you think she’d ever havespent a penny on Tara or any of us?”   “I said you could be right takin’ when you wanted to,” said Will, turning to her with a quiet grin.   “No, I don’t think we’d ever seen a penny of old Frank’s money. But still there’s no gettin’ ‘roundit, it was a scurvy trick and if you want to justify the end by the means, it’s none of my businessand who am I to complain? But just the same Suellen has been like a hornet ever since. I don’tthink she cared much about old Frank but it kind of teched her vanity and she’s been sayin’ as howyou had good clothes and a carriage and lived in Atlanta while she was buried here at Tara. Shedoes love to go callin’ and to parties, you know, and wear pretty clothes. I ain’t blamin’ her.   Women are like that.   “Well, about a month ago I took her into Jonesboro and left her to go callin’ while I tended tobusiness and when I took her home, she was still as a mouse but I could see she was so excited shewas ready to bust. I thought she’d found out somebody was goin’ to have a—that she’d heard somegossip that was interestin’, and I didn’t pay her much mind. She went around home for about aweek all swelled up and excited and didn’t have much to say. She went over to see Miss CathleenCalvert—Scarlett, you’d cry your eyes out at Miss Cathleen. Pore girl, she’d better be dead thanmarried to that pusillanimous Yankee Hilton. You knew he’d mortaged the place and lost it andthey’re goin’ to have to leave?”   “No, I didn’t know and I don’t want to know. I want to know about Pa.”   “Well, I’m gettin’ to that,” said Will patiently. “When she come back from over there she saidwe’d all misjudged Hilton, She called him Mr. Hilton and she said he was a smart man, but we justlaughed at her. Then she took to takin’ your pa out to walk in the afternoons and lots of times whenI was comin’ home from the field, I’d see her sittin’ with him on the wall ‘round the buryin’   ground, talkin’ at him hard and wavin’ her hands. And the old gentleman would just look at her sortof puzzled-like and shake his head. You know how he’s been, Scarlett. He just got kind of vaguerand vaguer, like he didn’t hardly know where he was or who we were. One time, I seen her point toyour ma’s grave and the old gentleman begun to cry. And when she come in the house all happyand excited lookin’, I gave her a talkin’ to, right sharp, too, and I said: ‘Miss Suellen, why in hellare you devilin’ your poor pa and bringin’ up your ma to him? Most of the time he don’t realizeshe’s dead and here you are rubbin’ it in.’ And she just kind of tossed her head and laughed andsaid: ‘Mind your business. Some day you’ll be glad of what I’m doin’.’ Miss Melanie told me last night that Suellen had told her about her schemes but Miss Melly said she didn’t have no notionSuellen was serious. She said she didn’t tell none of us because she was so upset at the very idea.”   “What idea? Are you ever going to get to the point? We’re halfway home now. I want to knowabout Pa.”   “I’m trying to tell you,” said Will, “and we’re so near home, I guess I’d better stop right here tillI’ve finished.”   He drew rein and the horse stopped and snorted. They had halted by the wild overgrown mock-orange hedge that marked the Macintosh property. Glancing under the dark trees Scarlett could justdiscern the tall ghostly chimneys still rearing above the silent ruin. She wished that Will hadchosen any other place to stop.   “Well, the long and the short of her idea was to make the Yankees pay for the cotton they burnedand the stock they drove off and the fences and the barns they tore down.”   “The Yankees?”   “Haven’t you heard about it? The Yankee government’s been payin’ claims on all destroyedproperty of Union sympathizers in the South.”   “Of course I’ve heard about that,” said Scarlett “But what’s that got to do with us?”   “A heap, in Suellen’s opinion. That day I took her to Jonesboro, she run into Mrs. Macintosh andwhen they were gossipin’ along, Suellen couldn’t help noticin’ what fine-lookin’ clothes Mrs.   Macintosh had on and she couldn’t help askin’ about them. Then Mrs. Macintosh gave herself a lotof airs and said as how her husband had put in a claim with the Federal government for destroyin’   the property of a loyal Union sympathizer who had never given aid and comfort to theConfederacy in any shape or form.”   “They never gave aid and comfort to anybody,” snapped Scarlett. “Scotch-Irish!”   “Well, maybe that’s true. I don’t know them. Anyway, the government gave them, well—I forgethow many thousand dollars. A right smart sum it was, though. That started Suellen. She thoughtabout it all week and didn’t say nothin’ to us because she knew we’d just laugh. But she just had totalk to somebody so she went over to Miss Cathleen’s and that damned white trash, Hilton, gaveher a passel of new ideas. He pointed out that your pa warn’t even born in this country, that hehadn’t fought in the war and hadn’t had no sons to fight, and hadn’t never held no office under theConfederacy. He said they could strain a point about Mr. O’Hara bein’ a loyal Union sympathizer.   He filled her up with such truck and she come home and begun workin’ on Mr. O’Hara. Scarlett, Ibet my life your pa didn’t even know half the time what she was talkin’ about. That was what shewas countin’ on, that he would take the Iron Clad oath and not even know it.”   “Pa take the Iron Clad oath!” cried Scarlett.   “Well, he’d gotten right feeble in his mind these last months and I guess she was countin’ onthat. Mind you, none of us sospicioned nothin’ about it. We knew she was cookin’ up somethin’,but we didn’t know she was usin’ your dead ma to reproach him for his daughters bein’ in ragswhen he could get a hundred and fifty thousand dollars out of the Yankees.”   “One hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” murmured Scarlett, her horror at the oath fading.   What a lot of money that was! And to be had for the mere signing of an oath of allegiance to theUnited States government, an oath stating that the signer had always supported the government andnever given aid and comfort to its enemies. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars! That muchmoney for that small a lie! Well, she couldn’t blame Suellen. Good heavens! Was that what Alexmeant by wanting to rawhide her? What the County meant by intending to cut her? Fools, everyone of them. What couldn’t she do with that much money! What couldn’t any of the folks in theCounty do with it! And what did so small a lie matter? After all, anything you could get out of theYankees was fair money, no matter how you got it.   “Yesterday, about noon when Ashley and me were splittin’ rails, Suellen got this wagon and gotyour pa in it and off they went to town without a word to anybody. Miss Melly had a notion what itwas all about but she was prayin’ somethin’ would change Suellen, so she didn’t say nothin’ to therest of us. She just didn’t see how Suellen could do such a thing.   “Today I heard all about what happened. That pusillanimous fellow, Hilton, had some influencewith the other Scalawags and Republicans in town and Suellen had agreed to give them some ofthe money—I don’t know how much—if they’d kind of wink their eye about Mr. O’Hara bein’ aloyal Union man and play on how he was an Irishman and didn’t fight in the army and so on, andsign recommendations. All your pa had to do was take the oath and sign the paper and off it wouldgo to Washington.   “They rattled off the oath real fast and he didn’t say nothin’ and it went right well till she gothim up to the signin’ of it. And then the old gentleman kind of come to himself for a minute andshook his head. I don’t think he knew what it was all about but he didn’t like it and Suellen alwaysdid rub him the wrong way. Well, that just about gave her the nervous fits after all the trouble she’dgone to. She took him out of the office and rode him up and down the road and talked to him aboutyour ma cryin’ out of her grave at him for lettin’ her children suffer when he could provide forthem. They tell me your pa sat there in the wagon and cried like a baby, like he always does whenhe hears her name. Everybody in town saw them and Alex Fontaine went over to see what was thematter, but Suellen gave him the rough side of her tongue and told him to mind his own business,so he went off mad.   “I don’t know where she got the notion but some time in the afternoon she got a bottle of brandyand took Mr. O’Hara back to the office and begun pourin’ it for him. Scarlett, we haven’t had nospirits ‘round Tara for a year, just a little blackberry wine and scuppernong wine Dilcey makes,and Mr. O’Hara warn’t used to it. He got real drunk, and after Suellen had argued and nagged acouple of hours he gave in and said Yes, he’d sign anything she wanted. They got the oath outagain and just as he was about to put pen to paper, Suellen made her mistake. She said: ‘Well, now.   I guess the Slatterys and the Macintoshes won’t be givin’ themselves airs over us!’ You see,Scarlett, the Slatterys had put in a claim for a big amount for that little shack of theirs that theYankees burned and Emmie’s husband had got it through Washington for them.   “They tell me that when Suellen said those names, your pa kind of straightened up and squaredhis shoulders and looked at her, sharp-like. He warn’t vague no more and he said: ‘Have theSlatterys and the Macintoshes signed somethin’ like this?’ and Suellen got nervous and said Yesand No and stuttered and he shouted right loud: Tell me, did that God-damned Orangeman and thatGod-damned poor white sign somethin’ like this?’ And that feller Hilton spoke up smooth-like and said: ‘Yes sir, they did and they got a pile of money like you’ll get.’   “And then the old gentleman let out a roar like a bull. Alex Fontaine said he heard him fromdown the street at the saloon. And he said with a brogue you could cut with a butterknife: ‘Andwere ye afther thinkin’ an O’Hara of Tara would be follyin’ the dirthy thracks of a God-damnedOrangeman and a God-damned poor white?’ And he tore the paper in two and threw it in Suellen’sface and he bellowed: ‘Ye’re no daughter of mine!’ and he was out of the office before you couldsay Jack Robinson.   “Alex said he saw him come out on the street, chargin’ like a bull. He said the old gentlemanlooked like his old self for the first time since your ma died. Said he was reelin’ drunk and cussin’   at the top of his lungs. Alex said he never heard such fine cussin’. Alex’s horse was standin’ thereand your pa climbed on it without a by-your-leave and off he went in a cloud of dust so thick itchoked you, cussin’ every breath he drew.   “Well, about sundown Ashley and me were sittin’ on the front step, lookin’ down the road and‘mighty worried. Miss Melly was upstairs cryin’ on her bed and wouldn’t tell us nothin’. Terrectly,we heard a poundin’ down the road and somebody yellin’ like they was fox huntin’ and Ashleysaid: That’s queer! That sounds like Mr. O’Hara when he used to ride over to see us before thewar.’   “And then we seen him way down at the end of the pasture. He must have jumped the fenceright over there. And he come ridin’ hell-for-leather up the hill, singin’ at the top of his voice likehe didn’t have a care in the world. I didn’t know your pa had such a voice. He was singin’ ‘Peg in aLow-backed Car’ and beatin’ the horse with his hat and the horse was goin’ like mad. He didn’tdraw rein when he come near the top and we seen he was goin’ to jump the pasture fence and wehopped up, scared to death, and then he yelled: ‘Look, Ellen! Watch me take this one!’ But thehorse stopped right on his haunches at the fence and wouldn’t take the jump and your pa went rightover his head. He didn’t suffer none. He was dead time we got to him. I guess it broke his neck.”   Will waited a minute for her to speak and when she did not he picked up the reins. “Giddap,Sherman,” he said, and the horse started on toward home.   火车很晚才到达琼斯博罗。思嘉走下车来。六月的黄昏显得格外长,深蓝的暮色忆已经笼罩着大地。村子里剩下的仅有几家商店和几所住宅射出了黄色的灯光。大街上的建筑物,有的被炮弹打坏了,有的烧坏了,因此,房子与房子之间往往有很长的距离。破旧的房子呆呆地盯着她,黑黝黝的,一点声音也没有,房顶上有炮弹打的洞,半边墙也被炸掉了。   布拉德商店的木板棚旁边拴着几骑马,还有几头骡子。红土路上空无一人,死气沉沉。在宁静的暮色中,整个村子里只能听到马路那头一家酒吧里传出来的尖叫声和醉汉的欢笑声。   车站在战争中烧毁了,还没有重建。现在这里只有一个木棚,周围就什么也没有,无法遮风挡雨。思嘉在棚子下面走了一会儿,在一只空木桶上坐下,那几只空木桶放在那里,看来是让人坐的。她沿着马路张望,看威尔•本廷来了没有。   威尔本应到这里来接她。他应该知道:收到他那封简短的信,得知父亲杰拉尔德去世的消息,她肯定会乘最早的一班火车赶来的。   她走得十分仓促,小旅行包里只有一件睡衣,一把牙刷,连换洗的内衣也没有带。她没有时间去买丧服,问米德太太借了一件黑色连衣裙,但是太瘦,她穿着很不舒服。米德太太现在很瘦,而思嘉已怀孕很久,穿着这件衣服,觉得特别不舒服。她虽然为父亲去世感到悲伤,但也并没有忘记自己是个什么样子,她低头看了看自己的身子,觉得很难看。身段已经根本没有了,脸和脚腕子也都肿了。在此以前,对于自己是个什么样子,她并不在乎,可是现在,她立刻就要见到艾希礼了,就十分在意了。她虽然处于悲痛之中,然而一想到和他见面,而她怀的又是另外一个男人的孩子,就感到不寒而栗。她是爱他的,他也爱她,此时此刻她意识到这个不受欢迎的孩子仿佛成了她忠于爱情的罪证。她那苗条的腰身和轻盈的脚步都已消失,无论她多么不希望他看到这一点,她现在也完全无法回避了。   她烦躁不已地跺起脚来。威尔应该来接她呀。她当然可以到布拉德商店去询问一下他的情况,要是知道他不会来,她也可以找个人赶车,把她送到塔拉去。但是她不乐意到布拉德商店去。因为那是星期六晚上,可能区里有一半男人都在那里。她不愿意让人家看见她这副样子,因为这件不合身的黑衣裳不但不能遮掩她难看的体形,反而使之更加突出了。另外,她也不想听人们出于好意,对她父亲之死没完没了地说些表示同情的话。她不需要同情。她怕一听到有人提他的名字,她就会哭起来。她并不想哭。她知道,一哭起来就控制不祝上次,在那可怕的黑夜里,亚特兰大陷落,瑞德把她扔在城外黑漆漆的路上,她抱着马的脖子痛哭,悲痛欲绝,怎么也抑制不祝她确实不想哭。她的喉咙又感到一阵哽咽,自从噩耗传来,她不时地有这种感觉,但是哭有什么用呢。只会弄得她心烦意乱,而且还消耗体力。唉,威尔、媚兰、还有那些姑娘们,为什么就不写信告诉她父亲生病了呢?她会马上乘火车到塔拉来照顾他的,必要的话,还可以从亚特兰大请个医生来嘛。这些傻瓜,他们都是些傻瓜。难道他们没有她就什么事也办不成了吗?她总不能同时待在两个地方呀,而且上帝知道,她在亚特兰大也为他们竭尽全力了。   思嘉坐在木桶上东张西望,还不见威尔接她,感到坐立不安。他到哪儿去了呢?此刻她突然听见身后铁路上的煤渣沙沙响,回头一看,只见亚历克斯•方丹扛着一口袋燕麦,越过铁路,朝一辆马车走去。   “天哪!这不是思嘉吗?"他喊道,立即撂下口袋,跑过来,握住思嘉的手,他那痛苦的黑黝黝的小脸露出亲切的神情。"看到你,我真高兴。我看见威尔在铁匠铺钉马掌呢。火车晚点了,他以为能来得及。我跑去叫他,好吗?"“还好吧,亚历克斯,"她说,她虽然很难过,却也露出笑容。见到一个老乡,她觉得好受多了。   “唉----唉----思嘉,"他仍然握着她的手,吞吞吐吐地继续说,"我为你父亲感到非常难过。"“谢谢你,"她答道,其实她并不希望他提起这件事,因为他这么一说,使她眼前顿时闪出出父亲音容笑貌。   “思嘉,你应该得到安慰,我可以告诉你,我们这儿的人都为他而感到自豪,“亚历克斯一面说,一面松开了手。"他----嗯,我们知道他死得像个战士,是在战斗中死去的。"他这话是什么意思,思嘉感到莫名其妙。像个战士?是有人开枪把他打死了吗?难道他和托尼一样,和共和党人交火了吗?然而她不能再听亚历克斯讲下去。一提到父亲,她就想哭,而她不是能在这里哭的。要哭,也要等到坐上车,和威尔一起上了路,没有人看见的时候再哭。威尔看见没有关系,因为他就像自己的哥哥一样。   “亚历克斯,我不想谈这件事,"她一句话把人家顶了回去。   “思嘉,这没关系,"亚历克斯说,这时他一股怒气涌上心头,涨得满脸通红。“她要是我的姐妹,我就----哎,思嘉,提到任何一个女人,我都没说过一句粗鲁的话,可是,说实话,我真的觉得应该有个人拿起鞭教训教训苏伦。"他在胡扯些什么呀?思嘉一点也听不明白。苏伦和这件事有什么关系呢?   “可惜呀,这地方人人对她都是这个看法。只有威尔不责备她,当然还有媚兰小姐,她是个大好人,在她眼里谁都没有缺点----。"“我刚才已经说了,我不想谈这件事,"思嘉冷冰冰地说,可是亚历克斯好像不知趣。他仿佛知道她为什么这样不客气,这就使得思嘉更为恼怒。她不愿意从一个局外人那里听到自己家中不好的消息,不希望这个局外人看她对自己家中发生的事一点知道。威尔怎么不把所有的细节都写信告诉她呢?   思嘉希望亚历克斯不要那样盯着她看。她感到亚历克斯已发现到她怀孕了,这使她很不好意思。亚历克斯则在昏暗的暮色中一面看着她一面想,她的容貌完全变了,刚才是怎样认出她来的呢。这变化也许是因为怀孕的缘故。女人怀了孕,都是很丑的。此外,奥哈拉老先生之死,也一定让她特别伤心。她父亲一向是最宠爱她的。但是还不止于此,还有更深刻的变化。和上次见到她的时候相比,她现在的气色好多了。至少如今她看上去她似乎一天能吃上三顿像样的饭了。   往日那种失魂落魄的神情已经消失了很多。过去她那惊恐不安的目光,现在坚定了。她现在有一种威严、自信、果敢的神气,即使在微笑之中也流露出这种神气。弗兰克这个老家伙一定和她生活得很愉快。她确实是变了。她是个美丽的女人,这是肯定无疑的,不过她脸上那种温柔甜美的表情不见了,她仰着头讨好男人的神态,过去他比谁都熟悉,现在也全然消失了。   但话又说回来了,难道不是大家都变了吗?亚历克斯低头看了看自己的破衣服,脸上马上又露出平时那种痛苦的样子。晚上有时躺着睡不着觉,他就苦思怎样才能让母亲作手术,怎样才能死去的可怜的乔留下的小儿子受教育,怎样才能赚到钱,再买一头骡子,每到这时候,他就觉得还不如继续打下去,他真希望战争永远打下去。他们那时也不知道自己的命运如何。在军队里总有吃的,哪怕是玉米饼子也无所谓,在军队里总有命令你做什么事情,而不必受这份罪。面对着一大堆问题,无法解决。在军队里,什么都不用操心,只要别被敌人打死就行了。除此之外,还有迪米蒂•芒罗。亚历克斯想和她结婚,但是他知道这是不可能的,因为已经有这么些人靠他来养活了。他爱她已经爱了很久,现在她脸上的红晕在逐渐褪去,眼中的欢乐在逐渐消失。要是托尼没跑到得克萨斯去,该有多好埃家里要是还有一个男人,情况就完全不一样了。他那可爱的脾气暴躁的小兄弟,身无分文,跑到西部去了。他们确实是都变了。怎么能不变呢?他深深地叹了一口气。   “你和弗兰克帮了托尼的忙,我还没谢谢你呢,"亚历克斯说。"是你帮他逃走的吧?你可太好了,我打听到了一点消息说他在得克萨斯平安无事的。我没敢写信问津,不过你和弗兰克是不是借给他钱了?我愿意归还----"“唔,亚历克斯,快别说了。现在不谈这个,"思嘉说。钱对她说来居然无关紧要了。   亚历克斯停顿了片刻,又接着说:“我去找威尔来。明天我们都来参加葬礼。“亚历克斯打起那口袋燕麦,转身要走。就在这时,一辆马车摇摇晃晃地从一条小路上拐出来,吱嘎吱嘎朝他们驶来。   威尔没等下车就喊道:“对不起,思嘉,我来晚了。"威尔笨手笨脚地下了车,迈着沉重的步子走到思嘉面前,鞠了个躬,吻了吻她。他从未吻过她,每次提到她的名字,都总要加上"小姐"二字。因此,威尔这样欢迎她,虽然出她意料之外,却使她感到温暖,感到十分高兴。他小心翼翼地扶她躲开车轮,上了车,她低头一看,发现这就是她逃离亚特兰大的时候乘坐的那辆快要散架的旧马车。这么长时间,竟然还没有散架呢?一定是威尔非常注意维修。现在看到这辆车,她感到有点不舒服,而且又记那天晚上离开亚特兰大的情景。她想,就是不吃不穿,她要给家里添辆新车,把这辆旧烧掉。   威尔开始没有说话,思嘉对此非常感激,他把自己那顶破草帽往马车后面一扔,对牲口吆喝了一声,他们就出发了。   威尔还是老样子,细长的个子,看上去有些不顺眼,淡红色的头发,温和的眼睛,和牲口一样有耐性。   他们离开村子,走上了通往塔拉的红土路。天边依然残留着一些微红,大片羽毛般的云彩染成了金色和淡绿色。乡间的夜幕悄悄地降临,笼罩着周围的一切,像祈祷一样使人感到安逸。她在困惑,几个月来,没有乡间的清新空气,没有新犁过的土地,没有甜美的夏夜,自己是怎么熬过来的。那湿润的红土那么好闻。那么熟悉,那么亲切,她都想下车去捧上一把。路边红土沟里长满了忍冬,枝叶纵横交错,雨后发出浓郁的香气,和世界上最好的香水一样香。突然有一群燕子扑打着翅膀,从他们头顶上掠过,还不时地有受惊的兔子穿过大路,白色的尾巴摇动着,像是一个鸭绒的粉片。从耕种的土地中间穿过,她高兴地看到两边的棉花长势良好,还有那绿色的灌木在红土里茁壮成长。这一切是多么美好呀!潮湿的沟底里那灰色的薄雾,那红色的土地和茂盛的棉花,平地上一行行弯弯曲曲的庄稼,远处还有黑色的松树,宛如一片片黑色的屏障。她怎么能在亚特兰大待这么久呢,连她自己也不明白。   “思嘉,过一会儿我再告诉你关于奥哈啦先生的一切情况,在到家以前,我会把所有的情况都告诉你。我想先就一件事听听你的意见。你现在应该算是一家之主了吧。"“什么事呀,威尔?"他扭过头来,温和而冷静地盯着她看了一会儿。   “我请求你同意我和苏伦结婚。”   思嘉紧紧地抓住坐垫,感到十分吃惊,差点向后倒下。和苏伦结婚!自从她把弗兰克•肯尼迪从苏伦那里抢走以后,就从来没有想到有谁会想和苏伦结婚。有谁会要苏伦呢?   “哎哟,威尔!”   “这么说,你是不介意喽?”   “介意?不,我不介意,但是----威尔,你真叫我奇怪!   你和苏伦结婚?威尔,我一直都以为你喜欢卡琳呢。"威尔两眼盯着马,抖了抖缰绳。从侧面看,他的姿势没有变,但思嘉感到他轻轻地叹了一口气。   “也许是的,"他说。   “怎么,她不想跟你吗?”   “我从来没有问过她。”   “哎呀,威尔,你真傻。你就问问她嘛。她比两个苏伦都要强!"“思嘉,你知道在塔拉发生了许多事情,近几个月来,你哪里有多少心思来关心我们呀。”“我不关心,是吧?“思嘉突然发起火来。"你以为我在亚特兰大干什么呢?坐着四骑马的大马车到处参加舞会吗?我不是每个月给你们寄钱吗?我不是交了税,修了屋顶,买了新犁耙,还买了骡子吗?我不是----"“你先别发脾气,使你们爱尔兰人的性子,"他平静地打断了她的话。"要说你做的事情,我比谁都清楚,够两个男人干的。"她的情绪稍微平静了一点之后,她问道,"那你是什么意思?”“这个,你让我们有安身之处,让我们有饭吃,这我不否认。可是这里的人们脑子里在想些什么,你就不大关心。我不责怪你,思嘉,你一直是这个样子。人们心里想什么,你从来不感兴趣。我想告诉你,我根本就没问过卡琳,因为我知道,问也无用。她就好像是的一个小妹妹,我肯定她什么事都对我说,不过别人说。但她始忘不了那个死了的情人,永远也忘不了。我也不妨告诉你,她正想上查尔斯顿,去做修女呢。"“你在开玩笑吧?"“这个,我猜到你会大吃一惊的,思嘉,我只想央求你不要说她,笑她,也不要阻拦她。让她去吧。她只有这么一点儿要求,她的心碎了。"“我的天哪!心碎的人多了,也没见谁去当修女。就拿我来说吧,我送掉了一个丈夫。"“可是你的心没有碎,"威尔心平气和地一边说,一边从脚下拴起一根草棍,放到嘴里,慢慢咀嚼起来,这句话顿时使她泄了气。她一直是这样,如果别人说的话是合乎实际的,无论多么难以接受,她也会老老实实地承认。她沉默了一会儿,心里思忖着,要是卡琳当了修女,会是怎样的一种情况。   “你答应我,不要说她了。”   “那我就答应你吧,"思嘉回答说,同时看一眼威尔,觉得对他有了进一步的了解,也感到有些惊讶。威尔爱过卡琳,现在还很爱她,设法帮助她,使她顺利得到解脱。可是他怪然要和苏伦结婚。   “可是这苏伦是怎么回事?你不是不喜欢她吗?"“唔,我也不是一定不喜欢她,"他一面说,一面把草棍从嘴里拿出来盯着看,好像十分有趣。"苏伦并不像你以为的那么坏,思嘉,我想我们俩会和睦相处的。苏伦差就差在她需要一个丈夫,生下一帮孩子,女人都是这样。"马车沿着车辙很深的路摇摇晃晃地向前驶去。两人坐在那里沉默了一会,思嘉的心里左思右想。问题一定不像表面上这么简单,一定还有更深一层、更重要的原因,否则性情温和、言语亲切的威尔是不会想和苏伦这样一个爱唠叨的人结婚的。   “威尔,你没有把真正的原因告诉我。你要是觉得我是一家之主,我就有权问清楚。”“你说得对,"威尔说,"我想你会理解的。我不能离开塔拉这个地方。这里就是我的家,是我唯一的真正的家。我爱这里的一草一木。我为它出过力,觉得它就像自己的一样。你要是在某件东西上出过力,你就会对它有感情。你明白我的意思吗?"思嘉的的确确是明白了他的意思。而且听到他说他也喜爱自己最喜爱的东西,心里升起一股暖流,对他有一种亲切的之感。   “我是这么想的。你爸爸死了,卡琳再当了修女,这里就只剩下我和苏伦了。我要是不与她结婚,自然是不能在这里住下去的,你知道人们会说闲话的呀。”“但是----但是,威尔,那里还有媚兰和艾希礼呀----"一提起艾希礼的名字,威尔就转过脸来看着思嘉,灰色的眼睛发出深沉的目光。她又一次感到威尔对她和艾希礼的事很清楚,很理解,不过他既不指责,也不表示赞成。   “你们很快就要走了。”   “走?上哪儿去?塔拉是你的家,也是他们的家。"“不,这里不是他们的家。艾希礼正是因此而苦恼。他没把这里当他的家,也不觉得自己是在挣钱养活自己。他干不好农活,他自己也知道,他很努力,可是天知道,他天生不是干农活的料,这你我都是很清楚的。他要是叫他劈柴火,他准得把自己的脚丫子劈掉。要是叫他下地扶犁,他还不如小博扶得直。怎么种庄稼,他很多事都不懂,够写一本书的。这也不能算是他的过错,在天生就不是干这的。他觉得自己是个男子汉,可是住在塔拉,靠一个女人施舍过日子,又无法报答,所以很苦恼。"“施舍?他真的说过----"“没有,他从来没有说过。你是了解艾希礼的。但是我看得出来。昨晚,我们俩坐在一起给你爸爸守灵的时候,我对他说我向苏伦求婚,苏伦同意了。艾希礼说,这倒使他松了一口气,因为他说他住在塔拉,总感到像条狗似的,既然奥哈拉先生死了,他觉得他和媚兰小姐就不得不在这里待下去,否则人们就会说我和苏伦的闲话了,现在既然这样,他说他就打算离开塔拉,到别处去找工作去了。"“我也不知道他到底要干什么,不过他说要到北方去,他在纽约有个朋友,是个北方佬,给他写信,让他到那里一家银行去工作。   “啊,不行!"思嘉发自肺腑地喊了一声。威尔一听,又转过头来看了她一眼。   “也许他还是到北方去的好。”   “不,不!我看不好的。”   思嘉心里思绪万千。她暗想,无论如何也不能让艾希礼到北方去。艾希礼要是走了,就可能永远见不到面了。虽然过去几个月没有见到他,而且自从在果园里出了那件事之后一直没有单独与他说过话,但是她没有一天不想念他,一想到为他提供了存身之处就感到高兴,她每次给威尔寄钱,都想到这可以使艾希礼生活宽裕些,因此觉得愉快。他当然不是个像样的庄稼汉。她认为他生来就是干大事的。为他感到骄傲。他生来就高人一等,就该住大房子。骑好马,念念诗,还可以使唤黑奴。现在大房子没有了,马没有了,黑奴没有了,书也很少了,可是这统统没关系。艾希礼不是生来就该种地劈柴的。难怪他要离开塔拉了。   但是她不能让他离开佐治亚。必要的话,她可以逼着弗兰克在店里给他安排个工作,辞退那个站柜台的伙计,可是,不能这么办,因为艾希礼不只种田不行,站柜台也是不行的。   威尔克斯家的人怎么能做买卖呢?啊,那是绝对不行的!一定要有个合适的工作----对呀,当然可以把他安插在她的木材厂里!她想到这里,如释重负,禁不住露出笑容。可是艾希礼会不会接受她这份好意呢?他会不会认为这也是一种施舍呢?她一定得想个办法,使艾希礼认为是在帮她的忙,她可以辞掉约翰逊先生,让艾希礼去管老厂,让休管新厂,她要向艾希礼解释,就说弗兰克身体不好,店里的活儿也太重,帮不了她的忙,她还可以以怀孕为理由,说明为什么非请他帮忙不可。   思嘉无论如何也要让艾希礼明白,眼下非帮他一把不可。   他要是愿意把木材厂接过去。她情愿把利润分一半给他,只要能把他留在身边,只要能看见他脸上露出的愉快笑容,只要有机会看到他眼神里无意中依然流露出的爱慕之情,她是什么都愿意给的。不过她也告诫自己,千万不要再鼓励他表白爱情,千万不要让他放弃他比爱情更看重的纯洁的名誉感。   她无论如何也要想方设让他知道她刚刚作出的决定,否则他会不干的,因为他怕再出一次那种糟糕的事。   “我能在亚特兰大给他找个事做。"她说。   “那就是你和艾希礼的事了,"威尔说,随即又把草棍放到跟里去了。"驾!快点儿,谢尔曼。我还得求你一件事,然后才能说你爸爸的事。那就是请你不要谴责苏伦。祸,她已经闯下了,你就是把她的头发全揪光,也不能让奥哈拉先生复活了。何况她还真的以为自己是能把这件事办好的。"“我刚才就想问你,这苏伦究竟是怎么回事?亚历克斯说得吞吞吐吐,说应该用鞭子抽她一顿,她到底做错了什么事?"“是啊,大家都对她很愤慨,今天下午在琼斯博罗,谁见了我都说再看到她就要宰了她,不过他们也许过一会儿就好了。现在你得答应我。不去 Chapter 40 SCARLETT SLEPT little that night. When the dawn had come and the sun was creeping overthe black pines on the hills to the east, she rose from her tumbled bed and, seating herself on astool by the window, laid her tired head on her arm and looked out over the barn yard and orchardof Tara toward the cotton fields. Everything was fresh and dewy and silent and green and the sightof the cotton fields brought a measure of balm and comfort to her sore heart. Tara, at sunrise,looked loved, well tended and at peace, for all that its master lay dead. The squatty log chickenhouse was clay daubed against rats weasels and clean with whitewash, and so was the log stable.   The garden with its rows of corn, bright-yellow squash, butter beans and turnips was well weededand neatly fenced with split-oak rails. The orchard was cleared of underbrush and only daisiesgrew beneath the long rows of trees. The sun picked out with faint glistening the apples and thefurred pink peaches half hidden in the green leaves. Beyond lay the curving rows of cotton, still and green under the gold of the new sky. The ducks and chickens were waddling and strutting offtoward the fields, for under the bushes in the soft plowed earth were found the choicest worms andslugs.   Scarlett’s heart swelled with affection and gratitude to Will who had done all of this. Even herloyalty to Ashley could not make her believe he had been responsible for much of this well-being,for Tara’s bloom was not the work of a planter-aristocrat, but of the plodding, tireless “smallfarmer” who loved his land. It was a “two-horse” farm, not the lordly plantation of other days withpastures full of mules and fine horses and cotton and corn stretching as far as eye could see. Butwhat there was of it was good and the acres that were lying fallow could be reclaimed when timesgrew better, and they would be the more fertile for their rest.   Will had done more than merely farm a few acres. He had kept sternly at bay those two enemiesof Georgia planters, the seedling pine and the blackberry brambles. They had not stealthily takengarden and pasture and cotton field and lawn and reared themselves insolently by the porches ofTara, as they were doing on numberless plantations throughout the state.   Scarlett’s heart failed a beat when she thought how close Tara had come to going back towilderness. Between herself and Will, they had done a good job. They had held off the Yankees,the Carpetbaggers and the encroachments of Nature. And, best of all, Will had told her that afterthe cotton came in in the fall, she need send no more money—unless some other Carpetbaggercoveted Tara and skyrocketed the taxes. Scarlett knew Will would have a hard pull without herhelp but she admired and respected his independence. As long as he was in the position of hiredhelp he would take her money, but now that he was to become her brother-in-law and the man ofthe house, he intended to stand on his own efforts. Yes, Will was something the Lord had provided.   Pork had dug the grave the night before, close by Ellen’s grave, and he stood, spade in hand,behind the moist red clay he was soon to shovel back in place. Scarlett stood behind him in thepatchy shade of a gnarled low-limbed cedar, the hot sun of the June morning dappling her, andtried to keep her eyes away from the red trench in front of her. Jim Tarleton, little Hugh Munroe,Alex Fontaine and old man McRae’s youngest grandson came slowly and awkwardly down thepath from the house bearing Gerald’s coffin on two lengths of split oak. Behind them, at arespectful distance, followed a large straggling crowd of neighbors and friends, shabbily dressed,silent. As they came down the sunny path through the garden, Pork bowed his head upon the top ofthe spade handle and cried; and Scarlett saw with incurious surprise that the kinks on his head, sojettily black when she went to Atlanta a few months before, were now grizzled.   She thanked God tiredly that she had cried all her tears the night before, so now she could standerect and dry eyed. The sound of Suellen’s tears, put back of her shoulder, irritated her unbearablyand she had to clench her fists to keep from turning and slapping the swollen face. Sue had beenthe cause of her father’s death, whether she intended it or not, and she should have the decency tocontrol herself in front of the hostile neighbors. Not a single person had spoken to her that morningor given her one look of sympathy. They had kissed Scarlett quietly, shaken her hand, murmuredkind words to Carreen and even to Pork but had looked through Suellen as if she were not there.   To them she had done worse than murder her father. She had tried to betray him into disloyalty to the South. And to that grim and close-knit community it was as if she had tried to betray thehonor of them all. She had broken the solid front the County presented to the world. By herattempt to get money from the Yankee government she had aligned herself with Carpetbaggers andScalawags, more hated enemies than the Yankee soldiers had ever been. She, a member of an oldand staunchly Confederate family, a planter’s family, had gone over to the enemy and by so doinghad brought shame on every family in the County.   The mourners were seething with indignation and downcast with sorrow, especially three ofthem—old man McRae, who had been Gerald’s crony since he came to the up-country fromSavannah so many years before, Grandma Fontaine who loved him because he was Ellen’shusband, and Mrs. Tarleton who had been closer to him than to any of her neighbors because, asshe often said, he was the only man in the County who knew a stallion from a gelding.   The sight of the stormy faces of these three in the dim parlor where Gerald lay before the funeralhad caused Ashley and Will some uneasiness and they had retired to Ellen’s office for aconsultation.   “Some of them are goin’ to say somethin’ about Suellen,” said Will abruptly, biting his straw inhalf. They think they got just cause to say somethin’. Maybe they have. It ain’t for me to say. But,Ashley, whether they’re right or not, we’ll have to resent it, bein’ the men of the family, and thenthere’ll be trouble. Can’t nobody do nothin’ with old man McRae because he’s deaf as a post andcan’t hear folks tryin’ to shut him up. And you know there ain’t nobody in God’s world everstopped Grandma Fontaine from speakin’ her mind. And as for Mrs. Tarleton—did you see her rollthem russet eyes of hers every time she looked at Sue? She’s got her ears laid back and can’thardly wait. If they say somethin’, we got to take it up and we got enough trouble at Tara nowwithout bein’ at outs with our neighbors.”   Ashley sighed worriedly. He knew the tempers of his neighbors better than Will did and heremembered that fully half of the quarrels and some of the shootings of the days before the warhad risen from the County custom of saying a few words over the coffins of departed neighbors.   Generally the words were eulogistic in the extreme but occasionally they were not. Sometimes,words meant in the utmost respect were misconstrued by overstrung relatives of the dead andscarcely were the last shovels of earth mounded above the coffin before trouble began.   In the absence of a priest Ashley was to conduct the services with the aid of Carreen’s Book ofDevotions, the assistance of the Methodist and Baptist preachers of Jonesboro and Fayettevillehaving been tactfully refused. Carreen, more devoutly Catholic than her sisters, had been veryupset that Scarlett had neglected to bring a priest from Atlanta with her and had only been a littleeased by the reminder that when the priest came down to marry Will and Suellen, he could read theservices over Gerald. It was she who objected to the neighboring Protestant preachers and gave thematter into Ashley’s hands, marking passages in her book for him to read. Ashley, leaning againstthe old secretary, knew that the responsibility for preventing trouble lay with him and, knowing thehair-trigger tempers of the County, was at a loss as to how to proceed.   “There’s no help for it, Will,” he said, rumpling his bright hair. “I can’t knock Grandma Fontainedown or old man McRae either, and I can’t hold my hand over Mrs. Tarleton’s mouth. And themildest thing they’ll say is that Suellen is a murderess and a traitor and but for her Mr. O’Hara would still be alive. Damn this custom of speaking over the dead. It’s barbarous.”   “Look, Ash,” said Will slowly. “I ain’t aimin’ to have nobody say nothin’ against Suellen, nomatter what they think. You leave it to me. When you’ve finished with the readin’ and the prayin’   and you say: ‘If anyone would like to say a few words,’ you look right at me, so I can speak first.”   But Scarlett, watching the pallbearers’ difficulty in getting the coffin through the narrowentrance into the burying ground, had no thought of trouble to come after the funeral. She wasthinking with a leaden heart that in burying Gerald she was burying one of the last links that joinedher to the old days of happiness and irresponsibility.   Finally the pallbearers set the coffin down near the grave and stood clenching and unclenchingtheir aching fingers. Ashley, Melanie and Will filed into the enclosure and stood behind the O’Haragirls. All the closer neighbors who could crowd in were behind them and the others stood outsidethe brick wall. Scarlett, really seeing them for the first time, was surprised and touched by the sizeof the crowd. With transportation so limited it was kind of so many to come. There were fifty orsixty people there, some of them from so far away she wondered how they had heard in time tocome. There were whole families from Jonesboro and Fayetteville and Lovejoy and with them afew negro servants. Many small farmers from far across the river were present and Crackers fromthe backwoods and a scattering of swamp folk. The swamp men were lean bearded giants inhomespun, coon-skin caps on their heads, their rifles easy in the crooks of their arms, their wads oftobacco stilled in their cheeks. Their women were with them, their bare feet sunk in the soft redearth, their lower lips full of snuff. Their faces beneath their sun-bonnets were sallow and malarial-looking but shining clean and their freshly ironed calicoes glistened with starch.   The near neighbors were there in full force. Grandma Fontaine, withered, wrinkled and yellowas an old molted bird, was leaning on her cane, and behind her were Sally Munroe Fontaine andYoung Miss Fontaine. They were trying vainly by whispered pleas and jerks at her skirt to makethe old lady sit down on the brick wall. Grandma’s husband, the Old Doctor, was not there. He haddied two months before and much of the bright malicious joy of life had gone from her old eyes.   Cathleen Calvert Hilton stood alone as befitted one whose husband had helped bring about thepresent tragedy, her faded sunbonnet hiding her bowed face. Scarlett saw with amazement that herpercale dress had grease spots on it and her hands were freckled and unclean. There were evenblack crescents under her fingernails. There was nothing of quality folks about Cathleen now. Shelooked Cracker, even worse. She looked poor white, shiftless, slovenly, trifling.   “She’ll be dipping snuff soon, if she isn’t doing it already,” thought Scarlett in horror. “GoodLord! What a comedown!”   She shuddered, turning her eyes from Cathleen as she realized how narrow was the chasmbetween quality folk and poor whites.   “There but for a lot of gumption am I,” she thought, and pride surged through her as she realizedthat she and Cathleen had started with the same equipment after the surrender—empty hands andwhat they had in their heads.   “I haven’t done so bad,” she thought, lifting her chin and smiling.   But she stopped in mid-smile as she saw the scandalized eyes of Mrs. Tarleton upon her. Her eyes were red-rimmed from tears and, after giving Scarlett a reproving look, she turned her gazeback to Suellen, a fierce angry gaze that boded ill for her. Behind her and her husband were thefour Tarleton girls, their red locks indecorous notes in the solemn occasion, their russet eyes stilllooking like the eyes of vital young animals, spirited and dangerous.   Feet were stilled, hats were removed, hands folded and skirts rustled into quietness as Ashleystepped forward with Carreen’s worn Book of Devotions in his hand. He stood for a momentlooking down, the sun glittering on his golden head. A deep silence fell on the crowd, so deep thatthe harsh whisper of the wind in the magnolia leaves came clear to their ears and the far-offrepetitious note of a mockingbird sounded unendurably loud and sad. Ashley began to read theprayers and all heads bowed as his resonant, beautifully modulated voice rolled out the brief anddignified words.   “Oh!” thought Scarlett, her throat constricting. “How beautiful his voice is! If anyone has to dothis for Pa, I’m glad it’s Ashley. I’d rather have him than a priest. I’d rather have Pa buried by oneof his own folks than a stranger.”   When Ashley came to the part of the prayers concerning the souls in Purgatory, which Carreenhad marked for him to read, he abruptly closed the book. Only Carreen noticed the omission andlooked up puzzled, as he began the Lord’s Prayer. Ashley knew that half the people present hadnever heard of Purgatory and those who had would take it as a personal affront, if he insinuated,even in prayer, that so fine a man as Mr. O’Hara had not gone straight to Heaven. So, in deferenceto public opinion, he skipped all mention of Purgatory. The gathering joined heartily in the Lord’sPrayer but their voices trailed off into embarrassed silence when he began the Hail Mary. They hadnever heard that prayer and they looked furtively at each other as the O’Hara girls, Melanie and theTara servants gave the response: “Pray for us, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”   Then Ashley raised his head and stood for a moment, uncertain. The eyes of the neighbors wereexpectantly upon him as they settled themselves in easier positions for a long harangue. They werewaiting for him to go on with the service, for it did not occur to any of them that he was at the endof the Catholic prayers. County funerals were always long. The Baptist and Methodist ministerswho performed them had no set prayers but extemporized as the circumstances demanded andseldom stopped before all mourners were in tears and the bereaved feminine relatives screamingwith grief. The neighbors would have been shocked, aggrieved and indignant, had these briefprayers been all the service over the body of their loved friend, and no one knew this better thanAshley. The matter would be discussed at dinner tables for weeks and the opinion of the Countywould be that the O’Hara girls had not shown proper respect for their father.   So he threw a quick apologetic glance at Carreen and, bowing his head again, began recitingfrom memory the Episcopal burial service which he had often read over slaves buried at TwelveOaks.   “I am the Resurrection and the Life ... and whosoever ... believeth in Me shall never die.”   It did not come back to him readily and he spoke slowly, occasionally falling silent for a spaceas he waited for phrases to rise from his memory. But this measured delivery made his words moreimpressive, and mourners who had been dry-eyed before began now to reach for handkerchiefs.   Sturdy Baptists and Methodists all, they thought it the Catholic ceremony and immediately rear ranged their first opinion that the Catholic services were cold and Popish. Scarlett and Suellenwere equally ignorant and thought the words comforting and beautiful. Only Melanie and Carreenrealized that a devoutly Catholic Irishman was being laid to rest by the Church of England’sservice. And Carreen was too stunned by grief and her hurt at Ashley’s treachery to interfere.   When he had finished, Ashley opened wide his sad gray eyes and looked about the crowd. Aftera pause, his eyes caught those of Will and he said: “Is there anyone present who would like to say aword?”   Mrs. Tarleton twitched nervously but before she could act, Will stumped forward and standing atthe head of the coffin began to speak.   “Friends,” he began in his flat voice, “maybe you think I’m gettin’ above myself, speakin’ first—me who never knew Mr. O’Hara till “bout a year ago when you all have known him twentyyears or more. But this here is my excuse. If he’d lived a month or so longer, I’d have had the rightto call him Pa.”   A startled ripple went over the crowd. They were too well bred to whisper but they shifted ontheir feet and stared at Carreen’s bowed head. Everyone knew his dumb devotion to her. Seeing thedirection in which all eyes were cast, Will went on as if he had taken no note.   “So bein’ as how I’m to marry Miss Suellen as soon as the priest comes down from Atlanta, Ithought maybe that gives me the right to speak first.”   The last part of his speech was lost in a faint sibilant buzz that went through the gathering, anangry beelike buzz. There were indignation and disappointment in the sound. Everyone liked Will,everyone respected him for what he had done for Tara. Everyone knew his affections lay withCarreen, so the news that he was to marry the neighborhood pariah instead sat ill upon them. Goodold Will marrying that nasty, sneaking little Suellen O’Hara!   For a moment the air was tense. Mrs. Tarleton’s eyes began to snap and her lips to shapesoundless words. In the silence, old man McRae’s high voice could be heard imploring hisgrandson to tell him what had been said. Will faced them all, still mild of face, but there was somethingin his pale blue eyes which dared them to say one word about his future wife. For a momentthe balance hung between the honest affection everyone had for Will and their contempt forSuellen. And Will won. He continued as if his pause had been a natural one.   “I never knew Mr. O’Hara in his prime like you all done. All I knew personally was a fine oldgentleman who was a mite addled. But I’ve heard tell from you all “bout what he used to be like.   And I want to say this. He was a fightin’ Irishman and a Southern gentleman and as loyal aConfederate as ever lived. You can’t get no better combination than that. And we ain’t likely to seemany more like him, because the times that bred men like him are as dead as he is. He was born ina furrin country but the man we’re buryin’ here today was more of a Georgian than any of usmournin’ him. He lived our life, he loved our land and, when you come right down to it, he diedfor our Cause, same as the soldiers did. He was one of us and he had our good points and our badpoints and he had our strength and he had our failin’s. He had our good points in that couldn’tnothin’ stop him when his mind was made up and he warn’t scared of nothin’ that walked in shoeleather. There warn’t nothin’ that come to him from the outside that could lick him.   “He warn’t scared of the English government when they wanted to hang him. He just lit out andleft home. And when he come to this country and was pore, that didn’t scare him a mite neither. Hewent to work and he made his money. And he warn’t scared to tackle this section when it was partwild and the Injuns had just been run out of it. He made a big plantation out of a wilderness. Andwhen the war come on and his money begun to go, he warn’t scared to be pore again. And whenthe Yankees come through Tara and might of burnt him out or killed him, he warn’t fazed a bit andhe warn’t licked neither. He just planted his front feet and stood his ground. That’s why I say hehad our good points. There ain’t nothin’ from the outside can lick any of us.   “But he had our failin’s too, ‘cause he could be licked from the inside. I mean to say that whatthe whole world couldn’t do, his own heart could. When Mrs. O’Hara died, his heart died too andhe was licked. And what we seen walking ‘round here warn’t him.”   Will paused and his eyes went quietly around the circle of faces. The crowd stood in the hot sunas if enchanted to the ground and whatever wrath they had felt for Suellen was forgotten. Will’seyes rested for a moment on Scarlett and they crinkled slightly at the corners as if he wereinwardly smiling comfort to her. Scarlett, who had been fighting back rising tears, did feelcomforted. Will was talking common sense instead of a lot of tootle about reunions in another andbetter world and submitting her will to God’s. And Scarlett had always found strength and comfortin common sense.   “And I don’t want none of you to think the less of him for breakin’ like he done. All you all andme, too, are like him. We got the same weakness and failin’. There ain’t nothin’ that walks can lickus, any more than it could lick him, not Yankees nor Carpetbaggers nor hard times nor high taxesnor even downright starvation. But that weakness that’s in our hearts can lick us in the time it takesto bat your eye. It ain’t always losin’ someone you love that does it, like it done Mr. O’Hara.   Everybody’s mainspring is different. And I want to say this—folks whose mainsprings are bustedare better dead. There ain’t no place for them in the world these days, and they’re happier bein’   dead. ... That’s why I’m sayin’ you all ain’t got no cause to grieve for Mr. O’Hara now. The time togrieve was back when Sherman come through and he lost Mrs. O’Hara. Now that his body’s goneto join his heart, I don’t see that we got reason to mourn, unless we’re pretty damned selfish, andI’m sayin’ it who loved him like he was my own pa. ... There won’t be no more words said, if youfolks don’t mind. The family is too cut up to listen and it wouldn’t be no kindness to them.”   Will stopped and, turning to Mrs. Tarleton, he said in a lower voice: “I wonder couldn’t you takeScarlett in the house, Ma’m? It ain’t right for her to be standin’ in the sun so long. And GrandmaFontaine don’t look any too peart neither, meanin’ no disrespect,”   Startled at the abrupt switching from the eulogy to herself, Scarlett went red with embarrassmentas all eyes turned toward her. Why should Will advertise her already obvious pregnancy? She gavehim a shamed indignant look, but Will’s placid gaze bore her down.   “Please,” his look said. “I know what I’m doin’.”   Already he was the man of the house and, not wishing to make a scene, Scarlett turnedhelplessly to Mrs. Tarleton. That lady, suddenly diverted, as Will had intended, from thoughts ofSuellen to the always fascinating matter of breeding, be it animal or human, took Scarlett’s arm.   “Come in the house, honey.”   Her face took on a look of kind, absorbed interest and Scarlett suffered herself to be led throughthe crowd that gave way and made a narrow path for her. There was a sympathetic murmuring asshe passed and several hands went out to pat her comfortingly. When she came abreast GrandmaFontaine, the old lady put out a skinny claw and said: “Give me your arm, child,” and added with afierce glance at Sally and Young Miss: “No, don’t you come. I don’t want you.”   They passed slowly through the crowd which closed behind them and went up the shady pathtoward the house, Mrs. Tarleton’s eager helping hand so strong under Scarlett’s elbow that she wasalmost lifted from the ground at each step.   “Now, why did Will do that?” cried Scarlett heatedly, when they were out of earshot. “Hepractically said: ‘Look at her! She’s going to have a baby!’ ”   “Well, sake’s alive, you are, aren’t you?” said Mrs. Tarleton. “Will did right It was foolish ofyou to stand in the hot sun when you might have fainted and had a miscarriage.”   “Will wasn’t bothered about her miscarrying,” said Grandma, a little breathless as she laboredacross the front yard toward the steps. There was a grim, knowing smile on her face. “Will’s smart.   He didn’t want either you or me, Beetrice, at the graveside. He was scared of what we’d say and heknew this was the only way to get rid of us. ... And it was more than that. He didn’t want Scarlettto hear the clods dropping on the coffin. And he’s right. Just remember, Scarlett, as long as youdon’t hear that sound, folks aren’t actually dead to you. But once you hear it ... Well, it’s the mostdreadfully final sound in the world. ... Help me up the steps, child, and give me a hand, Beetrice.   Scarlett don’t any more need your arm than she needs crutches and I’m not so peart, as Will observed.   ... Will knew you were your father’s pet and he didn’t want to make it worse for you than italready was. He figured it wouldn’t be so bad for your sisters. Suellen has her shame to sustain herand Carreen her God. But you’ve got nothing to sustain you, have you, child?”   “No,” answered Scarlett, helping the old lady up the Steps, faintly surprised at the truth thatsounded in the reedy old voice. “I’ve never had anything to sustain me—except Mother.”   “But when you lost her, you found you could stand alone, didn’t you? Well, some folks can’t.   Your pa was one. Will’s right. Don’t you grieve. He couldn’t get along without Ellen and he’shappier where he is. Just like I’ll be happier when I join the Old Doctor.”   She spoke without any desire for sympathy and the two gave her none. She spoke as briskly andnaturally as if her husband were alive and in Jonesboro and a short buggy ride would bring themtogether. Grandma was too old and had seen too much to fear death.   “But—you can stand alone too,” said Scarlett.   “Yes, but it’s powerful uncomfortable at times.”   “Look here, Grandma,” interrupted Mrs. Tarleton, “you ought not to talk to Scarlett like that.   She’s upset enough already. What with her trip down here and that tight dress and her grief and theheat, she’s got enough to make her miscarry without your adding to it, talking grief and sorrow.”   “God’s nightgown!” cried Scarlett in irritation. I’m not upset! And I’m not one of those sicklymiscarrying fools!”   “You never can tell,” said Mrs. Tarleton omnisciently. “I lost my first when I saw a bull gore oneof our darkies and—you remember my red mare, Nellie? Now, there was the healthiest-lookingmare you ever saw but she was nervous and high strung and if I didn’t watch her, she’d—”   “Beatrice, hush,” said Grandma. “Scarlett wouldn’t miscarry on a bet. Let’s us sit here in thehall where it’s cool. There’s a nice draft through here. Now, you go fetch us a glass of buttermilk,Beetrice, if there’s any in the kitchen. Or look in the pantry and see if there’s any wine. I could dowith a glass. We’ll sit here till the folks come up to say good-by.”   “Scarlett ought to be in bed,” insisted Mrs. Tarleton, running her eyes over her with the expertair of one who calculated a pregnancy to the last-minute of its length.   “Get going,” said Grandma, giving her a prod with her cane, and Mrs. Tarleton went toward thekitchen, throwing her hat carelessly on the sideboard and running her hands through her damp redhair.   Scarlett lay back in her chair and unbuttoned the two top buttons of her tight basque, it was cooland dim in the high-ceilinged hall and the vagrant draft that went from back to front of the housewas refreshing after the heat of the sun. She looked across the hall into the parlor where Gerald hadlain and, wrenching her thoughts from him, looked up at the portrait of Grandma Robillardhanging above the fireplace. The bayonet-scarred portrait with its high-piled hair, half-exposedbreasts and cool insolence had, as always, a tonic effect upon her.   “I don’t know which hit Beetrice Tarleton worse, losing her boys or her horses,” said GrandmaFontaine. “She never did pay much mind to Jim or her girls, you know. She’s one of those folksWill was talking about. Her mainspring’s busted. Sometimes I wonder if she won’t go the wayyour pa went. She wasn’t ever happy unless horses or humans were breeding right in her face andnone of her girls are married or got any prospects of catching husbands in this county, so she’s gotnothing to occupy her mind. If she wasn’t such a lady at heart, she’d be downright common. ...   Was Will telling the truth about marrying Suellen?”   “Yes,” said Scarlett, looking the old lady full in the eye. Goodness, she could remember the timewhen she was scared to death of Grandma Fontaine! Well, she’d grown up since then and she’djust as soon as not tell her to go to the devil if she meddled in affairs at Tara.   “He could do better,” said Grandma candidly.   “Indeed?” said Scarlett haughtily.   “Come off your high horse, Miss,” said the old lady tartly. “I shan’t attack your precious sister,though I might have if I’d stayed at the burying ground. What I mean is with the scarcity of men inthe neighborhood, Will could marry most any of the girls. There’s Beatrice’s four wild cats and theMunroe girls and the McRae—”   “He’s going to marry Sue and that’s that.”   “She’s lucky to get him.”   “Tara is lucky to get him.”   “You love this place, don’t you?”   “Yes.”   “So much that you don’t mind your sister marrying out of her class as long as you have a manaround to care for Tara?”   “Class?” said Scarlett, startled at the idea. “Class? What does class matter now, so long as a girlgets a husband who can take care of her?”   “That’s a debatable question,” said Old Miss. “Some folks would say you were talking commonsense. Others would say you were letting down bars that ought never be lowered one inch. Will’scertainly not quality folks and some of your people were.”   Her sharp old eyes went to the portrait of Grandma Robillard.   Scarlett thought of Will, lank, unimpressive, mild, eternally chewing a straw, his wholeappearance deceptively devoid of energy, like that of most Crackers. He did not have behind him along line of ancestors of wealth, prominence and blood. The first of Will’s family to set foot onGeorgia soil might even have been one of Oglethorpe’s debtors or a bond servant. Will had notbeen to college. In fact, four years in a backwoods school was all the education he had ever had.   He was honest and he was loyal, he was patient and he was hard working, but certainly he was notquality. Undoubtedly by Robillard standards, Suellen was coming down in the world.   “So you approve of Will coming into your family?”   “Yes,” answered Scarlett fiercely, ready to pounce upon the old lady at the first words ofcondemnation.   “You may kiss me,” said Grandma surprisingly, and she smiled in her most approving manner.   “I never liked you much till now, Scarlett. You were always hard as a hickory nut, even as a child,and I don’t like hard females, barring myself. But I do like the way you meet things. You don’tmake a fuss about things that can’t be helped, even if they are disagreeable. You take your fencescleanly like a good hunter.”   Scarlett smiled uncertainly and pecked obediently at the withered cheek presented to her. It waspleasant to hear approving words again, even if she had little idea what they meant.   “There’s plenty of folks hereabouts who’ll have something to say about you letting Sue marry aCracker—for all that everybody likes Will. They’ll say in one breath what a fine man he is andhow terrible it is for an O’Hara girl to marry beneath her. But don’t you let it bother you.”   “I’ve never bothered about what people said.”   “So I’ve heard.” There was a hint of acid in the old voice. “Well, don’t bother about what folkssay. It’ll probably be a very successful marriage. Of course, Will’s always going to look like aCracker and marriage won’t improve his grammar any. And, even if he makes a mint of money,he’ll never lend any shine and sparkle to Tara, like your father did. Crackers are short on sparkle.   But Will’s a gentleman at heart. He’s got the right instincts. Nobody but a born gentleman couldhave put his finger on what is wrong with us as accurately as he just did, down there at theburying. The whole world can’t lick us but we can lick ourselves by longing too hard for things wehaven’t got any more—and by remembering too much. Yes, Will will do well by Suellen and byTara.”   “Then you approve of me letting him marry her?”   “God, no!” The old voice was tired and bitter but vigorous. “Approve of Crackers marrying intoold families? Bah! Would I approve of breeding scrub stock to thoroughbreds? Oh, Crackers aregood and solid and honest but—”   “But you said you thought it would be a successful match!” cried Scarlett bewildered.   “Oh, I think it’s good for Suellen to marry Will—to marry anybody for that matter, because sheneeds a husband bad. And where else could she get one? And where else could you get as good amanager for Tara? But that doesn’t mean I like the situation any better than you do.”   But I do like it, thought Scarlett trying to grasp the old lady’s meaning. I’m glad Will is going tomarry her. Why should she think I minded? She’s taking it for granted that I do mind, just like her.   She felt puzzled and a little ashamed, as always when people attributed to her emotions andmotives they possessed and thought she shared.   Grandma fanned herself with her palmetto leaf and went on briskly: “I don’t approve of thematch any more than you do but I’m practical and so are you. And when it comes to somethingthat’s unpleasant but can’t be helped, I don’t see any sense in screaming and kicking about it.   That’s no way to meet the ups and downs of life. I know because my family and the Old Doctor’sfamily have had more than our share of ups and downs. And if we folks have a motto, it’s this:   ‘Don’t holler—smile and bide your time.’ We’ve survived a passel of things that way, smiling andbiding our time, and we’ve gotten to be experts at surviving. We had to be. We’ve always bet onthe wrong horses. Run out of France with the Huguenots, run out of England with the Cavaliers,run out of Scotland with Bonnie Prince Charlie, run out of Haiti by the niggers and now licked bythe Yankees. But we always turn up on top in a few years. You know why?”   She cocked her head and Scarlett thought she looked like nothing so much as an old, knowingparrot.   “No, I don’t know, I’m sure,” she answered politely. But she was heartily bored, even as she hadbeen the day when Grandma launched on her memories of the Creek uprising.   “Well, this is the reason. We bow to the inevitable. We’re not wheat, we’re buckwheat! When astorm comes along it flattens ripe wheat because it’s dry and can’t bend with the wind. But ripebuckwheat’s got sap in it and it bends. And when the wind has passed, it springs up almost asstraight and strong as before. We aren’t a stiff-necked tribe. We’re mighty limber when a hardwind’s blowing, because we know it pays to be limber. When trouble comes we bow to theinevitable without any mouthing, and we work and we smile and we bide our time. And we playalong with lesser folks and we take what we can get from them. And when we’re strong enough,we kick the folks whose necks we’ve climbed over. That, my child, is the secret of the survival.”   And after a pause, she added: “I pass it on to you.”   The old lady cackled, as if she were amused by her words, despite the venom in them. Shelooked as if she expected some comment from Scarlett but the words had made little sense to herand she could think of nothing to say.   “No, sir,” Old Miss went on, “our folks get flattened out but they rise up again, and that’s more than I can say for plenty of people not so far away from here. Look at Cathleen Calvert. You cansee what she’s come to. Poor white! And a heap lower than the man she married. Look at theMcRae family. Flat to the ground, helpless, don’t know what to do, don’t know how to doanything. Won’t even try. They spend their time whining about the good old days. And look at—well, look at nearly anybody in this County except my Alex and my Sally and you and JimTarleton and his girls and some others. The rest have gone under because they didn’t have any sapin them, because they didn’t have the gumption to rise up again. There never was anything to thosefolks but money and darkies, and now that the money and darkies are gone, those folks will beCracker in another generation.”   “You forgot the Wilkes.”   “No, I didn’t forget them. I just thought I’d be polite and not mention them, seeing that Ashley’sa guest under this roof. But seeing as how you’ve brought up their names—look at them! There’sIndia who from all I hear is a dried-up old maid already, giving herself all kinds of widowed airsbecause Stu Tarleton was killed and not making any effort to forget him and try to catch anotherman. Of course, she’s old but she could catch some widower with a big family if she tried. Andpoor Honey was always a man-crazy fool with no more sense than a guinea hen. And as forAshley, look at him!”   “Ashley is a very fine man,” began Scarlett hotly.   “I never said he wasn’t but he’s as helpless as a turtle on his back. If the Wilkes family pullsthrough these hard times, it’ll be Melly who pulls them through. Not Ashley.”   “Melly! Lord, Grandma! What are you talking about? I’ve lived with Melly long enough toknow she’s sickly and scared and hasn’t the gumption to say Boo to a goose.”   “Now why on earth should anyone want to say Boo to a goose? It always sounded like a wasteof time to me. She might not say Boo to a goose but she’d say Boo to the world or the Yankeegovernment or anything else that threatened her precious Ashley or her boy or her notions ofgentility. Her way isn’t your way, Scarlett, or my way. It’s the way your mother would have actedif she’d lived. Melly puts me in mind of your mother when she was young. ... And maybe she’llpull the Wilkes family through.”   “Oh, Melly’s a well-meaning little ninny. But you are very unjust to Ashley. He’s—”   “Oh, foot! Ashley was bred to read books and nothing else. That doesn’t help a man pull himselfout of a tough fix, like we’re all in now. From what I hear, he’s the worst plow hand in the County!   Now you just compare him with my Alex! Before the war, Alex was the most worthless dandy inthe world and he never had a thought beyond a new cravat and getting drunk and shootingsomebody and chasing girls who were no better than they should be. But look at him now! Helearned farming because he had to learn. He’d have starved and so would all of us. Now he raisesthe best cotton in the County—yes, Miss! It’s a heap better than Tara cotton!—and he knows whatto do with hogs and chickens. Ha! He’s a fine boy for all his bad temper. He knows how to bide histime and change with changing ways and when all this Reconstruction misery is over, you’re goingto see my Alex as rich a man as his father and his grandfather were. But Ashley—”   Scarlett was smarting at the slight to Ashley.   “It all sounds like tootle to me,” she said coldly.   “Well, it shouldn’t,” said Grandma, fastening a sharp eye upon her. “For it’s just exactly thecourse you’ve been following since you went to Atlanta. Oh, yes! We hear of your didoes, even ifwe are buried down here in the country. You’ve changed with the changing times too. We hear howyou suck up to the Yankees and the white trash and the new-rich Carpetbaggers to get money outof them. Butter doesn’t melt in your mouth from all I can hear. Well, go to it, I say. And get everycent out of them you can, but when you’ve got enough money, kick them in the face, because theycan’t serve you any longer. Be sure you do that and do it properly, for trash hanging onto your coattails can ruin you.”   Scarlett looked at her, her brow wrinkling with the effort to digest the words. They still didn’tmake much sense and she was still angry at Ashley being called a turtle on his back.   “I think you’re wrong about Ashley,” she said abruptly.   “Scarlett, you just aren’t smart.”   “That’s your opinion,” said Scarlett rudely, wishing it were permissible to smack old ladies’   jaws.   “Oh, you’re smart enough about dollars and cents. That’s a man’s way of being smart. But youaren’t smart at all like a woman. You aren’t a speck smart about folks.”   Scarlett’s eyes began to snap fire and her hands to clench and unclench.   “I’ve made you good and mad, haven’t I?” asked the old lady, smiling. “Well, I aimed to do justthat.”   “Oh, you did, did you? And why, pray?”   “I had good and plenty reasons.”   Grandma sank back in her chair and Scarlett suddenly realized that she looked very tired andincredibly old. The tiny clawlike hands folded over the fan were yellow and waxy as a deadperson’s. The anger went out of Scarlett’s heart as a thought came to her. She leaned over and tookone of the hands in hers.   “You’re a mighty sweet old liar,” she said. “You didn’t mean a word of all this rigmarole.   You’ve just been talking to keep my mind off Pa, haven’t you?”   “Don’t fiddle with me!” said Old Miss grumpily, Jerking away her hand. “Partly for that reason,partly because what I’ve been telling you is the truth and you’re just too stupid to realize it.”   But she smiled a little and took the sting from her words. Scarlett’s heart emptied itself of wrathabout Ashley. It was nice to know Grandma hadn’t meant any of it.   “Thank you, just the same. It was nice of you to talk to me—and I’m glad to know you’re withme about Will and Suellen, even if—even if a lot of other people do disapprove.”   Mrs. Tarleton came down the hall, carrying two glasses of buttermilk. She did all domesticthings badly and the glasses were slopping over.   “I had to go clear to the spring house to get it,” she said. “Drink it quick because the folks are coming up from the burying ground. Scarlett, are you really going to let Suellen marry Will? Notthat he isn’t a sight too good for her but you know he is a Cracker and—”   Scarlett’s eyes met those of Grandma. There was a wicked sparkle in the old eyes that found ananswer in her own.   这一夜,思嘉翻来覆去睡不着。天亮以后,太阳从东边小山上的青松后面升起,她从破床上起身,坐在窗口一张凳子上,用一只胳臂支着沉甸甸的头,朝窗外看去,看见了打谷场,果园,还有远处的棉花地。一切都是那么清新、湿润、宁静,碧绿。她一看见那棉花地,痛苦的心就感到一定的安慰。虽然塔拉的主人已经故去,在清早看得出这地方是有人维护的,是有个精心照料的,是宁静的。矮矮的木鸡舍外面糊着一层泥,免得让耗子和鼬鼠钻进去,而且用白粉刷得干干净净,用森砂盖的马厩也是这样。园子里束平地种着一行行的玉米,又黄又亮的南瓜、豆子、萝卜,没有丁点儿杂草,四周是橡树枝条做成的篱笆,显得整整齐齐。果园里没有杂乱的树丛,一行行果树下面只有雏菊在生长。绿叶遮掩下的苹果和长满绒毛的粉红桃子,在闪烁的阳光下看得格外清晰。   再朝远处看,弯曲成行的棉花在清晨金色的天空下呈现出一片绿色,纹丝不动,成群的鸡鸭正优闲的漫步向田里走去。因为在那新耕的土地里可以找到最美味的虫子和蜓蚰。   思嘉明白这一切都要归功于威尔,因而心里充满了殷切的感激之情。她虽然对艾希礼是一片忠心,也不认为艾希礼为这兴旺景象作了多少贡献,因为塔拉的兴旺绝不是靠一位种田的贵族,而是靠一个热爱土地的"小农"的辛勤劳动。目前农场只有两骑马,远没有昔日那种气派。当年草场上到处骡子、骏马,棉花地和玉米地一眼望不到边。不过现在有的这一部分也还是不错的,那大片荒凉土地等将来日子好了还可以开垦嘛,休耕一段时间,还会更肥沃呢。   要说威尔干的话,还不仅限于种了几英亩地,他制服了佐治亚州种田人的两个死敌:靠种子繁殖的松树和一蓬蓬杂乱的黑莓。他们没有能悄悄地侵入花园、牧尝棉田、草地,也没有在门廓附近肆意滋生。佐治亚州有无数农场,却很少见到这种情况。   思嘉想到塔拉几乎变成一片荒野,心里感到一阵后怕。幸亏她和威尔两个人干得不错。他们顶住了北方佬的侵犯,也阻挡住了大自然的掠夺。最使她感到欣慰的是威尔已经告诉她,等到秋天棉花收进来以后,她就可以不再寄钱了,除非贪婪的北方佬看上了塔拉,非要课以重税不可。她知道,要是没有她的帮助,威尔的日子会是非常艰难的,但她佩服而且敬重他那种独立的精神。过去他的身份是雇工,思嘉给的钱他都是接受的,可是现在他就要当思嘉的妹夫了,要当一家之主了,他就想靠自己努力了。确实可以说,威尔是上帝为她安排的。   头一天晚上,波克就把墓穴挖好了,紧挨着爱伦的墓。此时他手执铁锹,站在湿润的红土后面,等着过一会儿把土铲回去。思嘉站在他的身后,躲在一棵矮小的疙里疙瘩的雪松下面一小片树荫里。六月的清晨,赤热的归光洒在她身上,呈现出无数的斑点。她两眼望着别处,尽量不看面前那红土墓穴。吉母•塔尔顿,小休•芒罗、亚历克斯•方丹和麦克雷老头儿最小的孙子,他们四个人用两块木板抬着杰拉尔德的棺木从房子里走出来,沿着小路歪歪斜斜地慢慢走来,后面,隔着一段适当的距离,跟着一大群邻居和朋友,穿着破破烂烂的衣服,默默地往前走,当他们来到花园里充满阳光的小路上的时候,波克把头靠在铁锹把顶上,哭起来。思嘉看到波克的头发,几个月前她去亚特兰大时还是乌黑发亮的,现在却已一片花白了,心里不禁感到惊讶。   思嘉觉得有些疲倦。她托上帝的福,昨天晚上就把眼泪哭干了,所以现在她能站在那里,眼睛干干的。苏伦在她身后掉眼泪,这哭声使她无法忍受,要不是攥紧了拳头,真会转身在那发肿的脸上给她一耳光。不管是有意还是无意,父亲的死是苏伦造成的,照理说,在对她不满的众位邻居面前,她应该克制自己的感情。那天清晨,没有一个人和她说话,也没有人向她投以同情的目光。大家都默默地与思嘉亲吻,与握手,悄悄地对卡琳甚至对波克说些安慰的话,看见苏伦,却像没这么个人似的。   他们认为,苏伦的过错不仅是杀害了自己的父亲。她还曾设法使父亲背叛南方。在当地那种严厉的封闭的社会里,这样做就等于背叛他们大家的荣誉。她打破了本地区在世人面前展示的牢固的联合阵线,她企图向北方政府要钱,这就和从北方来的冒险家和投靠北方的南方人站到一边去了,而这样的人比北方军的大兵还要遭憎恨。她出身于一个历史悠久的坚决支持联盟的家庭,出身于一个农场主的家庭,却投靠了敌人,从而给本地的所有家庭带来了耻辱。   送葬的人一方面因为忿怒而激动,另一方面因为悲伤而沉闷,其中有三个人尤其如此,一个是麦克雷老头儿,自从多年前杰拉尔德从萨凡纳搬到这里,他们就成了最要好的朋友。另一个是方丹老太太,她喜欢杰拉尔德,因为他是爱伦的丈夫,还有一个是塔尔顿太太,她对杰拉尔德比对别的邻居更亲近些,她常常说,当地只有杰拉尔德一人能分得出公马和阉马。   葬礼之前,在停放灵柩的客厅里,这三个人怒容满面,艾希礼和威尔一看这情况,感到有些紧张,就来到爱伦生前的办事房里商量对策。   “他们有人要谴责苏伦,"威尔直截了当地说,一面说,一面把一根稻草放进嘴里咬成两段。"他们自以为有理由谴责她。也许他们是对的。这一点,我管不着。可是,艾希礼,无论他们说该说不该说,我们都不能赞成,因为我们是家中管事的男人。这样一来,就会出麻烦。谁能想个法子,别让麦克雷老头讲话,他聋得像个木头桩子,他要是讲起来,谁阻止他,他也听不见。你清楚,方丹老太太要是劳叨起来,天底下谁也没法让她停下来,而塔尔顿太太,你没看见吗,她每次见到苏伦,红眼珠子不停地转。她现在什么都听不进去,到了急不可耐的地步。他们要是说些什么,我们就非得顶他们不可。即使不和邻居顶嘴,现在我们这里的麻烦事也就够多的了。"艾希礼叹了口气,他非常担心。邻居们的议论,他比威尔更清楚。而且他知道,在战前,邻居之间的争吵,甚至互相开枪,多半是因为送葬者要对着死者的灵柩讲几句话这种习俗而引起的。这葬者往往都是说些赞美的话,但也不尽然,有时说话者的本意是要表示极大的尊敬,而死者的亲属过于敏感,却产生了误会,因此棺材上面刚填完最后一铣土,接着就出现了麻烦。   琼斯博罗和弗耶特维尔这两个地方的卫理公会牧师和浸礼会牧师都表示愿意来帮忙,但是都被婉言谢绝了。既然没有牧师,就由艾希礼拿着卡琳的《忠诚福音》来主持仪式。卡琳信奉天主教,姐妹们中她最虔诚,对于思嘉没有想到从亚特兰大请一位牧师来十分不满。后来人们提醒她,等以后有牧师来主持威尔和苏伦的婚礼时,还可以到杰拉尔德坟上去祈祷一番,这才使她的气消了一点。就是她极力反对请附近的新教牧师,而把仪式交给艾希礼来主持,她还把书中该读的段落作了记号。艾希礼在这位老秘书的帮助下可以主持仪式,但他明白自己肩负着防止出麻烦的重任,同时也了解老乡们的火爆脾气,不知怎样主持才好。   “真没主意,威尔,"艾希礼一面抓着光亮的头发,一面说。"我既不能把方丹老太太和麦克雷老头儿打倒在地,也不能捂住塔尔顿太太的嘴不让她说话。他们起码会说苏伦是个杀人犯,是叛徒。要不是她,奥哈拉先生是不会死的。这种对着死者说话的习俗真是要命。这是一种野蛮的作法。"“你听我说,艾希礼,"威尔慢条斯理的说。"我今天决不让任何人谴责苏伦,不管他是怎么想的,你等着看我的吧。你念完了经书,作完了祈祷,说'谁想讲几句话吗',这时你就朝我看一看,我就头一个出来讲话。"思嘉呢,她看着那几个人抬着棺材勉强进了小门,来到墓地,她压根儿没有想到仪式之后会出什么麻烦。她心里十分沉重,觉得父亲这一入土,意味着她与往昔无忧无虑的幸福生活之间的纽带又少了一条。   抬棺材的人终于把棺材放在墓穴旁,站在了一边,同时活动活动酸疼的手指。艾希礼、媚兰和威尔依次来到墓地,站在奥哈拉家三姐妹的身后,比较亲近的邻居挤了进来,其他的人站在砖墙外面。思嘉头一次和这些人见面,对这么多人来送葬有些惊讶,也很感动。交通不便,来的人就算很多了,总共大约有五六十人,有些人是远道而来的,思嘉不知道他们是如何得到消息,及进赶来的。有些是全家带着黑奴从琼斯博罗、费耶特维尔和洛夫乔伊赶来的。许多小农场主从河那边赶了很远的路来参加葬礼,在场的还有几个从山林的沼泽地来的穷苦人,沼泽地的男人都是细高个子,留着长胡子,身穿租毛外衣,头戴浣熊皮帽,长枪,随便挂在胳臂上,口里含着烟叶,他们的老婆也都来了。这些女人光着脚站在松软的红土地上,下嘴唇上沾满了烟末。她们头戴遮阳帽,脸色发暗,仿佛得了疟疾,但都是干干净净,浆过熨过的印花布衣服显得发亮。   左邻右舍是全体出动了,方丹老太太面容憔悴,脸色发黄,像是一只掉了毛的鸟,倚着手杖在那里站着,站在她身后的是萨利•芒罗•方丹和年轻的方丹小姐。她们小声恳求老太太。甚至拽她的裙子,想让她坐在矮墙上,可老太太就是不肯坐。老太太的丈夫,人们管他叫老大夫,没有在场,他已经在两个月之前去世了,那以后,许多生活的乐趣就从老太太的眼睛里消失了。凯瑟琳•卡尔弗特•希尔顿独自一人站在那里,这倒也合适,因为目前这场悲剧,她丈夫也是有责任的。她戴着一顶褪了色的遮阳帽,低垂着头,思嘉惊讶地到看凯瑟琳是细纱长裙上挂着油渍,手上长了黑斑,也不干净,指甲盖底下都是泥。如今的凯瑟琳已经失去了上流社会的风度。她穷了,不仅如此,她贫困潦倒、无精打采、邋邋遢遢,无可奈何地混日子。   “她不定哪一天就会嚼烟末了,说不定她已经嚼上了。"思嘉想到这里,感到惊恐不巡,"我的天哪!真是今非昔比啊!"她打了一个冷战,赶忙把眼光从凯瑟琳身上移开,因为她意识到上流社会与穷百姓之间的距离是微乎其微的。   “我就是比别人能干,"思嘉这样想。她又想到南方投降以后,她和凯瑟琳是在同样的条件下干起来的,都是一个脑袋两只手,心里感到一阵宽慰。   “我干得不错,"她一面想,一面仰起脸来,露出了微笑。   她这微笑只笑了一半便收敛起来,因为她注意到塔尔顿太太正瞪着大眼盯着她。塔尔顿太太眼圈都哭红了,她用责备的目光瞪了思嘉一眼以后,又把目光转到苏伦身上,她那异常愤怒的眼光说明苏伦要倒霉了。在她和她丈夫身后站着塔尔顿家的四个姑娘,她们的红头发对眼前这严肃的场合不是合适的,她们那红棕色的眼睛和欢蹦乱跳的小动物的眼睛一样,又精神,又让人害怕。   过了一会儿,艾希礼站出来,手里拿着卡琳的旧经书《忠诚福音》,这时大家都不再走动,帽子都摘了,两手交叉着,连裙子的啊啊声也听不见了。艾希礼低头站了一会儿,阳光照得他那一头金发闪闪发光。人群中间没有一丝声音,微风吹过木兰的枝叶发出的窃窃私语可以听得清清楚楚,远处一只模仿鸟不停地发出刺耳的哀鸣,让人无法忍受。艾希礼开始读祈祷文,所有的人都低头听他用洪亮而有节奏的声音一字一顿地读那简短而庄重的经文。   “啊!他的声音多好听啊!"思嘉想着,喉咙里感到一阵哽咽。"如果爸爸的葬礼说一定得有人主持,我倒愿意让艾希礼来主持。我宁愿让他主持,也不让一个牧师来主持。我宁愿让他也不愿让一个生人来掩埋父亲的遗骨。"艾希礼该读炼狱里的灵魂一节了,这一节也是卡琳作了记号让他读的,但是他突然停下来,把书合上了。只有卡琳发现他没读这一切,她感到困惑,就抬起头来,只听艾希礼接着读起了主祷文。艾希礼这样做,是因为他知道在场的人有一半从没有听说过炼狱,如果他们听了后发现他暗示像奥哈拉先生这样的好人也没有能直接进入天堂,即使是在祈祷文中所这种暗示,也会认为他是进行人身攻击。因此,他尊重大家的意见,把炼狱这一切省略了。大家热情地跟着他读主祷文,但是在他开始读"万福马利亚"的时候,大家的声音逐渐减弱,以至于完全沉静下来,使人感到尴尬,他们以前可从来没听说过这篇祈祷文,于是开始偷偷地交换眼色,只有奥哈拉家的小姐们,媚兰,还有几个仆人跟着说:“请为我们祈祷,现在以及将来我们死的时候都为我们祈祷。阿门。"艾希礼抬起头来,站了一会儿,不知怎样进行下去。邻居们用期待的眼光看着他,同时调整了一个姿势,站得随便一点,等着听期讲话。大家都觉得仪式还应该继续下去,谁也没想到他主持的这天主都祈祷仪式就要结束了。这里的葬礼一向拖得很长。卫理公会和浸礼会的牧师主持葬礼,没有固定的祈祷文,而是根据具体情况边想边说,而且往往都要说得所有送葬的人落泪,死都家属中的妇女嚎啕大哭,为亲密的朋友举行的葬礼,如果只读几篇简短的祈祷文就算完了,邻居们是会感到惊讶,感到伤心,感到忿怒的。这一点,艾希礼比谁都清楚。人们会把这件事当做饭桌上的话题谈上几个星期,老百姓会认为奥哈拉家的小姐们对父亲不够敬重。   所以,艾希礼很快瞧了卡琳一眼,表示歉意,接着就又低下头,背诵起圣公会葬礼祈祷文来了,他以前曾多次在"十二橡树"村用这篇祈祷文给奴隶们送葬。   “我能使你复活,我能给你生命。……无论何人。……凡信我者,必将永生。“这篇祈祷文他也没有记得很清楚,所以他背得很慢,有时甚至停下来,回忆下面应该怎么说。但是他这样一字一顿地说,却使得艾希礼的话更为感人。一直没有掉泪的人现在开始纷纷掏手绢了。虔诚的卫理公会教徒和浸礼会教徒都认为这是一次天主教仪式,起初他们以为天主教仪式都是庄严肃穆,不动感情的,现在也改变了他们的看法,思嘉和苏伦都毫无觉察,还觉得艾希礼的话又入耳又动听。只有媚兰和卡琳已经悲伤过度,看到艾希礼这样胡闹又感到非常伤心,但是没有出来制止。   艾希礼背完以后,睁大他那双悲哀的灰色的眼睛,环顾四周。接着他与威尔交换了个眼色,就说:“有谁想讲几句话吗?"塔尔顿太太的嘴唇动了一动,显得非常紧张,可是没等她开口,威尔就吃力地迈步向前,站在棺材面讲起话来。   “朋友们,"他用平静的语调说,"我头一次出来讲话,也许你们会觉得我太狂妄了,因为我是大给一年前认识奥哈拉生先的,而你们认识了已经二十年,或者二十多年了,但是我有一条理由:他要是能够活上一个月,我就可以他爸爸了。“人们露出惊讶的神色,这些人都是很有教养的,不会悄悄说话,但他们的脚交替挪动,眼睛转身卡琳。卡琳低着头站在那里,大家都知道威尔一下爱着卡琳,威尔看到大家都向那边看,便若无其事地继续说下去。   “因为我即将和苏伦小姐结婚,只等牧师从亚特兰大前来主持婚礼,我想我是有权第一个讲话的。"威尔的话还未说完,人群里就出现了一阵轻微的骚动,发出了像蜜蜂嗡嗡叫的忿怒的声音。这声音里既包含着愤怒,也包含着失望。大家都喜欢威尔,都尊敬他,因为他为塔拉出了大力。大家也都知道他喜欢卡琳,因此当他们听到他要和最近最受大家鄙视的人结婚的消息时,感到无法接受。善良的威尔怎么会和那个卑鄙可恶的小人苏伦•奥哈拉结婚呢?   气氛一度十分紧张。塔尔顿在太太两眼射出了愤怒的目光,嘴唇动了动,仿佛要说什么,却没有说出声来。在一片寂静之中,可以听见麦克雷老头高声恳求孙子告诉他刚才威尔说了些什么。威尔面对众人,脸色依然温和,但他那双浅蓝色的眼睛却好像在说,看谁敢对他未来的妻子说三道四。霎那间人们难以决定,他们既疼爱威尔又鄙视苏伦。后来还是威尔胜利了。他继续讲下去,他们刚才 Chapter 41 WHEN THE LAST GOOD-BY had been said and the last sound of wheels and hooves diedaway, Scarlett went into Ellen’s office and removed a gleaming object from where she had hiddenit the night before between the yellowed papers in the pigeon-holes of the secretary. Hearing Porksniffling in the dining room as he went about laying the table for dinner she called to him. He cameto her, his black face as forlorn as a lost and masterless hound.   “Pork,” she said sternly, “you cry just once more and I’ll—I’ll cry, too. You’ve got to stop.”   “Yas’m. Ah try but eve’y time Ah try Ah thinks of Mist’ Gerald an’—”   “Well, don’t think. I can stand everybody else’s tears but not yours. There.” she broke off gently,“don’t you see? I can’t stand yours because I know how you loved him. Blow your nose, Pork. I’vegot a present for you.”   A little interest flickered in Pork’s eyes as he blew his nose loudly but it was more politenessthan interest.   “You remember that night you got shot robbing somebody’s hen house?”   “Lawd Gawd, Miss Scarlett! Ah ain’ never—”   “Well, you did, so don’t lie to me about it at this late date. You remember I said I was going togive you a watch for being so faithful?”   “Yas’m, Ah ‘members. Ah figgered you’d done fergot.”   “No, I didn’t forget and here it is.”   She held out for him a massive gold watch, heavily embossed, from which dangled a chain withmany fobs and seals.   “Fo’ Gawd, Miss Scarlett!” cried Pork. “Dat’s Mist’ Gerald’s watch! Ah done seen him look atdat watch a milyun times!”   “Yes, it’s Pa’s watch, Pork, and I’m giving it to you. Take it.”   “Oh, no’m!” Pork retreated in horror. “Dat’s a w’ite gempmum’s watch an’ Mist’ Gerald’s terboot. Huccome you talk ‘bout givin’ it ter me, Miss Scarlett? Dat watch belong by rights ter lilWade Hampton.”   “It belongs to you. What did Wade Hampton ever do for Pa? Did he look after him when he wassick and feeble? Did he bathe him and dress him and shave him? Did he stick by him when theYankees came? Did he steal for him? Don’t be a fool, Pork. If ever anyone deserved a watch, youdo, and I know Pa would approve. Here.”   She picked up the black hand and laid the watch in the palm. Pork gazed at it reverently andslowly delight spread over his face.   “Fer me, truly, Miss Scarlett?”   “Yes, indeed.”   “Well’m—thankee, Ma’m.”   “Would you like for me to take it to Atlanta and have it engraved?”   “Whut’s dis engrabed mean?” Pork’s voice was suspicious.   “It means to put writing on the back of it, like—like ‘To Pork from the O’Haras—Well donegood and faithful servant.’ ”   “No’m—thankee. Ma’m. Never mind de engrabin’.” Pork retreated a step, clutching the watchfirmly.   A little smile twitched her lips.   “What’s the matter, Pork? Don’t you trust me to bring it back?”   “Yas’m, Ah trus’es you—only, well’m, you mout change yo’ mind.”   “I wouldn’t do that.”   “Well’m, you mout sell it. Ah spec it’s wuth a heap.”   “Do you think I’d sell Pa’s watch?”   “Yas’m—ef you needed de money.”   “You ought to be beat for that, Pork. I’ve a mind to take the watch back.”   “No’m, you ain’!” The first faint smile of the day showed on Pork’s grief-worn face. “Ah knowsyou— An’ Miss Scarlett—”   “Yes, Pork?”   “Ef you wuz jes’ half as nice ter w’ite folks as you is ter niggers, Ah spec de worl’ would treatyou better.”   “It treats me well enough,” she said. “Now, go find Mr. Ashley and tell him I want to see himhere, right away.”   Ashley sat on Ellen’s little writing chair, his long body dwarfing the frail bit of furniture whileScarlett offered him a half-interest in the mill. Not once did his eyes meet hers and he spoke noword of interruption. He sat looking down at his hands, turning them over slowly, inspecting firstpalms and then backs, as though he had never seen them before. Despite hard work, they were stillslender and sensitive looking and remarkably well tended for a farmer’s hands.   His bowed head and silence disturbed her a little and she redoubled her efforts to make the millsound attractive. She brought to bear, too, all the charm of smile and glance she possessed but theywere wasted, for he did not raise his eyes. If he would only look at her! She made no mention ofthe information Will had given her of Ashley’s determination to go North and spoke with the outward assumption that no obstacle stood in the way of his agreement with her plan. Still he didnot speak and finally, her words trailed into silence. There was a determined squareness about hisslender shoulders that alarmed her. Surely he wouldn’t refuse! What earthly reason could he havefor refusing?   “Ashley,” she began again and paused. She had not intended using her pregnancy as anargument, had shrunk from the thought of Ashley even seeing her so bloated and ugly, but as herother persuasions seemed to have made no impression, she decided to use it and her helplessnessas a last card.   “You must come to Atlanta. I do need your help so badly now, because I can’t look after themills. It may be months before I can because—you see—well, because ...”   “Please!” he said roughly. “Good God, Scarlett!”   He rose and went abruptly to the window and stood with his back to her, watching the solemnsingle file of ducks parade across the barnyard.   “Is that—is that why you won’t look at me?” she questioned forlornly. “I know I look—”   He swung around in a flash and his gray eyes met hers with an intensity that made her hands goto her throat.   “Damn your looks!” he said with a swift violence. “You know you always look beautiful to me.”   Happiness flooded her until her eyes were liquid with tears.   “How sweet of you to say that! For I was so ashamed to let you see me—”   “You ashamed? Why should you be ashamed? I’m the one to feel shame and I do. If it hadn’tbeen for my stupidity you wouldn’t be in this fix. You’d never have married Frank. I should neverhave let you leave Tara last winter. Oh, fool that I was! I should have known you—known youwere desperate, so desperate that you’d—I should have—I should have—” His face went haggard.   Scarlett’s heart beat wildly. He was regretting that he had not run away with her!   “The least I could have done was go out and commit highway robbery or murder to get the taxmoney for you when you had taken us in as beggars. Oh, I messed it up all the way around!”   Her heart contracted with disappointment and some of the happiness went from her, for thesewere not the words she hoped to hear.   “I would have gone anyway,” she said tiredly. “I couldn’t have let you do anything like that. Andanyway, it’s done now.”   “Yes, it’s done now,” he said with slow bitterness. “You wouldn’t have let me do anythingdishonorable but you would sell yourself to a man you didn’t love—and bear his child, so that myfamily and I wouldn’t starve. It was kind of you to shelter my helplessness.”   The edge in his voice spoke of a raw, unhealed wound that ached within him and his wordsbrought shame to her eyes. He was swift to see it and his face changed to gentleness.   “You didn’t think I was blaming you? Dear God, Scarlett! No. You are the bravest woman I’veever known. It’s myself I’m blaming.”   He turned and looked out of the window again and the shoulders presented to her gaze did notlook quite so square. Scarlett waited a long moment in silence, hoping that Ashley would return tothe mood in which he spoke of her beauty, hoping he would say more words that she couldtreasure. It had been so long since she had seen him and she had lived on memories until they wereworn thin. She knew he still loved her. That fact was evident, in every line of him, in every bitter,self-condemnatory word, in his resentment at her bearing Frank’s child. She so longed to hear himsay it in words, longed to speak words herself that would provoke a confession, but she dared not.   She remembered her promise given last winter in the orchard, that she would never again throwherself at his head. Sadly she knew that promise must be kept if Ashley were to remain near her.   One cry from her of love and longing, one look that pleaded for his arms, and the matter would besettled forever. Ashley would surely go to New York. And he must not go away.   “Oh, Ashley, don’t blame yourself! How could it be your fault? You will come to Atlanta andhelp me, won’t you?”   “No.”   “But, Ashley,” her voice was beginning to break with anguish and disappointment, “But I’dcounted on you. I do need you so. Frank can’t help me. He’s so busy with the store and if you don’tcome I don’t know where I can get a man! Everybody in Atlanta who is smart is busy with his ownaffairs and the others are so incompetent and—”   “It’s no use, Scarlett.”   “You mean you’d rather go to New York and live among Yankees than come to Atlanta?”   “Who told you that?” He turned and faced her, faint annoyance wrinkling his forehead.   “Will.”   “Yes, I’ve decided to go North. An old friend who made the Grand Tour with me before the warhas offered me a position in his father’s bank. It’s better so, Scarlett. I’d be no good to you. I knownothing of the lumber business.”   “But you know less about banking and it’s much harder! And I know I’d make far moreallowances for your inexperience than Yankees would!”   He winced and she knew she had said the wrong thing. He turned and looked out of the windowagain.   “I don’t want allowances made for me. I want to stand on my own feet for what I’m worth.   What have I done with my life, up till now? It’s time I made something of myself—or went downthrough my own fault. I’ve been your pensioner too long already.”   “But I’m offering you a half-interest in the mill, Ashley! You would be standing on your ownfeet because—you see, it would be your own business.”   “It would amount to the same thing. I’d not be buying the half-interest I’d be taking it as a giftAnd I’ve taken too many gifts from you already, Scarlett—food and shelter and even clothes formyself and Melanie and the baby. And I’ve given you nothing in return.”   “Oh, but you have! Will couldn’t have—”   “I can split kindling very nicely now.”   “Oh, Ashley!” she cried despairingly, tears in her eyes at the jeering note in his voice. “What hashappened to you since I’ve been gone? You sound so hard and bitter! You didn’t used to be thisway.”   “What’s happened? A very remarkable thing, Scarlett. I’ve been thinking. I don’t believe I reallythought from the time of the surrender until you went away from here. I was in a state ofsuspended animation and it was enough that I had something to eat and a bed to lie on. But whenyou went to Atlanta, shouldering a man’s burden, I saw myself as much less than a man—muchless, indeed, than a woman. Such thoughts aren’t pleasant to live with and I do not intend to livewith them any longer. Other men came out of the war with less than I had, and look at them now.   So I’m going to New York.”   “But—I don’t understand! If it’s work you want, why won’t Atlanta do as well as New York?   And my mill—”   “No, Scarlett This is my last chance. I’ll go North. If I go to Atlanta and work for you, I’m lostforever.”   The word “lost—lost—lost” dinged frighteningly in her heart like a death bell sounding. Hereyes went quickly to his but they were wide and crystal gray and they were looking through herand beyond her at some fate she could not see, could not understand.   “Lost? Do you mean—have you done something the Atlanta Yankees can get you for? I mean,about helping Tony get away or—or— Oh, Ashley, you aren’t in the Ku Klux, are you?”   His remote eyes came back to her swiftly and he smiled a brief smile that never reached hiseyes.   “I had forgotten you were so literal. No, it’s not the Yankees I’m afraid of. I mean if I go toAtlanta and take help from you again, I bury forever any hope of ever standing alone.”   “Oh,” she sighed in quick relief, “if it’s only that!   “Yes,” and he smiled again, the smile more wintry than before. “Only that. Only my masculinepride, my self-respect and, if you choose to so call it, my immortal soul.”   “But,” she swung around on another tack, “you could gradually buy the mill from me and itwould be your own and then—”   “Scarlett,” he interrupted fiercely, “I tell you, no! There are other reasons.”   “What reasons?”   “You know my reasons better than anyone in the world.”   “Oh—that? But—that’ll be all right,” she assured swiftly. “I promised, you know, out in theorchard, last winter and I’ll keep my promise and—”   “Then you are surer of yourself than I am. I could not count on myself to keep such a promise. Ishould not have said that but I had to make you understand. Scarlett, I will not talk of this anymore. It’s finished. When Will and Suellen marry, I am going to New York.”   His eyes, wide and stormy, met hers for an instant and then he went swiftly across the room. Hishand was on the door knob. Scarlett stared at him in agony. The interview was ended and she hadlost. Suddenly weak from the strain and sorrow of the last day and the present disappointment, hernerves broke abruptly and she screamed: “Oh, Ashley!” And, flinging herself down on the saggingsofa, she burst into wild crying.   She heard his uncertain footsteps leaving the door and his helpless voice saying-her name overand over above her head. There was a swift pattering of feet racing up the hall from the kitchen andMelanie burst into the room, her eyes wide with alarm.   “Scarlett ... the baby isn’t ... ?”   Scarlett burrowed her head in the dusty upholstery and screamed again.   “Ashley—he’s so mean! So doggoned mean—so hateful!”   “Oh, Ashley, what have you done to her?” Melanie threw herself on the floor beside the sofa andgathered Scarlett into her arms. “What have you said? How could you! You might bring on thebaby! There, my darling, put your head on Melanie’s shoulder! What is wrong?”   “Ashley—he’s so—so bullheaded and hateful!”   “Ashley, I’m surprised at you! Upsetting her so much and in her condition and Mr. O’Harahardly in his grave!”   “Don’t you fuss at him!” cried Scarlett illogically, raising her head abruptly from Melanie’sshoulder, her coarse black hair tumbling out from its net and her face streaked with tears. “He’s gota right to do as he pleases!”   “Melanie,” said Ashley, his face white, “let me explain. Scarlett was kind enough to offer me aposition in Atlanta as manager of one of her mills—”   “Manager!” cried Scarlett indignantly. I offered him a half-interest and he—”   “And I told her I had already made arrangements for us to go North and she—”   “Oh,” cried Scarlett, beginning to sob again, “I told him and told him how much I needed him—how I couldn’t get anybody to manage the mill—how I was going to have this baby—and herefused to come! And now—now, I’ll have to sell the mill and I know I can’t get anything like agood price for it and I’ll lose money and I guess maybe we’ll starve, but he won’t care. He’s somean!”   She burrowed her head back into Melanie’s thin shoulder and some of the real anguish wentfrom her as a flicker of hope woke in her. She could sense that in Melanie’s devoted heart she hadan ally, feel Melanie’s indignation that anyone, even her beloved husband, should make Scarlettcry. Melanie flew at Ashley like a small determined dove and pecked him for the first time in herlife.   “Ashley, how could you refuse her? And after all she’s done for us! How ungrateful you makeus appear! And she so helpless now with the bab— How unchivalrous of you! She helped us whenwe needed help and now you deny her when she needs you!”   Scarlett peeped slyly at Ashley and saw surprise and uncertainty plain in his face as he looked into Melanie’s dark indignant eyes. Scarlett was surprised, too, at the vigor of Melanie’s attack, forshe knew Melanie considered her husband beyond wifely reproaches and thought his decisionssecond only to God’s.   “Melanie ...” he began and then threw out his hands helplessly.   “Ashley, how can you hesitate? Think what she’s done for us—for me! I’d have died in Atlantawhen Beau came if it hadn’t been for her! And she—yes, she killed a Yankee, defending us. Didyou know that? She killed a man for us. And she worked and slaved before you and Will camehome, just to keep food in our mouths. And when I think of her plowing and picking cotton, Icould just— Oh, my darling!” And she swooped her head and kissed Scarlett’s tumbled hair infierce loyalty. “And now the first time she asks us to do something for her—”   “You don’t need to tell me what she has done for us.”   “And Ashley, just think! Besides helping her, just think what it’ll mean for us to live in Atlantaamong our own people and not have to live with Yankees! There’ll be Auntie and Uncle Henry andall our friends, and Beau can have lots of playmates and go to school. If we went North, wecouldn’t let him go to school and associate with Yankee children and have pickaninnies in hisclass! We’d have to have a governess and I don’t see how we’d afford—”   “Melanie,” said Ashley and his voice was deadly quiet, “do you really want to go to Atlanta sobadly? You never said so when we talked about going to New York. You never intimated—”   “Oh, but when we talked about going to New York, I thought there was nothing for you inAtlanta and, besides, it wasn’t my place to say anything. It’s a wife’s duty to go where her husbandgoes. But now that Scarlett needs us so and has a position that only you can fill we can go home!   Home!” Her voice was rapturous as she squeezed Scarlett. “And I’ll see Five Points again andPeachtree road and— and— Oh, how I’ve missed them all! And maybe we could have a littlehome of our own! I wouldn’t care how little and tacky it was but—a home of our own!”   Her eyes blazed with enthusiasm and happiness and the two stared at her, Ashley with a queerstunned look, Scarlett with surprise mingled with shame. It had never occurred to her that Melaniemissed Atlanta so much and longed to be back, longed for a home of her own. She had seemed socontented at Tara it came to Scarlett as a shock that she was homesick.   “Oh Scarlett, how good of you to plan all this for us! You knew how I longed for home!”   As usual when confronted by Melanie’s habit of attributing worthy motives where no worthexisted, Scarlett was ashamed and irritated, and suddenly she could not meet either Ashley’s orMelanie’s eyes.   “We could get a little house of our own. Do you realize that we’ve been married five years andnever had a home?”   “You can stay with us at Aunt Pitty’s. That’s your home,” mumbled Scarlett, toying with apillow and keeping her eyes down to hide dawning triumph in them as she felt the tide turning herway.   “No, but thank you just the same, darling. That would crowd us so. We’ll get a house— Oh,Ashley, do say Yes!”   “Scarlett,” said Ashley and his voice was toneless, “look at me.”   Startled, she looked up and met gray eyes that were bitter and full of tired futility.   “Scarlett, I will come to Atlanta. ... I cannot fight you both.”   He turned and walked out of the room. Some of the triumph in her heart was dulled by anagging fear. The look in his eyes when he spoke had been the same as when he said he would belost forever if he came to Atlanta.   After Suellen and Will married and Carreen went off to Charleston to the convent, Ashley,Melanie and Beau came to Atlanta, bringing Dilcey with them to cook and nurse. Prissy and Porkwere left at Tara until such a time as Will could get other darkies to help him in the fields and thenthey, too, would come to town.   The little brick house that Ashley took for his family was on Ivy Street directly behind AuntPitty’s house and the two back yards ran together, divided only by a ragged overgrown privethedge. Melanie had chosen it especially for this reason. She said, on the first morning of her returnto Atlanta as she laughed and cried and embraced Scarlett and Aunt Pitty, she had been separatedfrom her loved ones for so long that she could never be close enough to them again.   The house had originally been two stories high but the upper floor had been destroyed by shellsduring the siege and the owner, returning after the surrender, had lacked the money to replace it.   He had contented himself with putting a flat roof on the remaining first floor which gave thebuilding the squat, disproportionate look of a child’s playhouse built of shoe boxes. The house washigh from the ground, built over a large cellar, and the long sweeping flight of stairs which reachedit made it look slightly ridiculous. But the flat, squashed look of the place was partly redeemed bythe two fine old oaks which shaded it and a dusty-leaved magnolia, splotched with white blossoms,standing beside the front steps. The lawn was wide and green with thick clover and bordering itwas a straggling, unkempt privet hedge, interlaced with sweet-smelling honeysuckle vines. Hereand there in the grass, roses threw out sprangles from crushed old stems and pink and white crêpemyrtle bloomed as valiantly as if war had not passed over their heads and Yankee horses gnawedtheir boughs.   Scarlett thought it quite the ugliest dwelling she had ever seen but, to Melanie, Twelve Oaks inall its grandeur had not been more beautiful. It was home and she and Ashley and Beau were at lasttogether under their own roof.   India Wilkes came back from Macon, where she and Honey had lived since 1864, and took upher residence with her brother, crowding the occupants of the little house. But Ashley and Melaniewelcomed her. Times had changed, money was scarce, but nothing had altered the rule of Southernlife that families always made room gladly for indigent or unmarried female relatives.   Honey had married and, so India said, married beneath her, a coarse Westerner from Mississippiwho had settled in Macon. He had a red face and a loud voice and jolly ways. India had notapproved of the match and, not approving, had not been happy in her brother-in-law’s home. Shewelcomed the news that Ashley now had a home of his own, so she could remove herself fromuncongenial surroundings and also from the distressing sight of her sister so fatuously happy with a man unworthy of her.   The rest of the family privately thought that the giggling and simple-minded Honey had done farbetter than could be expected and they marveled that she had caught any man. Her husband was agentleman and a man of some means; but to India, born in Georgia and reared in Virginiatraditions, anyone not from the eastern seaboard was a boor and a barbarian. Probably Honey’shusband was as happy to be relieved of her company as she was to leave him, for India was noteasy to live with these days.   The mantle of spinsterhood was definitely on her shoulders now. She was twenty-five andlooked it, and so there was no longer any need for her to try to be attractive. Her pale lashless eyeslooked directly and uncompromisingly upon the world and her thin lips were ever set in haughtytightness. There was an air of dignity and pride about her now that, oddly enough, became herbetter than the determined girlish sweetness of her days at Twelve Oaks. The position she held wasalmost that of a widow. Everyone knew that Stuart Tarleton would have married her had he notbeen killed at Gettysburg, and so she was accorded the respect due a woman who had been wantedif not wed.   The six rooms of the little house on Ivy Street were soon scantily furnished with the cheapestpine and oak furniture in Frank’s store for, as Ashley was penniless and forced to buy on credit, herefused anything except the least expensive and bought only the barest necessities. Thisembarrassed Frank who was fond of Ashley and it distressed Scarlett. Both she and Frank wouldwillingly have given, without any charge, the finest mahogany and carved rosewood in the store,but the Wilkeses obstinately refused. Their house was painfully ugly and bare and Scarlett hated tosee Ashley living in the uncarpeted, uncurtained rooms. But he did not seem to notice hissurroundings and Melanie, having her own home for the first time since her marriage, was sohappy she was actually proud of the place. Scarlett would have suffered agonies of humiliation athaving friends find her without draperies and carpets and cushions and the proper number of chairsand teacups and spoons. But Melanie did the honors of her house as though plush curtains andbrocade sofas were hers.   For all her obvious happiness, Melanie was not well. Little Beau had cost her her health, and thehard work she had done at Tara since his birth had taken further toll of her strength. She was sothin that her small bones seemed ready to come through her white skin. Seen from a distance,romping about the back yard with her child, she looked like a little girl, for her waist wasunbelievably tiny and she had practically no figure. She had no bust and her hips were as flat aslittle Beau’s and as she had neither the pride nor the good sense (so Scarlett thought) to sew rufflesin the bosom of her basque or pads on the back of her corsets, her thinness was very obvious. Likeher body, her face was too thin and too pale and her silky brows, arched and delicate as abutterfly’s feelers, stood out too blackly against her colorless skin. In her small face, her eyes weretoo large for beauty, the dark smudges under them making them appear enormous, but theexpression in them had not altered since the days of her unworried girlhood. War and constant painand hard work had been powerless against their sweet tranquility. They were the eyes of a happywoman, a woman around whom storms might blow without ever ruffling the serene core of herbeing.   How did she keep her eyes that way, thought Scarlett, looking at her enviously. She knew her own eyes sometimes had the look of a hungry cat. What was it Rhett had said once aboutMelanie’s eyes—some foolishness about them being like candles? Oh, yes, like two good deeds ina naughty world. Yes, they were like candles, candles shielded from every wind, two soft lightsglowing with happiness at being home again among her friends.   The little house was always full of company. Melanie had been a favorite even as a child and thetown flocked to welcome her home again. Everyone brought presents for the house, bric-a-brac,pictures, a silver spoon or two, linen pillow cases, napkins, rag rugs, small articles which they hadsaved from Sherman and treasured but which they now swore were of no earthly use to them.   Old men who had campaigned in Mexico with her father came to see her, bringing visitors tomeet “old Colonel Hamilton’s sweet daughter.” Her mother’s old friends clustered about her, forMelanie had a respectful deference to her elders that was very soothing to dowagers in these wilddays when young people seemed to have forgotten all their manners. Her contemporaries, theyoung wives, mothers and widows, loved her because she had suffered what they had suffered, hadnot ‘become embittered and always lent them a sympathetic ear. The young people came, as youngpeople always come, simply because they had a good time at her home and met there the friendsthey wanted to meet.   Around Melanie’s tactful and self-effacing person, there rapidly grew up a clique of young andold who represented what was left of the best of Atlanta’s ante-bellum society, all poor in purse, allproud in family, die-hards of the stoutest variety. It was as if Atlanta society, scattered and wreckedby war, depleted by death, bewildered by change, had found in her an unyielding nucleus aboutwhich it could re-form.   Melanie was young but she had in her all the qualities this embattled remnant prized, povertyand pride in poverty, uncomplaining courage, gaiety, hospitality, kindness and, above all, loyalty toall the old traditions. Melanie refused to change, refused even to admit that there was any reason tochange in a changing world. Under her roof the old days seemed to come back again and peopletook heart and felt even more contemptuous of the tide of wild life and high living that wassweeping the Carpetbaggers and newly rich Republicans along.   When they looked into her young face and saw there the inflexible loyalty to the old days, theycould forget, for a moment, the traitors within their own class who were causing fury, fear andheartbreak. And there were many such. There were men of good family, driven to desperation bypoverty, who had gone over to the enemy, become Republicans and accepted positions from theconquerors, so their families would not be on charity. There were young ex-soldiers who lackedthe courage to face the long years necessary to build up fortunes. These youngsters, following thelead of Rhett Butter, went hand in hand with the Carpetbaggers in money-making schemes ofunsavory kinds.   Worst of all the traitors were the daughters of some of Atlanta’s most prominent families. Thesegirls who had come to maturity since the surrender had only childish memories of the war andlacked the bitterness that animated their elders. They had lost no husbands, no lovers. They hadfew recollections of past wealth and splendor— and the Yankee officers were so handsome andfinely dressed and so carefree. And they gave such splendid balls and drove such fine horses andsimply worshiped Southern girls! They treated them like queens and were so careful not to injure their touchy pride and, after all—why not associate with them?   They were so much more attractive than the town swains who dressed so shabbily and were soserious and worked so hard that they had little time to play. So there had been a number ofelopements with Yankee officers which broke the hearts of Atlanta families. There were brotherswho passed sisters on the streets and did not speak and mothers and fathers who never mentioneddaughters’ names. Remembering these tragedies, a cold dread ran in the veins of those whosemotto was “No surrender”—a dread which the very sight of Melanie’s soft but unyielding facedispelled. She was, as the dowagers said, such an excellent and wholesome example to the younggirls of the town. And, because she made no parade of her virtues the young girls did not resenther.   It never occurred to Melanie that she was becoming the leader of a new society. She onlythought the people were nice to come to see her and to want her in their little sewing circles,cotillion clubs and musical societies. Atlanta had always been musical and loved good music,despite the sneering comments of sister cities of the South concerning the town’s lack of culture,and there was now an enthusiastic resurrection of interest that grew stronger as the times grewharder and more tense. It was easier to forget the impudent black faces in the streets and the blueuniforms of the garrison while they were listening to music.   Melanie was a little embarrassed to find herself at the head of the newly formed Saturday NightMusical Circle. She could not account for her elevation to this position except by the fact that shecould accompany anyone on the piano, even the Misses McLure who were tone deaf but whowould sing duets.   The truth of the matter was that Melanie had diplomatically managed to amalgamate the LadyHarpists, the Gentlemen’s Glee Club and the Young Ladies Mandolin and Guitar Society with theSaturday Night Musical Circle, so that now Atlanta had music worth listening to. In fact, theCircle’s rendition of The Bohemian Girl was said by many to be far superior to professionalperformances heard in New York and New Orleans. It was after she had maneuvered the LadyHarpists into the fold that Mrs. Merriwether said to Mrs. Meade and Mrs. Whiting that they musthave Melanie at the head of the Circle. If she could get on with the Harpists, she could get on withanyone, Mrs. Merriwether declared. That lady herself played the organ for the choir at theMethodist Church and, as an organist, had scant respect for harps or harpists.   Melanie had also been made secretary for both the Association for the Beautification of theGraves of Our Glorious Dead and the Sewing Circle for the Widows and Orphans of theConfederacy. This new honor came to her after an exciting joint meeting of those societies whichthreatened to end in violence and the severance of lifelong ties of friendship. The question hadarisen at the meeting as to whether or not weeds should be removed from the graves of the Unionsoldiers near those of Confederate soldiers. The appearance of the scraggly Yankee moundsdefeated all the efforts of the ladies to beautify those of their own dead. Immediately the fireswhich smoldered beneath tight basques flamed wildly and the two organizations split up andglared hostilely. The Sewing Circle was in favor of the removal of the weeds, the Ladies of theBeautification were violently opposed.   Mrs. Meade expressed the views of the latter group when she said: “Dig up the weeds off Yankee graves? For two cents, I’d dig up all the Yankees and throw them in the city dump!”   At these ringing words the two associations arose and every lady spoke her mind and no onelistened. The meeting was being held in Mrs. Merriwether’s parlor and Grandpa Merriwether, whohad been banished to the kitchen, reported afterwards that the noise sounded just like the openingguns of the battle of Franklin. And, he added, he guessed it was a dinged sight safer to be present atthe battle of Franklin than at the ladies’ meeting.   Somehow Melanie made her way to the center of the excited throng and somehow made herusually soft voice heard above the tumult. Her heart was in her throat with fright at daring toaddress the indignant gathering and her voice shook but she kept crying: “Ladies! Please!” till thedin died down.   “I want to say—I mean, I’ve thought for a long time that—that not only should we pull up theweeds but we should plant flowers on— I—I don’t care what you think but every time I go to takeflowers to dear Charlie’s grave, I always put some on the grave of an unknown Yankee which isnear by. It—it looks so forlorn!”   The excitement broke out again in louder words and this time the two organizations merged andspoke as one.   “On Yankee graves! Oh, Melly, how could you! “And they killed Charlie!” “They almost killedyou!” “Why, the Yankees might have killed Beau when he was born!” “They tried to burn you outof Tara!”   Melanie held onto the back of her chair for support, almost crumpling beneath the weight of adisapproval she had never known before.   “Oh, ladies!” she cried, pleading. “Please, let me finish! I know I haven’t the right to speak onthis matter, for none of my loved ones were killed except Charlie, and I know where he lies, thankGod! But there are so many among us today who do not know where their sons and husbands andbrothers are buried and—”   She choked and there was a dead silence in the room.   Mrs. Meade’s flaming eyes went somber. She had made the long trip to Gettysburg after thebattle to bring back Darcy’s body but no one had been able to tell her where he was buried.   Somewhere in some hastily dug trench in the enemy’s country. And Mrs. Allan’s mouth quivered.   Her husband and brother had been on that ill-starred raid Morgan made into Ohio and the lastinformation she had of them was that they fell on the banks of the river, just as the Yankee cavalrystormed up. She did not know where they lay. Mrs. Allison’s son had died in a Northern prisoncamp and she, the poorest of the poor, was unable to bring his body home. There were others whohad read on casualty lists: “Missing—believed dead,” and in those words had learned the last newsthey were ever to learn of men they had seen march away.   They turned to Melanie with eyes that said: “Why do you open these wounds again? These arethe wounds that never heal—the wounds of not knowing where they lie.”   Melanie’s voice gathered strength in the stillness of the room.   “Their graves are somewhere up in the Yankees’ country, just like the Yankee graves are here, and oh, how awful it would be to know that some Yankee woman said to dig them up and—”   Mrs. Meade made a small, dreadful sound.   “But how nice it would be to know that some good Yankee woman— And there must be somegood Yankee women. I don’t care what people say, they can’t all be bad! How nice it would be toknow that they pulled weeds off our men’s graves and brought flowers to them, even if they wereenemies. If Charlie were dead in the North it would comfort me to know that someone— And Idon’t care what you ladies think of me,” her voice broke again, “I will withdraw from both clubsand I’ll—I’ll pull up every weed off every Yankee’s grave I can find and I’ll plant flowers, too—and—I just dare anyone to stop me!”   With this final defiance Melanie burst into tears and tried to make her stumbling way to thedoor.   Grandpa Merriwether, safe in the masculine confines of the Girl of the Period Saloon an hourlater, reported to Uncle Henry Hamilton that after these words, everybody cried and embracedMelanie and it all ended up in a love feast and Melanie was made secretary of both organizations.   “And they are going to pull up the weeds. The hell of it is Dolly said I’d be only too pleased tohelp do it, ‘cause I didn’t have anything much else to do. I got nothing against the Yankees and Ithink Miss Melly was right and the rest of those lady wild cats wrong. But the idea of me pullingweeds at my time of life and with my lumbago!”   Melanie was on the board of lady managers of the Orphans’ Home and assisted in the collectionof books for the newly formed Young Men’s Library Association. Even the Thespians who gaveamateur plays once a month clamored for her. She was too timid to appear behind the kerosene-lamp footlights, but she could make costumes out of croker sacks if they were the only materialavailable. It was she who cast the deciding vote at the Shakespeare Reading Circle that the bard’sworks should be varied with those of Mr. Dickens and Mr. Bulwer-Lytton and not the poems ofLord Byron, as had been suggested by a young and, Melanie privately feared, very fast bachelormember of the Circle.   In the nights of the late summer her small, feebly lighted house was always full of guests. Therewere never enough chairs to go around and frequently ladies sat on the steps of the front porchwith men grouped about them on the banisters, on packing boxes or on the lawn below. Sometimeswhen Scarlett saw guests sitting on the grass, sipping tea, the only refreshment the Wilkeses couldafford, she wondered how Melanie could bring herself to expose her poverty so shamelessly. UntilScarlett was able to furnish Aunt Pitty’s house as it had been before the war and serve her guestsgood wine and juleps and baked ham and cold haunches of venison, she had no intention of havingguests in her house—especially prominent guests, such as Melanie had.   General John B. Gordon, Georgia’s great hero, was frequently there with his family. FatherRyan, the poet-priest of the Confederacy, never failed to call when passing through Atlanta. Hecharmed gatherings there with his wit and seldom needed much urging to recite his “Sword ofLee” or his deathless “Conquered Banner,” which never failed to make the ladies cry. AlexStephens, late Vice-President of the Confederacy, visited whenever in town and, when the wordwent about that he was at Melanie’s, the house was filled and people sat for hours under the spell of the frail invalid with the ringing voice. Usually there were a dozen children present, noddingsleepily in their parents’ arms, up hours after their normal bedtime. No family wanted its childrento miss being able to say in after years that they had been kissed by the great Vice-President or hadshaken the hand that helped to guide the Cause. Every person of importance who came to townfound his way to the Wilkes home and often they spent the night there. It crowded the little flat-topped house, forced India to sleep on a pallet in the cubbyhole that was Beau’s nursery and sentDilcey speeding through the back hedge to borrow breakfast eggs from Aunt Pitty’s Cookie, butMelanie entertained them as graciously as if hers was a mansion.   No, it did not occur to Melanie that people rallied round her as round a worn and loved standard.   And so she was both astounded and embarrassed when Dr. Meade, after a pleasant evening at herhouse where he acquitted himself nobly in reading the part of Macbeth, kissed her hand and madeobservations in the voice he once used in speaking of Our Glorious Cause.   “My dear Miss Melly, it is always a privilege and a pleasure to be in your home, for you—andladies like you—are the hearts of all of us, all that we have left. They have taken the flower of ourmanhood and the laughter of our young women. They have broken our health, uprooted our livesand unsettled our habits. They have ruined our prosperity, set us back fifty years and placed tooheavy a burden on the shoulders of our boys who should be in school and our old men who shouldbe sleeping in the sun. But we will build back, because we have hearts like yours to build upon.   And as long as we have them, the Yankees can have the rest!”   Until Scarlett’s figure reached such proportions that even Aunt Pitty’s big black shawl did notconceal her condition, she and Frank frequently slipped through the back hedge to join thesummer-night gatherings on Melanie’s porch. Scarlett always sat well out of the light, hidden inthe protecting shadows where she was not only inconspicuous but could, unobserved, watchAshley’s face to her heart’s content.   It was only Ashley who drew her to the house, for the conversations bored and saddened her.   They always followed a set pattern—first, hard times; next, the political situation; and then,inevitably, the war. The ladies bewailed the high prices of everything and asked the gentlemen ifthey thought good times would ever come back. And the omniscient gentlemen always said, indeedthey would. Merely a matter of time. Hard times were just temporary. The ladies knew thegentlemen were lying and the gentlemen knew the ladies knew they were lying. But they liedcheerfully just the same and the ladies pretended to believe them. Everyone knew hard times werehere to stay.   Once the hard times were disposed of, the ladies spoke of the increasing impudence of thenegroes and the outrages of the Carpetbaggers and the humiliation of having the Yankee soldiersloafing on every corner. Did the gentlemen think the Yankees would ever get through withreconstructing Georgia? The reassuring gentlemen thought Reconstruction would be over in notime—that is, just as soon as the Democrats could vote again. The ladies were considerate enoughnot to ask when this would be. And having finished with politics, the talk about the war began.   Whenever two former Confederates met anywhere, there but one topic of conversation,andwhereadozenormoregatheredtogether,itwasafo(was) regone(never) conclusion that the war would be spiritedly refought. And always the word “if” had the most prominent part in thetalk.   “If England had recognized us—” “If Jeff Davis had commandeered all the cotton and gotten itto England before the blockade tightened—” “If Longstreet had obeyed orders at Gettysburg—”   “If Jeb Stuart hadn’t been away on that raid when Marse Bob needed him—” “If we hadn’t lostStonewall Jackson—” “If Vicksburg hadn’t fallen—” “If we could have held on another year—”   And always: “If they hadn’t replaced Johnston with Hood—” or “If they’d put Hood in commandat Dalton instead of Johnston—”   If! If! The soft drawling voices quickened with an old excitement as they talked in the quietdarkness—infantryman, cavalryman, cannoneer, evoking memories of the days when life was everat high tide, recalling the fierce heat of their midsummer in this forlorn sunset of their winter.   ‘They don’t talk of anything else,” thought Scarlett. “Nothing but the war. Always the war. Andthey’ll never talk of anything but the war. No, not until they die.”   She looked about, seeing little boys lying in the crooks of their fathers’ arms, breath coming fast,eyes glowing, as they heard of midnight stories and wild cavalry dashes and flags planted onenemy breastworks. They were hearing drums and bugles and the Rebel yell, seeing footsore mengoing by in the rain with torn flags slanting.   “And these children will never talk of anything else either. They’ll think it was wonderful andglorious to fight the Yankees and come home blind and crippled—or not come home at all. Theyall like to remember the war, to talk about it. But I don’t. I don’t even like to think about it. I’dforget it all if I could—oh, if I only could!”   She listened with flesh crawling as Melanie told tales of Tara, making Scarlett a heroine as shefaced the invaders and saved Charles’ sword, bragging how Scarlett had put out the fire. Scarletttook no pleasure or pride in the memory of these things. She did not want to think of them at all.   “Oh, why can’t they forget? Why can’t they look forward and not back? We were fools to fightthat war. And the sooner we forget it, the better we’ll be.”   But no one wanted to forget, no one, it seemed, except herself, so Scarlett was glad when shecould truthfully tell Melanie that she was embarrassed at appearing, even in the darkness. Thisexplanation was readily understood by Melanie who was hypersensitive about all matters relatingto childbirth. Melanie wanted another baby badly, but both Dr. Meade and Dr. Fontaine had saidanother child would cost her her life. So, only half resigned to her fate, she spent most of her timewith Scarlett, vicariously enjoying a pregnancy not her own. To Scarlett, scarcely wanting hercoming child and irritated at its untimeliness, this attitude seemed the height of sentimentalstupidity. But she had a guilty sense of pleasure that the doctors’ edict had made impossible anyreal intimacy between Ashley and his wife.   Scarlett saw Ashley frequently now but she never saw him alone. He came by the house everynight on his way home from the mill to report on the day’s work, but Frank and Pitty were usuallypresent or, worse still, Melanie and India. She could only ask businesslike questions and makesuggestions and then say: “It was nice of you to come by. Good night.”   If only she wasn’t having a baby! Here was a God-given opportunity to ride out to the mill with him every morning, through the lonely woods, far from prying eyes, where they could imaginethemselves back In the County again in the unhurried days before the war.   No, she wouldn’t try to make him say one word of love! She wouldn’t refer to love in any way.   She’d sworn an oath to herself that she would never do that again. But, perhaps if she were alonewith him once more, he might drop that mask of impersonal courtesy he had worn since coming toAtlanta. Perhaps he might be his old self again, be the Ashley she had known before the barbecue,before any word of love had been spoken between them. If they could not be lovers, they could befriends again and she could warm her cold and lonely heart in the glow of his friendship.   “If only I could get this baby over and done with,” she thought impatiently, “then I could ridewith him every day and we could talk—”   It was not only the desire to be with him that made her writhe with helpless impatience at herconfinement. The mills needed her. The mills had been losing money ever since she retired fromactive supervision, leaving Hugh and Ashley in charge.   Hugh was so incompetent, for all that he tried so hard. He was a poor trader and a poorer boss oflabor. Anyone could Jew him down on prices. If any slick contractor chose to say that the lumberwas of an inferior grade and not worth the price asked, Hugh felt that all a gentleman could do wasto apologize and take a lower price. When she heard of the price he received for a thousand feet offlooring, she burst into angry tears. The best grade of flooring the mill had ever turned out and hehad practically given it away! And he couldn’t manage his labor crews. The negroes insisted onbeing paid every day and they frequently got drunk on their wages and did not turn up for work thenext morning. On these occasions Hugh was forced to hunt up new workmen and the mill was latein starting. With these difficulties Hugh didn’t get into town to sell the lumber for days on end.   Seeing the profits slip from Hugh’s fingers, Scarlett became frenzied at her impotence and hisstupidity. Just as soon as the baby was born and she could go back to work, she would get rid ofHugh and hire some one else. Anyone would do better. And she would never fool with free niggersagain. How could anyone get any work done with free niggers quitting all the time?   “Frank,” she said, after a stormy interview with Hugh over his missing workmen, I’ve aboutmade up my mind that I’ll lease convicts to work the mills. A while back I was talking to JohnnieGallegher, Tommy Wellburn’s foreman, about the trouble we were having getting any work out ofthe darkies and he asked me why I didn’t get convicts. It sounds like a good idea to me. He said Icould sublease them for next to nothing and feed them dirt cheap. And he said I could get work outof them in any way I liked, without having the Freedman’s Bureau swarming down on me likehornets, sticking their bills into things that aren’t any of their business. And just as soon as JohnnieGallegher’s contract with Tommy is up, I’m going to hire him to run Hugh’s mill. Any man whocan get work out of that bunch of wild Irish he bosses can certainly get plenty of work out ofconvicts.”   Convicts! Frank was speechless. Leasing convicts was the very worst of all the wild schemesScarlett had ever suggested, worse even than her notion of building a saloon.   At least, it seemed worse to Frank and the conservative circles in which he moved. This newsystem of leasing convicts had come into being because of the poverty of the state after the war.   Unable to support the convicts, the State was hiring them out to those needing large labor crews inthe building of railroads, in turpentine forests and lumber camps. While Frank and his quietchurchgoing friends realized the necessity of the system, they deplored it just the same. Many ofthem had not even believed in slavery and they thought this was far worse than slavery had everbeen.   And Scarlett wanted to lease convicts! Frank knew that if she did he could never hold up hishead again. This was far worse than owning and operating the mills herself, or anything else shehad done. His past objections had always been coupled with the question: “What will people say?”   But this—this went deeper than fear of public opinion. He felt that it was a traffic in human bodieson a par with prostitution, a sin that would be on his soul if he permitted her to do it.   From this conviction of wrongness, Frank gathered courage to forbid Scarlett to do such a thing,and so strong were his remarks that she, startled, relapsed into silence. Finally to quiet him, shesaid meekly she hadn’t really meant it She was just so outdone with Hugh and the free niggers shehad lost her temper. Secretly, she still thought about it and with some longing. Convict labor wouldsettle one of her hardest problems, but if Frank was going to take on so about it—She sighed. If even one of the mills were making money, she could stand it. But Ashley wasfaring little better with his mill than Hugh.   At first Scarlett was shocked and disappointed that Ashley did not immediately take hold andmake the mill pay double what it had paid under her management. He was so smart and he hadread so many books and there was no reason at all why he should not make a brilliant success andlots of money. But he was no more successful than Hugh. His inexperience, his errors, his utterlack of business judgment and his scruples about close dealing were the same as Hugh’s.   Scarlett’s love hastily found excuses for him and she did not consider the two men in the samelight. Hugh was just hopelessly stupid, while Ashley was merely new at the business. Still,unbidden, came the thought that Ashley could never make a quick estimate in his head and give aprice that was correct, as she could. And she sometimes wondered if he’d ever learn to distinguishbetween planking and sills. And because he was a gentleman and himself trustworthy, he trustedevery scoundrel who came along and several times would have lost money for her if she had nottactfully intervened. And if he liked a person—and he seemed to like so many people!—he soldthem lumber on credit without ever thinking to find out if they had money in the bank or property.   He was as bad as Frank in that respect.   But surely he would learn! And while he was learning she had a fond and maternal indulgenceand patience for his errors. Every evening when he called at her house, weary and discouraged, shewas tireless in her tactful, helpful suggestions. But for all her encouragement and cheer, there wasa queer dead look in his eyes. She could not understand it and it frightened her. He was different,so different from the man he used to be. If only she could see him alone, perhaps she coulddiscover the reason.   The situation gave her many sleepless nights. She worried about Ashley, both because she knewhe was unhappy and because she knew his unhappiness wasn’t helping him to become a goodlumber dealer. It was a torture to have her mills in the hands of two men with no more businesssense than Hugh and Ashley, heartbreaking to see her competitors taking her best customers away when she had worked so hard and planned so carefully for these helpless months. Oh, if she couldonly get back to work again! She would take Ashley in hand and then he would certainly learn.   And Johnnie Gallegher could run the other mill, and she could handle the selling, and theneverything would be fine. As for Hugh, he could drive a delivery wagon if he still wanted to workfor her. That was all he was good for.   Of course, Gallegher looked like an unscrupulous man, for all of his smartness, but—who elsecould she get? Why had the other men who were both smart and honest been so perverse aboutworking for her? If she only had one of them working for her now in place of Hugh, she wouldn’thave to worry so much, but—Tommy Wellburn, in spite of his crippled back, was the busiest contractor in town and coiningmoney, so people said. Mrs. Merriwether and René were prospering and now had opened a bakerydowntown. René was managing it with true French thrift and Grandpa Merriwether, glad to escapefrom his chimney corner, was driving René’s pie wagon. The Simmons boys were so busy theywere operating their brick kiln with three shifts of labor a day. And Kells Whiting was cleaning upmoney with his hair straightener, because he told the negroes they wouldn’t ever be permitted tovote the Republican ticket if they had kinky hair.   It the with all the smart young men she knew, the doctors, the lawyers, the storekeep(was) ers.Thea(same) pathy which had clutched them immediately after the war had completelydisappeared and they were too busy building their own fortunes to help her build hers. The oneswho were not busy were the men of Hugh’s type—or Ashley’s.   What a mess it was to try to run a business and have a baby too!   “I’ll never have another one,” she decided firmly. “I’m not going to be like other women andhave a baby every year. Good Lord, that would mean six months out of the year when I’d have tobe away from the mills! And I see now I can’t afford to be away from them even one day. I shallsimply tell Frank that I won’t have any more children.”   Frank wanted a big family, but she could manage Frank somehow. Her mind was made up. Thiswas her last child. The mills were far more important.   最后一个送葬者告别了,最后一辆车轮声和马蹄声消失了,思嘉走进母亲爱伦过去的办事房,从秘书的文书格子里发黄的故纸堆里取出一件发亮的东西,这是她前一天晚上藏在这里的。听见波克在饭厅里一面摆桌子,一面抽平地哭,就叫他过来。他走进来时那张黑脸像丧家的狗的脸一样难看。   “波克,"她正颜厉色地说,"你要是再哭,我就----我就也要哭了。你可不能再哭了。““是的,小姐,我不哭了,可是每次我忍着不哭,就想起杰拉尔德老爷----"“那你就别想,别人哭,你都可以忍受,唯独你哭,我真受不了。你看,”说到这里,她停顿了一下,口气变得温和了,"你还不明白呀?你哭,我受不了,因为我知道你多么爱护老爷,去擤擤鼻子,波克。我要送你一件礼物。"波克一面大声擤鼻子,一面流露出有些感兴趣的目光,不过,与其说他感兴趣,不如说他是出自礼貌。   “那天晚上,你去偷人家的鸡,让人家开枪打伤了,你还记得吗?"“哎呀,思嘉不!我从来没有----"“好了,怎么没有,事到如今你也就别对我隐瞒了,我说过我要给你一只表,奖励你的忠诚,你还记得吗?"“是,小姐,我记得。我猜想您已经忘了。"“没有,我没忘,现在就给你。"思嘉伸出手来给他看一只沉甸甸的金表,上面刻着很多立体的花纹,一根链子垂下来,链子上也有一些装饰品。   “哎呀,思嘉小姐!"波克说:“这是杰拉尔德老爷的表!   我看见老爷看这只表,不知看了多少次。"“不错,是爸爸的表,波克,现在我把它送给你了,拿去吧。"“唔,我不要,小姐,"波克也边说往后退缩,显出很害怕的样子。"这是白人老爷们用的表,是杰拉尔德老爷的。思嘉小姐,您怎么能说把它送给我呢?这只表照理应该属于小少爷韦德•汉普顿。"“现在这只表属于你了。韦德•汉普顿为我爸爸干过什么事?爸爸生病虚弱的时候,给他洗过澡,换过衣裳,刮过脸吗,照顾过他吧?北方佬来的时候,随时跟他在一起吗?为他偷东西吗?你别这么傻,波克,要是说谁配得到这只表,那就是你了。我知道,爸爸要是在世,也会同意的。拿去吧。"说罢,她抓起波克的一只手,把表放在他的手心里。波克怀着愉快的心情看着这只表,脸上慢慢显出十分崇敬的神色。   “给我了,真的,思嘉小姐?&r Chapter 42 SCARLETT’S CHILD was a girl, a small bald-headed mite, ugly as a hairless monkey andabsurdly like Frank. No one except the doting father could see anything beautiful about her, but theneighbors were charitable enough to say that all ugly babies turned out pretty, eventually. She wasnamed Ella Lorena, Ella for her grandmother Ellen, and Lorena because it was the mostfashionable name of the day for girls, even as Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson were popularfor boys and Abraham Lincoln and Emancipation for negro children.   She was born in the middle of a week when frenzied excitement gripped Atlanta and the air wastense with expectation of disaster. A negro who had boasted of rape had actually been arrested, butbefore he could be brought to trial the jail had been raided by the Ku Klux Klan and he had beenquietly hanged. The Klan had acted to save the as yet unnamed victim from having to testify in open court. Rather than have her appear and advertise her shame, her father and brother wouldhave shot her, so lynching the negro seemed a sensible solution to the townspeople, in fact, theonly decent solution possible. But the military authorities were in a fury. They saw no reason whythe girl should mind testifying publicly.   The soldiers made arrests right and left, swearing to wipe out the Klan if they had to put everywhite man in Atlanta in jail. The negroes, frightened and sullen, muttered of retaliatory houseburnings. The air was thick with rumors of wholesale hangings by the Yankees should the guiltyparties be found and of a concerted uprising against the whites by the negroes. The people of thetown stayed at home behind locked doors and shuttered windows, the men fearing to go to theirbusinesses and leave their women and children unprotected.   Scarlett, lying exhausted in bed, feebly and silently thanked God that Ashley had too much senseto belong to the Klan and Frank was too old and poor spirited. How dreadful it would be to knowthat the Yankees might swoop down and arrest them at any minute! Why didn’t the crack-brainedyoung fools in the Klan leave bad enough alone and not stir up the Yankees like this? Probably thegirl hadn’t been raped after all. Probably she’d just been frightened silly and, because of her, a lotof men might lose their lives.   In this atmosphere, straining watching slow fuse burn toward a barrel of gunpowder,Scarlettcame(as) rapidl(nerve) ybacktost(as) rength.The(a) healthy vigor which had carried herthrough the hard days at Tara stood her in good stead now, and within two weeks of Ella Lorena’sbirth she was strong enough to sit up and chafe at her inactivity. In three weeks she was up,declaring she had to see to the mills. They were standing idle because both Hugh and Ashleyfeared to leave their families alone all day.   Then the blow fell.   Frank, full of the pride of new fatherhood, summoned up courage enough to forbid Scarlettleaving the house while conditions were so dangerous. His commands would not have worried herat all and she would have gone about her business in spite of them, if he had not put her horse andbuggy in the livery stable and ordered that they should not be surrendered to anyone excepthimself. To make matters worse, he and Mammy had patiently searched the house while she was illand unearthed her hidden store of money. And Frank had deposited it in the bank in his own name,so now she could not even hire a rig.   Scarlett raged at both Frank and Mammy, then was reduced to begging and finally cried all onemorning like a furious thwarted child. But for all her pains she heard only: “There, Sugar! You’rejust a sick little girl.” And: “Miss Scarlett, ef you doan quit cahyin’ on so, you gwine sour yo’ milkan’ de baby have colic, sho as gun’s iron.”   In a furious temper, Scarlett charged through her back yard to Melanie’s house and thereunburdened herself at the top of her voice, declaring she would walk to the mills, she would goabout Atlanta telling everyone what a varmint she had married, she would not be treated like anaughty simple-minded child. She would carry a pistol and shoot anyone who threatened her. Shehad shot one man and she would love, yes, love to shoot another. She would—Melanie who feared to venture onto her own front porch was appalled by such threats.   “Oh, you must not risk yourself! I should die if anything happened to you! Oh, please—”   “I will! I will! I will walk—”   Melanie looked at her and saw that this was not the hysteria of a woman still weak fromchildbirth. There was the same breakneck, headlong determination in Scarlett’s face that Melaniehad often seen in Gerald O’Hara’s face when his mind was made up. She put her arms aroundScarlett’s waist and held her tightly.   “It’s all my fault for not being brave like you and for keeping Ashley at home with me all thistime when he should have been at the mill. Oh, dear! I’m such a ninny! Darling, I’ll tell AshleyI’m not a bit frightened and I’ll come over and stay with you and Aunt Pitty and he can go back towork and—”   Not even to herself would Scarlett admit that she did not think Ashley could cope with thesituation alone and she shouted: “You’ll do nothing of the kind! What earthly good would Ashleydo at work if he was worried about you every minute? Everybody is just so hateful! Even UnclePeter refuses to go out with me! But I don’t care! I’ll go alone. I’ll walk every step of the way andpick up a crew of darkies somewhere—”   “Oh, no! You mustn’t do that! Something dreadful might happen to you. They say thatShantytown settlement on the Decatur road is just full of mean darkies and you’d have to pass rightby it. Let think— Darling, promise me you won’t do anything today and I’ll think ofsomething. Pro(me) mise me you’ll go home and lie down. You look right peaked. Promise me.”   Because she was too exhausted by her anger to do otherwise, Scarlett sulkily promised and wenthome, haughtily refusing any overtures of peace from her household.   That afternoon a strange figure stumped through Melanie’s hedge and across Pitty’s back yard.   Obviously, he was one of those men whom Mammy and Dilcey referred to as “de riff-raff whutMiss Melly pick up off de streets an’ let sleep in her cellar.”   There were three rooms in the basement of Melanie’s house which formerly had been servants’   quarters and a wine room. Now Dilcey occupied one, and the other two were in constant use by astream of miserable and ragged transients. No one but Melanie knew whence they came or wherethey were going and no one but she knew where she collected them. Perhaps the negroes wereright and she did pick them up from the streets. But even as the great and the near great gravitatedto her small parlor, so unfortunates found their way to her cellar where they were fed, bedded andsent on their way with packages of food. Usually the occupants of the rooms were formerConfederate soldiers of the rougher, illiterate type, homeless men, men without families, beatingtheir way about the country in hope of finding work.   Frequently, brown and withered country women with broods of tow-haired silent children spentthe night there, women widowed by the war, dispossessed of their farms, seeking relatives whoscattered and lost. Sometimes the neighborhood was scandalized by the presence offoreig(were) ners, speaking little or no English, who had been drawn South by glowing tales of fortuneseasily made. Once a Republican had slept there. At least, Mammy insisted he was a Republican,saying she could smell a Republican, same as a horse could smell a rattlesnake; but no one believedMammy’s story, for there must be some limit even to Melanie’s charity. At least everyone hoped so.   Yes, thought Scarlett, sitting on the side porch in the pale November sunshine with the baby onher lap, he is one of Melanie’s lame dogs. And he’s really lame, at that!   The man who was making his way across the back yard stumped, like Will Benteen, on awooden leg. He was a tall, thin old man with a bald head, which shone pinkishly dirty, and agrizzled beard so long he could tuck it in his belt. He was over sixty, to judge by his hard, seamedface, but there was no sag of age to his body. He was lank and ungainly but, even with his woodenpeg, he moved as swiftly as a snake.   He mounted the steps and came toward her and, even before he spoke, revealing in his tones atwang and a burring of “r s” unusual in the lowlands, Scarlett knew that he was mountain born.   For all his dirty, ragged clothes there was about him, as about most mountaineers, an air of fiercesilent pride that permitted no liberties and tolerated no foolishness. His beard was stained withtobacco juice and a large wad in his jaw made his face look deformed. His nose was thin andcraggy, his eyebrows bushy and twisted, into witches’ locks and a lush growth of hair sprang fromhis ears, giving them the tufted look of a lynx’s ears. Beneath his brow was one hollow socketfrom which a scar ran down his cheek, carving a diagonal line through his beard. The other eyewas small, pale and cold, an unwinking and remorseless eye. There was a heavy pistol openly inhis trouser band and from the top of his tattered boot protruded the hilt of a bowie knife.   He returned Scarlett’s stare coldly and spat across the rail of the banister before he spoke. Therewas contempt in his one eye, not a personal contempt for her, but for her whole sex.   “Miz Wilkes sont me to work for you,” he said shortly. He spoke rustily, as one unaccustomed tospeaking, the words coming slowly and almost with difficulty. “M’ name’s Archie.”   “I’m sorry but I have no work for you, Mr. Archie.”   “Archie’s m’fuss name.”   “I beg your pardon. What is your last name?”   He spat again. “I reckon that’s my bizness,” he said. “Archie’ll do.”   “I don’t care what your last name is! I have nothing for you to do.”   “I reckon you have. Miz Wilkes was upsot about yore wantin’ to run aroun’ like a fool byyoreself and she sont me over here to drive aroun’ with you.”   “Indeed?” cried Scarlett, indignant both at the man’s rudeness and Melly’s meddling.   His one eye met hers with an impersonal animosity. “Yes. A woman’s got no bizness botherin’   her men folks when they’re tryin’ to take keer of her. If you’re bound to gad about, I’ll drive you. Ihates niggers—Yankees too.”   He shifted his wad of tobacco to the other cheek and, without waiting for an invitation, sat downon the top step. “I ain’t sayin’ I like drivin’ women aroun’, but Miz Wilkes been good to me, lettin’   me sleep in her cellar, and she sont me to drive you.”   “But—” began Scarlett helplessly and then she stopped and looked at him. After a moment shebegan to smile. She didn’t like the looks of this elderly desperado but his presence would simplify matters. With him beside her, she could go to town, drive to the mills, call on customers. No onecould doubt her safety with him and his very appearance was enough to keep from giving rise toscandal.   “It’s a bargain,” she said. “That is, if my husband agrees.”   After a private conversation with Archie, Frank gave his reluctant approval and sent word to thelivery stable to release the horse and buggy. He was hurt and disappointed that motherhood had notchanged Scarlett as he had hoped it would but, if she was determined to go back to her damnablemills, then Archie was a godsend.   So began the relationship that at first startled Atlanta. Archie and Scarlett were a queerlyassorted pair, the truculent dirty old man with his wooden peg sticking stiffly out over thedashboard and the pretty, neatly dressed young woman with forehead puckered in an abstractedfrown. They could be seen at all hours and at all places in and near Atlanta, seldom speaking toeach other, obviously disliking each other, but bound together by mutual need, he of money, she ofprotection. At least, said the ladies of the town, it’s better than riding around so brazenly with thatButler man. They wondered curiously where Rhett was these days, for he had abruptly left townthree months before and no one, not even Scarlett, knew where he was.   Archie was a silent man, never speaking unless spoken to and usually answering with grunts.   Every morning he came from Melanie’s cellar and sat on the front steps of Pitty’s house, chewingand spitting until Scarlett came out and Peter brought the buggy from the stable. Uncle Peter fearedhim only a little less than the devil or the Ku Klux and even Mammy walked silently andtimorously around him. He hated negroes and they knew it and feared him. He reinforced his pistoland knife with another pistol, and his fame spread far among the black population. He never oncehad to draw a pistol or even lay his hand on his belt. The moral effect was sufficient. No negrodared even laugh while Archie was in hearing.   Once Scarlett asked him curiously why he hated negroes and was surprised when he answered,for generally all questions were answered by “I reckon that’s my bizness.”   “I hates them, like all mountain folks hates them. We never liked them and we never ownednone. It was them niggers that started the war. I hates them for that, too.”   “But you fought in the war.”   “I reckon that’s a man’s privilege. I hates Yankees too, more’n I hates niggers. Most as much asI hates talkative women.”   It was such outspoken rudeness as this that threw Scarlett into silent furies and made her long tobe rid of him. But how could she do without him? In what other way could she obtain suchfreedom? He was rude and dirty and, occasionally, very odorous but he served his purpose. Hedrove her to and from the mills and on her round of customers, spitting and staring off into spacewhile she talked and gave orders. If she climbed down from the buggy, he climbed after her anddogged her footsteps. When she was among rough laborers, negroes or Yankee soldiers, he wasseldom more than a pace from her elbow.   Soon Atlanta became accustomed to seeing Scarlett and her bodyguard and, from beingaccustomed, the ladies grew to envy her her freedom of movement. Since the Ku Klux lynching, the ladies had been practically immured, not even going to town to shop unless there were half adozen in their group. Naturally social minded, they became restless and, putting their pride in theirpockets, they began to beg the loan of Archie from Scarlett. And whenever she did not need him,she was gracious enough to spare him for the use of other ladies.   Soon Archie became an Atlanta institution and the ladies competed for his free time. There wasseldom a morning when a child or a negro servant did not arrive at breakfast time with a notesaying: “If you aren’t using Archie this afternoon, do let me have him. I want to drive to thecemetery with flowers.” “I must go to the milliners.” “I should like Archie to drive Aunt Nelly foran airing.” “I must go calling on Peters Street and Grandpa is not feeling well enough to take me.   Could Archie—”   He drove them all, maids, matrons and widows, and toward all he evidenced the sameuncompromising contempt. It was obvious that he did not like women, Melanie excepted, anybetter than he liked negroes and Yankees. Shocked at first by his rudeness, the ladies finallybecame accustomed to him and, as he was so silent, except for intermittent explosions of tobaccojuice, they took him as much for granted as the horses he drove and forgot his very existence. Infact, Mrs. Merriwether related to Mrs. Meade the complete details of her niece’s confinement beforeshe even remembered Archie’s presence on the front seat of the carriage.   At no other time than this could such a situation have been possible. Before the war, he wouldnot have been permitted even in the ladies’ kitchens. They would have handed him food throughthe back door and sent him about his business. But now they welcomed his reassuring presence.   Rude, illiterate, dirty, he was a bulwark between the ladies and the terrors of Reconstruction. Hewas neither friend nor servant. He was a hired bodyguard, protecting the women while their menworked by day or were absent from home at night.   It seemed to Scarlett that after Archie came to work for her Frank was away at night veryfrequently. He said the books at the store had to be balanced and business was brisk enough now togive him little time to attend to this in working hours. And there were sick friends with whom hehad to sit. Then there was the organization of Democrats who forgathered every Wednesday nightto devise ways of regaining the ballot and Frank never missed a meeting. Scarlett thought thisorganization did little else except argue the merits of General John B. Gordon over every ottergeneral, except General Lee, and refight the war. Certainly she could observe no progress in thedirection of the recovery of the ballot. But Frank evidently enjoyed the meetings for he stayed outuntil all hours on those nights.   Ashley also sat up with the sick and he, too, attended the Democratic meetings and he wasusually away on the same nights as Frank. On these nights, Archie escorted Pitty, Scarlett, Wadeand little Ella though the back yard to Melanie’s house and the two families spent the eveningstogether. The ladies sewed while Archie lay full length on the parlor sofa snoring, his graywhiskers fluttering at each rumble. No one had invited him to dispose himself on the sofa and as itwas the finest piece of furniture in the house, the ladies secretly moaned every time he lay down onit, planting his boot on the pretty upholstery. But none of them had the courage to remonstrate withhim. Especially after he remarked that it was lucky he went to sleep easy, for otherwise the soundof women clattering like a flock of guinea hens would certainly drive him crazy.   Scarlett sometimes wondered where Archie had come from and what his life had been before hecame to live in Melly’s cellar but she asked no questions. There was that about his grim one-eyedface which discouraged curiosity. All she knew was that his voice bespoke the mountains to thenorth and that he had been in the army and had lost both leg and eye shortly before the surrender. Itwas words spoken in a fit of anger against Hugh Elsing which brought out the truth of Archie’spast.   One morning, the old man had driven her to Hugh’s mill and she had found it idle, the negroesgone and Hugh sitting despondently under a tree. His crew had not made their appearance thatmorning and he was at a loss as to what to do. Scarlett was in a furious temper and did not scrupleto expend it on Hugh, for she had just received an order for a large amount of lumber—a rushorder at that. She had used energy and charm and bargaining to get that order and now the mill wasquiet.   “Drive me out to the other mill,” she directed Archie. “Yes, I know it’ll take a long time and wewon’t get any dinner but what am I paying you for? I’ll have to make Mr. Wilkes stop what he’sdoing and run me off this lumber. Like as not, his crew won’t be working either. Great balls of fire!   I never saw such a nincompoop as Hugh Elsing! I’m going to get rid of him just as soon as thatJohnnie Gallegher finishes the stores he’s building. What do I care if Gallegher was in the YankeeArmy? He’ll work. I never saw a lazy Irishman yet. And I’m through with free issue darkies. Youjust can’t depend on them. I’m going to get Johnnie Gallegher and lease me some convicts. He’llget work out of them. He’ll—”   Archie turned to her, his eye malevolent, and when he spoke there was cold anger in his rustyvoice.   “The day you gits convicts is the day I quits you,” he said.   Scarlett was startled. “Good heavens! Why?”   “I knows about convict leasin’. I calls it convict murderin’. Buyin’ men like they was mules.   Treatin’ them worse than mules ever was treated. Beatin’ them, starvin’ them, killin’ them. Andwho cares? The State don’t care. It’s got the lease money. The folks that gits the convicts, theydon’t care. All they want is to feed them cheap and git all the work they can out of them. Hell,Ma’m. I never thought much of women and I think less of them now.”   “Is it any of your business?”   “I reckon,” said Archie laconically and, after a pause, “I was a convict for nigh on to fortyyears.”   Scarlett gasped, and, for a moment, shrank back against the cushions. This then was the answerto the riddle of Archie, his unwillingness to tell his last name or the place of his birth or any scrapof his past life, the answer to the difficulty with which he spoke and his cold hatred of the world.   Forty years! He must have gone into prison a young man. Forty years! Why—he must have been alife prisoner and lifers were—“Was it—murder?”   “Yes,” answered Archie briefly, as he flapped the reins. “M’ wife.”   Scarlett’s eyelids batted rapidly with fright. The mouth beneath the beard seemed to move, as ifhe were smiling grimly at her fear. “I ain’t goin’ to kill you, Ma’m, if that’s what’s frettin’ you.   Thar ain’t but one reason for killin’ a woman.”   “You killed your wife!”   “She was layin’ with my brother. He got away. I ain’t sorry none that I kilt her. Loose womenought to be kilt. The law ain’t got no right to put a man in jail for that but I was sont.”   “But—how did you get out? Did you escape? Were you pardoned?”   “You might call it a pardon.” His thick gray brows writhed together as though the effort ofstringing words together was difficult.   “ ‘Long in ‘sixty-four when Sherman come through, I was at Milledgeville jail, like I had beenfor forty years. And the warden he called all us prisoners together and he says the Yankees are acomin’   a-burnin’ and a-killin’. Now if that’s one thing I hates worse than a nigger or a woman, it’sa Yankee.”   “Why? Had you— Did you ever know any Yankees?”   “No’m. But I’d beam tell of them. I’d beam tell they couldn’t never mind their own bizness. Ihates folks who can’t mind their own bizness. What was they doin’ in Georgia, freein’ our niggersand burnin’ our houses and killin’ our stock? Well, the warden he said the army needed moresoldiers bad, and any of us who’d jine up would be free at the end of the war—if we come outalive. But us lifers—us murderers, the warden he said the army didn’t want us. We was to be sontsomewheres else to another jail. But I said to the warden I ain’t like most lifers. I’m just in forkillin’ my wife and she needed killin’. And I wants to fight the Yankees. And the warden he sawmy side of it and he slipped me out with the other prisoners.”   He paused and grunted.   “Huh. That was right funny. They put me in jail for killin’ and they let me out with a gun in myhand and a free pardon to do more killin’. It shore was good to be a free man with a rifle in myhand again. Us men from Milledgeville did good fightin’ and killin’—and a lot of us was kilt. Inever knowed one who deserted. And when the surrender come, we was free. I lost this here legand this here eye. But I ain’t sorry.”   “Oh,” said Scarlett, weakly.   She tried to remember what she had heard about the releasing of the Milledgeville convicts inthat last desperate effort to stem the tide of Sherman’s army. Frank had mentioned it that Christmasof 1864. What had he said? But her memories of that time were too chaotic. Again she felt the wildterror of those days, heard the siege guns, saw the line of wagons dripping blood into the red roads,saw the Home Guard marching off, the little cadets and the children like Phil Meade and the oldmen like Uncle Henry and Grandpa Merriwether. And the convicts had marched out too, to die inthe twilight of the Confederacy, to freeze in the snow and sleet of that last campaign in Tennessee.   For a brief moment she thought what a fool this old man was, to fight for a state which hadtaken forty years from his life. Georgia had taken his youth and his middle years for a crime thatwas no crime to him, yet he had freely given a leg and an eye to Georgia. The bitter words Rhett had spoken in the early days of the war came back to her, and she remembered him saying hewould never fight for a society that had made him an outcast. But when the emergency had arisenhe had gone off to fight for that same society, even as Archie had done. It seemed to her that allSouthern men, high or low, were sentimental fools and cared less for their hides than for wordswhich had no meaning.   She looked at Archie’s gnarled old hands, his two pistols and his knife, and fear pricked heragain. Were there other ex-convicts at large, like Archie, murderers, desperadoes, thieves,pardoned for their crimes, in the name of the Confederacy? Why, any stranger on the street mightbe a murderer! If Frank ever learned the truth about Archie, there would be the devil to pay. Or ifAunt Pitty—but the shock would kill Pitty. And as for Melanie—Scarlett almost wished she couldtell Melanie the truth about Archie. It would serve her right for picking up trash and foisting it offon her friends and relatives.   “I’m—I’m glad you told me, Archie. I—I won’t tell anyone. It would be a great shock to Mrs.   Wilkes and the other ladies if they knew.”   “Huh. Miz Wilkes knows. I told her the night she fuss let me sleep in her cellar. You don’t thinkI’d let a nice lady like her take me into her house not knowin’?”   “Saints preserve us!” cried Scarlet, aghastMelanie knew this man was a murderer and a woman murderer at that and she hadn’t ejectedhim from her house. She had trusted her son with him and her aunt and sister-in-law and all herfriends. And she, the most timid of females, had not been frightened to be alone with him in herhouse.   “Miz Wilkes is right sensible, for a woman. She lowed that I was all right She ‘lowed that a liarallus kept on lyin’ and a thief kept on stealin’ but folks don’t do more’n one murder in a lifetime.   And she reckoned as how anybody who’d fought for the Confederacy had wiped out anything badthey’d done. Though I don’t hold that I done nothin’ bad, killin’ my wife. ... Yes, Miz Wilkes isright sensible, for a woman. ... And I’m tellin’ you, the day you leases convicts is the day I quitsyou.”   Scarlett made no reply but she thought,“The sooner you quit me the better it will suit me. A murderer!”   How could Melly have been so—so— Well, there was no word for Melanie’s action in taking inthis old ruffian and not telling her friends he Was a jailbird. So service in the army wiped out pastsins! Melanie had that mixed up with baptism! But then Melly was utterly silly about theConfederacy, its veterans, and anything pertaining to them. Scarlett silently damned the Yankeesand added another mark on her score against them. They were responsible for a situation thatforced a woman to keep a murderer at her side to protect her.   Driving home with Archie in the chill twilight, Scarlett saw a clutter of saddle horses, buggiesand wagons outside the Girl of the Period Saloon. Ashley was sitting on his horse, a strained alertlook on his face; the Simmons boys were leaning from their buggy, making emphatic gestures; Hugh Elsing, his lock of brown hair falling in his eyes, was waving his hands. GrandpaMerriwether’s pie wagon was in the center of the tangle and, as she came closer, Scarlett saw thatTommy Wellburn and Uncle Henry Hamilton were crowded on the seat with him.   “I wish,” thought Scarlett irritably, “that Uncle Henry wouldn’t ride home in that contraption.   He ought to be ashamed to be seen in it. It isn’t as though he didn’t have a horse of his own. Hejust does it so he and Grandpa can go to the saloon together every night”   As she came abreast the crowd something of their tenseness reached her, insensitive though shewas, and made fear clutch at her heart.   “Oh!” she thought. “I hope no one else has been raped! If the Ku Klux lynch just one moredarky the Yankees will wipe us out!” And she spoke to Archie. “Pull up. Something’s wrong.”   “You ain’t goin’ to stop outside a saloon,” said Archie.   “You heard me. Pull up. Good evening, everybody. Ashley—Uncle Henry—is somethingwrong? You all look so—”   The crowd turned to her, ripping their hats and smiling, but there was a driving excitement intheir eyes.   “Something’s right and something’s wrong,” barked Uncle Henry. “Depends on how you look atit. The way I figure is the legislature couldn’t have done different.”   The legislature? thought Scarlett in relief. She had little interest in the legislature, feeling that itsdoings could hardly affect her. It was the prospect of the Yankee soldiers on a rampage again thatfrightened her.   “What’s the legislature been up to now?”   “They’ve flatly refused to ratify the amendment,” said Grandpa Merriwether and there was pridein his voice. “That’ll show the Yankees.”   “And there’ll be hell to pay for it—I beg your pardon, Scarlett,” said Ashley.   “Oh, the amendment?” questioned Scarlett, trying to look intelligent.   Politics were beyond her and she seldom wasted time thinking about them. There had been aThirteenth Amendment ratified sometime before or maybe it had been the Sixteenth Amendmentbut what ratification meant she had no idea. Men were always getting excited about such things.   Something of her lack of comprehension showed in her face and Ashley smiled.   “It’s the amendment letting the darkies vote, you know,” he explained. “It was submitted to thelegislature and they refused to ratify it.”   “How silly of them! You know the Yankees are going to force it down our throats!”   “That’s what I meant by saying there’d be hell to pay,” said Ashley.   “I’m proud of the legislature, proud of their gumption!” shouted Uncle Henry. “The Yankeescan’t force it down our throats if we won’t have it”   “They can and they will.” Ashley’s voice was calm but there was worry in his eyes. “And it’llmake things just that much harder for us.”   “Oh, Ashley, surely not! Things couldn’t be any harder than they are now!”   “Yes, things can get worse, even worse than they are now. Suppose we have a darky legislature?   A darky governor? Suppose we have a worse military rule than we now have?”   Scarlett’s eyes grew large with fear as some understanding entered her mind.   “I’ve been trying to think what would be best for Georgia, best for all of us.” Ashley’s face wasdrawn. “Whether it’s wisest to fight this thing like the legislature has done, rouse the North againstus and bring the whole Yankee Army on us to cram the darky vote down us, whether we want it ornot. Or—swallow our pride as best we can, submit gracefully and get the whole matter over withas easily as possible. It will amount to the same thing in the end. We’re helpless. We’ve got to takethe dose they’re determined to give us. Maybe it would be better for us to take it without kicking.”   Scarlett hardly heard his words, certainly their full import went over her head. She knew thatAshley, as usual, was seeing both sides of a question. She was seeing only one side—how this slapin the Yankees’ faces might affect her.   “Going to turn Radical and vote the Republican ticket, Ashley?” jeered Grandpa Merriwetherharshly.   There was a tense silence. Scarlett saw Archie’s hand make a swift move toward his pistol andthen stop. Archie thought, and frequently said, that Grandpa was an old bag of wind and Archiehad no intention of letting him insult Miss Melanie’s husband, even if Miss Melanie’s husband wastalking like a fool.   The perplexity vanished suddenly from Ashley’s eyes and hot anger flared. But before he couldspeak, Uncle Henry charged Grandpa.   “You God—you blast— I beg your pardon, Scarlett— Grandpa, you jackass, don’t you say thatto Ashley!”   “Ashley can take care of himself without you defending him,” said Grandpa coldly. “And he istalking like a Scalawag. Submit, hell! I beg your pardon, Scarlett.”   “I didn’t believe in secession,” said Ashley and his voice shook with anger. “But when Georgiaseceded, I went with her. And I didn’t believe in war but I fought in the war. And I don’t believe inmaking the Yankees madder than they already are. But if the legislature has decided to do it, I’llstand by the legislature. I—”   “Archie,” said Uncle Henry abruptly, “drive Miss Scarlett on home. This isn’t any place for her.   Politics aren’t for women folks anyway, and there’s going to be cussing in a minute. Go on, Archie.   Good night, Scarlett.”   As they drove off down Peachtree Street, Scarlett’s heart was beating fast with fear. Would thisfoolish action of the legislature have any effect on her safety? Would it so enrage the Yankees thatshe might lose her mills?   “Well, sir,” rumbled Archie, “I’ve hearn tell of rabbits spittin’ in bulldogs’ faces but I ain’t neverseen it till now. Them legislatures might just as well have hollered ‘Hurray for Jeff Davis and theSouthern Confederacy’ for all the good it’ll do them—and us. Them nigger-lovin’ Yankees havemade up their mind to make the niggers our bosses. But you got to admire them legislatures’ sperrit!”   “Admire them? Great balls of fire! Admire them? They ought to be shot! It’ll bring the Yankeesdown on us like a duck on a June bug. Why couldn’t they have rati—radi—whatever they weresupposed to do to it and smoothed the Yankees down instead of stirring them up again? They’regoing to make us knuckle under and we may as well knuckle now as later.”   Archie fixed her with a cold eye.   “Knuckle under without a fight? Women ain’t got no more pride than goats.”   When Scarlett leased ten convicts, five for each of her mills, Archie made good his threat andrefused to have anything further to do with her. Not all Melanie’s pleading or Frank’s promises ofhigher pay would induce him to take up the reins again. He willingly escorted Melanie and Pittyand India and their friends about the town but not Scarlett. He would not even drive for the otherladies if Scarlett was in the carriage. It was an embarrassing situation, having the old desperadositting in judgment upon her, and it was still more embarrassing to know that her family andfriends agreed with the old man.   Frank pleaded with her against taking the step. Ashley at first refused to work convicts and waspersuaded, against his will, only after tears and supplications and promises that when times werebetter she would hire free darkies. Neighbors were so outspoken in their disapproval that Frank,Pitty and Melanie found it hard to hold up their heads. Even Peter and Mammy declared that it wasbad luck to work convicts and no good would come of it. Everyone said it was wrong to takeadvantage of the miseries and misfortunes of others.   “You didn’t have any objections to working slaves!” Scarlett cried indignantly.   Ah, but that was different. Slaves were neither miserable nor unfortunate. The negroes were farbetter off under slavery than they were now under freedom, and if she didn’t believe it, just lookabout her! But, as usual, opposition had the effect of making Scarlett more determined on hercourse. She removed Hugh from the management of the mill, put him to driving a lumber wagonand closed the final details of hiring Johnnie Gallegher.   He seemed to be the only person she knew who approved of the convicts. He nodded his bullethead briefly and said it was a smart move. Scarlett, looking at the little ex-jockey, planted firmlyon his short bowed legs, his gnomish face hard and businesslike, thought: “Whoever let him ridetheir horses didn’t care much for horse flesh. I wouldn’t let him get within ten feet of any horse ofmine.”   But she had no qualms in trusting him with a convict gang.   “And I’m to have a free hand with the gang?” he questioned, his eyes as cold as gray agates.   “A free hand. All I ask is that you keep that mill running and deliver my lumber when I want itand as much as I want.”   “I’m your man,” said Johnnie shortly. “I’ll tell Mr. Wellburn I’m leaving him.”   As he rolled off through the crowd of masons and carpenters and hod carriers Scarlett felt relieved and her spirits rose. Johnnie was indeed her man. He was tough and hard and there was nononsense about him. “Shanty Irish on the make,” Frank had contemptuously called him, but forthat very reason Scarlett valued him. She knew that an Irishman with a determination to getsomewhere was a valuable man to have, regardless of what his personal characteristics might be.   And she felt a closer kinship with him than with many men of her own class, for Johnnie knew thevalue of money.   The first week he took over the mill he justified all her hopes, for he accomplished more withfive convicts than Hugh had ever done with his crew of ten free negroes. More than that, he gaveScarlett greater leisure than she had had since she came to Atlanta the year before, because he hadno liking for her presence at the mill and said so frankly.   “You tend to your end of selling and let me tend to my end of lumbering,” he said shortly. “Aconvict camp ain’t any place for a lady and if nobody else’ll tell you so, Johnnie Gallegher’stelling you now. I’m delivering your lumber, ain’t I? Well, I’ve got no notion to be pestered everyday like Mr. Wilkes. He needs pestering. I don’t.”   So Scarlett reluctantly stayed away from Johnnie’s mill, fearing that if she came too often hemight quit and that would be ruinous. His remark that Ashley needed pestering stung her, for therewas more truth in it than she liked to admit. Ashley was doing little better with convicts than hehad done with free labor, although why, he was unable to tell. Moreover, he looked as if he wereashamed to be working convicts and he had little to say to her these days.   Scarlett was worried by the change that was coming over him. There were gray hairs in hisbright head now and a tired slump in his shoulders. And he seldom smiled. He no longer lookedthe debonair Ashley who had caught her fancy so many years before. He looked like a mansecretly gnawed by a scarcely endurable pain and there was a grim tight look about his mouth thatbaffled and hurt her. She wanted to drag his head fiercely down on her shoulder, stroke the grayinghair and cry: “Tell me what’s worrying you! I’ll fix it! I’ll make it right for you!”   But his formal, remote air kept her at arm’s length.   思嘉生了一个女儿,小家伙不大,头上光秃秃的,丑得像只没毛的猴子。她长得像弗兰克,真是可笑。父亲特别疼爱她,只有他才觉得认为女儿长得好看。不过邻居们出自好心,都说小的时候丑,长大了就漂亮了,小孩子都是这样。女儿取名爱拉•洛雷纳,爱拉是为了纪念外婆爱伦,洛雷纳是当时女孩子最流行的名字,正象生了男孩子取名罗伯特•李,或叫“石壁杰克逊,"黑人生了孩子就叫亚伯•林肯,或者叫"解放"。   这孩子是在一个星期的中间出生的。那时亚特兰上空笼罩着一片紧张,人心惶惶,觉得大难临头。一个黑人夸耀说他强奸了一个白种女人,于是就被抓起来了,但是还没来得及审判,三K党就冲进监狱,悄悄把他绞死了。三K党这样做,是为了使那个尚未暴露姓名的不幸的女人不必到公开的法庭上去作证。这个女人的父兄哪怕把她杀了,也不会让她抛头露面,去宣扬自己的耻辱。因此市民们认为把这个黑人绞死似乎是一个合情合理的解决办法,实际上这也是惟一可行的体面的解决办法,但是军事当局却大发雷霆,他们弄不明白这个女人为什么不能当众作证。   军队到处抓人,宣称即使把亚特兰大所有的白人男子全都关进监狱,更要把三K党消灭干净,黑人非常紧张,也很不满,暗地里抱怨说要放火烧白人的房子进行报复。谣言满天飞,有的说北方佬抓住肇事者要统统绞死,有的说黑人要集体暴动,反对白人,老百姓关门闭户,待在家中,男人们也不敢去上班,怕留在家里的妻子儿女无人保护。   思嘉身体虚弱,卧床休养,默默地感谢上帝,艾希礼头脑清楚,没有参加三K党,弗兰克年纪太大,精神不济所以也没有参加。否则北方佬不定什么时候就突然出动,把他们抓起来,那有多么可怕呀!现在的情况就够糟的了,三K党里那些没有头脑的年轻人怎么就不能暂时不添乱,不这样刺激北方佬呢?说不定那个女人根本没有被奸污,说不定她只是受了惊吓,胡言乱语,而很多人却可能因为她而送命。   气氛十分紧张,就好像看着一根点燃的导火线慢慢向一桶炸药烧去。在这样气氛下,思嘉倒很快恢复了体力。她充沛的精力曾帮她在塔拉渡过难关,现在又要发挥更大的作用。生下爱拉•洛雷纳不到两周,她就能坐起来,还责怪女儿不爱动,又过了一个星期她就下地了,她非要去照料厂子不可。厂子目前没有人管,因为休和艾希礼都不敢整天把家眷扔下不管。   然而她遇到了沉重的打击。   弗兰克刚刚做父亲,非常高兴,就鼓足勇气阻挡思嘉外出,因为外面情况的确很危险。思嘉本不必为此事着急,她可以不予理睬,径自出去办事就是了,可是弗兰克已经把她的马和车封闭在车房里,而且发了话,除了他本人以外,谁也不准动用,更糟糕的是在思嘉卧床的时候,弗兰克和嬷嬷在家里细心搜寻,把她藏的钱都找出来了,而且用弗兰克的姓名存在了银行里,因此思嘉现在连车也没法雇了。   思嘉对弗兰克和嬷嬷大发雷霆,接着又软下来,苦苦哀求,最后她像一个得不到满足而急得发狂的孩子,整整哭了一上午,虽然她这么痛苦,却只听见人家说:“哎呀,宝贝儿!   别耍小孩子脾气呀!"或者说:“思嘉小姐呀,你要是再哭啊,你的奶就要变酸了,孩子吃了是要肚子疼的哟!"思嘉气冲冲地跑出去,穿过后院,来到媚兰家里,嘶哑着嗓子诉说她的委屈,宣称就是走着也要到木才厂去,她要让亚特兰大所有的人都知道,她嫁给一个多么卑鄙的坏蛋,她可不能像个没有头脑的顽皮孩子,让人家耍着玩儿。她要带上一支手枪,谁威胁她,就打死谁,反正已经打死过一个人了,她想----的确很想----再打死一个。她要----媚兰本来连自家大门口都不敢迈出,听她说要这样干,吓得心惊胆颤。   “哎呀,你可千万不能冒险呀!你要是有个三长两短,我也就活不成了。你可千万----““我偏去!我偏去!我走着----"媚兰看着她,发现她不像是一个产后休弱的女人在撒气。   思嘉脸上那种天不怕地不怕、无所畏惧的表情,和她父亲杰拉尔德•奥哈拉拿定主意的时候脸上的表情一模一样,媚兰对这种表情是很熟悉的。她伸出胳臂搂住思嘉的腰,搂得紧紧的。   “都是我不好,我没有你那么勇敢,这几天艾希礼到厂里去,我不敢让他去。唉,亲爱的,我真糊涂!亲爱的,我会告诉艾希礼,我一点也不害怕,我可以过来和你和皮蒂姑妈作伴,让他去上班----"思嘉自己很清楚,当时艾希礼是不可能独自应付局面的,所以她就大声说:“你这样干没用!他要是老惦记着你,去上班又有什么用?没有一个人不可恨!就连彼得大叔都不肯和我一起出去。可是我不怕!我自己去。我要一步一步走着去,总能在什么地方找几个黑鬼干活儿----”“不行,不行!你千万不能这样。你会出事的,听说迪凯特街上的棚户区有许多为非作歹的黑鬼,你还必须从那儿经过不可。让我想一想----亲爱的,答应我你今天什么事情也不做,让我想想办法。回家去休息会儿吧,你的脸色很不好。   你要答应我。”   思嘉由于大发脾气,此时已经筋疲力尽,也就只好这样了。她垂头丧气地表示同意,然后就回家去了。家里人想与她和好,都被她顶了回去。   那天下午,一个陌生人穿过媚兰家和矮树篱笆,一拐一拐地走进了皮蒂姑妈的后院,虽然他就是嬷嬷和迪尔茜所说的那种"无业游民",媚兰小姐在街上遇见就会把他们接到家里,让他们住在地窖里。   媚兰这所房子有三间地下室,过去两间人住,一间放酒。   现在迪尔茜住着一间,另外两间住的是衣衫褴褛的可怜的过路人,川流不息,除了媚兰,谁也弄不清楚他们从哪儿来,到哪儿去,也只有她知道是在哪儿遇上他们的。也许那两个仆人说的是对的。她确实是在街上遇见他们的。不过既然有些重要人物和不那么重要的人物到她的小客厅里来,不幸的人们也就可以到她的地窖里来,吃点东西,睡一觉,带上点吃的,再赶路。到这里住宿的,一般都是过去南部联盟的兵,他们粗鲁,没有文化,无家可归,他们也没有亲人,四处流浪,寻求工作。   在这里过夜的还往往有面色黝黑、饱经风霜的农村妇女,带着一大群金黄头发、默不作声的孩子。这些妇女在战争中失去了丈夫,丢掉了农场,正在到处寻找失散的亲人,令人吃惊的是附近有时还会出现外国人,他们不会讲或者只会讲一点英语,他们是听了花言巧语,以为南方的钱好挣,才到这里来的。有一天,一个共和党人在这里过夜,起码嬷嬷非说他是个共和党人,她说共和党人她能闻出来,就像马能闻到响尾蛇一样,当然谁也不相信嬷嬷说的这一套。因为大家认为媚兰慈爱也会有个限度,至少大家希望如此。   那陌生人走进后院时,思嘉正在侧面的回廊上,怀里搂着小女儿,在11月微弱的阳光下晒太阳。思嘉一看见他就想:“是的,他一定是媚兰的那帮瘸腿狗。他还真是个瘸子呢!“这个人装着一条假腿,走起路来和威尔一样,一拐一拐的。他是一个高个子的瘦的老头,头发已经脱落,头皮红得发亮,看上去很脏,灰白胡子长得可以塞到腰带底下。他满脸皱纹,面无表情,看上去60开外,但身体看上去还较确朗。   此人其貌不扬,虽然装了假腿,走起路来却和长虫一样快。   他上了台阶,朝思嘉走来,还没讲话,思嘉发现他鼻音很重,带卷舌音,这在平原地带是很少见的,因而断定他是在山里长大的。他的衣服虽然破旧不堪,却和大部分山里人一样,有一种沉静而高傲的神气,决不容许别人冒犯,他的胡子上有嚼烟叶的口水,嘴里含着一大团烟叶,显得脸都有些变了形。他的鼻子又窄又高,两道眉毛下边是一个空洞,腮帮子上有一条很长的伤疤,形成一条对角线,一直插到胡子里。另一只眼睛很小,冷淡而无光,那是一只呆板无情的眼睛。在他的腰带上挂着一支沉甸甸的手枪,很显眼,破靴子的口上还露着一把单刃猎刀的刀柄。   他冷冷地回敬了思嘉一眼,隔着栏杆啐过一口痰来,这才开始说话,"他那只独眼中有一种蔑视的眼光,但不是蔑视她个人,而是针对整个女性。"“威尔克斯小姐让我来给你干活,"他简捷地说。他说起话来结结巴巴,好像不习惯于说话,说得很慢,很费劲,"我叫阿尔奇。"“很抱歉,我没有活儿给你干,阿尔奇先生!““阿尔奇是我的名字。"“请原谅,那你姓什么?"他又啐了一口痰,"这不干你的事。"他说,"你就叫我阿尔奇吧。"“你姓什么我不管!我没有活儿给你干。”“我看不然,威尔克斯小姐说你要像个傻瓜似的到处乱跑,很不放心,所以派我来给你赶车。"“是吗?"思嘉说。这人说话如此放肆,媚兰多管闲事,这使她感到很生气。   他那只怀着敌意的独眼与思嘉的眼光相遇,但这敌意并不是对她而来的,"是啊,男人要保护自家女人,女人就不该找麻烦,你要是非出去不可,我就给你赶车,你憎恨那些黑鬼,也憎恨北方佬。"他把嘴里烟叶从一边倒到另一边,没等主人让,就在最高一磴台阶上坐下来。"别以为我愿意给女人赶车,可是威尔斯小姐待我好哇,她让我住在她的地窖里,是她让我给你赶车的。"“可是----"思嘉无可奈何地说。但她刚一开口就又停住了,对这个人端详起来。过了一会儿,她脸上露出了笑容,这个老家伙的相貌她并不喜欢,可是用了他,事情就好办多了。   有他赶车,思嘉就可以进城去,到木材厂去,或者去找顾客,有他做保镖,谁也不用怕她不安全。一看他那副模样,谁也不会说什么闲话。   “就这样吧,"她说。"但是这件事得征求我丈夫的同意。"弗兰克单独和阿尔奇谈了谈,也勉强同意了,接着就给车房发话。思嘉的马车可以启用了。他原本期望思嘉做了母亲以后会变,现在他失望了,而且有些难过。但一转念,又觉得如果思嘉非要到那些该死的木材厂去,阿尔奇可就来得太巧了。   对于这样一种安排,刚开始整个亚特兰大都感到惊讶。阿尔奇和思嘉在一起很不协调,一个是面貌凶恶的脏老头子,拖着一条假腿,耷拉在挡泥板上,一个是衣着整洁的漂亮少妇,双眉紧蹙,若有所思,只见他二人不停地在城内外到处奔波,彼此很少说话,显然是互相嫌弃。他们在一起,显然是各有所需,他需要的钱,而她需要有人保护。城里的女人都说,起码这比她在光天化日之下和那个叫巴特勒的男人驾着车到处跑要好。她们都在纳闷,不知道瑞德•巴特勒这些日子到哪里去了。三个月以前,他突然消失了,就连思嘉也不知道他到哪里去了。   阿尔奇是个沉默寡言的人,别人不跟他说话,他是一声不吭的。回答别的问话,也是含含糊糊地说不清楚。每天早上从媚兰的地窖里出来,就坐在皮蒂姑妈房前的台阶上,一面嚼烟叶,啐唾沫,一面等候思嘉。思嘉一出来,彼得便把她的马车从车房赶出来。彼得大叔很怕阿尔奇,只是不像怕魔鬼和三K党那么厉害罢了。就连嬷嬷也是摄手摄脚地从他身旁走,过不敢出声。他憎恨黑人,黑人也知道,而且怕他。   除了原有的手枪和猎刀以外,他又增加了一把手枪,他在黑人中间,真是远近闻名。他从来不真的拨出手枪,甚至不必往腰带上伸手,只凭心理上的影响就足够了,只要是阿尔奇在附近黑人是连笑也不敢笑的。   有一次,思嘉出于好奇心,问他为什么仇恨黑人。他的回答使思嘉出乎意外,因为其时不管问他什么问题,他总是回答说:“这不干你的事。"这一回,他是这样回答的:“我憎恨他们,我们山里人都憎恨他们。我们从来就不喜欢他们,从来不理睬那玩艺儿。这场战争就是他们闹出来的。就冲着这个,我也不能不憎恨他们。"“可是你也参加打仗了。"“我认为那是一个男人应该干的。我也恨那些北方佬,比恨黑人更厉害,我最恨的是多嘴多舌的女人。"阿尔奇露骨地说出这样无礼的话,顿使思嘉感到不快,恨不得把他甩掉,但是离开他又怎么办呢?还有什么别的办法让她象这样想到哪儿去,就到哪儿去呢?他既无礼,又肮脏,有时甚至身上有股怪味儿,但是他能解决问题。思嘉去木材厂,他送她,接她,还送她一家家去找她的顾客,在她谈生意或下指示的时候,他就一边啐唾沫,一边望着远处发呆。她一下车,他也下车,紧紧跟在后面。她要是和粗鲁的工人,黑人或北方的军队打交道,他一般总是待在身边,寸步不离。   没多久,人们就对思嘉和她的保镖看惯了,看惯了以后,妇女们就开始羡慕她的行动自由,自从三K党绞死人以后,妇女几乎是被软禁起来了,即便是进城买东西,也一定六七个人结伴而行。而这些女人们生来喜欢交往,这样一来,她们就坐立不安,因此就把面子撂在一旁,来找思嘉,求她把阿尔奇借给她们用用。她倒也挺大方的,只要自己不用,总是让他去为女友效力。   阿尔奇转眼间就仿佛成了亚特兰大专营保镖行业的人,妇女们争先恐后地在他闲暇的时候雇用他,几乎每天早上吃早饭的时候都有一个孩子或者黑人仆人送来一张条子,上面写道:“今天下午如果您不用阿尔奇,能否让我雇用一下,我要到公墓去献花。"或者说:“我要去买一顶帽子。""我想让阿尔奇赶车送内利姑妈出去兜兜风。"还有的说:“我需要到彼得斯大街去一趟,但爷爷身体不大好,不能陪我去,能不能让阿尔奇----"姑娘,太太,寡妇,他都去给她们赶车,对她们统统表现出那种不以为然的鄙视态度,很显然,除了媚兰之外,他是不喜欢女人的,和对待黑人和北方佬的态度一样。妇女们刚开始对他的无礼感到惊讶,但后来也就习惯了,再加上他沉默寡言,只是有时候吐些嚼烟叶的唾液,大家自然把他和赶的马同样看待,而忘记了还有他这样一个人。有一次,梅里韦瑟太太把侄女生孩子的所有细节跟米德太太说了遍,压根儿没想起阿尔奇就坐在车前赶车。   只有在当前这种局势之下才会出现这样的情况。在战前,妇女们连厨房也不会让他进的,她们在后门口拿给他一些吃的,就把他打发走了。现在大家都欢迎了,因为有他在场就感到安全。他粗鲁,没有文化,而且肮脏,但他有能力地保护妇女们免受重建时期各种恐怖行为的威胁。他以保镖为业,保护妇女的安全,这样她们的丈夫白天就可以去工作,夜晚有事也可以出去了。   渐渐思嘉发现,自从阿尔奇来给她干活之后,弗兰克常常晚上出去,他说店里的帐目需要结。现在生意好,上班时间顾不上结帐。有时他说朋友生病了,需要去照料一下。另外还有一个民主党人的组织,每星期三晚上聚会,研究怎样重新获得选举权,而弗兰克从未缺席。思嘉觉得这个组织聚在一起不会谈别的,只是议论戈登将军怎样比其他各位将军功劳大,仅次于李将军,他们还要把整个战争重打一遍,她看得清楚,在重新争选举权方面没取得什么进展。弗兰克显然是很喜欢参加这些聚会的,因为他总是待到最后,待到很晚。   艾希礼有时也出去照料病人,他也参加民主党人的聚会,而且常常是和弗兰克同一天晚上出去,每逢这种时候,阿尔奇就护送皮蒂、思嘉、韦德和小爱拉穿过后院,到媚兰家去,两个家庭在一起渡过这个夜晚,这几个女人做针线活儿,阿尔奇说直挺挺地躺在客厅里的沙发上打呼噜,每呼一声,他那灰白胡子就跳动一阵。没人请他在沙发上坐,而且这沙发是全家最精致的一件家具,每次见他往上前一躺,还把靴子放在漂亮的软垫上,她们就心疼得不得了。可是她们谁也没有这个勇气出来阻拦他。有一次,他说幸亏他一躺下就会睡着,否则一帮女人像一群母鸡似的不停地唠唠叨叨,会使他发疯的。大家一听,更不敢阻拦他了。   有时思嘉也纳闷,阿尔奇到底是哪里人,在媚兰的地窖里住下之前是干什么的,但一直没敢问他。一看他那独眼的严厉的面孔,好奇心也就消失了。她只晓得,听他的口音,他是北方的人山里人,他当过兵,在南方军队投降之前不久,他受了伤,丢了一只眼睛、一条腿。有一天,她大骂休•埃尔辛,倒使得阿尔奇全盘托出了自己的经历。   有一天早上,这个老头儿赶着车送思嘉到休经管的木材厂去,思嘉发现厂子没开工,黑人都不在,休无精打采地在树底下坐着,工人都不见人影,他也不知道怎么办好,一看这情形,思嘉怒火冲天,便毫不客平地和休发作起来,因为她刚弄到一份购买大宗木材的定单,而且要得很急,这份定单是她费了很大精力,搭上自己的姿色,而且争了半天才弄到手的,而木材厂现在却不开工。   “送我到那个厂子去,"她向阿尔奇吩咐道:“我知道路上要走很长时间,饭也吃不上了。不过我花钱雇你又是为了什么呢?我要让威尔克斯先生把手上的活儿停下来,先把我这批木材赶出来。说不定他那里也没开工呢。这可就好了!我从来没见过休•埃尔辛这样蠢货!等约翰尼•加勒格尔一把商店盖好,我就把他赶走。加勒格尔在北方佬军队里干过事,这有什么关系?他能干活儿。我从没看见爱尔兰人有发懒的。   我再也不雇自由的黑鬼了。那些人靠不祝我要把加勒格尔找来。再雇上几个犯人,他会让他们干活儿的,他----"阿尔奇一听这话,转过头来看着她,眼睛里充满了恶意,接着他用沙哑的声音带着冷酷的怒气说:“你什么时候雇来犯人,我什么时候走。"思嘉大吃一惊,说:“哎呀!这是为什么"“我知道雇犯人是怎么回事,我管它叫谋杀犯人,买人就像买骡子一样,他们受到的待遇连骡子都不如,他们挨打,挨饿,还要遭杀害。有谁过问呢?政府不管。政府已经把钱拿到手了。雇犯人的,他们也不管。他们只想花最少的钱给他们一口饭吃,让他们干最多的活儿。见鬼去吧,太太,我从来看不起女人,现在就更看不起女人了。"“这和你有什么关系嘛?"“有的,"他的答话十分简单。他停顿了一下又接着说:“我当犯人当了将近四十年。"思嘉倒抽了一口冷气,霎那间,倚在靠垫上直往后缩。原来阿尔奇这个谜和谜底在这里,他之所以不愿说出自己的姓和出生地,不愿谈自己的经历,原因就在这里,他说话不流利,对社会采取冷酷、仇恨的态度,原因也在这里。四十年啊!他入狱的时候肯定还年轻。四十年啊!他一定是判的无期徒刑,而判无期徒刑的人----“是不是因为----杀人?"“是的,"他坦率地答道,同时抖了抖缰绳,"杀了老婆。"思嘉吓得直眨眼睛。   胡子遮盖着的嘴唇好像动了动,仿佛他在讥笑思嘉这样害怕。"你要是怕我杀你,感到紧张,那你可以放心,太太,我是不会杀你的。我不会无故杀死任何一个女人。"“你杀了你的老婆!"“她和我兄弟乱搞,他跑了,我就把她杀了。放荡的女人就该杀,法律不应该为了这个就把一个人关起来,可却把我关起来了。““可是----你是怎么出来的呢?跑出来的吗?还是赦免了?"“可是说是赦免,“他紧紧地皱了皱那两道灰色的浓眉,好像连续讲话有困难。   “早在1864年,谢曼打到这里,当时我在米莱吉维尔监狱,四十年来我一直关在那里,狱长把我们这些犯人都召集起来,对我们说,北方佬来了,他们杀人,放火,现在除了黑鬼和女人以外,我要是还有什么更恨的东西,那就是北方佬。"“那是为什么?你曾经----你是不是 Chapter 43 IT WAS ONE of those rare December days when the sun was almost as warm as Indian summer.   Dry red leaves still clung to the oak in Aunt Pitty’s yard and a faint yellow green still persisted inthe dying grass. Scarlett, with the baby in her arms, stepped out onto the side porch and sat downin a rocking chair in a patch of sunshine. She was wearing a new green challis dress trimmed withyards and yards of black rickrack braid and a new lace house cap which Aunt Pitty had made forher. Both were very becoming to her and she knew it and took great pleasure in them. How good itwas to look pretty again after the long months of looking so dreadful!   As she sat rocking the baby and humming to herself, she heard the sound of hooves coming upthe side street and, peering curiously through the tangle of dead vines on the porch, she saw RhettButler riding toward the house.   He had been away from Atlanta for months, since just after Gerald died, since long before Ella Lorena was born. She had missed him but she now wished ardently that there was some way toavoid seeing him. In fact, the sight of his dark face brought a feeling of guilty panic to her breast. Amatter in which Ashley was concerned lay on her conscience and she did not wish to discuss itwith Rhett, but she knew he would force the discussion, no matter how disinclined she might be.   He drew up at the gate and swung lightly to the ground and she thought, staring nervously athim, that he looked just like an illustration in a book Wade was always pestering her to read aloud.   “All he needs is earrings and a cutlass between his teeth,” she thought. “Well, pirate or no, he’snot going to cut my throat today if I can help it.”   As he came up the walk she called a greeting to him, summoning her sweetest smile. How luckythat she had on her new dress and the becoming cap and looked so pretty! As his eyes went swiftlyover her, she knew he thought her pretty, too.   “A new baby! Why, Scarlett, this is a surprise!” he laughed, leaning down to push the blanketaway from Ella Lorena’s small ugly face.   “Don’t be silly,” she said, blushing. “How are you, Rhett? You’ve been away a long time.”   “So I have. Let me hold the baby, Scarlett. Oh, I know how to hold babies. I have many strangeaccomplishments. Well, he certainly looks like Frank. All except the whiskers, but give him time.”   “I hope not. It’s a girl.”   “A girl? That’s better still. Boys are such nuisances. Don’t ever have any more boys, Scarlett.”   It was on the tip of her tongue to reply tartly that she never intended to have any more babies,boys or girls, but she caught herself in time and smiled, casting about quickly in her mind for sometopic of conversation that would put off the bad moment when the subject she feared would comeup for discussion.   “Did you have a nice trip, Rhett? Where did you go this time?”   “Oh—Cuba—New Orleans—other places. Here, Scarlett, take the baby. She’s beginning toslobber and I can’t get to my handkerchief. She’s a fine baby, I’m sure, but she’s wetting my shirtbosom.”   She took the child back into her lap and Rhett settled himself lazily on the banister and took acigar from a silver case.   “You are always going to New Orleans,” she said and pouted a little. “And you never will tellme what you do there.”   “I am a hard-working man, Scarlett, and perhaps my business takes me there.”   “Hard-working! You!” she laughed impertinently. “You never worked in your life. You’re toolazy. All you ever do is finance Carpetbaggers in their thieving and take half the profits and bribeYankee officials to let you in on schemes to rob us taxpayers.”   He threw back his head and laughed.   “And how you would love to have money enough to bribe officials, so you could do likewise!”   “The very idea—” She began to ruffle.   “But perhaps you will make enough money to get into bribery on a large scale some day. Maybeyou’ll get rich off those convicts you leased.”   “Oh,” she said, a little disconcerted, “how did you find out about my gang so soon?”   “I arrived last night and spent the evening in the Girl of the Period Saloon, where one hears allthe news of the town. It’s a clearing house for gossip. Better than a ladies’ sewing circle. Everyonetold me that you’d leased a gang and put that little plug-ugly, Gallegher, in charge to work them todeath.”   “That’s a lie,” she said angrily. “He won’t work them to death. I’ll see to that”   “Will you?”   “Of course I will! How can you even insinuate such things?”   “Oh, I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Kennedy! I know your motives are always above reproach.   However, Johnnie Gallegher is a cold little bully if I ever saw one. Better watch him or you’ll behaving trouble when the inspector comes around.”   “You tend to your business and I’ll tend to mine,” she said indignantly. “And I don’t want to talkabout convicts any more. Everybody’s been hateful about them. My gang is my own business—And you haven’t told me yet what you do in New Orleans. You go there so often that everybodysays—” She paused. She had not intended to say so much.   “What do they say?”   “Well—that you have a sweetheart there. That you are going to get married. Are you, Rhett?”   She had been curious about this for so long that she could not refrain from asking the point-blank question. A queer little pang of jealousy jabbed at her at the thought of Rhett getting married,although why that should be she did not know.   His bland eyes grew suddenly alert and he caught her gaze and held it until a little blush crept upinto her cheeks.   “Would it matter much to you?”   “Well, I should hate to lose your friendship,” she said primly and, with an attempt atdisinterestedness, bent down to pull the blanket closer about Ella Lorena’s head.   He laughed suddenly, shortly, and said: “Look at me, Scarlett.”   She looked up unwillingly, her blush deepening.   “You can tell your curious friends that when I marry it will be because I couldn’t get the womanI wanted in any other way. And I’ve never yet wanted a woman bad enough to marry her.”   Now she was indeed confused and embarrassed, for she remembered the night on this veryporch during the siege when he had said: “I am not a marrying man” and casually suggested thatshe become his mistress—remembered, too, the terrible day when he was in jail and was shamedby the memory. A slow malicious smile went over his face as he read her eyes.   “But I will satisfy your vulgar curiosity since you ask such pointed questions. It isn’t asweetheart that takes me to New Orleans. It’s a child, a little boy.”   “A little boy!” The shock of this unexpected information wiped out her confusion.   “Yes, he is my legal ward and I am responsible for him. He’s in school in New Orleans. I gothere frequently to see him.”   “And take him presents?” So, she thought, that’s how he always knows what kind of presentsWade likes!   “Yes,” he said shortly, unwillingly.   “Well, I never! Is he handsome?”   “Too handsome for his own good.”   “Is he a nice little boy?”   “No. He’s a perfect hellion. I wish he had never been born. Boys are troublesome creatures. Isthere anything else you’d like to know?”   He looked suddenly angry and his brow was dark, as though he already regretted speaking of thematter at all.   “Well, not if you don’t want to tell me any more,” she said loftily, though she was burning forfurther information. “But I just can’t see you in the r.le of a guardian,” and she laughed, hoping todisconcert him.   “No, I don’t suppose you can. Your vision is pretty limited.”   He said no more and smoked his cigar in silence for a while. She cast about for some remark asrude as his but could think of none.   “I would appreciate it if you’d say nothing of this to anyone,” he said finally. “Though I supposethat asking a woman to keep her mouth shut is asking the impossible.”   “I can keep a secret,” she said with injured dignity.   “Can you? It’s nice to learn unsuspected things about friends. Now, stop pouting, Scarlett. I’msorry I was rude but you deserved it for prying. Give me a smile and let’s be pleasant for a minuteor two before I take up an unpleasant subject.”   Oh, dear! she thought. Now, he’s going to talk about Ashley and the mill! and she hastened tosmile and show her dimple to divert him. “Where else did you go, Rhett? You haven’t been in NewOrleans all this time, have you?”   “No, for the last month I’ve been in Charleston. My father died.”   “Oh, I’m sorry.”   “Don’t be. I’m sure he wasn’t sorry to die, and I’m sure I’m not sorry he’s dead.”   “Rhett, what a dreadful thing to say!”   “It would be much more dreadful if I pretended to be sorry, when I wasn’t, wouldn’t it? Therewas never any love lost between us. I cannot remember when the old gentleman did not disapproveof me. I was too much like his own father and he disapproved heartily of his father. And as I grewolder his disapproval of me became downright dislike, which, I admit, I did little to change. All the things Father wanted me to do and be were such boring things. And finally he threw me out intothe world without a cent and no training whatsoever to be anything but a Charleston gentleman, agood pistol shot and an excellent poker player. And he seemed to take it as a personal affront that Idid not starve but put my poker playing to excellent advantage and supported myself royally bygambling. He was so affronted at a Butler becoming a gambler that when I came home for the firsttime, he forbade my mother to see me. And all during the war when I was blockading out ofCharleston, Mother had to lie and slip off to see me. Naturally that didn’t increase my love forhim.”   “Oh, I didn’t know all that!”   “He was what is pointed out as a fine old gentleman of the old school which means that he wasignorant, thick headed, intolerant and incapable of thinking along any lines except what othergentlemen of the old school thought. Everyone admired him tremendously for having cut me offand counted me as dead. ‘If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out.’ I was his right eye, his oldestson, and he plucked me out with a vengeance.”   He smiled a little, his eyes hard with amused memory.   “Well, I could forgive all that but I can’t forgive what he’s done to Mother and my sister sincethe war ended. They’ve been practically destitute. The plantation house was burned and the ricefields have gone back to marsh lands. And the town house went for taxes and they’ve been livingin two rooms that aren’t fit for darkies. I’ve sent money to Mother, but Father has sent it back—tainted money, you see!—and several times I’ve gone to Charleston and given money, on the sly,to my sister. But Father always found out and raised merry hell with her, till her life wasn’t worthliving, poor girl. And back the money came to me. I don’t know how they’ve lived. ... Yes, I doknow. My brother’s given what he could, though he hasn’t much to give and he won’t takeanything from me either—speculator’s money is unlucky money, you see! And the charity of theirfriends. Your Aunt Eulalie, she’s been very kind. She’s one of Mother’s best friends, you know.   She’s given them clothes and— Good God! My mother on charity!”   It was one of the few times she had ever seen him with his mask off, his face hard with honesthatred for his father and distress for his mother.   “Aunt ‘Lalie! But, good Heavens, Rhett, she hasn’t got anything much above what I send her!”   “Ah, so that’s where it comes from! How ill bred of you, my dear, to brag of such a thing in theface of my humiliation. You must let me reimburse you!”   “With pleasure,” said Scarlett, her mouth suddenly twisting into a grin, and he smiled back.   “Ah, Scarlett, how the thought of a dollar does make your eyes sparkle! Are you sure youhaven’t some Scotch or perhaps Jewish blood as well as Irish?”   “Don’t be hateful! I didn’t mean to throw it in your face about Aunt ‘Lalie. But honestly, shethinks I’m made of money. She’s always writing me for more and, God knows, I’ve got enough onmy hands without supporting all of Charleston. What did your father die of?”   “Genteel starvation, I think—and hope. It served him right. He was willing to let Mother andRosemary starve with him. Now that he’s dead, I can help them. I’ve bought them a house on the Battery and they’ve servants to look after them. But of course, they couldn’t let it be known thatthe money came from me.”   “Why not?”   “My dear, surely you know Charleston! You’ve visited there. My family may be poor but theyhave a position to uphold. And they couldn’t uphold it if it were known that gambling money andspeculator’s money and Carpetbag money was behind it. No, they gave it out that Father left anenormous life insurance—that he’d beggared himself and starved himself to death to keep up thepayments, so that after he died, they’d be provided for. So he is looked upon as an even greatergentleman of the old school than before. ... In fact, a martyr to his family. I hope he’s turning in hisgrave at the knowledge that Mother and Rosemary are comfortable now, in spite of his efforts. ...   In a way, I’m sorry he’s dead because he wanted to die— was so glad to die.”   “Why?”   “Oh, he really died when Lee surrendered. You know the type. He never could adjust himself tothe new times and spent his time talking about the good old days.”   “Rhett, are all old folks like that?” She was thinking of Gerald and what Will had said abouthim.   “Heavens, no! Just look at your Uncle Henry and that old wild cat, Mr. Merriwether, just toname two. They took a new lease on life when they marched out with the Home Guard and itseems to me that they’ve gotten younger and more peppery ever since. I met old man Merriwetherthis morning driving René’s pie wagon and cursing the horse like an army mule skinner. He toldme he felt ten years younger since he escaped from the house and his daughter-in-law’s coddlingand took to driving the wagon. And your Uncle Henry enjoys fighting the Yankees in court and outand defending the widow and the orphan—free of charge, I fear—against the Carpetbaggers. Ifthere hadn’t been a war, he’d have retired long ago and nursed his rheumatism. They’re youngagain because they are of use again and feel that they are needed. And they like this new day thatgives old men another chance. But there are plenty of people, young people, who feel like myfather and your father. They can’t and won’t adjust and that brings me to the unpleasant subject Iwant to discuss with you, Scarlett.”   His sudden shift so disconcerted her that she stammered: “What—what—” and inwardlygroaned: “Oh, Lord! Now, it’s coming. I wonder if I can butter him down?”   “I shouldn’t have expected either truth or honor or fair dealing from you, knowing you as I do.   But foolishly, I trusted you.”   “I don’t know what you mean.”   “I think you do. At any rate, you look very guilty. As I was riding along Ivy Street a white ago,on my way to call on you, who should hail me from behind a hedge but Mrs. Ashley Wilkes! Ofcourse, I stopped and chatted with her.”   “Indeed?”   “Yes, we had an enjoyable talk. She told me she had always wanted to let me know how braveshe thought I was to have struck a blow for the Confederacy, even at the eleventh hour.”   “Oh, fiddle-dee-dee! Melly’s a fool. She might have died that night because you acted soheroic.”   “I imagine she would have thought her life given in a good cause. And when I asked her whatshe was doing in Atlanta she looked quite surprised at my ignorance and told me that they wereliving here now and that you had been kind enough to make Mr. Wilkes a partner in your mill.”   “Well, what of it?” questioned Scarlett, shortly.   “When I lent you the money to buy that mill I made one stipulation, to which you agreed, andthat was that it should not go to the support of Ashley Wilkes.”   “You are being very offensive. I’ve paid you back your money and I own the mill and what I dowith it is my own business.”   “Would you mind telling me how you made the money to pay back my loan?”   “I made it selling lumber, of course.”   “You made it with the money I lent you to give you your start. That’s what you mean. Mymoney is being used to support Ashley. You are a woman quite without honor and if you hadn’trepaid my loan, I’d take great pleasure in calling it in now and selling you out at public auction ifyou couldn’t pay.”   He spoke lightly but there was anger flickering in his eyes.   Scarlett hastily carried the warfare into the enemy’s territory.   “Why do you hate Ashley so much? I believe you’re jealous of him.”   After she had spoken she could have bitten her tongue, for he threw back his head and laugheduntil she went red with mortification.   “Add conceit to dishonor,” he said. “You’ll never get over being the belle of the County, willyou? You’ll always think you’re the cutest little trick in shoe leather and that every man you meetis expiring for love of you.”   “I don’t either!” she cried hotly. “But I just can’t see why you hate Ashley so much and that’sthe only explanation I can think of.”   “Well, think something else, pretty charmer, for that’s the wrong explanation. And as for hatingAshley— I don’t hate him any more than I like him. In fact, my only emotion toward him and hiskind is pity.”   “Pity?”   “Yes, and a little contempt. Now, swell up like a gobbler and tell me that he is worth a thousandblackguards like me and that I shouldn’t dare to be so presumptuous as to feel either pity orcontempt for him. And when you have finished swelling, I’ll tell you what I mean, if you’reinterested.”   “Well, I’m not.”   “I shall tell you, just the same, for I can’t bear for you to go on nursing your pleasant delusion ofmy jealousy. I pity him because he ought to be dead and he isn’t. And I have a contempt for him because he doesn’t know what to do with himself now that his world is gone.”   There was something familiar in the idea he expressed. She had a confused memory of havingbeard similar words but she could not remember when and where. She did not think very hardabout it for her anger was hot.   “If you had your way all the decent men in the South would be dead!”   “And if they had their way, I think Ashley’s kind would prefer to be dead. Dead with neat stonesabove them, saying: ‘Here lies a soldier of the Confederacy, dead for the Southland’ or ‘Dulce etdecorum est—‘ or any of the other popular epitaphs.”   “I don’t see why!”   “You never see anything that isn’t written in letters a foot high and then shoved under your nose,do you? If they were dead, their troubles would be over, there’d be no problems to face, problemsthat have no solutions. Moreover, their families would be proud of them through countlessgenerations. And I’ve heard the dead are happy. Do you suppose Ashley Wilkes is happy?”   “Why, of course—” she began and then she remembered the look in Ashley’s eyes recently andstopped.   “Is he happy or Hugh Elsing or Dr. Meade? Any more than my father and your father werehappy?”   “Well, perhaps not as happy as they might be, because they’ve all lost their money.”   He laughed.   “It isn’t losing their money, my pet. I tell you it’s losing their world—the world they were raisedin. They’re like fish out of water or cats with wings. They were raised to be certain persons, to docertain things, to occupy certain niches. And those persons and things and niches disappearedforever when General Lee arrived at Appomattox. Oh, Scarlett, don’t look so stupid! What is therefor Ashley Wilkes to do, now that his home is gone and his plantation taken up for taxes and finegentlemen are going twenty for a penny? Can he work with his head or his hands? I’ll bet you’velost money hand over fist since he took over that mill.”   “I have not!”   “How nice. May I look over your books some Sunday evening when you are at leisure?”   “You can go to the devil and not at your leisure. You can go now, for all I care.”   “My pet, I’ve been to the devil and he’s a very dull fellow. I won’t go there again, even foryou. ... You took my money when you needed it desperately and you used it. We had an agreementas to how it should be used and you have broken that agreement. Just remember, my precious littlecheat, the time will come when you win want to borrow more money from me. You’ll want me tobank you, at some incredibly low interest, so you can buy more mills and more mules and buildmore saloons. And you can whistle for the money.”   “When I need money I’ll borrow it from the bank, thank you,” she said coldly, but her breastwas heaving with rage.   “Will you? Try to do it. I own plenty of stock in the bank.”   “You do?”   “Yes, I am interested in some honest enterprises.”   “There are other banks—”   “Plenty of them. And if I can manage it, you’ll play hell getting a cent from any of them. Youcan go to the Carpetbag usurers if you want money.”   “I’ll go to them with pleasure.”   “You’ll go but with little pleasure when you learn their rates of interest. My pretty, there arepenalties in the business world for crooked dealing. You should have played straight with me.”   “You’re a fine man, aren’t you? So rich and powerful yet picking on people who are down, likeAshley and me!”   “Don’t put yourself in his class. You aren’t down. Nothing will down you. But he is down andhe’ll stay there unless there’s some energetic person behind him, guiding and protecting him aslong as he lives. I’m of no mind to have my money used for the benefit of such a person.”   “You didn’t mind helping me and I was down and—”   “You were a good risk, my dear, an interesting risk. Why? Because you didn’t plump yourselfdown on your male relatives and sob for the old days. You got out and hustled and now yourfortunes are firmly planted on money stolen from a dead man’s wallet and money stolen from theConfederacy. You’ve got murder to your credit, and husband stealing, attempted fornication, lyingand sharp dealing and any amount of chicanery that won’t bear close inspection. Admirable things,all of them. They show you to be a person of energy and determination and a good money risk. It’sentertaining, helping people who help themselves. I’d lend ten thousand dollars without even anote to that old Roman matron, Mrs. Merriwether. She started with a basket of pies and look at hernow! A bakery employing half a dozen people, old Grandpa happy with his delivery wagon andthat lazy little Creole, René, working hard and liking it. ... Or that poor devil, Tommy Wellburn,who does two men’s work with half a man’s body and does it well or—well, I won’t go on andbore you.”   “You do bore me. You bore me to distraction,” said Scarlett coldly, hoping to annoy him anddivert him from the ever-unfortunate subject of Ashley. But he only laughed shortly and refused totake up the gauntlet.   “People like them are worth helping. But Ashley Wilkes—bah! His breed is of no use or value inan upside-down world like ours. Whenever the world up-ends, his kind is the first to perish. Andwhy not? They don’t deserve to survive because they won’t fight—don’t know how to fight. Thisisn’t the first time the world’s been upside down and it won’t be the last. It’s happened before andit’ll happen again. And when it does happen, everyone loses everything and everyone is equal. Andthen they all start again at taw, with nothing at all. That is, nothing except the cunning of theirbrains and strength of their hands. But some people, like Ashley, have neither cunning nor strengthor, having them, scruple to use them. And so they go under and they should go under. It’s a naturallaw and the world is better off without them. But there are always a hardy few who come through and given time, they are right back where they were before the world turned over.”   “You’ve been poor! You just said that your father turned you out without a penny!” said Scarlett,furious. “I should think you’d understand and sympathize with Ashley!”   “I do understand;” said Rhett, “but I’m damned if I sympathize. After the surrender Ashley hadmuch more than I had when I was thrown out. At least, he had friends who took him in, whereas Iwas Ishmael. But what has Ashley done with himself?”   “If you are comparing him with yourself, you conceited thing, why— He’s not like you, thankGod! He wouldn’t soil his hands as you do, making money with Carpetbaggers and Scalawags andYankees. He’s scrupulous and honorable!”   “But not too scrupulous and honorable to take aid and money from a woman.”   “What else could he have done?”   “Who am I to say? I only know what I did, both when I was thrown out and nowadays. I onlyknow what other men have done. We saw opportunity in the ruin of a civilization and we made themost of our opportunity, some honestly, some shadily, and we are still making the most of it. Butthe Ashleys of this world have the same chances and don’t take them. They just aren’t smart,Scarlett, and only the smart deserve to survive.”   She hardly heard what he was saying, for now there was coming back to her the exact memorywhich had teased her a few minutes before when he first began speaking. She remembered the coldwind that swept the orchard of Tara and Ashley standing by a pile of rails, his eyes looking beyondher. And he had said—what? Some funny foreign name that sounded like profanity and had talkedof the end of the world. She had not known what he meant then but now bewilderedcomprehension was coming to her and with it a sick, weary feeling.   “Why, Ashley said—”   “Yes?”   “Once at Tara he said something about the—a—dusk of the gods and about the end of the worldand some such foolishness.”   “Ah, the G.tterd.mmerung!” Rhett’s eyes were sharp with interest. “And what else?”   “Oh, I don’t remember exactly. I wasn’t paying much mind. But—yes—something about thestrong coining through and the weak being winnowed out.”   “Ah, so he knows. Then that makes it harder for him. Most of them don’t know and will neverknow. They’ll wonder all their lives where the lost enchantment has vanished. They’ll simplysuffer in proud and incompetent silence. But he understands. He knows he’s winnowed out.”   “Oh, he isn’t! Not while I’ve got breath in my body.”   He looked at her quietly and his brown face was smooth.   “Scarlett, how did you manage to get his consent to come to Atlanta and take over the mill? Didhe struggle very hard against you?”   She had a quick memory of the scene with Ashley after Gerald’s funeral and put it from her.   “Why, of course not,” she replied indignantly. “When I explained to him that I needed his helpbecause I didn’t trust that scamp who was running the mill and Frank was too busy to help me andI was going to—well, there was Ella Lorena, you see. He was very glad to help me out.”   “Sweet are the uses of motherhood! So that’s how you got around him. Well, you’ve got himwhere you want him now, poor devil, as shackled to you by obligations as any of your convicts areby their chains. And I wish you both joy. But, as I said at the beginning of this discussion, you’llnever get another cent out of me for any of your little unladylike schemes, my double-dealinglady.”   She was smarting with anger and with disappointment as well. For some time she had beenplanning to borrow more money from Rhett to buy a lot downtown and start a lumber yard there.   “I can do without your money,” she cried. “I’m making money out of Johnnie Gallegher’s mill,plenty of it, now that I don’t use free darkies and I have some money out on mortgages and we arecoining cash at the store from the darky trade.”   “Yes, so I heard. How clever of you to rook the helpless and the widow and the orphan and theignorant! But if you must steal, Scarlett, why not steal from the rich and strong instead of the poorand weak? From Robin Hood on down to now, that’s been considered highly moral.”   “Because,” said Scarlett shortly, “it’s a sight easier and safer to steal—as you call it—from thepoor.”   He laughed silently, his shoulders shaking.   “You’re a fine honest rogue, Scarlett!”   A rogue! Queer that that term should hurt. She wasn’t a rogue, she told herself vehemently. Atleast, that wasn’t what she wanted to be. She wanted to be a great lady. For a moment her mindwent swiftly down the years and she saw her mother, moving with a sweet swish of skirts and afaint fragrance of sachet, her small busy hands tireless in the service of others, loved, respected,cherished. And suddenly her heart was sick.   “If you are trying to devil me,” she said tiredly, “it’s no use. I know I’m not as—scrupulous as Ishould be these days. Not as kind and as pleasant as I was brought up to be. But I can’t help it,Rhett. Truly, I can’t. What else could I have done? What would have happened to me, to Wade, toTara and all of us if I’d been—gentle when that Yankee came to Tara? I should have been—but Idon’t even want to think of that. And when Jonas Wilkerson was going to take the home place,suppose I’d been—kind and scrupulous? Where would we all be now? And if I’d been sweet andsimple minded and not nagged Frank about bad debts we’d—oh, well. Maybe I am a rogue, but Iwon’t be a rogue forever, Rhett. But during these past years—and even now—what else could Ihave done? How else could I have acted? I’ve felt that I was trying to row a heavily loaded boat ina storm. I’ve had so much trouble just trying to keep afloat that I couldn’t be bothered about thingsthat didn’t matter, things I could part with easily and not miss, like good manners and—well,things like that. I’ve been too afraid my boat would be swamped and so I’ve dumped overboard thethings that seemed least important.”   “Pride and honor and truth and virtue and kindliness,” he enumerated silkily. “You are right,Scarlett. They aren’t important when a boat is sinking. But look around you at your friends. Either they are bringing their boats ashore safely with cargoes intact or they are content to go down withall flags flying.”   “They are a passel of fools,” she said shortly. “There’s a time for all things. When I’ve gotplenty of money, I’ll be nice as you please, too. Butter won’t melt in my mouth. I can afford to bethen.”   “You can afford to be—but you won’t. It’s hard to salvage jettisoned cargo and, if it is retrieved,it’s usually irreparably damaged. And I fear that when you can afford to fish up the honor andvirtue and kindness you’ve thrown overboard, you’ll find they have suffered a sea change and not,I fear, into something rich and strange. ...”   He rose suddenly and picked up his hat.   “You are going?”   “Yes. Aren’t you relieved? I leave you to what remains of your conscience.”   He paused and looked down at the baby, putting out a finger for the child to grip.   “I suppose Frank is bursting with pride?”   “Oh, of course.”   “Has a lot of plans for this baby, I suppose?”   “Oh, well, you know how silly men are about their babies.”   “Then, tell him,” said Rhett and stopped short, an odd look on his face, “tell him if he wants tosee his plans for his child work out, he’d better stay home at night more often than he’s doing.”   “What do you mean?”   “Just what I say. Tell him to stay home.”   “Oh, you vile creature! To insinuate that poor Frank would—”   “Oh, good Lord!” Rhett broke into a roar of laughter. “I didn’t mean he was running around withwomen! Frank! Oh, good Lord!”   He went down the steps still laughing.  12月里,难得有这么一天,太阳暖烘烘的,差不多和小阳春时节一样,皮蒂姑妈院里的橡树上仍然挂着干了的红叶子,渐渐枯萎的小草还能看出一丝黄绿色,思嘉抱着孩子来到侧面的回廓上,在一片有阳光照耀的地方坐在了摇椅子。她身装一件崭新的绿色薄长裙,裙上镶着许多波浪式的黑色花边,头戴一顶新的网眼便帽。这都是皮蒂姑妈给她做的。这两件东西都对她很合适,她也知道,因此心里十分高兴,几个月以来一直那么难看,现在又漂亮起来了,多开心呀!   她坐在摇椅上,一面摇着孩子,一面哼着小曲儿,忽然听见后街上传来马蹄声,她从过道上杂乱的枯藤缝里好奇地向外探望,只见瑞德•巴特勒正骑着马朝她家走来。   他离开亚特兰大有好几个月了。他走的时候,杰拉尔德刚去世,爱拉•洛雷纳还差很长时间没有出生。思嘉曾经想念过他,但是此刻她真想找个什么法子躲开,不见他。实际上,她一看见他那黑脸膛,心里就因内疚而感到慌乱。有人件事涉及艾希礼,一直使她心里不安,而她不愿意与瑞德讨论这件事,但是她知道,不论她多么不想讨论,瑞德是一定要讨论的。   他在大门外停下来,翻身轻轻地下了马,思嘉一边紧张注视着他。一边想,发现他很像韦德常常央求好读给他听的一本书里画的插图。   “他就缺少一副耳环和衔在嘴里的短刀了,"思嘉想。"唉,管他是不是海盗,只要我有办法,今天无论如何也不能让他把我给杀了。"他顺着小路走过来,思嘉跟他打个招呼,同时装出一副最甜密的笑脸。她正好穿着一件新衣服,戴着一顶适合于她的帽子,显得那么漂亮,真是幸运啊!他迅速地打量了她一番,立刻思嘉知道,他也认为她是很漂亮的。   “刚生的孩子!哎呀,思嘉,可真没想到哇!"他一边说,一边笑了,同时弯腰掀开毯子,看了看爱拉•洛雷纳难看的小脸。   “看你说的,"思嘉说着,脸都红了。"瑞德,你好吗?你走了很长时间了呢。““的确是这样。思嘉,让我抱抱孩子吧。唔,我懂得怎么抱孩子,我有许多奇怪的才干。他可真像弗兰克,就是没有胡子,不过到时候会长的。"“还是别长的好。这是个女孩儿。"“是个女孩儿?那就更好了,男孩子都讨人嫌。你可别再生男孩儿了,思嘉。"思嘉本来想回敬他一句,说不管男孩儿女孩儿都不愿再生了,可是话到嘴边,她又咽下去了。她笑了笑,在脑子里到处搜寻合适的话题,以拖延时间,暂时不讨论她怕谈的那个问题。   “这次出去,一切都好吗,瑞德?你这次去了哪里?"“唔,到了古巴----新奥尔良----还有一些别的地方。哎呀,思嘉。快把孩子接过去吧,她流哈喇子了,我又没法掏手绢儿。我知道,她是好孩子,不过她把我的前襟弄湿了。"思嘉把孩子接过来,放在腿上,瑞德懒洋洋地坐在栏杆上,从一个银盒子里取出一根雪茄。   “你老去新奥尔良去,"她说,她撅了撅嘴又接着说:“你从来不肯告诉我去那儿干什么呢。"“我这个人工作勤奋呢。思嘉,我大概是为了公事而去的吧。”“你还工作勤奋!”她毫不客平地笑起来。"你一辈子就没工作过。你太懒了。你就会资助北方来的冒险家,让他们偷盗,好处和你对半分,然后你就贿赂北方的官员,让你参加与他们的规划,来掠夺我们这些纳税人。"他把头往后一仰,大笑起来。   “你是多么想赚够了钱去贿赂官员们,你也好那么干呀!"“你这种想法----"思嘉开始有些恼怒。   “也许有朝一日你赚足了钱以后,就大规模行贿。说不定你靠那些雇来的犯人能发大财呢。"“啊!"思嘉说。她有些心烦意乱了。"你怎么这么快就知道我雇用犯人了?"“我昨天晚上就到这里,在时代少女酒馆过的夜,那里消息满天飞,是个闲言碎语大汇合的地方,比妇女缝纫会可强多了。大家都说你雇用了一伙犯人,让那个小恶棍加勒格尔管着他们,要把他们累死。"“这不是真的。"她忿怒地说。“他不会把他们累死的。我可以保证。"“你能保证吗?"“我当然能保证,你怎么会提出这样的问题?"“唔,请原谅,肯尼迪太太!我知道你的动机一向是无可非议的。然而约翰尼•加勒格尔是个冷酷的小无赖。我没见过第二个人像他那样的人。最好盯着他点,要不检查员一来,你就麻烦了。"“你走你的阳关道。我过我的独木桥,”思嘉生气地说。   “犯人的事,我不想多说了。人们都说不赞成,可雇用犯人是我自己的事----你还没告诉我你在新奥尔良干什么呢?你老往那里跑,大家都说----"说到这里,她住了口,她本来不想提这件事。   “大家都说什么?”   “说----说你在那里有个情人。说你要结婚了。是吗,瑞德?"她很久以来就想知道到底有没有这回事,所以现在她按捺不住,就坦率地提出了这个问题,她一想到瑞德要结婚,就有一种莫名其妙的妒忌心理使她感到隐隐痛苦。至于为什么这样,她自己也说不清楚。   他平静的眼神顿时机警起来,他迎着思嘉的视线,盯着她看,看得她两颊泛起了红晕。   “这对你有很大关系吗?”   “怎么说呢,我不想失去你的友情啊,"思嘉一本正经地说。为了显得对这件事并不十分在意,她还低下头拉了拉毯子,把孩子的头围了围。   他突然大笑一声,接着说。"思嘉你看着我。"她勉强抬起头来,脸更红了。   “你那些朋友要是问起来,你就说要是我结婚,那是因为我没有别的办法把那个女人弄到手。到现在为止,我还没有发现一个女人我非要娶她不可呢。"这样一来,她倒真的弄不明白了,而且感到难堪。因为她想起围城期间,有一天晚上,也是在这个回廊上,他说:我这个男人是不打算结婚的,而且流露出要她做情妇的意思。她还想起那天到监狱去看他的可怕情景,想到这里她又感到一阵羞愧。瑞德注视着她的眼神,脸上渐渐露出了一副讥笑。   “不过你既然坦率问我,我还是满足你这无聊的好奇心吧。我到新奥尔良去,不是为了什么情人,而是为一个孩子,一个小男孩儿。"“一个小男孩儿!"这突如起来的消息使她十分惊讶,她倒明白了。   “是的,我是他的监护人,要对他负责。他在新奥尔良上学。我常常那里去,主是去看他的。"“给他带礼物吗?"她问。这时她明白了为什么他总知道韦德喜欢什么礼物。   “是的,"他有些不耐烦,简短回答说。   “我可从来不给,他长得好看吗?”   “太好看了,不过这对他并没有好处。"“他乖吗?"“不乖,可调皮了,我真希望从来就没这么个孩子,男孩子都讨人赚。你还有什么要问的吗?"他突然脸色不快,象生气似的似乎后悔不该提起这件事。   “你要是不想说,我当然就不问了,"她傲慢地说,其实她是很想再了解一些情况的。”不过我实在看不出你可以当监护人。"说完了,大笑起来,想借此来刺他一下。   “你自然看不出,你的视野是很有限的嘛。"他没有说下去,抽着烟沉默了一会儿,思嘉很想找一句无礼的话来回敬他,可是怎么也想不出来。   “这件事你要是不跟别人说,我就非常感激你了,"他最后说,"不过我知道要求一个女人保守秘密是不可能的。"“我是能保守秘密的,"她说,觉得自尊心受到了伤害。   “你能吗?了解到朋友的真实情况当然是很好的。思嘉,别撅着嘴了。很抱歉,我刚才失礼了,不过你非要盘根问底,也只好怪你自己了。对我笑一笑,我们愉快地待一会儿吧,下面我就要提出一个令人不快的话题了。"“哎呀!"她心想,“现在他肯定要谈艾希礼的木材厂的事了。"于是她很快装出一副笑脸,露出酒窝,想借以讨他的欢心,"瑞德,你还去过什么地方?总不至于一直待在新奥尔良吧,对不对?"“对,最近这一个月,我在查尔斯顿,我父亲去世了。"“唔,真遗憾。““不必感到遗憾,对于他的死,我敢说,他不遗憾,我也不遗憾。"“瑞德,你怎么这样说话,太可怕啦!"“我是明明不遗憾,却硬作装遗憾的样子,岂不更可怕吗?   我们两个人之间一直没有好感,我想不起老头子在我哪件事情上持过赞成的态度,我太像我爷爷了。而他对我爷爷也总是说不赞成就不赞成。我长大以后,他从不赞成渐渐变成了不折的不扣的厌恶,我承认,我也没有想办法改变他对我的这种态度。父亲要求我做什么事,做什么人,都是非常无聊的。最后他把我赶出家门,我身无分文,也没受过什么教育,只能当一个查尔斯顿男子汉、神枪手和扑克高手。我没有饿死,而是充分发挥了打扑克的本事,靠赌博,日子过得很不错。而我父亲觉得这是对他的莫大侮辱,巴特勒家出了赌徒,他受不了,所以我第一次回家,他就不容许我母亲见我。战争期间,我要查尔顿外面跑封锁线的时候,母亲撒了个谎,才溜出来看了看我,这自然不会增加我对他的好感。"“唔,这些情况原来我一点不知道。"“我父亲,人们说他是一位正派的老先生,是属于老派的,也就是说,他既无知,又顽固,而且容不得人,和老派的先生们想法一模一样,没有自己的想法,他抛弃我,说我死了,大家都很佩服他。""'你假如你的右眼使你犯罪,把它挖出来,'我就是他的右眼,他的长子,他为了报复,就把我挖掉了。"说到这里,他面露微笑,由于回忆这段有趣的往事,他两眼一动不动。   “唉,这一切我都可以原谅,但是一想到战后他是怎样对待我母亲和我妹妹的,我就不能宽恕他。她们生活没有来源。   农场的房子烧掉了,稻田又变成了沼泽地。因为纳不起税,镇上的房子也完了。她们住着连黑人都不住的两间房子。我给母亲寄钱去,可父亲又把钱退回来----这钱不干净啊,你明白吗?----好几次我回到查尔斯顿,偷偷把钱塞给我妹妹。可是父亲总能发现,对她大发脾气,闹得她活不下去,真可怜啊!钱还是退回来了,我不知道她们是怎么。……我也不是不知道。我弟弟尽力帮助,但又没有多少钱来,他也是不肯接受我的帮助----用投机商的钱会倒梅,你明白吗?另外就是靠朋友接济。你姨妈尤拉莉一直对她们很好。你知道,她是和我母亲最要好。她送给她们衣服,还有----我的天啊!我母亲到了靠人济的地步!"思嘉很少见他这样摘去面具,他脸上露出了对父亲的痛恨,和对母亲的怜恤。   “尤拉莉姨吗?真是天知道,瑞德,除了我给她的钱以外,她还有什么呢?”“噢,原来她的钱是从你这里来的!你可真没教养了。我的宝贝儿,居然当着我的面吹嘘这件事来寒碜我。我非把钱还给你不可!"“那太好了,"思嘉说。她突然一咧嘴笑了,瑞德也朝她咧嘴笑了。   “唔,思嘉,怎么一提到钱,你就眉开眼笑?你能肯定除了爱尔兰血统以外,你身上没有一点苏格兰血统吗?说不定还有犹太血统呢!"“真讨厌!我刚才并不是有意说起尤拉莉姨妈,让你感到难为情。但是说实话,她认为我浑身是钱,所以总写信来要钱。天晓得,就算不接济查尔斯顿那边,我的开销也已经够多了,你父亲是怎么死的?"“慢慢饿死的,我想是这样----我也希望是这样,他罪有应得。他是想让母亲和罗斯玛丽和他一起饿死的。现在他死了,我就可以帮助她们了。我在炮台山给她们买了一栋房子,还有佣人伺候她们,当然她们不愿说钱是我给的。"“那是为什么?"“亲爱的,你还不了解查尔顿吗?你到那里去过,我家虽然穷,也得维持它的社会地位,要是让人家知道这是用了赌徒的钱,投机商的钱,北方来的冒险家的钱,这地位就无法维持了,她们对外是这么说的:父亲留下了一大笔人寿保险金----他生前为了按期付款,节衣缩食以至于饿死,就是为了他死后他们生活有保证,这样一来,他这个老派先生的名声可就更大了。……实际上,他成了为家殉难的人。他要是在九泉之下知道母亲和罗斯玛瓦都过上了好日子,他的劲儿都白费了,因而不能瞑目,那就好了。……他是想死的----是很愿意去死的,所以我对他的死,可以说不感到遗憾。"”为什么?"“唔,事实上他是李将军投降的时候就死了。你知道他那种人。永远也不可能适应新的时代,没完没了地唠叨过去的好日子。"“瑞德,老年人都是这样吗?"她想到父亲杰拉尔德以及威尔说的关于他的情况。   “天啊,不是的。你就看享利叔叔和那老猫梅里韦瑟先生,就以他们二人为例吧。他们随乡团出征的时候,就开始了一种新生活。依我看,从那以后他们显得更年轻了,更有活力了。我今天早上还遇到梅里韦瑟老人,他赶着雷内的馅饼车,和军队里赶车的一样,一边走,一边骂牲口。他对我说,自从他走出家门,避开媳妇的照顾,开始赶车以来,他感到年轻了十岁。还有你那享利叔叔,他在法庭内外和北方佬斗,保护寡妇和孤儿,对付北方来的冒险家,干得可起劲了----我估计他是不要钱的。要不是爆发了战争,他早就退休,去治他的关节炎去了,他们又年轻了,这是因为他们又有用了,而且发现人们需要他们,新的时代给老年人提供了机会,他们是喜欢这个新时代的。但是许多人,包括许多年轻人与我父亲和你父亲一样,他们既不能适应,也不想适应。既然说到这里,我就要和你讨论一个不愉快的问题了,思嘉。"瑞德突然改变了话题,使得思嘉一阵慌乱,所以她结结巴巴地说:“什么----什么----"而在内心里痛苦地说:“老天爷,问题来了。不知能不能把他压祝"“我了解你的为人,所以不指望你说实话,顾面子,公平交易。但是我当时信任你,真是太傻了。"”我不明白你的意思。"“我想你明白的,无论如何,你看上去是心虚的。我刚才来的时候,路过艾维街,有人在篱笆后面跟我打招呼,不是别人,正是艾希礼•威尔克斯太太,我当然停下来,和她聊了一会儿。"“真的吗?"“真的。我们谈得非常愉快。她说她一直想告诉我,她认为我在最后时刻还能为了联盟而出击,这是多么勇敢的行为埃"“一派胡言!媚兰是个糊涂虫,由于你的英雄行为,那天晚上她差一点死了。"“如果死了,我想她会认为自己是为了高尚的事业而牺牲的。我问她在亚特兰大干什么,她对我这样不了解情况感到惊讶,她说他们现在搬到这里来住了,还说你待他们很好,让威尔克斯先生与你合伙经营木材厂了。"“那有什么关系?"思嘉简捷地问。   “我借钱给你买那家木材厂的时候,曾作过一条规定,你当时也同意了的。那就是不能用这家木材厂来养活艾希礼•威尔克斯。"“你可真讨厌。你的钱我已经还了,现在这个厂归我所有,我要怎么办,那是我自己的事。"“你能不能告诉我,你还帐的钱是怎么来的?”“当然是卖木材赚的。"“你是利用我借给你创业的钱赚来的。这才应该是你的意思。你利用我的钱来养活艾希礼,你这个女人完全不讲信用,如果你现在还没有还我的钱,我就会来逼债,你要是还不起,我就会把你拍卖,那才有意思呢。"他的话虽然不重,眼里却冒着怒火。   思嘉急忙把战火引到敌人的领土上去。   “你为什么这么恨艾希礼?我想你准是妒忌他吧。"她话一出口,恨不得把舌头咬掉,因为瑞德仰天大笑,弄得她很难为情,满脸通红。   “你不但不讲信用,而且还非常自负,"他说。"你以为你这全区的大美人儿可以没完没了地当下去,是不是?你以为自己总是漂亮的小姑娘,男人见了没有不爱的。"“不对!"她气愤地说。"可我就是不明白你为什么这么恨艾希礼。我能想到的就只有这个理由。"“你再想想,小妖精。这个理由不对。至于我恨艾希礼----我既不喜欢他,也不恨他。事实上,我对他和他这一类的人只感到怜悯。”“怜悯?"“是的,还加一点鄙视。你现在可以像火鸡那样叫唤,你可以告诉我像我这样的流氓,一千个顶不上他一个,怎么竟敢如此狂妄,竟然对他表示怜悯或鄙视呢。等你发完了火,我再向你说明我的意思,如果你有兴趣的话。"”唔,我没有兴趣。"“我还是告诉你吧,因为我不忍心让你继续作你的美梦,以为我妒忌他。我怜悯他,是因为他早就应该死了,而他没有死。我鄙视他,是因他的世界已经完了,而他不知如何是好。"思嘉感到他这些话有点耳熟。她隐隐约约记得听过类似的话,但想不起来是在什么时候,什么地方听到的了。她正在气头儿上,所以也没有多想。   “照你这么说,南方所有正经人就都该死了!"“要是按照他们的想法去做,我想艾希礼之类的人是宁愿死了的。死了就可以在坟上竖一块方方正正的碑,上面写着'联盟战士为南国而战死长眠于此'。或者写着'Dulceetdecorumest----'或者写着其它常见的碑文。"“我不明白这是什么意思!"“要是不用一英尺高的字母写出来,放在你鼻子底下,你是什么也看不明白的,对不对?我是说,一了百了,他们死了就不必解决问题了,那些问题也是无法解决的。除此之外,他们的家庭会世世代代为他们而感到骄傲。我听说死人都是很幸福的。你觉得艾希礼•威尔克幸福吗?"“那当然----"她没有说下去,因为她想起最近见到艾希礼的眼神。   “难道他,还有休•埃尔辛,还有米德大夫,他们都幸福吗?他们比我父亲、比你父亲幸福吗?"“唉。也许他们没有感到幸福。因为他们都失去了自己的钱财。“他笑了。   “不是因为失去了钱财,我的宝贝儿。我告诉你吧,是因为失去了他们的世界----他们从小就生活在里面的那个世界。他们如今好像鱼离开了水,猫长了翅儿。他们受的教育要求他们成为某一种人,做某一种事,占有某一种地位。李将军一到阿波马托克斯,那种人,那种事,那种地位就都一扫而光了。思嘉呀,瞧你那副傻样子!你想,现在的艾希礼,家没有了,农场也因交税的事而被没收了。至于文雅的绅士,现在一分钱能买20个。在这种情况下,艾希礼•威尔克斯能干什么呢?他是能用脑子,还是能用手干活呢?我敢打赌,自从让他经管木才厂以厂你的钱是越赔越多了。"“不对!"“太对了!哪个星期天晚上你有空,给我看看你帐本好吗?"“你见鬼去吧,而且用不着等你有空。你可以走了,随你的便吧。”“我的宝贝儿,鬼我见过了,他是个非常无聊的家伙。我不想再去见他。就是你让我去,我也不去了。……当初你急需用钱,我借给你了,你也用了,我们那时有一个协议,规定这笔钱应该如何用,可你违反了这个协议。请你记住,可爱的小骗子,有朝一日你还要向我借钱的。你会让我资助你,利息低得难以想像,这样你就可以再买几家木材厂,再买几头骡子再开几家酒馆。到那时个,你就别想再弄到一个钱。"“需要钱的时候,我会到银行去借。谢谢你吧,"她冷淡地说,但胸口一起一伏,气得不得了。   “是吗?那你就试试看吧,我在银行里有很多的股份。"“真的吗?"“是啊,我对一些可靠的企业很感兴趣。"“还有别的银行嘛----"“银行倒是不少。不过我要是想点办法,你就别想从他们那里借到一分钱,你要是想用钱,去找北方来的高利贷的吧。"“我会很高兴去找他们的。"“你可以去找他们,但是一听他们提出的利息,你是会吃惊的,我的小宝贝儿,你应该知道,生意之间,搞鬼是要受罚的。你应该规规矩矩地跟我打交道。"“你不是个好心人吗?又有钱,又有势,何必跟艾希礼和我这样有困难的人过不去呢?"“不要把你自己和他强扯在一起,你根本算不上有困难。   因为什么也难不住你,但是他有困难,而且解脱不了,除非他一辈子都有一个强有力的人支持他,引导他,帮助他。我决不希望有人拿我的钱来帮助这样一个人。"“你就曾帮过我的忙,当时我有困难,而且----"“亲爱的,你是个冒险家,是个很有意思的冒险家,为什么呢?因为你没有依赖亲属中的男人,没有为怀念过去而流泪。你出来大干了一场,现在你的财产有了牢固的基础,这里面不仅有从一位死者的钱包里偷来的钱,还有从联盟偷来的钱。似的成就包括杀人,抢别人的丈夫,有意乱搞,说谎骗人,坑人的交易,还有各种阴谋诡计,没有一项是经得起认真审查的。真是令人佩服。这已足够说明你是一个精力充沛、意志坚强的人,是一个很会赚钱的冒险家。能帮助那些自己肯干的人,是件很愉快的事。我宁愿借一万块钱给那位罗马式的老妇人梅里韦瑟太太,甚至可以不要借据。她是从一篮子馅饼起家的,看看她现在怎么样了!开了一家面包房,有五六个伙计,上了年纪的爷爷高高兴兴地送货,那个法国血统的不爱干活的年轻人雷内,现在也干得很起劲,而且喜欢这份工作。……还有那可怜的托米•韦尔伯恩,他的身体相当于半个人,却干着两个人的活儿,而且干得很好----唉,我不说了,再说你就烦了。"“我已经烦了,烦得快要发疯了,"她冷冰冰地说了这么一句,故意让他生气,改变话题,不再谈这件涉及艾希礼的倒霉事。而他却只笑了笑,并不理会她的挑战。   “像他们这样的人是值得帮助的,而艾希礼•威尔克斯----呸!在我们这样一个天翻地覆的世界里,他这样的人是无用的,是没有价值的。每缝这个世界底儿朝天的时候,首先消失的就是他这样的人,怎么不会这样呢?他们没有资格继续生存下去,因为他们不斗争----也不知道怎样斗争。天翻地覆,这不是第一次,也不是最后一次。过去发生过,以后还会发生。一旦发生天翻地覆的大事变,个人的一切全都失去,人人平等,然后白手起家,大家都重新开始。所谓白手起家,就是说除了脑子好使手有劲之外,别的什么也没有。   但有些人,比如艾希礼,脑子既不好使,手也没有劲,或者说,虽然脑子好使手有劲,却顾虑重重,不敢加以利用,就这样,他们沉了底,他们也应该沉底,这是自然规律,除掉这样的人,世界会更美好,但总有少数坚强的人能够挺过来,过些时候,他们就恢复到大事变之前的状况。"“你也过过穷日子!你刚才还说你父亲把你赶出家门的时候,你身无分文,"思嘉气愤地说。"我觉得你应理解而且同情艾希礼才对呀!"“我是理解他的,"瑞德说。“但如果说我同情他,那就见鬼了。南方投降以后,艾希礼的财产比我被赶出家门的时候多得多。他至少有些朋友肯收留他,而我是个被社会唾弃的人,但是艾希礼又为自己做了些什么呢?”“你要是拿他和你自己相比,你这个高傲自负的家伙,那为什么----感谢上帝,他和你不一样,他不愿意你那样把两手弄脏,和北方佬、冒险家投靠北方的人一块儿去赚钱,他是一个谨慎、正直的人。"“可是他并没有因为谨慎、正直而不接受一个女人给他的帮助,给他的钱。"“他不这样又怎么办呢?”   “我怎么能说呢?我只知道我自己,被赶出来的时候干了什么,现在干什么。我只知道另外有些男人干了什么。我们发现在旧文明的废墟上有机会可以利用,于是我们就充分利用这个机会。有的光明磊落,有的见不得人,现在我们还尽可能利用这个机会。艾希礼之流在这个世界上也有同样的机会,却不加以利用。他们就是不会想办法,思嘉。而只有会想办法的人才有资格活下去。"瑞德说了些什么,思嘉几乎没有听进去,因为瑞德开始讲话时她回想起来的一些模糊印象。现在清楚了,她记得那天冷风吹过塔拉的果园,艾希礼面对着她,站在一堆准备做栏杆的木棍旁,两眼望着远处,他说----他说什么了?他得到一个很滑稽的外国名字,听起来像是异教徒的语言,他还谈到了世界的末日,当时她不理解他的意思,现在她明白了,感到非常吃惊,同时也有一种疲倦、不适的感觉。   “哎,艾希 Chapter 44 THE MARCH AFTERNOON was windy and cold, and Scarlett pulled the lap robe high underher arms as she drove out the Decatur road toward Johnnie Gallegher’s mill. Driving alone washazardous these days and she knew it, more hazardous than ever before, for now the negroes werecompletely out of hand. As Ashley had prophesied, there had been hell to pay since the legislaturerefused to ratify the amendment. The stout refusal had been like a slap in the face of the furiousNorth and retaliation had come swiftly. The North was determined to force the negro vote on thestate and, to this end, Georgia had been declared in rebellion and put under the strictest martial law.   Georgia’s very existence as a state had been wiped out and it had become, with Florida andAlabama, “Military District Number Three,” under the command of a Federal general.   If life had been insecure and frightening before this, it was doubly so now. The militaryregulations which had seemed so stringent the year before were now mild by comparison with theones issued by General Pope. Confronted with the prospect of negro rule, the future seemed darkand hopeless, and the embittered state smarted and writhed helplessly. As for the negroes, theirnew importance went to their heads, and, realizing that they had the Yankee Army behind them,their outrages increased. No one was safe from them.   In this wild and fearful time, Scarlett was frightened—frightened but determined, and she stillmade her rounds alone, with Frank’s pistol tucked in the upholstery of the buggy. She silentlycursed the legislature for bringing this worse disaster upon them all. What good had it done, thisfine brave stand, this gesture which everyone called gallant? It had just made matters so muchworse.   As she drew near the path that led down through the bare trees into the creek bottom where theShantytown settlement was, she clucked to the horse to quicken his speed. She always felt uneasydriving past this dirty, sordid cluster of discarded army tents and slave cabins. It had the worstreputation of any spot in or near Atlanta, for here lived in filth outcast negroes, black prostitutesand a scattering of poor whites of the lowest order. It was rumored to be the refuge of negro andwhite criminals and was the first place the Yankee soldiers searched when they wanted a man.   Shootings and cuttings went on here with such regularity that the authorities seldom troubled toinvestigate and generally left the Shantytowners to settle their own dark affairs. Back in the woodsthere was a still that manufactured a cheap quality of corn whisky and, by night, the cabins in thecreek bottoms resounded with drunken yells and curses.   Even the Yankees admitted that it was a plague spot and should be wiped out, but they took nosteps in this direction. Indignation was loud among the inhabitants of Atlanta and Decatur whowere forced to use the road for travel between the two towns. Men went by Shantytown with theirpistols loosened in their holsters and nice women never willingly passed it, even under theprotection of their men, for usually there were drunken negro slatterns sitting along the road,hurling insults and shouting coarse words.   As long as she had Archie beside her, Scarlett had not given Shantytown a thought, because noteven the most impudent negro woman dared laugh in her presence. But since she had been forcedto drive alone, there had been any number of annoying, maddening incidents. The negro slutsseemed to try themselves whenever she drove by. There was nothing she could do except ignorethem and boil with rage. She could not even take comfort in airing her troubles to her neighbors orfamily because the neighbors would say triumphantly: “Well, what else did you expect?” And herfamily would take on dreadfully again and try to stop her. And she had no intention of stopping hertrips.   Thank Heaven, there were no ragged women along the roadside today! As she passed the trailleading down to the settlement she looked with distaste at the group of shacks squatting in thehollow in the dreary slant of the afternoon sun. There was a chill wind blowing, and as she passedthere came to her nose the mingled smells of wood smoke, frying pork and untended privies.   Averting her nose, she flapped the reins smartly across the horse’s back and hurried him past andaround the bend of the road.   Just as she was beginning to draw a breath of relief, her heart rose in her throat with suddenfright, for a huge negro slipped silently from behind a large oak tree. She was frightened but notenough to lose her wits and, in an instant, the horse was pulled up and she had Frank’s pistol in herhand.   “What do you want?” she cried with all the sternness she could muster. The big negro duckedback behind the oak, and the voice that answered was frightened.   “Lawd, Miss Scarlett, doan shoot Big Sam!”   Big Sam! For a moment she could not take in his words. Big Sam, the foreman of Tara whomshe had seen last in the days of the siege. What on earth ...   “Come out of there and let me see if you are really Sam!”   Reluctantly he slid out of his hiding place, a giant ragged figure, bare-footed, clad in denimbreeches and a blue Union uniform jacket that was far too short and tight for his big frame. Whenshe saw it was really Big Sam, she shoved the pistol down into the upholstery and smiled withpleasure.   “Oh, Sam! How nice to see you!”   Sam galloped over to the buggy, his eyes rolling with joy and his white teeth flashing, andclutched her outstretched hand with two black hands as big as hams. His watermelon-pink tonguelapped out, his whole body wiggled and his joyful contortions were as ludicrous as the gambolingsof a mastiff.   “Mah Lawd, it sho is good ter see some of de fambly agin!” he cried, scrunching her hand untilshe felt that the bones would crack. “Huccome you got so mean lak, totin’ a gun, Miss Scarlett?”   “So many mean folks these days, Sam, that I have to tote it. What on earth are you doing in anasty place like Shantytown, you, a respectable darky? And why haven’t you been into town to seeme?”   “Law’m, Miss Scarlett, Ah doan lib in Shantytown. Ah jes’ bidin’ hyah fer a spell. Ah wouldn’   lib in dat place for nuthin’. Ah nebber in mah life seed sech trashy niggers. An’ Ah din’ know youwuz in ‘Lanta. Ah thought you wuz at Tara. Ah wuz aimin’ ter come home ter Tara soon as Ah gotde chance.”   “Have you been living in Atlanta ever since the siege?”   “No, Ma’m! Ah been trabelin’!” He released her hand and she painfully flexed it to see if thebones were intact. “ ‘Member w’en you seed me las’?”   Scarlett remembered the hot day before the siege began when she and Rhett had sat in thecarriage and the gang of negroes with Big Sam at their head had marched down the dusty streettoward the entrenchments singing “Go Down, Moses.” She nodded.   “Wel, Ah wuked lak a dawg diggin’ bresswuks an’ fillin’ san’ bags, tell de Confedruts lef ‘Lanta.   De cap’n gempmum whut had me in charge, he wuz kilt an’ dar warn’t nobody ter tell Big Samwhut ter do, so Ah jes’ lay low in de bushes. Ah thought Ah’d try ter git home ter Tara, but den Ahhear dat all de country roun’ Tara done buhnt up. ‘Sides, Ah din’ hab no way ter git back an’ Ah wuz sceered de patterollers pick me up, kase Ah din’ hab no pass. Den de Yankees come in an’ aYankee gempmum, he wuz a cunnel, he tek a shine ter me an’ he keep me te ten’ ter his hawse an’   his boots.   “Yas, Ma’m! Ah sho did feel bigitty, bein’ a body serbant lak Poke, w’en Ah ain’ nuthin’ but afe’el han’. Ah ain’ tell de Cunnel Ah wuz a fe’el han’ an’ he— Well, Miss Scarlett, Yankees isiggerunt folks! He din’ know de diffunce! So Ah stayed wid him an’ Ah went ter Sabannah widhim w’en Gin’ul Sherman went dar, an’ fo’ Gawd, Miss Scarlett, Ah nebber seed sech awful goin’onsas Ah seed on de way ter Sabannah! A-stealin’ an’ a-buhnin’—did dey buhn Tara, MissScarlett?”   “They set fire to it, but we put it out.”   “Well’m, Ah sho glad ter hear dat. Tara mah home an’ Ah is aimin’ ter go back dar. An’ w’en dewah ober, de Cunnel he say ter me: ‘You Sam! You come on back Nawth wid me. Ah pay yougood wages.’ Well’m, lak all de niggers, Ah wuz honin’ ter try disyere freedom fo’ Ah went home,so Ah goes Nawth wid de Cunnel. Yas’m, us went ter Washington an’ Noo Yawk an’ den terBawston whar de Cunnel lib. Yas, Ma’am, Ah’s a trabeled nigger! Miss Scarlett, dar’s mo’ hawsesand cah’iges on dem Yankee streets dan you kin shake a stick at! Ah wuz sceered all de time Ahwuz gwine git runned ober!”   “Did you like it up North, Sam?”   Sam scratched his woolly head.   “Ah did—an’ Ah din’t. De Cunnel, he a mighty fine man an’ he unnerstan’ niggers. But his wife,she sumpin’ else. His wife, she call me ‘Mister’ fust time she seed me. Yas’m, she do dat an’ Ahlak ter drap in mah tracks w’en she do it. De Cunnel, he tell her ter call me ‘Sam’ an’ den she do it.   But all dem Yankee folks, fust time dey meet me, dey call me ‘Mist’ O’Hara.’ An’ dey ast mer terset down wid dem, lak Ah wuz jes’ as good as dey wuz. Well, Ah ain’ nebber set down wid w’itefolks an’ Ah is too ole ter learn. Dey treat me lak Ah jes’ as good as dey wuz, Miss Scarlett, but indere hearts, dey din’ lak me—dey din’ lak no niggers. An’ dey wuz sceered of me, kase Ah’s sobig. An’ dey wuz allus astin’ me ‘bout de blood houn’s dat chase me an’ de beatin’s Ah got. An’,Lawd, Miss Scarlett, Ah ain’ nebber got no beatin’s! You know Mist’ Gerald ain’ gwine let nobodybeat a ‘spensive nigger lak me!   “Wen Ah tell dem dat an’ tell dem how good Miss Ellen ter de niggers, an’ how she set up awhole week wid me w’en Ah had de pneumony, dey doan b’lieve me. An’, Miss Scarlett, Ah gotter honin’ fer Miss Ellen an’ Tara, tell it look lak Ah kain stan’ it no longer, an’ one night Ah lit outfer home, an’Ah rid de freight cahs all de way down ter ‘Lanta. Ef you buy me a ticket ter Tara, Ahsho be glad ter git home. Ah sho be glad ter see Miss Ellen and Mist’ Gerald agin. Ah done hadnuff freedom. Ah wants somebody ter feed me good vittles reg’lar, and tell me whut ter do an’   whut not ter do, an’ look affer me w’en Ah gits sick. S’pose Ah gits de pneumony agin? Is datYankee lady gwine tek keer of me? No, Ma’m! She gwine call me ‘Mist’ O’Hara’ but she ain’   gwine nuss me. But Miss Ellen, she gwine nuss me, do Ah git sick an’—whut’s de mattuh, MissScarlett?”   “Pa and Mother are both dead, Sam.”   “Daid? Is you funnin’ wid me, Miss Scarlett? Dat ain’ no way ter treat me!”   “I’m not funning. It’s true. Mother died when Sherman men came through Tara and Pa—hewent last June. Oh, Sam, don’t cry. Please don’t! If you do, I’ll cry too. Sam, don’t! I just can’tstand it. Let’s don’t talk about it now. I’ll tell you all about it some other time. ... Miss Suellen is atTara and she’s married to a mighty fine man, Mr. Will Benteen. And Miss Carreen, she’s in a—”   Scarlett paused. She could never make plain to the weeping giant what a convent was. “She’sliving in Charleston now. But Pork and Prissy are at Tara. ... There, Sam, wipe your nose. Do youreally want to go home?”   “Yas’m but it ain’ gwine be lak Ah thought wid Miss Ellen an’—”   “Sam, how’d you like to stay here in Atlanta and work for me? I need a driver and I need onebad with so many mean folks around these days.”   “Yas’m, You sho do. Ah been aimin’ ter say you ain’ got no bizness drivin’ ‘round by yo’seff,Miss Scarlett You ain’ got no notion how mean some niggers is dese days, specially dem whut livehyah in Shantytown. It ain’ safe fer you. Ah ain’ been in Shantytown but two days, but Ah heardem talk ‘bout you. An’ yesterday w’en you druv by an’ dem trashy black wenches holler at you,Ah recernize you but you went by so fas’ Ah couldn’ ketch you. But Ah sho tan de hides of demniggers! Ah sho did. Ain’ you notice dar ain’ none of dem roun’ hyah terday?”   “I did notice and I certainly thank you, Sam. Well, how would you like to be my carriage man?”   “Miss Scarlett, thankee, Ma’m, but Ah specs Ah better go ter Tara.”   Big Sam looked down and his bare toe traced aimless marks in the road. There was a furtiveuneasiness about him.   “Now, why? I’ll pay you good wages. You must stay with me.”   The big black face, stupid and as easily read as a child’s, looked up at her and there was fear init. He came closer and, leaning over the side of the buggy, whispered: “Miss Scarlett, Ah got ter gitouter ‘Lanta. Ah got ter git ter Tara whar dey woan fine me. Ah—Ah done kilt a man.”   “A darky?”   “No’m. A w’ite man. A Yankee sojer and dey’s lookin’ fer me. Dat de reason Ah’m hyah atShantytown.”   “How did it happen?”   “He wuz drunk an’ he said sumpin’ Ah couldn’ tek noways an’ Ah got mah han’s on his neck—an’ Ah din’ mean ter kill him, Miss Scarlett, but mah han’s is pow’ful strong, an’ fo’ Ah knowed it,he wuz kilt. An’ Ah wuz so sceered Ah din’ know whut ter do! So Ah come out hyah ter hide an’   w’en Ah seed you go by yestiddy, Ah says ‘Bress Gawd! Dar Miss Scarlett! She tek keer of me.   She ain’ gwine let de Yankees git me. She sen’ me back ter Tara.”   “You say they’re after you? They know you did it?”   “Yas’m, Ah’s so big dar ain’ no mistakin’ me. Ah spec Ah’s de bigges’ nigger in ‘Lanta. Deydone been out hyah already affer me las’ night but a nigger gal, she hid me in a cabe ober in dewoods, tell dey wuz gone.”   Scarlett sat frowning for a moment. She was not in the least alarmed or distressed that Sam hadcommitted murder, but she was disappointed that she could not have him as a driver. A big negrolike Sam would be as good a bodyguard as Archie. Well, she must get him safe to Tara somehow,for of course the authorities must not get him. He was too valuable a darky to be hanged. Why, hewas the best foreman Tara had ever had! It did not enter Scarlett’s mind that he was free. He stillbelonged to her, like Pork and Mammy and Peter and Cookie and Prissy. He was still “one of ourfamily” and, as such, must be protected.   “I’ll send you to Tara tonight,” she said finally. “Now Sam, I’ve got to drive out the road apiece, but I ought to be back here before sundown. You be waiting here for me when I come back.   Don’t tell anyone where you are going and if you’ve got a hat, bring it along to hide your face.”   “Ah ain’ got no hat.”   “Well, here’s a quarter. You buy a hat from one of those shanty darkies and meet me here.”   “Yas’m.” His face glowed with relief at once more having someone to tell him what to do.   Scarlett drove on thoughtfully. Will would certainly welcome a good field hand at Tara. Porkhad never been any good in the fields and never would be any good. With Sam on the place, Porkcould come to Atlanta and join Dilcey as she had promised him when Gerald died.   When she reached the mill the sun was setting and it was later than she cared to be out. JohnnieGallegher was standing in the doorway of the miserable shack that served as cook room for thelittle lumber camp. Sitting on a log in front of the slab-sided shack that was their sleeping quarterswere four of the five convicts Scarlett had apportioned to Johnnie’s mill. Their convict uniformswere dirty and foul with sweat, shackles clanked between their ankles when they moved tiredly,and there was an air of apathy and despair about them. They were a thin, unwholesome lot, Scarlettthought, peering sharply at them, and when she had leased them, so short a time before, they werean upstanding crew. They did not even raise their eyes as she dismounted from the buggy butJohnnie turned toward her, carelessly dragging off his hat. His little brown face was as hard as anut as he greeted her.   “I don’t like the look of the men,” she said abruptly. “They don’t look well. Where’s the otherone?”   “Says he’s sick,” said Johnnie laconically. “He’s in the bunk house.”   “What ails him?”   “Laziness, mostly.”   “I’ll go see him.”   “Don’t do that. He’s probably nekkid. I’ll tend to him. He’ll be back at work tomorrow.”   Scarlett hesitated and saw one of the convicts raise a weary head and give Johnnie a stare ofintense hatred before he looked at the ground again.   “Have you been whipping these men?”   “Now, Mrs. Kennedy, begging your pardon, who’s running this mill? You put me in charge andtold me to run it. You said I’d have a free hand. You ain’t got no complaints to make of me, have you? Ain’t I making twice as much for you as Mr. Elsing did?”   “Yes, you are,” said Scarlett, but a shiver went over her, like a goose walking across her grave.   There was something sinister about this camp with its ugly shacks, something which had notbeen here when Hugh Elsing had it. There was a loneliness, an isolation, about it that chilled her.   These convicts far away from everything, so completely at the mercy of Johnnie Gallegher,andifhec(were) hos(so) e to whip them or otherwise mistreat them, she would probably neverknow about it. The convicts would be afraid to complain to her for fear of worse punishment aftershe was gone.   “The men look thin. Are you giving them enough to eat? God knows, I spend enough money ontheir food to make them fat as hogs. The flour and pork alone cost thirty dollars last month. Whatare you giving them for supper?”   She stepped over to the cook shack and looked in. A fat mulatto woman, who was leaning over arusty old stove, dropped a half curtsy as she saw Scarlett and went on stirring a pot in which black-eyed peas were cooking. Scarlett knew Johnnie Gallegher lived with her but thought it best toignore the fact. She saw that except for the peas and a pan of corn pone there was no other foodbeing prepared.   “Haven’t you got anything else for these men?”   “No’m.”   “Haven’t you got any side meat in these peas?”   “No’m.”   “No boiling bacon in the peas? But black-eyed peas are no good without bacon. There’s nostrength to them. Why isn’t there any bacon?”   “Mist’ Johnnie, he say dar ain’ no use puttin’ in no side meat.”   “You’ll put bacon in. Where do you keep your supplies?”   The negro woman rolled frightened eyes toward the small closet that served as a pantry andScarlett threw the door open. There was an open barrel of cornmeal on the floor, a small sack offlour, a pound of coffee, a little sugar, a gallon jug of sorghum and two hams. One of the hamssitting on the shelf had been recently cooked and only one or two slices had been cut from it,Scarlett turned in a fury on Johnnie Gallegher and met his coldly angry gaze.   “Where are the five sacks of white flour I sent out last week? And the sugar sack and the coffee?   And I had five hams sent and ten pounds of side meat and God knows how many bushels of yamsand Irish potatoes. Well, where are they? You can’t have used them all in a week if you fed the menfive meals a day. You’ve sold them! That’s what you’ve done, you thief! Sold my good suppliesand put the money in your pocket and fed these men on dried peas and corn pone. No wonder theylook so thin. Get out of the way.”   She stormed past him to the doorway.   “You, man, there on the end—yes, you! Come here!”   The man rose and walked awkwardly toward her, his shackles clanking, and she saw that hisbare ankles were red and raw from the chafing of the iron.   “When did you last have ham?”   The man looked down at the ground.   “Speak up.”   Still the man stood silent and abject. Finally he raised his eyes, looked Scarlett in the faceimploringly and dropped his gaze again.   “Scared to talk, eh? Well, go in the pantry and get that ham off the shelf. Rebecca, give him yourknife. Take it out to those men and divide it up. Rebecca, make some biscuits and coffee for themen. And serve plenty of sorghum. Start now, so I can see you do it.”   “Dat’s Mist’ Johnnie’s privut flour an’ coffee,” Rebecca muttered frightenedly.   “Mr. Johnnie’s, my foot! I suppose it’s his private ham too. You do what I say. Get busy. JohnnieGallegher, come out to the buggy with me.”   She stalked across the littered yard and climbed into the buggy, noticing with grim satisfactionthat the men were tearing at the ham and cramming bits into their mouths voraciously. They lookedas if they feared it would be taken from them at any minute.   “You are a rare scoundrel!” she cried furiously to Johnnie as he stood at the wheel, his hatpushed back from his lowering brow. “And you can just hand over to me the price of my supplies.   In the future, I’ll bring you provisions every day instead of ordering them by the month. Then youcan’t cheat me.”   “In the future I won’t be here,” said Johnnie Gallegher.   “You mean you are quitting!”   For a moment it was on Scarlett’s hot tongue to cry: “Go and good riddance!” but the cool handof caution stopped her. If Johnnie should quit, what would she do? He had been doubling theamount of lumber Hugh turned out. And just now she had a big order, the biggest she had ever hadand a rush order at that. She had to get that lumber into Atlanta. If Johnnie quit, whom would sheget to take over the mill?   “Yes, I’m quitting. You put me in complete charge here and you told me that all you expected ofme was as much lumber as I could possibly get out. You didn’t tell me how to run my businessthen and I’m not aiming to have you start now. How I get the lumber out is no affair of yours. Youcan’t complain that I’ve fallen down on my bargain. I’ve made money for you and I’ve earned mysalary—and what I could pick up on the side, too. And here you come out here, interfering, askingquestions and breaking my authority in front of the men. How can you expect me to keepdiscipline after this? What if the men do get an occasional lick? The lazy scum deserve worse.   What if they ain’t fed up and pampered? They don’t deserve nothing better. Either you tend to yourbusiness and let me tend to mine or I quit tonight.”   His hard little face looked flintier than ever and Scarlett was in a quandary. If he quit tonight,what would she do? She couldn’t stay here all night guarding the convicts!   Something of her dilemma showed in her eyes for Johnnie’s expression changed subtly andsome of the hardness went out of his face. There was an easy agreeable note in his voice when hespoke.   “It’s getting late, Mrs. Kennedy, and you’d better be getting on home. We ain’t going to fall outover a little thing like this, are we? S’pose you take ten dollars out of my next month’s wages andlet’s call it square.”   Scarlett’s eyes went unwillingly to the miserable group gnawing on the ham and she thought ofthe sick man lying in the windy shack. She ought to get rid of Johnnie Gallegher. He was a thiefand a brutal man. There was no telling what he did to the convicts when she wasn’t there. But, onthe other hand, he was smart and, God knows, she needed a smart man. Well, she couldn’t partwith him now. He was making money for her. She’d just have to see to it that the convicts got theirproper rations in the future.   “I’ll take twenty dollars out of your wages,” she said shortly, “and I’ll be back and discuss thematter further in the morning.”   She picked up the reins. But she knew there would be no further discussion. She knew that thematter had ended there and she knew Johnnie knew it.   As she drove off down the path to the Decatur road her conscience battled with her desire formoney. She knew she had no business exposing human lives to the hard little man’s mercies. If heshould cause the death of one of them she would be as guilty as he was, for she had kept him incharge after learning of his brutalities. But on the other hand—well, on the other hand, men had nobusiness getting to be convicts. If they broke laws and got caught, then they deserved what theygot. This partly salved her conscience but as she drove down the road the dull thin faces of theconvicts would keep coming back into her mind.   “Oh, I’ll think of them later,” she decided, and pushed the thought into the lumber room of hermind and shut the door upon it.   The sun had completely gone when she reached the bend in the road above Shantytown and thewoods about her were dark. With the disappearance of the sun, a bitter chill had fallen on thetwilight world and a cold wind blew through the dark woods, making the bare boughs crack andthe dead leaves rustle. She had never been out this late by herself and she was uneasy and wishedherself home.   Big Sam was nowhere to be seen and, as she drew rein to wait for him, she worried about hisabsence, fearing the Yankees might have already picked him up. Then she heard footsteps comingup the path from the settlement and a sigh of relief went through her lips. She’d certainly dressSam down for keeping her waiting.   But it wasn’t Sam who came round the bend.   It was a big ragged white man and a squat black negro with shoulders and chest like a gorilla.   Swiftly she flapped the reins on the horse’s back and clutched the pistol. The horse started to trotand suddenly shied as the white man threw up his hand.   “Lady,” he said, “can you give me a quarter? I’m sure hungry.”   “Get out of the way,” she answered, keeping her voice as steady as she could. “I haven’t got anymoney. Giddap.”   With a sudden swift movement the man’s hand was on the horse’s bridle.   “Grab her!” he shouted to the negro. “She’s probably got her money in her bosom!”   What happened next was like a nightmare to Scarlett, and it all happened so quickly. Shebrought up her pistol swiftly and some instinct told her not to fire at the white man for fear ofshooting the horse. As the negro came running to the buggy, his black face twisted in a leeringgrin, she fired point-blank at him. Whether or not she hit him, she never knew, but the next minutethe pistol was wrenched from her hand by a grasp that almost broke her wrist. The negro wasbeside her, so close that she could smell the rank odor of him as he tried to drag her over the buggyside. With her one free hand she fought madly, clawing at his face, and then she felt his big hand ather throat and, with a ripping noise, her basque was torn open from neck to waist. Then the blackhand fumbled between her breasts, and terror and revulsion such as she had never known cameover her and she screamed like an insane woman.   “Shut her up! Drag her out!” cried the white man, and the black hand fumbled across Scarlett’sface to her mouth. She bit as savagely as she could and then screamed again, and through herscreaming she heard the white man swear and realized that there was a third man in the dark road.   The black hand dropped from her mouth and the negro leaped away as Big Sam charged at him.   “Run, Miss Scarlett!” yelled Sam, grappling with the negro; and Scarlett, shaking andscreaming, clutched up the reins and whip and laid them both over the horse. It went off at a jumpand she felt the wheels pass over something soft, something resistant. It was the white man wholay in the road where Sam had knocked him down.   Maddened by terror, she lashed the horse again and again and it struck a gait that made thebuggy rock and sway. Through her terror she was conscious of the sound of feet running behindher and she screamed at the horse to go faster. If that black ape got her again, she would die beforehe even got his hands upon her.   A voice yelled behind her: “Miss Scarlett! Stop!”   Without slacking, she looked trembling over her shoulder and saw Big Sam racing down theroad behind her, his long legs working like hard-driven pistons. She drew rein as he came up andhe flung himself into the buggy, his big body crowding her to one side. Sweat and blood werestreaming down his face as he panted:   “Is you hu’t? Did dey hu’t you?”   She could not speak, but seeing the direction of his eyes and their quick averting, she realizedthat her basque was open to the waist and her bare bosom and corset cover were showing. With ashaking hand she clutched the two edges together and bowing her head began to cry in terrifiedsobs.   “Gimme dem lines,” said Sam, snatching the reins from her. “Hawse, mek tracks!”   The whip cracked and the startled horse went off at a wild gallop that threatened to throw the buggy into the ditch.   “Ah hope Ah done kill dat black baboon. But Ah din’ wait ter fine out,” he panted. “But ef hehahmed you, Miss Scarlett, Ah’ll go back an’ mek sho of it.”   “No—no—drive on quickly,” she sobbed.   三月里的一天下午,天气很冷,风也很大,思嘉把彩毯往上拉了拉,掖在胳臂底下,这时她正赶车沿着迪凯特街到约翰•加勒格尔的木材厂去,近来独自一人赶车外出是很危险的,这一点她也知道,而且现在比过去任何时候都危险,这是因为对黑人完全失去了控制。正如艾希礼所说的那样,自从州议会拒绝批准那修正案以来,可真吃不了兜着了。州议会断然拒绝,好像给了北方佬一记耳光,北方佬一怒之下要进行报复,而且来得很快很猛。北方佬为了达到要把黑人选举权强加于佐治亚州这个目的,他们宣布佐治亚发生了叛乱,宣布在这里实行最严厉的戒严。佐治州作为一个州已经被消灭了。和弗罗里达州和亚拉巴马州排在一起,编为第三军事区,受一位联邦将军管辖。   如果说在此以前生活不安全,人心不定,现在就更加如此,前一年宣布的军事条令当时似乎很严厉,现在和波普将军宣布的条令一比就显得温和多了。面对着黑人统治的可能性,前景暗淡,没有一点希望,有不满情绪的佐治亚州惴惴不安,处于痛苦之中。至于黑人,他们看到了并且念念不忘。   新近获得的重要地位,由于他们意识到有北方佬军队给他们撑腰打气,他们暴行就愈演愈烈,谁也别想得到安全。   在这个混乱和恐怖的时期,思嘉感到害怕了----虽然害怕,却很坚定,她仍旧像过去一样独自一人赶着车来来去去,并把弗兰克的手枪插在马车缝里,以备不时之需。她默默地诅咒州议会,不该给大家带来这更大的灾难。这种好看的大无畏的立场,这种人人赞扬的豪爽行动,究竟会有什么好处?   只可能把事情搞得更糟。   再往前走不远有一条小路,然后穿过一片光秃秃的小树林通到沟底,这里便是棚户区。思嘉吆喝了一声,让马快点跑。她每次从这里经过都感到非常紧张。因为这里有一些军队扔下的帐篷。还有一些石头房子,又脏又乱又臭。这是亚持兰大城内域外名声最坏的一个地方,因为这个肮脏的地方住着一些走投无路黑人,当妓女的黑人,还有一些下层的穷白人,听说黑人或白人犯了罪的,也躲到这里来,北方佬军队要是追捕某个人,首先就到这里来搜查。枪杀刀砍的事件在这里更是经常发生。当局没办法也懒得调查,一般就让住在这里的人自己解决那些见不得人的麻烦事,后面的树林里有一个造酒的作坊,能用玉米产生劣质威士忌。到了晚上,沟底的小屋里就传出醉鬼的嚎叫和咒骂声。   就连北方佬也承认这是个藏污纳垢的地方,应当加以铲除,可是他们并没有采取行动,使亚特兰大和迪凯特居民感到愤怒,呼声甚高,因为他们往来于这两个城市之间,非走这条路不可。男人路过棚户区都把手枪套解开,正派女人根本就不愿意路过这里,即便有丈夫保护也不愿意,因为常有黑人中的浪荡女人喝得醉醺醺的,坐在路旁说些粗话辱骂行人。   过去只要有阿尔奇在思嘉身边,她就不把这棚户区放在眼里,因为就连最放肆的黑人女人也不敢当着她的面笑一笑,可是自从她不得不自己驾车以来,已经出了多少次使人不愉快或令人伤脑筋的事,她每次驾车从那里经过。那些浪荡女人似乎都要出来捣乱。她没有办法,只好置之不理,自己生闷气,回家以后,她也不敢把这些事给邻居或者家里人说,从他们那里得到一点安慰,因为邻成们会得意地说:“啊,你还指望什么好事吗?"家里人就会拼命劝说,让她不要再去,而她是决对不可能就此不出去的。   谢天谢地,今天路边倒没有衣衫褴褛的女人,她路过通向棚户区的那条小路时,看见午后暗淡的斜阳下,一片小破房子趴在沟底,顿时产生了一阵厌恶的感觉,一阵凉风吹来,她闻到烧木柴的气味,炸猪肉的气味,还有没人打扫的露天厕所的气味,混在一起,真叫人呕心。她把头一扭,熟练地把缰绳在马背上一抖,马儿加快了速度,拐了一个小弯,继续向前跑去。   她刚想松了一口气,突然又吓得把心提到了嗓子眼儿,因为有一个身材高大的黑人悄悄地从一棵大橡树后面溜了出来,她虽然受了一惊,但还没有被糊涂。霎时间,她把车停住,一把抓起弗兰克的手枪。   “你要干什么?"她使出最大的力气,正颜历色地喝道。那黑人又缩到大树后面,从他回话的声音可以听得出,他是很害怕的。   “哎呀,思嘉小姐,别开枪,我是大个子萨姆呀!"大个子萨姆!一时间她不明白他的话,萨姆本来在塔拉当工头,围城的日子里她还最后见过他一面。他怎么。……“出来让我看看你到底是不是萨姆!"那个人犹犹豫豫地从大树后面出来,他是个邋遢的大个子,光着脚,下身是斜纹布裤子,上身是蓝色的联邦制服,他穿着又短又瘦。思嘉认出来了,这的确是萨姆,就把手枪放回的处,脸上露出了愉快的笑容。   “啊,萨姆!见到你,我真高兴!”   萨姆连忙冲到马车旁,两眼兴奋得转个不停,洁白的牙齿闪闪发光,像大腿一样大的两只黑手,紧紧地攥住思嘉伸给他的手。他那西瓜瓤一样红的舌头不停地翻动着,他高兴得整个身子左右来回扭动着,这动作竟像看门狗跳来跳去一样可笑。   “我的老天爷,能再见到家里的人,可真太好了!"他说,一面使劲攥着思嘉的手,她觉得骨头都要攥裂了。"您怎么也这么坏,使起枪来了,思嘉小姐?”“这年头里,坏人太多了,萨姆,我不得不使枪埃你到底在棚户区这个糟糕的地方干什么,你是个体面的黑人呀?怎么不到城里去找我啊?"“思嘉小姐,我不住在棚户区,只是在这里待一阵子。我才不住在这个地方哩。一辈子没见过这么懒的黑人。我也不知道您就在亚特兰大,我还以为您在塔拉呢。我原想一有机会就回塔拉去。"“自从围城以后,你就一直待在亚特兰大吗?"“没有,小姐!我还到别处去过。"这时他松了手,思嘉忍着疼活动了一下自己的手,看骨头是否仍然完好。"您还记得最后一次看见我的时候吗?"思嘉回想起来,那是围城前的一天,天气很炎热,她和瑞德坐在马车里,一伙黑人以萨姆为首,排着队穿过尘土飞扬的大街,朝战壕走去,一面高唱《去吧,摩西》。思嘉想到这里,点了点头。   “唉,我拼命挖壕沟,装沙袋,一直干到联盟军离开亚特兰大。带领我们的队长被打死了,没人说怎么办,我就在林子里躲了起来。我想回塔拉去,可又听说塔拉一带全烧光了。   另外,我想回也回不去。没有通行证所叫巡逻队抓去。后来北方佬来了,有个军官是个上校,他看中了我,叫我去给他喂马,擦靴子。   “是啊,小姐,我那时候可神气了,当上了跟班的。和波克一样,可我本来是个庄稼汉呀。我没告诉上校我是个庄稼汉,他----您知道,思嘉小姐,北方佬糊涂得很他们根本不分清楚!就这样,谢尔曼将军开到萨瓦纳,我也跟着上校到了萨瓦纳。天啊,思嘉小姐,那一路上,从来没见过那么可怕的事。抢啊,烧啊----思嘉小姐,他们烧没烧塔拉?"“他们是放了火,可我们把火扑灭了。"“噢,那就好了。塔拉是我的家,我还想回去呢。仗打完了以后,上校对我说:'萨姆,跟我回北方去吧,我多给你工钱。'当时我和其他黑人一样,很想尝尝这自由的味道再回家,所以就跟着上校到了北方,我们去了华盛顿,去了纽约,后来还到了波士顿,上校的家在那里。是哪,小姐,我这个黑人跑的地方还不少呢!思嘉小姐,北方佬的大街上,车呀,马呀,多得很呢!我老怕叫车压着哩!"“你喜欢北方吗,萨姆?”“也喜欢----也不喜欢。那个上校是个大好人,他了解黑人,他太太就不一样,他太太头一次见我,称我‘先生',她老这么叫我,我觉得很别扭。后来上校告诉她叫我'萨姆',她才叫我'萨姆'的。可是所有北方人,头一次见到我,都叫我'奥哈拉先生'。他们还请我和他们坐在一起,好像我和他们是一样的。不过我从来没和白人坐在一起过,现在太老了,也学不会了。他们待我就像待他们自己人一样,思嘉小姐,可是他们心里并不喜欢我----他们不喜欢黑人,他们怕我,因为我块儿大。   他们还老问我猫狗怎么追我,我怎么挨打。可是天知道,思嘉小姐,我没有挨过打呀!你知道杰拉尔德老爷从不让人打我这样一个不值钱的黑人。   “我把情况告诉他们,还对他们说太太对待黑人多么好,我得肺炎的时候,她连觉也不睡,细心照料我一个星期,可他们都不相信。思嘉小姐,我想念太太,想念塔拉。后来我实在受不了,一天晚上就溜出来,上了一辆货车,一直坐到亚特兰大。您要是给我买张票,我马上就回塔拉去,我回去看看老爷。这自由我可是受够了,我愿意有个人安排我按时吃得饱饱的,告诉我干什么,不干什么。生了病还照顾我。我要是再得了肺炎怎么办?那北方佬的太太能照料我吗?不可能,她可以称我'奥哈拉先生',但是她不会照顾我的。可是太太,我要是病了,她会照顾我的----思嘉小姐,您怎么了?"“爸爸和母亲都死了,萨姆。"“死了?思嘉小姐,您在开玩笑吧。您不应该这样对待我的!"“不是开玩笑,是真的,母亲是在谢尔曼的军队开到塔拉的时候死的。爸爸----他是去年六月去世的。唉,萨姆,别哭埃不要哭了!你要再哭,我也受不了!萨姆,别哭!我实在受不了。现在咱们不谈这个了。以后有时候我再详细给你说。……苏伦小姐在塔拉,她嫁了一个非常好的丈夫,是威尔•本廷先生。卡琳小姐,她在一个----"思嘉没有说下去,她对这个哭哭啼啼的大汉,怎么能把修道院是什么地方说清楚呢。"她现在住在查尔斯顿,不过波克和百里茜都还在塔拉……来,萨姆,擦擦鼻子。你真想回家去吗?"“是的,可这个家不像我想像的那样有太太在----"“萨姆,留在亚特兰大,给我干活儿怎么样?现在到处坏人这么多,我非常需要一个赶车的人。”“是啊,思嘉小姐。您肯定是需要的,我一直想对您说,您一个人赶着车到处跑可不行啊,您不知道现在黑人有多么坏呀,特别是住在这棚户区的人。您这样可不安全呢。我在棚户区只待了两天,就听见他们议论您了,昨天您经过这里,那些下贱的黑女人冲着您大叫。当时我就认出您来了,可您的车跑得太快,我没追上。不过我让那些人掉了层皮,真的,萨姆,您没注意她们今天就没出来吗?”“我倒是注意到了,这真得谢谢你,萨姆。怎么样,给我赶车好吗?"“思嘉小姐,谢谢您的好意,不过我想我还是回塔拉去吧。"萨姆低下头,他那露着的大拇指指头在地上划来划去,不知他为什么有些紧张。   “告诉我,这是为什么,我多给你工钱,你一定要留在我这里。"他那张傻呼呼的黑黑的大脸膛,和孩子的脸一样容易看出内心的感情。他抬头看了看思嘉,脸上露出惊惶的神情。他走到近处,靠在马车边上,悄悄地说:“思嘉小姐,我非离开亚特兰大不可。我一定要到塔拉去,我一到那里,他们就找不着我了,我----我杀了一个人。"“一个黑人?"“不,是一个白人,是一个北方佬大兵,他们正在找我,所以我才待在棚户区。"“事情是怎么发生的?"“他喝醉了,朝我说了些很难听的话,我受不了,就掐住了他的脖了----我并没不想起死他,思嘉小姐,可我的手特别有劲,一会儿的工夫,他就死了。我吓坏了,不知怎么办才好。所以就躲到这里来了。昨天看见您从这里经过,我就说:'上帝保佑,这不是思嘉小姐吗?她照顾过我,她不会让北方佬把我抓走的,一定会送我回塔拉。"“你说他们在追捕你?他们怎么知道是你干的呢?"“是的,我这么大个子,他们不会弄错了。我想我大概是全亚特兰大最高的黑人了。昨天昨上他们已经到这里来找过我了,有一个黑人姑娘,把我藏在树林里一个洞里了,他们走了我才出来。"思嘉皱了皱眉头坐了一会儿。她一点也没有因为萨姆杀了人而感到震惊,或者伤心,而是因为不能用他赶车而感到失望。像萨姆这样身材高大的黑人当保镖,不比阿尔奇差。她总得想法把他平平安安地送到塔拉去,当然不能让当局把他抓去。这个黑人很有用,把他绞死可太可惜了。是啊,他是塔拉用过的最好的工头了!思嘉根本没想到他已经自由了。在她心目中,他仍然是属于她的,和波克、嬷嬷、彼得、厨娘、百里茜都一样,他仍然是"我们这个家庭中的一员",因此必须受到保护。   “我今天晚上就送你回塔拉去,"她最后说。"萨姆,现在我还要往前面赶路,天黑以前还要回到家里。你就在这里等我回来。你要去的地方,谁也别告诉,你要是有帽子,拿来,可以遮一遮脸。"“我没有帽子呀!"“那就给你两毛五分钱,从这里的黑人那里买一顶,然后到这里来等我。"“好吧,小姐,"现在又有人告诉他做什么了,他松了口气。脸上也显得精神了。   思嘉一边赶路一边想。威尔肯定欢迎这样好的一个庄稼汉到塔拉来。波克干地里活儿一直干得不大好,将来也不会干得好。有了萨姆,波克就可以到亚特兰大来,和迪尔茜待在一起,这是父亲去世的时候她答应过的。   她赶到木材厂的时候,太阳已经快落了,没想到会在外面待到这到晚。约翰尼•加勒格尔站在一所破房子的门廓上,这房子是这家小木材厂的厨房。还有一所石头房子,是睡觉的地方,房前有一根大木头,上面坐着四个犯人,这就是思嘉派给约翰尼的五个犯人之中的四个。他们穿的囚服,因为有汗,又脏又臭。他们拖着疲倦的脚步走动时,脚镣发出哗啦哗的响声。这几个人都带着一种消沉、绝望的眼神。思嘉一眼就看出,他们都很瘦,健康状况很差。可是就在不久以前,她把他们雇来的时候,他们都是挺结实的呀。思嘉下了车,这些人连眼皮也不抬,只有约翰尼转过脸来,还顺手把帽子摘下来,向思嘉打了个招呼,他那棕色的小脸盘儿硬得像核桃一样。   “我不喜欢这些人这个样子,"她直截了当说。"看上去,他们身体不好,还有一个在哪里?"“他说他有玻"约翰尼要理不理的说。"在里边躺着呢。"“他有什么病?"“多半是懒玻"“我去看看他。"“你别去,说不定他光着身子哩。我会照顾他的。他明天就上班。"思嘉犹豫了一下,她看见一个犯人无力地抬起头来瞪了约翰尼一眼,表现出深恶痛绝的样子,接着又低下头,两眼看地了。   “你用鞭了抽他们吗?”   “对不起,肯尼迪太太,现在是谁在管这个厂子?你说过你让我负责管这个厂。我可以随意使唤。你没有什么可指我的,对不对?我比埃尔辛先生了的木材多一倍,难道不是这样吗?"“的确是这样,"思嘉说,但她打了一个寒噤,仿佛有一只鹅踩了她的坟。   她觉得这个地方和这些难看的房子有一种可怕的气氛,而过去休•埃尔辛经管的时候,根本就没有这种气氛。她还觉得这里有一种孤独、与世隔绝的感觉,这也使她不寒而栗。   这些犯人与外界离得那么远,什么联系也没有,任凭约翰尼•加勒格尔摆布。他要是想抽打他们,或用别的办法虐待他们,她是无从知道的,犯人是不敢向她诉苦的,他们怕她走了以后受到更重更严厉的惩罚。   “这些人看上去怎么这样瘦埃你让他们全吃饱吗?天知道,我在伙食上花的钱足可以把他们喂得像猪一样肥。上个月,光是面粉和猪肉我就花了三十块钱,晚饭你给他们吃什么?“思嘉边说边走到厨房前面,往里面看了看。有一个黑白混血的胖女人正在一只生了锈的旧炉子前做饭,一见思嘉,轻轻地行了个礼,又接着搅她煮的黑眼豆,思嘉知道约翰尼•加勒格尔和这个女人同居,但她觉得还是不理会这件事为好,她看得出来,除了豆子和玉米饼子之外,并没有准备什么别的可吃的东西。   “还有什么别的给他们吃呢?”   “没有。”   “豆子里没搁点腌肉吗?”   “没有。”   “也没搁点炖咸肉吗?黑眼豆不搁咸肉可不好吃,吃了不长劲儿呀,为什么不搁点咸肉?"“约翰尼先生说用不着搁咸肉。"“你给我往里搁。你们的东西都放在哪里?"那女人显得很害怕,她的眼睛朝着放食品的壁看了看,思嘉走过去使劲一下子把门打开,只见地上放着一桶打开的玉米面,一小口袋面粉,一磅咖啡,一点白糖,一加仑主高梁饴,还有两只火腿,其中一只火腿在架子上,是最近才做熟的,只切掉了一两片。思嘉气冲冲地回过头来看约翰尼,约翰尼也是满脸怒气,并用冷冰冰的眼睛看着她。   “我上星期派人送来的五袋白面到哪里去了?那一口袋糖和咖啡呢?我还派人送过五只火腿,十磅腌肉,还有那么多甘薯和爱尔兰土豆。这些东西都到哪里去了?就算你一天给他们做五顿饭吃,也不至于一个星期就都用光埃你卖了!你一定是卖了,你这个贼!把我送来的好东西全卖了,把钱装进了自己的腰包,然后就给这些人吃干豆子、玉米饼子。他们怪不得这么瘦呢。你给我让开!"她怒气冲冲地从他身旁走过,来到门廓上。   “你,头上那个----对,就是你。给我过来!"那人站起来,吃力地向她走来,脚镣哗啦啦地直响,她看了看他光着的脚脖子,磨得通红,甚至都磨破了。   “你最后一次吃火腿是什么时候?”   那人低着头往地下看。   “说话呀!”   那人还是站在那里不吭声,垂头丧气的样子,后来他终于抬起头来看了看思嘉一眼,好像在恳求她,接着又把头低下去了。   “不敢说,是不是?那好吧,你到食品柜把架子上的火腿拿来。丽贝卡,把刀给他,让他拿过去和那几个把它分了,丽贝卡,给这几个人准备点饼干和咖啡。多给他们点高梁饴。马上动手,我要看着你拿给他们。"“那是约翰尼先生自己的面粉和咖啡,"丽贝卡低声说,害怕得不得了。   “约翰尼先生自己的?真可笑!这么说,那火腿也是他自己的了,叫你怎么办,就怎么办。动手吧,约翰尼•加勒格尔,跟我到马车这里来一下。"她大步穿过那到处都是拉圾的院子,上了车,看见那些人一面撕火腿,一面拼命往嘴里塞,仿佛很害怕会有人随时拿走似的。她看到这情景,虽然还在生气,也算得到了一点安慰。   “你是个少见的大流氓!"她气愤到了极点地对约翰尼喊道。这时给翰尼站在车轮旁,耷拉着眼皮,帽子戴在后脑勺上。"我送来的这些吃的,你如数还我钱吧。以后,吃的东西按每天送,不按月送了。那你就没法跟我捣鬼了。"“以后我就不在这里了,"翰尼•加勒格尔说。   “你是说要走吗?”   这时,思嘉很想说:“滚就滚吧!"话都说到嘴边停了,冷静一想,还是很慎重。约翰尼要是一走。她可怎么办呢?他比休出的木材多一倍呀。她手上正还有一项大宗定货,数量之大,从未有过,而且还要得很急,一定要把这批木材如送到亚特兰大。约翰尼要是走了,她又能及时找谁来接着管这个厂呢?   “是的,我是要走。你是让我在这里全面负责的,你还说只要求我尽量多出木材。并没有告诉我应该怎样管这个厂,现在更不必多此一举了,我这木材是怎么搞出来的,这不干你的事。你不能责怪我不守信用。我为你赚了钱,挣了我那份薪水----有外块可捞,我也决不放过,可是你突然跑来插一杠子,管这,管那,当着众人的面让我威信扫地。这教我以后怎么维持纪律呢?这些人,有时候打他们一顿有什么关系?   这些懒骨头,打他们一顿还算便宜他们呢。他们吃不饱,他们的要求满足不了,这又有什么关系?因为他们不配有什么更好的待遇,咱们要么互不干涉,要么我今天晚上就走。”他这时板着的面孔看上去比石头还坚硬,思嘉进退两难了。他要是今天晚上就走,她怎么办呢。她不可能整夜待在这里看着这些犯人埃思嘉这种进退两难的心情在她的眼神里流露出来,因为约翰尼的表情也悄悄地发生了变化。他的脸没有刚才绷得那么紧了,说话的语气也婉转一些了。   “天不早了,肯尼迪太太,您最好还是回家去吧。我们总不至于为了这点小事就闹翻了呀?这么办吧,您下个月扣我十块钱工资,这件事就算了结了。"思嘉的眼睛不由得转向那帮可怜的人,他们还在那里拼命啃火腿,她还想到那个在透风的破房子里躺着的病人,她得把约翰•加勒格尔赶走。他是个贼,是个惨无人道的人。谁知道她不在的时候他是怎样对待这些犯人的。可是另一方面,这个人很能干,她碰巧现在正需要一个能干的人,现在可不能让他走埃他能替她赚钱呀。今后她一定要想办法让犯人吃上他们该吃的东西。   “我要扣你20块钱工资,"她狠狠地说。"明天早上我再来跟你谈这件事。”她随手抓起缰绳,但她知道这件事不会再谈了。她知道这件事就算了结了,而且她知道约翰尼对这一点也是很清楚的。   思嘉赶着马车沿着小路朝迪凯特街奔去。这时她的良心和她那赚钱的欲望相互展开了激烈的斗争,她知道自己不该把那些人的性命交给一个铁石心肠的小个子,任凭他去处置。   如果他造成任何一个犯人的死亡,那么她也有推卸不掉的责任,因为她明知道此人惨无人道,却还让他管他们。可是----可是话又说回来了,他们也不该犯罪呀。要是他们犯了法,被抓住了,受到不好的待遇就活该了。想到这里,她似乎有点安心了,可是等她上了大路以后,犯人们那一张张无精打采的绝望的面孔又不断浮现在她的脑海里。   “唉,以后再想吧,"她的决心一下,就把这件事推进了她心中的木材库,把大门也关上了。   思嘉来到棚户区前面的大路拐弯的地方,这时太阳已经完全下去了,附近的树林黑黝黝的,阴森森的。太阳一落,暮色中大地笼罩着刺骨的寒气,冷风吹过黑暗的树林,秃枝断裂,枯叶沙沙作响。她从来没有这么晚一个人待在外面,因此她很紧张,盼望赶快回到家里。   大个子萨姆连影子也没有,思嘉只得停下来等他,不禁为他担起心来,他不在这里,是不是让北方佬抓去了。过了一会儿,她听见通往村子的小路上有脚步声传来,才松了一口气,她想,萨姆让她等这么久,一会儿非要好好训斥他一顿不可。   但是从大路拐弯的地方过来的不是萨姆。   来的是一个衣衫褴褛的大个子白人,和一个小个子黑人,前胸后背都像是个大猩猩,她赶紧抖动缰绳,顺手抄起手枪。   这马刚刚走步,因那白人伸手一拦,便又突然愣住了。   “太太,"那白人说,"给我一个两毛五的硬币吧。饿坏了!"“闪开,闪开!“她一面回答,一面尽量保持镇定。"我没带钱。驾!驾!快跑!"那人手疾眼快,一把抓住了马笼头。   “抓住她!"他对那黑人喊道:“她的钱大概在胸口那儿!"下面发生的事对思嘉来说就像一场恶梦。一切都发生得那快。她只记得她抄起手枪。但她本能地觉得不能对那白人开枪,怕伤了马。那黑人脸上挂着淫荡的微笑,朝着马车跑来,她就对他开了枪,打中了没有,根本不知道。不过紧接着她的手被人紧紧抓住,几乎把手腕子都折断,枪也马上被抢走了。那黑人突然出现在她身旁,因为靠得近,连他身上的臭味儿都闻见了。那黑人想把她拉下车去,她就用那只还能活动的手拼命挣扎,抓那人的脸,后来她觉得那人的大手摸到了她的喉咙,只听哧的一声,她的紧身衣从领口到腰全给撕开了,接着那黑手就在她胸口乱摸。她从来没感到过这么害怕,这么厌恶,就像发疯似地大喊大叫起来。   “快堵住她的嘴!快把她拉下来!"那白人喊道。于是黑人便在思嘉脸上乱摸,摸到了她的嘴,她拼命咬了那人的手,接着又喊叫起来。这时她听见那白人的咒骂声,因此她意识到这漆黑的马路上还有第三个人。萨姆朝这个黑人冲过来,他才松开堵住她嘴的那只手,跳了下去。   “快跑哇,思嘉小姐!"萨姆喊道,一面还在与那个黑人交手。思嘉颤抖着,喊叫着,抓起缰绳和鞭子,把那马一抽就跑起来,她感到轮子底下压着一件软软的有弹性的东西,原来是那白人,萨姆把他打倒以后,他就躺在那里了。   思嘉已吓破了胆,不停地抽打那骑马,马也跑得飞快,弄得马车又颠又摇晃,惊吓之中,思嘉觉得后面有跑动的脚步声,她就连连对马吆喝,让它再跑快点儿。她要是再落到那个黑腥腥手里,就是死了,也不能再让他碰她一碰。   这时一个声音从后面传来:“思嘉小姐,停下!"她没敢让马放慢步子,先战战兢兢地回头一看,原来是萨姆跟在后面奔跑,两条腿快得像动力很大的活塞。思嘉停住车,萨姆赶到跟前,纵身跳到车上,但因快儿大,把思嘉挤到了一边,他脸上,汗水和血混在一起往下淌。他上气不接下气地问:“您伤着了没有?他们伤着您了没有?"思嘉紧张得一时说不出话来,只见萨姆的视线很快移动了一下,朝别处看去,这时她才意识到自己的紧身衣已经撕到了腰,光光的胸脯和内衣都露在外面,她吓得哆哆嗦嗦地把撕开的两边拉在一起,低下头,抽抽搭搭地哭起来。   “把缰绳给我,”萨姆说着,就把缰绳从她手里抢了过去。   “好马,快跑啊!”   鞭子一响,那马一惊,接着就狂奔起来,差一点把车甩到沟里去。   “但愿我把那个黑鬼弄死的,不过我没来得及看清楚,"他气喘吁吁地说。"他要是伤害了您,思嘉小姐,我就非回去把他弄死不可。"“不要----不要----快走吧,"她呜咽着说。 Chapter 45 THAT NIGHT when Frank deposited her and Aunt Pitty and the children at Melanie’s and rodeoff down the street with Ashley, Scarlett could have burst with rage and hurt. How could he go offto a political meeting on this of all nights in the world? A political meeting! And on the same nightwhen she had been attacked, when anything might have happened to her! It was unfeeling andselfish of him. But then, he had taken the whole affair with maddening calm, ever since Sam hadcarried her sobbing into the house, her basque gaping to the waist. He hadn’t clawed his beardeven once when she cried out her story. He had just questioned gently: “Sugar, are you hurt—orjust scared?”   Wrath mingling with her tears she had been unable to answer and Sam had volunteered that shewas just scared.   “Ah got dar fo’ dey done mo’n t’ar her dress.”   “You’re a good boy, Sam, and I won’t forget what you’ve done. If there’s anything I can do foryou—”   “Yassah, you kin sen’ me ter Tara, quick as you kin. De Yankees is affer me.”   Frank had listened to this statement calmly too, and had asked no questions. He had looked verymuch as he did the night Tony came beating on their door, as though this was an exclusivelymasculine affair and one to be handled with a minimum of words and emotions.   “You go get in the buggy. I’ll have Peter drive you as far as Rough and Ready tonight and youcan hide in the woods till morning and then catch the train to Jonesboro. It’ll be safer. ... Now,Sugar, stop crying. It’s all over now and you aren’t really hurt. Miss Pitty, could I have yoursmelling salts? And Mammy, fetch Miss Scarlett a glass of wine.”   Scarlett had burst into renewed tears, this time tears of rage. She wanted comforting,indignation, threats of vengeance. She would even have preferred him storming at her, saying thatthis was just what he had warned her would happen—anything rather than have him take it all socasually and treat her danger as a matter of small moment. He was nice and gentle, of course, butin an absent way as if he had something far more important on his mind.   And that important thing had turned out to be a small political meeting!   She could hardly believe her ears when he told her to change her dress and get ready for him toescort her over to Melanie’s for the evening. He must know how harrowing her experience hadbeen, must know she did not want to spend an evening at Melanie’s when her tired body andjangled nerves cried out for the warm relaxation of bed and blankets—with a hot brick to make hertoes tingle and a hot toddy to soothe her fears. If he really loved her, nothing could have forced him from her side on this of all nights. He would have stayed home and held her hand and told herover and over that he would have died if anything had happened to her. And when he came hometonight and she had him alone, she would certainly tell him so.   Melanie’s small parlor looked as serene as it usually did on nights when Frank and Ashley wereaway and the women gathered together to sew. The room was warm and cheerful in the firelight.   The lamp on the table shed a quiet yellow glow on the four smooth heads bent to their needlework.   Four skirts billowed modestly, eight small feet were daintily placed on low hassocks. The quietbreathing of Wade, Ella and Beau came through the open door of the nursery. Archie sat on a stoolby the hearth, his back against the fireplace, his cheek distended with tobacco, whittlingindustriously on a bit of wood. The contrast between the dirty, hairy old man and the four neat,fastidious ladies was as great as though he were a grizzled, vicious old watchdog and they foursmall kittens.   Melanie’s soft voice, tinged with indignation, went on and on as she told of the recent outburstof temperament on the part of the Lady Harpists. Unable to agree with the Gentlemen’s Glee Clubas to the program for their next recital, the ladies had waited on Melanie that afternoon andannounced their intention of withdrawing completely from the Musical Circle. It had taken all ofMelanie’s diplomacy to persuade them to defer their decision.   Scarlett, overwrought, could have screamed: “Oh, damn the Lady Harpists!” She wanted to talkabout her dreadful experience. She was bursting to relate it in detail, so she could ease her ownfright by frightening the others. She wanted to tell how brave she had been, just to assure herselfby the sound of her own words that she had, indeed, been brave. But every time she brought up thesubject, Melanie deftly steered the conversation into other and innocuous channels. This irritatedScarlett almost beyond endurance. They were as mean as Frank.   How could they be so calm and placid when she had just escaped so terrible a fate? Theyweren’t even displaying common courtesy in denying her the relief of talking about it.   The events of the afternoon had shaken her more than she cared to admit, even to herself. Everytime she thought of that malignant black face peering at her from the shadows of the twilight forestroad, she fell to trembling. When she thought of the black hand at her bosom and what would havehappened if Big Sam had not appeared, she bent her head lower and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.   The longer she sat silent in the peaceful room, trying to sew, listening to Melanie’s voice, thetighter her nerves stretched. She felt that at any moment she would actually hear them break withthe same pinging sound a banjo string makes when it snaps.   Archie’s whittling annoyed her and she frowned at him. Suddenly it seemed odd that he shouldbe sitting there occupying himself with a piece of wood. Usually he lay flat on the sofa, during theevenings when he was on guard, and slept and snored so violently that his long beard leaped intothe air with each rumbling breath. It was odder still that neither Melanie nor India hinted to himthat he should spread a paper on the floor to catch his litter of shavings. He had already made aperfect mess on the hearth rug but they did not seem to have noticed it.   While she watched him, Archie turned suddenly toward the fire and spat a stream of tobaccojuice on it with such vehemence that India, Melanie and Pitty leaped as though a bomb hadexploded.   “Need you expectorate so loudly?” cried India in a voice that cracked with nervous annoyance.   Scarlett looked at her in surprise for India was always so self-contained.   Archie gave her look for look.   “I reckon I do,” he answered coldly and spat again. Melanie gave a little frowning glance atIndia.   “I was always so glad dear Papa didn’t chew,” began Pitty, and Melanie, her frown creasingdeeper, swung on her and spoke sharper words than Scarlett had ever heard her speak.   “Oh, do hush, Auntie! You’re so tactless.”   “Oh, dear!” Pitty dropped her sewing in her lap and her mouth pressed up in hurt. “I declare, Idon’t know What ails you all tonight You and India are just as jumpy and cross as two old sticks.”   No one answered her. Melanie did not even apologize for her crossness but went back to hersewing with small violence.   “You’re taking stitches an inch long,” declared Pitty with some satisfaction. “You’ll have to takeevery one of them out. What’s the matter with you?”   But Melanie still did not answer.   Was there anything the matter with them, Scarlett wondered? Had she been too absorbed withher own fears to notice? Yes, despite Melanie’s attempts to make the evening appear like any oneof fifty they had all spent together, there was a difference due to their alarm and shock at what hadhappened that afternoon. Scarlett stole glances at her companions and intercepted a look from India.   It discomforted her because it was a long, measuring glance that carried in its cold depthssomething stronger than hate, something more insulting than contempt.   “As though she thought I was to blame for what happened,” Scarlett thought indignantly.   India turned from her to Archie and, all annoyance at him gone from her face, gave him a lookof veiled anxious inquiry. But he did not meet her eyes. He did however look at Scarlett, staring ather in the same cold hard way India had done.   Silence fell dully in the room as Melanie did not take up the conversation again and, in thesilence, Scarlett heard the rising wind outside. It suddenly began to be a most unpleasant evening.   Now she began to feel the tension in the air and she wondered if it had been present all during theevening—and she too upset to notice it. About Archie’s face there was an alert waiting look and histufted, hairy old ears seemed pricked up like a lynx’s. There was a severely repressed uneasinessabout Melanie and India that made them raise their heads from their sewing at each sound ofhooves in the road, at each groan of bare branches under the wailing wind, at each scuffing soundof dry leaves tumbling across the lawn. They started at each soft snap of burning logs on the hearthas if they were stealthy footsteps.   Something was wrong and Scarlett wondered what it was. Something was afoot and she did notknow about it. A glance at Aunt Pitty’s plump guileless face, screwed up in a pout, told her that theold lady was as ignorant as she. But Archie and Melanie and India knew. In the silence she couldalmost feel the thoughts of India and Melanie whirling as madly as squirrels in a cage. They knewsomething, were waiting for something, despite their efforts to make things appear as usual. And their inner unease communicated itself to Scarlett, making her more nervous than before. Handlingher needle awkwardly, she jabbed it into her thumb and with a little scream of pain and annoyancethat made them all jump, she squeezed it until a bright red drop appeared.   “I’m just too nervous to sew,” she declared, throwing her mending to the floor. “I’m nervousenough to scream. I want to go home and go to bed. And Frank knew it and he oughtn’t to havegone out. He talks, talks, talks about protecting women against darkies and Carpetbaggers andwhen the time comes for him to do some protecting, where is he? At home, taking care of me? No,indeed, he’s gallivanting around with a lot of other men who don’t do anything but talk and—”   Her snapping eyes came to rest on India’s face and she paused. India was breathing fast and herpale lashless eyes were fastened on Scarlett’s face with a deadly coldness.   “If it won’t pain you too much, India,” she broke off sarcastically, “I’d be much obliged if you’dtell me why you’ve been staring at me all evening. Has my face turned green or something?”   “It won’t pain me to tell you. I’ll do it with pleasure,” said India and her eyes glittered. “I hate tosee you underrate a fine man like Mr. Kennedy when, if you knew—”   “India!” said Melanie warningly, her hands clenching on her sewing.   “I think I know my husband better than you do,” said Scarlett, the prospect of a quarrel, the firstopen quarrel she had ever had with India, making her spirits rise and her nervousness depart.   Melanie’s eyes caught India’s and reluctantly India closed her lips. But almost instantly she spokeagain and her voice was cold with hate.   “You make me sick, Scarlett O’Hara, talking about being protected! You don’t care about beingprotected! If you did you’d never have exposed yourself as you have done all these months,prissing yourself about this town, showing yourself off to strange men, hoping they’ll admire you!   What happened to you this afternoon was just what you deserved and if there was any justiceyou’d have gotten worse.”   “Oh, India, hush!” cried Melanie.   “Let her talk,” cried Scarlett “I’m enjoying it. I always knew she hated me and she was toomuch of a hypocrite to admit it. If she thought anyone would admire her, she’d be walking thestreets naked from dawn till dark.”   India was on her feet her lean body quivering with insult.   “I do hate you,” she said in a clear but trembling voice. “But it hasn’t been hypocrisy that’s keptquiet It’s something you can’t understand, not possessing any—any common courtesy,com(me) mon good breeding. It’s the realization that if all of us don’t hang together and submerge ourown small hates, we can’t expect to beat the Yankees. But you—you—you’ve done all you couldto lower the prestige of decent people—working and bringing shame on a good husband, givingYankees and riffraff the right to laugh at us and make insulting remarks about our lack of gentility.   Yankees don’t know that you aren’t one of us and have never been. Yankees haven’t sense enoughto know that you haven’t any gentility. And when you’ve ridden about the woods exposingyourself to attack, you’ve exposed every well-behaved woman in town to attack by puttingtemptation in the ways of darkies and mean white trash. And you’ve put our men folks’ lives in danger because they’ve got to—”   “My God, India!” cried Melanie and even in her wrath, Scarlett was stunned to hear Melanietake the Lord’s name in vain. “You must hush! She doesn’t know and she—you must hush! Youpromised—”   “Oh, girls!” pleaded Miss Pittypat, her lips trembling.   “What don’t I know?” Scarlett was on her feet, furious, facing the coldly blazing India and theimploring Melanie.   “Guinea hens,” said Archie suddenly and his voice was contemptuous. Before anyone couldrebuke him, his grizzled head went up sharply and he rose swiftly. “Somebody comin’ up the walk.   ‘Tain’t Mr. Wilkes neither. Cease your cackle.”   There was male authority in his voice and the women stood suddenly silent anger fading swiftlyfrom their faces as he stumped across the room to the door.   “Who’s thar?” he questioned before the caller even knocked.   “Captain Butler. Let me in.”   Melanie was across the floor so swiftly that her hoops swayed up violently, revealing herpantalets to the knees, and before Archie could put his hand on the knob she flung the door open.   Rhett Butler stood in the doorway, his black slouch hat low over his eyes, the wild wind whippinghis cape about him in snapping folds. For once his good manners had deserted him. He neithertook off his hat nor spoke to the others in the room. He had eyes for no one but Melanie and hespoke abruptly without greeting.   “Where have they gone? Tell me quickly. It’s life or death.”   Scarlett and Pitty, startled and bewildered, looked at each other in wonderment and, like a leanold cat, India streaked across the room to Melanie’s side.   “Don’t tell him anything,” she cried swiftly. “He’s a spy, a Scalawag!”   Rhett did not even favor her with a glance.   “Quickly, Mrs. Wilkes! There may still be time.”   Melanie seemed in a paralysis of terror and only stared into his face.   “What on earth—” began Scarlett.   “Shet yore mouth,” directed Archie briefly. “You too, Miss Melly. Git the hell out of here, youdamned Scalawag.”   “No, Archie, no!” cried Melanie and she put a shaking hand on Rhett’s arm as though to protecthim from Archie. “What has happened? How did—how did you know?”   On Rhett’s dark face impatience fought with courtesy.   “Good God, Mrs. Wilkes, they’ve all been under suspicion since the beginning—only they’vebeen too clever—until tonight! How do I know? I was playing poker tonight with two drunkenYankee captains and they let it out. The Yankees knew there’d be trouble tonight and they’ve prepared for it. The fools have walked into a trap.”   For a moment it was as though Melanie swayed under the impact of a heavy blow and Rhett’sarm went around her waist to steady her.   “Don’t tell him! He’s trying to trap you!” cried India, glaring at Rhett. “Didn’t you hear him sayhe’d been with Yankee officers tonight?”   Still Rhett did not look at her. His eyes were bent insistently on Melanie’s white face.   “Tell me. Where did they go? Have they a meeting place?”   Despite her fear and incomprehension, Scarlett thought she had never seen a blanker, moreexpressionless face than Rhett’s but evidently Melanie saw something else, something that madeher give her trust. She straightened her small body away from the steadying arm and said quietlybut with a voice that shook:   “Out the Decatur road near Shantytown. They meet in the cellar of the old Sullivan plantation—the one that’s half-burned.”   “Thank you. I’ll ride fast. When the Yankees come here, none of you know anything.”   He was gone so swiftly, his black cape melting into the night, that they could hardly realize hehad been there at all until they heard the spattering of gravel and the mad pounding of a horsegoing off at full gallop.   “The Yankees coming here?” cried Pitty and, her small feet turning under her, she collapsed onthe sofa, too frightened for tears.   “What’s it all about? What did he mean? If you don’t tell me I’ll go crazy!” Scarlett laid handson Melanie and shook her violently as if by force she could shake an answer from her.   “Mean? It means you’ve probably been the cause of Ashley’s and Mr. Kennedy’s death!” Inspite of the agony of fear there was a note of triumph in India’s voice. “Stop shaking Melly. She’sgoing to faint.”   “No, I’m not,” whispered Melanie, clutching the back of a chair.   “My God, my God! I don’t understand! Kill Ashley? Please, somebody tell me—”   Archie’s voice, like a rusty hinge, cut through Scarlett’s words.   “Set down,” he ordered briefly. “Pick up yore sewin’. Sew like nothin’ had happened. For all weknow, the Yankees might have been spyin’ on this house since sundown. Set down, I say, and sew.”   Trembling they obeyed, even Pitty picking up a sock and holding it in shaking fingers while hereyes, wide as a frightened child’s went around the circle for an explanation.   “Where is Ashley? What has happened to him, Melly?” cried Scarlett.   “Where’s your husband? Aren’t you interested in him?” India’s pale eyes blazed with insanemalice as she crumpled and straightened the torn towel she had been mending.   “India, please!” Melanie had mastered her voice but her white, shaken face and tortured eyesshowed the strain under which she was laboring. “Scarlett, perhaps we should have told you but— but—you had been through so much this afternoon that we—that Frank didn’t think—and youwere always so outspoken against the Klan—”   “The Klan—”   At first, Scarlett spoke the word as if she had never heard it before and had no comprehension ofits meaning and then:   “The Klan!” she almost screamed it. “Ashley isn’t in the Klan! Frank can’t be! Oh, he promisedme!”   “Of course, Mr. Kennedy is in the Klan and Ashley, too, and all the men we know,” cried India.   “They are men, aren’t they? And white men and Southerners. You should have been proud of himinstead of making him sneak out as though it were something shameful and—”   “You all have known all along and I didn’t—”   “We were afraid it would upset you,” said Melanie sorrowfully.   “Then that’s where they go when they’re supposed to be at the political meetings? Oh, hepromised me! Now, the Yankees will come and take my mills and the store and put him in jail—oh,what did Rhett Butler mean?”   India’s eyes met Melanie’s in wild fear. Scarlett rose, flinging her sewing down.   “If you don’t tell me, I’m going downtown and find out. I’ll ask everybody I see until I find—”   “Set,” said Archie, fixing her with his eye. “I’ll tell you. Because you went gallivantin’ thisafternoon and got yore-self into trouble through yore own fault, Mr. Wilkes and Mr. Kennedy andthe other men are out tonight to kill that thar nigger and that thar white man, if they can catchthem, and wipe out that whole Shantytown settlement. And if what that Scalawag said is true, theYankees suspected sumpin’ or got wind somehow and they’ve sont out troops to lay for them. Andour men have walked into a trap. And if what Butler said warn’t true, then he’s a spy and he isgoin’ to turn them up to the Yankees and they’ll git kilt just the same. And if he does turn them up,then I’ll kill him, if it’s the last deed of m’ life. And if they ain’t kilt, then they’ll all have to lightout of here for Texas and lay low and maybe never come back. It’s all yore fault and thar’s bloodon yore hands.”   Anger wiped out the fear from Melanie’s face as she saw comprehension come slowly acrossScarlett’s face and then horror follow swiftly. She rose and put her hand on Scarlett’s shoulder.   “Another such word and you go out of this house, Archie,” she said sternly. “It’s not her faultShe only did—did what she felt she had to do. And our men did what they felt they had to do.   People must do what they must do. We don’t all think alike or act alike and it’s wrong to—to judgeothers by ourselves. How can you and India say such cruel things when her husband as well asmine may be—may be—”   “Hark!” interrupted Archie softly. “Set, Ma’m. Thar’s horses.”   Melanie sank into a chair, picked up one of Ashley’s shirts and, bowing her head over it,unconsciously began to tear the frills into small ribbons.   The sound of hooves grew louder as horses trotted up to the house. There was the jangling of bits and the strain of leather and the sound of voices. As the hooves stopped in front of the house,one voice rose above the others in a command and the listeners heard feet going through the sideyard toward the back porch. They felt that a thousand inimical eyes looked at them through theunshaded front window and the four women, with fear in their hearts, bent their heads and pliedtheir needles. Scarlett’s heart screamed in her breast: “I’ve killed Ashley! I’ve killed him!” And inthat wild moment she did not even think that she might have killed Frank too. She had no room inher mind for any picture save that of Ashley, lying at the feet of Yankee cavalrymen, his fair hairdappled with blood.   As the harsh rapid knocking sounded at the door, she looked at Melanie and saw come over thesmall, strained face a new expression, an expression as blank as she had just seen on Rhett Butler’sface, the bland blank look of a poker player bluffing a game with only two deuces.   “Archie, open the door,” she said quietly.   Slipping his knife into his boot top and loosening the pistol in his trouser band, Archie stumpedover to the door and flung it open. Pitty gave a little squeak, like a mouse who feels the trap snapdown, as she saw massed in the doorway, a Yankee captain and a squad of bluecoats. But theothers said nothing. Scarlett saw with the faintest feeling of relief that she knew this officer. Hewas Captain Tom Jaffery, one of Rhett’s friends. She had sold him lumber to build his house. Sheknew him to be a gentleman. Perhaps, as he was a gentleman, he wouldn’t drag them away toprison. He recognized her instantly and, taking off his hat, bowed, somewhat embarrassed.   “Good evening, Mrs. Kennedy. And which of you ladies is Mrs. Wilkes?”   “I am Mrs. Wilkes,” answered Melanie, rising and for all her smallness, dignity flowed from her.   “And to what do I owe this intrusion?”   The eyes of the captain flickered quickly about the room, resting for an instant on each face,passing quickly from their faces to the table and the hat rack as though looking for signs of maleoccupancy.   “I should like to speak to Mr. Wilkes and Mr. Kennedy, if you please.”   “They are not here,” said Melanie, a chill in her soft voice.   “Are you sure?”   “Don’t you question Miz Wilkes’ word,” said Archie, his beard bristling.   “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Wilkes. I meant no disrespect. If you give me your word, I will notsearch the house.”   “You have my word. But search if you like. They are at a meeting downtown at Mr. Kennedy’sstore.”   “They are not at the store. There was no meeting tonight,” answered the captain grimly. “Wewill wait outside until they return.”   He bowed briefly and went out, closing the door behind him. Those in the house heard a sharporder, muffled by the wind: “Surround the house. A man at each window and door.” There was atramping of feet. Scarlett checked a start of terror as she dimly saw bearded faces peering in the windows at them. Melanie sat down and with a hand that did not tremble reached for a book on thetable. It was a ragged copy of Les Miserables, that book which caught the fancy of the Confederatesoldiers. They had read it by campfire light and took some grim pleasure in calling it “Lee’sMiserables.” She opened it at the middle and began to read in a clear monotonous voice.   “Sew,” commanded Archie in a hoarse whisper and the three women, nerved by Melanie’s coolvoice, picked up their sewing and bowed their heads.   How long Melanie read beneath that circle of watching eyes, Scarlett never knew but it seemedhours. She did not even hear a word that Melanie read. Now she was beginning to think of Frankas well as Ashley. So this was the explanation of his apparent calm this evening! He had promisedher he would have nothing to do with the Klan. Oh, this was just the kind of trouble she had fearedwould come upon them! All the work of this last year would go for nothing. All her struggles andfears and labors in rain and cold had been wasted. And who would have thought that spiritless oldFrank would get himself mixed up in the hot-headed doings of the Klan? Even at this minute, hemight be dead. And if he wasn’t dead and the Yankees caught him, he’d be hanged. And Ashley,too!   Her nails dug, into her palms until four bright-red crescents showed. How could Melanie read onand on so calmly when Ashley was in danger of being hanged? When he might be dead? Butsomething in the cool soft voice reading the sorrows of Jean Valjean steadied her, kept her fromleaping to her feet and screaming.   Her mind fled back to the night Tony Fontaine had come to them, hunted, exhausted, withoutmoney. If he had not reached their house and received money and a fresh horse, he would havebeen hanged long since. If Frank and Ashley were not dead at this very minute, they were inTony’s position, only worse. With the house surrounded by soldiers they couldn’t come home andget money and clothes without being captured. And probably every house up and down the streethad a similar guard of Yankees, so they could not apply to friends for aid. Even now they might beriding wildly through the night, bound for Texas.   But Rhett—perhaps Rhett had reached them in time. Rhett always had plenty of cash in hispocket. Perhaps he would lend them enough to see them through. But that was queer. Why shouldRhett bother himself about Ashley’s safety? Certainly he disliked him, certainly he professed acontempt for him. Then why— But his riddle was swallowed up in a renewed fear for the safety ofAshley and Frank.   “Oh, it’s all my fault!” she wailed to herself. “India and Archie spoke the truth. It’s all my fault.   But I never thought either of them was foolish enough to join the Klan! And I never thoughtanything would really happen to me! But I couldn’t have done otherwise. Melly spoke the truth.   People have to do what they have to do. And I had to keep the mills going! I had to have money!   And now I’ll probably lose it all and somehow it’s all my fault!”   After a long time Melanie’s voice faltered, trailed off and was silent. She turned her head towardthe window and stared as though no Yankee soldier stared back from behind the glass. The othersraised their heads, caught by her listening pose, and they too listened.   There was a sound of horses’ feet and of singing, deadened by the closed windows and doors, borne away by the wind but still recognizable. It was the most hated and hateful of all songs, thesong about Sherman’s men “Marching through Georgia” and Rhett Butler was singing it.   Hardly had he finished the first lines when two other voices, drunken voices, assailed him,enraged foolish voices that stumbled over words and blurred them together. There was a quickcommand from Captain Jaffery on the front porch and the rapid tramp of feet. But even beforethese sounds arose, the ladies looked at one another stunned. For the drunken voices expostulatingwith Rhett were those of Ashley and Hugh Elsing.   Voices rose louder on the front walk, Captain Jaffery’s curt and questioning, Hugh’s shrill withfoolish laughter, Rhett’s deep and reckless and Ashley’s queer, unreal, shouting: “What the hell!   What the hell!”   “That can’t be Ashley!” thought Scarlett wildly. “He never gets drunk! And Rhett—why, whenRhett’s drunk he gets quieter and quieter—never loud like that!”   Melanie rose and, with her, Archie rose. They heard the captain’s sharp voice: “These two menare under arrest.” And Archie’s hand closed over his pistol butt.   “No,” whispered Melanie firmly. “No. Leave it to me.”   There was in her face the same look Scarlett had seen that day at Tara when Melanie had stoodat the top of the steps looking down at the dead Yankee, her weak wrist weighed down by theheavy saber—a gentle and timid soul nerved by circumstances to the caution and fury of a tigress.   She threw the front door open.   “Bring him in, Captain Butler,” she called in a clear tone that bit with venom. “I suppose you’vegotten him intoxicated again. Bring him in.”   From the dark windy walk, the Yankee captain spoke: “I’m sorry, Mrs. Wilkes, but your husbandand Mr. Elsing are under arrest.”   “Arrest? For what? For drunkenness? If everyone in Atlanta was arrested for drunkenness, thewhole Yankee garrison would be in jail continually. Well, bring him in, Captain Butler—that is, ifyou can walk yourself.”   Scarlett’s mind was not working quickly and for a brief moment nothing made sense. She knewneither Rhett nor Ashley was drunk and she knew Melanie knew they were not drunk. Yet here wasMelanie, usually so gentle and refined, screaming like a shrew and in front of Yankees too, thatboth of them were too drunk to walk.   There was a short mumbled argument, punctuated with curses, and uncertain feet ascended thestairs. In the doorway appeared Ashley, white faced, his head lolling, his bright hair tousled, hislong body wrapped from neck to knees in Rhett’s black cape. Hugh Elsing and Rhett, none toosteady on their feet, supported him on either side and it was obvious he would have fallen to thefloor but for their aid. Behind them came the Yankee captain, his face a study of mingled suspicionand amusement. He stood in the open doorway with his men peering curiously over his shouldersand the cold wind swept the house.   Scarlett, frightened, puzzled, glanced at Melanie and back to the sagging Ashley and then half-comprehension came to her. She started to cry out: “But he can’t be drunk!” and bit back the words. She realized she was witnessing a play, a desperate play on which lives hinged. She knewshe was not part of it nor was Aunt Pitty but the others were and they were tossing cues to oneanother like actors in an oft-rehearsed drama. She understood only half but she understood enoughto keep silent.   “Put him in the chair,” cried Melanie indignantly. “And you, Captain Butler, leave this houseimmediately! How dare you show your face here after getting him in this condition again!”   The two men eased Ashley into a rocker and Rhett, swaying, caught hold of the back of the chairto steady himself and addressed the captain with pain in his voice.   “That’s fine thanks I get, isn’t it? For keeping the police from getting him and bringing himhome and him yelling and trying to claw me!”   “And you, Hugh Elsing, I’m ashamed of you! What will your poor mother say? Drunk and outwith a—a Yankee-loving Scalawag like Captain Butler! And, oh, Mr. Wilkes, how could you dosuch a thing?”   “Melly, I ain’t so very drunk,” mumbled Ashley, and with the words fell forward and lay facedown on the table, his head buried in his arms.   “Archie, take him to his room and put him to bed—as usual,” ordered Melanie. “Aunt Pitty,please run and fix the bed and oo-oh,” she suddenly burst into tears. “Oh, how could he? After hepromised!”   Archie already had his arm under Ashley’s shoulder and Pitty, frightened and uncertain, was onher feet when the captain interposed.   “Don’t touch him. He’s under arrest. Sergeant!”   As the sergeant stepped into the room, his rifle at trail, Rhett, evidently trying to steady himself,put a hand on the captain’s arm and, with difficulty, focused his eyes.   “Tom, what you arresting him for? He ain’t so very drunk. I’ve seen him drunker.”   “Drunk be damned,” cried the captain. “He can lie in the gutter for all I care. I’m no policeman.   He and Mr. Elsing are under arrest for complicity in a Klan raid at Shantytown tonight. A niggerand a white man were killed. Mr. Wilkes was the ringleader in it.”   “Tonight?” Rhett began to laugh. He laughed so hard that he sat down on the sofa and put hishead in his hands. “Not tonight, Tom,” he said when he could speak. “These two have been withme tonight—ever since eight o’clock when they were supposed to be at the meeting.”   “With you, Rhett? But—” A frown came over the captain’s forehead and he looked uncertainlyat the snoring Ashley and his weeping wife. “But—where were you?”   “I don’t like to say,” and Rhett shot a look of drunken cunning at Melanie.   “You’d better say!”   “Le’s go out on the porch and I’ll tell you where we were.”   “You’ll tell me now.”   “Hate to say it in front of ladies. If you ladies’ll step out of the room—”   “I won’t go,” cried Melanie, dabbing angrily at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I have a right toknow. Where was my husband?”   “At Belle Watling’s sporting house,” said Rhett, looking abashed. “He was there and Hugh andFrank Kennedy and Dr. Meade and—and a whole lot of them. Had a party. Big party. Champagne.   Girls—”   “At—at Belle Watling’s?”   Melanie’s voice rose until it cracked with such pain that all eyes turned frightenedly to her. Herhand went clutching at her bosom and, before Archie could catch her, she had fainted. Then ahubbub ensued, Archie picking her up, India running to the kitchen for water, Pitty and Scarlettfanning her and slapping her wrists, while Hugh Elsing shouted over and over: “Now you’ve doneit! Now you’ve done it!”   “Now it’ll be all over town,” said Rhett savagely. “I hope you’re satisfied, Tom. There won’t bea wife in Atlanta who’ll speak to her husband tomorrow.”   “Rhett, I had no idea—” Though the chill wind was blowing through the open door on his back,the captain was perspiring. “Look here! You take an oath they were at—er—at Belle’s?”   “Hell, yes,” growled Rhett “Go ask Belle herself if you don’t believe me. Now, let me carryMrs. Wilkes to her room. Give her to me, Archie. Yes, I can carry her. Miss Pitty, go ahead with alamp.”   He took Melanie’s limp body from Archie’s arms with ease.   “You get Mr. Wilkes to bed, Archie. I don’t want to ever lay eyes or hands on him again afterthis night.”   Pitty’s hand trembled so that the lamp was a menace to the safety of the house but she held itand trotted ahead toward the dark bedroom. Archie, with a grunt, got an arm under Ashley andraised him.   “But—I’ve got to arrest these men!”   Rhett turned in the dim hallway.   “Arrest them in the morning then. They can’t run away in this condition—and I never knewbefore that it was illegal to get drunk in a sporting house. Good God, Tom, there are fifty witnessesto prove they were at Belle’s.”   “There are always fifty witnesses to prove a Southerner was somewhere he wasn’t,” said thecaptain morosely. “You come with me, Mr. Elsing. I’ll parole Mr. Wilkes on the word of—”   “I am Mr. Wilkes’ sister. I will answer for his appearance,” said India coldly. “Now, will youplease go? You’ve caused enough trouble for one night.”   “I regret it exceedingly.” The captain bowed awkwardly. “I only hope they can prove theirpresence at the—er—Miss—Mrs. Watling’s house. Will you tell your brother that he must appearbefore the provost marshal tomorrow morning for questioning?”   India bowed coldly and, putting her hand upon the door knob, intimated silently that his speedy retirement would be welcome. The captain and the sergeant backed out, Hugh Elsing with them,and she slammed the door behind them. Without even looking at Scarlett, she went swiftly to eachwindow and drew down the shade. Scarlett, her knees shaking, caught hold of the chair in whichAshley had been sitting to steady herself. Looking down at it, she saw that there was a dark moistspot, larger than her hand, on the cushion in the back of the chair. Puzzled, her hand went over itand, to her horror, a sticky red wetness appeared on her palm.   “India,” she whispered, “India, Ashley’s—he’s hurt.”   “You fool! Did you think he was really drunk?” India snapped down the last shade and startedon flying feet for the bedroom, with Scarlett close behind her, her heart in her throat. Rhett’s bigbody barred the doorway but, past his shoulder, Scarlett saw Ashley lying white and still on thebed. Melanie, strangely quick for one so recently in a faint, was rapidly cutting off his blood-soaked shirt with embroidery scissors. Archie held the lamp low over the bed to give light and oneof his gnarled fingers was on Ashley’s wrist.   “Is he dead?” cried both girls together.   “No, just fainted from loss of blood. It’s through his shoulder,” said Rhett.   “Why did you bring him here, you fool?” cried India, “Let me get to him! Let me pass! Why didyou bring him here to be arrested?”   “He was too weak to travel. There was nowhere else to bring him, Miss Wilkes. Besides—doyou want him to be an exile like Tony Fontaine? Do you want a dozen of your neighbors to live inTexas under assumed names for the rest of their lives? There’s a chance that we may get them alloff if Belle—”   “Let me pass!”   “No, Miss Wilkes. There’s work for you. You must go for a doctor— Not Dr. Meade. He’simplicated in this and is probably explaining to the Yankees at this very minute. Get some otherdoctor. Are you afraid to go out alone at night?”   “No,” said India, her pale eyes glittering. “I’m not afraid.” She caught up Melanie’s hooded capewhich was hanging on a book in the hall. “I’ll go for old Dr. Dean.” The excitement went out ofher voice as, with an effort, she forced calmness. “I’m sorry I called you a spy and a fool. I did notunderstand. I’m deeply grateful for what you’ve done for Ashley—but I despise you just thesame.”   “I appreciate frankness—and I thank you for it.” Rhett bowed and his lip curled down in anamused smile. “Now, go quickly and by back ways and when you return do not come in this houseif you see signs of soldiers about.”   India shot one more quick anguished look at Ashley, and, wrapping her cape about her, ranlightly down the hall to the back door and let herself out quietly into the night.   Scarlett, straining her eyes past Rhett, felt her heart beat again as she saw Ashley’s eyes open.   Melanie snatched a folded towel from the washstand rack and pressed it against his streamingshoulder and he smiled up weakly, reassuringly into her face. Scarlett felt Rhett’s hard penetratingeyes upon her, knew that her heart was plain upon her face, but she did not care. Ashley was bleeding, perhaps dying and she who loved him had torn that hole through his shoulder. Shewanted to run to the bed, sink down beside it and clasp him to her but her knees trembled so thatshe could not enter the room. Hand at her mouth, she stared while Melanie packed a fresh towelagainst his shoulder, pressing it hard as though she could force back the blood into his body. Butthe towel reddened as though by magic.   How could a man bleed so much and still live? But, thank God, there was no bubble of blood athis lips—oh, those frothy red bubbles, forerunners of death that she knew so well from thedreadful day of the battle at Peachtree Creek when the wounded had died on Aunt Pitty’s lawn withbloody mouths.   “Brace up,” said Rhett, and there was a hard, faintly jeering note in his voice. “He won’t die.   Now, go take the lamp and hold it for Mrs. Wilkes. I need Archie to run errands.”   Archie looked across the lamp at Rhett.   “I ain’t takin’ no orders from you,” he said briefly, shifting his wad of tobacco to the othercheek.   “You do what he says,” said Melanie sternly, “and do it quickly. Do everything Captain Butlersays. Scarlett, take the lamp.”   Scarlett went forward and took the lamp, holding it in both hands to keep from dropping it.   Ashley’s eyes had closed again. His bare chest heaved up slowly and sank quickly and the redstream seeped from between Melanie’s small frantic fingers. Dimly she heard Archie stump acrossthe room to Rhett and heard Rhett’s low rapid words. Her mind was so fixed upon Ashley that ofthe first half-whispered words of Rhett, she only heard: Take my horse ... tied outside ... ride likehell.”   Archie mumbled some question and Scarlett heard Rhett reply: “The old Sullivan plantation.   You’ll find the robes pushed up the biggest chimney. Burn them.”   “Um,” grunted Archie.   “And there’s two—men in the cellar. Pack them over the horse as best you can and take them tothat vacant lot behind Belle’s—the one between her house and the railroad tracks. Be careful. Ifanyone sees you, you’ll hang as well as the rest of us. Put them in that lot and put pistols near them—in their hands. Here—take mine.”   Scarlett, looking across the room, saw Rhett reach under his coat tails and produce two revolverswhich Archie took and shoved into his waist band.   “Fire one shot from each. It’s got to appear like a plain case of shooting. You understand?”   Archie nodded as if he understood perfectly and an unwilling gleam of respect shone in his coldeye. But understanding was far from Scarlett. The last half-hour had been so nightmarish that shefelt nothing would ever be plain and clear again. However, Rhett seemed in perfect command ofthe bewildering situation and that was a small comfort.   Archie turned to go and then swung about and his one eye went questioningly to Rhett’s face.   “Him?”   “Yes.”   Archie grunted and spat on the floor.   “Hell to pay,” he said as he stumped down the hall to the back door.   Something in the last low interchange of words made a new fear and suspicion rise up inScarlett’s breast like a chill ever-swelling bubble. When that bubble broke—“Where’s Frank?” she cried.   Rhett came swiftly across the room to the bed, his big body swinging as lightly and noiselesslyas a cat’s.   “All in good time,” he said and smiled briefly. “Steady that lamp, Scarlett. You don’t want toburn Mr. Wilkes up. Miss Melly—”   Melanie looked up like a good little soldier awaiting a command and so tense was the situation itdid not occur to her that for the first time Rhett was calling her familiarly by the name which onlyfamily and old friends used.   “I beg your pardon, I mean, Mrs. Wilkes. ...”   “Oh, Captain Butler, do not ask my pardon! I should feel honored if you called me ‘Melly’   without the Miss! I feel as though you were my—my brother or—or my cousin. How kind you areand how clever! How can I ever thank you enough?”   “Thank you,” said Rhett and for a moment he looked almost embarrassed. “I should neverpresume so far, but Miss Melly,” and his voice was apologetic, “I’m sorry I had to say that Mr.   Wilkes was in Belle Watling’s house. I’m sorry to have involved him and the others in such a—But I had to think fast when I rode away from here and that was the only plan that occurred to me.   I knew my word would be accepted because I have so many friends among the Yankee officers.   They do me the dubious honor of thinking me almost one of them because they know my—shallwe call it my ‘unpopularity’?—among my townsmen. And you see, I was playing poker in Belle’sbar earlier in the evening. There are a dozen Yankee soldiers who can testify to that. And Belle andher girls will gladly lie themselves black in the face and say Mr. Wilkes and the others were—upstairs all evening. And the Yankees will believe them. Yankees are queer that way. It won’t occurto them that women of—their profession are capable of intense loyalty or patriotism. The Yankeeswouldn’t take the word of a single nice Atlanta lady as to the whereabouts of the men who weresupposed to be at the meeting tonight but they will take the word of—fancy ladies. And I think thatbetween the word of honor of a Scalawag and a dozen fancy ladies, we may have a chance ofgetting the men off.”   There was a sardonic grin on his face at the last words but it faded as Melanie turned up to him aface that blazed with gratitude.   “Captain Butler, you are so smart! I wouldn’t have cared if you’d said they were in hell itselftonight, if it saves them! For I know and every one else who matters knows that my husband wasnever in a dreadful place like that!”   “Well—” began Rhett awkwardly, “as a matter of fact, he was at Belle’s tonight.”   Melanie drew herself up coldly.   “You can never make me believe such a lie!”   “Please, Miss Melly! Let me explain! When I got out to the old Sullivan place tonight, I foundMr. Wilkes wounded and with him were Hugh Elsing and Dr. Meade and old man Merriwether—”   “Not the old gentleman!” cried Scarlett.   “Men are never too old to be fools. And your Uncle Henry—”   “Oh, mercy!” cried Aunt Pitty.   “The others had scattered after the brush with the troops and the crowd that stuck together hadcome to the Sullivan place to hide their robes in the chimney and to see how badly Mr. Wilkes washurt. But for his wound, they’d be headed for Texas by now—all of them—but he couldn’t ride farand they wouldn’t leave him. It was necessary to prove that they had been somewhere instead ofwhere they had been, and so I took them by back ways to Belle Watling’s.”   “Oh—I see. I do beg your pardon for my rudeness, Captain Butler. I see now it was necessary totake them there but— Oh, Captain Butler, people must have seen you going in!”   “No one saw us. We went in through a private back entrance that opens on the railroad tracks.   It’s always dark and locked.”   “Then how—?”   “I have a key,” said Rhett laconically, and his eyes met Melanie’s evenly.   As the full impact of the meaning smote her, Melanie became so embarrassed that she fumbledwith the bandage until it slid off the wound entirely.   “I did not mean to pry—” she said in a muffled voice, her white face reddening, as she hastilypressed the towel back into place.   “I regret having to tell a lady such a thing.”   “Then it’s true!” thought Scarlett with an odd pang. Then he does live with that dreadful Watlingcreature! He does own her house!”   “I saw Belle and explained to her. We gave her a list of the men who were out tonight and sheand her girls will testify that they were all in her house tonight. Then to make our exit moreconspicuous, she called the two desperadoes who keep order at her place and had us draggeddownstairs, fighting, and through the barroom and thrown out into the street as brawling drunkswho were disturbing the place.”   He grinned reminiscently. “Dr. Meade did not make a very convincing drunk. It hurt his dignityto even be in such a place. But your Uncle Henry and old man Merriwether were excellent. Thestage lost two great actors when they did not take up the drama. They seemed to enjoy the affair.   I’m afraid your Uncle Henry has a black eye due to Mr. Merriwether’s zeal for his part. He—”   The back door swung open and India entered, followed by old Dr. Dean, his long white hairtumbled, his worn leather bag bulging under his cape. He nodded briefly but without words tothose present and quickly lifted the bandage from Ashley’s shoulder.   Too high for the lung,” he said. “If it hasn’t splintered his collar bone it’s not so serious. Get meplenty of towels, ladies, and cotton if you have it, and some brandy.”   Rhett took the lamp from Scarlett and set it on the table as Melanie and India sped about,obeying the doctor’s orders.   “You can’t do anything here. Come into the parlor by the fire.” He took her arm and propelledher from the room. There was a gentleness foreign to him in both hand and voice. “You’ve had arotten day, haven’t you?”   She allowed herself to be led into the front room and though she stood on the hearth rug in frontof the fire she began to shiver. The bubble of suspicion in her breast was swelling larger now. Itwas more than a suspicion. It was almost a certainty and a terrible certainty. She looked up intoRhett’s immobile face and for a moment she could not speak. Then:   “Was Frank at—Belle Watling’s?”   “No.”   Rhett’s voice was blunt.   “Archie’s carrying him to the vacant lot near Belle’s. He’s dead. Shot through the head.”   那天晚上,弗兰克把思嘉、皮蒂姑妈和孩子们安顿在媚兰家以后,就和艾希礼一起骑马出去了。思嘉几乎要大发雷霆伤心地落泪了。在这样的一天晚上,他怎么还要出去参加什么政治集会呢?政治集会!就在这天晚上,她刚在外面受了欺侮,而且当时说不定还会出什么事,他怎么能这么对待她呢?这个人可真自私自利,没心肝,当她哭着,敞着怀,萨姆把她抱进屋来时,他一直很平静,他这种态度简直能把人气疯了。她一面哭,一面诉说事情经过。他都始终没有着急,他只慢条斯里地问:“宝贝儿,你是伤着了----还是光是受了惊?”她当时又气又恼,说不出话来,萨姆就主动替她说只是受了点惊。   “他们没来得及再撕她的衣服,我就赶到了。"“萨姆,你是个好孩子,我会记住你的好处。要是我能帮你做点什么----"“是的,先生,您可以送我到塔拉去。越快越好!北方佬正在抓我呢。"弗兰克听他这么说,也是很平静,而且也没再问什么,弗兰克的表情很像他在托尼来敲门的那天晚上的表情,仿佛这应该是男人的事,而且处理起来越少说话,越不动感情越好。   “你去上车吧。我叫彼得今天晚上就送你,把你送到拉甫雷迪,你先在树林子躲一夜,明天一早坐火车去琼斯博罗,这样比较稳妥。……啊,宝贝,别哭了,事情已经过去了,也并没有伤着你。皮蒂姑妈,请把嗅盐拿来给我用用,好吗?嬷嬷,去给思嘉小姐倒杯酒来。“这时思嘉又大声哭起来,这一次是生气而哭的,她需要得到他的安慰,需要他表示愤怒,说要为她报仇,她甚至希望他对她发火,说早就告诉她会出这样的事----怎么都行,就别这样显得平静而无所谓的样子,认为她没有遇到什么大不了的危险,他虽然表示很关心,很体贴,可就像是心不在焉,好像还有什么事,比这重要得多。   原来这件重要的事就是参加一次小小的政治集会。   思嘉听到弗兰克让她换衣服,准备送她到媚兰家去待一晚上,她真不敢相信自己是不是听清楚了。他应该知道她今天碰上这样的事有多么痛苦,现在已经筋疲力尽了,而且神经受了刺激,极需躺在床上,盖上毯子,暖暖和和地休息休息,再来一块热砖头暖暖脚,来一杯热甜酒压压惊,怎么会有心思到媚兰家去待一晚上呢。弗兰克要是真爱她,在这样一天的晚上,无论有什么重要的事,他也不能离开她的身边呀。他应该在家里守在她身边,握住她的手,一遍又一遍地对她说,她要是真出一什么事,他也就活不成了,等他今天晚上回来,他们俩单独在一起的时候,一定要把这个想法告诉他。   每逢弗兰克和艾希礼一道外出,女眷们都聚集在媚兰的小客厅里做针线活儿,气氛总是很宁静的,今晚也不例外,屋里炉火熊熊,使人感到很温暖而愉快。桌上的灯发出幽静的黄色光芒,照在四个女人光亮的头发上,她们就在这盏灯下埋头做针线。四个人的裙子轻轻飘动,八只小巧的脚轻轻地搭在脚凳上,育儿室的门开着,可以听到从里面传出韦德、爱拉和小博的轻微的呼吸声。阿尔奇坐在壁炉前的一张凳子上,背对着炉火,满嘴的烟叶把腮帮子撑得鼓鼓的,他在那里认真地削一块木头,这个蓬头垢面的老头儿和四位梳妆整齐、衣着讲究的妇人在一起,形成了鲜明的对照,仿佛他是一只花白的凶猛的看门老狗,而她们则是四只温顺可爱的小猫。   媚兰用略带气愤的口气没完没了地轻声述说最近妇女竖琴乐队发火的事,在讨论下次音乐会出什么节目的问题上,妇女们竖琴乐队未能和男声合唱团取得一致意见,于是当天下午就找到媚兰,宣布她们全都要退出乐团。媚兰尽全力解说协调,才说服她们暂不实行这项决定。   思嘉的心情依然没有平静,听媚兰这样滔滔不绝地反复讲述,几乎忍不住大喊:“去他妈的妇女竖琴乐队!"她非常想详细谈一谈她自己的可怕经历,让大家分担一下她所受到的惊吓。她想告诉她们自己当时是多么勇敢,这样她就可以借自己的声音向自己证实自己当时的确是很勇敢的。可是每当地提起这个话题,媚兰就巧妙地扯到别的无聊的事情上去。   这使得思嘉大为不满,几乎到了难以忍受的地步。这些人怎么都和弗兰克一样坏呢!   她刚逃脱那么可怕一次遭遇,这些人怎么就这样坦然,这样无动于衷?如果让她说一说,她会感到好受些,可这些人连这样一个机会也不给她,真是太缺乏起码的礼貌。   这天下午发生的事对她震动太大了,虽然她不肯承认,连对自己也不肯承认这一点。她只要一想起黄昏时在树林附近的路上,一张凶恶的黑脸在暗处向她窥视,就吓得她浑身哆嗦,她一想起那只黑手在她胸口乱抓,要是萨姆不来,还要可能会发生什么事,她就把头垂得更低,把眼睛闭得紧紧的。   她坐在这平静的客厅里沉默不语,一面想尽力安心做针线,一面听着媚兰说话,可是越是这样,她的神经绷得越紧,她觉得她的神经紧张得随时都会像班卓琴的弦一样砰的一声绷断的。   阿尔奇在那里削木头,她也感到不舒服,对着他直皱眉头。突然她又觉得奇怪,他为什么要坐在那里削木头呢?往常他晚上守卫的时候,总是直挺挺在躺在大沙发上睡觉,鼾声震耳,每呼一口气都把他那长胡子吹起来。使她觉得更为奇怪的是无论是媚兰,还是英迪亚。谁也不提醒他在地上铺张纸,免得木屑掉得到处都是。他已经把炉前的地毯弄得满是木屑一塌糊涂,她们仿佛什么都没有看见。   她正看着阿尔奇,他突然一转身往火上吐了大口嚼烟叶的唾沫,声音之大,使得英迪亚、媚兰和皮蒂都跳了起来,好像方才响了一颗炸弹。   “至于这么大声儿吗?"英迪亚说。她因为又紧张,心情不愉快,声音都有些嘶哑了。思嘉看了看她,感到很奇怪,因为英迪亚一向是比较矜持的。   阿尔奇也两眼盯着她,不甘示弱。   “我看就是这样,"他顶了一句,又吐了一口。媚兰朝着英迪亚皱了皱眉。   “我就喜欢爸爸从来不嚼烟叶,"皮蒂姑妈开口说话了。媚兰眉头皱得更厉害了,她回过头来说皮蒂,思嘉还没听见她说过这么难听的话呢。   “唔,别说了,姑妈。你真不会说话。”   “哎哟!"皮蒂说着就把针线活儿往腿上一撂,嘴也撅了起来。"我可告诉你们,我不知道你们这些人今天晚上是犯了什么玻你和英迪亚还不如两根木头棍子好说话呢。"谁也没理睬她。媚兰并没有因为说话太冲而向她赔不是,只安安静静地继续做起针线来。   “你的针脚太大了,"皮蒂得意地说,"全得拆下来重做。   你是怎么了?”   媚兰一声不吭,不回答她。   她们出了什么事吗?思嘉感到很纳闷,她是不是光去想自己受惊吓而没注意?真的,虽然媚兰千方百计想使大家觉得今天晚上和过去一起度过的许多夜晚没什么两样。但气氛却与往常不同。这种紧张气氛不可能完全是由于下午的事情大家感到吃惊而引起的。思嘉偷偷地看另外几个人,碰巧英迪亚也在看她。她感到心里很不舒服,因为英迪亚长时间地打量她,冷酷的眼神包含的不是痛恨与鄙视,而是更强列的感情。   “看样子她认为我是罪魁祸首了。"思嘉愤怒地这样想。   英迪亚把视线又转到阿尔奇身上,刚才脸上那种不耐烦的神色已经一扫而光,用一种焦急询问的眼光望着他。但阿尔奇并不理会她。他倒是在看思嘉和英迪亚一样冷冰冰地看着她。   媚兰没有再说什么,屋里鸦雀无声,在沉寂中,思嘉听见外面起风了。她突然觉得这是一个很不愉快的夜晚,现在她开始感到气氛紧张,心想也许整个晚上气氛都是紧张的,只是自己过于烦恼,没有注意吧。阿尔奇的脸上显出一种警惕、等待的神色,他竖着两只毛茸茸的耳朵,像只老山猫一样,媚兰 Chapter 46 FEW FAMILIES in the north end of town slept that night for the news of the disaster to the Klan,and Rhett’s stratagem spread swiftly on silent feet as the shadowy form of India Wilkes slippedthrough back yards, whispered urgently through kitchen doors and slipped away into the windydarkness. And in her path, she left fear and desperate hope.   From without, houses looked black and silent and wrapped in sleep but, within, voiceswhispered vehemently into the dawn. Not only those involved in the night’s raid but every memberof the Klan was ready for flight and in almost every stable along Peachtree Street, horses stoodsaddled in the darkness, pistols in holsters and food in saddlebags. All that prevented a wholesaleexodus was India’s whispered message: “Captain Butler says not to run. The roads will bewatched. He has arranged with that Watling creature—” In dark rooms men whispered: “But whyshould I trust that damned Scalawag Butler? It may be a trap!” And women’s voices implored:   “Don’t go! If he saved Ashley and Hugh, he may save everybody. If India and Melanie trust him—” And they half trusted and stayed because there was no other course open to them.   Earlier in the night, the soldiers had knocked at a dozen doors and those who could not or wouldnot tell where they had been that night were marched off under arrest. René Picard and one of Mrs.   Merriwether’s nephews and the Simmons boys and Andy Bonnell were among those who spent thenight in jail. They had been in the ill-starred foray but had separated from the others after theshooting. Riding hard for home they were arrested before they learned of Rhett’s plan. Fortunatelythey all replied, to questions, that where they had been that night was their own business and notthat of any damned Yankees. They had been locked up for further questioning in the morning. Oldman Merriwether and Uncle Henry Hamilton declared shamelessly that they had spent the eveningat Belle Watling’s sporting house and when Captain Jaffery remarked irritably that they were too old for such goings on, they wanted to fight him.   Belle Watling herself answered Captain Jaffery’s summons, and before he could make knownhis mission she shouted that the house was closed for the night. A passel of quarrelsome drunkshad called in the early part of the evening and had fought one another, torn the place up, brokenher finest mirrors and so alarmed the young ladies that all business had been suspended for thenight. But if Captain Jaffery wanted a drink, the bar was still open—Captain Jaffery, acutely conscious of the grins of his men and feeling helplessly that he wasfighting a mist, declared angrily that he wanted neither the young ladies nor a drink and demandedif Belle knew the names of her destructive customers. Oh, yes, Belle knew them. They were herregulars. They came every Wednesday night and called themselves the Wednesday Democrats,though what they meant by that she neither knew or cared. And if they didn’t pay for the damageto the mirrors in the upper hall, she was going to have the law on them. She kept a respectablehouse and— Oh, their names? Belle unhesitatingly reeled off the names of twelve under suspicion,Captain Jaffery smiled sourly.   “These damned Rebels are as efficiently organized as our Secret Service,” he said. “You andyour girls will have to appear before the provost marshal tomorrow.”   “Will the provost make them pay for my mirrors?”   “To hell with your mirrors! Make Rhett Butler pay for them. He owns the place, doesn’t he?”   Before dawn, every ex-Confederate family in town knew everything. And their negroes, whohad been told nothing, knew everything too, by that black grapevine telegraph system which defieswhite understanding. Everyone knew the details of the raid, the killing of Frank Kennedy andcrippled Tommy Wellburn and how Ashley was wounded in carrying Frank’s body away.   Some of the feeling of bitter hatred the women bore Scarlett for her share in the tragedy wasmitigated by the knowledge that her husband was dead and she knew it and could not admit it andhave the poor comfort of claiming his body. Until morning light disclosed the bodies and theauthorities notified her, she must know nothing. Frank and Tommy, pistols in cold hands, laystiffening among the dead weeds in a vacant lot. And the Yankees would say they killed each otherin a common drunken brawl over a girl in Belle’s house. Sympathy ran high for Fanny, Tommy’swife, who had just had a baby, but no one could slip through the darkness to see her and comforther because a squad of Yankees surrounded the house, waiting for Tommy to return. And there wasanother squad about Aunt Pitty’s house, waiting for Frank.   Before dawn the news had trickled about that the military inquiry would take place that day. Thetownspeople, heavy eyed from sleeplessness and anxious waiting, knew that the safety of some oftheir most prominent citizens rested on three things—the ability of Ashley Wilkes to stand on hisfeet and appear before the military board, as though he suffered nothing more serious than amorning-after headache, the word of Belle Watling that these men had been in her house allevening and the word of Rhett Butler that he had been with them.   The town writhed at these last two! Belle Watling! To owe their men’s lives to her! It wasintolerable! Women who had ostentatiously crossed the street when they saw Belle coming,wondered if she remembered and trembled for fear she did. The men felt less humiliation at taking their lives from Belle than the women did, for many of them thought her a good sort. But theywere stung that they must owe lives and freedom to Rhett Butler, a speculator and a Scalawag.   Belle and Rhett, the town’s best-known fancy woman and the town’s most hated man. And theymust be under obligation to them.   Another thought that stung them to impotent wrath was the knowledge that the Yankees andCarpetbaggers would laugh. Oh, how they would laugh! Twelve of the town’s most prominentcitizens revealed as habitual frequenters of Belle Watling’s sporting house! Two of them killed in afight over a cheap little girl, others ejected from the place as too drunk to be tolerated even byBelle and some under arrest, refusing to admit they were there when everyone knew they werethere!   Atlanta was right in fearing that the Yankees would laugh. They had squirmed too long beneathSouthern coldness and contempt and now they exploded with hilarity. Officers woke comrades andretailed the news. Husbands roused wives at dawn and told them as much as could be decently toldto women. And the women, dressing hastily, knocked on their neighbors’ doors and spread thestory. The Yankee ladies were charmed with it all and laughed until tears ran down their faces. Thiswas Southern chivalry and gallantry for you! Maybe those women who carried their heads so highand snubbed all attempts at friendliness wouldn’t be so uppity, now that everyone knew wheretheir husbands spent their time when they were supposed to be at political meetings. Politicalmeetings! Well, that was funny!   But even as they laughed, they expressed regret for Scarlett and her tragedy. After all, Scarlettwas a lady and one of the few ladies in Atlanta who were nice to Yankees. She had already wontheir sympathy by the fact that she had to work because her husband couldn’t or wouldn’t supporther properly. Even though her husband was a sorry one, it was dreadful that the poor thing shoulddiscover he had been untrue to her. And it was doubly dreadful that his death should occursimultaneously with the discovery of his infidelity. After all, a poor husband was better than nohusband at all, and the Yankee ladies decided they’d be extra nice to Scarlett But the others, Mrs.   Meade, Mrs. Merriwether, Mrs. Elsing, Tommy Wellburn’s widow and most of all, Mrs. AshleyWilkes, they’d laugh in their faces every time they saw them. That would teach them a littlecourtesy.   Much of the whispering that went on in the dark rooms on the north side of town that night wason this same subject. Atlanta ladies vehemently told their husbands that they did not care a rapwhat the Yankees thought. But inwardly they felt that running an Indian gantlet would be infinitelypreferable to suffering the ordeal of Yankee grins and not being able to tell the truth about theirhusbands.   Dr. Meade, beside himself with outraged dignity at the position into which Rhett had jockeyedhim and the others, told Mrs. Meade that, but for the fact that it would implicate the others, hewould rather confess and be hanged than say he had been at Belle’s house.   “It is an insult to you, Mrs. Meade,” he fumed.   “But everyone will know you weren’t there for—for—”   “The Yankees won’t know. They’ll have to believe it if we save our necks. And they’ll laugh.   The very thought that anyone will believe it and laugh infuriates me. And it insults you because—my dear, I have always been faithful to you.”   “I know that,” and in the darkness Mrs. Meade smiled and slipped a thin hand into the doctor’s.   “But I’d rather it were really true than have one hair of your head in danger.”   “Mrs. Meade, do you know what you are saying?” cried the doctor, aghast at the unsuspectedrealism of his wife.”   “Yes, I know. I’ve lost Darcy and I’ve lost Phil and you are all I have and, rather than lose you,I’d have you take up your permanent abode at that place.”   “You are distrait! You cannot know what you are saying.”   “You old fool,” said Mrs. Meade tenderly and laid her head against his sleeve.   Dr. Meade fumed into silence and stroked her cheek and then exploded again. “And to be underobligation to that Butler man! Hanging would be easy compared to that. No, not even if I owe himmy life, can I be polite to him. His insolence is monumental and his shamelessness about hisprofiteering makes me boil. To owe my life to a man who never went in the army—”   “Melly said he enlisted after Atlanta fell.”   “It’s a lie. Miss Melly will believe any plausible scoundrel. And what I can’t understand is whyhe is doing all this—going to all this trouble. I hate to say it but—well, there’s always been talkabout him and Mrs. Kennedy. I’ve seen them coming in from rides together too often this last year.   He must have done it because of her.”   “If it was because of Scarlett, he wouldn’t have lifted his hand. He’d have been glad to seeFrank Kennedy hanged. I think it’s because of Melly—”   “Mrs. Meade, you can’t be insinuating that there’s ever been anything between those two!”   “Oh, don’t be silly! But she’s always been unaccountably fond of him ever since he tried to getAshley exchanged during the war. And I must say this for him, he never smiles in that nasty-niceway when he’s with her. He’s just as pleasant and thoughtful as can be—really a different man.   You can tell by the way he acts with Melly that he could be decent if he wanted to. Now, my ideaof why he’s doing all this is—” She paused. “Doctor, you won’t like my idea.”   “I don’t like anything about this whole affair!”   “Well, I think he did it partly for Melly’s sake but mostly because he thought it would be a hugejoke on us all. We’ve hated him so much and showed it so plainly and now he’s got us in a fixwhere all of you have your choice of saying you were at that Watling woman’s house and shamingyourself and wives before the Yankees—or telling the truth and getting hanged. And he knowswe’ll all be under obligation to him and his—mistress and that we’d almost rather be hanged thanbe obliged to them. Oh, I’ll wager he’s enjoying it.”   The doctor groaned. “He did look amused when he took us upstairs in that place.”   “Doctor,” Mrs. Meade hesitated, “what did it look like?”   “What are you saying, Mrs. Meade?”   “Her house. What did it look like? Are there cut-glass chandeliers? And red plush curtains anddozens of full-length gilt mirrors? And were the girls—were they unclothed?”   “Good God!” cried the doctor, thunderstruck, for it had never occurred to him that the curiosityof a chaste woman concerning her unchaste sisters was so devouring. “How can you ask suchimmodest questions? You are not yourself. I will mix you a sedative.”   “I don’t want a sedative. I want to know. Oh, dear, this is my only chance to know what a badhouse looks like and now you are mean enough not to tell me!”   “I noticed nothing. I assure you I was too embarrassed at finding myself in such a place to takenote of my surroundings,” said the doctor formally, more upset at this unsuspected revelation of hiswife’s character than he had been by all the previous events of the evening. “If you will excuse menow, I will try to get some sleep.”   “Well, go to sleep then,” she answered, disappointment in her tones. Then as the doctor leanedover to remove his boots, her voice spoke from the darkness with renewed cheerfulness. “I imagineDolly has gotten it all out of old man Merriwether and she can tell me about it.”   “Good Heavens, Mrs. Meade! Do you mean to tell me that nice women talk about such thingsamong them—”   “Oh, go to bed,” said Mrs. Meade.   It sleeted the next day, but as the wintry twilight drew on the icy particles stopped falling and acold wind blew. Wrapped in her cloak, Melanie went bewilderedly down her front walk behind astrange negro coachman, who had summoned her mysteriously to a closed carriage waiting in frontof the house. As she came up to the carriage the door was opened and she saw a woman in the dimulterior.   Leaning closer, peering inside, Melanie questioned: “Who is it? Won’t you come in the house?   It’s so cold—”   “Please come in here and set with me a minute, Miz Wilkes,” came a faintly familiar voice, anembarrassed voice from the depths of the carriage.   “Oh, you’re Miss—Mrs.—Watling!” cried Melanie. “I did so want to see you! You must comein the house.”   “I can’t do that, Miz Wilkes.” Belle Watling’s voice sounded scandalized. “You come in hereand set a minute with me.”   Melanie entered the carriage and the coachman closed the door behind her. She sat down besideBelle and reached for her hand.   “How can I ever thank you enough for what you did today! How can any of us thank youenough!”   “Miz Wilkes, you hadn’t ought of sent me that note this mornin’. Not that I wasn’t proud to havea note from you but the Yankees might of got it. And as for sayin’ you was goin’ to call on me tothank me—why, Miz Wilkes, you must of lost your mind! The very idea! I come up here as soon as ‘twas dark to tell you you mustn’t think of any sech thing. Why, I—why, you—it wouldn’t befittin’ at all.”   “It wouldn’t be fitting for me to call and thank a kind woman who saved my husband’s life?”   “Oh, shucks, Miz Wilkes! You know what I mean!”   Melanie was silent for a moment, embarrassed by the implication. Somehow this handsome,sedately dressed woman sitting in the darkness of the carriage didn’t look and talk as she imagineda bad woman, the Madam of a House, should look and talk. She sounded like—well, a littlecommon and countrified but nice and warm hearted.   “You were wonderful before the provost marshal today, Mrs. Watling! You and the other—your—the young ladies certainly saved our men’s lives.”   “Mr. Wilkes was the wonderful one. I don’t know how he even stood up and told his story, muchless look as cool as he done. He was sure bleedin’ like a pig when I seen him last night. Is he goin’   to be all right, Miz Wilkes?”   “Yes, thank you. The doctor says it’s just a flesh wound, though he did lose a tremendous lot ofblood. This morning he was—well, he was pretty well laced with brandy or he’d never have hadthe strength to go through with it all so well. But it was you, Mrs. Watling, who saved them. Whenyou got mad and talked about the broken mirrors you sounded so—so convincing.”   “Thank you, Ma’m. But I—I thought Captain Butler done mighty fine too,” said Belle, shy pridein her voice.   “Oh, he was wonderful!” cried Melanie warmly. “The Yankees couldn’t help but believe histestimony. He was so smart about the whole affair. I can never thank him enough—or you either!   How good and kind you are!”   “Thank you kindly, Miz Wilkes. It was a pleasure to do it I—I hope it ain’t goin’ to embarrassyou none, me sayin’ Mr. Wilkes come regular to my place. He never, you know—”   “Yes, I know. No, it doesn’t embarrass me at all. I’m just so grateful to you.”   “I’ll bet the other ladies ain’t grateful to me,” said Belle with sudden venom. “And I’ll bet theyain’t grateful to Captain Butler neither. I’ll bet they’ll hate him just this much more. I’ll bet you’llbe the only lady who even says thanks to me. I’ll bet they won’t even look me in the eye whenthey see me on the street. But I don’t care. I wouldn’t of minded if all their husbands got hung, ButI did mind about Mr. Wilkes. You see I ain’t forgot how nice you was to me durin’ the war, aboutthe money for the hospital. There ain’t never been a lady in this town nice to me like you was and Idon’t forget a kindness. And I thought about you bein’ left a widder with a little boy if Mr. Wilkesgot hung and—he’s a nice little boy, your boy is, Miz Wilkes. I got a boy myself and so I—”   “Oh, you have? Does he live—er—”   “Oh, no’m! He ain’t here in Atlanta. He ain’t never been here. He’s off at school. I ain’t seenhim since he was little. I—well, anyway, when Captain Butler wanted me to lie for those men Iwanted to know who the men was and when I heard Mr. Wilkes was one I never hesitated. I said tomy girls, I said, ‘I’ll whale the livin’ daylights out of you all if you don’t make a special point ofsayin’ you was with Mr. Wilkes all evenin’.”   “Oh!” said Melanie, still more embarrassed by Belle’s offhand reference to her “girls.” “Oh, thatwas—er—kind of you and—of them, too.”   “No more’n you deserve,” said Belle warmly. “But I wouldn’t of did it for just anybody. If it hadbeen that Miz Kennedy’s husband by hisself, I wouldn’t of lifted a finger, no matter what CaptainButler said.”   “Why?”   “Well, Miz Wilkes, people in my business knows a heap of things. It’d surprise and shock a heapof fine ladies if they had any notion how much we knows about them. And she ain’t no good, MizWilkes. She kilt her husband and that nice Wellburn boy, same as if she shot them. She caused itall, prancin’ about Atlanta by herself, enticin’ niggers and trash. Why, not one of my girls—”   “You must not say unkind things about my sister-in-law.” Melanie stiffened coldly.   Belle put an eager placating hand on Melanie’s arm and then hastily withdrew it.   “Don’t freeze me, please, Miz Wilkes. I couldn’t stand it after you been so kind and sweet to me.   I forgot how you liked her and I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry about poor Mr. Kennedy bein’   dead too. He was a nice man. I used to buy some of the stuff for my house from him and he alwaystreated me pleasant. But Miz Kennedy—well, she just ain’t in the same class with you, MizWilkes. She’s a mighty cold woman and I can’t help it if I think so. ... When are they goin’ to buryMr. Kennedy?”   “Tomorrow morning. And you are wrong about Mrs. Kennedy. Why, this very minute she’sprostrated with grief.”   “Maybe so,” said Belle with evident disbelief. “Well, I got to be goin’. I’m afraid somebodymight recognize this carriage if I stayed here longer and that wouldn’t do you no good. And, MizWilkes, if you ever see me on the street, you—you don’t have to speak to me. I’ll understand.”   “I shall be proud to speak to you. Proud to be under obligation to you. I hope—I hope we meetagain.”   “No,” said Belle. “That wouldn’t be fittin’. Good night.”   那天晚上,城北头没有几户人家睡过觉,因为三K党受打击和瑞德设计营救的消息很快就悄悄地传开了。英迪亚•威尔克斯的身影不时地溜进一家家的后院,急切地在厨房口小声谈一谈,就又消失在寒风劲吹的黑夜之中,她在走过的路上留下的是恐惧,是焦急的希望。   从外面看,每所房子都是黑黑的,静悄悄,人们已经都入睡了,但在房子里面,人们怀着激动的心情小声交谈,一直谈到天亮。不只是当开晚上参加袭击的人三K党的每个成员都准备出逃。在桃树街,几乎各家各户的马都备好了鞍,等在黑暗的马厩里,手枪都挂在了腰带上,食品装在口袋里,放到了马背上,之所以没有一起出发,就是因为英迪亚悄悄地传来了消息:“巴特勒船长说不要往外跑,路上有人监视,也有军队。他已经和沃特琳那家伙安排好了----"在屋子里,人们在暗中窃窃私语:“我为什么要相信那个该死的投靠北方佬的巴特勒呢?这可能又是个圈套!"可以听见女人恳求的声音:“还是不要走吧!既然他救了艾希礼和休,他就能救我们每一个人,要是英迪亚和媚兰信任他----"于是他们半信半疑地留了下来,因为没有别的出路可供他们选择。   在这之前,军队已经到十户人家去敲门查问,谁要是说不出或不肯说当天晚上他在什么地方,就把谁抓走。雷内•皮卡和梅里韦瑟太太的一个侄子、西蒙斯家的哥儿几个、安迪•邦内尔,还有另外一些人,都是在监狱里蹲了一夜,他们都参加了这次倒霉的袭击,但是一开火,他们就和其他人分开了。他们在往回跑的时候被抓住了,因此他们不知道瑞德的计划。幸亏他们在受审的时候都说那天晚上他们爱待在哪里就待在哪里,该死的北方佬管不着。当天晚上他们就被关起来了。等候第二天早上继续审问。梅里韦瑟爷爷和亨利•汉密尔顿叔叔直言不讳的地说他们一晚上都在贝尔•沃特琳的赌场里。贾弗里队长听了很生气,说他们干这样的事年纪太大,气得他们要揍他。   贝尔•沃特琳亲自回答了贾弗里队长询问。队长还没有开口说明来意,她就大声嚷嚷起来。她说今天晚上已经关门了。刚才来了一帮打架半殴的酒鬼,在这里打起来了,把这里弄得一塌糊涂,把她的几面极为精致的镜子打碎了。把姑娘们吓得魂飞魄散,今晚只好暂停营业。不过假如贾弗里队长想喝点什么,酒吧间还开着----贾弗里队长很清楚,他手下的人都在一旁看笑话,他自己又如堕在云里雾中,便声色俱厉地说我既不要年轻姑娘,也不要喝什么酒,只问贝尔知不知道伙胡闹的顾客叫什么名字。   贝尔当然是知道的。他们都是她这里的常客。他们每星期三晚上都来,自称是什么周三民主派,至于这是什么意思,她既不想知道,也不感兴趣。他们在楼上过道里打碎的镜子要是不赔,就要跟他们没完没了。她这可是个体面地方,而且----。至于他们的名字,贝尔一口气说出了12个人名字,都是被怀疑对象。贾弗里队长听了之后露出一脸的苦笑。   “这些该死的叛逆分子比我们的秘密警察组织得都好,"他说。"明天早晨你和你那些姑娘们都要到宪兵司令那里等候问话。"“宪兵司令会不会让他们赔我的镜子呀?"“别提你他妈的那些镜子了!去找瑞德•巴特勒。让他赔。   这个地方不是他的吗?”   天还没有亮,城里运去参加过南部联盟的管家各户就什么都知道了。他们家里用的黑人,虽然没有人告诉他们,也什么知道,他们靠的黑人地下网络,白人是弄不明白的。大家对各项细节都很清楚,比如,弗兰克•肯尼迪和瘸子托米•韦尔伯恩被打死了,艾希礼把弗兰克尸体弄走的时候受了伤,等等。   因为思嘉与这次悲惨事件有关,城里的妇女本来对她恨之入骨。后来知道她丈夫已经死了,她也听说了,但又不能承认,不能收尸,从而得不到一点安慰,大家也就不象以前那么恨她了,天亮以后,尸体被人发现,当局通知了她,但在此之前,她必须假装什么也不知道,弗兰克和托米,冰凉的手攥着手枪,躺在空地上的枯草丛里,身体慢慢僵硬了。北方佬会说他们为了争夺贝尔的一个姑娘,酒后斗殴,互相射击而死的,这种事是司空见惯的,大家对托米的妻子范妮深表同情,她刚生完孩子,可是谁也没有办法趁着黑夜去看看,并安慰安慰她,因为她家周围有一了队北方佬,守在那里等着抓托米。还有一队守在皮蒂姑妈的房子附近,等着抓弗克兰。   天还没有亮,消息就传遍了全城,说军事法庭当早上就要进行调查。城里的人都一夜没睡,又等着心焦,眼皮都非常沉重。他们知道,城里几位名人的安全全寄托在三件事上----第一,艾希礼•威尔克斯要能在军事委员会面前站出来,表现出只感到酒后头痛得厉害,并没有什么更严重的痛苦。第二,贝尔•沃特琳保证这些人整个晚上都是待在她那里。第三,瑞德•巴特勒保证他一直和他们在一起。   对于最后这两点,大家都惴惴不安。贝尔•沃特琳!怎么能把自己男人的性命寄托在她身上呢?真让人受不了!过去有些太太们在街上看见她走过来,就赶紧神气活现地过马路,躲开她以显示出自己的高傲。现在不知她是否还记得这样的事,要是她还记得,那才真叫人害怕。男人们对于把自己的性命寄托在贝尔身上,倒不像太太们那样感到难为情,因为他们之中有许多人认为贝尔这个人并不坏,使他们感到难受的是不得不把自己的性命和自由寄托在瑞德•巴特勒身上,他是一个投机商,又是一个投靠北方佬的人啊,一个贝尔,她是全城出名的浪荡女人,一个瑞德,他是全城最遭恨的人。怎么大家竟然要仰仗这样两个人呢?   还有一件事使得他们生闷气,他们知道北方佬和北方来的冒险家一定会耻笑他们。让那些人看笑话吧!全城12位最有名的公民现在全暴露了,原来都是贝尔•沃特琳赌场的常客!其中二人因为争夺一个下贱女子而开枪打死了。有的人也因为醉得一塌糊涂,连贝尔都忍受不了,把他们轰出来了,有几个人被逮捕了,因为明明大家都知道他们是在那里的,他们却不肯承认。   亚特兰大害怕北方佬会耻笑他们,是有道理的。许久以来,南方人对他们冷淡,鄙视,使他们感到很憋气,现在可以痛痛快快地大笑一阵了。军官们赶快把同事叫醒,把这件事向他们详详细细地述说一番。丈夫清早把太太叫醒,把能对女人说得出口的情节都告诉她们了。于是太太就赶紧穿好衣服,去敲邻居的门,向他们传播这个消息。北方佬的太太们一听这消息欣喜若狂,笑得满脸都是眼泪。你们南方人号称什么尊重女性,见义勇为,原来全都口事心非!那些女人过去两眼只往天上看,见人待答不理,现大就别那么势利眼了,谁不知道她们的丈夫说是去参加什么政治集会实际上却在这里穷泡,还说是政治集会呢!真可笑!   笑虽然笑了,她们还是对思嘉摊上这种悲惨的事而表示遗憾。不管怎么说,思嘉是个正派女人,在亚特兰大,有几个女人对北方佬还是不错的,她就是其中之一。她早就赢得了她们的同情,因为她丈夫不能或者说不愿好好地养活她,她非自己干活不可。虽然丈夫不好,可是又让可怜的思嘉发现他对她不忠,也实在太可怕了。还有,他死和发现他不忠这两件事同时发生,这就更加可怕。无论如何,有个不好的丈夫也比没有丈夫强啊,所以北方佬的太太们决定要对思嘉特别好。至于别的女人,米德太太,梅里韦瑟太太,埃尔辛太太,托米•韦尔伯恩的寡妇,尤其是艾希礼•威尔克斯太太,今后再见到她们,是要当面耻笑她们的。好让她们也懂得一点礼貌。   那天夜里,北城各家的漆黑的屋子里悄悄议论的大都是这个话题。太太们都激动地对丈夫说,北方佬怎么想,她们一点也不在意,但是在心里深处,她们觉得宁可挨印第安人的鞭子,也不愿忍受北方佬的耻笑,而且还不能说出自己丈夫的真实情况。   米德大夫因为瑞德硬把他和另外一些人推入这样的处境,冒犯了他的尊严,感到十分恼火,他对米德太太说,要不是怕牵连别人,他宁愿去自首,被他们绞死,也不愿意别人说他当时在贝尔那里。   “这是对你的侮辱啊,米德太太,"他气呼呼地说。   “反正大家都知道你并没在那里,因为----因为----"“北方佬就不知道。我们要想保住性命,就得让他们相信这是个事实。他们会耻笑。我一想到有人会信以为真,而且还要嘲笑,我就气得受不了,而且这也是对你是侮辱啊,因为----亲爱的,我对你一向是忠诚的。““这我知道,"米德太太在黑暗中微微一笑,把一只干瘦的手伸到大夫的手里。"但是我宁愿这都是真的,也不愿意让他们动你一根头发丝儿。"“米德太太,你知道你在胡说些什么吗?"米德大夫喊道,他对于妻子这样讲究实际,毫不怀疑,他感到非常惊讶。   “我当然知道,我失去了达西,我也失去了费尔,你是我唯一的亲人了。只要不失去你,你疯了!你胡说些什么"“你这个老傻瓜,"米德太太温柔地说,同时把头靠在他的袖子上。   米德大夫妻呼呼地沉默了一会儿,摸了摸太太的脸,接着又发作起来。"让我接受巴特勒那个人的恩惠!那还不如被纹死的好,即使是他救了我的命。我对他也不能以礼相待,他傲慢到了极点,又投机倒把,是个十足的无耻之徒,想起来我就有气。让我去感谢他救命之恩吗,他又没有打过仗----""媚兰说,亚特兰大失陷以后,他也参加了军队。"“那是骗人的。无论哪个花言巧语的流氓说的话,媚兰小姐都会相信的。我不明白他为什么要这么做----费这么大的事,我不想这么说,不过----唉,人们一直在议论他和肯尼迪太太的关系。我看见他们一起赶着马车回来,这一年多,次数可就太多了。他一定是为她才这么做的。"”如果是为了思嘉他就根本不会帮忙了。把弗兰克•肯尼迪绞死,他还不高兴吗?我想他是为了媚兰----"“米德太太,你的意思不是说她们两个人之间还有什么名堂吧!““你别胡扯!但自从他在战争期间设法把艾希礼交换回来,她就莫名其妙地喜欢他。我也为他说句公道话,他和她在一起的时候,可从来不露出他那一副奸笑。他总是尽量显得和蔼、体贴,完全是另外一个人。从他对媚兰的态度可以看出,是想做一个规矩人,他也是能做到的。我想他之所以这样做,是----"她没有说下去。"大夫,你也许不喜欢我这个想法。"“关于这件事,我什么都不喜欢!"“我觉得他这样做,一面方是为了媚兰,但是主要是因为他觉得这样可以跟我们开一个大玩笑。我们过去那么恨他,而且毫不隐瞒这一点,现在他给咱们出了这个难题,你们这几个人要么承认是在那个叫沃特琳的女人那里,这样就使你们和自己的妻子都在北方佬面前丢尽面子,要么就得说实话,让他们绞死,而且他还知道。我们都得感谢他和他的----姘头,可是我几乎是宁愿被绞死,也不愿意感谢他们给我们的好处。   唉,我敢打赌,他正在那边高兴呢。”   大夫叹了一口气。"他带我们上楼的时候,看样子,他的确觉得挺好玩。”“大夫,"米德太太迟疑了一下,接着说:“里头什么样子?"“你在说什么呀,米德太太?"“她那个地方,里边是什么样子?有雕花玻璃吊灯吗?有红色长毛绒窗帘和十几面镀金的大镜子吗?那些姑娘们----她们是都不穿衣裳吗?"大夫一听这话,大吃一惊,喊道:“我的天哪!"因为他从来没想到一个贞洁的女人对那些不贞洁的女人会有这么强烈的好奇心。"你怎么好意思问这样的问题?你发疯了吧!我得给你来一服镇静剂。"“我不要镇静剂。我只想知道,唉,亲爱的,我只有这一个机会了解一下坏女人那里是个什么样子,你真可恶,不告诉我!”“我什么也没看见,你听我说,我当时觉得,到这种地方来,实在太难为情,没顾上看周围是个什么样子,"大夫郑重其事的说。他从没有怀疑过妻子的品德,而现在有所暴露,使他感到这件事比那天晚上发生的所有的事都更为不安。"如果你允许的话,我要去睡一会儿。”“那你就去睡吧,"她回答说,从她的语气里听得出,她是很失望的。大夫弯腰脱鞋的时候,她又在黑暗中用愉快的声调说:“我想多丽一定会从梅里韦瑟爷爷那里都问出来了,她会告诉我的。"“天哪!米德太太,你是说正经女人之间也谈这种事?----"“睡你的觉去吧”米德太太说。   第二天,雨雪交加,冬季里天黑得早。黄昏时分,雨雪停下,刮起了大风,媚兰裹着斗篷,莫名其妙地跟着一个陌生的黑人顺着房前的小路往外走,这黑人是个马车夫,他来找媚兰,显得很神秘的样子,有一辆拉着窗帘的马车等在外边,媚兰走到马车跟前,车门开了,模模糊糊看见里面坐着一个妇人。   媚兰又往前凑了凑,仔细看了看里面,问:“你是谁呀?   屋里来好吗?外面这么冷----”   “请你上来陪我坐一会儿吧,威尔克斯太太,"马车里传出了一种羞愧的声音,这声音似乎有些耳熟。   “唔,这不是沃特琳----小姐----太太吗?"媚兰说。"我也正想见您呢!快进屋里去吧。"“不行啊,威尔克斯太太,"贝尔•沃特琳说。听她的声音,她有些吃惊。"还是请您上来陪我坐一会吧。"于是媚兰上了车,车夫随即把门关上,她在贝尔身旁坐下,就伸手去拉贝尔的手。   “为了今天的事,我都不知道怎样感谢您才好!我们大家都得好好地谢谢您啊!““威尔克斯太太,您今天早上不该派人去给我送那封信,我倒不是不愿意收到您的信,是怕万一它落到北方佬手里。至3211AE畗_上发生的所有的事于说您想登门去谢我----威尔克斯太太,您怎么糊涂了?怎么想出这个主意?天一黑我就赶紧来告诉您,您可千万别来,我呀----你呀----唉,这样做可太不合适了。”“一位好心的女人救了我丈夫的命,我去登门道谢,什么不合适。"“得了,威尔克斯太太!您还不明白吗!"媚兰沉默了一会儿,她已领会了这句话的意义,觉得有些不好意思。昏暗的马车里坐着的这个衣着扑素的漂亮女人,论仪表,论谈吐,都不大像她想像的坏女人,妓院鸨母的样子。她说话起来----虽然有些俗气,她却是个好心人,热心人。   “今天您在宪兵司令那里表现得真不错,沃特琳太太。您,还有那个----您的那些----年轻姑娘们,是你们救了我们各家男人的命。"“威尔克斯先生才真是表现得出色呢。我不知道他怎么能站得住,并且心平静平地说明情况。昨天晚上我看见他那血哗哗地流,他问题不大吧,威尔克斯太太?"“没什么问,谢谢您。大夫说只伤了点皮肉,血的确流了很多。今天早上,他----唉,他是全靠白兰地撑着呢,要不他也挺不了那么大工夫,不过还是您沃特琳太太救了我们的命。您发起疯来,让他们赔镜子的时候,听起来还真----真叫人信服呢。"“谢谢您,太太。不过我----我觉得巴特勒船长表现得也很不错,"贝尔说,声音里流露出得意的表情。   “啊,他好极了!"媚兰热情地说。"北方佬无法不相信他的证词。整个事情他都得处理得那么好。我真不知道怎么感谢他,怎么感谢您才好!你们可真是善良厚道的人啊!"“您太客气了,威尔克斯太太,这是很愉快的事,我----我希望我当时说威尔克斯先生经常到我这里来,没有使您感到难堪吧。您知道,他从来没有----"“这我知道。您这样说,没有使我感到难堪。我是一心感激您呢。"“我敢说其他几位太太可不感激我。"贝尔突然恶狠狠地说。"我敢说,她们也不感激巴特勒船长,我敢说,她们现在反倒更恨他了。我取说您会是唯一向我表示感谢的人。我敢说,她们要是在街上看到我,却不敢正眼看我。要是她们的丈夫全都被绞死,我也不管,可是威尔克斯先生,我不能不管。您知道,我根本没有忘记战争期间你们对我是多么好啊,替我拿钱交给了医院,全城没有谁家的太太像您对我这样好。   人家对我好,我是不会忘记的。我想到如果威尔克斯先生被绞死,您就成了寡妇,还带着一个孩子----您那孩子可是个好孩子,威尔克斯太太。我自己也有一个孩子,所以我----“"是吗?他住在----唔----"“不,他不在亚特兰大,他没到这里来过。从他很小的时候起,我就没再见过他。他在别处上学。我----唉,反正巴特勒船长让我为他作假证的时候,我就问他们都是谁,一听里面有威尔克斯先生,我就一点也不犹豫。我对丫头们说,'你们要是不想说威尔克斯先生一晚上都在这里,我就通通把你们宰了。'"“啊!"媚兰说。一听贝尔漫不经心地提到她那些"丫头",她就更觉得不好意思了。"唔,这件事----唔----多亏了您----也多亏了她们。"“这都是应该为您做的呀,"贝尔热情地说,"要是为了别人,我说什么都不干。要是光是肯尼迪太太的丈夫,无论巴特勒船长怎么说,我也不会出一点力的。““那是为什么?"“哎呀,威尔克斯太太,干我们这一行的,知道的事情可多了,许多人家的太太小姐要是知道我们对她们是多么了解,她们准会吓坏了。她可不是个好人。威尔克斯太太,她杀了自己的丈夫,还杀了韦尔伯恩那个小伙子,和她亲手开枪打死他们是没有两样的,都是她惹出来的,一个人在亚特兰大到乱跑,勾引那些黑人和无赖。我那些丫头就没有一个----""她是我的嫂子,你可不能这样说她的坏话,"媚兰正颜厉色说。   贝尔赶紧伸出手,搭在媚兰胳臂上,想让她不要生气,但急忙又缩了回来。   “请您别对我这么冷谈,威尔克斯太太,我真受不了啊,您刚才还对我那么和蔼可亲呢。我忘了您是那么喜欢她。我说了那样的话,感到很抱歉。可怜的肯尼迪先生死了,我也很难过。他是个好人。我常到他那里去买东西,他对我一向很客气。不过肯尼迪太太----唉,她和您可不一样,威尔克斯太太,她是一个冷酷无情的女人,我没法不这样想。……准备几时给肯尼迪先生出殡呀?"“明天早上。您那样说肯尼迪太太可是不对。此时此刻她已伤心到了极点。"“也许是这样吧,"贝尔说,她显然是很不相信。"哎呀。   我该走了。我要是再待下去,有人会认出这辆车的,那对您影响就不好了。还有,威尔克斯太太,您要是在街上碰见我,您----您不必跟我说话。我可以谅解您。"“跟您说话,我会觉得很光呀。得到您的帮助也是很光荣的。我希望----我希望我们以后再会。"“不,”贝尔说。"那样不合适。再见。” Chapter 47 SCARLETT SAT in her bedroom, picking at the supper tray Mammy had brought her, listeningto the wind hurling itself out of the night. The house was frighteningly still, quieter even than whenFrank had lain in the parlor just a few hours before. Then there had been tiptoeing feet and hushedvoices, muffled knocks on the door, neighbors rustling in to whisper sympathy and occasional sobsfrom Frank’s sister who had come up from Jonesboro for the funeral.   But now the house was cloaked in silence. Although her door was open she could hear nosounds from below stairs. Wade and the baby had been at Melanie’s since Frank’s body wasbrought home and she missed the sound of the boy’s feet and Ella’s gurgling. There was a truce inthe kitchen and no sound of quarreling from Peter, Mammy and Cookie floated up to her. EvenAunt Pitty, downstairs in the library, was not rocking her creaking chair in deference to Scarlett’s sorrow.   No one intruded upon her, believing that she wished to be left alone with her grief, but to be leftalone was the last thing Scarlett desired. Had it only been grief that companioned her, she couldhave borne it as she had borne other griefs. But, added to her stunned sense of loss at Frank’sdeath, were fear and remorse and the torment of a suddenly awakened conscience. For the firsttime in her life she regretting things she had done, regretting them with a sweeping superstitiousfearthatmad(was) e her cast sidelong glances at the bed upon which she had lain withFrank.   She had killed Frank. She had killed him just as surely as if it had been her finger that pulled thetrigger. He had begged her not to go about alone but she had not listened to him. And now he wasdead because of her obstinacy. God would punish her for that. But there lay upon her conscienceanother matter that was heavier and more frightening even than causing his death—a matter whichhad never troubled her until she looked upon his coffined face. There had been something helplessand pathetic in that still face which had accused her. God would punish her for marrying him whenhe really loved Suellen. She would have to cower at the seat of judgment and answer for that lieshe told him coming back from the Yankee camp in his buggy.   Useless for her to argue now that the end justified the means, that she was driven into trappinghim, that the fate of too many people hung on her for her to consider either his or Suellen’s rightsand happiness. The truth stood out boldly and she cowered away from it. She had married himcoldly and used him coldly. And she had made him unhappy during the last six months when shecould have made him very happy. God would punish her for not being nicer to him—punish herfor all her bullyings and proddings and storms of temper and cutting remarks, for alienating hisfriends and shaming him by operating the mills and building the saloon and leasing convicts.   She had made him very unhappy and she knew it, but he had borne it all like a gentleman. Theonly thing she had ever done that gave him any real happiness was to present him with Ella. Andshe knew if she could have kept from having Ella, Ella would never have been born.   She shivered, frightened, wishing Frank were alive, so she could be nice to him, so very nice tohim to make up for it all. Oh, if only God did not seem so furious and vengeful! Oh, if only theminutes did not go by so slowly and the house were not so still! If only she were not so alone!   If only Melanie were with her, Melanie could calm her fears. But Melanie was at home, nursingAshley. For a moment Scarlett thought of summoning Pittypat to stand between her and herconscience but she hesitated. Pitty would probably make matters worse, for she honestly mournedFrank. He had been more her contemporary than Scarlett’s and she had been devoted to him. Hehad filled to perfection Pitty’s need for “a man in the house,” for he brought her little presents andharmless gossip, jokes and stories, read the paper to her at night and explained topics of the day toher while she mended his socks. She had fussed over him and planned special dishes for him andcoddled him during his innumerable colds. Now she missed him acutely and repeated over andover as she dabbed at her red swollen eyes: “If only he hadn’t gone out with the Klan!”   If there were only someone who could comfort her, quiet her fears, explain to her just what werethese confused fears which made her heart sink with such cold sickness! If only Ashley—but sheshrank from the thought. She had almost killed Ashley, just as she had killed Frank. And if Ashley ever knew the real truth about how she lied to Frank to get him, knew how mean she had been toFrank, he could never love her any more. Ashley was so honorable, so truthful, so kind and he sawso straightly, so clearly. If he knew the whole truth, he would understand. Oh, yes, he wouldunderstand only too well! But he would never love her any more. So he must never know the truthbecause he must keep on loving her. How could she live if that secret source of her strength, hislove, were taken from her? But what a relief it would be to put her head on his shoulder and cryand unburden her guilty heart!   The still house with the sense of death heavy upon it pressed about her loneliness until she feltshe could not bear it unaided any longer. She arose cautiously, pushed her door half-closed andthen dug about in the bottom bureau drawer beneath her underwear. She produced Aunt Pitty’s“swoon bottle” of brandy which she had hidden there and held it up to the lamp. It was nearly half-empty. Surely she hadn’t drunk that much since last night! She poured a generous amount into herwater glass and gulped it down. She would have to put the bottle back in the cellaret beforemorning, filled to the top with water. Mammy had hunted for it, just before the funeral when thepallbearers wanted a drink, and already the air in the kitchen was electric with suspicion betweenMammy, Cookie and Peter.   The brandy burned with fiery pleasantness. There was nothing like it when you needed it. Infact, brandy was good almost any time, so much better than insipid wine. Why on earth should itbe proper for a woman to drink wine and not spirits? Mrs. Merriwether and Mrs. Meade hadsniffed her breath most obviously at the funeral and she had seen the triumphant look they hadexchanged. The old cats!   She poured another drink. It wouldn’t matter if she did get a little tipsy tonight for she was goingto bed soon and she could gargle cologne before Mammy came up to unlace her. She wished shecould get as completely and thoughtlessly drunk as Gerald used to get on Court Day. Then perhapsshe could forget Frank’s sunken face accusing her of ruining his life and then killing him.   She wondered if everyone in town thought she had killed him. Certainly the people at thefuneral had been cold to her. The only people who had put any warmth into their expressions ofsympathy were the wives of the Yankee officers with whom she did business. Well, she didn’t carewhat the town said about her. How unimportant that seemed beside what she would have to answerfor to God!   She took another drink at the thought, shuddering as the hot brandy went down her throat. Shefelt very warm now but still she couldn’t get the thought of Frank out of her mind. What fools menwere when they said liquor made people forget! Unless she drank herself into insensibility, she’dstill see Frank’s face as it had looked the last time he begged her not to drive alone, timid,reproachful, apologetic.   The knocker on the front door hammered with a dull sound that made the still house echo andshe heard Aunt Pitty’s waddling steps crossing the hall and the door opening. There was the soundof greeting and an indistinguishable murmur. Some neighbor calling to discuss the funeral or tobring a blanc mange. Pitty would like that. She had taken an important and melancholy pleasure intalking to the condolence callers.   She wondered incuriously who it was and, when a man’s voice, resonant and drawling, rose above Pitty’s funereal whispering, she knew. Gladness and relief flooded her. It was Rhett. She hadnot seen him since he broke the news of Frank’s death to her, and now she knew, deep in her heart,that he was the one person who could help her tonight.   “I think she’ll see me,” Rhett’s voice floated up to her.   “But she is lying down now, Captain Butler, and won’t see anyone. Poor child, she is quiteprostrated. She—”   “I think she will see me. Please tell her I am going away tomorrow and may be gone some time.   It’s very important.”   “But—” fluttered Aunt Pittypat.   Scarlett ran out into the hall, observing with some astonishment that her knees were a littleunsteady, and leaned over the banisters.   “I’ll be down terrectly, Rhett,” she called.   She had a glimpse of Aunt Pittypat’s plump upturned face, her eyes owlish with surprise anddisapproval. Now it’ll be all over town that I conducted myself most improperly on the day of myhusband’s funeral, thought Scarlett, as she hurried back to her room and began smoothing her hair.   She buttoned her black basque up to the chin and pinned down the collar with Pittypat’s mourningbrooch. I don’t look very pretty she thought, leaning toward the mirror, too white and scared. For amoment her hand went toward the lock box where she kept her rouge hidden but she decidedagainst it. Poor Pittypat would be upset in earnest if she came downstairs pink and blooming. Shepicked up the cologne bottle and took a large mouthful, carefully rinsed her mouth and then spitinto the slop jar.   She rustled down the stairs toward the two who still stood in the hall, for Pittypat had been tooupset by Scarlett’s action to ask Rhett to sit down. He was decorously clad in black, his linen frillyand starched, and his manner was all that custom demanded from an old friend paying a call ofsympathy on one bereaved. In fact, it was so perfect that it verged on the burlesque, thoughPittypat did not see it. He was properly apologetic for disturbing Scarlett and regretted that in hisrush of closing up business before leaving town he had been unable to be present at the funeral.   “Whatever possessed him to come?” wondered Scarlett. “He doesn’t mean a word he’s saying.”   “I hate to intrude on you at this time but I have a matter of business to discuss that will not wait.   Something that Mr. Kennedy and I were planning—”   “I didn’t know you and Mr. Kennedy had business dealings,” said Aunt Pittypat, almostindignant that some of Frank’s activities were unknown to her.   “Mr. Kennedy was a man of wide interests,” said Rhett respectfully. “Shall we go into theparlor?”   “No!” cried Scarlett, glancing at the closed folding doors. She could still see the coffin in thatroom. She hoped she never had to enter it again. Pitty, for once, took a hint, although with none toogood grace.   “Do use the library. I must—I must go upstairs and get out the mending. Dear me, I’ve neglected it so this last week. I declare—”   She went up the stairs with a backward look of reproach which was noticed by neither Scarlettnor Rhett. He stood aside to let her pass before him into the library.   “What business did you and Frank have?” she questioned abruptly.   He came closer and whispered. “None at all. I just wanted to get Miss Pitty out of the way.” Hepaused as he leaned over her. “It’s no good, Scarlett.”   “What?”   “The cologne.”   “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”   “I’m sure you do. You’ve been drinking pretty heavily.”   “Well, what if I have? Is it any of your business?”   “The soul of courtesy, even in the depths of sorrow. Don’t drink alone, Scarlett. People alwaysfind it out and it ruins the reputation. And besides, it’s a bad business, this drinking alone. What’sthe matter, honey?”   He led her to the rosewood sofa and she sat down in silence.   “May I close the doors?”   She knew if Mammy saw the closed doors she would be scandalized and would lecture andgrumble about it for days, but it would be still worse if Mammy should overhear this discussion ofdrinking, especially in light of the missing brandy bottle. She nodded and Rhett drew the slidingdoors together. When he came back and sat down beside her, his dark eyes alertly searching herface, the pall of death receded before the vitality he radiated and the room seemed pleasant andhome-like again, the lamps rosy and warm.   “What’s the matter, honey?”   No one in the world could say that foolish word of endearment as caressingly as Rhett, evenwhen he was joking, but he did not look as if he were joking now. She raised tormented eyes to hisface and somehow found comfort in the blank inscrutability she saw there. She did not know whythis should be, for he was such an unpredictable, callous person. Perhaps it was because, as he oftensaid, they were so much alike. Sometimes she thought that all the people she had ever knownwere strangers except Rhett.   “Can’t you tell me?” he took her hand, oddly gentle. “It’s more than old Frank leaving you? Doyou need money?”   “Money? God, no! Oh, Rhett, I’m so afraid.”   “Don’t be a goose, Scarlett, you’ve never been afraid in your life.”   “Oh, Rhett, I am afraid!”   The words bubbled up faster than she could speak them. She could tell him. She could tell Rhettanything. He’d been so bad himself that he wouldn’t sit in judgment on her. How wonderful to know someone who was bad and dishonorable and a cheat and a liar, when all the world was filledwith people who would not lie to save their souls and who would rather starve than do a dishonorabledeed!   “I’m afraid I’ll die and go to hell.”   If he laughed at her she would die, right then. But he did not laugh.   “You are pretty healthy—and maybe there isn’t any hell after all.”   “Oh, but there is, Rhett! You know there is!”   “I know there is but it’s right here on earth. Not after we die. There’s nothing after we die,Scarlett. You are having your hell now.”   “Oh, Rhett, that’s blasphemous!”   “But singularly comforting. Tell me, why are you going to hell?”   He was teasing now, she could see the glint in his eyes but she did not mind. His hands felt sowarm and strong, so comforting to cling to.   “Rhett, I oughtn’t to have married Frank. It was wrong. He was Suellen’s beau and he loved her,not me. But I lied to him and told him she was going to marry Tony Fontaine. Oh, how could Ihave done it?”   “Ah, so that was how it came about! I always wondered.”   “And then I made him so miserable. I made him do all sorts of things he didn’t want to do, likemaking people pay their bills when they really couldn’t afford to pay them. And it hurt him sowhen I ran the mills and built the saloon and leased convicts. He could hardly hold up his head forshame. And Rhett, I killed him. Yes, I did! I didn’t know he was in the Klan. I never dreamed hehad that much gumption. But I ought to have known. And I killed him.”   “ ‘Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?’ ”   “What?”   “No matter. Go on.”   “Go on? That’s all. Isn’t it enough? I married him, I made him unhappy and I killed him. Oh, myGod! I don’t see how I could have done it! I lied to him and I married him. It all seemed so rightwhen I did it but now I see how wrong it was. Rhett, it doesn’t seem like it was me who did allthese things. I was so mean to him but I’m not really mean. I wasn’t raised that way. Mother—”   She stopped and swallowed. She had avoided thinking of Ellen all day but she could no longer blotout her image.   “I often wondered what she was like. You seemed to me so like your father.”   “Mother was— Oh, Rhett, for the first time I’m glad she’s dead, so she can’t see me. She didn’traise me to be mean. She was so kind to everybody, so good. She’d rather I’d have starved thandone this. And I so wanted to be just like her in every way and I’m not like her one bit I hadn’tthought of that—there’s been so much else to think about—but I wanted to be like her. I didn’twant to be like Pa. I loved him but he was—so—so thoughtless. Rhett, sometimes I did try so hard to be nice to people and kind to Frank, but then the nightmare would come back and scare me sobad I’d want to rush out and just grab money away from people, whether it was mine or not.”   Tears were streaming unheeded down her face and she clutched his hand so hard that her nailsdug into his flesh.   “What nightmare?” His voice was calm and soothing.   “Oh—I forgot you didn’t know. Well, just when I would try to be nice to folks and tell myselfthat money wasn’t everything, I’d go to bed and dream that I was back at Tara right after Motherdied, right after the Yankees went through. Rhett, you can’t imagine— I get cold when I thinkabout it. I can see how everything is burned and so still and there’s nothing to eat. Oh, Rhett, in mydream I’m hungry again.”   “Go on.”   “I’m hungry and everybody, Pa and the girls and the darkies, are starving and they keep sayingover and over: ‘We’re hungry’ and I’m so empty it hurts, and so frightened. My mind keepssaying: ‘If I ever get out of this, I’ll never, never be hungry again’ and then the dream goes off intoa gray mist and I’m running, running in the mist, running so hard my heart’s about to burst andsomething is chasing me, and I can’t breathe but I keep thinking that if I can just get there, I’ll besafe. But I don’t know where I’m trying to get to. And then I’d wake up and I’d be cold with frightand so afraid that I’d be hungry again. When I wake up from that dream, it seems like there’s notenough money in the world to keep me from being afraid of being hungry again. And then Frankwould be so mealy mouthed and slow poky that he would make me mad and I’d lose my temper.   He didn’t understand, I guess, and I couldn’t make him understand. I kept thinking that I’d make itup to him some day when we had money and I wasn’t so afraid of being hungry. And now he’sdead and it’s too late. Oh, it seemed so right when I did it but it was all so wrong. If I had it to doover again, I’d do it so differently.”   “Hush,” he said, disentangling her frantic grip and pulling a clean handkerchief from his pocket.   “Wipe your face. There is no sense in your tearing yourself to pieces this way.”   She took the handkerchief and wiped her damp cheeks, a little relief stealing over her as if shehad shifted some of her burden to his broad shoulders. He looked so capable and calm and even theslight twist of his mouth was comforting as though it proved her agony and confusionunwarranted.   “Feel better now? Then let’s get to the bottom of this. You say if you had it to do over again,you’d do it differently. But would you? Think, now. Would you?”   “Well—”   “No, you’d do the same things again. Did you have any other choice?”   “No.”   “Then what are you sorry about?”   “I was so mean and now he’s dead.”   “And if he wasn’t dead, you’d still be mean. As I understand it, you are not really sorry for marrying Frank and bullying him and inadvertently causing his death. You are only sorry becauseyou are afraid of going to hell. Is that right?”   “Well—that sounds so mixed up.”   “Your ethics are considerably mixed up too. You are in the exact position of a thief who’s beencaught red handed and isn’t sorry he stole but is terribly, terribly sorry he’s going to jail.”   “A thief—”   “Oh, don’t be so literal! In other words if you didn’t have this silly idea that you were damned tohell fire eternal, you’d think you were well rid of Frank.”   “Oh, Rhett!”   “Oh, come! You are confessing and you might as well confess the truth as a decorous lie. Didyour—er—conscience bother you much when you offered to—shall we say—part with that jewelwhich is dearer than life for three hundred dollars?”   The brandy was spinning in her head now and she felt giddy and a little reckless. What was theuse in lying to him? He always seemed to read her mind.   “I really didn’t think about God much then—or hell. And when I did think—well, I justreckoned God would understand.”   “But you don’t credit God with understanding why you married Frank?”   “Rhett, how can you talk so about God when you know you don’t believe there is one?”   “But you believe in a God of Wrath and that’s what’s important at present. Why shouldn’t theLord understand? Are you sorry you still own Tara and there aren’t Carpetbaggers living there? Areyou sorry you aren’t hungry and ragged?”   “Oh, no!”   “Well, did you have any alternative except marrying Frank?”   “No.”   “He didn’t have to marry you, did he? Men are free agents. And he didn’t have to let you bullyhim into doing things he didn’t want to, did he?”   “Well—”   “Scarlett, why worry about it? If you had it to do over again you would be driven to the lie andhe to marrying you. You would still have run yourself into danger and he would have had toavenge you. If he had married Sister Sue, she might not have caused his death but she’d probablyhave made him twice as unhappy as you did. It couldn’t have happened differently.”   “But I could have been nicer to him.”   “You could have been—if you’d been somebody else. But you were born to bully anyone who’lllet you do it. The strong were made to bully and the weak to knuckle under. It’s all Frank’s faultfor not beating you with a buggy whip. ... I’m surprised at you, Scarlett, for sprouting a consciencethis late in life. Opportunists like you shouldn’t have them.”   “What is an oppor—what did you call it?”   “A person who takes advantage of opportunities.”   “Is that wrong?”   “It has always been held in disrepute—especially by those who had the same opportunities anddidn’t take them.”   “Oh, Rhett, you are joking and I thought you were going to be nice!”   “I am being nice—for me. Scarlett, darling, you are tipsy. That’s what’s the matter with you.”   “You dare—”   “Yes, I dare. You are on the verge of what is vulgarly called a ‘crying jag’ and so I shall changethe subject and cheer you up by telling you some news that will amuse you. In fact, that’s why Icame here this evening, to tell you my news before I went away.”   “Where are you going?”   “To England and I may be gone for months. Forget your conscience, Scarlett. I have no intentionof discussing your soul’s welfare any further. Don’t you want to hear my news?”   “But—” she began feebly and paused. Between the brandy which was smoothing out the harshcontours of remorse and Rhett’s mocking but comforting words, the pale specter of Frank wasreceding into shadows. Perhaps Rhett was right. Perhaps God did understand. She recoveredenough to push the idea from the top of her mind and decide: “I’ll think about it all tomorrow.”   “What’s your news?” she said with an effort, blowing her nose on his handkerchief and pushingback the hair that had begun to straggle.   “My news is this,” he answered, grinning down at her. “I still want you more than any womanI’ve ever seen and now that Frank’s gone, I thought you’d be interested to know it.”   Scarlett jerked her hands away from his grasp and sprang to her feet.   “I—you are the most ill-bred man in the world, coming here at this time of all times with yourfilthy—I should have known you’d never change. And Frank hardly cold! If you had any decency— Will you leave this—”   “Do be quiet or you’ll have Miss Pittypat down here in a minute,” he said, not rising butreaching up and taking both her fists. “I’m afraid you miss my point.”   “Miss your point? I don’t miss anything.” She pulled against his grip. “Turn me loose and getout of here. I never heard of such bad taste. I—”   “Hush,” he said. “I am asking you to marry me. Would you be convinced if I knelt down?”   She said “Oh” breathlessly and sat down hard on the sofa.   She stared at him, her mouth open, wondering if the brandy were playing tricks on her mind,remembering senselessly his jibing: “My dear, I’m not a marrying man.” She was drunk or he wascrazy. But he did not look crazy. He looked as calm as though he were discussing the weather, andhis smooth drawl fell on her ears with no particular emphasis.   “I always intended having you, Scarlett, since that first day I saw you at Twelve Oaks when youthrew that vase and swore and proved that you weren’t a lady. I always intended having you, oneway or another. But as you and Frank have made a little money, I know you’ll never be driven tome again with any interesting propositions of loans and collaterals. So I see I’ll have to marryyou.”   “Rhett Butler, is this one of your vile jokes?”   “I bare my soul and you are suspicious! No, Scarlett, this is a bona fide honorable declaration. Iadmit that it’s not in the best of taste, coming at this time, but I have a very good excuse for mylack of breeding. I’m going away tomorrow for a long time and I fear that if I wait till I returnyou’ll have married some one else with a little money. So I thought, why not me and my money?   Really, Scarlett, I can’t go all my life, waiting to catch you between husbands.”   He meant it. There was no doubt about it. Her mouth was dry as she assimilated this knowledgeand she swallowed and looked into his eyes, trying to find some clue. They were full of laughterbut there was something else, deep in them, which she had never seen before, a gleam that defiedanalysis. He sat easily, carelessly but she felt that he was watching her as alertly as a cat watches amouse hole. There was a sense of leashed power straining beneath his calm that made her drawback, a little frightened.   He was actually asking her to marry him; he was committing the incredible. Once she hadplanned how she would torment him should he ever propose. Once she had thought that if he everspoke those words she would humble him and make him feel her power and take a maliciouspleasure in doing it. Now, he had spoken and the plans did not even occur to her, for he was nomore in her power than he had ever been. In fact, he held the whip hand of the situation socompletely that she was as flustered as a girl at her first proposal and she could only blush andstammer.   “I—I shall never marry again.”   “Oh, yes, you will. You were born to be married. Why not me?”   “But Rhett, I—I don’t love you.”   “That should be no drawback. I don’t recall that love was prominent in your other twoventures.”   “Oh, how can you? You know I was fond of Frank!”   He said nothing.   “I was! I was!”   “Well, we won’t argue that. Will you think over my proposition while I’m gone?”   “Rhett, I don’t like for things to drag on. I’d rather tell you now. I’m going home to Tara soonand India Wilkes will stay with Aunt Pittypat. I want to go home for a long spell and—I—I don’tever want to get married again.”   “Nonsense. Why?”   “Oh, well—never mind why. I just don’t like being married.”   “But, my poor child, you’ve never really, been married. How can you know? I’ll admit you’vehad bad luck—once for spite and once for money. Did you ever think of marrying—just for the funof it?”   “Fun! Don’t talk like a fool. There’s no fun being married.”   “No? Why not?”   A measure of calm had returned and with it all the natural bluntness which brandy brought to thesurface.   “It’s fun for men—though God knows why. I never could understand it. But all a woman getsout of it is something to eat and a lot of work and having to put up with a man’s foolishness—and ababy every year.”   He laughed so loudly that the sound echoed in the stillness and Scarlett heard the kitchen dooropen.   “Hush! Mammy has ears like a lynx and it isn’t decent to laugh so soon after—hush laughing.   You know it’s true. Fun! Fiddle-dee-dee!”   “I said you’d had bad luck and what you’ve just said proves it. You’ve been married to a boyand to an old man. And into the bargain I’ll bet your mother told you that women must bear thesethings’ because of the compensating joys of motherhood. Well, that’s all wrong. Why not trymarrying a fine young man who has a bad reputation and a way with women? It’ll be fun.”   “You are coarse and conceited and I think this conversation has gone far enough. It’s—it’s quitevulgar.”   “And quite enjoyable, too, isn’t it? I’ll wager you never discussed the marital relation with aman before, even Charles or Frank.”   She scowled at him. Rhett knew too much. She wondered where he had learned all he knewabout women. It wasn’t decent“Don’t frown. Name the day, Scarlett. I’m not urging instant matrimony because of yourreputation. We’ll wait the decent interval. By the way, just how long is a ‘decent interval’?”   “I haven’t said I’d marry you. It isn’t decent to even talk of such things at such a time.”   “I’ve told you why I’m talking of them. I’m going away tomorrow and I’m too ardent a lover torestrain my passion any longer. But perhaps I’ve been too precipitate in my wooing.”   With a suddenness that startled her, he slid off the sofa onto his knees and with one hand placeddelicately over his heart, he recited rapidly:   “Forgive me for startling you with the impetuosity of my sentiments, my dear Scarlett—I mean,my dear Mrs. Kennedy. It cannot have escaped your notice that for some time past the friendship Ihave had in my heart for you has ripened into a deeper feeling, a feeling more beautiful, more pure,more sacred. Dare I name it you? Ah! It is love which makes me so bold!”   “Do get up,” she entreated. “You look such a fool and suppose Mammy should come in and seeyou?”   “She would be stunned and incredulous at the first signs of my gentility,” said Rhett, arisinglightly. “Come, Scarlett, you are no child, no schoolgirl to put me off with foolish excuses aboutdecency and so forth. Say you’ll marry me when I come back or, before God, I won’t go. I’ll stayaround here and play a guitar under your window every night and sing at the top of my voice andcompromise you, so you’ll have to marry me to save your reputation.”   “Rhett, do be sensible. I don’t want to marry anybody.”   “No? You aren’t telling me the real reason. It can’t be girlish timidity. What is it?”   Suddenly she thought of Ashley, saw him as vividly as though he stood beside her, sunny haired,drowsy eyed, full of dignity, so utterly different from Rhett. He was the real reason she did notwant to marry again, although she had no objections to Rhett and at times was genuinely fond ofhim. She belonged to Ashley, forever and ever. She had never belonged to Charles or Frank, couldnever really belong to Rhett. Every part of her, almost everything she had ever done, striven after,attained, belonged to Ashley, were done because she loved him. Ashley and Tara, she belonged tothem. The smiles, the laughter, the kisses she had given Charles and Frank were Ashley’s, eventhough he had never claimed them, would never claim them. Somewhere deep in her was thedesire to keep herself for him, although she knew he would never take her.   She did not know that her face had changed, that reverie had brought a softness to her facewhich Rhett had never seen before. He looked at the slanting green eyes, wide and misty, and thetender curve of her lips and for a moment his breath stopped. Then his mouth went down violentlyat one corner and he swore with passionate impatience.   “Scarlett O’Hara, you’re a fool!”   Before she could withdraw her mind from its far places, his arms were around her, as sure andhard as on the dark road to Tara, so long ago. She felt again the rush of helplessness, the sinkingyielding, the surging tide of warmth that left her limp. And the quiet face of Ashley Wilkes wasblurred and drowned to nothingness. He bent back her head across his arm and kissed her, softly atfirst, and then with a swift gradation of intensity that made her cling to him as the only solid thingin a dizzy swaying world. His insistent mouth was parting her shaking lips, sending wild tremorsalong her nerves, evoking from her sensations she had never known she was capable of feeling.   And before a swimming giddiness spun her round and round, she knew that she was kissing himback.   “Stop—please, I’m faint!” she whispered, trying to turn her head weakly from him. He pressedher head back hard against his shoulder and she had a dizzy glimpse of his face. His eyes werewide and blazing queerly and the tremor in his arms frightened her.   “I want to make you faint. I will make you faint. You’ve had this coming to you for years. Noneof the fools you’ve known have kissed you like this—have they? Your precious Charles or Frankor your stupid Ashley—”   “Please—”   “I said your stupid Ashley. Gentlemen all—what do they know about women? What did theyknow about you? I know you.”   His mouth was on hers again and she surrendered without a struggle, too weak even to turn herhead, without even the desire to turn it, her heart shaking her with its poundings, fear of hisstrength and her nerveless weakness sweeping her. What was he going to do? She would faint if hedid not stop. If he would only stop—if he would never stop.   “Say Yes!” His mouth was poised above hers and his eyes were so close that they seemedenormous, filling the world. “Say Yes, damn you, or—”   She whispered “Yes” before she even thought. It was almost as if he had willed the word andshe had spoken it without her own volition. But even as she spoke it, a sudden calm fell on herspirit, her head began to stop spinning and even the giddiness of the brandy was lessened. She hadpromised to marry him when she had had no intention of promising. She hardly knew how it hadall come about but she was not sorry. It now seemed very natural that she had said Yes—almost asif by divine intervention, a hand stronger than hers was about her affairs, settling her problems forher.   He drew a quick breath as she spoke and bent as if to kiss her again and her eyes closed and herhead fell back. But he drew back and she was faintly disappointed. It made her feel so strange to bekissed like this and yet there was something exciting about it.   He sat very still for a while holding her head against his shoulder and, as if by effort, thetrembling of his arms ceased. He moved away from her a little and looked down at her. She openedher eyes and saw that the frightening glow had gone from his face. But somehow she could notmeet his gaze and she dropped her eyes in a rush of tingling confusion.   When he spoke his voice was very calm.   “You meant it? You don’t want to take it back?”   “No.”   “It’s not just because I’ve—what is the phrase?—‘swept you off your feet’ by my—er—ardor?”   She could not answer for she did not know what to say, nor could she meet his eyes. He put ahand under her chin and lifted her face.   “I told you once that I could stand anything from you except a lie. And now I want the truth. Justwhy did you say Yes?”   Still the words would not come, but, a measure of poise returning, she kept her eyes demurelydown and tucked the corners of her mouth into a little smile.   “Look at me. Is it my money?”   “Why, Rhett! What a question!”   “Look up and don’t try to sweet talk me. I’m not Charles or Frank or any of the County boys tobe taken in by your fluttering lids. Is it my money?”   “Well—yes, a part.”   “A part?”   He did not seem annoyed. He drew a swift breath and with an effort wiped from his eyes the eagerness her words had brought, an eagerness which she was too confused to see.   “Well,” she floundered helplessly, “money does help, you know, Rhett, and God knows Frankdidn’t leave any too much. But then—well, Rhett, we do get on, you know. And you are the onlyman I ever saw who could stand the truth from a woman, and it would be nice having a husbandwho didn’t think me a silly fool and expect me to tell lies—and—well, I am fond of you.”   “Fond of me?”   “Well,” she said fretfully, “if I said I was madly in love with you, I’d be lying and what’s more,you’d know it.”   “Sometimes I think you carry your truth telling too far, my pet. Don’t you think, even if it was alie, that it would be appropriate for you to say ‘I love you, Rhett,’ even if you didn’t mean it?”   What was he driving at, she wondered, becoming more confused. He looked so queer, eager,hurt, mocking. He took his hands from her and shoved them deep in his trousers pockets and shesaw him ball his fists.   “If it costs me a husband, I’ll tell the truth,” she thought grimly, her blood up as always when hebaited her.   “Rhett, it would be a lie, and why should we go through all that foolishness? I’m fond of you,like I said. You know how it is. You told me once that you didn’t love me but that we had a lot incommon. Both rascals, was the way you—”   “Oh, God!” be whispered rapidly, turning his head away. “To be taken in my own trap!”   “What did you say?”   “Nothing,” and he looked at her and laughed, but it was not a pleasant laugh; “Name the day, mydear,” and he laughed again and bent and kissed her hands. She was relieved to see his mood passand good humor apparently return, so she smiled too.   He played with her hand for a moment and grinned up at her.   “Did you ever in your novel reading come across the old situation of the disinterested wifefalling in love with her own husband?”   “You know I don’t read novels,” she said and, trying to equal his jesting mood, went on:   “Besides, you once said it was the height of bad form for husbands and wives to love each other.”   “I once said too God damn many things,” he retorted abruptly and rose to his feet.   “Don’t swear.”   “You’ll have to get used to it and learn to swear too. You’ll have to get used to all my bad habits.   That’ll be part of the price of being—fond of me and getting your pretty paws on my money.”   “Well, don’t fly off the handle so, because I didn’t lie and make you feel conceited. You aren’t inlove with me, are you? Why should I be in love with you?”   “No, my dear, I’m not in love with you, no more than you are with me, and if I were, you wouldbe the last person I’d ever tell. God help the man who ever really loves you. You’d break his heart,my darling, cruel, destructive little cat who is so careless and confident she doesn’t even trouble to sheathe her claws.”   He jerked her to her feet and kissed her again, but this time his lips were different for he seemednot to care if he hurt her—seemed to want to hurt her, to insult her. His lips slid down to her throatand finally he pressed them against the taffeta over her breast, so hard and so long that his breathburnt to her skin. Her hands struggled up, pushing him away in outraged modesty.   “You mustn’t! How dare you!”   “Your heart’s going like a rabbit’s,” he said mockingly. “All too fast for mere fondness I wouldthink, if I were conceited. Smooth your ruffled feathers. You are just putting on these virginal airs.   Tell me what I shall bring you from England. A ring? What kind would you like?”   She wavered momentarily between interest in his last words and a feminine desire to prolong thescene with anger and indignation.   “Oh—a diamond ring—and Rhett, do buy a great big one.”   “So you can flaunt it before your poverty-stricken friends and say ‘See what I caught!’ Verywell, you shall have a big one, one so big that your less-fortunate friends can comfort themselvesby whispering that it’s really vulgar to wear such large stones.”   He abruptly started off across the room and she followed him, bewildered, to the closed doors.   “What is the matter? Where are you going?”   ‘To my rooms to finish packing.”   “Oh, but—”   “But, what?”   “Nothing. I hope you have a nice trip.”   “Thank you.”   He opened the door and walked into the hall. Scarlett trailed after him, somewhat at a loss, atrifle disappointed as at an unexpected anticlimax. He slipped on his coat and picked up his glovesand hat.   “I’ll write you. Let me know if you change your mind.”   “Aren’t you—”   “Well?” He seemed impatient to be off.   “Aren’t you going to kiss me good-by?” she whispered, mindful of the ears of the house.   “Don’t you think you’ve had enough kissing for one evening?” he retorted and grinned down ather. “To think of a modest, well-brought-up young woman— Well, I told you it would be fun,didn’t I?”   “Oh, you are impossible!” she cried in wrath, not caring if Mammy did hear. “And I don’t care ifyou never come back.”   She turned and flounced toward the stairs, expecting to feel his warm hand on her arm, stopping her. But he only pulled open the front door and a cold draft swept in.   “But I will come back,” he said and went out, leaving her on the bottom step looking at theclosed door.   The ring Rhett brought back from England was large indeed, so large it embarrassed Scarlett towear it. She loved gaudy and expensive jewelry but she had an uneasy feeling that everyone wassaying, with perfect truth, that this ring was vulgar. The central stone was a four-carat diamondand, surrounding it, were a number of emeralds. It reached to the knuckle of her finger and gaveher hand the appearance of being weighted down. Scarlett had a suspicion that Rhett had gone togreat pains to have the ring made up and, for pure meanness, had ordered it made as ostentatious aspossible.   Until Rhett was back in Atlanta and the ring on her finger she told no one, not even her family,of her intentions, and when she did announce her engagement a storm of bitter gossip broke out.   Since the Klan affair Rhett and Scarlett had been, with the exception of the Yankees andCarpetbaggers, the town’s most unpopular citizens. Everyone had disapproved of Scarlett since thefar-away day when she abandoned the weeds worn for Charlie Hamilton. Their disapproval hadgrown stronger because of her unwomanly conduct in the matter of the mills, her immodesty inshowing herself when she was pregnant and so many other things. But when she brought about thedeath of Frank and Tommy and jeopardized the lives of a dozen other men, their dislike flamedinto public condemnation.   As for Rhett, he had enjoyed the town’s hatred since his speculations during the war and he hadnot further endeared himself to his fellow citizens by his alliances with the Republicans since then.   But, oddly enough, the fact that he had saved the lives of some of Atlanta’s most prominent menwas what aroused the hottest hate of Atlanta’s ladies.   It was not that they regretted their men were still alive. It was that they bitterly resented owingthe men’s lives to such a man as Rhett and to such an embarrassing trick. For months they hadwrithed under Yankee laughter and scorn, and the ladies felt and said that if Rhett really had thegood of the Klan at heart he would have managed the affair in a more seemly fashion. They said hehad deliberately dragged in Belle Watling to put the nice people of the town in a disgracefulposition. And so he deserved neither thanks for rescuing the men nor forgiveness for his past sins.   These women, so swift to kindness, so tender to the sorrowing, so untiring in times of stress,could be as implacable as furies to any renegade who broke one small law of their unwritten code.   This code was simple. Reverence for the Confederacy, honor to the veterans; loyalty to old forms,pride in poverty, open hands to friends and undying hatred to Yankees. Between them, Scarlett andRhett had outraged every tenet of this code.   The men whose lives Rhett had saved attempted, out of decency and a sense of gratitude, tokeep their women silent but they had little success. Before the announcement of their comingmarriage, the two had been unpopular enough but people could still be polite to them in a formalway. Now even that cold courtesy was no longer possible. The news of their engagement came likean explosion, unexpected and shattering, rocking the town, and even the mildest-mannered womenspoke their minds heatedly. Marrying barely a year after Frank’s death and she had killed him! Andmarrying that Butler man who owned a brothel and who was in with the Yankees and Carpetbag gers in all kinds of thieving schemes! Separately the two of them could be endured, but the brazencombination of Scarlett and Rhett was too much to be borne. Common and vile, both of them!   They ought to be run out of town!   Atlanta might perhaps have been more tolerant toward the two if the news of their engagementhad not come at a time when Rhett’s Carpetbagger and Scalawag cronies were more odious in thesight of respectable citizens than they had ever been before. Public feeling against the Yankees andall their allies was at fever heat at the very time when the town learned of the engagement, for thelast citadel of Georgia’s resistance to Yankee rule had just fallen. The long campaign which hadbegun when Sherman moved southward from above Dalton, four years before, had finally reachedits climax, and the state’s humiliation was complete.   Three years of Reconstruction had passed and they had been three years of terrorism. Everyonehad thought that conditions were already as bad as they could ever be. But now Georgia wasdiscovering that Reconstruction at its worst had just begun.   For three years the Federal government had been trying to impose alien ideas and an alien ruleupon Georgia and, with an army to enforce its commands, it had largely succeeded. But only thepower of the military upheld the new regime. The state was under the Yankee rule but not by thestate’s consent. Georgia’s leaders had kept on battling for the state’s right to govern itselfaccording to its own ideas. They had continued resisting all efforts to force them to bow down andaccept the dictates of Washington as their own state law.   Officially, Georgia’s government had never capitulated but it had been a futile fight, an ever-losing fight. It was a fight that could not win but it had, at least, postponed the inevitable. Alreadymany other Southern states had illiterate negroes in high public office and legislatures dominatedby negroes and Carpetbaggers. But Georgia, by its stubborn resistance, had so far escaped thisfinal degradation. For the greater part of three years, the state’s capital had remained in the controlof white men and Democrats. With Yankee soldiers everywhere, the state officials could do littlebut protest and resist. Their power was nominal but they had at least been able to keep the stategovernment in the hands of native Georgians. Now even that last stronghold had fallen.   Just as Johnston and his men had been driven back step by step from Dalton to Atlanta, fouryears before, so had the Georgia Democrats been driven back little by little, from 1865 on. Thepower of the Federal government over the state’s affairs and the lives of its citizens had beensteadily made greater and greater. Force had been piled on top of force and military edicts inincreasing numbers had rendered the civil authority more and more impotent. Finally, with Georgiain the status of a military province, the polls had been ordered thrown open to the negroes, whetherthe state’s laws permitted it or not.   A week before Scarlett and Rhett announced their engagement, an election for governor hadbeen held. The Southern Democrats had General John B. Gordon, one of Georgia’s best loved andmost honored citizens, as their candidate. Opposing him was a Republican named Bullock. Theelection had lasted three days instead of one. Trainloads of negroes had been rushed from town totown, voting at every precinct along the way. Of course, Bullock had won.   If the capture of Georgia by Sherman had caused bitterness, the final capture of the state’scapitol by the Carpetbaggers, Yankees and negroes caused an intensity of bitterness such as the state had never known before. Atlanta and Georgia seethed and raged.   And Rhett Butler was a friend of the hated Bullock!   Scarlett, with her usual disregard of all matters not directly under her nose, had scarcely knownan election was being held. Rhett had taken no part in the election and his relations with theYankees were no different from what they had always been. But the fact remained that Rhett was aScalawag and a friend of Bullock. And, if the marriage went through, Scarlett also would beturning Scalawag. Atlanta was in no mood to be tolerant or charitable toward anyone in the enemycamp and, the news of the engagement coming when it did, the town remembered all of the evilthings about the pair and none of the good.   Scarlett knew the town was rocking but she did not realize the extent of public feeling until Mrs.   Merriwether, urged on by her church circle, took it upon herself to speak to her for her own good.   “Because your own dear mother is dead and Miss Pitty, not being a matron, is not qualified to—er, well, to talk to you-upon such a subject, I feel that I must warn you, Scarlett, Captain Butler isnot the kind of a man for any woman of good family to marry. He is a—”   “He managed to save Grandpa Merriwether’s neck and your nephew’s, too.”   Mrs. Merriwether swelled. Hardly an hour before she had had an irritating talk with Grandpa.   The old man had remarked that she must not value his hide very much if she did not feel somegratitude to Rhett Butler, even if the man was a Scalawag and a scoundrel.   “He only did that as a dirty trick on us all, Scarlett, to embarrass us in front of the Yankees,”   Mrs. Merriwether continued. “You know as well as I do that the man is a rogue. He always hasbeen and now he’s unspeakable. He is simply not the kind of man decent people receive.”   “No? That’s strange, Mrs. Merriwether. He was in your parlor often enough during the war. Andhe gave Maybelle her white satin wedding dress, didn’t he? Or is my memory wrong?”   Things are so different during the war and nice people associated with many men who were notquite— It was all for the Cause and very proper, too. Surely you can’t be thinking of marrying aman who wasn’t in the army, who jeered at men who did enlist?”   “He was, too, in the army. He was in the army eight months. He was in the last campaign andfought at Franklin and was with General Johnston when he surrendered.”   “I had not heard that,” said Mrs. Merriwether and she looked as if she did not believe it either.   “But he wasn’t wounded,” she added, triumphantly.   “Lots of men weren’t.”   “Everybody who was anybody got wounded. I know no one who wasn’t wounded.”   Scarlett was goaded.   “Then I guess all the men you knew were such fools they didn’t know when to come in out of ashower of rain—or of minie balls. Now, let me tell you this, Mrs. Merriwether, and you can take itback to your busybody friends. I’m going to marry Captain Butler and I wouldn’t care if he’dfought on the Yankee side.”   When that worthy matron went out of the house with her bonnet jerking with rage, Scarlett knewshe had an open enemy now instead of a disapproving friend. But she did not care. Nothing Mrs.   Merriwether could say or do could hurt her. She did not care what anyone said—anyone exceptMammy.   Scarlett had borne with Pitty’s swooning at the news and had steeled herself to see Ashley looksuddenly old and avoid her eyes as he wished her happiness. She had been amused and irritated atthe letters from Aunt Pauline and Aunt Eulalie in Charleston, horror struck at the news, forbiddingthe marriage, telling her it would not only ruin her social position but endanger theirs. She hadeven laughed when Melanie with a worried pucker in her brows said loyally: “Of course, CaptainButler is much nicer than most people realize and he was so kind and clever, the way he savedAshley. And after all, he did fight for the Confederacy. But, Scarlett, don’t you think you’d betternot decide so hastily?”   No, she didn’t mind what anybody said, except Mammy. Mammy’s words were the ones thatmade her most angry and brought the greatest hurt“Ah has seed you do a heap of things dat would hu’t Miss Ellen, did she know. An’ it has donesorrered me a plen’y. But disyere is de wust yit. Mahyin’ trash! Yas’m, Ah said trash! Doan gotellin’ me he come frum fine folkses. Dat doan mek no diffunce. Trash come outer de high places,same as de low, and he trash! Yas’m, Miss Scarlett, Ah’s seed you tek Mist’ Charles ‘way frumMiss Honey w’en you din’ keer nuthin’ ‘bout him. An’ Ah’s seed you rob yo own sister of Mist’   Frank. An’ Ah’s heshed mah mouf ‘bout a heap of things you is done, lak sellin’ po’ lumber fergood, an’ lyin’ ‘bout de other lumber gempmums, an’ ridin’ roun’ by yo’seff, exposin’ yo’seff terfree issue niggers an’ gettin’ Mist’ Frank shot, an’ not feedin’ dem po’ convicts nuff ter keep deysouls in dey bodies. Ah’s done heshed mah mouf, even ef Miss Ellen in de Promise Lan’ wuzsayin’ ‘Mammy, Mammy! You ain’ look affer mah chile right!’ Yas’m. Ah’s stood fer all dat but Ahain’ gwine stand fer dis, Miss Scarlett. You kain mahy wid trash. Not w’ile Ah got breaf in mahbody.”   “I shall marry whom I please,” said Scarlett coldly. “I think you are forgetting your place,Mammy.”   “An’ high time, too! Ef Ah doan say dese wuds ter you, who gwine ter do it?”   “I’ve been thinking the matter over, Mammy, and I’ve decided that the best thing for you to dois to go back to Tara. I’ll give you some money and—”   Mammy drew herself up with all her dignity.   “Ah is free, Miss Scarlett. You kain sen’ me nowhar Ah doan wanter go. An’ w’en Ah goes backter Tara, it’s gwine be w’en you goes wid me. Ah ain’ gwine leave Miss Ellen’s chile, an’ dar ain’   no way in de worl’ ter mek me go. An’ Ah ain’ gwine leave Miss Ellen’s gran’chillun fer no trashystep-pa ter bring up, needer. Hyah Ah is and hyah Ah stays!”   “I will not have you staying in my house and being rude to Captain Butler. I am going to marryhim and there’s no more to be said.”   “Dar is plen’y mo’ ter be said,” retorted Mammy slowly and into her blurred old eyes there camethe light of battle.   “But Ah ain’ never thought ter say it ter none of Miss Ellen’s blood. But, Miss Scarlett, lissen terme. You ain’ nuthin’ but a mule in hawse harness. You kin polish a mule’s feet an’ shine his hidean’ put brass all over his harness an’ hitch him ter a fine cah’ige. But he a mule jes’ de same. Hedoan fool nobody. An’ you is jes’ de same. You got silk dresses an’ de mills an’ de sto’ an’ demoney, an’ you give yo’seff airs lak a fine hawse, but you a mule jes’ de same. An’ you ain’ foolin’   nobody, needer. An’ dat Butler man, he come of good stock and he all slicked up lak a race hawse,but he a mule in hawse harness, jes’ lak you.”   Mammy bent a piercing look on her mistress. Scarlett was speechless and quivering with insult.   “Ef you say you gwine mahy him, you gwine do it, ‘cause you is bullhaided lak yo’ pa. But‘member dis, Miss Scarlett, Ah ain’ leavin’ you. Ah gwine stay right hyah an’ see dis ting thoo.”   Without waiting for a reply, Mammy turned and left Scarlett and if she had said: “Thou shalt seeme at Philippi!” her tones would not have been more ominous.   While they were honeymooning in New Orleans Scarlett told Rhett of Mammy’s words. To hersurprise and indignation he laughed at Mammy’s statement about mules in horse harness.   “I have never heard a profound truth expressed so succinctly,” he said. “Mammy’s a smart oldsoul and one of the few people I know whose respect and good will I’d like to have. But, being amule, I suppose I’ll never get either from her. She even refused the ten-dollar gold piece which I,in my groomlike fervor, wished to present her after the wedding. I’ve seen so few people who didnot melt at the sight of cash. But she looked me in the eye and thanked me and said she wasn’t afree issue nigger and didn’t need my money.”   “Why should she take on so? Why should everybody gabble about me like a bunch of guineahens? It’s my own affair whom I marry and how often I marry. I’ve always minded my ownbusiness. Why don’t other people mind theirs?”   “My pet, the world can forgive practically anything except people who mind their own business.   But why should you squall like a scalded cat? You’ve said often enough that you didn’t mind whatpeople said about you. Why not prove it? You know you’ve laid yourself open to criticism so oftenin small matters, you can’t expect to escape gossip in this large matter. You knew there’d be talk ifyou married a villain like me. If I were a low-bred poverty-stricken villain, people wouldn’t be somad. But a rich, flourishing villain—of course, that’s unforgivable.”   “I wish you’d, be serious sometimes!”   “I am serious. It’s always annoying Chapter 48 SHE DID HAVE FUN, more fun than she had had since the spring before the war. New Orleanswas such a strange, glamorous place and Scarlett enjoyed it with the headlong pleasure of apardoned life prisoner. The Carpetbaggers were looting the town, many honest folk were drivenfrom their homes and did not know where to look for their next meal, and a negro sat in thelieutenant governor’s chair. But the New Orleans Rhett showed her was the gayest place she hadever seen. The people she met seemed to have all the money they wanted and no cares at all. Rhettintroduced her to dozens of women, pretty women in bright gowns, women who had soft handsthat showed no signs of hard work, women who laughed at everything and never talked of stupidserious things or hard times. And the men she met—how thrilling they were! And how differentfrom Atlanta men—and how they fought to dance with her, and paid her the most extravagantcompliments as though she were a young belle.   These men had the same hard reckless look Rhett wore. Their eyes were always alert, like menwho have lived too long with danger to be ever quite careless. They seemed to have no pasts orfutures, and they politely discouraged Scarlett when, to make conversation, she asked what orwhere they were before they came to New Orleans. That, in itself, was strange, for in Atlanta everyrespectable newcomer hastened to present his credentials, to tell proudly of his home and family, totrace the tortuous mazes of relationship that stretched over the entire South.   But these men were a taciturn lot, picking their words carefully. Sometimes when Rhett wasalone with them and Scarlett in the next room, she heard laughter and caught fragments ofconversation that meant nothing to her, scraps of words, puzzling names—Cuba and Nassau in theblockade days, the gold rush and claim jumping, gun running and filibustering, Nicaragua andWilliam Walker and how he died against a wall at Truxillo. Once her sudden entrance abruptlyterminated a conversation about what had happened to the members of Quantrill’s band of guerillas,and she caught the names of Frank and Jesse James.   But they were all well mannered, beautifully tailored, and they evidently admired her, so itmattered little to Scarlett that they chose to live utterly in the present. What really mattered wasthat they were Rhett’s friends and had large houses and fine carriages, and they took her and Rhettdriving, invited them to suppers, gave parties in their honor. And Scarlett liked them very well.   Rhett was amused when she told him so.   “I thought you would,” he said and laughed.   “Why not?” her suspicions aroused as always by his laughter.   “They’re all second-raters, black sheep, rascals. They’re all adventurers or Carpetbag aristocrats.   They all made their money speculating in food like your loving husband or out of dubiousgovernment contracts or in shady ways that won’t bear investigation.”   “I don’t believe it You’re teasing. They’re the nicest people ...”   “The nicest people in town are starving,” said Rhett. “And living politely in hovels, and I doubtif I’d be received in those hovels. You see, my dear, I was engaged in some of my nefariousschemes here during the war and these people have devilish long memories! Scarlett, you are aconstant joy to me. You unerringly manage to pick the wrong people and the wrong things.”   “But they are your friends!”   “Oh, but I like rascals. My early youth was spent as a gambler on a river boat and I canunderstand people like that. But I’m not blind to what they are. Whereas you”— he laughed again—“you have no instinct about people, no discrimination between the cheap and the great. Sometimes,I think that the only great ladies you’ve ever associated with were your mother and MissMelly and neither seems to have made any impression on you.”   “Melly! Why she’s as plain as an old shoe and her clothes always look tacky and she never hastwo words to say for herself!”   “Spare me your jealousy, Madam. Beauty doesn’t make a lady, nor clothes a great lady!”   “Oh, don’t they! Just you wait, Rhett Butler, and I’ll show you. Now that I’ve—we’ve gotmoney, I’m going to be the greatest lady you ever saw!”   “I shall wait with interest,” he said.   More exciting than the people she met were the frocks Rhett bought her, superintending thechoice of colors, materials and designs himself. Hoops were out now, and the new styles werecharming with the skirts pulled back from the front and draped over bustles, and on the bustleswere wreaths of Sowers and bows and cascades of lace. She thought of the modest hoops of thewar years and she felt a little embarrassed at these new skirts which undeniably outlined herabdomen. And the darling little bonnets that were not really bonnets at all, but flat little affairsworn over one eye and laden with fruits and flowers, dancing plumes and fluttering ribbons! (Ifonly Rhett had not been so silly and burned the false curls she bought to augment her knot ofIndian-straight hair that peeked from the rear of these little hats!) And the delicate convent-madeunderwear! How lovely it was and how many sets she had! Chemises and nightgowns andpetticoats of the finest linen trimmed with dainty embroidery and infinitesimal tucks. And the satinslippers Rhett bought her! They had heels three inches high and huge glittering paste buckles onthem. And silk stockings, a dozen pairs and not a one had cotton tops! What riches!   She recklessly bought gifts for the family. A furry St. Bernard puppy for Wade, who had alwayslonged for one, a Persian kitten for Beau, a coral bracelet for little Ella, a heavy necklace withmoonstone pendants for Aunt Pitty, a complete set of Shakespeare for Melanie and Ashley, anelaborate livery for Uncle Peter, including a high silk coachman’s hat with a brush upon it, dresslengths for Dilcey and Cookie, expensive gifts for everyone at Tara.   “But what have you bought for Mammy?” questioned Rhett, looking over the pile of gifts spreadout on the bed in their hotel room, and removing the puppy and kitten to the dressing room.   “Not a thing. She was hateful. Why should I bring her a present when she called us mules?”   “Why should you so resent hearing the truth, my pet? You must bring Mammy a present Itwould break her heart if you didn’t—and hearts like hers are too valuable to be broken.”   “I won’t take her a thing. She doesn’t deserve it.”   Then I’ll buy her one. I remember my mammy always said that when she went to Heaven shewanted a taffeta petticoat so stiff that it would stand by itself and so rustly that the Lord God wouldthink it was made of angels’ wings. I’ll buy Mammy some red taffeta and have an elegant petticoatmade.”   “She won’t take it from you. She’d die rather than wear it.”   “I don’t doubt it But I’ll make the gesture just the same.”   The shops of New Orleans were so rich and exciting and shopping with Rhett was an adventure.   Dining with him was an adventure too, and one more thrilling than shopping, for he knew what toorder and how it should be cooked. The wines and liqueurs and champagnes of New Orleans werenew and exhilarating to her, acquainted with only homemade blackberry and scuppernong vintagesand Aunt Pitty’s “swoon” brandy; but oh, the food Rhett ordered! Best of all things in New Orleanswas the food. Remembering the bitter hungry days at Tara and her more recent penury, Scarlett feltthat she could never eat enough of these rich dishes. Gumboes and shrimp Creole, doves in wineand oysters in crumbly patties full of creamy sauce, mushrooms and sweetbreads and turkey livers,fish baked cunningly in oiled paper and limes. Her appetite never dulled, for whenever sheremembered the everlasting goobers and dried peas and sweet potatoes at Tara, she felt an urge togorge herself anew of Creole dishes.   “You eat as though each meal were your last,” said Rhett. “Don’t scrape the plate, Scarlett. I’msure there’s more in the kitchen. You have only to ask the waiter. If you don’t stop being such aglutton, you’ll be as fat as the Cuban ladies and then I shall divorce you.”   But she only put out her tongue at him and ordered another pastry, thick with chocolate andstuffed with meringue.   What fun it was to be able to spend as much money as you liked and not count pennies and feelthat you should save them to pay taxes or buy mules. What fun to be with people who were gayand rich and not genteelly poor like Atlanta people. What fun to wear rustling brocade dresses thatshowed your waist and all your neck and arms and more than a little of your breast and know thatmen were admiring you. And what fun to eat all you wanted without having censorious people sayyou weren’t ladylike. And what fun to drink all the champagne you pleased. The first time shedrank too much, she was embarrassed when she awoke the next-morning with a splitting headacheand an awful memory of singing “Bonnie Blue Flag” all the way back to the hotel, through thestreets of New Orleans, in an open carriage. She had never seen a lady even tipsy, and the onlydrunken woman she had ever seen had been that Watling creature on the day when Atlanta fell. Shehardly knew how to face Rhett, so great was her humiliation, but the affair seemed only to amusehim. Everything she did seemed to amuse him, as though she were a gamboling kitten.   It was exciting to go out with him for he was so handsome. Somehow she had never given hislooks a thought before, and in Atlanta everyone had been too preoccupied with his shortcomings ever to talk about his appearance. But here in New Orleans she could see how the eyes of otherwomen followed him and how they fluttered when he bent over their hands. The realization thatother women were attracted by her husband, and perhaps envied her, made her suddenly proud tobe seen by his side.   “Why, we’re a handsome people,” thought Scarlett with pleasure.   Yes, as Rhett had prophesied, marriage could be a lot of fun. Not only was it fun but she waslearning many things. That was odd in itself, because Scarlett had thought life could teach her nomore. Now she felt like a child, every day on the brink of a new discovery.   First, she learned that marriage with Rhett was a far different matter from marriage with eitherCharles or Frank. They had respected her and been afraid of her temper. They had begged forfavors and if it pleased her, she had bestowed them. Rhett did not fear her and, she often thought,did not respect her very much either. What he wanted to do, he did, and if she did not like it, helaughed at her. She did not love him but he was undoubtedly an exciting person to live with. Themost exciting thing about him was that even in his outbursts of passion which were flavoredsometimes with cruelty, sometimes with irritating amusement, he seemed always to be holdinghimself under restraint, always riding his emotions with a curb bit.   “I guess that’s because he isn’t really in love with me,” she thought and was content enoughwith the state of affairs. “I should hate for him to ever turn completely loose in any way.” But stillthe thought of the possibility teased her curiosity in an exciting way.   Living with Rhett, she learned many new things about him, and she had thought she knew himso well. She learned that his voice could be as silky as a cat’s fur one moment and crisp andcrackling with oaths the next. He could tell, with apparent sincerity and approval, stories ofcourage and honor and virtue and love in the odd places he had been, and follow them with ribaldstories of coldest cynicism. She knew no man should tell such stories to his wife but they wereentertaining and they appealed to something coarse and earthy in her. He could be an ardent,almost a tender, lover for a brief while, and almost immediately a mocking devil who ripped the lidfrom her gunpowder temper, fired it and enjoyed the explosion. She learned that his complimentswere always two edged and his tenderest expressions open to suspicion. In fact, in those two weeksin New Orleans, she learned everything about him except what he really was.   Some mornings he dismissed the maid and brought her the breakfast tray himself and fed her asthough she were a child, took the hairbrush from her hand and brushed her long dark hair until itsnapped and crackled. Yet other mornings she was torn rudely out of deep slumber when hesnatched all the bed covers from her and tickled her bare feet. Sometimes he listened withdignified interest to details of her businesses, nodding approval at her sagacity, and at other timeshe called her somewhat dubious tradings scavenging, highway robbery and extortion. He took herto plays and annoyed her by whispering that God probably didn’t approve of such amusements,and to churches and, sotto voice, retailed funny obscenities and then reproved her for laughing. Heencouraged her to speak her mind, to be flippant and daring. She picked up from him the gift ofstinging words and sardonic phrases and learned to relish using them for the power they gave herover other people. But she did not possess his sense of humor which tempered his malice, nor hissmile that jeered at himself even while he was jeering others.   He made her play and she had almost forgotten how. Life had been so serious and so bitter. Heknew how to play and swept her along with him. But he never played like a boy; he was a man andno matter what he did, she could never forget it. She could not look down on him from the heightsof womanly superiority, smiling as women have always smiled at the antics of men who are boysat heart.   This annoyed her a little, whenever she thought of it. It would be pleasant to feel superior toRhett. All the other men she had known she could dismiss with a half-contemptuous “What achild!” Her father, the Tarleton twins with their love of teasing and their elaborate practical jokes,the hairy little Fontaines with their childish rages, Charles, Frank, all the men who had paid courtto her during the war—everyone, in fact except Ashley. Only Ashley and Rhett eluded herunderstanding and her control for they were both adults, and the elements of boyishness werelacking in them.   She did not understand Rhett, nor did she trouble to understand him, though there were thingsabout him which occasionally puzzled her. There was the way he looked at her sometimes, whenhe thought she was unaware. Turning quickly she frequently caught him watching her, an alerteager, waiting look in his eyes.   “Why do you look at me like that?” she once asked irritably. “Like a cat at a mouse hole!”   But his face had changed swiftly and he only laughed. Soon she forgot it and did not puzzle herhead about it any more, or about anything concerning Rhett. He was too unpredictable to botherabout and life was very pleasant—except when she thought of Ashley.   Rhett kept her too busy to think of Ashley often. Ashley was hardly ever in her thoughts duringthe day but at night when she was tired from dancing or her head was spinning from too muchchampagne—then she thought of Ashley. Frequently when she lay drowsily in Rhett’s arms withthe moonlight streaming over die bed, she thought how perfect life would be if it were onlyAshley’s arms which held her so closely, if it were only Ashley who drew her black hair across hisface and wrapped it about his throat.   Once when she was thinking this, she sighed and turned her head toward the window, and after amoment she felt the heavy arm beneath her neck become like iron, and Rhett’s voice spoke in thestillness: “May God damn your cheating little soul to hell for all eternity!”   And, getting up, he put on his shoes and left the room despite her startled protests and questions.   He reappeared the next morning as she was breakfasting in her room, disheveled, quite drunk andin his won’t sarcastic mood, and neither made excuses nor gave an account of his absence.   Scarlett asked no questions and was quite cool to him, as became an injured wife, and when shehad finished the meal, she dressed under his bloodshot gaze and went shopping. He was gonewhen she returned and did not appear again until time for supper.   It was a silent meal and Scarlett’s temper was straining because it was her last supper in NewOrleans and she wanted to do justice to the crawfish. And she could not enjoy it under his gaze.   Nevertheless she ate large one, and drank quantity of champagne. Perhaps it was this combinationthatbrough(a) tbackheroldnightmare(a) that evening, for she awoke, cold with sweat,sobbing brokenly. She was back at Tara again and Tara was desolate. Mother was dead and with her all the strength and wisdom of the world. Nowhere in the world was there anyone to turn to,anyone to rely upon. And something terrifying was pursuing her and she was running, running tillher heart was bursting, running in a thick swimming fog, crying out, blindly seeking that nameless,unknown haven of safety that was somewhere in the mist about her.   Rhett was leaning over her when she woke, and without a word he picked her up in his arms likea child and held her close, his hard muscles comforting, his wordless murmuring soothing, untilher sobbing ceased.   “Oh, Rhett, I was so cold and so hungry and so tired and I couldn’t find it. I ran through the mistand I ran but I couldn’t find it.”   “Find what, honey?”   “I don’t know. I wish I did know.”   “Is it your old dream?”   “Oh, yes!”   He gently placed her on the bed, fumbled in the darkness and lit a candle. In the light his facewith bloodshot eyes and harsh lines was as unreadable as stone. His shirt, opened to the waist,showed a brown chest covered with thick black hair. Scarlett, still shaking with fright, thought howstrong and unyielding that chest was, and she whispered: “Hold me, Rhett.”   “Darling!” he said swiftly, and picking her up he sat down in a large chair, cradling her bodyagainst him.   “Oh, Rhett, it’s awful to be hungry.”   “It must be awful to dream of starvation after a seven-course dinner including that enormouscrawfish.” He smiled but his eyes were kind.   “Oh, Rhett, I just run and run and hunt and I can’t ever find what it is I’m hunting for. It’salways hidden in the mist. I know if I could find it, I’d be safe forever and ever and never be coldor hungry again.”   “Is it a person or a thing you’re hunting?”   “I don’t know. I never thought about it. Rhett, do you think I’ll ever dream that I get there tosafety?”   “No,” he said, smoothing her tumbled hair, “I don’t. Dreams aren’t like that. But I do think thatif you get used to being safe and warm and well fed in your everyday life, you’ll stop dreamingthat dream. And, Scarlett, I’m going to see that you are safe.”   “Rhett, you are so nice.”   “Thanks for the crumbs from your table, Mrs. Dives. Scarlett, I want you to say to yourselfevery morning when you wake up: ‘I can’t ever be hungry again and nothing can ever touch me solong as Rhett is here and the United States government holds out.”   “The United States government?” she questioned, sitting up, startled, tears still on her cheeks.   “The ex-Confederate money has now become an honest woman. I invested most of it in government bonds.”   “God’s nightgown!” cried Scarlett, sitting up in his lap, forgetful of her recent terror. “Do youmean to tell me you’ve loaned your money to the Yankees?”   “At a fair per cent.”   “I don’t care if it’s a hundred percent! You must sell them immediately. The idea of letting theYankees have the use of your money!”   “And what must I do with it?” he questioned with a smile, noting that her eyes were no longerwide with fright.   “Why—why buy property at Five Points. I’ll bet you could buy all of Five Points with themoney you have.”   “Thank you, but I wouldn’t have Five Points. Now that the Carpetbagger government has reallygotten control of Georgia, there’s no telling what may happen, I wouldn’t put anything beyond theswarm of buzzards that’s swooping down on Georgia now from north, east, south and west. I’mplaying along with them, you understand, as a good Scalawag should do, but I don’t trust them.   And I’m not putting my money in real estate. I prefer bonds. You can hide them. You can’t hidereal estate very easily.”   “Do you think—” she began, paling as she thought of the mills and store.   “I don’t know. But don’t look so frightened, Scarlett. Our charming new governor is a goodfriend of mine. It’s just that times are too uncertain now and I don’t want much of my money tiedup in real estate.”   He shifted her to one knee and, leaning back, reached for a cigar and lit it. She sat with her barefeet dangling, watching the play of muscles on his brown chest, her terrors forgotten.   “And while we are on the subject of real estate, Scarlett,” he said, “I am going to build a house.   You might have bullied Frank into living in Miss Pitty’s house, but not me. I don’t believe I couldbear her vaporings three times a day and, moreover, I believe Uncle Peter would assassinate mebefore he would let me live under the sacred Hamilton roof. Miss Pitty can get Miss India Wilkesto stay with her and keep the bogyman away. When we get back to Atlanta we are going to stay inthe bridal suite of the National Hotel until our house is finished. Before we left Atlanta I wasdickering for that big lot on Peachtree, the one near the Leyden house. You know the one I mean?”   “Oh, Rhett, how lovely! I do so want a house of my own. A great big one!”   “Then at last we are agreed on something. What about a white stucco with wrought-iron worklike these Creole houses here?”   “Oh, no, Rhett. Not anything old fashioned like these New Orleans houses. I know just what Iwant. It’s the newest thing because I saw a picture of it in—let me see—it was in that Harper’sWeekly I was looking at. It was modeled after a Swiss chalet.”   “A Swiss what?”   “A chalet.”   “Spell it.”   She complied.   “Oh,” he said and stroked his mustache.   “It was lovely. It had a high mansard roof with a picket fence on top and a tower made of fancyshingles at each end. And the towers had windows with red and blue glass in them. It was sostylish looking.”   “I suppose it had jigsaw work on the porch banisters?”   “Yes.”   “And a fringe of wooden scrollwork hanging from the roof of the porch?”   “Yes. You must have seen one like it.”   “I have—but not in Switzerland. The Swiss are a very intelligent race and keenly alive toarchitectural beauty. Do you really want a house like that?”   “Oh, yes!”   “I had hoped that association with me might Improve your taste. Why not a Creole house or aColonial with six white columns?”   “I tell you I don’t want anything tacky and old-fashioned looking. And inside let’s have red wallpaper and red velvet portieres over all the folding doors and oh, lots of expensive walnut furnitureand grand thick carpets and—oh, Rhett, everybody will be pea green when they see our house!”   “It is very necessary that everyone shall be envious? Well, if you like they shall be green. ButScarlett, has it occurred to you that it’s hardly in good taste to furnish the house on so lavish a scalewhen everyone is so poor?”   “I want it that way,” she said obstinately. “I want to make everybody who’s been mean to mefeel bad. And we’ll give big receptions that’ll make the whole town wish they hadn’t said suchnasty things.”   “But who will come to our receptions?”   “Why, everybody, of course.”   “I doubt it. The Old Guard dies but it never surrenders.”   “Oh, Rhett, how you run on! If you’ve got money, people always like you.”   “Not Southerners. It’s harder for speculators’ money to get into the best parlors than for thecamel to go through the needle’s eye. And as for Scalawags—that’s you and me, my pet—we’ll belucky if we aren’t spit upon. But if you’d like to try, I’ll back you, my dear, and I’m sure I shallenjoy your campaign intensely. And while we are on the subject of money, let me make this clearto you. You can have all the cash you want for the house and all you want for your fal-lals. And ifyou like jewelry, you can have it but I’m going to pick it out. You have such execrable taste, mypet. And anything you want for Wade or Ella. And if Will Benteen can’t make a go of the cotton,I’m willing to chip in and help out on that white elephant in Clayton County that you love somuch. That’s fair enough, isn’t it?”   “Of course. You’re very generous.”   “But listen closely. Not one cent for the store and not one cent for that kindling factory ofyours.”   “Oh,” said Scarlett, her face falling. All during the honeymoon she had been thinking how shecould bring up the subject of the thousand dollars she needed to buy fifty feet more of land toenlarge her lumber yard.   “I thought you always bragged about being broad minded and not caring what people said aboutmy running a business, and you’re just like every other man—so afraid people will say I wear thepants in the family.”   “There’s never going to be any doubt in anybody’s mind about who wears the pants in the Butlerfamily,” drawled Rhett. “I don’t care what fools say. In fact, I’m ill bred enough to be proud ofhaving a smart wife. I want you to keep on running the store and the mills. They are yourchildren’s. When Wade grows up he won’t feel right about being supported by his stepfather, andthen he can take over the management. But not one cent of mine goes into either business.”   “Why?”   “Because I don’t care to contribute to the support of Ashley Wilkes.”   “Are you going to begin that again?”   “No. But you asked my reasons and I have given them. And another thing. Don’t think you canjuggle books on me and lie about how much your clothes cost and how much it takes to run thehouse, so that you can use the money to buy more mules or another mill for Ashley. I intend tolook over and carefully check your expenditures and I know what things cost. Oh, don’t getinsulted. You’d do it. I wouldn’t put it beyond you. In fact, I wouldn’t put anything beyond youwhere either Tara or Ashley is concerned. I don’t mind Tara. But I must draw the line at Ashley.   I’m riding you with a slack rein, my pet, but don’t forget that I’m riding with curb and spurs justthe same.”   思嘉在新奥尔良的确过得非常愉快,从战前最后一个春天到现在,她从来没有感到这样愉快过。新奥尔良是一个奇异的热闹地方,思嘉就像一个判了无期徒刑的囚犯突然获释一样,玩得痛快极了。北方来的冒险家在城里大肆掠夺,许多诚实的人流落街头,还不知下一顿饭到哪里去找。一个黑人占据着副州长的位置。不过瑞德在新奥尔良带她去的地方,是她从未见过的繁华地区。她所见到的人,看上去都有的是钱,瑞德介绍她认识了十几位妇女,她们长得很漂亮,穿着漂亮鲜艳的袍子,两手细嫩,不像干过重活的样子,遇见什么事都要笑,从来不谈无聊的正经事,也不谈艰难困苦的日子,她见到的男人----他们与亚特兰大的男人实在不同,多么令人兴奋呀!都争着和她跳舞,不遗余力地向她大献殷勤,好像她是舞会上的年轻皇后一样。   这些男人和瑞德一样,脸上都带着固执、鲁莽的神情。他们的眼睛始终很机警,好像很久以来一直生活在危险之中,不敢有一点疏忽大意。他们似乎无所谓过去,也没有未来。思嘉有时想找个话题,就问来新奥尔良之前他们是干什么的,或在什么地方,他们总是客平地把话题岔开。这本身就很奇怪,因为在亚特兰大,任何一个新来的体面人都急于把自己的经历向大家进述,炫耀一下自己显赫的家庭。   但是这些人都是沉默寡言的人,说起话来字斟句酌,非常谨慎。有时瑞备单独和他们在一起,思嘉在隔壁就听见他们的笑声,还断断续续听见他们的谈话,但她却听不明白,只能听出零零碎碎的几个字,还有一些莫名其妙的名字,其中有封锁时期的古巴和纳索,淘金热,非法侵占他人的采矿权,走私军火,海盗行为,尼加拉瓜和威廉•沃克,以及他如何在特鲁希略撞墙而死。有一次,她突然走进去,他们正在谈论匡特利尔领导的游击队最近遭遇如何,见她进来,便连忙住口,她只听见两个人名字:弗兰克•詹姆斯和杰西•詹姆斯。   不过他们都衣着考究,文质彬彬,显然对她十殷勤,而她觉得无所谓。对她来说,真正重要的是他们都是瑞德的朋友,有宽敞的住房,有华丽的马车。他们带着她和瑞德去兜风,请他们吃晚饭,为他们举行晚会,思嘉觉得开心极了。她把自己的这种心情告诉瑞德时,瑞德觉得很有意思。   “我想你是会这样的,"他一面说,一面笑。   “为什么不这样呢?"她和往常一样,一听见他笑,就起疑心。   “他们都是二流人物,是流氓,是恶棍。他们都是冒险家,北方来的贵族老爷,他们有的和你那亲爱的丈夫一样,做食品投机生意发了财,有的靠和政府签订非法合同或通过经不起调查的肮脏手段发了财。"“我才不信呢!你在开玩笑吧。他们看上去都是老实人……"”城里老实的人都在挨饿呢,"瑞德说。"他们规规矩矩地住在茅草棚里,要是我去看他们,我真怀疑他们会不会接待我。亲爱的,你知道战争期间我在这里干过一些见不得人的勾当,这些人记性特别好,还没有把我忘掉。思嘉,你每时每刻使我感到高兴。因为你总是喜欢那些不该喜欢的人,不该喜欢的事。"“可是他们都是你的朋友啊!"“唔,不过我喜欢流氓。我小时候就在内河一条船上赌博过,所以我对这样的人是比较了解的。可是,他们究竟是些什么人,我是看得很清楚的。然而你----"他又笑了起来,"你是没有识别人的本能的,下等人,上等人,你是分辩不清的。有时候我觉得你接触过的上等人只有你母亲和媚兰小姐,可是她们好像都没给你留下什么印象。"“媚兰!哎,她难看得要命,穿的衣裳也那么俗气,而且自己也说不出有什么看法。"“太太,你还是不要妒忌吧。美貌并不能使人高尚,衣着也不能使人尊贵。"“唔,真的吗?那你就等着瞧吧,瑞德•巴特勒,我要做个样子给你看看,现在我有了----我们有了,我要成为你从来没有见过的最尊贵的女性。"“我非常乐意等着瞧。"他说。   思嘉会见的这些人固然使她兴奋,瑞德给她的衣服更使她兴奋。衣服的颜色、料子、款式都是他亲自挑选的。用圆箍撑起来的裙子现在已经不时兴了,流行的式样非常新颖,裙子从前面向后在腰垫处收拢,腰垫上装饰着花环,蝴蝶结,还有波浪形的花边,她觉得还是战争期间那种用圆箍撑起来的裙子好,现在这种新式裙子把肚子的轮廓都露出来了,使她觉得有些难为情。那可爱的小帽子简直不像帽子,而是一个扁平的小玩艺儿,斜着搭在一只眼上,上面别着花呀,果呀,走起路来羽毛跳跃,丝带飘动。(思嘉的头发像印地安人的头发一样硬,小帽子压不住,她买过一些假的发卷,想用来衬一下,可惜都让瑞德糊里糊涂地烧掉了。)还有修道院里做的精细内衣,实在可爱,而且买了那么多套。还有一件件睡衣、睡袍、衬裙,都是用最细的亚麻布做的,上面绣着华丽的图案,纳着细碎的小褶。还在瑞德给她买的缎子拖鞋,后跟有三寸高,玻璃大鞋,闪闪发光。长统丝袜有十几双,没有一双是棉统的。真阔气呀!   她毫无节制地花钱给家里人买礼物,给韦德买了一只圣比纳种的长毛小狗,因为他一直想要这样的一条狗。给小博买了一只小波斯猫,给小爱拉买了一只珊瑚手镯。给皮蒂姑妈买的是一大串项链,上面挂着许多月长石坠子,给媚兰和艾希礼买的是一套《莎士比亚全集》。她给彼得大叔买一套很像样的制服,包括一顶车夫戴的真丝高帽子,外带一把刷子,给迪尔茜和厨娘买的是衣料,给住在塔拉的人也都了买了昂贵的礼物。   “可是你给嬷嬷买什么呢?"瑞德在旅馆里把小猫、小狗都赶到梳妆室里,一面看着床摆的这一大堆礼物,一面问。   “什么也没买。这个人太可恨。她说咱们是骡子,干吗要给她礼物?"“你何必怀恨在心呢,人家说的是真情实况,我的小宝贝儿?你一定得给嬷嬷买一件礼物。你要是不给她礼物,就会刺伤她的心----像她那样的心是很可贵的,怎么能刺伤呢?"“我什么也不给她买,她不配。"“那我就给她买一件吧,我记得我的奶奶常说,她升天的时候要穿一条府绸裙子,这裙了要硬得能立得住,而且非常扑素,上帝一看会以为是用天使的翅膀做的。我就给嬷嬷买块红府绸,让她做一条漂亮裙子吧。"“她不会接受你的礼物的。她宁可去死,也不会穿的。"“这我相信,不过我还是要表达我的心意。"新奥尔良的商店里物品丰富,使人目不暇接,和瑞德一起买东西是令人兴奋的。和他一起下馆子,更加令人兴奋,因为他知道点什么菜,也知道菜是应该怎么做的。新奥尔良的葡萄酒,露酒的香槟,对她说来都很新鲜,喝下去感到心旷神怡,因为她只喝过自家酿制的黑莓酒、野葡萄酒和皮蒂姑妈的"一喝不醉”的白兰地。这还不说,还有瑞德点的那些菜呢。新奥尔良的菜肴最有名。思嘉想到过去在塔拉挨饿的苦日子,又想到不久前拮据的生活,吃起这些丰盛的菜肴来,觉得老也吃不够。有法式烩虾仁、醉鸽、酥脆的牡蛎馅饼、蘑菇杂碎烩鸡肝,橙汗烤鱼,等等。她的胃口总是很好的,因为她一想到在塔拉没完没了地吃花生、豆子和白薯,就想尽量多吃一些法式菜肴。   “你每次吃饭就像吃最后一顿似的,"瑞德说。"不要刮盘子呀,思嘉。厨房里肯定还有呢。只要叫堂倌去拿就行了。你不要老这么大吃大嚼,不然你就会胖得跟古巴女人一样,到那时候,我可就要和你离婚了。"可是她只朝他吐了吐舌头,接着又要了一份点心。这点心上面是厚厚的一层巧克力,中间还夹着一层糖。   想花多少钱,就花多少钱,不必一分一厘地考虑,惦记着要存钱要纳税,或者买骡子,这可实在是痛快。交往的人都很高兴很阔气,不像亚特兰大的人那么穷酸样儿,真是痛快,穿着啊啊啊啊的锦缎衣裳,显出腰身,露着脖子和胳膊,胸脯也露着不小的一块,而且还知道男人们对你垂涎欲滴,真是痛快。想吃什么,就吃什么,也没有人指责你缺乏大家闺秀的风度,真是痛快。香槟酒,想喝多少喝多少,也真是痛快。她头一次喝醉的时候,坐着敞篷马车,穿过新奥尔良的大街小巷回旅馆去,一路上高唱《美丽的蓝旗》。第二天清早醒来以后,头疼得像要裂开一样,想起头一天晚上那样出洋相,感到很不好意思,她以前连女人微有醉意也没见过。她只见过一个女人,就是那个名叫沃特琳的家伙,在亚特兰大失陷的那一天喝得酩酊大醉,她感到非常难为情,简直没有脸见瑞德,但他觉得这件事很有意思,无论她干什么事,他都觉得很有意思,仿佛她是一只性情活泼的小猫。   和他一道出去,也是一件非常令人兴奋的事。因为他长得漂亮。过去不知怎么,她从来没有考虑过他的相貌。在亚特兰大,人们光只看他的缺点,从没有议论过他的相貌,可是在新奥尔良,她发现别的女人总是用眼睛盯着他,他弯腰吻她们的手,她们显得那么激动,她意识到她丈夫很有魅力,也许别的女人还在羡慕她,这使她突然感到和他在一起十分光彩。   “唔,我们两口子都很漂亮,"思嘉心里乐滋滋的想道。   是的,的确是像瑞德所说的那样,结婚是有很乐趣的。不光是乐趣,她还学到了很多东西。这件事说起来也很怪,因为她曾经认为生活不可能再教给她什么新东西了。可现在她觉得自己像个孩子,每天都会有新的发现。   首先,她发现和瑞德结婚,与先前和查尔斯结婚,和弗兰克结婚,有很大的区别,他们都尊重她,怕她发脾气。他们都向她祈求恩惠,她要是高兴,也就给他们一些恩惠,而瑞德并不怕她,而且她常常觉得瑞德并不怎么尊重她。他想干什么,就干什么,思嘉要是不喜欢,他反觉得很有趣,思嘉并不爱他,但和他生活在一起确实很意思,最有意思的是,虽然他这个人发起火来有时让人觉得他有些冷酷,有时他倒是痛快了,别人却感到厌烦,他却总能控制自己的感情,就像有一副马嚼子似的。   “我想这大概是他并不真爱我的缘故吧,"她心里想,而且她对这种情况也还是满意的。"我还真不希望他完全放纵自己的感情。"不过她觉得这种可能性也是存在的,这个想法使她既兴奋又好奇。   她和瑞德结合之后,了解到他许多新的情况,她原来还以为对他非常了解呢。她了解到他的声音一会儿温柔得像猫,一会儿又变成尖利的咒骂声。他可以表面上一本正经地赞扬在他去过的怪地方发生的英雄的、光荣的事迹和关于贞节与情爱的故事,马上又说一些最无情的玩世不恭的下流故事。她知道任何一个正派男人都不会对妻子讲这样的故事,不过这些故事的确有趣,而且能在她身边引起一种粗俗的感情,他可以说是一个既热诚又温柔的情人,一转眼又变成了挖苦人的恶魔,把她那火药一般的脾气揭开盖子,点上火,引起爆炸,从中取乐。她了解到他的奉承总有两层截然相反的涵义,他表现出来的最温柔的感情也是值得怀疑的。实际上,她待在新奥尔良的两个星期里,她了解了他各方面的情况,就是没了解他究竟是个什么人。   有时他早上不用女佣人,亲自用托盘把早点给她送到房里,一点一点地喂她,仿佛她是个孩子,他还把头刷从她手里拿过来,给她刷头发,刷得那乌黑的长头发噼啪作响。可是,有时候他早上突然把她身上盖的东西全打开,挠她的脚,粗暴地把她从酣睡中惊醒。有时候他很认真的仔细听她述说生意中的各项细节,点头称赞她办事有头脑,有时候他就把她那些不是很正当的做法叫做捡便宜,叫做投机取巧。他带她去看戏,却悄悄地对她说也许上帝不赞成她到这种娱乐场所来,惹得她心烦,他带她到教堂去,却小声对她说些有趣的下流话,然后又责怪她发笑。他鼓励她有什么说什么,随便说,不拘束。她从他那里学了一些讽刺人挖苦人的字眼,而且逐渐喜欢使用这些字眼,觉得这样可以压人家一头,但是她还不会像瑞德那样,在恶毒之中搀上几分幽默,讥笑自己的时候,实际上是在讥笑别人。   他想让她玩儿,而她几乎已经忘了怎么玩了。生活一直是那么严峻,那么艰难,他是知道怎么玩的,而且带着她一起玩。但是他是一个成年人,不能像小孩子那样玩了;他的一举一动,她是不会忘记的。妇人看到尚有童心的男人做出滑稽可笑的动作不免要发笑,而思嘉是不能凭着女人的优越看不起瑞德,朝他发笑的。   她一想到这些情况,就觉得不愉快。要是能比瑞德高出一筹就好了。她所认识的别的男人,她都可以置不顾,以半带鄙视的口吻说:“简直是个孩子!"比如她父亲,比如好开玩笑,喜欢各种恶作剧的塔尔顿挛生兄弟,方丹家长着长毛,爱耍小孩子脾气的年轻人,查尔斯,弗兰克,所有在战争期间追求过她的人----实际上包括所有的人,艾希礼除外。只有艾希礼和瑞德是她无法理解无法控制的人,因为他们是成年人,身上没有孩子气。   她并不了解瑞德,也不想去了解他。虽然他有时候有些事使她迷惑不解。比如他有时以为她不注意,就偷眼看她,那眼神就很怪很怪。她突然一转身,常常发现他在看她,眼中流露出机警。殷切与等待的神情。   “你为什么这样盯着我?"有一次她高兴地问。"好像一只猫盯着耗子洞!"但是他马上换上一副模样,只笑一笑,过了一会儿,她就忘了,不再费脑筋想这件事,和瑞德有关的一切事都不想了。他这个人总是反复无常,不必为他多费心思,生活也过得挺愉快----可是一想到艾希礼就不同了。   瑞德弄得她很忙,白天,她脑子里几乎就没有艾希礼,可是到了晚上,她跳舞跳累了,或者喝香槟喝得头晕脑胀----这时候,她就想起艾希礼来了。她迷迷糊糊地躺在瑞德怀里,月光洒落在床上,在这种情况下,她常常想,要是艾希礼的胳臂这样紧紧地接着她,该有多好呀!要是艾希礼把她的黑发从自己脸上撩开,拢在下巴底下,又该有多好呀!   有一次,她又这样想着,叹了一口气,扭头朝窗口看去。   过了一会儿,她感到脖子底下这只有力的胳臂好像成了铁的一样,在寂静之中听见瑞德的声音说:“上帝该把你永远打入地狱,你这个小妖精!"说罢,他起来穿上衣服,走了出去,思嘉非常吃惊,拦他也拦不住,问他他也不理。第二天早晨,她正在自己屋里吃饭时,他才回来,头发乱蓬蓬的,喝得醉醺醺的,不满的怀绪依然很重,他即不道歉,也没有说明干什么去了。   思嘉什么也没问,对他十分冷淡,妻子受了委屈,这样做也是很自然的。她吃完饭之后,瑞德用带着血丝的眼睛看着她换上衣服,出去买东西了。等她回来时,他已经走了,到吃晚的时候才回来。   这顿晚饭吃得很沉闷,思嘉一直耐着性子,因为这是她在新奥尔良吃的最后一顿晚饭了,而且她还想好好享受一下龙虾的美味。可是瑞德总盯着她,使她吃也吃不痛快。不过她还是吃了一只大的,还喝了好多香槟。也许是因为各种因素加在一起,当天晚上她又作起了过去作过的噩梦。她醒来,出了一身冷汗,抽抽搭搭地哭起来。她梦见自己又回到了塔拉,而塔拉是一片荒凉。母亲去世了,世上的一切力量与智慧也都随之消逝。世界上没有一个人可投靠,没有任何人可以依赖。有一个可怕的东西在追她,她就跑啊,跑啊,心都快炸开了,就这样茫茫大雾之中一边跑,一边喊,模模糊糊地想在周围的雾里找到一个不知名的、没有去过的地方躲藏起来。   她醒来,发现瑞德正弯着腰看她。他什么话也没说,就把她抱起来搂在怀里,好像搂着孩子一样,搂得紧紧的。他那结实的肌肉给她以安慰,他那低声细语使她感到镇静,感到安慰,过了会一儿,她也就不哭了。   “唔,瑞德,我刚才又冷,又饿,又累,而且怎么也找不着,我在雾里跑啊,跑啊,可就是找不着。"“你找什么,亲爱的?"“我也不知道,我要是知道就好了。"“又是以前作过的梦吗?"“嗯,是的!"他轻轻地把她放在床上,在黑暗之中摸索着点上一支蜡烛。在蜡光下。他的眼睛带着血丝,他的脸上纹路像石头一样清晰,看不出任何表情。他穿着衬衫,敞着怀,棕色的胸膛露在外面,上面长着厚厚的胸毛,思嘉还在吓得发抖,心里想,这个胸膛可是真坚强。她悄悄地说“抱抱我吧,瑞德。"“亲爱的!"他马上一边说,一边把她抱起来,坐在一把大椅子上,把她的身子紧紧地搂在怀里。   “唔,瑞德,挨饿可是真可怕呀!”   “晚饭吃了七道菜,包括一只大龙虾,夜里睡觉还要梦见挨饿,一定是非常可怕的。”他笑了笑,不过眼睛里还是射出了和蔼的目光。   “唔,瑞德,我使劲跑啊,跑啊,找我要找的什么东西,就是找不着。躲在雾里,看不见。我知道,我要是能找到它,我就永远生活安定,再也不会受冷冻挨饿了。"“你是在找一个人,还是在找一样东西?"“我也不知道,我没好好想过,瑞德,你觉得我还会梦想上生活安定的地方去吗?"“不会的,"他边说,边捋了捋她那篷乱的头发。"我认为不会的。作梦不应该是这样作的。不过我认为你要是平时习惯于安定的生活,吃得饱,穿得暖,你就不会再作那样的梦了。思嘉,我一定使你过安定的生活。"“瑞德,你真好。"“感谢您的照顾,太太,思嘉,我劝你每天早上起来的时候就对自己说:'我永远不会再挨饿了,我永远不会再有麻烦了,只要瑞德和我在一起,只要美国政府能维持下去,’"“美国政府?"她吃惊地问,随着就坐起来,脸上的泪珠还没有干。   “过去联盟的钱现在已经变成了贞洁的女人,我用一大部分买了公债了。”“我的老天爷!"思嘉喊道,直直地坐在他腿上,刚才的噩梦也全然忘记了。"你的意思是说你把钱借给了北方佬吗?"“利息相当高啊!"“百分之百的利息我也不管,你一定要马上卖掉。让北方佬用你的钱,亏你想得出。"“那我这钱怎么花呢?"他笑着问,这时他发现她已经不像刚才那样吓得睁着大眼睛了。   “怎么----怎么花,你可以到五点镇去买地皮呀。我敢说,你那些足可以把整个五点镇都买下来也够了。"“谢谢你,可是我不想要五点镇。现在北方冒险家的政府真正控制了佐治亚,很难说会再发生什么大事。成群的秃鹰正从四面八方向佐治亚起来,我不想逃避,我要和他们周旋,你明白吗,做一个像样的投靠北方人的人就得么这干,不过我并不信任他们。我也不想把钱用买房地产,我愿意买公债,公债可以藏起来,房地产就不那么好藏了。”“你认为----"她问,因为她想起自己经营的木材厂商店,脸都发白了。   “我不知道。不过你用不着这么害怕,思嘉,新上任的州长是我的朋友。现在时局还不太稳定,我不想把很多钱投放在房地产上。"他把她挪到条腿上,微微向后一仰,伸手拿了一支雪茄点上,她两只赤脚悬空坐在那里,看着他棕色胸膛上的肌肉伸缩,就把害怕的事全忘了。   “既然谈房地产,思嘉,"他说。"我打算盖一所房子,除可以强迫弗兰克住在皮蒂小姐的房子里,我可不行。一天到晚听她嚷嚷三回,我可受不了。还有,彼得大叔就是把我杀了,也不会让我住进神圣的汉密尔顿家的房子。皮蒂小姐可以请英迪亚•威尔克斯小姐和她同住,免得坏人来捣乱,咱们回到亚特兰大以后,先住在民族饭店的新婚套间里,等咱们的房子盖好了就搬过去。咱们离开亚特兰大之前,我就在跟他们讨价还价,准备买下桃树街那一大片空地,就是莱顿家旁边那块空地,你一定知道我说的地方。"“啊,瑞德,这简直是太好了。我多么想有一所属于自己的房子呀。我要一所特大的。"“咱们总算在这件事上有了一致的看法,盖一所和这里的法式建筑一样的白灰墙、铁花栏杆的房子,好不好?"“唔,不好,瑞德,不要新奥尔良这种老式的房子。我要最新式的,我看到过一个图样,在----让我想一想----在我看一份《哈沪斯周报》上,是模仿一所瑞士chalet。"“一所瑞士什么?"“chalet。"“哪几个字母?"她把这个词的读法告诉了他。   “噢,"他一面说,一面捋了捋小胡子。   “非常好看,斜度不同分成两段的屋顶上,上面有一溜栅栏,两头各有一个尖塔,是用彩色木瓦板盖的。尖塔上的窗户镶着红蓝琉璃。看上去可时髦了!"“我想回廓上还有锯齿形的栏杆吧?"“是埃"“回廊屋顶的边上还有木头做的云形花饰垂下来,是不是?"“是的。你一定见过这么一所房子。"“我是见过----但不是在瑞士。瑞士人非常聪明,对建筑艺术更有独到之处,你真的要这样一所房子吗?"“啊,是呀!"“我原来希望你和我结婚之后,能提高你的格调,你为什么不喜欢法式房子,或六根白柱子的殖民地式的房子呢?"“实话对你说吧,看上去过时的,俗气的,我都不想要,里面我要用红纸糊墙,用红天鹅绒做门帘。啊,我要有好多高级胡桃木家具,还要华丽的厚地毯,还要----啊,瑞德,当别人看了咱们的家,都会羡慕得脸以发青的。"“有必要让大家这样羡慕咱们吗?你要是高兴,可以让他们羡慕得脸色发青。不过,思嘉。你想过没有,现在大家都这么穷,咱们布置房子这样摆阔气,能算是格调高吗?"“我就要这样,"固执地说。“过去他们对我们那么刻薄那么看不起,现在我也不能让他们好受,我们要大开宴会,让全城的人后悔当时不该说那么多难听的话。"“可是谁会来参加我们的宴会呢?"“当然是人人都会来的。"“那可不一定。这些保守派是宁肯死了也不认输的。"“唔,你这是说什么呀!你只要有钱,大家就一定喜欢你。"“南方人可不是这样,有钱的投机商要想进入上等人家的客厅,比驼穿眼还要难。至于投靠北方的人----我是说我和你,我的宝贝儿----要不是受到唾弃,就算走运了。不过你要是想试一试,我可以全部支持你,亲爱的,我也一定会为你所作的一切努力感到非常高兴,既然一再谈到钱,那就让我把话说清楚,家里过日子,买穿戴,你要多少钱,我给你多少钱。你要是喜欢首饰,也可以买,但是要由我来帮你挑选,你的格调太低了,我的宝贝。给韦德,爱拉,想买什么,你就买什么。要是威尔•本廷种棉花种得好,我也愿意资助,帮你卸掉在克莱顿区你那么喜爱的那个沉重的包袱。这可以说是很公平了吧?"“当然,当然,你是很慷慨的。"“不过请你仔细听明白。一分钱也不能花在你那个商店上,一分钱也不能花你那劈柴厂上。"“唔,"思嘉说,脸也沉下来,在这蜜月期间,她一直在想找个理由提起这个话题,要一千块钱,再买五十英尺地,扩大木材厂。   “我记得你老吹嘘,说自己是个开明的人,我做生意,别人有些什么议论,你全不在意,谁知你和所有的男人都一样,就怕人家说我当家。"“咱们巴特勒家谁当家,那是任何人都不会有什么疑问的。"瑞德慢条斯理地说。"傻瓜说些什么,我是不介意的。其实,我缺乏教养,现在有个能干的老婆,也是件值得骄傲的事,我想让你继续经营你的木材厂。这全给你的孩子们留着吧。等韦德长大以后,他会觉得不能让继父养活了,他就可以接过去,继续经营,但是无论是商店,还是木材厂,我一个钱都不给。”   “那是为什么?”   “因为我不想资助艾希礼•威尔克斯。"“你又来了,是不是?"“不是。是你要问原因。我就把原因告诉你。还有一件事,你不要以为可以在帐目上耍点花招,来蒙骗我,说你买衣服花多少钱,家里的开销要多少钱,结果却把钱拿去替艾希礼买骡子,或者再买一个木材厂,我要监督审查你的各项开支,什么东西多少钱,我都清楚。唔,不要以为我是在侮辱你,你非这样做不可。我对你是不会放松的。实际上,凡是涉及塔拉和艾希礼的地方,我都不会对你放松,塔拉倒还无所谓,艾希礼可一定要划在界线以外,我正在缓缓地驾驭着你,我的宝贝儿,可是你不要忘记,同样也是有马嚼子和马刺的。” Chapter 49 MRS. ELSING cocked her ear toward the hall. Hearing Melanie’s steps die away into the kitchenwhere rattling dishes and clinking silverware gave promise of refreshments, she turned and spokesoftly to the ladies who sat in a circle in the parlor, their sewing baskets in their laps.   “Personally, I do not intend to call on Scarlett now or ever,” she said, the chill elegance of herface colder than usual.   The other members of the Ladies’ Sewing Circle for the Widows and Orphans of theConfederacy eagerly laid down their needles and edged their rocking chairs closer. All the ladieshad been bursting to discuss Scarlett and Rhett but Melanie’s presence prevented it. Just the daybefore, the couple had returned from New Orleans and they were occupying the bridal suite at theNational Hotel.   “Hugh says that I must call out of courtesy for the way Captain Butler saved his life,” Mrs. Elsing continued. “And poor Fanny sides with him and says she will call too. I said to her ‘Fanny,’   I said, ‘if it wasn’t for Scarlett, Tommy would be alive this minute. It is an insult to his memory tocall.’ And Fanny had no better sense than to say ‘Mother, I’m not calling on Scarlett. I’m calling onCaptain Butler. He tried his best to save Tommy and it wasn’t his fault if he failed.’ ”   “How silly young people are!” said Mrs. Merriwether. “Call, indeed!” Her stout bosom swelledindignantly as she remembered Scarlett’s rude reception of her advice on marrying Rhett. “MyMaybelle is just as silly as your Fanny. She says she and René will call, because Captain Butlerkept René from getting hanged. And I said if it hadn’t been for Scarlett exposing herself, Renéwould never have been in any danger. And Father Merriwether intends to call and he talks like hewas in his dotage and says he’s grateful to that scoundrel, even if I’m not. I vow, since FatherMerriwether was in that Watling creature’s house he has acted in a disgraceful way. Call, indeed! Icertainly shan’t call. Scarlett has outlawed herself by marrying such a man. He was bad enoughwhen he was a speculator during the war and making money out of our hunger but now that he ishand in glove with the Carpetbaggers and Scalawags and a friend—actually a friend of that odiouswretch, Governor Bullock— Call, indeed!”   Mrs. Bonnell sighed. She was a plump brown wren of a woman with a cheerful face.   “They’ll only call once, for courtesy, Dolly. I don’t know that I blame them. I’ve heard that allthe men who were out that night intend to call, and I think they should. Somehow, it’s hard for meto think that Scarlett is her mother’s child. I went to school with Ellen Robillard in Savannah andthere was never a lovelier girl than she was and she was very dear to me. If only her father had notopposed her match with her cousin, Philippe Robillard! There was nothing really wrong with theboy—boys must sow their wild oats. But Ellen must run off and marry old man O’Hara and have adaughter like Scarlett. But really, I feel that I must call once out of memory to Ellen.”   “Sentimental nonsense!” snorted Mrs. Merriwether with vigor. “Kitty Bonnell, are you going tocall on a woman who married a bare year after her husband’s death? A woman—”   “And she really killed Mr. Kennedy,” interrupted India. Her voice was cool but acid. Whenevershe thought of Scarlett it was hard for her even to be polite, remembering, always rememberingStuart Tarleton. “And I have always thought there was more between her and that Butler manbefore Mr. Kennedy was killed than most people suspected.”   Before the ladies could recover from their shocked astonishment at her statement and at aspinster mentioning such a matter, Melanie was standing in the doorway. So engrossed had theybeen in their gossip that they had not heard her light tread and now, confronted by their hostess,they looked like whispering schoolgirls caught by a teacher. Alarm was added to consternation atthe change in Melanie’s face. She was pink with righteous anger, her gentle eyes snapping fire, hernostrils quivering. No one had ever seen Melanie angry before. Not a lady present thought hercapable of wrath. They all loved her but they thought her the sweetest, most pliable of youngwomen, deferential to her elders and without any opinions of her own.   “How dare you, India?” she questioned in a low voice that shook. “Where will your jealousylead you? For shame!”   India’s face went white but her head was high.   “I retract nothing,” she said briefly. But her mind was seething.   “Jealous, am I?” she thought. With the memory of Stuart Tarleton and of Honey and Charles,didn’t she have good reason to be jealous of Scarlett? Didn’t she have good reason to hate her,especially now that she had a suspicion that Scarlett had somehow entangled Ashley in her web?   She thought: “There’s plenty I could tell you about Ashley and your precious Scarlett.” India wastorn between the desire to shield Ashley by her silence and to extricate him by telling all hersuspicions to Melanie and the whole world. That would force Scarlett to release whatever hold shehad on Ashley. But this was not the time. She had nothing definite, only suspicions.   “I retract nothing,” she repeated.   “Then it is fortunate that you are no longer living under my roof,” said Melanie and her wordswere cold.   India leaped to her feet, red flooding her sallow face.   “Melanie, you—my sister-in-law—you aren’t going to quarrel with me over that fast piece—”   “Scarlett is my sister-in-law, too,” said Melanie, meeting India’s eyes squarely as though theywere strangers. “And dearer to me than any blood sister could ever be. If you are so forgetful ofmy favors at her hands, I am not. She stayed with me through the whole siege when she could havegone home, when even Aunt Pitty had run away to Macon. She brought my baby for me when theYankees were almost in Atlanta and she burdened herself with me and Beau all that dreadful trip toTara when she could have left me here in a hospital for the Yankees to get me. And she nursed andfed me, even if she was tired and even if she went hungry. Because I was sick and weak, I had thebest mattress at Tara. When I could walk, I had the only whole pair of shoes. You can forget thosethings she did for me, India, but I cannot. And when Ashley came home, sick, discouraged, withouta home, without a cent in his pockets, she took him in like a sister. And when we thought we wouldhave to go North and it was breaking our hearts to leave Georgia, Scarlett stepped in and gave himthe mill to run. And Captain Butler saved Ashley’s life out of the kindness of his heart. CertainlyAshley had no claim on him! And I am grateful, grateful to Scarlett and to Captain Butler. But you,India! How can you forget the favors Scarlett has done me and Ashley? How can you hold yourbrother’s life so cheap as to cast slurs on the man who saved him? If you went down on your kneesto Captain Butler and Scarlett, it would not be enough.”   “Now, Melly,” began Mrs. Merriwether briskly, for she had recovered her composure, “that’s noway to talk to India.”   “I heard what you said about Scarlett too,” cried Melanie, swinging on the stout old lady withthe air of a duelist who, having withdrawn a blade from one prostrate opponent, turns hungrilytoward another. “And you too, Mrs. Elsing. What you think of her in your own petty minds, I donot care, for that is your business. But what you say about her in my own house or in my ownhearing, ever, is my business. But how can you even think such dreadful things, much less saythem? Are your men so cheap to you that you would rather see them dead than alive? Have you nogratitude to the man who saved them and saved them at risk of his own life? The Yankees mighteasily have thought him a member of the Klan if the whole truth had come out! They might havehanged him. But he risked himself for your men. For your father-in-law, Mrs. Merriwether, and your son-in-law and your two nephews, too. And your brother, Mrs. Bonnell, and your son andson-in-law, Mrs. Elsing. Ingrates, that’s what you are! I ask an apology from all of you.”   Mrs. Elsing was on her feet cramming her sewing into her box, her mouth set.   “If anyone had ever told me that you could be so ill bred, Melly— No, I will not apologize.   India is right Scarlett is a flighty, fast bit of baggage. I can’t forget how she acted during the war.   And I can’t forget how poor white trashy she’s acted since she got a little money—”   “What you can’t forget” cut in Melanie, clenching her small fists against her sides, “is that shedemoted Hugh because he wasn’t smart enough to run her mill.”   “Melly!” moaned a chorus of voices.   Mrs. Elsing’s head jerked up and she started toward the door. With her hand on the knob of thefront door, she stopped and turned.   “Melly,” she said and her voice softened, “honey, this breaks my heart. I was your mother’s bestfriend and I helped Dr. Meade bring you into this world and I’ve loved you like you were mine. Ifit were something that mattered it wouldn’t be so hard to hear you talk like this. But about awoman like Scarlett O’Hara who’d just as soon do you a dirty turn as the next of us—”   Tears had started in Melanie’s eyes at the first words Mrs. Elsing spoke, but her face hardenedwhen the old lady had finished.   “I want it understood,” she said, “that any of you who do not call on Scarlett need never, nevercall on me.”   There was a loud murmur of voices, confusion as the ladies got to their feet Mrs. Elsing droppedher sewing box on the floor and came back into the room, her false fringe jerking awry.   “I won’t have it!” she cried. “I won’t have it! You are beside yourself, Melly, and I don’t holdyou responsible. You shall be my friend and I shall be yours. I refuse to let this come between us.”   She was crying and somehow, Melanie was in her arms, crying too, but declaring between sobsthat she meant every word she said. Several of the other ladies burst into tears and Mrs.   Merriwether, trumpeting loudly into her handkerchief, embraced both Mrs. Elsing and Melanie.   Aunt Pitty, who had been a petrified witness to the whole scene, suddenly slid to the floor in whatwas one of the few real fainting spells she had ever had. Amid the tears and confusion and kissingand scurrying for smelling salts and brandy, there was only one calm face, one dry pair of eyes.   India Wilkes took her departure unnoticed by anyone.   Grandpa Merriwether, meeting Uncle Henry Hamilton in the Girl of the Period Saloon severalhours later, related the happenings of the morning which he had heard from Mrs. Merriwether. Hetold it was relish for he was delighted that someone had the courage to face down his redoubtabledaughter-in-law. Certainly, he had never had such courage.   “Well, what did the pack of silly fools finally decide to do?” asked Uncle Henry irritably.   “I dunno for sure,” said Grandpa, “but it looks to me like Melly won hands down on this go-round. I’ll bet they’ll all call, at least once. Folks set a store by that niece of yours, Henry.”   “Melly’s a fool and the ladies are right. Scarlett is a slick piece of baggage and I don’t see why Charlie ever married her,” said Uncle Henry gloomily. “But Melly was right too, in a way. It’s onlydecent that the families of the men Captain Butler saved should call. When you come right down toit, I haven’t got so much against Butler. He showed himself a fine man that night he saved ourhides. It’s Scarlett who sticks under my tail like a cocklebur. She’s a sight too smart for her owngood. Well, I’ve got to call. Scalawag or not Scarlett is my niece by marriage, after all. I wasaiming to call this afternoon.”   “I’ll go with you, Henry. Dolly will be fit to be tied when she hears I’ve gone. Wait till I get onemore drink.”   “No, we’ll get a drink off Captain Butler. I’ll say this for him, he always has good licker.”   Rhett had said that the Old Guard would never surrender and he was right. He knew how littlesignificance there was to the few calls made upon them, and he knew why the calls were made.   The families of the men who had been in the ill-starred Klan foray did call first, but called withobvious infrequency thereafter. And they did not invite the Rhett Butlers to their homes.   Rhett said they would not have come at all, except for fear of violence at the hands of Melanie,Where he got this idea, Scarlett did not know but she dismissed it with the contempt it deserved.   For what possible influence could Melanie have on people like Mrs. Elsing and Mrs. Merriwether?   That they did not call again worried her very little; in fact, their absence was hardly noticed, forher suite was crowded with guests of another type. “New people,” established Atlantians calledthem, when they were not calling them something less polite.   There were many “new people” staying at the National Hotel who, like Rhett and Scarlett, werewaiting for their houses to be completed. They were gay, wealthy people, very much like Rhett’sNew Orleans friends, elegant of dress, free with their money, vague as to their antecedents. All themen were Republicans and were “in Atlanta on business connected with the state government.”   Just what the business was, Scarlett did not know and did not trouble to learn.   Rhett could have told her exactly what it was—the same business that buzzards have with dyinganimals. They smelted death from afar and were drawn unerringly to it, to gorge themselves.   Government of Georgia by its own citizens was dead, the state was helpless and the adventurerswere swarming in.   The wives of Rhett’s Scalawag and Carpetbagger friends called in droves and so did the “newpeople” she had met when she sold lumber for their homes. Rhett said that, having done businesswith them, she should receive them and, having received them, she found them pleasant company.   They lovely clothes and talked about the or hard times, but confined the conversatio(wore) ntofashions,scandalsand(never) whist.Scarletthadneve(war) r played cards before and she tookto whist with joy, becoming a good player in a short time.   Whenever she was at the hotel there was a crowd of whist players in her suite. But she was notoften in her suite these days, for she was too busy with the building of her new house to bebothered with callers. These days she did not much care whether she had callers or not. She wantedto delay her social activities until the day when the house was finished and she could emerge as themistress of Atlanta’s largest mansion, the hostess of the town’s most elaborate entertainments.   Through the long warm days she watched her red stone and gray shingle house rise grandly, totower above any other house on Peachtree Street. Forgetful of the store and the mills, she spent hertime on the lot, arguing with carpenters, bickering with masons, harrying the contractor. As the.   walls went swiftly up she thought with satisfaction that, when finished, it would be larger and finerlooking than any other house in town. It would be even more imposing than the near-by Jamesresidence which had just been purchased for the official mansion of Governor Bullock.   The governor’s mansion was brave with jigsaw work on banisters and eaves, but the intricatescrollwork on Scarlett’s house put the mansion to shame. The mansion had a ballroom, but itlooked like a billiard table compared with the enormous room that covered the entire third floor ofScarlett’s house. In fact, her house had more of everything than the mansion, or any other house intown for that matter, more cupolas and turrets and towers and balconies and lightning rods and farmore windows with colored panes.   A veranda encircled the entire house, and four flights of steps on the four sides of the buildingled up to it. The yard was wide and green and scattered about it were rustic iron benches, an ironsummerhouse, fashionably called a “gazebo” which, Scarlett had been assured, was of pure Gothicdesign, and two large iron statues, one a stag and the other a mastiff as large as a Shetland pony. ToWade and Ella, a little dazzled by the size, splendor and fashionable dark gloom of their newhome, these two metal animals were the only cheerful notes.   Within, the house was furnished as Scarlett had desired, with thick red carpeting which ran fromwall to wall, red velvet portieres and the newest of highly varnished black-walnut furniture, carvedwherever there was an inch for carving and upholstered in such slick horsehair that ladies had todeposit themselves thereon with great care for fear of sliding off. Everywhere on the walls weregilt-framed mirrors and long pier glasses—as many, Rhett said idly, there were in Belle Watling’sestablishment.Interspreadweresteelengravingsinheavyframes(as) , some of them eightfeet long, which Scarlett had ordered especially from New York. The walls were covered with richdark paper, the ceilings high and the house was always dim, for the windows were overdraped with plum-colored p(were) lush hangings that shut out most of the sunlight.   All in all it was an establishment to take one’s breath away and Scarlett, stepping on the softcarpets and sinking into the embrace of the deep feather beds, remembered the cold floors and thestraw-stuffed bedticks of Tara and was satisfied. She thought it the most beautiful and mostelegantly furnished house she had ever seen, but Rhett said it was a nightmare. However, if it madeher happy, she was welcome to it.   “A stranger without being told a word about us would know this house was built with ill-gottengains,” he said. “You know, Scarlett, money ill come by never comes to good and this house isproof of the axiom. It’s just the kind of house a profiteer would build.”   But Scarlett, abrim with pride and happiness and full of plans for the entertainments she wouldgive when they were thoroughly settled in the house, only pinched his ear playfully and said:   “Fiddle-dee-dee! How you do run on!”   She knew, by now, that Rhett loved to take her down a peg, and would spoil her fun wheneverhe could, if she lent an attentive ear to his jibes. Should she take him seriously, she would beforced to quarrel with him and she did not care to match swords, for she always came off second best. So she hardly ever listened to anything he said, and what she was forced to hear she tried toturn off as a joke. At least, she tried for a while.   During their honeymoon and for the greater part of their stay at the National Hotel, they hadlived together with amiability. But scarcely had they moved into the new house and Scarlettgathered her new friends about her, when sudden sharp quarrels sprang up between them. Theywere brief quarrels, short lived because it was impossible to keep a quarrel going with Rhett, whoremained coolly indifferent to her hot words and waited his chance to pink her in an unguardedspot. She quarreled; Rhett did not. He only stated his unequivocal opinion of herself, her actions,her house and her new friends. And some of his opinions were of such a nature that she could nolonger ignore them and treat them as jokes.   For instance when she decided to change the name of “Kennedy’s General Store” to somethingmore edifying, she asked him to think of a title that would include the word “emporium.” Rhettsuggested “Caveat Emptorium,” assuring her that it would be a title most in keeping with the typeof goods sold in the store. She thought it had an imposing sound and even went so far as to havethe sign painted, when Ashley Wilkes, embarrassed, translated the real meaning. And Rhett hadroared at her rage.   And there was the way he treated Mammy. Mammy had never yielded an inch from her standthat Rhett was a mule in horse harness. She was polite but cold to Rhett. She always called him“Cap’n Butler,” never “Mist’ Rhett.” She never even dropped a curtsy when Rhett presented herwith the red petticoat and she never wore it either. She kept Ella and Wade out of Rhett’s waywhenever she could, despite the fact that Wade adored Uncle Rhett and Rhett was obviously fondof the boy. But instead of discharging Mammy or being short and stern with her, Rhett treated herwith the utmost deference, with far more courtesy than he treated any of the ladies of Scarlett’srecent acquaintance. In fact, with more courtesy than he treated Scarlett herself. He always askedMammy’s permission, to take Wade riding and consulted with her before he bought Ella dolls. AndMammy was hardly polite to him.   Scarlett felt that Rhett should be firm with Mammy, as became the head of the house, but Rhettonly laughed and said that Mammy was the real head of the house.   He infuriated Scarlett by saying coolly that he was preparing to be very sorry for her some yearshence, when the Republican rule was gone from Georgia and the Democrats back in power.   “When the Democrats get a governor and a legislature of their own, all your new vulgarRepublican friends will be wiped off the chess board and sent back to minding bars and emptyingslops where they belong. And you’ll be left out on the end of a limb, with never a Democraticfriend or a Republican either. Well, take no thought of the morrow.”   Scarlett laughed, and with some justice, for at that time, Bullock was safe in the governor’schair, twenty-seven negroes were in the legislature and thousands of the Democratic voters ofGeorgia were disfranchised.   “The Democrats will never get back. All they do is make Yankees madder and put off the daywhen they could get back. All they do is talk big and run around at night Ku Kluxing.”   “They will get back. I know Southerners. I know Georgians. They are a tough and bullheaded lot. If they’ve got to fight another war to get back, they’ll fight another war. If they’ve got to buyblack votes like the Yankees have done, then they will buy black votes. If they’ve got to vote tenthousand dead men like the Yankees did, every corpse in every cemetery in Georgia will be at thepolls. Things are going to get so bad under the benign rule of our good friend Rufus Bullock thatGeorgia is going to vomit him up.”   “Rhett, don’t use such vulgar words!” cried Scarlett. “You talk like I wouldn’t be glad to see theDemocrats come back! And you know that isn’t so! I’d be very glad to see them back. Do youthink I like to see these soldiers hanging around, reminding me of—do you think I like— why, I’ma Georgian, too! I’d like to see the Democrats get back. But they won’t. Not ever. And even if theydid, how would that affect my friends? They’d still have their money, wouldn’t they?”   “If they kept their money. But I doubt the ability of any of them to keep money more than fiveyears at the rate they’re spending. Easy come, easy go. Their money won’t do them any good. Anymore than my money has done you any good. It certainly hasn’t made a horse out of you yet, hasit, my pretty mule?”   The quarrel which sprang from this last remark lasted for days. After the fourth day of Scarlett’ssulks and obvious silent demands for an apology, Rhett went to New Orleans, taking Wade withhim, over Mammy’s protests, and he stayed away until Scarlett’s tantrum had passed. But the stingof not humbling him remained with her.   When he came back from New Orleans, cool and bland, she swallowed her anger as best shecould, pushing it into the back of her mind to be thought of at some later date. She did not want tobother with anything unpleasant now. She wanted to be happy for her mind was full of the firstparty she would give in the new house. It would be an enormous night reception with palms and anorchestra and all the porches shrouded in canvas, and a collation that made her mouth water inanticipation. To it she intended to invite everyone she had ever known in Atlanta, all the old friendsand all the new and charming ones she had met since returning from her honeymoon. Theexcitement of the party banished, for the most part, the memory of Rhett’s barbs and she washappy, happier than she had been in years as she planned her reception.   Oh, what fun it was to be rich! To give parties and never count the cost! To buy the mostexpensive furniture and dresses and food and never think about the bills! How marvelous to beable to send tidy checks to Aunt Pauline and Aunt Eulalie in Charleston, and to Will at Tara! Oh,the jealous fools who said money wasn’t everything! How perverse of Rhett to say that it had donenothing for her!   Scarlett issued cards of invitation to all her friends and acquaintances, old and new, even thoseshe did not like. She did not except even Mrs. Merriwether who had been almost rude when shecalled on her at the National Hotel or Mrs. Elsing who had been cool to frigidness. She invitedMrs. Meade and Mrs. Whiting who she knew disliked her and who she knew would beembarrassed because they did not have the proper clothes to wear to so elegant a function. ForScarlett’s housewarming, or “crush,” as it was fashionable to call such evening parties, half-reception, half-ball, was by far the most elaborate affair Atlanta had ever seen.   That night the house and canvas-covered veranda were filled with guests who drank herchampagne punch and ate her patties and creamed oysters and danced to the music of the orchestrathat was carefully screened by a wall of palms and rubber plants. But none of those whom Rhetthad termed the “Old Guard” were present except Melanie and Ashley, Aunt Pitty and Uncle Henry,Dr. and Mrs. Meade and Grandpa Merriwether.   Many of the Old Guard had reluctantly decided to attend the “crush.” Some had acceptedbecause of Melanie’s attitude, others because they felt they owed Rhett a debt for saving their livesand those of their relatives. But, two days before the function, a rumor went about Atlanta thatGovernor Bullock had been invited. The Old Guard signified their disapproval by a sheaf of cards,regretting their inability to accept Scarlett’s kind invitation. And the small group of old friends whodid attend took their departure, embarrassed but firm, as soon as the governor entered Scarlett’shouse.   Scarlett was so bewildered and infuriated at these slights that the party was utterly ruined forher. Her elegant “crush”! She had planned it so lovingly and so few old friends and no old enemieshad been there to see how wonderful it was! After the last guest had gone home at dawn, shewould have cried and stormed had she not been afraid that Rhett would roar with laughter, afraidthat she would read “I told you so” in his dancing black eyes, even if he did not speak the words.   So she swallowed her wrath with poor grace and pretended indifference.   Only to Melanie, the next morning, did she permit herself the luxury of exploding.   “You insulted me, Melly Wilkes, and you made Ashley and the others insult me! You knowthey’d have never gone home so soon if you hadn’t dragged them. Oh, I saw you! Just when Istarted to bring Governor Bullock over to present him to you, you ran like a rabbit!”   “I did not believe—I could not believe that he would really be present,” answered Melanieunhappily. “Even though everybody said—”   “Everybody? So everybody’s been clacking and blabbing about me, have they?” cried Scarlettfuriously. “Do you mean to tell me if you’d known the governor was going to be present, youwouldn’t have come either?”   “No,” said Melanie in a low voice, her eyes on the floor. “Darling, I just wouldn’t have come.”   “Great balls of fire! So you’d have insulted me like everybody else did!”   “Oh, mercy!” cried Melly, in real distress. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. You’re my own sister,darling, my own Charlie’s widow and I—”   She put a timid hand on Scarlett’s arm. But Scarlett flung it off, wishing fervently that she couldroar as loudly as Gerald used to roar when in a temper. But Melanie faced her wrath. And as shelooked into Scarlett’s stormy green eyes, her slight shoulders straightened and a mantle of dignity,strangely at variance with her childish face and figure, fell upon her.   “I’m sorry you’re hurt, my dear, but I cannot meet Governor Bullock or any Republican or anyScalawag. I will not meet them, in your house or any other house. No, not even if I have to—if Ihave to—” Melanie cast about her for the worst thing she could think of—“Not even if I have to berude.”   “Are you criticizing my friends?”   “No, dear. But they are your friends and not mine.”   “Are you criticizing me for having the governor at my house?”   Cornered, Melanie still met Scarlett’s eyes unwaveringly.   “Darling, what you do, you always do for a good reason and I love you and trust you and it isnot for me to criticize. And I will not permit anyone to criticize you in my hearing. But, oh,Scarlett!” Suddenly words began to bubble out, swift hot words and there was inflexible hate in thelow voice. “Can you forget what these people did to us? Can you forget darling Charlie dead andAshley’s health ruined and Twelve Oaks burned? Oh, Scarlett, you can’t forget that terrible manyou shot with your mother’s sewing box in his hands! You can’t forget Sherman’s men at Tara andhow they even stole our underwear! And tried to burn the place down and actually handled myfather’s sword! Oh, Scarlett, it was these same people who robbed us and tortured us and left us tostarve that you invited to your party! The same people who have set the darkies up to lord it overus, who are robbing us and keeping out men from voting! I can’t forget. I won’t forget. I won’t letmy Beau forget and I’ll teach my grandchildren to hate these people—and my grandchildren’sgrandchildren if God lets me live that long! Scarlett, how can you forget?”   Melanie paused for breath and Scarlett stared at her, startled out of her own anger by thequivering note of violence in Melanie’s voice.   “Do you think I’m a fool?” she questioned impatiently. “Of course, I remember! But all that’spast, Melly. It’s up to us to make the best of things and I’m trying to do it. Governor Bullock andsome of the nicer Republicans can help us a lot if we handle them right.”   “There are no nice Republicans,” said Melanie flatly. “And I don’t want their help. And I don’tintend to make the best of things—if they are Yankee things.”   “Good Heaven, Melly, why get in such a pet?”   “Oh!” cried Melanie, looking conscience stricken. “How I have run on! Scarlett I didn’t mean tohurt your feelings or to criticize. Everybody thinks differently and everybody’s got a right to theirown opinion. Now, dear, I love you and you know I love you and nothing you could ever do wouldmake me change. And you still love me, don’t you? I haven’t made you hate me, have I? Scarlett, Icouldn’t stand it if anything ever came between us—after all we’ve been through together! Say it’sall right.”   “Fiddle-dee-dee, Melly, what a tempest you make in a teapot,” said Scarlett grudgingly, but shedid not throw off the hand that stole around her waist.   “Now, we’re all right again,” said Melanie pleasedly but she added softly, “I want us to visiteach other just like we always did, darling. Just you let me know what days Republicans andScalawags are coming to see you and I’ll stay at home on those days.”   “It’s a matter of supreme indifference to me whether you come or not,” said Scarlett, putting onher bonnet and going home in a huff. There was some satisfaction to her wounded vanity in thehurt look on Melanie’s face.   In the weeks that followed her first party, Scarlett was hard put to keep up her pretense ofsupreme indifference to public opinion. When she did not receive calls from old friends, exceptMelanie and Pitty and Uncle Henry and Ashley, and did not get cards to their modest entertainments,she was genuinely puzzled and hurt. Had she not gone out of her way to bury old hatchetsand show these people that she bore them no ill will for their gossiping and backbiting? Surelythey must know that she didn’t like Governor Bullock any more than they did but that it wasexpedient to be nice to him. The idiots! If everybody would be nice to the Republicans, Georgiawould get out of the fix she was in very quickly.   She did not realize then that with one stroke she had cut forever any fragile tie that still boundher to the old days, to old friends. Not even Melanie’s influence could repair the break of thatgossamer thread. And Melanie, bewildered, broken hearted but still loyal, did not try to repair it.   Even had Scarlett wanted to turn back to old ways, old friends, there was no turning back possiblenow. The face of the town was set against her as stonily as granite. The hate that enveloped theBullock regime enveloped her too, a hate that had little fire and fury in it but much coldimplacability. Scarlett had cast her lot with the enemy and, whatever her birth and familyconnections, she was now in the category of a turncoat, a nigger lover, a traitor, a Republican—anda Scalawag.   After a miserable while, Scarlett’s pretended indifference gave way to the real thing. She hadnever been one to worry long over the vagaries of human conduct or to be cast down for long ifone line of action failed. Soon she did not care what the Merriwethers, the Elsings, the Whitings,the Bonnells, the Meades and others thought of her. At least, Melanie called, bringing Ashley, andAshley was the one who mattered the most. And there were other people in Atlanta who wouldcome to her parties, other people far more congenial than those hide-bound old hens. Any time shewanted to fill her house with guests, she could do so and these guests would be far more entertaining,far more handsomely dressed than those prissy, strait-laced old fools who disapproved of her.   These people were newcomers to Atlanta. Some of them were acquaintances of Rhett, someassociated with him in those mysterious affairs which he referred to as “mere business, my pet.”   Some were couples Scarlett had met when she was living at the National Hotel and some wereGovernor Bullock’s appointees.   The set with which she was now moving was a motley crew. Among them were the Gelerts whohad lived in a dozen different states and who apparently had left each one hastily upon detection oftheir swindling schemes; the Conningtons whose connection with the Freedmen’s Bureau in adistant state had been highly lucrative at the expense of the ignorant blacks they were supposed toprotect; the Deals who had sold “cardboard” shoes to the Confederate government until it becamenecessary for them to spend the last year of the war in Europe; the Hundons who had policerecords in many cities but nevertheless were often successful bidders on state contracts; theCarahans who had gotten their start in a gambling house and now were gambling for bigger stakesin the building of nonexistent railroads with the state’s money; the Flahertys who had bought saltat one cent a pound in 1861 and made a fortune when salt went to fifty cents in 1863, and the Bartswho had owned the largest brothel in a Northern metropolis during the war and now were movingin the best circles of Carpetbagger society.   Such people were Scarlett’s intimates now, but those who attended her larger receptions included others of some culture and refinement, many of excellent families. In addition to theCarpetbag gentry, substantial people from the North were moving into Atlanta, attracted by thenever ceasing business activity of the town in this period of rebuilding and expansion. Yankeefamilies of wealth sent young sons to the South to pioneer on the new frontier, and Yankee officersafter their discharge took up permanent residence in the town they had fought so hard to capture.   At first, strangers in strange town, they were glad to accept invitations to the lavishentertainmentsof the wea(a) lthy and hospitable Mrs. Butler, but they soon drifted out of her set. Theywere good people and they needed only a short acquaintance with Carpetbaggers and Carpetbagrule to become as resentful of them as the native Georgians were. Many became Democrats andmore Southern than the Southerners.   Other misfits in Scarlett’s circle remained there only be-cause they were not welcomeelsewhere. They would have much preferred the quiet parlors of the Old Guard, but the Old Guardwould have none of them. Among these were the Yankee schoolmarms who had come South imbuedwith the desire to uplift the Negro and the Scalawags who had been born good Democrats buthad turned Republican after the surrender.   It was hard to say which class was more cordially hated by the settled citizenry, the impracticalYankee schoolmarms or the Scalawags, but the balance probably fell with the latter, Theschoolmarms could be dismissed with, “Well, what can you expect of nigger-loving Yankees? Ofcourse they think the nigger is just as good as they are!” But for those Georgians who had turnedRepublican for personal gain, there was no excuse.   “Starving is good enough for us. It ought to be good enough for you,” was the way the OldGuard felt. Many ex-Confederate soldiers, knowing the frantic fear of men who saw their familiesin want, were more tolerant of former comrades who had changed political colors in order thattheir families might eat. But not the women of the Old Guard, and the women were the implacableand inflexible power behind the social throne. The Lost Cause was stronger, dearer now in theirhearts than it had ever been at the height of its glory. It was a fetish now. Everything about it wassacred, the graves of the men who had died for it, the battle fields, the torn flags, the crossed sabresin their halls, the fading letters from the front, the veterans. These women gave no aid, comfort orquarter to the late enemy, and now Scarlett was numbered among the enemy.   In this mongrel society thrown together by the exigencies of the political situation, there was butone thing in common. That was money. As most of them had never had twenty-five dollars at onetime in their whole lives, previous to the war, they were now embarked on an orgy of spendingsuch as Atlanta had never seen before.   With the Republicans in the political saddle the town entered into era of waste and ostentation,withthetrappingsofrefinementthinlyveneeringtheviceand(an) vulgarity beneath.   Never before had the cleavage of the very rich and the very poor been so marked. Those on toptook no thought for those less fortunate. Except for the negroes, of course. They must have thevery best. The best of schools and lodgings and clothes and amusements, for they were the powerin politics and every negro vote counted. But as for the recently impoverished Atlanta people, theycould starve and drop in the streets for all the newly rich Republicans cared.   On the crest of this wave of vulgarity, Scarlett rode triumphantly, newly a bride, dashingly pretty in her fine clothes, with Rhett’s money solidly behind her. It was an era that suited her, crude,garish, showy, full of overdressed women, overfurnished houses, too many jewels, too manyhorses, too much food, too much whisky. When Scarlett infrequently stopped to think about thematter she knew that none of her new associates could be called ladies by Ellen’s strict standards.   But she had broken with Ellen’s standards too many times since that far-away day when she stoodin the parlor at Tara and decided to be Rhett’s mistress, and she did not often feel the bite of consciencenow.   Perhaps these new friends were not, strictly speaking, ladies and gentlemen but like Rhett’s NewOrleans friends, they were so much fun! So very much more fun than the subdued, churchgoing,Shakespeare-reading friends of her earlier Atlanta days. And, except for her brief honeymooninterlude, she had not had fun in so long. Nor had she had any sense of security. Now secure, shewanted to dance, to play, to riot, to gorge on foods and fine wine, to deck herself in silks andsatins, to wallow on soft feather beds and fine upholstery. And she did all these things. Encouragedby Rhett’s amused tolerance, freed now from the restraints of her childhood, freed even from thatlast fear of poverty, she was permitting herself the luxury she had often dreamed—of doing exactlywhat she pleased and telling people who didn’t like it to go to hell.   To her had come that pleasant intoxication peculiar to those whose lives are a deliberate slap inthe face of organized society—the gambler, the confidence man, the polite adventuress, an thosewho succeed by their wits. She said and did exactly what she pleased and, in practically no time,her insolence knew no bounds.   She did not hesitate to display arrogance to her new Republican and Scalawag friends but to noclass was she ruder or more insolent than the Yankee officers of the garrison and their families. Ofall the heterogeneous mass of people who had poured into Atlanta, the army people alone sherefused to receive or tolerate. She even went out of her way to be bad mannered to them. Melaniewas not alone in being unable to forget what a blue uniform meant. To Scarlett, that uniform andthose gold buttons would always mean the fears of the siege, the terror of flight, the looting andburning, the desperate poverty and the grinding work at Tara. Now that she was rich and secure inthe friendship of the governor and many prominent Republicans, she could be insulting to everyblue uniform she saw. And she was insulting.   Rhett once lazily pointed out to her that most of the male guests who assembled under their roofhad worn that same blue uniform not so long ago, but she retorted that a Yankee didn’t seem like aYankee unless he had on a blue uniform. To which Rhett replied: “Consistency, thou art a jewel,”   and shrugged.   Scarlett, hating the bright hard blue they wore, enjoyed snubbing them all the more because it sobewildered them. The garrison families had a right to be bewildered for most of them were quiet,well-bred folk, lonely in a hostile land, anxious to go home to the North, a little ashamed of theriffraff whose rule they were forced to uphold—an infinitely better class than that of Scarlett’sassociates. Naturally, the officers’ wives were puzzled that the dashing Mrs. Butler took to herbosom such women as the common red-haired Bridget Flaherty and went out of her way to slightthem.   But even the ladies whom Scarlett took to her bosom had to endure much from her. However, they did it gladly. To them, she not only represented wealth and elegance but the old regime, withits old names, old families, old traditions with which they wished ardently to identify themselves.   The old families they yearned after might have cast Scarlett out but the ladies of the newaristocracy did not know it. They only knew that Scarlett’s father had been a great slave owner, hermother a Robillard of Savannah and her husband was Rhett Butler of Charleston. And this wasenough for them. She was their opening wedge into the old society they wished to enter, the societywhich scorned them, would not return calls and bowed frigidly in churches. In fact, she wasmore than their wedge into society. To them, fresh from obscure beginnings, she was society.   Pinchbeck ladies themselves, they no more saw through Scarlett’s pinchbeck pretensions than sheherself did. They took her at her own valuation and endured much at her hands, her airs, hergraces, her tempers, her arrogance, her downright rudeness and her frankness about theirshortcomings.   They were so lately come from nothing and so uncertain of themselves they were doublyanxious to appear refined and feared to show their temper or make retorts in kind, lest they beconsidered unladylike. At all costs they must be ladies. They pretended to great delicacy, modestyand innocence. To hear them talk one would have thought they had no legs, natural functions orknowledge of the wicked world. No one would have thought that red-haired Bridget Flaherty, whohad a sun-defying white skin and a brogue that could be cut with a butter knife, had stolen herfather’s hidden hoard to come to America to be chambermaid in a New York hotel. And to observethe delicate vapors of Sylvia (formerly Sadie Belle) Connington and Mamie Bart, no one wouldhave suspected that the first grew up above her father’s saloon in the Bowery and waited on the barat rush times, and that the latter, so it was said, had come out of one of her husband’s own brothels.   No, they were delicate sheltered creatures now.   The men, though they had made money, learned new ways less easily or were, perhaps, lesspatient with the demands of the new gentility. They drank heavily at Scarlett’s parties, far tooheavily, and usually after a reception there were one or more unexpected guests who stayed thenight. They did not drink like the men of Scarlett’s girlhood. They became sodden, stupid, ugly orobscene. Moreover, no matter how many spittoons she might put out in view, the rugs alwaysshowed signs of tobacco juice on the mornings after.   She had a contempt for these people but she enjoyed them. Because she enjoyed them, she filledthe house with them. And because of her contempt, she told them to go to hell as often as theyannoyed her. But they stood it.   They even stood Rhett, a more difficult matter, for Rhett saw through them and they knew it. Hehad no hesitation about stripping them verbally, even under his own roof, always in a manner thatleft them no reply. Unashamed of how he came by his fortune, he pretended that they, too, wereunashamed of their beginnings and he seldom missed an opportunity to remark upon matterswhich, by common consent, everyone felt were better left in polite obscurity.   There was never any knowing when be would remark affably, over a punch cup: “Ralph, if I’dhad any sense I’d have made my money selling gold-mine stocks to widows and orphans, like you,instead of blockading. It’s so much safer.” “Well, Bill, I see you have a new span of horses. Beenselling a few thousand more bonds for nonexistent railroads? Good work, boy!” “Congratulations,Amos, on landing that state contract. Too bad you had to grease so many palms to get it.”   The ladies felt that he was odiously, unendurably vulgar. The men said, behind his back, that hewas a swine and a bastard. New Atlanta liked Rhett no better than old Atlanta had done and hemade as little attempt to conciliate the one as he had the other. He went his way, amused,contemptuous, impervious to the opinions of those about him, so courteous that his courtesy wasan affront in itself. To Scarlett, he was still an enigma but an enigma about which she no longerbothered her head. She was convinced that nothing ever pleased him or ever would please him thathe either wanted something badly and didn’t have it, or never had wanted anything and so didn’tcare about anything. He laughed at everything she did, encouraged her extravagances andinsolences, jeered at her pretenses—and paid the bills.   埃尔辛太太竖起耳朵听了听过道里的动静,她听见媚兰的脚步声逐渐消失在厨里,厨房里碟子和银器的碰撞声说明正在准备点心,她就回过头来悄悄地对在场的几位太太说起话来。当时这几位太太正在客厅里围坐在一起做活,针线筐子就搁在腿上。   “就我个人而言,我现在不想,永远也不想去拜访思嘉,"她说,脸上高傲的神气显得特别冷酷。   联盟赈济孤寡缝纫会的其他面员一听这话,都连忙放下手中的活计,拉了拉摇椅,凑得更近了。这几位太太早就想议论思嘉和瑞德,只是因为媚兰在场,不便开口,就在两天以前,这对夫妇从新奥尔良回来了。现在就住在民族饭店的新婚套间里。   “休说出于礼貌也要去拜访一下,因为巴特勒船长救过他的命,"埃尔辛太太继续说。”可怜的范妮也同意他的意见,说她也要去拜访。我对她说:'范妮,要不是思嘉,托米现在也还活得好好的。你要是拜访,这岂不是对死者的侮辱吗?'范妮没有头脑,竟然说:“我不是去拜访思嘉,我是去拜访巴特勒船长。他为救托米尽了力,没有救成,也不是他的过错过呀。'"“年轻人就是这样糊涂!"梅里韦瑟太太说。"真是的!还要拜访。"她曾劝思嘉不要和瑞德结婚。思嘉对她态度非常粗暴,她想起这件事,气得她那宽厚的胸脯一起一伏。”我们家的梅贝和你们家的范妮一样地糊涂。她说要和雷内一块儿去拜访,因为巴特勒船长出了力。雷内才没有被绞死,我说要不是思嘉出去乱跑,雷内根本就没有危险。梅里韦瑟爷爷也要去拜访他真是老糊涂了,竟然说即便我不去感谢,他也要感谢那个大流氓。我敢说,自从梅里韦瑟爷爷到沃特琳这狗东西那里去了一趟之后,就干起丢人现眼的现来了。还说去拜访呢!真是的!我可不去。思嘉真是作孽竟然嫁给这样一个人。他在战争期间做投机生意,刮我们的钱,让我们挨饿,真是坏透了。现在他又和北方冒险家和投靠北方的南方人勾结在一起,他还是----是那臭名远扬的布洛克州长的朋友呢----。   还说要去拜访,真是的!”   邦内尔太太叹了一口气,她是个皮肤黝黑的胖女人,总是笑眯眯的。   “他们只去拜访一次,为了礼貌嘛,多丽,我不想责怪他们。   听说那天晚上参加活动的人都想去拜访他,我觉得这也是应该的,不知怎的,我总难以想像思嘉是她母亲的孩子。我在萨凡纳和她母亲爱伦•罗毕拉德是同学。当时没有比她更可爱的姑娘了,我跟她也很要好。当时她想嫁给菲利普•罗毕拉德,她父亲要是不反对就好了。其实那孩子也没有什么不好----年轻人难免干些荒唐事,可是后来爱伦就不得不和奥哈拉老头儿逃走了,结了婚,生了思嘉这么一个女儿。真的,看在爱伦的份上,我也得去拜访他们一次。"“婆婆妈妈的,简直是胡扯!"梅里韦瑟太太婆呼呼地说。   “基蒂•邦内尔,丈夫死了刚一年就又嫁人了,这样一个女人,你也要去拜访吗?这个女人----"“肯尼迪先生实际上也是她杀害的,"英迪亚插言说。她的语调冷淡而尖刻。她一想到思嘉,就想起斯图尔特•塔尔顿,就连礼貌也顾不上了。“肯尼迪先生还没死的时候,我就总觉得她和那个叫巴特勒的人有特殊关系,一般人没注意就是了。"几位太太一听这话,特别是听一位老处女说这样一件事,都感到非常惊讶。她们惊魂未定,媚兰就在门口出现了。她们刚才专心致志地在那里叽咕议论,没有听见媚兰轻盈的脚步,现在看见女主人站在面前,她们就像小学生咬耳朵,被老师当场抓住了一样。媚兰的脸色一变,她们不但惊愕,而且害怕了。她生气是理所当然的。她气得满脸通红,温柔的眼睛冒起火来,鼻翅也不停地颤抖。过去谁也没有见媚兰生过气。在场的人谁也没想到她也是会生气的。她们都很喜欢她,但是她们都认为她是一个最温柔最随和的女人,尊敬长辈,从来不谈个人的看法。   “你怎么敢这这样的话,英迪亚?"她用颤抖的声音小声说,"你这样妒忌,会走到哪一步田地呢?真可耻!"英迪亚的脸色变得煞白,头倒还抬得高高的。   “我说的话,决不收回,"她的话很简短,但心情极不平静的。   “我妒忌吗?"她问自己。她想到斯图尔特•塔尔顿,想到霍妮和查尔斯,难道她没有理由妒忌思嘉吗?难道她没有理由恨她吗?特别现在她怀疑思嘉已经设法使艾希礼落入了她的罗网。她想:“关于艾希礼和你那宝贝思嘉,我还有许多话要对你说。"英迪亚一方面想保持沉默,借以保护艾希礼,一方面又想把自己的一切怀疑告诉媚兰,告诉所有的人,借以把艾希礼解脱出来,她还在犹豫不决。她要是一说出来,就会迫使思嘉彻底放弃她对艾希礼的控制。不过现在时机还没有成熟。因为她还没真其实据,只怀疑而已。   “我说过的话,决不收回,"她又重复说。   “那么,值得庆幸的是你不再和我们一起过日子了,"媚兰语气非常冷淡地说。   英迪亚一听这话,马上站起来,发黄的面孔海涨得通红。   “媚兰,你----你是我的嫂子----不会为了这件小事和我争吵吧----"“思嘉还是我的嫂子呢,"媚兰说,她和英迪亚互相瞪着眼,好像陌生人一样。   “而且对我比亲姐妹还要亲。我从她那里得到的好处。你能这么容易就忘了,我可一辈子忘不了。围城的时候,她一直陪着我,而她本来是可以回家去的,当时就连皮蒂姑妈都跑到梅肯去了。北方佬眼看就到亚特兰大了,她还亲自张罗为我接生。而且不辞劳苦地把我和小博送到塔拉,她当时完全可以把我丢在这里的一所医院里,让北方佬把我抓去。她照料我,给我喂饭,而她自己又累又饿。因为我身体不好,又有病,我睡的是塔拉最好的床垫。后来我能走路了,仅有一双像样的鞋也给我穿上。她为我做的这些事,英迪亚,你忘了,我可忘不了。后来艾希礼回来了,生着病,心灰意懒,无家可归,口袋里一文钱也没有,她像姐姐一样收留他。后来我们觉得非去北方不可,而又舍不得离开佐治亚,这时候又是思嘉出来,让他经营木材厂。巴特勒船长还救了艾希礼的命,这也是他的一片好心,人家又不欠艾希礼什么情分。所以感激他们,既感激思嘉又感激巴特勒船长。而你,英迪亚!   你怎么能忘了思嘉对我和艾希礼的好处呢?你怎么能把你哥哥的生命看得无足轻重,反而用恶言中伤救过他命的人呢?你就是在巴特勒船长和思嘉面前下跪,也不为过呀。"“得了,媚兰,"梅里韦瑟太太用尖刻的语调说,这时她的心情已经平静下来。"别这样对英迪亚说这些。"“你说思嘉的那番话,我也听见了,"媚兰说,她转过身来对付这位胖老太太,神气就像一个参加格斗的人,刚从一个倒下的对手身上拔也剑来,又猛烈地朝另一个对刺去。“还有你,埃尔辛太太。你们那些可爱的脑袋瓜里对她是怎么想的,我不管,因为那是你们自己的事。但是你们在我家里议论她,或者让我听见,我就得管。可是你们怎么会有那样可怕的想法呢,而且还说得出来?难道你们的丈夫就那么不值得爱护,你们愿意让他们活着,宁愿让他们死掉。对于救了他们的人,对于冒着生命危险救了他们的人,你们就一点也不感激吗?事实真相要是一暴露,北方佬当时很可能就认为他也是三K党的成员了。那样,他们就会把他绞死。然而他还是冒着生命危险救了你们家里的人。他救了你公公,梅里韦瑟太太,还救了你的女婿和两个侄儿。邦内尔太太,他救了你的兄弟;埃尔辛太太,他还救了你的儿子和女婿。你们这一帮忘恩负义的人!我要求你们每一个人都道歉。"埃尔辛太太站起来,顺手把活计塞到筐里,嘴唇紧闭,显出很坚决的样子。   “真没想到你也这么没有教养,媚兰----我决不道歉。英迪亚说得对。思嘉是个轻浮放荡的女人。我不会忘记在战争期间的所作所为。也不会忘记她有了几个钱之后,做起事来有多么下贱----"“我真正不会忘记的是,"媚兰打断她的话,握起两只小拳头插在腰间,说,“她不让休管木材厂了,因为他太无能。"“媚兰!“大家一起发出了抱怨声。   埃尔辛太太把头一扬,朝门口走去。她抓着门把,停住脚步,转过身来说:“媚兰,”她的语气变得温和了,"亲爱的,这件事让我太伤心了。我是你母亲最要好的朋友,是我帮着米德大夫把你接到这个世界上来的。我把你当自己的孩子一样疼爱。要是为了什么要紧的事,你这样说倒也罢了。可是我样说的是思嘉•奥哈拉这样一个女人,她马上就会坑害你,就像对待我们一样—-"埃尔辛太太开始说这番话时,媚兰的眼睛还有些湿润,等这位老妇人说完,媚兰的脸色反而显得坚定了。   “请各位注意,"她说,"如果谁不拜访思嘉,谁就永远不要再来看我。"大家一听这话,顿时嚷嚷起来,混乱之中,她们站起身来。埃尔辛太太把针线筐往地上一扔,走了回来,假发也歪到一边去了。   “这我不干!"她说。"这我不干。你是发昏了,媚兰,不过我不责怪你。你我仍然是朋友,不能让这件事影响咱们的关系。"她说着说着哭起来。不知怎的,媚兰也在她怀里哭起来了,不过她还抽抽搭搭地说她刚才的话是当真的,还有几位妇女也放声大哭。梅里韦瑟太太一边用手绢语着脸痛哭,一边把埃尔辛太太和媚兰都搂起来了,皮蒂姑妈原来只是呆呆地在一旁看着,这时忽然瘫在地上。她过去也常晕倒,有时是真晕倒,这一次可的确是晕倒了。有人哭泣,有人亲吻,有人忙着找嗅盐,有人跑着去拿白兰地,就在这一片混乱之中,只有一个人脸色沉静,两眼不湿。英迪亚•威尔克斯趁着无人注意,溜走了。   过了几个钟头,梅里韦瑟爷爷在时代少女酒馆见到亨利•汉密尔顿叔叔,就把他从儿媳妇那里听来的上午发生的事,津津有味,一五一十地述说了一遍。现在总算有个人能镇住他那凶狠的儿媳,他自己可没那勇气。   “那么这一伙没有头脑的傻瓜最后打算怎么办呢?"亨利叔叔不耐烦地问。   “我也说不清楚,"梅里韦瑟爷爷说:“不过据我看,这场争论,媚兰没怎么费劲就占了上风。我敢说,她们都会去拜访的,至少也得去一次。你那侄女,大家是很看重的,亨利。"“媚兰是个傻瓜,倒是另外那些女人说得对。思嘉是个滑头女人,不知道查尔斯当时怎么会娶她做老婆,"亨利叔叔闷闷不乐地说。"不过媚兰的话也有一定的道理。巴特勒船长救的所有的人,是应当和家属一起去拜访,要不就太不像话。说实在的,我对巴特勒并不怎么反感。那天晚上他像个男子汉救了我们的命,思嘉才是眼中钉,肉中刺。这个女太聪明,反而害了她自己。反正我是要去拜访他们的。管他是不是投靠了北方佬,思嘉总还是我的侄媳妇。我想今天下午就去拜访他们的。"“我和你一块儿去,亨利。多丽要是听说我去了,非得发疯不可。等我再喝一杯就走。"“别喝了,咱们去喝巴特勒船长的酒吧。说句公道话,他那里总是有好酒喝的。"瑞德早就说那顽固派是不会认输的,他这话还真都说对了。有些人来拜访他们,他知道这是没有什么意义,他也知道他们为什么来看他们。参加三K党那次不成功的行动的人,他们的家属起初是来拜访过,但是很明显,后来就很少来了。而且他们也不邀请瑞德•巴特勒夫妇到他们家里去做客。   瑞德说,这些人要不是怕冒犯媚兰,是不会来看望他们的。他为什么会这么想,思嘉也不知道,只觉得这个想法很无聊,也的确是很无聊。因为思嘉为什么能影响埃尔辛太太和梅里韦瑟太太这样的人呢?他们来过一次就不再来了,思嘉并不怎么在意,其实,她几乎就没有发现,因为他们这套房子里常常挤满了另一种类型的客人。期住在亚特兰大的本地人管他们叫"外来户,"这还不是最客气的称呼呢。   民族饭店里住着很多"外来户",他们和瑞德和思嘉一样,也是因为自己的房子还没盖好。他们既活跃,又很阔气,很像瑞德在新奥尔良结交的那些朋友。他们的衣服很考究,花起钱来大手大脚,至于来历,就不清楚了。这些人之中,男的都是共和党人,都是"因与州政府有关的公务而到亚特兰大来的。"究竟是什么有关的公务,思嘉既不知道,也不想费心思去了解。   其实瑞德可以把确切的情况告诉她----他们所要干的和秃鹰对快死的动物所要 Chapter 50 RHETT NEVER DEVIATED from his smooth, imperturbable manners, even in their mostintimate moments. But Scarlett never lost the old feeling that he was watching her covertly, knewthat if she turned her head suddenly she would surprise in his eyes that speculative, waiting look,that look of almost terrible patience that she did not understand.   Sometimes, he was a very comfortable person to live with, for all his unfortunate habit of notpermitting anyone in his presence to act a lie, palm off a pretense or indulge in bombast. Helistened to her talk of the store and the mills and the saloon, the convicts and the cost of feedingthem, and gave shrewd hard-headed advice. He had untiring energy for the dancing and parties sheloved and an unending supply of coarse stories with which he regaled her on their infrequentevenings alone when the table was cleared and brandy and coffee before them. She found that hewould give her anything she desired, answer any question she asked as long as she was forthright,and refuse her anything she attempted to gain by indirection, hints and feminine angling. He had adisconcerting habit of seeing through her and laughing rudely.   Contemplating the suave indifference with which he generally treated her, Scarlett frequentlywondered, but with no real curiosity, why he had married her. Men married for love or a home andchildren or money but she knew he had married her for none of these things. He certainly did notlove her. He referred to her lovely house as an architectural horror and said he would rather live ina well-regulated hotel than a home. And he never once hinted about children as Charles and Frankhad done. Once when trying to coquet with him she asked why he married her and was infuriatedwhen he replied with an amused gleam in his eyes: “I married you to keep you for a pet, my dear.”   No, he hadn’t married her for any of the usual reasons men marry women. He had married hersolely because he wanted her and couldn’t get her any other way. He had admitted as much thenight he proposed to her. He had wanted her, just as he had wanted Belle Watling. This was not apleasant thought In fact it was a barefaced insult. But she shrugged it off as she had learned toshrug off all unpleasant facts. They had made a bargain and she was quite pleased with her side ofthe bargain. She hoped he was equally pleased but she did not care very much whether he was ornot.   But one afternoon when she was consulting Dr. Meade about a digestive upset, she learned anunpleasant fact which she could not shrug off. It was with real hate in her eyes that she stormedinto her bedroom at twilight and told Rhett that she was going to have a baby.   He was lounging in a silk dressing gown in a cloud of smoke and his eyes went sharply to herface as she spoke. But he said nothing. He watched her in silence but there was a tenseness abouthis pose, as he waited for her next words, that was lost on her. Indignation and despair had claimedher to the exclusion of all other thoughts.   “You know I don’t want any more children! I never wanted any at all. Every time things aregoing right with me I have to have a baby. Oh, don’t sit there and laugh! You don’t want it either.   Oh, Mother of God!”   If he was waiting for words from her, these were not the words he wanted. His face hardenedslightly and his eyes became blank.   “Well, why not give it to Miss Melly? Didn’t you tell me she was so misguided as to wantanother baby?”   “Oh, I could kill you! I won’t have it, I tell you, I won’t!”   “No? Pray continue.”   “Oh, there are things to do. I’m not the stupid country fool I used to be. Now, I know that awoman doesn’t have to have children if she doesn’t want them! There are things—”   He was on his feet and had her by the wrist and there was a hard, driving fear in his face.   “Scarlett, you fool, tell me the truth! You haven’t done anything?”   “No, I haven’t, but I’m going to. Do you think I’m going to have my figure ruined all overagain, just when I’ve gotten my waist line down and am having a good time.”   “Where did you get this idea? Who’s been telling you things?”   “Mamie Bart—she—”   The madam of a whore house would know such tricks. That woman never puts foot in this houseagain, do you understand? After all, it is my house and I’m the master of it. I do not even want youto speak to her again.”   “I’ll do as I please. Turn me loose. Why should you care?”   “I don’t care whether you have one child or twenty, but I do care if you die.”   “Die? Me?”   “Yes, die. I don’t suppose Mamie Bart told you the chances a woman takes when she does athing like that?”   “No,” said Scarlett reluctantly. “She just said it would fix things up fine.”   “By God, I will kill her!” cried Rhett and his face was black with rage. He looked down intoScarlett’s tear-stained face and some of the wrath faded but it was still hard and set. Suddenly hepicked her up in his arms and sat down in the chair, holding her close to him, tightly, as if he fearedshe would get away from him.   “Listen, my baby, I won’t have you take your life in your hands. Do you hear? Good God, Idon’t want children any more than you do, but I can support them. I don’t want to hear any more foolishness out of you, and if you dare try to—Scarlett, I saw a girl die that way once. She wasonly a—well, but she was a pretty sort at that. It’s not an easy way to die. I—”   “Why, Rhett!” she cried, startled out of her misery at the emotion in his voice. She had neverseen him so moved. “Where—who—”   “In New Orleans—oh, years ago. I was young and impressionable.” He bent his head suddenlyand buried his lips in her hair. “You’ll have your baby, Scarlett, if I have to handcuff you to mywrist for the next nine months.”   She sat up in his lap and stared into his face with frank curiosity. Under her gaze it was suddenlysmooth and bland as though wiped clear by magic. His eyebrows were up and the corner of hismouth was down.   “Do I mean so much to you?” she questioned, dropping her eyelids.   He gave her a level look as though estimating how much coquetry was behind the question.   Reading the true meaning of her demeanor, he made casual answer.   “Well, yes. You see, I’ve invested a good deal of money in you, and I’d hate to lose it.”   .   Melanie came out of Scarlett’s room, weary from the strain but happy to tears at the birth ofScarlett’s daughter. Rhett stood tensely in the hall, surrounded by cigar butts which had burnedholes in the fine carpet“You can go in now, Captain Butler,” she said shyly.   Rhett went swiftly past her into the room and Melanie had a brief glimpse of him bending overthe small naked baby in Mammy’s lap before Dr. Meade shut the door. Melanie sank into a chair,her face pinkening with embarrassment that she had unintentionally witnessed so intimate a scene.   “Ah!” she thought “How sweet! How worried poor Captain Butler has been! And he did not takea single drink all this time! How nice of him. So many gentlemen are so intoxicated by the timetheir babies are born. I fear he needs a drink badly. Dare I suggest it? No, that would be veryforward of me.”   She sank gratefully into a chair, her back, which always ached these days, feeling as though itwould break in two at the waist line. Oh, how fortunate Scarlett was to have Captain Butler justoutside her door while the baby was being born! If only she had had Ashley with her that dreadfulday Beau came she would not have suffered half so much. If only that small girl behind thoseclosed doors were hers and not Scarlett’s! Oh, how wicked I am, she thought guiltily. I amcoveting her baby and Scarlett has been so good to me. Forgive me, Lord. I wouldn’t really wantScarlett’s baby but—but I would so like a baby of my own!   She pushed a small cushion behind her aching back and thought hungrily of a daughter of herown. But Dr. Meade had never changed his opinion on that subject. And though she was quitewilling to risk her life for another child, Ashley would not hear of it. A daughter. How Ashleywould love a daughter!   A daughter! Mercy! She sat up in alarm. I never told Captain Butler it was a girl! And of coursehe was expecting a boy. Oh, how dreadful!   Melanie knew that to a woman a child of either sex was equally welcome but to a man, andespecially such a self-willed man as Captain Butler, a girl would be a blow, a reflection upon hismanhood. Oh, how thankful she was that God had permitted her only child to be a boy! She knewthat, had she been the wife of the fearsome Captain Butler, she would have thankfully died inchildbirth rather than present him with a daughter as his first-born.   But Mammy, waddling grinning from the room, set her mind at ease—and at the same timemade her wonder just what kind of man Captain Butler really was.   “Wen Ah wuz bathin’ dat chile, jes’ now,” said Mammy, “Ah kinder ‘pologized ter Mist’ Rhett‘bout it not bein’ a boy. But, Lawd, Miss Melly, you know whut he say? He say, Hesh yo mouf,Mammy! Who want a boy? Boys ain’ no fun. Dey’s jes’ a passel of trouble. Gals is whut is fun. Ahwouldn’ swap disyere gal fer a baker’s dozen of boys.’ Den he try ter snatch de chile frum me,buck nekked as she wuz an’ Ah slap his wrist an’ say ‘B’have yo’seff, Mist’ Rhett! Ah’ll jes’ bidemah time tell you gits a boy, an’ den Ah’ll laff out loud to hear you holler fer joy.’ He grin an’   shake his haid an’ say, ‘Mammy, you is a fool. Boys ain’ no use ter nobody. Ain’ Ah a proof ofdat?’ Yas’m, Miss Melly, he ack lak a gempmum ‘bout it,” finished Mammy graciously. It was notlost on Melanie that Rhett’s conduct had gone far toward redeeming him in Mammy’s eyes.   “Maybe Ah done been a mite wrong ‘bout Mist’ Rhett. Dis sho is a happy day ter me, Miss Melly.   Ah done diapered three ginrations of Robillard gals, an’ it sho is a happy day.”   “Oh, yes, it is a happy day, Mammy. The happiest days are the days when babies come!”   To one person in the house it was not a happy day. Scolded and for the most part ignored, WadeHampton idled miserably about the dining room. Early that morning, Mammy had waked himabruptly, dressed him hurriedly and sent him with Ella to Aunt Pitty’s house for breakfast. The onlyexplanation he received was that his mother was sick and the noise of his playing might upset her.   Aunt Pitty’s house was in an uproar, for the news of Scarlett’s sickness had sent the old lady to bedin a state with Cookie in attendance, and breakfast was a scant meal that Peter concocted for thechildren. As the morning wore on fear began to possess Wade’s soul. Suppose Mother died? Otherboys’ mothers had died. He had seen the hearses move away from the house and heard his smallfriends sobbing. Suppose Mother should die? Wade loved his mother very much, almost as muchas he feared her, and the thought of her being carried away in a black hearse behind black horseswith plumes on their bridles made his small chest ache so that he could hardly breathe.   When noon came and Peter was busy in the kitchen, Wade slipped out the front door and hurriedhome as fast as his short legs could carry him, fear speeding him. Uncle Rhett or Aunt Melly orMammy surely would tell him the truth. But Uncle Rhett and Aunt Melly were not to be seen andMammy and Dilcey sped up and down the back stairs with towels and basins of hot water and didnot once notice him in the front hall. From upstairs he could hear occasionally the curt tones of Dr.   Meade whenever a door opened. Once he heard his mother groan and he burst into sobbinghiccoughs. He knew she was going to die. For comfort, he made overtures to the honey-colored catwhich lay on the sunny window sill in the front hall. But Tom, full of years and irritable atdisturbances, switched his tail and spat softly.   Finally, Mammy, coming down the front stairs, her apron rumpled and spotted, her head ragawry, saw him and scowled. Mammy had always been Wade’s mainstay and her frown made himtremble.   “You is de wustes’ boy Ah ever seed,” she said. “Ain’ Ah done sont you ter Miss Pitty’s? Gwanback dar!”   “Is Mother going to—will she die?”   “You is de troublesomes’ chile Ah ever seed! Die? Gawdlmighty, no! Lawd, boys is a tawment.   Ah doan see why de Lawd sen’s boys ter folks. Now, gwan way from here.”   But Wade did not go. He retreated behind the portieres in the hall, only half convinced by herwords. The remark about the troublesomeness of boys stung, for he had always tried his best to begood. Aunt Melly hurried down the stairs half an hour later, pale and tired but smiling to herself.   She looked thunderstruck when she saw his woebegone face in the shadows of the drapery.   Usually Aunt Melly had all the time in the world to give him. She never said, as Mother so oftendid: “Don’t bother me now. I’m in a hurry” or “Run away, Wade. I am busy.”   But this morning she said: “Wade, you’ve been very naughty. Why didn’t you stay at AuntPitty’s?”   “Is Mother going to die?”   “Gracious, no, Wade! Don’t be a silly child,” and then, relenting: “Dr. Meade has just broughther a nice little baby, a sweet little sister for you to play with, and if you are real good you can seeher tonight. Now, run out and play and don’t make any noise.”   Wade slipped into the quiet dining room, his small and insecure world tottering. Was there noplace for a worried little seven-year-old boy on this sunshiny day when the grown-ups acted socuriously? He sat down on the window still in the alcove and nibbled a bit of the elephant’s earwhich grew in a box in the sun. It was so peppery that it stung his eyes to tears and he began to cry.   Mother was probably dying, nobody paid him any heed and one and all, they rushed about becauseof a new baby—a girl baby. Wade had little interest in babies, still less in girls. The only little girlhe knew intimately was Ella and, so far, she had done nothing to command his respect or liking.   After a long interval Dr. Meade and Uncle Rhett came down the stairs and stood talking in thehall in low voices. After the door shut behind the doctor, Uncle Rhett came swiftly into the diningroom and poured himself a large drink from the decanter before he saw Wade. Wade shrank back,expecting to be told again that he was naughty and must return to Aunt Pitty’s, but instead, UncleRhett smiled. Wade had never seen him smile like that or look so happy and, encouraged, heleaped from the sill and ran to him.   “You’ve got a sister,” said Rhett, squeezing him. “By God, the most beautiful baby you eversaw! Now, why are you crying?”   “Mother—”   “Your mother’s eating a great big dinner, chicken and rice and gravy and coffee, and we’regoing to make her some ice cream in a little while and you can have two plates if you want them.   And I’ll show you your sister too.”   Weak with relief, Wade tried to be polite about his new sister but failed. Everyone was interestedin this girl. No one cared anything about him any more, not even Aunt Melly or Uncle Rhett.   “Uncle Rhett,” he began, “do people like girls better than boys?”   Rhett set down his glass and looked sharply into the small face and instant comprehension cameinto his eyes.   “No, I can’t say they do,” he answered seriously, as though giving the matter due thought. “It’sjust that girls are more trouble than boys and people are apt to worry more about troublesomepeople than those who aren’t.”   “Mammy just said boys were troublesome.”   “Well, Mammy was upset. She didn’t mean it.”   “Uncle Rhett, wouldn’t you rather have had a little boy than a little girl?” questioned Wadehopefully.   “No,” answered Rhett swiftly and, seeing the boy’s face fall, he continued: “Now, why should Iwant a boy when I’ve already got one?”   “You have?” cried Wade, his month falling open at this information. “Where is he?”   “Right here,” answered Rhett and, picking the child up, drew him to his knee. “You are boyenough for me, son.”   For a moment, the security and happiness of being wanted was so great that Wade almost criedagain. His throat worked and he ducked his head against Rhett’s waistcoat.   “You are my boy, aren’t you?”   “Can you be—well, two men’s boy?” questioned Wade, loyalty to the father he had neverknown struggling with love for the man who held him so understandingly.   “Yes,” said Rhett firmly. “Just like you can be your mother’s boy and Aunt Melly’s, too.”   Wade digested this statement. It made sense to him and he smiled and wriggled against Rhett’sarm shyly.   “You understand little boys, don’t you, Uncle Rhett?”   Rhett’s dark face fell into its old harsh lines and his lip twisted.   “Yes,” he said bitterly, “I understand little boys.”   For a moment, fear came back to Wade, fear and a sudden sense of jealousy. Uncle Rhett wasnot thinking of him but of some one else.   “You haven’t got any other—” began Wade and then Rhett set him on his feet.   “I’m going to have a drink and so are you, Wade, your first drink, a toast to your new sister.”   “You haven’t got any other—” began Wade and then seeing Rhett reach for the decanter ofclaret, the excitement at being included in this grown-up ceremony diverted him.   “Oh, I can’t, Uncle Rhett! I promised Aunt Melly I wouldn’t drink till I graduated from the university and she’s going to give me a watch, if I don’t.   “And I’ll give you a chain for it—this one I’m wearing now, if you want it,” said Rhett and hewas smiling again. “Aunt Melly’s quite right But she was talking about spirits, not wine. You mustlearn to drink, wine like a gentleman, son, and there’s no time like the present to learn.”   Skillfully, he diluted the claret with water from the carafe until the liquid was barely pink andhanded the glass to Wade. At that moment, Mammy entered the dining room. She had changed toher best Sunday black and her apron and head rag were fresh and crisp. As she waddled, sheswitched herself and from her skirts came the whisper and rustle of silk. The worried look hadgone from her face and her almost toothless gums showed in a wide smile.   “Burfday gif, Mist’ Rhett!” she said.   Wade stopped with his glass at his lips. He knew Mammy had never liked his stepfather. He hadnever heard her call him anything except “Cap’n Butler,” and her conduct toward him had beendignified but cold. And here she was beaming and sidling and calling him “Mist’ Rhett!” What atopsy-turvy day!   “You’d rather have rum than claret, I suppose,” said Rhett, reaching into the cellaret andproducing a squat bottle. “She is a beautiful baby, isn’t she, Mammy?”   “She sho is,” answered Mammy, smacking her lips as she took the glass.   “Did you ever see a prettier one?”   “Well, suh, Miss Scarlett wuz mout nigh as pretty w’en she come but not quite.”   “Have another glass, Mammy. And Mammy,” his tone was stern but his eyes twinkled, “what’sthat rustling noise I hear?”   “Lawd, Mist’ Rhett, dat ain’ nuthin’ but mah red silk petticoat!” Mammy giggled and switchedtill her huge bulk shook.   “Nothing but your petticoat! I don’t believe it. You sound like a peck of dried leaves rubbingtogether. Let me see. Pull up your skirt.”   “Mist’ Rhett, you is bad! Yeah-O, Lawd!”   Mammy gave a little shriek and retreated and from a distance of a yard, modestly elevated herdress a few inches and showed the ruffle of a red taffeta petticoat.   “You took long enough about wearing it,” grumbled Rhett but his black eyes laughed anddanced.   “Yassuh, too long.”   Then Rhett said something that Wade did not understand.   “No more mule in horse harness?”   “Mist’ Rhett, Miss Scarlett wuz bad ter tell you dat! You ain’ holin’ dat again’ dis ole nigger?”   “No. I’m not holding it. I just wanted to know. Have another drink, Mammy. Have the wholebottle. Drink up, Wade! Give us a toast.”   To Sissy,” cried Wade and gulped the liquid down. Choking he began to cough and hiccoughand the other two laughed and beat him on the back.   From the moment his daughter was born, Rhett’s conduct was puzzling to all observers and heupset many settled notions about himself, notions which both the town and Scarlett were loath tosurrender. Whoever would have thought that he of all people would be so shamelessly, so openlyproud of fatherhood? Especially in view of the embarrassing circumstance that his first-born was agirl and not a boy.   The novelty of fatherhood did not wear off. This caused some secret envy among women whosehusbands took offspring for granted, long before the children were christened. He buttonholedpeople on the street and related details of his child’s miraculous progress without even prefacinghis remarks with the hypocritical but polite: “I know everyone thinks their own child is smart but—” He thought his daughter marvelous, not to be compared with lesser brats, and he did not carewho knew it. When the new nurse permitted the baby to suck a bit of fat pork, thereby bringing onthe first attack of colic, Rhett’s conduct sent seasoned fathers and mothers into gales of laughter.   He hurriedly summoned Dr. Meade and two other doctors, and with difficulty he was restrainedfrom beating the unfortunate with his crop. The was discharged and thereafter followedaseriesofnurseswhorema(nurse) ined,atthemost,aweek.N(nurse) one of them was good enough tosatisfy the exacting requirements Rhett laid down.   Mammy likewise viewed with displeasure the nurses that came and went, for she was jealous ofany strange negro and saw no reason why she could not care for the baby and Wade and Ella, too.   But Mammy was showing her age and rheumatism was slowing her lumbering tread. Rhett lackedthe courage to cite these reasons for employing another nurse. He told her instead that a man of hisposition could not afford to have only one nurse. It did not look well. He would hire two others todo the drudgery and leave her as Mammy-in-chief. This Mammy understood very well. Moreservants were a credit to her position as well as Rhett’s. But she would not, she told him firmly,have any trashy free issue niggers in her nursery. So Rhett sent to Tara for Prissy. He knew hershortcomings but, after all, she was a family darky. And Uncle Peter produced a great-niece namedLou who had belonged to one of Miss Pitty’s Burr cousins.   Even before Scarlett was able to be about again, she noticed Rhett’s pre-occupation with thebaby and was somewhat nettled and embarrassed at his pride in her in front of callers. It was allvery well for a man to love his child but she felt there was something unmanly in the display ofsuch love. He should be offhand and careless, as other men were.   “You are making a fool of yourself,” she said irritably, “and I don’t see why.”   “No? Well, you wouldn’t. The reason is that she’s the first person who’s ever belonged utterly tome.”   “She belongs to me, too!”   “No, you have two other children. She’s mine.”   “Great balls of fire!” said Scarlett. “I had the baby, didn’t I? Besides, honey, I belong to you.”   Rhett looked at her over the black head of the child and smiled oddly.   “Do you, my dear?”   Only the entrance of Melanie stopped one of those swift hot quarrels which seemed to spring upso easily between them these days. Scarlett swallowed her wrath and watched Melanie take thebaby. The name agreed upon for the child was Eugenic Victoria, but that afternoon Melanieunwittingly bestowed a name that clung, even as “Pittypat” had blotted out all memory of SarahJane.   Rhett leaning over the child had said: “Her eyes are going to be pea green.”   “Indeed they are not,” cried Melanie indignantly, forgetting that Scarlett’s eyes were almost thatshade. “They are going to be blue, like Mr. O’Hara’s eyes, as blue as—as blue as the bonnie blueflag.”   “Bonnie Blue Butler,” laughed Rhett, taking the child from her and peering more closely intothe small eyes. And Bonnie she became until even her parents did not recall that she had beennamed for two queens.   瑞德一向是不超出举止圆滑稳重这一常规,就连他们最亲密的时候也是如此。但是思嘉始终不能消除那种由来已久的感觉,觉得他总是在偷偷在注视着她如果她猛一回头,一定会惊动他眼中那揣测、等待的神情,这神情表现出一种几乎难以忍受的耐性,而思嘉对这种耐性是无法理解的。   和他一起生活,有时是很愉快的,虽然他有个怪毛病,不许别人在他面前扯谎、夸夸其谈,或装模作样。他耐心地听她说商店、木材厂和酒店的经营情况,听她说犯人的情况以及花多少钱养活他们,同时也给她出一些很高明很实际的主意。他有用不完的精力来参加她举行的舞会和宴会。偶尔晚上就他俩,吃完了饭,面前摆着白兰地和咖啡,他有许多不登大雅之堂的故事讲给她听,给她解闷。她发现,只要她老老实实地提出来,她要什么他都给什么,她问什么他都耐心回答。可是如果她拐弯抹角,有话不直说,或者耍女人爱耍的手腕,想这样来得到什么东西,他就什么也不给。他能看透她的心思,而且粗鲁地讥笑她,他这个毛病真让思嘉受不了。   瑞德总是对她采取漠不关心的态度,思嘉想到这一点,往往觉得纳闷,这倒也不是由于好奇,但真是明白他为什么和她结婚。男人结婚,有的是为了爱情,有的是为了建立家庭,生儿育女,有的是为了金钱。但是思嘉知道,瑞德和她结婚完全不是为了这个原因。他肯定是不爱她的。他说她这所心爱的房子是一座可怕的建筑,还说宁愿住在一家经营有方的饭店里,也不愿意住在这家里。他与查理和弗兰克不一样,从来没有表示愿意要个孩子。有一次,她挑逗他,问他为什么和她结婚,他两眼流露出喜悦的神情,答道:“我和你结婚,是要把你当作一件心爱的东西留在身边,我的宝贝。"这话使得思嘉大为恼火。   他和思嘉结婚,的确不是由于一般说来男人和女人结婚的那些原因。他和她结婚,完全是因为他想占有她,靠别的办法,他是不可能得到她的。他向她求婚的那天晚上,他就已经如实地招认了。他想占有她,就像过去他想占有贝尔•沃特琳一样。这种联系真令人不快。实际上,这这完全是一种侮辱。但是思嘉已经学会对任何不愉快的事耸耸肩,就算了,因此对这件事也就耸了耸肩,算了。不管怎么说,他们已经做成了交易,而且就她这一方面的情况来说,她是满意的。她希望他也同样是满意的,不过他究竟满意不满意,她也并不怎么关心。   然而有一天下午,思嘉因消化不良,去看米德大夫,了解到一件令人不快的事,这件事可不能耸耸肩膀就算了。黄昏时分,她气冲冲地来到自己的卧室,两眼冒着怒火对瑞德说,她怀孕了。   瑞德身穿绸浴衣,正懒洋洋地坐着吸烟,一听这话,马上扭头去聚精会神地看着她的脸。不过他什么也没说。静静地望着她,紧张地等她说下去,但是她却说不出话来。她又生气,又没办法,什么事情也顾不上想了。   “我不想再要孩子了,你也知道。每当我顺心的时候,就非得生孩子。唉,我从来就不想要孩子。别光坐在那儿笑哇!   你也是不要孩子的呀!我的天哪!”   他刚才等她说下去,可不是等着听她说这样一番话。他稍稍地板起面孔,两眼显得有些茫然。   “唔,不能把他送给媚兰小姐吗?你不是说她想不通,还想再要了一个孩子吗?““哦,我非把你宰了不可!这个孩子,我不要,告诉你说,我不要!"“不要?你再说下去。"”有办法。以前我是个乡巴佬,什么也不知道,现在可不同了。我知道女人要是不想要孩子,就可以不生孩子。是有办法的----"瑞德一下子站起来,急忙抓住她的手腕子,脸上露出非常害怕的神情。   “思嘉,快说实话!你这个傻瓜,你做了没有?"“还没有,不过我要去做的。我的腰刚刚细了一点,我也正想享受一番,你想我能再一次让他把我的身材弄得不成样子吗?"”是谁告诉你的?你怎么会有这个想法?"“玛米•巴特----她----"“这样的鬼把戏,连妓院的老板也知道。你听见了吗?这个女人永远不许再进我家的门,这毕竟是我的家,我还是一家之主,我还不许你再跟她说话。"“我想怎么办,就怎么办。你别管我。你干吗管我的事?"“你生一个孩子也罢,生二十个孩子也罢,我都不管,可是如果你要死,我就得管。"”要死?我?"“是的,是会死的。一个女人做这样的事,要冒多大风险,玛米•巴特大概没有告诉你吧?““没有,"思嘉吞吞吐吐地说。"她光说这样就可以解决问题。"“天哪!我非杀了她不可!"瑞德喊道,他的脸皮得通红。   他低头看了看思嘉满面泪流,气也就渐渐消了,但依然板着面孔。他突然把他搂在怀里,坐在椅子上,紧紧地搂着她,好像怕她跑掉似的。   “你听着,我的小乖乖,我不能让你拿性命当儿戏,你听见了吗?我和你一样,也并不想要孩子,但是我能养活他们。   我不想再听你胡言乱语了,你要是敢去试一试----思嘉,有一次,我亲眼看着一个女人这样死的。她不过是个----唉,她可是个好人。这样死,是很痛苦的。我----"“怎么了,瑞德,"她喊道。听他说话的声音,他很激动,这使得思嘉很惊讶,顿时忘了自己的痛苦。她从来没有见他这样的激动过。"那是什么地方?那个人是谁----"“在新奥尔良----唉,那是很多年以前的事了。当时我很年轻,容易冲动。"他突然低下头,把嘴唇贴在她在头发上。   “思嘉,即使今后九个月我不得不把你拴在我的手碗上,你也得把这个孩子生下来。”她在他腿上坐了下来,直率地用好奇的眼光盯着他。在她的注视之下,瑞德的脸突然舒展了,平静了,好像有一种魔力在起作用。他的眉上去了,嘴角也下来了。   “我对你说这么重要吗?"她一边问,一边把眼皮耷拉下来。   瑞德冷静地看了她一眼,仿佛估量一下这个问题里面有多少卖弄风情的成分。弄清了她的真实用意之后,便随口答道:“是呀!你看,我在你身上花了这么多钱,我可不想白花呀。"思嘉生了一个女孩,媚兰从思嘉屋里出来时,虽然累极了,却高兴得流出了眼泪。瑞德站着走廓里等着,很紧张,周围有好几个雪茄烟的烟头,把那上好的地毯都烧出洞来了。   “现在你可以进去了,巴特勒船长,"媚兰说,她感到有些难为情。   瑞德连忙从她身边过去,进到屋里,媚兰瞧见他弯腰去看嬷嬷怀里那个光着屁股的婴儿,接着米德大夫就过来把门关上了。媚兰瘫在一把椅子上,满脸通红,因为刚才无意中看见那样亲切的情景,怪不好意思的。   “啊!真好啊!"她想。"可怜的巴特勒船长操了多大的心啊!"他多好啊!在这段时间里,他一点酒都没喝。有多少男人,到孩子生下来的时间,他们都喝得酩酊大醉。我想他现在一定很想喝杯酒。要不要提醒他一下?算了,那就显得我太冒失了。"她缩在椅子里,觉得舒服一些,因为近来她一直腰痛,这会儿痛得厉害像要断成两截。看,思嘉多么幸运啊,生孩子的时候,巴特勒船长就在门外等着。她生小博的那个可怕的日子,要是艾希礼在身边,她就不会受那么大的罪了。屋里那个小女孩要是她自己的,而不是思嘉的,那该有多好啊!   “唉,我怎么这么想呢,"她又责怪起来自己来。"思嘉一向待我这么好,我竟妄想要她的孩子。主啊,饶恕我吧!我并不真的想要思嘉的孩子,而是----而是我非常希望自己再生一个孩子呀!"媚兰把一个小靠垫塞在腰下,把疼的地方垫一垫,如饥似渴地盘算自己生一个女儿。可是米德大夫在这个问题上从不改口。虽然她本人很愿意冒着生命危险再生一个,艾希礼却是说什么也不干。生一个女儿,艾希礼多么希望有个女儿呀!   女儿!天哪!她慌忙坐起来。"我忘了告诉巴特勒船长,是个女儿呀!他一定盼望是一个男孩。唉,多么可怕啊!"媚兰知道,对女人来说,生男孩女孩都一样喜欢,但是对男人来说,尤其是像巴特勒船长这样倔犟的人,生个女孩对他可能是个打击,是对他那刚强性格的惩罚。媚兰只能生一个孩子,上帝竟然让她生了个男孩她是多么感激埃她心里想,如果她是那可怕的巴特勒船长的妻子,她就宁可心满意足地在产床上死去,也不能头一胎给他生个女儿呀。   不过这时候嬷嬷趔趔趄趄地笑着从屋里走出来,解除了媚兰的思想顾虑----同时也使她纳闷,不知巴特勒船长究竟是个什么样的人。   “我刚才给孩子洗澡的时候,"嬷嬷说,"我都可以说向瑞德先生道歉了,因为不是个男孩。可是,媚兰呀,你猜他说什么?他说:'快别说了,嬷嬷!谁说要男孩呀?男孩只会添麻烦,男孩没有意思。女孩才有意思哩。要是有人拿一打男孩来换我这个女孩,我也不换。'接着他就想把那光溜溜的女孩从我手里抢过去,我在他手腕上给了他一巴掌,我说:'老实点,瑞德先生!我要等着瞧,等你什么时候欢天喜地得了儿子的时候,看我笑你不笑你。'他笑着摇了摇头说;"嬷嬷,你好糊涂呀!男孩一点用也没有。我不就是例子吗?'是啊,媚兰小姐,在这件事情上,他还真像个上等人。"嬷嬷说完了,显出很满意的样子。媚兰注意到了,瑞德这样做已经在很大程度上改变了嬷嬷对他的看法。"也许我以前错怪了瑞德先生。今天对我来说是个喜庆的日子,媚兰小姐。我为罗毕拉德家照看了三代女孩儿了,今天可真是个喜庆的日子呀!"“哦,是啊,的确是个喜庆的日子,嬷嬷。孩子出生的日子是最高兴的日子!"然而对于家里的某一个人来说,这并不是一个高兴的日子。韦德•汉普顿挨了骂之后,大部分时间无人理睬,只好在饭厅里消磨时间,真可怜极了。那一天清早,嬷嬷突然把他叫醒,急忙给他穿上衣服,把他和爱拉一起送到皮蒂姑妈家吃早饭。他光听说是母亲病了他要是在这里玩,就会吵得母亲不得安静。皮蒂姑妈家里也乱成一团了,因为思嘉生病的消息传来,姑妈一下子就病倒了,保姆去照顾她,彼得将就着为孩子做了一顿简单的早饭。过了一些时候,韦德心里开始感到害怕。母亲死了怎么办?别的男孩就有死了母亲的。   他亲眼看见过灵车从小朋友家里开出来,还听见小朋友哭呢。   韦德虽然很怕母亲,可是也很爱母亲,母亲要是死了怎么办?   他一想到要把母亲装上黑色的灵车,前面黑马的笼头上还插着羽毛,他那小小的胸口就感到发疼,几乎透不过起来。   到了中午,彼得在厨房里忙个不停,韦德就趁此机会溜出前门,尽快往家赶,心里害怕极力,跑得特别快。他想瑞德伯伯,或者媚兰姑妈,或者嬷嬷一定会把真实情况告诉他。   可是瑞德伯伯和媚兰姑妈找不着。嬷嬷和迪尔茜拿着毛巾,端着一盆盆热水在后面的楼梯上跑上跑下,根本没发现他在前面的过道里。楼上的房门一开,他能听见米德大夫简短的说话声。有一次,听见母亲的叫声,他便抽抽搭搭地哭起来。他认为母亲快死了。为了寻求安慰,他就去逗一只金黄色的猫,这猫名叫汤姆,当时正躺在前面过道里洒满阳光的窗台上。谁知汤姆上了几岁年纪,不喜欢打扰,竖起尾巴,发出了低沉的吼叫声。   最后嬷嬷从前面的楼梯上下来,围裙又脏又皱,头巾也歪到一边去了。嬷嬷一看见他,就斥责起来。嬷嬷一向是喜欢他并给他撑腰的,现在她一皱眉,韦德就发抖了。   “没见过像你这么淘气的孩子,"她说。"我不是把你送到皮蒂姑妈那儿去了吗?快回那儿去吧!"“母亲是不是要----她会死吗?"“没见过像你这么讨厌的孩子!死?我的上帝,死不了。   男孩子就是讨人嫌。上帝干吗要往人家送男孩儿呢?走开吧,走开吧!"可是韦德并没有走开。他躲在过道里的门帘后面,因为他不完全相信她的话。她说男孩子讨人嫌,这话很刺耳,因为他一贯是努力做好孩子的。又过了半个钟头。媚兰姑妈匆匆走下楼来,面色苍白,非常疲倦,脸上却带着微笑。她在帘子后面看见他那张可怜的小脸,大吃一惊。平时媚兰姑妈对他总是非常耐心的,从来不像母亲那样说:“现在别来烦我,我有急事,"或者说:“走开,韦德,我忙着呢。”但是今天早上她说:“韦德,你可真淘气呀!怎么不待在皮蒂姑奶奶那儿。"“我母亲是不是要死了?"“哎呀,不会的,韦德。你怎么这么傻呀?"接着又和蔼地说:“米德大夫刚才给你妈送来了一个可爱的小娃娃,是个很好看的小妹妹,你可以哄着她玩。你要是真是很乖,今天晚上就能看见她。现在去玩吧,别嚷。"韦德悄悄地走进宁静的饭厅,觉得他那个不稳定的小世界发生了动遥今天的天气这么好,大人们的举动都这么怪,难道一个七岁的孩子,心里还有事,就没有个地方待吗?他在窗台上坐下来,看见阳光底下盒子里种着一棵秋海棠,就咬一了小口。谁知它辣乎乎的,辣得他直流眼泪,哭起来。母亲快死了,谁也不关心他,所有的人都围着一个新来的孩子转----而且还是个女孩。韦德对小孩不感兴趣,对女孩尤其不感兴趣。他熟悉的小女孩只有一个,那就是爱拉,不过到现在为止,她还没有做出什么像样的事来赢得他的尊敬和好感。   过了好半天,米德大夫和瑞德伯伯才走下楼来,站在过道里小声说话。大夫走了以后,瑞德伯伯赶紧来到饭厅里,拿起酒瓶,倒了一大杯,这时他才看见韦德。韦德赶快往后退缩,怕又要挨骂,说他淘气,非让他回到皮蒂姑奶奶家去,可是瑞德伯伯笑了。韦德从来没见他这样笑过,没见他这样高兴过,于是他的胆子也就大了,他马上离开窗台,朝瑞德伯伯跑了过去。   “你有了一个小妹妹,"瑞德紧紧地握着他的手说。"你知道吗,你从来没见过这么漂亮的妹妹。怎么,你干吗哭哇?"“母亲----"“你母亲正在大吃一顿,有鸡,有米饭,有肉汤,有咖啡。   过一会儿,我们还要给她做一点冰激凌。你要是想吃,可以吃两盘。我还要让你看看小妹妹呢。"这时韦德放心了,想说句客气话来欢迎这个新来的妹妹,这时感到浑身无力却说不出来。大家都在关心这个女孩,谁也不再关心他了,就连媚兰姑妈和瑞德伯伯也是这样。   “瑞德伯伯,"他说,“是不是大家都喜欢女孩,不喜欢男孩儿?"瑞德放下酒杯,认真地看了看那张小脸,马上就明白了。   “不对,不能这么说,"他严肃地回答说,仿佛在认真考虑这个问题。"只不过女孩子麻烦事比男孩子多,大家总爱对麻须事多的操心更多一些。"“嬷嬷刚才就说男孩儿讨人嫌。”“哦,嬷嬷刚才心情不好。她不是那个意思。"“瑞德伯伯,你本来是不是很想要个男孩儿,不想要个女孩儿?"韦德满怀希望地问。   “不是,"瑞德简洁地回答。他看着韦德低下头去,说接着说:“你看,我已经有一个男孩子,还要男孩干什么?"“有了?"韦德一听,张着大嘴问。"在哪儿?““就在这里呀!"瑞德一面说,一面把韦德抱起来,放在膝上,"我有你这个男孩就足够了,孩子。"这时韦德知道还有人要他,心里觉得踏实多了,高兴得几乎又要哭起来。他觉得喉咙里堵得慌,便将头靠在瑞德胸前。   “你就是我的男孩,是不是?”   “能做两个人的男孩吗?"韦德问,他一方面忠于从没见过面的生身父亲,一方面又很爱这样体贴地抱着他的这个人,两种感情在激烈地斗争着。   “是的,"瑞德很肯定地说。"就像你既是母亲的孩子,也是媚兰姑妈的孩子。“韦德想了想这句话的意思,觉得有道理,便笑了笑,不好意思地在瑞德怀里扭动起来。   “你知道小孩子的心思吗,瑞德伯伯?”   瑞德那黑黑的面孔顿时像往常一样严肃起来,嘴唇绷得紧紧的。   “是的,"他用痛苦的声音说,"我知道小孩子的心思。"这时韦德又害起怕来,不光是害怕,而且还突然产生了一种忌妒的心理。瑞德伯伯心里想的不是他,而是另外一个人。   “你没有别的小男孩吧,有吗?”   瑞德把他推开,让他站在地上。   “我要喝杯酒,你也喝一杯,韦德,这是你第一次喝酒,咱们祝贺你这个新来的小妹妹。"“哦,“你没有别的----"韦德说一半,就看见瑞德伸手去拿装着红葡萄酒的大酒瓶,意识到要和成年人一起喝酒了,他感到非常高兴,没有再追问下去。   “哦,我不能喝,瑞德伯伯!我答应过媚兰姑妈,大学毕业前不喝酒,她说我要是不喝,她到时候给我一只表。"“我再给你配上条链子-你要是喜欢,就把我现在用的这条给你,“瑞德说着,又笑了起来。"媚兰姑妈做得很对。不过她指的是烈性酒,不是露酒。孩子,你要学着像有风度的人那样喝酒,眼前就是一个很好的学习机会。"瑞德很熟练地用玻璃里白水把葡萄酒冲淡,冲得还微微有点红色的时候,才把杯子递给韦德。就在这时,嬷嬷走进饭厅里来了。她已经换上了最好的衣服,围裙和头巾也是新换的,整整齐齐。她一扭一扭地蹒跚而行,裙子发出丝绸摩擦的啊啊声。那焦虑不安的神情已经完全从她脸上消失了,牙几乎全掉了,露出牙床,笑得很开心。   “你大喜了,瑞德先生!"她说。   韦德举着酒杯正要喝,一听这话,楞住了。他知道嬷嬷一向不喜欢他这位继父。她总是称他为"巴特勒船长,"从来没听见她用过别的称呼。在他面前,她的举动总是庄重而冷淡。可是现在,她竟然嘻嘻哈哈地管他叫"瑞德先生"了!今天怎么全乱套了!   “我看你是想喝罗姆酒,而不是红葡萄酒,"瑞德说着就伸手到酒柜里,拿出一个矮瓶子。"我的女儿很漂亮啊,是不是,嬷嬷?"“当然漂亮,"嬷嬷答道,一面捂着嘴唇把酒接过。   “你还见过比她漂亮的吗?”   “哦,思嘉小姐生下来和她差不多漂亮,不过稍差一点。"“再喝一杯,嬷嬷。还有,嬷嬷,"说到这里,他的语调变得严厉起来,可是他的眼下一眨一眨的,”那啊啊啊啊的是什么声音?"“天啊!瑞德先生,不是别的,是我的红绸子衬裙呀!“嬷嬷一面笑着,一面扭动,连她那宽厚的上身也都抖动起来。   “是你的衬裙!我不相信。听起来像是干树叶子摩擦的声音嘛。让我看看。把裙子撩起来。"“瑞德先生,你真坏!就是----哦,天哪!"嬷嬷轻轻地叫了一声,往后退了退,在一码远的地方小心翼翼地把裙子提起了几英寸,露出了红绸衬裙的褶边。   “放了这么长时间你才穿哪,"瑞德低声说,但他的黑眼睛却流露着快乐的笑意。   “是呀,放的时间太长了。”   瑞德随后说的话,韦德就听不明白了。   “不再说套着马笼头的骡子了吧?”   “瑞德先生思嘉小姐真坏,怎么把这样的话都告诉你了!   你不会抓着这件事不放,来责怪我这个这黑老婆子吧?"“不会,我不会抓住不放。我只想问问清楚。再来一杯吧,嬷嬷。把这瓶酒全喝了吧。喝呀,韦德。给我们祝酒吧。"”为妹妹干杯,”韦德大声说,接着就一饮而荆这杯酒呛得他又咳嗽,又打嗝儿,两个大人大笑一阵,连忙在他背上拍打起来。   瑞德自从有了这个女儿以后,谁见到他都觉得他的举止很怪。这就影响了人们已经形成的对他的许多看法,而所有的人和思嘉都不愿意改变这些看法。谁能想到他这个人怎么也会不知羞耻地当众炫耀做父的光彩,何况头胎生女儿,没有生儿子,本不是什么光彩的事。   他做父样的新鲜感迟迟没有消退。这使得有些女人暗中羡慕,因为她们生了孩子,还没有受洗礼,她们的丈夫早就认为生儿育女是理所当然的事了。他在街上不论遇见什么人,就没完同说地详细对人家说他的女儿又创造了什么奇迹,开头也不先说一句虚伪的客气话:”我知道人人都觉得自己的孩子好,不过----"他认为自己的女儿很出众,不是一般人的孩子可比,而且逢人便说。一个新来的女仆让孩子吃了一点肥肉,引起了头一次剧烈的肚子疼,瑞德的反应使得有经验的父母大笑不止。他连忙请来了米德大夫,还请了另外两位大夫,人们费了很大的劲,才拦住他没有用鞭子抽那个可怜的女仆。这个女骑马上被辞退了,随后又来了几个,最长也只能待一个礼拜。因为瑞德定下的苛刻条件,她们谁也满足不了。   来来去去的这些女仆,嬷嬷都喜欢,因为她忌妒任何新来的黑人,她还认为没有理由说她不能照顾这个孩子,同时也照顾韦德和爱拉。但是嬷嬷年纪大了,这是明摆着的事,而且她的风湿病了使得她那摇摇晃晃的步子更加迟缓。瑞德没有勇气举出这些理由来另外雇人,却对嬷嬷说,像他这种地位的人不能只雇一个女仆,这样不体面。还要雇两个人干重活,让她当头儿。嬷嬷对这一点十分理解。再来几个佣人,不仅为瑞德增加光彩,也为她增加光彩。但是她对瑞德说,决不能让那些不能干的黑人来照顾孩子。于是瑞德就派人到塔拉去接百里茜。他知道她的弱点。但她毕竟是个家奴。此外,彼得大叔说他有了个侄孙女,名叫卢儿,是属于皮蒂姑妈一个姓伯尔的表亲的。   思嘉还没能够起来活动的时候,就发现瑞德过多地关心这个孩子,他总当着客人的面炫耀自己的女儿,使思嘉感到不快乐,也觉得难为情,一个男人喜欢自己的孩子,本是无可非议的,但是她觉得瑞德表露出这么多的感情,很缺乏男子汉的气概。他应该像别的男人那样,随便一点,自然一点。   “你在当众出丑啊,"她表示不满地说,"我不明白这是什么道理。"“不明白?哦,你是不会明白的。这道理就在于:她是第一个完全属于我的人。"“她也是属于我的呀!"“不,你有另外两个孩子。她是属于我的。"“好家伙!"思嘉说。”这孩子是我生的,不是吗?这还不说,亲爱的,我也是属于你的呀!"瑞德从孩子那黑黑的头发上面看了她一眼,不自然地笑了。   “是吗,亲爱的?”   这些日子来,他们两人之间似乎很容易发生争吵,说吵就吵,眼下是因为媚兰已走进来,才避免一场争吵。思嘉强忍着怒火,看着媚兰从瑞德手上把孩子接过去,原来为孩子商定的名字是尤金妮亚•维多利亚,可是那天下午媚兰无意中给了一个名字,后来就用这个名字了,正如"皮蒂"这个名字用开以后,谁也不记得原名萨拉•简了。   事情的经过是这样的:媚兰接过孩子之后,瑞德弯腰看着孩子说:“她的眼睛一定是豆绿色的。"“才不是呢,"媚兰生气地说,她忘了思嘉的眼睛差不多也是这个颜色的。"一定是蓝色的,和奥哈拉先生的眼睛一样,就像----就像美丽的蓝旗那么蓝。"“就叫邦妮•布卢•巴特勒,"瑞德笑着说。他又把孩子从媚兰手里接过来。更加仔细地看着那双小眼睛。从此孩子就叫邦妮,后来连她的父母也不记得以前还为她借用过一位皇后和女王的名字了。 Chapter 51 WHEN SHE WAS FINALLY able to go out again, Scarlett had Lou lace her into stays as tightlyas the strings would pull. Then she passed the tape measure about her waist. Twenty inches! Shegroaned aloud. That was what having babies did to your figure! Her waist was a large as AuntPitty’s, as large as Mammy’s.   “Pull them tighter, Lou. See if you can’t make it eighteen and a half inches or I can’t get into anyof my dresses.”   “It’ll bust de strings,” said Lou. “Yo’ wais’ jes’ done got bigger, Miss Scarlett, an’ dar ain’   nuthin’ ter do ‘bout it.”   “There is something to do about it,” thought Scarlett as she ripped savagely at the seams of herdress to let out the necessary inches. “I just won’t have any more babies.”   Of course, Bonnie was pretty and a credit to her and Rhett adored the child, but she would nothave another baby. Just how she would manage this she did not know, for she couldn’t handleRhett as she had Frank. Rhett wasn’t afraid of her. It would probably be difficult with Rhett actingso foolishly about Bonnie and probably wanting a son next year, for all that he said he’d drownany boy she gave him. Well, she wouldn’t give him a boy or girl either. Three children wereenough for any woman to have.   When Lou had stitched up the ripped seams, pressed them smooth and buttoned Scarlett into thedress, she called the carriage and Scarlett set out for the lumber yard. Her spirits rose as she wentand she forgot about her waist line, for she was going to meet Ashley at the yard to go over thebooks with him. And, if she was lucky, she might see him alone. She hadn’t seen him since longbefore Bonnie was born. She hadn’t wanted to see him at all when she was so obviously pregnant.   And she had missed the daily contact with him, even if there was always someone around. She had missed the importance and activity of her lumber business while she was immured. Of course, shedid not have to work now. She could easily sell the mills and invest the money for Wade and Ella.   But that would mean she would hardly ever see Ashley, except in a formal social way with crowdsof people around. And working by Ashley’s side was her greatest pleasure.   When she drove up to the yard she saw with interest how high the piles of lumber were and howmany customers were standing among them, talking to Hugh Elsing. And there were six muleteams and wagons being loaded by the negro drivers. Six teams, she thought, with pride. And I didall this by myself!   Ashley came to the door of the little office, his eyes joyful with the pleasure of seeing her againand he handed her out of her carriage and into the office as if she were a queen.   But some of her pleasure was dimmed when she went over the books of his null and comparedthem with Johnnie Gallegher’s books. Ashley had barely made expenses and Johnnie had aremarkable sum to his credit. She forbore to say anything as she looked at the two sheets butAshley read her face.   “Scarlett, I’m sorry. All I can say is that I wish you’d let me hire free darkies instead of usingconvicts. I believe I could do better.”   “Darkies! Why, their pay would break us. Convicts are dirt cheap. If Johnnie can make thismuch with them—”   Ashley’s eyes went over her shoulder, looking at something she could not see, and the glad lightwent out of his eyes.   “I can’t work convicts like Johnnie Gallegher. I can’t drive men.”   “God’s nightgown! Johnnie’s a wonder at it. Ashley, you are just too soft hearted. You ought toget more work out of them. Johnnie told me that any time a malingerer wanted to get out of workhe told you he was sick and you gave him a day off. Good Lord, Ashley! That’s no way to makemoney. A couple of licks will cure most any sickness short of a broken leg—”   “Scarlett! Scarlett! Stop! I can’t bear to hear you talk that way,” cried Ashley, his eyes comingback to her with a fierceness that stopped her short. “Don’t you realize that they are men—some ofthem sick, underfed, miserable and— Oh, my dear, I can’t bear to see the way he has brutalizedyou, you who were always so sweet—”   “Who has whatted me?”   “I’ve got to say it and I haven’t any right. But I’ve got to say it Your—Rhett Butler. Everythinghe touches he poisons. And he has taken you who were so sweet and generous and gentle, for allyour spirited ways, and he has done this to you—hardened you, brutalized you by his contact.”   “Oh,” breathed Scarlett, guilt struggling with joy that Ashley should feel so deeply about her,should still think her sweet. Thank God, he thought Rhett to blame for her penny-pinching ways.   Of course, Rhett had nothing to do with it and the guilt was hers but, after all, another black markon Rhett could do him no harm.   “If it were any other man in the world, I wouldn’t care so much—but Rhett Butler! I’ve seenwhat he’s done to you. Without your realizing it, he’s twisted your thoughts into the same hard path his own run in. Oh, yes, I know I shouldn’t say this— He saved my life and I am grateful but Iwish to God it had been any other man but him! And I haven’t the right to talk to you like—”   “Oh, Ashley, you have the right—no one else has!”   “I tell you I can’t bear it, seeing your fineness coarsened by him, knowing that your beauty andyour charm are in the keeping of a man who— When I think of him touching you, I—”   “He’s going to kiss me!” thought Scarlett ecstatically. “And it won’t be my fault!” She swayedtoward him. But he drew back suddenly, as if realizing he had said too much—said things he neverintended to say.   “I apologize most humbly, Scarlett I—I’ve been insinuating that your husband is not agentleman and my own words have proved that I’m not one. No one has a right to criticize ahusband to a wife. I haven’t any excuse except—except—” He faltered and his face twisted. Shewaited breathless.   “I haven’t any excuse at all.”   All the way home in the carriage Scarlett’s mind raced. No excuse at all except—except that heloved her! And the thought of her lying in Rhett’s arms roused a fury in him that she did not thinkpossible. Well, she could understand that. If it wasn’t for the knowledge that his relations withMelanie were, necessarily, those of brother and sister, her own life would be a torment And Rhett’sembraces coarsened her, brutalized her! Well, if Ashley thought that, she could do very wellwithout those embraces. She thought how sweet and romantic it would be for them both to bephysically true to each other, even though married to other people. The idea possessed herimagination and she took pleasure in it. And then, too, there was the practical side of it. It wouldmean that she would not have to have any more children.   When she reached home and dismissed the carriage, some of the exaltation which had filled herat Ashley’s words began to fade as she faced the prospect of telling Rhett that she wanted separatebedrooms and all which that implied. It would be difficult. Moreover, how could she tell Ashleythat she had denied herself to Rhett, because of his wishes? What earthly good was a sacrifice if noone knew about it? What a burden modesty and delicacy were! If she could only talk to Ashley asfrankly as she could to Rhett! Well, no matter. She’d insinuate the truth to Ashley somehow.   She went up the stairs and, opening the nursery door, found Rhett sitting beside Bonnie’s cribwith Ella upon his lap and Wade displaying the contents of his pocket to him. What a blessingRhett liked children and made much of them! Some stepfathers were so bitter about children offormer marriages.   “I want to talk to you,” she said and passed on into their bedroom. Better have this over nowwhile her determination not to have any more children was hot within her and while Ashley’s lovewas giving her strength.   “Rhett,” she said abruptly when he had closed the bedroom door behind him, “I’ve decided thatI don’t want any more children.”   If he was startled at her unexpected statement he did not show it. He lounged to a chair andsitting down, tilted it back.   “My pet, as I told you before Bonnie was born, it is immaterial to me whether you have onechild or twenty.”   How perverse of him to evade the issue so neatly, as if not caring whether children came hadanything to do with their actual arrival.   “I think three are enough. I don’t intend to have one every year.”   “Three seems an adequate number.”   “You know very well—” she began, embarrassment making her cheeks red. “You know what Imean?”   “I do. Do you realize that I can divorce you for refusing me my marital rights?”   “You are just low enough to think of something like that,” she cried, annoyed that nothing wasgoing as she planned it. “If you had any chivalry you’d—you’d be nice like— Well, look at AshleyWilkes.’ Melanie can’t have any children and he—”   “Quite the little gentleman, Ashley,” said Rhett and his eyes began to gleam oddly. “Pray go onwith your discourse.”   Scarlett choked, for her discourse was at its end and she had nothing more to say. Now she sawhow foolish had been her hope of amicably settling so important a matter, especially with a selfishswine like Rhett.   “You’ve been to the lumber office this afternoon, haven’t you?”   “What has that to do with it?”   “You like dogs, don’t you, Scarlett? Do you prefer them in kennels or mangers?”   The allusion was lost on her as the tide of her anger and disappointment rose.   He got lightly to his feet and coming to her put his hand under her chin and jerked her face up tohis.   “What a child you are! You have lived with three men and still know nothing of men’s natures.   You seem to think they are like old ladies past the change of life.”   He pinched her chin playfully and his hand dropped away from her. One black eyebrow went upas he bent a cool long look on her.   “Scarlett, understand this. If you and your bed still held any charms for me, no looks and noentreaties could keep me away. And I would have no sense of shame for anything I did, for I madea bargain with you—a bargain which I have kept and you are now breaking. Keep your chaste bed,my dear.”   “Do you mean to tell me,” cried Scarlett indignantly, “that you don’t care—”   “You have tired of me, haven’t you? Well, men tire more easily than women. Keep your sanctity,Scarlett. It will work no hardship on me. It doesn’t matter,” he shrugged and grinned. “Fortunatelythe world is full of beds—and most of the beds are full of women.”   “You mean you’d actually be so—”   “My dear innocent! But, of course. It’s a wonder I haven’t strayed long ere this. I never heldfidelity to be a virtue.”   “I shall lock my door every night!”   “Why bother? If I wanted you, no lock would keep me out.”   He turned, as though the subject were closed, and left the room. Scarlett heard him going backto the nursery where he was welcomed by the children. She sat down abruptly. She had had herway. This was what she wanted and Ashley wanted. But it was not making her happy. Her vanitywas sore and she was mortified at the thought that Rhett had taken it all so lightly, that he didn’twant her, that he put her on the level of other women in other beds.   She wished she could think of some delicate way to tell Ashley that she and Rhett were nolonger actually man and wife. But she knew now she could not. It all seemed a terrible mess nowand she half heartedly wished she had said nothing about it. She would miss the long amusingconversations in bed with Rhett when the ember of his cigar glowed in the dark. She would missthe comfort of his arms when she woke terrified from the dreams that she was running throughcold mist.   Suddenly she felt very unhappy and leaning her head on the arm of the chair, she cried.   思嘉终于又能出去活动了。她让卢儿帮她穿胸衣,绳子尽量地多勒紧,然后用尺量了量腰身。20英寸!她大声嚷嚷起来,生孩子,结果就把你的身材弄成这个样子。她腰身竟然和皮蒂姑妈一样粗,和嬷嬷一样粗了。   “再拉紧点儿,卢儿。看能不能紧到18英寸半,否则我的衣服就都不能穿了。““再拉,绳子就断了,"卢儿说。"人的腰就是粗了,思嘉小姐,一点办法也没有。““办法是有的。"她一面想,一面使劲把缝撕开,准备放出几英寸来。"我可再也不生孩子了。"当然,邦妮很漂亮,这为她增了光。瑞德非常喜欢这个孩子,可是她再也不想生孩子了。但是怎样才能做到这一点,她自己也不知道,因为她不能像对付弗兰克那样来对付瑞德。瑞德是不怕她的,这样就很难对付。他在邦妮身上已经表现得如此愚蠢,说不定明年又想要个儿子,虽然他说过如果她为他生了儿子,就把他淹死。唉,她不想再给他生男孩,也不想再给他生女孩了。一个女人生过三个孩子,这已足够了。   卢儿把她撕开的缝缝好,熨平,帮她穿好扣好,她就要了辆马车到木材厂去。她走着走着,兴致来了,把腰身的事也就忘了,因为她到了木材厂就会见到艾希礼,还要和他一起看帐呢。她要是运气好,也许能单独见他。邦妮出生以前,她就很久没有见艾希礼了。她怀孕时肚子很大,她也根本不愿意让他看见。她一直很怀念过去每天和他的接触,虽然当时总有别人在常在她不能来出来活动的那段时间里,她常想到木材厂生意的重要性。当然,现在她不需要再干下去了。   她可以很容易就把个木材厂卖掉,把钱拿去投资,以备韦德和爱拉将来使用。不过那样办,就意味着她没有什么很多机会见到艾希礼了,而只能在正式的社交场合,在周围有许多人的情况下见面。和艾希礼在一起工作,这是她最大的乐趣。   她赶着车来到木材厂,高兴地看到木材堆得多么高,顾客那么多,他们正站在一堆堆木材之间,和休•埃尔辛谈话呢。那里有六套骡子,六辆车,黑人车夫正在装车。"六套车呀,"她自豪地想,"这都是我自己搞起来的呀。"艾希礼来到小办事房门口,再次和她相见,感到很高兴,眼睛里流露出愉快的神情。他搀着她下了马车,进了办事房,拿她当女王一样看待。   但是她一看这个木材厂的帐目,和约翰妮•加勒格尔的帐目一比,她那愉快的心情就遮上了一层阴影。艾希礼勉强收支相抵,约翰妮却赚了一笔钱,说明他干得好。思嘉看了看这两张报表,克制着自己,什么也没说,但她脸上的表情,艾希礼是看得清楚的。   “思嘉,我很抱谦。我没有什么好说的,只是不想再用犯人了,希望你能同意我雇自由黑人。这样干,我相信会干得好一些。"“雇黑人!给他们开工钱,我们就得破产。犯人多便宜呀!   如果约翰妮使用犯人能赚这么多钱----"艾希礼的眼睛从她肩上看过去,他能看见的东西。思嘉是看不见的,他眼中愉快的光芒消失了。   “我不能像约真妮•加勒格尔那样使唤犯人。我不可能逼着人干活。"“见鬼去吧!约翰尼干得可好了!艾希礼,你就是心肠太软。你应该让他们干更多的活。约翰尼对我说,每次有人想装病不干活,就来找你,说他病了,你就给他一天假。上帝呀!艾希礼,这可不是赚钱的法子呀。无论生什么病,只要不是腿断了抽上两鞭子,差不多就治好了----"“思嘉!思嘉!快别说了!听你这样说话,我真受不了,"艾希礼喊道,他的目光带着强烈的感情回到她脸上,打断了她的话。"难道你就没有想到他们是人----他们有的有病,吃不饱,很痛苦,而且----啊,亲爱的,我真不忍心看着他把你变成一个残暴的人,你过去是多么温柔啊----"“你说谁把我怎么样了?"“我应当说,而没有权利说呀。但我非说不可。就是你那个----瑞德•巴特勒。他所碰过的东西,都会中他的毒。你也中了他的毒,你过去虽然有些急躁,但是那么温柔,大方,和蔼,他通过和你的接触,毒害了你,使你的心肠变硬了,使你变得残暴了。"“唔,"思嘉喘着气说,她本来感到内疚,现在因为艾希礼对她感情这么深,到现在还觉得她温柔。又产生了喜悦的心情,幸好他认为都是瑞德不好,她才这样贪财的,其实这事和瑞德丝毫没关系,本来就是她自己不好,不过在瑞德身上再添一个污点,对他也没什么坏处。   “这要是任何别的人,我就不会这么介意了----可他正好是瑞德•巴特勒!他对你做了些什么,我都看见了。在你不知不觉之中,他就把你的思想牵着绕弯子引到他那条无情的轨道上去了。唉,我知道我不该说这些话----他救了我的命,我是很感激他的。但我愿向上帝表示,当时如果不是他,而是别人就好了。其实,我也没有权利对你讲这些----""唔,艾希礼,你是有这个权利的----别人才没有呢!"“告诉你,我实在受不了,我不愿意看着你那美好的一切被他糟踏,我不愿意知道你的美貌和魅力要由这样一个人来支配----我一想到他和你接触,我----““他这是要吻我吧!"思嘉兴奋地想。"这就不能怪我了!"她朝着他往前凑了凑。但是他突然往后退缩,好像意识到自己说得太多了----有些话,他本来是不想说的。   “我非常真诚地向你道歉,思嘉。我----我刚才说你丈夫不是上等人,其实,我自己的话证明我才不是上等人。谁也没有权利对着一个人的妻子批评她的丈夫。我没有理由,只是----只是----"他说不下去了,他的脸也在抽搐。思嘉屏住呼吸,等他说下去。   “我没有任何理由。”   回家路上,思嘉坐在马车上,思绪万千。没有任何理由,只是----只是他爱她!一想到她躺在瑞德怀里,他就满腔怒火,这是思嘉没有料到的。不过这倒是她可以理解的。她要不是知道他和媚兰的关系只是和兄妹关系一样,她也会感到非常痛苦的。艾希礼还说瑞德拥抱她就是糟踏了她,把她变成了残暴的人!好吧,要是他这么想,她可以完全不让瑞德拥抱她嘛。她心里想,如果他们两个人虽然都和别人结了婚,却能在肉体上互相保持忠诚,这有多么美好,多么风流埃这个想法久久地停留在她有脑子里,她也感到非常愉快。同时这还解决了一个实际问题。这就意味着她不必再生孩子了。   等她回到家,撂下马车以后,艾希礼的话在她心中引起了喜悦就开始渐渐消失了,因为她得向瑞德说明白她要求各人睡各人的卧室,以及随之而来的各种事情。这就很难办了。   另外,她又怎么对艾希礼说,完全为了满足他的心愿,她已经不再让瑞德碰她了呢?可是如果没有人知道,这种牺牲又有什么实际意义呢?爱面子,难为情,这种心理实在碍事!她要是能和艾希礼坦率地谈一谈,就像和瑞德谈话一样,那该有多好!不过,也没关系。她总会有办法把真实情况告诉艾希礼的。   她上楼去,打开育儿室的门一看,只见瑞德坐在邦妮的小床边,爱拉坐在他腿上,韦德正从口袋晨掏东西给他看。瑞德这样喜欢孩子,并对他们这样看重,实在幸运。因为有些继父对前夫的孩子是非常讨厌的。   “我有话跟你讲,"她说,接着就到他们自己的卧室里去了。现在最好还是趁她不再要孩子的决心非常坚定,趁艾希礼对她的爱还在给她力量,把这件事了结了吧。   瑞德走进卧室,随手把门关上。思嘉突然对他说:“瑞德,我已经决定不再要孩子了。“如果说他对思嘉突然说这样的话感到惊讶,他并没有表现出来。他慢慢走到一把椅子跟前坐下,往后仰着,弄得椅子也往后斜了。   “我的宝贝,邦妮还没生下来的时候,我就对你说过,你生一个孩子,还是生20个孩子,对我说来是无所谓的。"他推得一干二净,太不像话,仿佛采取这种无所谓的态度就可以影响实际的生与不生。   “我觉得三个已经够多了。我不想一年生一个。"“三个似乎是够多了。"“你很清楚----"她刚要讲,又觉得难为情,脸都红了。   “你明白我的意思吗?”   “我明白。你是否知道,如果你不让我实行结婚赋予我的权利,我是可以和你离婚的?““你这个人真不像话,怎么会想到这样的事?"谈话没有按照她计划的进行,她非常恼火,就大嚷起来。"你要是有一点尊重女性的意思,你就会----你就会体贴人,就像----唔,就看看艾希礼•威尔匈斯吧。媚兰是不能再生孩子了,他----""艾希礼,他可是个正人君子呀,”瑞德说,两只眼睛放出了奇怪的光芒。"请你说下去。"思嘉一下子憋住了,她要说的话已经说完了,也没有什么别的可说了。现在她才意识到自己有多傻,竟然想和和平平地解决这样一个重大的问题,特别是碰上像瑞德这样自私自利的蠢货。   “我今天下午到木材厂去了吧,是不是?"“到那儿去,和这件事有什么关系?““你喜欢狗,对不对,思嘉?你是希望狗待在狗窝里,还是待在马槽里呢?"思嘉这时又气愤,又失望,觉得烦燥不安,这个典故,竟然没听出什么意思来。   瑞德轻轻地站起来,走到她面前,把手放在她下巴颏下面。往上一抬,她的脸正对着他的脸。   “你真是个孩子!你已经和三个男人一起生活过了,可是对男人的脾气却还是一无所知。你大概觉得他们都像过了更年期的老太婆吧。"他顽平地在她脸上拧了一把,这才放下手来,他竖着一双浓眉,低着头冷冷地对着她端详了老半天。   “思嘉,你要明白。如果你和你的床对我还有什么魅力的话,你无论是枷锁,还是恳求,都是拦不住我的。我无论做什么事都不用怕难为情,因为我和你订了契约的----我一直遵守这个契约,而你却在毁约了。得了,去保持你的贞节吧,亲爱的。"“你的意思是不是,”思嘉气愤地喊道,"你不管----"“你对我厌倦了,是不是?唉,男人比女人更容易厌倦。   你就保持圣洁吧,思嘉。这不会给我带来什么难处。没有关系,"他耸了耸肩膀,笑了。"幸亏世界上到处都有床----并且大部分的床上都睡满了女人。"“难道你真是要----"”我的小天真儿!不过,那是当然的喽,在这之前,我并没有走过多少邪路,这也真奇怪。我从来不认为贞节是一种美德。"“我每天晚上都要把门锁上!"“何必费事呢?我要是想要你,什么锁也没有用。"他转过身来,好像觉得这个题目讨论完了就走了出去。思嘉听见他又回到育儿室里去了,还听见孩子们欢迎他。她突然坐下来。她的目的已经达到了。这是她的愿望,也是艾希礼的愿望。但这并没有使她觉得高兴。她的虚荣心受到了伤害,她本人也受到了侮辱,因为她觉得瑞德并不很看重这件事,也不很需要她而且把她和别处床上的女人同样看待了。   她希望想出一个巧妙的办法告诉艾希礼她和瑞德实际上已经不再是夫妻了。但是她知道现在是不可能的。现在似乎是乱套了,她又真有点后悔,觉得不该提起这件事。过去她和瑞德躺在床上谈论很多趣的事,他那雪茄烟的红光在黑暗中一亮一亮的。过去她梦见自己在寒冷的里雾里奔跑,惊醒之后,瑞德把她搂在怀里,抚摸安慰她。这些情景,她都会怀念,却不可能再出现了。   她突然感到特别难过,把头靠在椅子扶手上,哭起来。 Chapter 52 ONE RAINY AFTERNOON when Bonnie was barely past her first birthday, Wade moped aboutthe sitting room, occasionally going to the window and flattening his nose on the dripping pane.   He was a slender, weedy boy, small for his eight years, quiet almost to shyness, never speakingunless spoken to. He was bored and obviously at loss for entertainment, for Ella was busy in thecorner with her dolls, Scarlett was at her secretary muttering to herself as she added a long columnof figures, and Rhett was lying on the floor, swinging his watch by its chain, just out of Bonnie’sreach.   After Wade had picked up several books and let them drop with bangs and sighed deeply,Scarlett turned to him in irritation.   “Heavens, Wade! Run out and play.”   “I can’t. It’s raining.”   “Is it? I hadn’t noticed. Well, do something. You make me nervous, fidgeting about. Go tell Porkto hitch up the carriage and take you over to play with Beau.”   “He isn’t home,” sighed Wade. “He’s at Raoul Picard’s birthday party.”   Raoul was the small son of Maybelle and René Picard—a detestable little brat, Scarlett thought,more like an ape than a child.   “Well, you can go to see anyone you want to. Run tell Pork.”   “Nobody’s at home,” answered Wade. “Everybody’s at the party.”   The unspoken words “everybody—but me” hung in the air; but Scarlett, her mind on her account books, paid no heed.   Rhett raised himself to a sitting posture and said: “Why aren’t you at the party too, son?”   Wade edged closer to him, scuffing one foot and looking unhappy.   “I wasn’t invited, sir.”   Rhett handed his watch into Bonnie’s destructive grasp and rose lightly to his feet.   “Leave those damned figures alone, Scarlett. Why wasn’t Wade invited to this party?”   “For Heaven’s sake, Rhett! Don’t bother me now. Ashley has gotten these accounts in an awfulsnarl— Oh, that party? Well, I think it’s nothing unusual that Wade wasn’t invited and I wouldn’tlet him go if he had been. Don’t forget that Raoul is Mrs. Merriwether’s grandchild and Mrs.   Merriwether would as soon have a free issue nigger in her sacred parlor as one of us.”   Rhett, watching Wade’s face with meditative eyes, saw the boy flinch.   “Come here, son,” he said, drawing the boy to him. “Would you like to be at that party?”   “No, sir,” said Wade bravely but his eyes fell.   “Hum. Tell me, Wade, do you go to little Joe Whiting’s parties or Frank Bonnell’s or—well, anyof your playmates?”   “No, sir. I don’t get invited to many parties.”   “Wade, you are lying!” cried Scarlett, turning. “You went to three last week, the Bart children’sparty and the Gelerts’ and the Hundons’.”   “As choice a collection of mules in horse harness as you could group together,” said Rhett, hisvoice going into a soft drawl. “Did you have a good time at those parties? Speak up.”   “No, sir.”   “Why not?”   “I—I dunno, sir. Mammy—Mammy says they’re white trash.”   “I’ll skin Mammy this minute!” cried Scarlett, leaping to her feet “And as for you, Wade, talkingso about Mother’s friends—”   “The boy’s telling the truth and so is Mammy,” said Rhett. “But, of course, you’ve never beenable to know the truth if you met it in the road. ... Don’t bother, son. You don’t have to go to anymore parties you don’t want to go to. Here,” he pulled a bill from his pocket, “tell Pork to harnessthe carriage and take you downtown. Buy yourself some candy—a lot, enough to give you awonderful stomach ache.”   Wade, beaming, pocketed the bill and looked anxiously toward his mother for confirmation. Butshe, with a pucker in her brows, was watching Rhett. He had picked Bonnie from the floor and wascradling her to him, her small face against his cheek. She could not read his face but there wassomething in his eyes almost like fear—fear and self-accusation.   Wade, encouraged by his stepfather’s generosity, came shyly toward him.   “Uncle Rhett, can I ask you sumpin’?”   “Of course.” Rhett’s look was anxious, absent, as he held Bonnie’s head closer. “What is it,Wade?”   “Uncle Rhett, were you—did you fight in the war?”   Rhett’s eyes came alertly back and they were sharp, but his voice was casual.   “Why do you ask, son?”   “Well, Joe Whiting said you didn’t and so did Frankie Bonnell.”   “Ah,” said Rhett, “and what did you tell them?”   Wade looked unhappy.   “I—I said—I told them I didn’t know.” And with a rush, “But I didn’t care and I hit them. Wereyou in the war, Uncle Rhett?”   “Yes,” said Rhett, suddenly violent “I was in the war. I was in the army for eight months. Ifought all the way from Lovejoy up to Franklin, Tennessee. And I was with Johnston when hesurrendered.”   Wade wriggled with pride but Scarlett laughed.   “I thought you were ashamed of your war record,” she said. “Didn’t you tell me to keep itquiet?”   “Hush,” he said briefly. “Does that satisfy you, Wade?”   “Oh, yes, sir! I knew you were in the war. I knew you weren’t scared like they said. But—whyweren’t you with the other little boys’ fathers?”   “Because the other little boys’ fathers were such fools they had to put them in the infantry. I wasa West Pointer and so I was in the artillery. In the regular artillery, Wade, not the Home Guard. Ittakes a pile of sense to be in the artillery, Wade.”   “I bet,” said Wade, his face shining. “Did you get wounded, Uncle Rhett?’   Rhett hesitated.   “Tell him about your dysentery,” jeered Scarlett.   Rhett carefully set the baby on the floor and pulled his shirt and undershirt out of his trouserband.   “Come here, Wade, and I’ll show you where I was wounded.”   Wade advanced, excited, and gazed where Rhett’s finger pointed. A long raised scar ran acrosshis brown chest and down into his heavily muscled abdomen. It was the souvenir of a knife fight inthe California gold fields but Wade did not know it. He breathed heavily and happily.   “I guess you’re ‘bout as brave as my father, Uncle Rhett.”   “Almost but not quite,” said Rhett, stuffing his shirt into his trousers. “Now, go on and spendyour dollar and whale hell out of any boy who says I wasn’t in the army.”   Wade went dancing out happily, calling to Pork, and Rhett picked up the baby again.   “Now why all these lies, my gallant soldier laddie?” asked Scarlett.   “A boy has to be proud of his father—or stepfather. I can’t let him be ashamed before the otherlittle brutes. Cruel creatures, children.”   “Oh, fiddle-dee-dee!”   “I never thought about what it meant to Wade,” said Rhett slowly. “I never thought how he’ssuffered. And it’s not going to be that way for Bonnie.”   “What way?”   “Do you think I’m going to have my Bonnie ashamed of her father? Have her left out of partieswhen she’s nine or ten? Do you think I’m going to have her humiliated like Wade for things thataren’t her fault but yours and mine?”   “Oh, children’s parties!”   “Out of children’s parties grow young girls’ début parties. Do you think I’m going to let mydaughter grow up outside of everything decent in Atlanta? I’m not going to send her North toschool and to visit because she won’t be accepted here or in Charleston or Savannah or New Orleans.   And I’m not going to see her forced to marry a Yankee or a foreigner because no decentSouthern family will have her—because her mother was a fool and her father a blackguard.”   Wade, who had come back to the door, was an interested but puzzled listener.   “Bonnie can marry Beau, Uncle Rhett.”   The anger went from Rhett’s face as he turned to the little boy, and he considered his words withapparent seriousness as he always did when dealing with the children.   “That’s true, Wade. Bonnie can marry Beau Wilkes, but who will you marry?”   “Oh, I shan’t marry anyone,” said Wade confidently, luxuriating in a man-to-man talk with theone person, except Aunt Melly, who never reproved and always encouraged him. “I’m going to goto Harvard and be a lawyer, like my father, and then I’m going to be a brave soldier just like him.”   “I wish Melly would keep her mouth shut,” cried Scarlett. “Wade, you are not going to Harvard.   It’s a Yankee school and I won’t have you going to a Yankee school. You are going to theUniversity of Georgia and after you graduate you are going to manage the store for me. And as foryour father being a brave soldier—”   “Hush,” said Rhett curtly, not missing the shining light in Wade’s eyes when he spoke of thefather he had never known. “You grow up and be a brave man like your father, Wade. Try to be justlike him, for he was a hero and don’t let anyone tell you differently. He married your mother,didn’t he? Well, that’s proof enough of heroism. And I’ll see that you go to Harvard and become alawyer. Now, run along and tell Pork to take you to town.”   “I’ll thank you to let me manage my children,” cried Scarlett as Wade obediently trotted fromthe room.   “You’re a damned poor manager. You’ve wrecked whatever chances Ella and Wade had, but I won’t permit you to do Bonnie that way. Bonnie’s going to be a little princess and everyone in theworld is going to want her. There’s not going to be any place she can’t go. Good God, do you thinkI’m going to let her grow up and associate with the riffraff that fills this house?”   “They are good enough for you—”   “And a damned sight too good for you, my pet. But not for Bonnie. Do you think I’d let hermarry any of this runagate gang you spend your time with? Irishmen on the make, Yankees, whitetrash, Carpetbag parvenus— My Bonnie with her Butler blood and her Robillard strain—”   The O’Haras—”   The O’Haras might have been kings of Ireland once but your father was nothing but a smartMick on the make. And you are no better— But then, I’m at fault too. I’ve gone through life like abat out of hell, never caring what I did, because nothing ever mattered to me. But Bonnie matters.   God, what a fool I’ve been! Bonnie wouldn’t be received in Charleston, no matter what my motheror your Aunt Eulalie or Aunt Pauline did—and it’s obvious that she won’t be received here unlesswe do something quickly—”   “Oh, Rhett, you take it so seriously you’re funny. With our money—”   “Damn our money! All our money can’t buy what I want for her. I’d rather Bonnie was invitedto eat dry bread in the Picards’ miserable house or Mrs. Elsing’s rickety barn than to be the belle ofa Republican inaugural ball. Scarlett, you’ve been a fool. You should have insured a place for yourchildren in the social scheme years ago—but you didn’t. You didn’t even bother to keep whatposition you had. And it’s too much to hope that you’ll mend your ways at this late date. You’retoo anxious to make money and too fond of bullying people.”   “I consider this whole affair a tempest in a teapot,” said Scarlett coldly, rattling her papers toindicate that as far as she was concerned the discussion was finished.   “We have only Mrs. Wilkes to help us and you do your best to alienate and insult her. Oh, spareme your remarks about her poverty and her tacky clothes. She’s the soul and the center ofeverything in Atlanta that’s sterling. Thank God for her. She’ll help me do something about it.”   “And what are you going to do?”   “Do? I’m going to cultivate every female dragon of the Old Guard in this town, especially Mrs.   Merriwether, Mrs. Elsing, Mrs. Whiting and Mrs. Meade. If I have to crawl on my belly to everyfat old cat who hates me, I’ll do it. I’ll be meek under their coldness and repentant of my evil ways.   I’ll contribute to their damned charities and I’ll go to their damned churches. I’ll admit and bragabout my services to the Confederacy and, if worst comes to worst, I’ll join their damned Klan—though a merciful God could hardly lay so heavy a penance on my shoulders as that. And I shallnot hesitate to remind the fools whose necks I saved that they owe me a debt. And you, Madam,will kindly refrain from undoing my work behind my back and foreclosing mortgages on any ofthe people I’m courting or selling them rotten lumber or in other ways insulting them. AndGovernor Bullock never sets foot in this house again. Do you hear? And none of this gang ofelegant thieves you’ve been associating with, either. If you do invite them, over my request, youwill find yourself in the embarrassing position of having no host in your home. If they come in thishouse, I will spend the time in Belle Watling’s bar telling anyone who cares to hear that I won’t stay under the same roof with them.”   Scarlett, who had been smarting under his words, laughed shortly.   “So the river-boat gambler and the speculator is going to be respectable! Well, your first movetoward respectability had better be the sale of Belle Watling’s house.”   That was a shot in the dark. She had never been absolutely certain that Rhett owned the house.   He laughed suddenly, as though he read her mind.   “Thanks for the suggestion.”   Had he tried, Rhett could not have chosen a more difficult time to beat his way back torespectability. Never before or after did the names Republican and Scalawag carry such odium, fornow the corruption of the Carpet bag regime was at its height. And, since the surrender, Rhett’sname had been inextricably linked with Yankees, Republicans and Scalawags.   Atlanta people had thought, with helpless fury, in 1866, that nothing could be worse than theharsh military rule they had then, but now, under Bullock, they were learning the worst. Thanks tothe negro vote, the Republicans and their allies were firmly entrenched and they were ridingrough-shod over the powerless but still protesting minority.   Word had been spread among the negroes that there were only two political parties mentioned inthe Bible, the Publicans and the Sinners. No negro wanted to join a party made up entirely ofsinners, so they hastened to join the Republicans. Their new masters voted them over and overagain, electing poor whites and Scalawags to high places, electing even some negroes. Thesenegroes sat in the legislature where they spent most of their time eating goobers and easing theirunaccustomed feet into and out of new shoes. Few of them could read or write. They were freshfrom cotton patch and canebrake, but it was within their power to vote taxes and bonds as well asenormous expense accounts to themselves and their Republican friends. And they voted them. Thestate staggered under taxes which were paid in fury, for the taxpayers knew that much of themoney voted for public purposes was finding its way into private pockets.   Completely surrounding the state capital was a host of promoters, speculators, seekers aftercontracts and others hoping to profit from the orgy of spending, and many were growingshamelessly rich. They had no difficulty at all in obtaining the state’s money for building railroadsthat were never built, for buying cars and engines that were never bought, for erecting publicbuildings that never existed except in the minds of their promoters.   Bonds were issued running into the millions. Most of them were illegal and fraudulent but theywere issued just the same. The state treasurer, a Republican but an honest man, protested againstthe illegal issues and refused to sign them, but he and others who sought to check the abuses coulddo nothing against the tide that was running.   The state-owned railroad had once been an asset to the state but now it was a liability and itsdebts had piled up to the million mark. It was no longer a railroad. It was an enormous bottomlesstrough in which the hogs could swill and wallow. Many of its officials were appointed for politicalreasons, regardless of their knowledge of the operation of railroads, there were three times as many people employed as were necessary, Republicans rode free on passes, carloads of negroes rode freeon their happy jaunts about the state to vote and revote in the same elections.   The mismanagement of the state road especially infuriated the taxpayers for, out of the earningsof the road, was to come the money for free schools. But there were no earnings, there were onlydebts, and so there were no free schools and there was a generation of children growing up inignorance who would spread the seeds of illiteracy down the years.   But far and above their anger at the waste and mismanagement and graft was the resentment ofthe people at the bad light in which the governor represented them in the North. When Georgiahowled against corruption, the governor hastily went North, appeared before Congress and told ofwhite outrages against negroes, of Georgia’s preparation for another rebellion and the need for astern military rule in the state. No Georgian wanted trouble with the negroes and they tried toavoid trouble. No one wanted another war, no one wanted or needed bayonet rule. All Georgiawanted was to be let alone so the state could recuperate. But with the operation of what came to beknown as the governor’s “slander mill,” the North saw only a rebellious state that needed a heavyhand, and a heavy hand was laid upon it.   It was a glorious spree for the gang which had Georgia by the throat. There was an orgy ofgrabbing and over all there was a cold cynicism about open theft in high places that was chilling tocontemplate. Protests and efforts to resist accomplished nothing, for the state government wasbeing upheld and supported by the power of the United States Army.   Atlanta cursed the name of Bullock and his Scalawags and Republicans and they cursed thename of anyone connected with them. And Rhett was connected with them. He had been in withthem, so everyone said, in all their schemes. But now, he turned against the stream in which he haddrifted so short a while before, and began swimming arduously back against the current.   He went about his campaign slowly, subtly, not arousing the suspicions of Atlanta by thespectacle of a leopard trying to change his spots overnight. He avoided his dubious cronies andwas seen no more in the company of Yankee officers, Scalawags and Republicans. He attendedDemocratic rallies and he ostentatiously voted the Democratic ticket. He gave up high-stake cardgames and stayed comparatively sober. If he went to Belle Watling’s house at all, he went by nightand by stealth as did more respectable townsmen, instead of leaving his horse hitched in front ofher door in the afternoons as an advertisement of his presence within.   And the congregation of the Episcopal Church almost fell out of their pews when he tiptoed in,late for services, with Wade’s hand held in his. The congregation was as much stunned by Wade’sappearance as by Rhett’s, for the little boy was supposed to be a Catholic. At least, Scarlett wasone. Or she was supposed to be one. But she had not put foot in the church in years, for religionhad gone from her as many of Ellen’s other teachings had gone. Everyone thought she hadneglected her boy’s religious education and thought more of Rhett for trying to rectify the matter,even if he did take the boy to the Episcopal Church instead of the Catholic.   Rhett could be grave of manner and charming when he chose to restrain his tongue and keep hisblack eyes from dancing maliciously. It had been years since he had chosen to do this but he did itnow, putting on gravity and charm, even as he put on waistcoats of more sober hues. It was notdifficult to gain a foothold of friendliness with the men who owed their necks to him. They would have showed their appreciation long ago, had Rhett not acted as if their appreciation were a matterof small moment. Now, Hugh Elsing, René, the Simmons boys, Andy Bonnell and the others foundhim pleasant, diffident about putting himself forward and embarrassed when they spoke of theobligation they owed him.   “It was nothing,” he would protest. “In my place you’d have all done the same thing.”   He subscribed handsomely to the fund for the repairs of the Episcopal Church and he gave alarge, but not vulgarly large, contribution to the Association for the Beautification of the Graves ofOur Glorious Dead. He sought out Mrs. Elsing to make this donation and embarrassedly beggedthat she keep his gift a secret, knowing very well that this would spur her to spreading the news.   Mrs. Elsing hated to take his money—“speculator money”—but the Association needed moneybadly.   “I don’t see why you of all people should be subscribing,” she said acidly.   When Rhett told her with the proper sober mien that he was moved to contribute by thememories of former comrades in arms, braver than he but less fortunate, who now lay in unmarkedgraves, Mrs. Elsing’s aristocratic jaw dropped. Dolly Merriwether had told her Scarlett had saidCaptain Butler was in the army but, of course, she hadn’t believed it. Nobody had believed it.   “You in the army? What was your company—your regiment?”   Rhett gave them.   “Oh, the artillery! Everyone I knew was either in the cavalry or the infantry. Then, that explains—” She broke off, disconcerted, expecting to see his eyes snap with that ice. But he only lookeddown and toyed with his watch chain.   “I would have liked the infantry,” he said, passing completely over her insinuation, “but whenthey found that I was a West Pointer—though I did not graduate, Mrs. Elsing, due to a boyishprank—they put me in the artillery, the regular artillery, not the militia. They needed men withspecialized knowledge in that last campaign. You know how heavy the losses had been, so manyartillerymen killed. It was pretty lonely in the artillery. I didn’t see a soul I knew. I don’t believe Isaw a single man from Atlanta during my whole service.”   “Well!” said Mrs. Elsing, confused. If he had been in the army then she was wrong. She hadmade many sharp remarks about his cowardice and the memory of them made her feel guilty.   “Well! And why haven’t you ever told anybody about your service? You act as though you wereashamed of it.”   Rhett looked her squarely in the eyes, his face blank.   “Mrs. Elsing,” he said earnestly, “believe me when I say that I am prouder of my services to theConfederacy than of anything I have ever done or will do. I feel—I feel—”   “Well, why did you keep it hidden?”   “I was ashamed to speak of it, in the light of—of some of my former actions.”   Mrs. Elsing reported the contribution and the conversation in detail to Mrs. Merriwether.   “And, Dolly, I give you my word that when he said that about being ashamed, tears came into his eyes! Yes, tears! I nearly cried myself.”   “Stuff and nonsense!” cried Mrs. Merriwether in disbelief. “I don’t believe tears came into hiseyes any more than I believe he was in the army. And I can find out mighty quick. If he was in thatartillery outfit, I can get at the truth, for Colonel Carleton who commanded it married the daughterof one of my grandfather’s sisters and I’ll write him.”   She wrote Colonel Carlton and to her consternation received a reply praising Rhett’s services inno uncertain terms. A born artilleryman, a brave soldier and an uncomplaining gentleman, amodest man who wouldn’t even take a commission when it was offered him.   “Well!” said Mrs. Merriwether showing the letter to Mrs. Elsing. “You can knock me down witha feather! Maybe we did misjudge the scamp about not being a soldier. Maybe we should havebelieved what Scarlett and Melanie said about him enlisting the day the town fell. But, just thesame, he’s a Scalawag and a rascal and I don’t like him!”   “Somehow,” said Mrs. Elsing uncertainly, “somehow, I don’t think he’s so bad. A man whofought for the Confederacy can’t be all bad. It’s Scarlett who is the bad one. Do you know, Dolly, Ireally believe that he—well, he’s ashamed of Scarlett but is too much of a gentleman to let on.”   “Ashamed! Pooh! They’re both cut out of the same piece of cloth. Where did you ever get sucha silly notion?”   “It isn’t silly,” said Mrs. Elsing indignantly. “Yesterday, in the pouring rain, he had those threechildren, even the baby, mind you, out in his carriage riding them up and down Peachtree Streetand he gave me a lift home. And when I said: ‘Captain Butler, have you lost your mind keepingthese children out in the damp? Why don’t you take them home?’And he didn’t say a word but justlooked embarrassed. But Mammy spoke up and said: ‘De house full of w’ite trash an’ it healthierfer de chillun in de rain dan at home!’ ”   “What did he say?”   “What could he say? He just scowled at Mammy and passed it over. You know Scarlett wasgiving a big whist party yesterday afternoon with all those common ordinary women there. I guesshe didn’t want them kissing his baby.”   “Well!” said Mrs. Merriwether, wavering but still obstinate. But the next week she, too,capitulated.   Rhett now had a desk in the bank. What he did at this desk the bewildered officials of the bankdid not know, but he owned too large a block of the stock for them to protest his presence there.   After a while they forgot that they had objected to him for he was quiet and well mannered andactually knew something about banking and investments. At any rate he sat at his desk all day,giving every appearance of industry, for he wished to be on equal terms with his respectable fellowtownsmen who worked and worked hard.   Mrs. Merriwether, wishing to expand her growing bakery, had tried to borrow two thousanddollars from the bank with her house as security. She had been refused because there were alreadytwo mortgages on the house. The stout old lady was storming out of the bank when Rhett stoppedher, learned the trouble and said, worriedly: “But there must be some mistake, Mrs. Merriwether.   Some dreadful mistake. You of all people shouldn’t have to bother about collateral. Why, I’d lendyou money just on your word! Any lady who could build up the business you’ve built up is the bestrisk in the world. The bank wants to lend money to people like you. Now, do sit down right here inmy chair and I will attend to it for you.”   When he came back he was smiling blandly, saying that there had been a mistake, just as he hadthought. The two thousand dollars was right there waiting for her whenever she cared to drawagainst it. Now, about her house—would she just sign right here?   Mrs. Merriwether, torn with indignation and insult, furious that she had to take this favor from aman she disliked and distrusted, was hardly gracious in her thanks.   But he failed to notice it As he escorted her to the door, he said: “Mrs. Merriwether, I havealways had a great regard for your knowledge and I wonder if you could tell me something?”   The plumes on her bonnet barely moved as she nodded.   “What did you do when your Maybelle was little and she sucked her thumb?”   “What?”   “My Bonnie sucks her thumb. I can’t make her stop it.”   “You should make her stop it,” said Mrs. Merriwether vigorously. “It will ruin the shape of hermouth.”   “I know! I know! And she has a beautiful mouth. But I don’t know what to do.”   “Well, Scarlett ought to know,” said Mrs. Merriwether shortly. “She’s had two other children.”   Rhett looked down at his shoes and sighed.   “I’ve tried putting soap under her finger nails,” he said, passing over her remark about Scarlett.   “Soap! Bah! Soap is no good at all. I put quinine on Maybelle’s thumb and let me tell you,Captain Butler, she stopped sucking that thumb mighty quick.”   “Quinine! I would never have thought of it! I can’t thank you enough, Mrs. Merriwether. It wasworrying me.”   He gave her a smile, so pleasant, so grateful that Mrs. Merriwether stood uncertainly for amoment. But as she told him good-by she was smiling too. She hated to admit to Mrs. Elsing thatshe had misjudged the man but she was an honest person and she said there had to be somethinggood about a man who loved his child. What a pity Scarlett took no interest in so pretty a creatureas Bonnie! There was something pathetic about a man trying to raise a little girl all by himself!   Rhett knew very well the pathos of the spectacle, and if it blackened Scarlett’s reputation he didnot care.   From the time the child could walk he took her about with him constantly, in the carriage or infront of his saddle. When he came home from the bank in the afternoon, he took her walking downPeachtree Street, holding her hand, slowing his long strides to her toddling steps, patientlyanswering her thousand questions. People were always in their front yards or on their porches atsunset and, as Bonnie was such a friendly, pretty child, with her tangle of black curls and her bright blue eyes, few could resist talking to her. Rhett never presumed on these conversations but stoodby, exuding fatherly pride and gratification at the notice taken of his daughter.   Atlanta had a long memory and was suspicious and slow to change. Times were hard and feelingwas bitter against anyone who had had anything to do with Bullock and his crowd. But Bonnie hadthe combined charm of Scarlett and Rhett at their best and she was the small opening wedge Rhettdrove into the wall of Atlanta’s coldness.   Bonnie grew rapidly and every day it became more evident that Gerald O’Hara had been hergrandfather. She had short sturdy legs and wide eyes of Irish blue and a small square jaw that wentwith a determination to have her own way. She had Gerald’s sudden temper to which she gave ventin screaming tantrums that were forgotten as soon as her wishes were gratified. And as long as herfather was near her, they were always gratified hastily. He spoiled her despite all the efforts ofMammy and Scarlett, for in all things she pleased him, except one. And that was her fear of thedark.   Until she was two years old she went to sleep readily in the nursery she shared with Wade andElla. Then, for no apparent reason, she began to sob whenever Mammy waddled out of the room,carrying the lamp. From this she progressed to wakening in the late night hours, screaming withterror, frightening the other two children and alarming the house. Once Dr. Meade had to be calledand Rhett was short with him when he diagnosed only bad dreams. All anyone could get from herwas one word, “Dark.”   Scarlett was inclined to be irritated with the child and favored a spanking. She would not humorher by leaving a lamp burning in the nursery, for then Wade and Ella would be unable to sleep.   Rhett, worried but gentle, attempting to extract further information from his daughter, said coldlythat if any spanking were done, he would do it personally and to Scarlett.   The upshot of the situation was that Bonnie was removed from the nursery to the room Rhettnow occupied alone. Her small bed was placed beside his large one and a shaded lamp burned onthe table all night long. The town buzzed when this story got about. Somehow, there wassomething indelicate about a girl child sleeping in her father’s room, even though the girl was onlytwo years old. Scarlett suffered from this gossip in two ways. First, it proved indubitably that sheand her husband occupied separate rooms, in itself a shocking enough state of affairs. Second,everyone thought that if the child was afraid to sleep alone, her place was with her mother. AndScarlett did not feel equal to explaining that she could not sleep in a lighted room nor would Rhettpermit the child to sleep with her.   “You’d never wake up unless she screamed and then you’d probably slap her,” he said shortly.   Scarlett was annoyed at the weight he attached to Bonnie’s night terrors but she thought shecould eventually remedy the state of affairs and transfer the child back to the nursery. All childrenwere afraid of the dark and the only cure was firmness. Rhett was just being perverse in the matter,making her appear a poor mother, just to pay her back for banishing him from her room.   He had never put foot in her room or even rattled the door knob since the night she told him shedid not want any more children. Thereafter and until he began staying at home on account of Bonnie’s fears, he had been absent from the supper table more often than he had been present.   Sometimes he had stayed out all night and Scarlett, lying awake behind her locked door, hearingthe clock count off the early morning hours, wondered where he was. She remembered: “There areother beds, my dear!” Though the thought made her writhe, there was nothing she could do aboutit. There was nothing she could say that would not precipitate a scene in which he would be sure toremark upon her locked door and the probable connection Ashley had with it. Yes, his foolishnessabout Bonnie sleeping in a lighted room—in his lighted room—was just a mean way of paying herback.   She did not realize the importance he attached to Bonnie’s foolishness nor the completeness ofhis devotion to the child until one dreadful night. The family never forgot that night.   That day Rhett had met an ex-blockade runner and they had had much to say to each other.   Where they had gone to talk and drink, Scarlett did not know but she suspected, of course, BelleWatling’s house. He did not come home in the afternoon to take Bonnie walking nor did he comehome to supper. Bonnie, who had watched from the window impatiently all afternoon, anxious todisplay a mangled collection of beetles and roaches to her father, had finally been put to bed byLou, amid wails and protests.   Either Lou had forgotten to light the lamp or it had burned out. No one ever knew exactly whathappened but when Rhett finally came home, somewhat the worse for drink, the house was in anuproar and Bonnie’s screams reached him even in the stables. She had waked in darkness andcalled for him and he had not been there. All the nameless horrors that peopled her small imaginationclutched her. All the soothing and bright lights brought by Scarlett and the servants could notquiet her and Rhett, coming up the stairs three at a jump, looked like a man who has seen Death.   When he finally had her in his arms and from her sobbing gasps had recognized only one word,“Dark,” he turned on Scarlett and the negroes in fury.   “Who put out the light? Who left her alone in the dark? Prissy, I’ll skin you for this, you—”   “Gawdlmighty, Mist’ Rhett! ‘Twarn’t me! ‘Twuz Lou!”   “Fo’ Gawd, Mist’ Rhett, Ah—”   “Shut up. You know my orders. By God, I’ll—get out. Don’t come back. Scarlett, give her somemoney and see that she’s gone before I come down stairs. Now, everybody get out, everybody!”   The negroes fled, the luckless Lou wailing into her apron. But Scarlett remained. It was hard tosee her favorite child quieting in Rhett’s arms when she had screamed so pitifully in her own. Itwas hard to see the small arms going around his neck and hear the choking voice relate what hadfrightened her, when she, Scarlett, had gotten nothing coherent out of her.   “So it sat on your chest,” said Rhett softly. “Was it a big one?”   “Oh, yes! Dretfull big. And claws.”   “Ah, claws, too. Well, now. I shall certainly sit up all night and shoot him if he comes back.”   Rhett’s voice was interested and soothing and Bonnie’s sobs died away. Her voice became lesschoked as she went into detailed description of her monster guest in a language which only hecould understand. Irritation stirred in Scarlett as Rhett discussed the matter as if it had been something real.   “For Heaven’s sake, Rhett—”   But he made a sign for silence. When Bonnie was at last asleep, he laid her in her bed and pulledup the sheet.   “I’m going to skin that nigger alive,” he said quietly. It’s your fault too. Why didn’t you comeup here to see if the light was burning?”   “Don’t be a fool, Rhett,” she whispered. “She gets this way because you humor her. Lots ofchildren are afraid of the dark but they get over it. Wade was afraid but I didn’t pamper him. Ifyou’d just let her scream for a night or two—”   “Let her scream!” For a moment Scarlett thought he would hit her. “Either you are a fool or themost inhuman woman I’ve ever seen.”   “I don’t want her to grow up nervous and cowardly.”   “Cowardly? Hell’s afire! There isn’t a cowardly bone in her body! But you haven’t anyimagination and, of course, you can’t appreciate the tortures of people who have one—especially achild. If something with claws and horns came and sat on your chest, you’d tell it to get the hell offyou, wouldn’t you? Like hell you would. Kindly remember, Madam, that I’ve seen you wake upsqualling like a scalded cat simply because you dreamed of running in a fog. And that’s not been solong ago either!”   Scarlett was taken aback, for she never liked to think of that dream. Moreover, it embarrassedher to remember that Rhett had comforted her in much the same manner he comforted Bonnie. Soshe swung rapidly to a different attack.   “You are just humoring her and—”   “And I intend to keep on humoring her. If I do, she’ll outgrow it and forget about it.”   “Then,” said Scarlett acidly, “if you intend to play nursemaid, you might try coming homenights and sober too, for a change.”   “I shall come home early but drunk as a fiddler’s bitch if I please.”   He did come home early thereafter, arriving long before time for Bonnie to be put to bed. He satbeside her, holding her hand until sleep loosened her grasp. Only then did he tiptoe downstairs,leaving the lamp burning brightly and the door ajar so he might hear her should she awake andbecome frightened. Never again did he intend her to have a recurrence of fear of the dark. Thewhole household was acutely conscious of the burning light, Scarlett, Mammy, Prissy and Pork,frequently tiptoeing upstairs to make sure that it still burned.   He came home sober too, but that was none of Scarlett’s doing. For months he had beendrinking heavily, though he was never actually drunk, and one evening the smell of whisky wasespecially strong upon his breath. He picked up Bonnie, swung her to his shoulder and asked her:   “Have you a kiss for your sweetheart?”   She wrinkled her small upturned nose and wriggled to get down from his arms.   “No,” she said frankly. “Nasty.”   “I’m what?”   “Smell nasty. Uncle Ashley don’t smell nasty.”   “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said ruefully, putting her on the floor. “I never expected to find atemperance advocate in my own home, of all places!”   But, thereafter, he limited his drinking to a glass of wine after supper. Bonnie, who was alwayspermitted to have the last drops in the glass, did not think the smell of wine nasty at all. As theresult, the puffiness which had begun to obscure the hard lines of his cheeks slowly disappearedand the circles beneath his black eyes were not so dark or so harshly cut. Because Bonnie liked toride on the front of his saddle, he stayed out of doors more and the sunburn began to creep acrosshis dark face, making him swarthier than ever. He looked healthier and laughed more and wasagain like the dashing young blockader who had excited Atlanta early in the war.   People who had never liked him came to smile as he went by with the small figure perchedbefore him on his saddle. Women who had heretofore believed that no woman was safe with him,began to stop and talk with him on the streets, to admire Bonnie. Even the strictest old ladies feltthat a man who could discuss the ailments and problems of childhood as well as he did could notbe altogether bad.   一个雨天的下午,那时邦妮刚刚过了她的周岁生日,韦德闷闷不乐地在起居室里来回走动,偶尔到窗口去将鼻子紧贴在水淋淋的窗玻璃上。他是个瘦小而孱弱的孩子,虽然八岁了,但个子很矮,文静得到了羞怯的地步,除非别人跟他说话,否则是从来不开口的。他显然感到无聊,想不出什么好玩的事,因为爱拉正在一个角落里忙着摆弄她的玩具娃娃,思嘉坐在写字台前算账,要将一长串数字加起来,嘴里不停地嘀嘀咕咕着,而瑞德则躺在地板上,用两个手指捏着表链将表在邦妮面前晃荡,可是又不让她抓着。   韦德翻出几本书来,但每次拿起一本又立即啪地一声丢下,一面还连连地叹气,这样接连好几次,惹得思嘉恼怒地转过身来。   “天哪,韦德!你到外面玩去吧。”   “不行。外面在下雨呢。”   “真的吗?我怎么没注意到。那么,找点事做吧。你老是坐立不安,把我烦死了。去告诉波克,让他套车送你到那边跟小博一起玩去。"“他不在家,"韦德丧气地说。"他去参加拉乌尔•皮卡德的生日宴会去了。"拉乌尔是梅贝尔和雷内•皮卡德生的小儿子,思嘉觉得他很讨厌,与其说是小孩还不如说是个小猴儿呢。   “那么,你高兴去看谁就去看谁吧。快去告诉波克。"“谁都不在家,"韦德回答。"人人都参加那个宴会了。"韦德没有说出来的那几个字"人人----除了我"是谁都察觉得到的,可是思嘉聚精会神在算帐,根本没有在意。   瑞德将身子坐起来,说:“那你为什么没去参加宴会呢。   儿子?”   韦德向他靠近些,一只脚在地板上擦来擦去,显得很不高兴。   “我没接到邀请,先生。”   瑞德把他的表放在邦妮那只专门摔坏东西的小手里,然后轻轻地站起身来。   “丢下这些该死的数字吧,思嘉。为什么韦德没有被邀请去参加那个宴会呢?““看在上帝面上,瑞德!你现在别来打搅我了。艾希礼把这些帐目搞得一塌糊涂----唔,那个宴会?唔,我看人家不请韦德也没有什么,假如请了他,我还不让他去呢。别忘了拉乌尔是梅里韦瑟太太的孙子,而梅里韦瑟太太是宁愿让一个自由黑人也不会让我们家的人到她那神圣的客厅里去的呀!"瑞德若有所思地注视着韦德那张小脸,发现这孩子在难过。   “到这里来,儿子,"他边说,边把孩子拉过来。"你想去参加那个宴会吗?”“不,先生,"韦竿勇敢地说,但同时他的眼睛往下看了。   “嗯。告诉我,韦德,你去参加小乔•惠廷或者弗兰克•邦内尔,或者-—唔,别的小朋友的生日宴会吗?"“不先生。许多宴会我都没有接到邀请呢。"“韦德,你撒谎!"思嘉回过头来喊道。"你上星期就参加了三次,巴特家孩子们的宴会,盖勒特家的宴会和亨登家的宴会。"“你这是骡子身上配了一套马笼头,把什么都拉到一起来了。"瑞德说,接着他的声音渐渐变温和了,又问韦德:“你在那些宴会上感到高兴吗?你只管说。""不,先生。”“为什么不呢?"“我----我不知道,先生。嬷嬷----嬷嬷说他们是些坏白人。"“我立刻就要剥她的皮,这个嬷嬷!”思嘉跳起来高大叫。   “至于你嘛,韦德你这样说你母亲的朋友----"“孩子说的是实话,嬷嬷也是这样,"瑞德说。"不过,当然喽,你是从来都不会认识真理的。即使你在大路上碰到了……别难过。儿子,你用不着再去参加你不想去的宴会了。   给,"他从口袋里掏出一张钞票给他,"去告诉波克,套马车带你去街上去玩。给我自己买些糖果----买多多的,不要怕吃得肚子太痛了。"韦德开心了,把钞票塞进口袋,然后焦急地看着他母亲,希望能征得她的同意。可思嘉正蹙着眉头在看瑞德。这时他已从地板上把邦妮抱起来,让她偎在他怀里,小脸紧贴着他的面颊,她看不到他脸上的表情,但发现他眼睛里有一种近乎忧虑的神色----忧虑和自责的神色。   韦德从继父的慷慨中得到了鼓励,羞涩地走到他跟前。   “瑞德伯伯,我可以问你一件事吗?”   “当然可以。"瑞德的神情有点不安,但又好像满不在乎似的,他把邦妮的头抱得更靠近一些。"什么事,韦德?"“瑞德伯伯,你是不是----你在战争中打过仗吗?"瑞德的眼睛警觉地往后一缩,但还是犀利的,不过声音有点犹豫了。   “你干吗问这个呀,儿子?”   “嗯,乔•惠廷说你没有打过,弗兰克•邦内尔也这样说。"“哎,"瑞德说,“那你对他们怎么说呢?"“我----我说----我告诉他们我不知道。"接着赶忙补充,“不过我并不在乎,而且我揍了他们。你参加战争了吗,瑞德伯伯?"“参加了,“瑞德说,突然变得厉害起来。"我参加过战争。   我在军队里待了八个月。我从洛夫乔伊一直打到田纳西的富兰克林,约翰斯顿投降时我还在他的部队里。"韦德高兴得扭摆起来,但是思嘉笑了。   “我以为你会对自己的战争史感到羞耻呢,"她说。"你不是还叫我不要对别人说吗?”“嘘!"他阻止她。"韦德,你现在满意了吧?""啊,是的,先生!我本来就知道你参加了战争。我知道你不会像他们说的胆小如鼠。不过----你为什么没有跟别的小朋友的父亲在一起呀?"“因为别的孩子的父亲都些笨蛋,他们给编到步兵队里去了。我从前是西点军校的学生,所以编在炮兵队里。是在正规的炮兵队,韦德,不是乡团。要进炮兵队可不简单呢,韦德。"“我想准是那样,"韦德说,他的脸都发亮了。"你受过伤吗,瑞德伯伯。"瑞德迟疑着。   “把你的痢疾讲给他听听吧。"思嘉挖苦地说。   瑞德小心地把孩子放在地板上,然后把他的衬衣和汗衫从裤腰事带里拉出来。   “过来,韦德,我给你看我受伤的地方。"韦德激动地走上前去,注视着瑞德用手指指着的地方。一道长长的隆起伤疤越过褐色的胸脯一直伸到肌肉发达的腹部底下。那是他在加利福妮亚金矿区跟别人打架动刀子留下来的一个纪念。但是韦德搞不清楚,他呼吸紧张,心里十分骄傲。   “我猜你大概跟我父亲一样勇敢,瑞德伯伯。"“差不多,但也不全一样,"瑞德说,一面把衬衣塞进裤腰里,"好了,现在带着那一块钱出去花吧,以后再有哪个孩子说我没打过仗,就给我狠狠揍他。"韦德高兴得蹦蹦跳跳地出去了,一路喊叫着波克,同时瑞德又把孩子抱起来。   “你干么撒这些谎呢,我的英勇的大兵少爷?”思嘉问。   “一个男孩子总得为他父亲----或者继父感到骄傲嘛。我不能让他在别的小鬼面前觉得不光彩。孩子们,真是些冷酷的小家伙。"“啊,胡说八道!"“我以前从来没想过这跟韦德有什么关系,"瑞德慢腾腾地说。"我从没想过他会那样烦恼,不过将来邦妮不会碰到这种情况了。"“什么情况?"“你以为我会让邦妮为她父亲感到羞愧吗?到她九岁十岁时,难道也只能一个人待着不去参加那些集体活动?你以为让也像韦德那样,不是由于她自己的过错而是由于你和我的过错,便受到委屈吗?"“唔,孩子们的宴会嘛!"“年轻姑娘们最初的社交活动就是子孩子们的宴会中培养出来的呀。你以为我会让我的女儿完全置身于亚特兰大上流社会之外。关在家里长成起来吗?我不会因为她在这里或查尔斯顿或萨凡纳或新奥尔良不受欢迎,就送她到北方去上学或者访问的。我也不会因为没有哪个体面的南方家庭要她----因为她母亲是个傻瓜,她父亲是个无赖,而让她被迫嫁一个北方佬或一个外国人的。"这时韦德返回家,站在门口,十分感兴趣而又迷惑不解地听着。   “邦妮可以跟小博结婚嘛,瑞德伯伯。”   瑞德转过身去看这个小孩,脸上的怒气全消了,他显然在严肃地考虑孩子的话,这是他对待孩子们的一贯态度。   “这倒是真的,韦德,邦妮可以嫁给博•威尔克斯,可是你又跟谁结婚呢?”“唔,我跟谁也不结,"韦德挺自豪地说,他十分高兴能同这个人平等地谈话,这是除媚兰以外惟一的一个人,他从不责怪他,反而经常鼓励他。"我将来要上哈佛大大,学当律师,像我父亲那样,然后我要做一个像他那样勇敢的军人。"“我但愿媚兰闭住她那张嘴才好,"思嘉大声喊道。"韦德,你将来不上哈佛大学。那是一所北方佬的学校,我可不希望你到那儿去念书。你将来上佐治亚大学,毕业后约我经营那个店铺,至于说你父亲是个勇敢的军人嘛----”“嘘,"瑞德不让她说下去,因为他发现韦德说起他那们从未见过的父亲时眼睛里闪烁着光辉。"韦德,你长大了要成为一个像你父样那勇敢的人。正是要像他那样,因为他是个英雄;要是有人说的不一样,你可不要答应呀。他跟你母亲结婚了,不是吗?所以,这也证明他是个有英雄气概的人了。   我会自豪看到你去哈佛大学,学当律师。好,现在叫波克,让他带你去上街吧。”   “谢谢你了,请让我自己来管教我的孩子吧。"思嘉等韦德一出门便嚷嚷开了。   “让你去管教才糟糕呢!"你如今已经把韦德和爱拉全给耽误,我可决不让你那样对待邦妮!邦妮将来要成为一个小公主,世界上所有的人都喜欢她。她没有什么地方不能去的。   我的上帝,你以为我会让她长大以后跟这个家里那些来来往往的下流坯打交道吗?"”对于你来说,他们已经不错的了----"“对于你才他妈的太好了,我的宝贝儿。可是对邦妮不行。   你以为我会让她跟一个你整天厮混的那帮流浪汉结婚吗?损人利己的爱尔兰人,北方佬,坏白人,提包党暴发户----我的出自巴特勒血统和罗毕拉德门的邦妮----"“还有奥哈拉家族----"“奥哈拉家族曾经有可能成为爱尔兰的王室,可你父亲只不过是个损人利己的精明的爱尔兰农民罢了。你也好不了多少----不过嘛,我也有错。我像一只从地狱里飞出来的蝙蝠似的混过了前半生,为所欲为,对一切满不在乎。可是邦妮不能这样,关系大着呢。天哪,我以前多么愚蠢!邦妮在查尔斯顿不会受到欢迎,无论我的母亲或你的尤拉莉姨妈或波琳姨妈如何努力----而且很显然,要是我们不赶快采取行动,她在这里也会站不住脚的。”“唔,瑞德,你把问题看得那么严重,真有意思!我们有了这么多钱----"“让这些钱见鬼去吧!用我们所有的钱也买不到我要给她的东西呀!我宁肯让邦妮被邀请到皮卡德的破房子里呀埃尔辛太太家里那摇摇晃晃的仓房里去啃干面包,也不让她去当共和党人就职舞会上的明星。你了太笨了。你应该早就给孩子们在社会上准备一个位置的----可是你没有。你甚至连自己原来占有的位置也没有留心保祝所以事到如今,要你改正自己的为人处世之道也实在太难了。你太热衷于赚钱,太喜欢欺负人了。"“我看整个这件事情就是茶壶里的风暴,小题大作,"思嘉冷冰冰地说,同时把手里的帐本翻得哗哗响,意思是对她来说这场讨论已经结束了。   “我们只能得到威尔克斯太太的帮助,可你偏偏在尽力疏远她,侮辱她。唔,求求你不要在我面前诉说她的贫穷和褴褛了。只有她才是亚特兰大一切精华和灵魂的核心呢。感谢上帝把她给了我们。她会在这方面给我帮助的。"“那你准备怎么办呢?"“怎么办?我要给这个城市里每一们保守派的女头目做工作,尤其是梅里韦瑟太太、埃尔辛太太、惠廷庆庆和米德太太。即使我必须五体投地爬到每一位恨我的胖老猫面前去,我也心甘情愿。我愿意乖乖地忍受她们的奚落,忏悔我过去的恶行。我愿意给她们那些该死的慈善事业捐款,愿意到她们的鬼教堂里去做礼拜。我愿意承认并且吹嘘我给南部联盟做的种种事情,而且,如果万不得已,我愿意加入他妈的那个三K党----尽管上帝不见得会那样无情,将对我作出这种残酷的惩罚。而且我会毫不犹豫地提醒那些我曾经挽救过他们生命的人,叫他们记住还欠着我一笔债呢。至于你,太太请你发发慈悲,不要在我背后拆台,对于那些我正在讨好的人不要取消她们赎取抵押品的权利,不要卖烂木头给她们,或者在别的方面欺侮她们。还有,无论如何不要再让布洛克州长进我家的家门了。你听见没有?你一直交往的那一帮文雅的盗贼,也不能再来了。你要是不听我的话仍邀他们,那就只好让你的宾客在这里找不到主人,使你陷入万分尴尬的境地了。如果他们进了这个门,我就要跑到贝尔•沃特琳的酒吧间去,告诉那里的每一个人,他们看到我不愿意跟好帮人在一起,是会十分愉快的。   思嘉一直在忍受着听他的话,这时才挖苦地笑了。   “这么一来。那个驾河船的赌棍和投机家就要成为绅士了!我看,你要改邪归正的话,最好还是首先把贝尔•沃特琳的房子卖掉吧。”   这支箭是瞎放的。因为她一直不敢绝对肯定那所房子就是瑞德的。他突然大笑起来,仿佛猜着了思嘉的心思了。   “多谢你的建议了。”   要是瑞德事先已经尝试过的话,他就不会选择一个像现在这样困难的时来实行改邪归正了。不早不晚,恰好目前共和党人和参加共和党的南部白人名声最坏,因为提包党政权已经腐败到了极点。而且,自从投降以来,瑞德的名字已经跟北方佬、共和党人和参加共和党的南方白人紧密相连在一起了。   在一八六六年,亚特兰大曾经以无可奈何的愤怒心情感到世界上没有什么东西比他们当时的军事管制更坏的了,可是现在在布洛克的统治下才算明白这才是最坏的呢。共和党人和他们的同盟者依靠黑人的投票牢牢地确立了他们的统治,如今正在恣意蹂躏那个手中无权但仍在反抗的少数党。   黑人中间广泛流传着一种言论,说《圣经》中只提到过两种人,即税吏和罪人①。没有哪个黑人要加入一个完全由罪犯组成的政党,因此他们便争先恐后地参加了共和党。他们的新主子屡次投票支持他们,选举穷白人和参加共和党的南部白人担任高级职务,有时甚至选举某些黑人。这些黑人坐在州议会,大部分时间是在吃花生和把穿不惯的新鞋子不停地穿了又脱,脱了又穿。他们当中没有几个是会读书写字的。   他们刚从锦花田和竹丛中出来。可是手中却掌握着投票表决有关税收、公债和对他们自己及其共和党朋友们巨额支出的账单的权力。他们当然投票表决予以通过。这个州在税收问题上有步履维艰的感觉,因为纳税人发现那些作为公共事业费表决通过的钱有不少落进了私人腰包,他们是怀着满腔愤怒在交税的。   州议会所在地被一大群企业推销人、投机家,承包竞争者以及其他渴望在这场消费大赛中捞一把的人水泄不通地包围了,其中有许多正在无耻地成为富翁。他们可以毫不费力地拿到州里为修筑铁路拨发的经费,可是铁路却永远修不起来;可以拿到买机车和火车车厢的钱,但结果什么没有买;也可以支取盖公共建筑的款子,可是这些建筑除了在于它们的发起人心中,是永远也不会出现的。   债券成百万发行,其中大部分是非法的,骗人的,但照发不误。州政府的财务局长是个共和党人,但为主诚实,他反对这种非法债券,拒不签字,可是他和另外一些想阻止这种渎职行为的人,在那股泛滥的潮流面前也毫无办法。   州营铁路本来是州财产的一部分来源,可现在变成了一种沉重的负担,它的债务已高达上百万的数额。它已经不再是铁路了。它成了一个巨大的无底食糟,猎猡们可以在里面肆意大喝大嚼,甚至打滚糟踏。许多负责人是凭政治关系委任的,根本不考虑他们是否有经营铁路的知识,职工人数是所需名额的三倍,共和党凭通行证免费乘车,大批大批的黑人也高兴地免费到处游览,并在同一次选举中一再投票。   州营公路的经营不善尤其使纳税人愤怒,因为免费学校的经费是要从公路赢利中拨给的。可是现在不但没有赢利,反而欠债,结果也就没有免费的学校了。由于大部分人没钱送孩子上学,因此出现了从小在无知中成长起来的一代人,他们将在以后若干年中散播文盲的种子。   但是跟浪费、管理不善和贪污比起来,人们更加深恶痛绝的是州长在北方描述这些问题时所采取的卑劣手段。当佐治亚人民奋起反抗腐败时,州长便急急忙忙跑到北方去,在国会控诉白人凌辱黑人,控诉佐治亚州准备搞另一次叛乱,并提议在那里进行严厉的军事管制。其实佐治亚人没有哪个想同黑人闹纠纷,而只想避免这些纠纷。没有哪个想打第二次内战,也没有哪个要求和需要过刺刀下的管制生活。佐治亚唯一的要求的是不受干扰,让它自己去休养生息。但是,在被州人称之为"诽谤制造厂"的摆弄下,北方政府所看到的佐治亚是一个叛乱并需要严厉管制的州,而且确实加强了对它的管制。   对于那帮骑着佐治亚脖子的人来说,这是一件值得庆祝的大喜事。于是产生了一股巧取豪夺风气,高级官员也公开偷窃,而许多人对此采取冷漠的犬儒主义态度,这是令人想起来都不寒而栗的。实际上无论你抗议也罢,抵制也罢,都毫无用处,因为州政府是受合众国军事当局的鼓励和支持的呵。   亚特兰大人诅咒布洛克以及那帮拥护他的南方人和共和党人,他们也憎恨那些同他们勾搭在一起的家伙。瑞德就是同他们有联系的。人人都认为他跟他们关系很好,对他们所有的阴谋诡计都熟知。可是如今,他转过头来在抵制那 Chapter 53 IT WAS Ashley’s birthday and Melanie was giving him a surprise reception that night. Everyoneknew about the reception, except Ashley. Even Wade and little Beau knew and were sworn tosecrecy that puffed them up with pride. Everyone in Atlanta who was nice had been invited andwas coming. General Gordon and his family had graciously accepted, Alexander Stephens wouldbe present if his ever-uncertain health permitted and even Bob Toombs, the stormy petrel of theConfederacy, was expected.   All that morning, Scarlett, with Melanie, India and Aunt Pitty flew about the little house,directing the negroes as they hung freshly laundered curtains, polished silver, waxed the floor andcooked, stirred and tasted the refreshments. Scarlett had never seen Melanie so excited or sohappy.   “You see, dear, Ashley hasn’t had a birthday party since—since, you remember the barbecue atTwelve Oaks? The day we heard about Mr. Lincoln’s call for volunteers? Well, he hasn’t had abirthday party since then. And he works so hard and he’s so tired when he gets home at night thathe really hasn’t thought about today being his birthday. And won’t he be surprised after supperwhen everybody troops in!”   “How you goin’ to manage them lanterns on the lawn without Mr. Wilkes seein’ them when hecomes home to supper?” demanded Archie grumpily.   He had sat all morning watching the preparations, interested but unwilling to admit it. He hadnever been behind the scenes at a large town folks’ party and it was a new experience. He madefrank remarks about women running around like the house was afire, just because they were having company, but wild horses could not have dragged him from the scene. The colored-paperlanterns which Mrs. Elsing and Fanny had made and painted for the occasion held a special interestfor him, as he had never seen “sech contraptions” before. They had been hidden in his room in thecellar and he had examined them minutely.   “Mercy! I hadn’t thought of that!” cried Melanie. “Archie, how fortunate that you mentioned it.   Dear, dear! What shall I do? They’ve got to be strung on the bushes and trees and little candles putin them and lighted just at the proper time when the guests are arriving. Scarlett, can you send Porkdown to do it while we’re eating supper?”   “Miz Wilkes, you got more sense than most women but you gits flurried right easy,” said Archie.   “And as for that fool nigger, Pork, he ain’t got no bizness with them thar contraptions. He’d setthem afire in no time. They are—right pretty,” he conceded. “I’ll hang them for you, whilst youand Mr. Wilkes are eatin’.”   “Oh, Archie, how kind of you!” Melanie turned childlike eyes of gratitude and dependence uponhim. “I don’t know what I should do without you. Do you suppose you could go put the candles inthem now, so we’d have that much out of the way?”   “Well, I could, p’raps,” said Archie ungraciously and stumped off toward the cellar stairs.   “There’s more ways of killing a cat than choking him to death with butter,” giggled Melaniewhen the whiskered old man had thumped down the stairs. “I had intended all along for Archie toput up those lanterns but you know how he is. He won’t do a thing if you ask him to. And nowwe’ve got him out from underfoot for a while. The darkies are so scared of him they just won’t doany work when he’s around, breathing down their necks.”   “Melly, I wouldn’t have that old desperado in my house,” said Scarlett crossly. She hated Archieas much as he hated her and they barely spoke. Melanie’s was the only house in which he wouldremain if she were present. And even in Melanie’s house, he stared at her with suspicion and coldcontempt. “He’ll cause you trouble, mark my words.”   “Oh, he’s harmless if you flatter him and act like you depend on him,” said Melanie. “And he’sso devoted to Ashley and Beau that I always feel safe having him around.”   “You mean he’s so devoted to you, Melly,” said India, her cold face relaxing into a faintly warmsmile as her gaze rested fondly on her sister-in-law. “I believe you’re the first person that oldruffian has loved since his wife—er—since his wife. I think he’d really like for somebody to insultyou, so he could kill them to show his respect for you.”   “Mercy! How you run on, India!” said Melanie blushing. “He thinks I’m a terrible goose andyou know it.”   “Well, I don’t see that what that smelly old hillbilly thinks is of any importance,” said Scarlettabruptly. The very thought of how Archie had sat in judgment upon her about the convicts alwaysenraged her. “I have to go now. I’ve got to go get dinner and then go by the store and pay off theclerks and go by the lumber yard and pay the drivers and Hugh Elsing.”   “Oh, are you going to the lumber yard?” asked Melanie. “Ashley is coming in to the yard in thelate afternoon to see Hugh. Can you possibly hold him there till five o’clock? If he comes home earlier he’ll be sure to catch us finishing up a cake or something and then he won’t be surprised atall.”   Scarlett smiled inwardly, good temper restored.   “Yes, I’ll hold him,” she said.   As she spoke, India’s pale lashless eyes met hers piercingly. She always looks at me so oddlywhen I speak of Ashley, thought Scarlett.   “Well, hold him there as long as you can after five o’clock,” said Melanie. “And then India willdrive down and pick him up. ... Scarlett, do come early tonight. I don’t want you to miss a minuteof the reception.”   As Scarlett rode home she thought sullenly: “She doesn’t want me to miss a minute of thereception, eh? Well then, why didn’t she invite me to receive with her and India and Aunt Pitty?”   Generally, Scarlett would not have cared whether she received at Melly’s piddling parties or not.   But this was the largest party Melanie had ever given and Ashley’s birthday party too, and Scarlettlonged to stand by Ash-ley’s side and receive with him. But she knew why she had not beeninvited to receive. Even had she not known it, Rhett’s comment on the subject had been frankenough.   “A Scalawag receive when all die prominent ex-Confederates and Democrats are going to bethere? Your notions are as enchanting as they are muddle headed. It’s only because of Miss Melly’sloyalty that you are invited at all.”   Scarlett dressed with more than usual care that afternoon for her trip to the store and the lumberyard, wearing the new dull-green changeable taffeta frock that looked lilac in some lights and thenew pale-green bonnet, circled about with dark-green plumes. If only Rhett would let her cut bangsand frizzle them on her forehead, how much better this bonnet would look! But he had declaredthat he would shave her whole head if she banged her forelocks. And these days he acted soatrociously he really might do it.   It was a lovely afternoon, sunny but not too hot, bright but not glaring, and the warm breeze thatrustled the trees along Peachtree Street made the plumes on Scarlett’s bonnet dance. Her heartdanced too, as always when she was going to see Ashley. Perhaps, if she paid off the team driversand Hugh early, they would go home and leave her and Ashley alone in the square little office inthe middle of the lumber yard. Chances to see Ashley alone were all too infrequent these days. Andto think that Melanie had asked her to hold him! That was funny!   Her heart was merry when she reached the store, and she paid off Willie and the other counterboys without even asking what the day’s business had been. It was Saturday, the biggest day of theweek for the store, for all the farmers came to town to shop that day, but she asked no questions.   Along the way to the lumber yard she stopped a dozen times to speak with Carpetbagger ladiesin splendid equipages—not so splendid as her own, she thought with pleasure—and with manymen who came through the red dust of the street to stand hat in hand and compliment her. It was abeautiful afternoon, she was happy, she looked pretty and her progress was a royal one. Because ofthese delays she arrived at the lumber yard later than she intended and found Hugh and the team drivers sitting on a low pile of lumber waiting for her.   “Is Ashley here?”   “Yes, he’s in the office,” said Hugh, the habitually worried expression leaving his face at thesight of her happy, dancing eyes. “He’s trying to—I mean, he’s going over the books.”   “Oh, he needn’t bother about that today,” she said and then lowering her voice: “Melly sent medown to keep him here till they get the house straight for the reception tonight.”   Hugh smiled for he was going to the reception. He liked parties and he guessed Scarlett did toofrom the way she looked this afternoon. She paid off the teamsters and Hugh and, abruptly leavingthem, walked toward the office, showing plainly by her manner that she did not care to beaccompanied. Ashley met her at the door and stood in the afternoon sunshine, his hair bright andon his lips a little smile that was almost a grin.   “Why, Scarlett, what are you doing downtown this time of the day? Why aren’t you out at myhouse helping Melly get ready for the surprise party?”   “Why, Ashley Wilkes!” she cried indignantly. “You weren’t supposed to know a thing about it.   Melly will be so disappointed if you aren’t surprised.”   “Oh, I won’t let on. I’ll be the most surprised man in Atlanta,” said Ashley, his eyes laughing.   “Now, who was mean enough to tell you?”   “Practically every man Melly invited. General Gordon was the first. He said it had been hisexperience that when women gave surprise parties they usually gave them on the very nights menhad decided to polish and clean all the guns in the house. And then Grandpa Merriwether warnedme. He said Mrs. Merriwether gave him a surprise party once and she was the most surprisedperson there, because Grandpa had been treating his rheumatism, on the sly, with a bottle ofwhisky and he was too drunk to get out of bed and—oh, every man who’s ever had a surprise partygiven him told me.”   “The mean things!” cried Scarlett but she had to smile.   He looked like the old Ashley she knew at Twelve Oaks when he smiled like this. And he smiledso seldom these days. The air was so soft, the sun so gentle, Ashley’s face so gay, his talk sounconstrained that her heart leaped with happiness. It swelled in her bosom until it positivelyached with pleasure, ached as with a burden of joyful, hot, unshed tears. Suddenly she felt sixteenagain and happy, a little breathless and excited. She had a mad impulse to snatch off her bonnetand toss it into the air and cry “Hurray!” Then she thought how startled Ashley would be if she didthis, and she suddenly laughed, laughed until tears came to her eyes. He laughed, too, throwingback his head as though he enjoyed laughter, thinking her mirth came from the friendly treacheryof the men who had given Melly’s secret away.   “Come in, Scarlett. I’m going over the books.”   She passed into the small room, blazing with the afternoon sun, and sat down in the chair beforethe roll-topped desk. Ashley, following her, seated himself on the corner of the rough table, hislong legs dangling easily.   “Oh, don’t let’s fool with any books this afternoon, Ashley! I just can’t be bothered. When I’mwearing a new bonnet, it seems like all the figures I know leave my head.”   “Figures are well lost when the bonnet’s as pretty as that one,” he said. “Scarlett, you get prettierall the time!”   He slipped from the table and, laughing, took her hands, spreading them wide so he could seeher dress. “You are so pretty! I don’t believe you’ll ever get old!”   At his touch she realized that, without being conscious of it, she had hoped that just this thingwould happen. All this happy afternoon, she had hoped for the warmth of his hands, the tendernessof his eyes, a word that would show he cared. This was the first time they had been utterly alonesince the cold day in the orchard at Tara, the first time their hands had met in any but formalgestures, and through the long months she had hungered for closer contact. But now—How odd that the touch of his hands did not excite her! Once his very nearness would have sether a-tremble. Now she felt a curious warm friendliness and content. No fever leaped from hishands to hers and in his hands her heart hushed to happy quietness. This puzzled her, made her alittle disconcerted. He was still her Ashley, still her bright, shining darling and she loved him betterthan life. Then why—But she pushed the thought from her mind. It was enough that she was with him and he washolding her hands and smiling, completely friendly, without strain or fever. It seemed miraculousthat this could be when she thought of all the unsaid things that lay between them. His eyes lookedinto hers, clear and shining, smiling in the old way she loved, smiling as though there had neverbeen anything between them but happiness. There was no barrier between his eyes and hers now,no baffling remoteness. She laughed.   “Oh, Ashley, I’m getting old and decrepit.”   “Ah, that’s very apparent! No, Scarlett, when you are sixty, you’ll look the same to me. I’llalways remember you as you were that day of our last barbecue, sitting under an oak with a dozenboys around you. I can even tell you just how you were dressed, in a white dress covered with tinygreen flowers and a white lace shawl about your shoulders. You had on little green slippers withblack lacings and an enormous leghorn hat with long green streamers. I know that dress by heartbecause when I was in prison and things got too bad, I’d take out my memories and thumb themover like pictures, recalling every little detail—”   He stopped abruptly and the eager light faded from his face. He dropped her hands gently andshe sat waiting, waiting for his next words.   “We’ve come a long way, both of us, since that day, haven’t we, Scarlett? We’ve traveled roadswe never expected to travel. You’ve come swiftly, directly, and I, slowly and reluctantly.”   He sat down on the table again and looked at her and a small smile crept back into his face. Butit was not the smile that had made her so happy so short a while before. It was a bleak smile.   “Yes, you came swiftly, dragging me at your chariot wheels. Scarlett, sometimes I have animpersonal curiosity as to what would have happened to me without you.”   Scarlett went quickly to defend him from himself, more quickly because treacherously there rose to her mind Rhett’s words on this same subject,“But I’ve never done anything for you, Ashley. Without me, you’d have been just the same.   Some day, you’d have been a rich man, a great man like you are going to be.”   “No, Scarlett, the seeds of greatness were never in me. I think that if it hadn’t been for you, I’dhave gone down into oblivion—like poor Cathleen Calvert and so many other people who oncehad great names, old names.”   “Oh, Ashley, don’t talk like that. You sound so sad.”   “No, I’m not sad. Not any longer. Once—once I was sad. Now, I’m only—”   He stopped and suddenly she knew what he was thinking. It was the first time she had everknown what Ashley was thinking when his eyes went past her, crystal clear, absent When the furyof love had beaten in her heart, his mind had been closed to her. Now, in the quiet friendliness thatlay between them, she could walk a little way into his mind, understand a little. He was not sad anylonger. He had been sad after the surrender, sad when she begged him to come to Atlanta. Now, hewas only resigned.   “I hate to hear you talk like that, Ashley,” she said vehemently. “You sound just like Rhett. He’salways harping on things like that and something he calls the survival of the fitting till I’m sobored I could scream.”   Ashley smiled.   “Did you ever stop to think, Scarlett, that Rhett and I are fundamentally alike?”   “Oh, no! You are so fine, so honorable and he—” She broke off, confused.   “But we are. We came of the same kind of people, we were raised in the same pattern, broughtup to think the same things. And somewhere along the road we took different turnings. We stillthink alike but we react differently. As, for instance, neither of us believed in the war but I enlistedand fought and he stayed out till nearly the end. We both knew the war was all wrong. We bothknew it was a losing fight, I was willing to fight a losing fight. He wasn’t. Sometimes I think hewas right and then, again—”   “Oh, Ashley, when will you stop seeing both sides of questions?” she asked. But she did notspeak impatiently as she once would have done. “No one ever gets anywhere seeing both sides.”   “That’s true but—Scarlett, just where do you want to get? I’ve often wondered. You see, I neverwanted to get anywhere at all. I’ve only wanted to be myself.”   Where did she want to get? That was a silly question. Money and security, of course. And yet—Her mind fumbled. She had money and as much security as one could hope for in an insecureworld. But, now that she thought about it, they weren’t quite enough. Now that she thought aboutit, they hadn’t made her particularly happy, though they made her less harried, less fearful of themorrow. If I’d had money and security and you, that would have been where I wanted to get, shethought, looking at him yearningly. But she did not speak the words, fearful of breaking the spellthat lay between them, fearful that his mind would close against her.   “You only want to be yourself?” she laughed, a little ruefully. “Not being myself has always been my hardest trouble! As to where I want to get, well, I guess I’ve gotten there. I wanted to berich and safe and—”   “But, Scarlett, did it ever occur to you that I don’t care whether I’m rich or not?”   No, it had never occurred to her that anyone would not want to be rich.   “Then, what do you want?”   “I don’t know, now. I knew once but I’ve half forgotten. Mostly to be left alone, not to beharried by people I don’t like, driven to do things I don’t want to do. Perhaps—I want the old daysback again and they’ll never come back, and I am haunted by the memory of them and of theworld falling about my ears.”   Scarlett set her mouth obstinately. It was not that she did not know what he meant. The verytones of his voice called up other days as nothing else could, made her heart hurt suddenly, as shetoo remembered. But since the day she had lain sick and desolate in the garden at Twelve Oaks andsaid: “I won’t look back,” she had set her face against the past.   “I like these days better,” she said. But she did not meet his eyes as she spoke. “There’s alwayssomething exciting happening now, parties and so on. Everything’s got a glitter to it. The old dayswere so dull.” (Oh, lazy days and warm still country twilights! The high soft laughter from thequarters! The golden warmth life had then and the comforting knowledge of what all tomorrowswould bring! How can I deny you?)“I like these days better,” she said but her voice was tremulous.   He slipped from the table, laughing softly in unbelief. Putting his hand under her chin, he turnedher face up to his.   “Ah, Scarlett, what a poor liar you are! Yes, life has a glitter now—of a sort That’s what’s wrongwith it. The old days had no glitter but they had a charm, a beauty, a slow-paced glamour.”   Her mind pulled two ways, she dropped her eyes. The sound of his voice, the touch of his handwere softly unlocking doors that she had locked forever. Behind those doors lay the beauty of theold days, and a sad hunger for them welled up within her. But she knew that no matter what beautylay behind, it must remain there. No one could go forward with a load of aching memories.   His hand dropped from her chin and he took one of her hands between his two and held itgently.   “Do you remember,” he said—and a warning bell in her mind rang: Don’t look back! Don’t lookback!   But she swiftly disregarded it, swept forward tide of happiness. At last she was understandinghim,atlasttheirmindshadmet.Thismom(on) en(a) t was too precious to be lost, no matterwhat pain came after.   “Do you remember,” he said and under the spell of his voice the bare walls of the’little officefaded and the years rolled aside and they were riding country bridle paths together in a long-gonespring. As he spoke, his light grip tightened on her hand and in his voice was the sad magic of oldhalf-forgotten songs. She could hear the gay jingle of bridle bits as they rode under the dogwood trees to the Tarletons’ picnic, hear her own careless laughter, see the sun glinting on his silver-gilthair and note the proud easy grace with which he sat his horse. There was music in his voice, themusic of fiddles and banjos to which they had danced in the white house that was no more. Therewas the far-off yelping of possum dogs in the dark swamp under cool autumn moons and the smellof eggnog bowls, wreathed with holly at Christmas time and smiles on black and white faces. Andold friends came trooping back, laughing as though they had not been dead these many years:   Stuart and Brent with their long legs and their red hair and their practical jokes, Tom and Boyd aswild as young horses, Joe Fontaine with his hot black eyes, and Cade and Raiford Calvert whomoved with such languid grace. There was John Wilkes, too; and Gerald, red with brandy; and awhisper and a fragrance that was Ellen. Over it all rested a sense of security, a knowledge that tomorrowcould only bring the same happiness today had brought.   His voice stopped and they looked for a long quiet moment into each other’s eyes and betweenthem lay the sunny lost youth that they had so unthinkingly shared.   “Now I know why you can’t be happy,” she thought sadly. “I never understood before. I neverunderstood before why I wasn’t altogether happy either. But—why, we are talking like old peopletalk!” she thought with dreary surprise. “Old people looking back fifty years. And we’re not old!   It’s just that so much has happened in between. Everything’s changed so much that it seems likefifty years ago. But we’re not old!”   But when she looked at Ashley he was no longer young and shining. His head was bowed as helooked down absently at her hand which he still held and she saw that his once bright hair was verygray, silver gray as moonlight on still water. Somehow the bright beauty had gone from the Aprilafternoon and from her heart as well and the sad sweetness of remembering was as bitter as gall.   “I shouldn’t have let him make me look back,” she thought despairingly. “I was right when Isaid I’d never look back. It hurts too much, it drags at your heart till you can’t ever do anythingelse except look back. That’s what’s wrong with Ashley. He can’t look forward any more. He can’tsee the present, he fears the future, and so he looks back. I never understood it before. I neverunderstood Ashley before. Oh, Ashley, my darling, you shouldn’t look back! What good will it do?   I shouldn’t have let you tempt me into talking of the old days. This is what happens when you lookback to happiness, this pain, this heartbreak, this discontent.”   She rose to her feet, her hand still in his. She must go. She could not stay and think of the olddays and see his face, tired and sad and bleak as it now was.   “We’ve come a long way since those days, Ashley,” she said, trying to steady her voice, tryingto fight the constriction in her throat. “We had fine notions then, didn’t we?” And then, with a rush,“Oh, Ashley, nothing has turned out as we expected!”   “It never does,” he said. “Life’s under no obligation to give us what we expect. We take what weget and are thankful it’s no worse than it is.”   Her heart was suddenly dull with pain, with weariness, as she thought of the long road she hadcome since those days. There rose up in her mind the memory of Scarlett O’Hara who loved beauxand pretty dresses and who intended, some day, when she had the time, to be a great lady likeEllen.   Without warning, tears started in her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks and she stoodlooking at him dumbly, like a hurt bewildered child. He said no word but took her gently in hisarms, pressed her head against his shoulder and, leaning down, laid his cheek against hers. Sherelaxed against him and her arms went round his body. The comfort of his arms helped dry hersudden tears. Ah, it was good to be in his arms, without passion, without tenseness, to be there as aloved friend. Only Ashley who shared her memories and her youth, who knew her beginnings andher present could understand.   She heard the sound of feet outside but paid little heed, thinking it was the teamsters goinghome. She stood for a moment, listening to the slow beat of Ashley’s heart. Then suddenly hewrenched himself from her, confusing her by his violence. She looked up into his face in surprisebut he was not looking at her. He was looking over her shoulder at the door.   She turned and there stood India, white faced, her pale eyes blazing, and Archie, malevolent as aone-eyed parrot. Behind them stood Mrs. Elsing.   How she got out of the office she never remembered. But she went instantly, swiftly, byAshley’s order, leaving Ashley and Archie in grim converse in the little room and India and Mrs.   Elsing outside with their backs to her. Shame and fear sped her homeward and, in her mind, Archiewith his patriarch’s beard assumed the proportions of an avenging angel straight from the pages ofthe Old Testament.   The house was empty and still in the April sunset. All the servants had gone to a funeral and thechildren were playing in Melanie’s back yard. Melanie—Melanie! Scarlett went cold at the thought of her as she climbed the stairs to her room. Melaniewould hear of this. India had said she would tell her. Oh, India would glory in telling her, notcaring if she blackened Ashley’s name, not caring if she hurt Melanie, if by so doing she couldinjure Scarlett! And Mrs. Elsing would talk too, even though she had really seen nothing, becauseshe was behind India and Archie in the door of the lumber office. But she would talk, just thesame. The news would be all over town by supper time. Everyone, even the negroes, would knowby tomorrow’s breakfast. At the party tonight, women would gather in corners and whisperdiscreetly and with malicious pleasure. Scarlett Butler rumbled from her high and mighty place!   And the story would grow and grow. There was no way of stopping it. It wouldn’t stop at the barefacts, that Ashley was holding her in his arms while she cried. Before nightfall people would besaying she had been taken in adultery. And it had been so innocent, so sweet! Scarlett thoughtwildly: If we had been caught that Christmas of his furlough when I kissed him good-by—if wehad been caught in the orchard at Tara when I begged him to run away with me—oh, if we’d beencaught any of the times when we were really guilty, it wouldn’t be so bad! But now! Now! When Iwent to his arms as a friend—But no one would believe that. She wouldn’t have a single friend to take her part, not a singlevoice would be raised to say: “I don’t believe she was doing anything wrong.” She had outragedold friends too long to find a champion among them now. Her new friends, suffering in silenceunder her insolences, would welcome a chance to blackguard her. No, everybody would believeanything about her, though they might regret that so fine a man as Ashley Wilkes was mixed up in so dirty an affair. As usual they would cast the blame upon the woman and shrug at the man’s guilt.   And in this case they would be right. She had gone into his arms.   Oh, she could stand the cuts, the slights, the covert smiles, anything the town might say, if shehad to stand them—but not Melanie! Oh, not Melanie! She did not know why she should mindMelanie knowing, more than anyone else. She was too frightened and weighed down by a sense ofpast guilt to try to understand it. But she burst into tears at the thought of what would be inMelanie’s eyes when India told her that she had caught Ashley fondling Scarlett. And what wouldMelanie do when she knew? Leave Ashley? What else could she do, with any dignity? And whatwill Ashley and I do then? she thought frenziedly, the tears streaming down her face. Oh, Ashleywill die of shame and hate me for bringing this on him. Suddenly her tears stopped short as adeadly fear went through her heart. What of Rhett? What would he do?   Perhaps he’d never know. What was that old saying, that cynical saying? “The husband isalways the last to find out.” Perhaps no one would tell him. It would take a brave man to breaksuch news to Rhett, for Rhett had the reputation for shooting first and asking questions afterwards.   Please, God, don’t let anybody be brave enough to tell him! But she remembered the face ofArchie in the lumber office, the cold, pale eye, remorseless, full of hate for her and all women.   Archie feared neither God nor man and he hated loose women. He had hated them enough to killone. And he had said he would tell Rhett. And he’d tell him in spite of all Ashley could do to dissuadehim. Unless Ashley killed him, Archie would tell Rhett, feeling it his Christian duty.   She pulled off her clothes and lay down on the bed, her mind whirling round and round. If shecould only lock her door and stay in this safe place forever and ever and never see anyone again.   Perhaps Rhett wouldn’t find out tonight. She’d say she had a headache and didn’t feel like going tothe reception. By morning she would have thought up some excuse to offer, some defense thatmight hold water.   “I won’t think of it now,” she said desperately, burying her face in the pillow. “I won’t think of itnow. I’ll think of it later when I can stand it.”   She heard the servants come back as night fell and it seemed to her that they were very silent asthey moved about preparing supper. Or was it her guilty conscience? Mammy came to the door andknocked but Scarlett sent her away, saying she did not want any supper. Time passed and finallyshe heard Rhett coming up the steps. She held herself tensely as he reached the upper hall,gathered all her strength for a meeting but he passed into his room. She breathed easier. He hadn’theard. Thank God, he still respected her icy request that he never put foot in her bedroom again,for if he saw her now, her face would give her away. She must gather herself together enough totell him that she felt too ill to go to the reception. Well, there was time enough for her to calmherself. Or was there time? Since the awful moment that afternoon, life had seemed timeless. Sheheard Rhett moving about in his room for a long time, speaking occasionally to Pork. Still shecould not find courage to call to him. She lay still on the bed in the darkness, shaking.   After a long time, he knocked on her door and she said, trying to control her voice: “Come in.”   “Am I actually being invited into the sanctuary?” he questioned, opening the door. It was darkand she could not see his face. Nor could she make anything of his voice. He entered and closedthe door.   “Are you ready for the reception?”   “I’m so sorry but I have a headache.” How odd that her voice sounded natural! Thank God forthe dark! “I don’t believe I’ll go. You go, Rhett, and give Melanie my regrets.”   There was a long pause and he spoke drawlingly, bitingly in the dark.   “What a white livered, cowardly little bitch you are.”   He knew! She lay shaking, unable to speak. She heard him fumble in the dark, strike a matchand the room sprang into light. He walked over to the bed and looked down at her. She saw that hewas in evening clothes.   “Get up,” he said and there was nothing in his voice. “We are going to the reception. You willhave to hurry.”   “Oh, Rhett, I can’t. You see—”   “I can see. Get up.”   “Rhett, did Archie dare—”   “Archie dared. A very brave man, Archie.”   “You should have killed him for telling lies—”   “I have a strange way of not killing people who tell the truth. There’s no time to argue now. Getup.”   She sat up, hugging her wrapper close to her, her eyes searching his face. It was dark andimpassive.   “I won’t go, Rhett I can’t until this—misunderstanding is cleared up.”   “If you don’t show your face tonight, you’ll never be able to show it in this town as long as youlive. And while I may endure a trollop for a wife, I won’t endure a coward. You are going tonight,even if everyone, from Alex Stephens down, cuts you and Mrs. Wilkes asks us to leave the house.”   “Rhett, let me explain.”   “I don’t want to hear. There isn’t time. Get on your clothes.”   “They misunderstood—India and Mrs. Elsing and Archie. And they hate me so. India hates meso much that she’d even tell lies about her own brother to make me appear in a bad light. If you’llonly let me explain—”   Oh, Mother of God, she thought in agony, suppose he says: “Pray do explain!” What can I say?   How can I explain?   “They’ll have told everybody lies. I can’t go tonight.”   “You will go,” he said, “if I have to drag you by the neck and plant my boot on your ever socharming bottom every step of the way.”   There was a cold glitter in his eyes as he jerked her to her feet He picked up her stays and threwthem at her.   “Put them on. I’ll lace you. Oh yes, I know all about lacing. No, I won’t call Mammy to helpyou and have you lock the door and skulk here like the coward you are.”   “I’m not a coward,” she cried, stung out of her fear.   “Oh, spare me your saga about shooting Yankees and facing Sherman’s army. You’re a coward—among other things. If not for your own sake, you are going tonight for Bonnie’s sake. Howcould you further ruin her chances? Put on your stays, quick.”   Hastily she slipped off her wrapper and stood clad only in her chemise. If only he would look ather and see how nice she looked in her chemise, perhaps that frightening look would leave hisface. After all, he hadn’t seen her in her chemise for ever and ever so long. But he did not look. Hewas in her closet, going through her dresses swiftly. He fumbled and drew out her new jade-greenwatered-silk dress. It was cut low over the bosom and the skirt was draped back over an enormousbustle and on the bustle was a huge bunch of pink velvet roses.   “Wear that,” he said, tossing it on the bed and coming toward her. “No modest, matronly dovegrays and lilacs tonight. Your flag must be nailed to the mast, for obviously you’d run it down if itwasn’t. And plenty of rouge. I’m sure the woman the Pharisees took in adultery didn’t look half sopale. Turn around.”   He took the strings of the stays in his hands and jerked them so hard that she cried out,frightened, humiliated, embarrassed at such an untoward performance.   “Hurts, does it?” He laughed shortly and she could not see his face. “Pity it isn’t around yourneck.”   Melanie’s house blazed lights from every room and they could hear the music far up the street.   As they drew up in front, the pleasant exciting sounds of many people enjoying themselves floatedout. The house was packed with guests. They overflowed on verandas and many were sitting onbenches in the dim lantern-hung yard.   I can’t go in—I can’t, thought Scarlett, sitting in the carriage, gripping her balled-uphandkerchief. I can’t. I won’t. I will jump out and run away, somewhere, back home to Tara, Whydid Rhett force me to come here? What will people do? What will Melanie do? What will she looklike? Oh, I can’t face her. I will run away.   As though he read her mind, Rhett’s hand closed upon her arm in a grip that would leave abruise, the rough grip of a careless stranger.   “I’ve never known an Irishman to be a coward. Where’s your much-vaunted courage?”   “Rhett, do please, let me go home and explain.”   “You have eternity in which to explain and only one night to be a martyr in the amphitheater.   Get out, darling, and let me see the lions eat you. Get out.”   She went up the walk somehow, the arm she was holding as hard and steady as granite,communicating to her some courage. By God, she could face them and she would. What were theybut a bunch of howling, clawing cats who were jealous of her? She’d show them. She didn’t carewhat they thought. Only Melanie—only Melanie.   They were on the porch and Rhett was bowing right and left, his hat in his hand, his voice cooland soft. The music stopped as they entered and the crowd of people seemed to her confused mindto surge up to her like the roar of the sea and then ebb away, with lessening, ever-lessening sound.   Was everyone going to cut her? Well, God’s nightgown, let them do it! Her chin went up and shesmiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling.   Before she could turn to speak to those nearest the door, someone came through the press ofpeople. There was an odd hush that caught Scarlett’s heart. Then through the lane came Melanie onsmall feet that hurried, hurried to meet Scarlett at the door, to speak to her before anyone elsecould speak. Her narrow shoulders were squared and her small jaw set indignantly and, for all hernotice, she might have had no other guest but Scarlett. She went to her side and slipped an armabout her waist.   “What a lovely dress, darling,” she said in her small, clear voice. “Will you be an angel? Indiawas unable to come tonight and assist me. Will you receive with me?”  那天是艾希礼的生日,媚兰在晚上举行了一个事先秘而不宣的晚宴。其实除了艾希礼本人,别的人都是知道了的。连韦德和小博也知道,但都发誓要保守秘密,因此还显得很神气呢。亚特兰大所有优秀的人物都受到邀请,也都准备来。戈登将军和他一家亲切地表示接受,亚历山大•斯蒂芬斯也答应只要他那一直不稳定的健康状况允许就一定出席。甚至连鲍勃•图姆斯,这个给南部联盟到处惹事的人,也说要来的。   那天整个上午,思嘉、媚兰、英迪亚和皮蒂姑妈在那座小房子里忙个不停,指挥黑人们挂上那些新洗过的窗帘,擦拭银器,给地板打蜡,烧菜,以及调制和品尝点心,等等。思嘉从没见过媚兰这样高兴和愉快。   “你瞧,亲爱的,艾希礼一直没有做过生日,自从----自从,你还记得'十二橡树'村举办的那次大野宴吗?那天我们听说林肯先生在招募志愿兵呢?嗯,从那以后,他就没做过生日了。他工作那么辛苦,晚上回来时已非常疲乏,一定不会想到今天是他的生日。那么,吃完晚饭后看见那么多人涌进门来,他不给吓坏才怪呢!"“不过,你打算外面草地上那些灯笼怎么办呢?威尔克斯先生回来吃晚饭时会看见的,"阿尔奇显得烦躁地提出这个问题。   他整个上午都坐在那里观看大家忙着准备宴会,感到很有趣,但自己并不承认。他从来不知道大城市里的人是怎样办宴会或招待会的,这一次算是长了见识。他坦率地批评那些女人仅仅因为有几个客人要来便忙成那个样子,好像屋里着了火似的,不过他对这情景很有兴趣,恐怕来几匹野马也没法把他拉走。那些彩纸灯笼是埃尔太太和范妮临时扎的,阿尔奇特别喜欢它们,因为他以前从没见过"这样的新鲜玩意儿。"它们本来给藏在地下室里他的房间里,他已经仔细地看过了。   “哎哟,我倒没想到这一点!"媚兰喊道。"阿尔奇,幸亏你提醒。糟糕,糟糕!这怎么办呢?它们得挂在灌木林和树上,里面插着小蜡烛,等到适当的时候,客人快来了就点上。   思嘉,你能不能在我们吃饭时打发波克下去办这件事?"“威尔克斯太太,你在妇女中是最精明的了,可是你也容易一时糊涂,"阿尔奇说。"至于说到那个傻黑鬼波克,我看他还是不要去弄那些小玩意儿好。他会把它们一下子烧掉的。   它们----可真不错呢,让我来替你挂吧,等你和威尔克斯行生吃饭的时候。““啊,阿尔奇,你真好!"媚兰那双天真的眼睛又感激又信赖地看着他。"我真是不知道要是没有你我怎么办。你看你能不能现在就去把蜡烛插在里面,免得临时措手不及呢?"“好吧,我看可以,"阿尔奇有点粗声粗平地说,接着便笨拙地向地下室走去了。   “对这种人最好的办法就是对他说点好听的,否则你怎么也不行呢。"媚兰看见那个满脸胡子的老头下了地下室的阶梯,才格格地笑着说。"我一直就在打算要让阿尔奇去挂那些灯笼,可是你知道他的脾气。你要请他做事,他偏不去。现在我们让他走开,好清静一会儿,那些黑人都那样害怕他,只要他在场就低着头喘气,简直什么也别想干了。"“媚兰,我是不愿意让这个老鬼待在我屋里,"思嘉气恼地说。她恨阿尔奇就像阿尔奇恨她一样,两个人在一起几乎不说话。除非是在媚兰家里,否则他一见思嘉在场就要跑开。   而且,甚至在媚兰家里他也会用猜疑和冷漠的眼光盯着她。   “他会给你惹麻烦的,请记住我这句话吧。"“唔,这个人也没有什么恶意,只要你恭维他,显得你暗依赖他的,就行了,"媚兰说。"而且他那样忠于艾希礼和小博,所以有他在身边,就觉得安全多了。"“你的意思是他很忠于你了,媚兰,“英迪亚插嘴说,她那冷淡的面孔流露出一丝丝温暖的微笑,同时深情地看着自己的嫂子。"我相信你是这老恶棍第一个喜欢的人,自从他老婆----噢----自从他老婆死了以后。我想他会巴不得有什么人来侮辱你,因为这才有机会让把他们杀了,显示他对你的尊敬呢。”   “哎哟,瞧你说到那里去了,英迪亚!"媚兰说,脸都红了。"他认为我愚得很,这你是知道的。"“嗯,据我看,无论这个臭老头子到底心里想什么,也没有多大意思,"思嘉很不耐烦地说。她一想起阿尔奇曾经责怪她的关于罪犯的事,就怒火满腔。"我现在得去吃中饭了,然后要店里去一下,给伙计们发放工钱,再去看看木料场,付钱给车夫和休•埃尔辛。““唔,你要到木料场去?"媚兰问。"艾希礼傍晚时候要到场里去看休呢。你能不能把他留在那里等到五点钟再放他走?   要不然他回来早了,一定会看见我们在做蛋糕什么的,那样就根本谈不上叫他惊喜了。“思嘉暗自一笑,情绪又好起来。   “好吧,我会留住他的。"她说。   当她这样说时,她发现英迪亚那双没有睫毛的眼睛正犀利地盯着她。她想:每次只要我一说到艾希礼,她就这样古怪地看我。   “那么,你尽可能把他留到五点以后,"媚兰说,"然后英迪亚赶车去把他带上。……思嘉,今晚你得早点来呀。我可要你一分钟也不耽误来参加宴会。"思嘉赶车回家时,一路上闷闷不乐地思忖着:“她叫我一分钟也不要耽误去参加宴会,啊?那么,她为什么不请我跟她和英迪亚和皮蒂姑妈一起接待客人呢?"在通常情况下,思嘉并不在意是否在媚兰举办的家宴上参加接待客人。可这一回是媚兰家里最大的一次宴会,并且是艾希礼的生日晚会呢,所以思嘉恨希望能站在艾希礼身边,跟他一起接待宾客。但是不知为什么她没有被邀请来参加接待。当然,尽管她自己至今仍不明白,不过瑞德对于这个问题已经作过坦率的解释了。   “在所有知名的前南部联盟拥护者们要出席的情况下,能让一个拥护共和党和南方白人来参加接待吗?你的想法倒是很迷惑人的,可人家也不是糊涂虫呀。我看只因为媚兰小姐对你一片忠诚,才居然邀请了你呢。"那天下午思嘉动身到店里和木料场去之前,比往常多注意打扮了一下自己,穿了一件暗绿的可以闪闪发光的塔夫绸长衣,它在灯光下会变成淡紫色;还戴了一顶浅绿色的新帽子,周围装饰着深绿色羽毛。要是瑞德赞成她把头发剪成刘海式的,并在额前烫成鬈发,戴上这顶帽子还会好看得多呢!   可是他已经宣布,只要她把额发弄成刘海,他就要把她的头发全剃光。何况近来他态度那样粗鲁,说不定真会干呢。   那天下午天气很好,有太阳,但并不怎么热,很亮堂,但又不觉得刺眼,温暖的微风徐徐地吹指着桃树街两旁的树木,使思嘉帽子上的羽毛也跳起舞来。她的心也在跳舞,就像每一次去见艾希礼时那样。也许,如果她早一点给运输队的车夫和休付了工资,他们便会回家,把她单独和艾希礼留在木料场中央那间的小小的正方形办公室里。最近,要想与艾希礼单独会面可不怎么容易呀。可是你想,媚兰居然请她把他留住呢?这太有意思了。   她赶到店里时心里十分高兴,立即给威利和别的几个店员付了钱,甚至也没有问一下当天营业的情况。那是个星期六,一周中生意最好的一天,因为所有的农人都在这一天进城来买东西,可是她什么也不问了。   到木料场去时,她沿途停了十来次车跟那些打扮得很考究----但是都不如她的打扮那样漂亮,她高兴地想----与提包党太太说说话,还有些男人穿过这大街上的红色尘土跑上前来,手里拿着帽子站在马车旁边向她表示敬意。这真是个很可爱的下午,她非常高兴,也显得很漂亮,她的计划也进行得极为顺利。但是由于这些耽搁,她到达木料场时比原先打算的晚了一点,休和运输队的车夫已经坐在一堆木头上等候她了。   “艾希礼来了吗?”   “来了,他在办事房里,"休加答说,他一看见她那快活飞舞的眼睛,脸上惯常带有的那种烦恼的表情便消失了。"他是想----我的意思暗他在查看帐本呢。”“唔,今天他不用费心了,"她说,接着又放低声音说:“媚兰打发我来把他留住,等他们把今晚的宴会准备好了才让他回去呢。"休微笑起来,因为他也要去参加宴会。他喜欢参加宴,并且猜测思嘉也是这样,这可从她今天下午的神气看得出来。她给运输队和休付了钱,然后匆匆离开他们向办事房走去,那态度显然是她不愿意他们留在这里。艾希礼在门口遇到她,他站在午后的阳光下,头发闪闪发亮,嘴唇上流露出一丝差一点要露出牙齿来的微笑。   “怎么,思嘉,你这时候跑到市区来干什么?你怎么没在我家里帮媚兰准备那个秘密的宴会呢?"“怎么了,艾希礼•威尔克斯?"思嘉生气地喊道。"本来是想不让你知道这件事的呀。要是你居然一点也不吃惊,媚兰会大失所望呢。"“唔,我不会泄露的,我将是亚特兰大最感到吃惊的一个,"艾希礼眉开眼笑地说。   “那么,是谁这么缺德告诉你了呢?”   “事实上媚兰把所有的人都请上了。头一个是戈登将军。   他说根据他的经验,妇女们要举行意外招待会时,总是选择男人们决定要在家里擦拭枪支的晚上举办。然后梅里韦瑟爷爷也向我提出了警告。他说有一次梅里瑟太太给他举行意外宴会,可结果最吃惊的人却是她自己,因为梅里韦瑟爷爷一直在偷偷地使用威士忌治他的风湿症,那天晚上他喝得烂醉,压根儿起不来床了----就这样,凡是那些为他们举行过意外宴会的人都告诉我了。"“这些人真缺德啊!"思嘉骂了一句,但又不得不笑起来。   他仍然是以前她在"十二像树"村认识的那个艾希礼的模样,那时也是这样笑的。可是他最近很难得有这种笑容。今天空气是这么柔和,太阳这么温煦,艾希礼的面容这么愉快,谈起话来又显得这么轻松,因此思嘉也有点兴高采烈了。她的心在发胀,高兴得发胀,好像整个胸膛充满了喜悦的、滚烫的没有流出的泪珠,被压得疼痛难忍。她突然感到自己又变成了一个十六岁的姑娘,那么快活,还有点紧张和兴奋。她简直想把帽子扯下来,把它抛到空中,一面高呼"万岁!"接着她想像如果她真的这么做时,艾希礼会多么惊讶,于是她放声大笑,笑得眼泪都快流出来了。艾希礼也跟着仰头大笑,仿佛他欣赏这笑声似的,他还以为思嘉是对那些泄露了媚兰秘密的人诡谲手法感到有趣呢。   “进来吧,思嘉。我正要查账呢。”   她走进阳光热的小房间,坐在写字台前的椅子上。艾希礼跟着坐在一张粗木桌子的角上,两条长腿悬在那里随意摇摆。   “艾希礼,咱们今天下午别弄什么账本子吧!我都腻烦透了。我只要戴上一顶新帽子,就觉得我熟悉的那些数字全都从脑子里跑掉了。"“既然帽子这样漂亮,数字跑掉也完全是应该的嘛,”他说,"思嘉,你愈来愈美了"他从桌子上滑下来,然后笑着拉住她的双手,把她的双臂展开,好打量她的衣裳。"你真漂亮!我想你是永远也不会老的!"她一接触到他便不自觉地明白了,她本来就是期望发生这种情况的。这一整个愉快的下午她都在渴望着他那双温暖的手和那柔和的眼睛,以及他的一句表示情意的话。这是自从塔拉果园里那寒冷的一天以来,他们头一次完便单独在一起,头一次他们彼此无所顾忌地拉着手,并且有很长一个时期她一直渴望着同他更密切地接触呢。而现在----真奇怪,怎么跟他拉着手她也不感到激动呀?以前,只要他一靠近便会叫她浑身颤抖。可现在她只感到一种异样温暖的友谊和满足之情。他的手没有给她传来炽热的感觉,她自己的手被握着时也只觉得心情愉快和安静了。这使她不可思议,甚至有点惊惶不安。他仍旧是她的艾希礼,仍旧是她的漂亮英俊的心上人,她爱他胜过爱自己的生命。那么为什么----不过,她把这想法抛到了脑后。既然她跟他在一起,他在拉住她的手微笑着,即便纯粹的朋友式的,没有了什么激情,那也就满足了。当她想起他们之间所有那些心照不宣的事情时,便觉得出现这种情形实在不可理喻。他那双清澈明亮的眼睛盯着她,仿佛洞察她的隐情似的,同时用她向来很喜欢的那种神态微笑着,好像他们之间只有欢愉,没有任何别的东西。现在他们的两双眼睛之间毫无隔阂,毫无疏远困惑的迹象了。于是她笑起来。   “哎,艾希礼,我很快就老了,要老掉牙了。"“哎,这是显而易见的事嘛!不思嘉,在我看来,你到六十岁也还是一样的。我会永远记住我们一次举办大野宴那天你的那副模样,那时你坐在一棵橡树底下,周围有十多个小伙子围着呢。我甚至还能说出你当时的打扮,穿着一件带小绿花的白衣裳,肩上披着白色的网织围巾。你脚上穿的是带黑色饰边的小小的绿便鞋,头上戴一顶意大利麦辫大草帽,上面还有长长的绿色皮带。我心里还记得那身打扮,那是因为在俘虏营里境况极其艰苦时,我常常把往事拿出来像翻图似的一桩桩温习着,连每一个细节都不放过----"说到这里他突然停住,脸上那热切的光辉也消失了。他轻轻地放下她的后,让她坐在那里等待他的下一句话。   “从那以后,我们已走了很长一段路程,我们两人都是这样,你说是吗,思嘉?我们走了许多从没想到要走的路。你走得很快,很麻利,而我呢,又慢又勉强。“他重新坐到桌上,看着她,脸止又恢复了一丝笑容。但这不是刚才使她愉快过的那种微笑了。这是一丝凄凉的笑意。   “是的,你走得很快,把我拴在你的车轮上拖着走。思嘉,我有时怀着一种客观的好奇心,设想假如没有你我会变成了什么样子呢。"思嘉赶忙过来为他辩解,不让他这样贬损自己,尤其因为她这时偏偏想起了瑞德在这同一个问题上说的那些话。   “可是艾希礼,我从没替你做过什么事呢。就是没有我,你也会完全一样的。总有一天你会成为一个富人,成为一个你应当成为的那种伟大人物。"“不,思嘉,我身上根本没有那种伟大的种子。我想要不是因为你,我早就会变得无声无息了----就像可怜的凯瑟琳•卡尔弗特和其他许多曾经有过名气的人那样。"“唔,艾希礼,不要这样说。你说的太叫人伤心了。"“不,我并不伤心。我再也不伤心了。以前----以前我伤心过。可如今我只是----”他停下来,这时思嘉忽然明白他心里在想什么。这还是头一次,当艾希礼那双清澈而又茫然若失的眼睛扫过她时,她知道他是在想什么。当爱情的烈火在她胸中燃烧时,他的心是向她关闭的。现在,他们中间只存在一种默默的友情,她才有可能稍稍进入他的心里,了解一点他的想法。他不再伤心了。南方投降后他伤心过,她恳求他回亚特兰大时他伤心过。可如今他只能听拼命运的摆布了。   “我不要听你说那样的话,艾希礼,"她愤愤地说。"你的话听起来就像是瑞德说的。他在很多事情以及所谓'适者生存'之类的问题上常常唱那样的调子,简直叫我厌烦透了。"艾希礼微微一笑。   “思嘉,你可曾想过瑞德和我是基本相同的一种人吗?"“啊,没有!你这么文雅,这么正直,而瑞德----"她停下来,不知道怎么说好。   “但实际是一样。我们出身于同一类的人家,在同样的模式下教育成长,养成了同样的思维方式。不过在人生道路上某个地方我们分道扬镳了。但我们的想法依然相同,只不过作出的反应不一样而已。举例说,我们谁都不赞成战争,可是我参加了军队,打过仗,而他直到战争快结束时才去入伍。   我们两人都明白这场战争是完全错误的。我们两人都知道这一场必定要输的战争。可是我愿意去打这场必败的战争,而他却不是这样。有时我觉得他是对的,可是接着,又觉得----""唔,艾希礼,你什么时候才放弃从两个方面去看问题呢?“她问。但是她说这话时并没有像以前那样很不耐烦。   “要是从两个方面去看,就谁也得不出什么结果了。"“这也对,不过----思嘉,你到底要得到什么结果呀?我常常这样猜想。你瞧,我可是从来也不想得到什么结果的。我只要我自己自由自在地做人。"思嘉要得到什么结果?过个问题太可笑了。当然,是金钱和安全嘛。不过----她又感到说不清楚了。她如今已经有了钱,也有了在这个不安定的世界上可望得到的安全。可是,仔细想来,这些也还是不够的。仔细想想,它们并没有使她特别快活,尽管已不再那么拮据,不再那么提心吊胆了。要是我有了钱和安全,又有了你,那大概就是我要得到的结果吧----思嘉这样想,一面热切地望着艾希礼。可是她没有说这个话,因为生怕破坏了他们之间此刻在的那种默契,生怕他的心又要向她关闭起来。   “你只要自己自由自在地做人!"她笑着说,略略有点悲伤。"我最大的苦恼就是不能让自己自由自在地活着!至于说我要得到什么结果,那么想我已经得到了,我要成为富人,要安全,还有----"“但是,思嘉,你有没有想过我这个人是不考虑富不富的呢?"没有,她从没想过什么人是不要做富人的。   “那么,你要的是什么呢?”   “我现在不清楚。我曾经是知道的,但后来大部分忘了。   最重要的是让我自由自在,那些我不喜欢的人不要来折磨我,不要强迫我去做我不想做的事。也许----我希望旧时代重新回来,可是它已经一去不复返了,因此我经常怀念它,也怀念那个正在我眼前崩溃的世界。"思嘉紧紧地闭着嘴,一声也不吭。这并非由于她不明白他的意思。而是他的声调本身而不是别的唤起了她对往昔的回忆,使得她突然心痛,因为她也是会怀念的。但是,自从那一天她晕倒在"十二橡树"村那荒凉的果园里,说了"我决不回顾"的话以后,她就始终坚决反对谈过去的事了。   “我更喜欢现在这样的日子,"她说,不过并没有看他的眼睛。"现在时常有些令人兴奋的事情,比如,举行宴会,等等。一切都显得有了光彩。而旧时代是十分暗淡的。"(唔,那些懒洋洋的日子和温煦而宁静的乡村傍晚!那些来自下房区的响亮而亲切的笑声!生活中那种珍贵的温暖和对明天的令人欣慰的期待!所有这些,我怎么能否认呢?   “我更喜欢现在这样的日子,"她说,但是声音有点颤抖。   他从桌子上滑下来,微微一笑,表示不怎么相信她的话。   他一只手托着她的下巴,让她仰起脸来看着他。   “哎,思嘉,你太不会撒谎了!是的,现在生活显得有了光彩----某种光彩。可这就是它的毛病所在。旧时代没有光彩,可它有一种迷人之处,有一种美,一种缓缓进行的魅力。“她的思绪在向两个方向牵引,她不觉低下头来。他说话的声调,他那手的接触,都在轻轻地打开她那些永远锁上了门。那些门背后藏着往日的美好,而现在她心里正苦苦渴望着重新见到它。不过她也知道,无论是什么样的美都必须藏在那里。因为谁也不能肩负着痛苦的记忆向前走埃他的手从她下巴上放下来,然后他把她的一只手拉过来,轻轻地握在自己的两只手里。   “你还记不记得,"他说----可此时思嘉心里响起了警钟:不要向后看!不要向后看!   不过她迅速把它排除,乘着一个欢乐的高潮冲上去。终于她开始理解他,终于他们的心会合了。这个时刻可实在宝忠,千万不能失掉,哪怕事后会留下痛苦也顾不得了。   “你还记不记得,"他说,这时他那声音的魅力使得办事房的四壁忽然隐退,岁月也纷纷后退了,他们在一个过去已久的春天里,一起骑着马在村道上并辔而行。他说话时那只轻轻握住她的手便握得竖了,同时声音中也含有一种古老歌曲中那样的悲凉味。她还能听见他们在山茱萸树下行进,去参加塔尔顿家的野宴时那悦耳的缰辔丁当声,听见她自己纵情的笑声,看见太阳照得他的头发闪闪发亮,并且注意到他骑在马背上那高傲而安详的英姿。他的声音里有音乐,有他们在那白房子里跳舞时小提琴和班卓琴的演奏声,尽管那座白房子如今已不在了。还有秋天清冷的月光下从阴暗的沼泽地里远远传来的负鼠犬的吠叫声,过圣诞节时用冬青叶缠绕着一碗碗蛋酒的醇香味,以及黑人和白人脸上的微笑。于是老朋 Chapter 54 SAFE IN HER ROOM AGAIN, Scarlett fell on the bed, careless of her moiré dress, bustle androses. For a time she could only lie still and think of standing between Melanie and Ashley,greeting guests. What a horror! She would face Sherman’s army again rather than repeat thatperformance! After a time, she rose from the bed and nervously paced the floor, shedding garmentsas she walked.   Reaction from strain set in and she began to shake. Hairpins slipped out of her fingers andtinkled to the floor and when she tried to give her hair its customary hundred strokes, she bangedthe back of the brush hurtingly against her temple. A dozen times she tiptoed to the door to listenfor noises downstairs but the hall below lay like a black silent pit.   Rhett had sent her home alone in the carriage when the party was over and she had thanked Godfor the reprieve. He had not come in yet Thank God, he had not come in. She could not face himtonight, shamed, frightened, shaking. But where was he? Probably at that creature’s place. For thefirst time, Scarlett was glad there was such a person as Belle Watling. Glad there was some otherplace than this house to shelter Rhett until his glittering, murderous mood had passed. That waswrong, being glad a husband was at the house of a prostitute, but she could not help it. She wouldbe almost glad if he were dead, if it meant she would not have to see him tonight.   Tomorrow—well, tomorrow was another day. Tomorrow she would think of some excuse, somecounter accusations, some way of putting Rhett in the wrong. Tomorrow the memory of thishideous night would not be driving her so fiercely that she shook. Tomorrow she would not be sohaunted by the memory of Ashley’s face, his broken pride and his shame—shame that she hadcaused, shame in which he had so little part. Would he hate her now, her darling honorable Ashley,because she had shamed him? Of course he would hate her now—now that they had both beensaved by the indignant squaring of Melanie’s thin shoulders and the love and outspoken trustwhich had been in her voice as she crossed the glassy floor to slip her arm through Scarlett’s andface the curious, malicious, covertly hostile crowd. How neatly Melanie had scotched the scandal, keeping Scarlett at her side all through the dreadful evening! People had been a bit cool, somewhatbewildered, but they had been polite.   Oh, the ignominy of it all, to be sheltered behind Melanie’s skirts from those who hated her, whowould have torn her to bits with their whispers! To be sheltered by Melanie’s blind trust, Melanieof all people!   Scarlett shook as with a chill at the thought. She must have a drink, a number of drinks beforeshe could lie down and hope to sleep. She threw a wrapper about her gown and went hastily outinto the dark hall, her backless slippers making a great clatter in the stillness. She was halfwaydown the stairs before she looked toward the closed door of the dining room and saw a narrow lineof light streaming from under it. Her heart stopped for a moment Had that light been burning whenshe came home and had she been too upset to notice it? Or was Rhett home after all? He couldhave come in quietly through the kitchen door. If Rhett were home, she would tiptoe back to bedwithout her brandy, much as she needed it. Then she wouldn’t have to face him. Once in her roomshe would be safe, for she could lock the door.   She was leaning over to pluck off her slippers, so she might hurry back in silence, when thedining-room door swung open abruptly and Rhett stood silhouetted against the dim candlelightbehind him. He looked huge, larger than she had ever seen him, a terrifying faceless black bulkthat swayed slightly on its feet.   “Pray join me, Mrs. Butler,” he said and his voice was a little thick.   He was drunk and showing it and she had never before seen him show his liquor, no matter howmuch he drank. She paused irresolutely, saying nothing and his arm went up in gesture ofcommand.   “Come here, damn you!” he said roughly.   He must be very drunk, she thought with a fluttering heart. Usually, the more he drank, the morepolished became his manners. He sneered more, his words were apt to be more biting, but themanner that accompanied them was always punctilious—too punctilious.   “I must never let him know I’m afraid to face him,” she thought, and, clutching the wrappercloser to her throat she went down the stairs with her head up and her heels clacking noisily.   He stood aside and bowed her through the door with a mockery that made her wince. She sawthat he was coat-less and his cravat hung down on either side of his open collar. His shirt was opendown to the thick mat of black hair on his chest. His hair was rumpled and his eyes bloodshot andnarrow. One candle burned on the table, a tiny spark of light that threw monstrous shadows aboutthe high-ceilinged room and made the massive sideboards and buffet look like still, crouchingbeasts. On the table on the silver tray stood the decanter with cut-glass stopper out, surrounded byglasses.   “Sit down,” he said curtly, following her into the room.   Now a new kind of fear crept into her, a fear that made her alarm at facing him seem very small.   He looked and talked and acted like a stranger. This was an ill-mannered Rhett she had never seenbefore. Never at any time, even in most intimate moments, had he been other than nonchalant.   Even in anger, he was suave and satirical, and whisky usually served to intensify these qualities. Atfirst it had annoyed her and she had tried to break down that nonchalance but soon she had come toaccept it as a very convenient thing. For years she had thought that nothing mattered very much tohim, that he thought everything in life, including her, an ironic joke. But as she faced him acrossthe table, she knew with a sinking feeling in her stomach that at last something was mattering tohim, mattering very much.   “There is no reason why you should not have your nightcap, even if I am ill bred enough to be athome,” he said. “Shall I pour it for you?”   “I did not want a drink,” she said stiffly. “I heard a noise and came—”   “You heard nothing. You wouldn’t have come down if you’d thought I was home. I’ve sat hereand listened to you racing up and down the floor upstairs. You must need a drink badly. Take it.”   “I do not—”   He picked up the decanter and sloshed a glassful, untidily.   “Take it,” he said, shoving it into her hand. “You are shaking all over. Oh, don’t give yourselfairs. I know you drink on the quiet and I know how much you drink. For some time I’ve beenintending to tell you to stop your elaborate pretenses and drink openly if you want to. Do you thinkI give a damn if you like your brandy?”   She took the wet glass, silently cursing him. He read her like a book. He had always read herand he was the one man in the world from whom she would like to hide her real thoughts.   “Drink it, I say.”   She raised the glass and bolted the contents with one abrupt motion of her arm, wrist stiff, justas Gerald had always taken his neat whisky, bolted it before she thought how practiced andunbecoming it looked. He did not miss the gesture and his mouth went down at the corner.   “Sit down and we will have a pleasant domestic discussion of the elegant reception we have justattended.”   “You are drunk,” she said coldly, “and I am going to bed.”   “I am very drunk and I intend to get still drunker before the evening’s over. But you aren’t goingto bed—not yet. Sit down.”   His voice still held a remnant of its wonted cool drawl but beneath the words she could feelviolence fighting its way to the surface, violence as cruel as the crack of a whip. She waveredirresolutely and he was at her side, his hand on her arm in a grip that hurt. He gave it a slightwrench and she hastily sat down with a little cry of pain. Now, she was afraid, more afraid than shehad ever been in her life. As he leaned over her, she saw that his face was dark and flushed and hiseyes still held their frightening glitter. There was something in their depths she did not recognize,could not understand, something deeper than anger, stronger than pain, something driving him untilhis eyes glowed redly like twin coals. He looked down at her for a long time, so long that herdefiant gaze wavered and fell, and then he slumped into a chair opposite her and poured himselfanother drink. She thought rapidly, trying to lay a line of defenses. But until he spoke, she wouldnot know what to say for she did not know exactly what accusation he intended to make.   He drank slowly, watching her over the glass and she tightened her nerves, trying to keep fromtrembling. For a time his face did not change its expression but finally he laughed, still keeping hiseyes on her, and at the sound she could not still her shaking.   “It was an amusing comedy, this evening, wasn’t it?” She said nothing, curling her toes in theloose slippers in an effort at controlling her quivering.   “A pleasant comedy with no character missing. The village assembled to stone the erringwoman, the wronged husband supporting his wife as a gentleman should, the wronged wifestepping in with Christian spirit and casting the garments of her spotless reputation over it all. Andthe lover—”   “Please.”   “I don’t please. Not tonight. It’s too amusing. And the lover looking like a damned fool andwishing he were dead. How does it feel, my dear, to have the woman you hate stand by you andcloak your sins for you? Sit down.”   She sat down.   “You don’t like her any better for it, I imagine. You are wondering if she knows all about youand Ashley—wondering why she did this if she does know—if she just did it to save her own face.   And you are thinking she’s a fool for doing it, even if it did save your hide but—”   “I will not listen—”   “Yes, you will listen. And I’ll tell you this to ease your worry. Miss Melly is a fool but not thekind you think. It was obvious that someone had told her but she didn’t believe it. Even if she saw,she wouldn’t believe. There’s too much honor in her to conceive of dishonor in anyone she loves. Idon’t know what lie Ashley Wilkes told her—but any clumsy one would do, for she loves Ashleyand she loves you. I’m sure I can’t see why she loves you but she does. Let that be one of yourcrosses.”   “If you were not so drunk and insulting, I would explain everything,” said Scarlett, recoveringsome dignity. “But now—”   “I am not interested in your explanations. I know the truth better than you do. By God, if you getup out of that chair just once more—“And what I find more amusing than even tonight’s comedy is the fact that while you have beenso virtuously denying me the pleasures of your bed because of my many sins, you have beenlusting in your heart after Ashley Wilkes. ‘Lusting in your heart.’ That’s a good phrase, isn’t it?   There are a number of good phrases, in that Book, aren’t there?”   “What book? What book?” her mind ran on, foolishly, irrelevantly as she cast frantic eyes aboutthe room, noting how dully the massive silver gleamed in the dim light, how frighteningly dark thecorners were.   “And I was cast out because my coarse ardors were too much for your refinement—because youdidn’t want any more children. How bad that made me feel, dear heart! How it cut me! So I wentout and found pleasant consolation and left you to your refinements. And you spent that timetracking the long-suffering Mr. Wilkes. God damn him, what ails him? He can’t be faithful to his wife with his mind or unfaithful with his body. Why doesn’t he make up his mind? You wouldn’tobject to having his children, would you—and passing them off as mine?”   She sprang to her feet with a cry and he lunged from his seat, laughing that soft laugh that madeher blood cold. He pressed her back into her chair with large brown hands and leaned over her.   “Observe my hands, my dear,” he said, flexing them before her eyes. “I could tear you to pieceswith them with no trouble whatsoever and I would do it if it would take Ashley out of your mind.   But it wouldn’t. So I think I’ll remove him from your mind forever, this way. I’ll put my hands, so,on each side of your head and I’ll smash your skull between them like a walnut and that will blothim out.”   His hands were on her head, under her flowing hair, caressing, hard, turning her face up to his.   She was looking into the face of a stranger, a drunken drawling-voiced stranger. She had neverlacked animal courage and in the face of danger it flooded back hotly into her veins, stiffening herspine, narrowing her eyes.   “You drunken fool,” she said. “Take your hands off me.”   To her surprise, he did so and seating himself on the edge of the table he poured himself anotherdrink.   “I have always admired your spirit, my dear. Never more than now when you are cornered.”   She drew her wrapper close about her body. Oh, if she could only reach her room and turn thekey in the stout door and be alone. Somehow, she must stand him off, bully him into submission,this Rhett she had never seen before. She rose without haste, though her knees shook, tightened thewrapper across her hips and threw back her hair from her face.   “I’m not cornered,” she said cuttingly. “You’ll never corner me, Rhett Butler, or frighten me.   You are nothing but a drunken beast who’s been with bad women so long that you can’t understandanything else but badness. You can’t understand Ashley or me. You’ve lived in dirt too long toknow anything else. You are jealous of something you can’t understand. Good night.”   She turned casually and started toward the door and a burst of laughter stopped her. She turnedand he swayed across the room toward her. Name of God, if he would only stop that terrible laugh!   What was there to laugh about in all of this? As he came toward her, she backed toward the doorand found herself against the wall. He put his hands heavily upon her and pinned her shoulders tothe wall.   “Stop laughing.”   “I am laughing because I am so sorry for you.”   “Sorry—for me? Be sorry for yourself.”   “Yes, by God, I’m sorry for you, my dear, my pretty little fool. That hurts, doesn’t it? You can’tstand either laughter or pity, can you?”   He stopped laughing, leaning so heavily against her shoulders that they ached. His face changedand he leaned so close to her that the heavy whisky smell of his breath made her turn her head.   “Jealous, am I?” he said. “And why not? Oh, yes, I’m jealous of Ashley Wilkes. Why not? Oh, don’t try to talk and explain. I know you’ve been physically faithful to me. Was that what you weretrying to say? Oh, I’ve known that all along. All these years. How do I know? Oh, well, I knowAshley Wilkes and his breed. I know he is honorable and a gentleman. And that my dear, is morethan I can say for you—or for me, for that matter. We are not gentlemen and we have no honor,have we? That’s why we flourish like green bay trees.”   “Let me go. I won’t stand here and be insulted.”   “I’m not insulting you. I’m praising your physical virtue. And it hasn’t fooled me one bit. Youthink men are such fools, Scarlett. It never pays to underestimate your opponent’s strength andintelligence. And I’m not a fool. Don’t you suppose I know that you’ve lain in my arms andpretended I was Ashley Wilkes?”   Her jaw dropped and fear and astonishment were written plainly in her face.   “Pleasant thing, that. Rather ghostly, in fact. Like having three in a bed where there ought to bejust two.” He shook her shoulders, ever so slightly, hiccoughed and smiled mockingly.   “Oh, yes, you’ve been faithful to me because Ashley wouldn’t have you. But, hell, I wouldn’thave grudged him your body. I know how little bodies mean—especially women’s bodies. But I dogrudge him your heart and your dear, hard, unscrupulous, stubborn mind. He doesn’t want yourmind, the fool, and I don’t want your body. I can buy women cheap. But I do want your mind andyour heart, and I’ll never have them, any more than you’ll ever have Ashley’s mind. And that’swhy I’m sorry for you.”   Even through her fear and bewilderment, his sneer stung.   “Sorry—for me?”   “Yes, sorry because you’re such a child, Scarlett. A child crying for the moon. What would achild do with the moon if it got it? And what would you do with Ashley? Yes, I’m sorry for you—sorry to see you throwing away happiness with both hands and reaching out for something thatwould never make you happy. I’m sorry because you are such a fool you don’t know there can’tever be happiness except when like mates like. If I were dead, if Miss Melly were dead and youhad your precious honorable lover, do you think you’d be happy with him? Hell, no! You wouldnever know him, never know what he was thinking about, never understand him any more thanyou understand music and poetry and books or anything that isn’t dollars and cents. Whereas, we,dear wife of my bosom, could have been perfectly happy if you had ever given us half a chance,for we are so much alike. We are both scoundrels, Scarlett, and nothing is beyond us when wewant something. We could have been happy, for I loved you and I know you, Scarlett, down toyour bones, in a way that Ashley could never know you. And he would despise you if he did know.   ... But no, you must go mooning all your life after a man you cannot understand. And I, mydarling, will continue to moon after whores. And, I dare say we’ll do better than most couples.”   He released her abruptly and made a weaving way back toward the decanter. For a moment,Scarlett stood rooted, thoughts tearing in and out of her mind so swiftly that she could seize noneof them long enough to examine them. Rhett had said he loved her. Did he mean it? Or was hemerely drunk? Or was this one of his horrible jokes? And Ashley—the moon—crying for themoon. She ran swiftly into the dark hall, fleeing as though demons were upon her. Oh, if she could only reach her room! She turned her ankle and the slipper fell half off. As she stopped to kick itloose frantically, Rhett, running lightly as an Indian, was beside her in the dark. His breath was noton her face and his hands went round her roughly, under the wrapper, against her bare skin.   “You turned me out on the town while you chased him. By God, this is one night when there areonly going to be two in my bed.”   He swung her off her feet into his arms and started up the stairs. Her head was crushed againsthis chest and she heard the hard hammering of his heart beneath her ears. He hurt her and she criedout, muffled, frightened. Up the stairs, he went in the utter darkness, up, up, and she was wild withfear. He was a mad stranger and this was a black darkness she did not know, darker than death. Hewas like death, carrying her away in arms that hurt. She screamed, stifled against him and hestopped suddenly on the landing and, turning her swiftly in his arms, bent over and kissed her witha savagery and a completeness that wiped out everything from her mind but the dark into whichshe was sinking and the lips on hers. He was shaking, as though he stood in a strong wind, and hislips, traveling from her mouth downward to where the wrapper had fallen from her body, fell onher soft flesh. He was muttering things she did not hear, his lips were evoking feelings never feltbefore. She was darkness and he was darkness and there had never been anything before this time,only darkness and his lips upon her. She tried to speak and his mouth was over hers again.   Suddenly she had a wild thrill such as she had never known; joy, fear, madness, excitement,surrender to arms that were too strong, lips too bruising, fate that moved too fast For the first timein her life she had met someone, something stronger than she, someone she could neither bully norbreak, someone who was bullying and breaking her. Somehow, her arms were around his neck andher lips trembling beneath his and they were going up, up into the darkness again, a darkness thatwas soft and swirling and all enveloping.   When she awoke the next morning, he was gone and had it not been for the rumpled pillowbeside her, she would have thought the happenings, of the night before a wild preposterous dream.   She went crimson at the memory and, pulling the bed covers up about her neck, lay bathed insunlight, trying to sort out the jumbled impressions in her mind.   Two things stood to the fore. She had lived for years with Rhett, slept with him, eaten with him,quarreled with him and borne his child—and yet, she did not know him. The man who had carriedher up the dark stairs was a stranger of whose existence she had not dreamed. And now, though shetried to make herself hate him, tried to be indignant, she could not. He had humbled her, hurt her,used her brutally through a wild mad night and she had gloried in it.   Oh, she should be ashamed, should shrink from the very memory of the hot swirling darkness! Alady, a real lady, could never hold up her head after such a night. But, stronger than shame, was thememory of rapture, of the ecstasy of surrender. For the first time in her life she had felt alive, feltpassion as sweeping and primitive as the fear she had known the night she fled Atlanta, as dizzysweet as the cold hate when she had shot the Yankee.   Rhett loved her! At least, he said he loved her and how could she doubt it now? How odd andbewildering and how incredible that he loved her, this savage stranger with whom she had lived insuch coolness. She was not altogether certain how she felt about this revelation but as an idea came to her she suddenly laughed aloud. He loved her and so she had him at last. She had almostforgotten her early desire to entrap him into loving her, so she could hold the whip over hisinsolent black head. Now, it came back and it gave her great satisfaction. For one night, he had hadher at his mercy but now she knew the weakness of his armor. From now on she had him whereshe wanted him. She had smarted under his jeers for. a long time, but now she had him where shecould make him jump through any hoops she cared to hold.   When she thought of meeting him again, face to face in the sober light of day, a nervous tinglingembarrassment that carried with it an exciting pleasure enveloped her.   “I’m nervous as a bride,” she thought. “And about Rhett!” And, at the idea she fell to gigglingfoolishly.   But Rhett did not appear for dinner, nor was he at his place at the supper table. The night passed,a long night during which she lay awake until dawn, her ears strained to hear his key in the latch.   But he did not come. When the second day passed with no word from him, she was frantic withdisappointment and fear. She went by the bank but he was not there. She went to the store and wasvery sharp with everyone, for every time the door opened to admit a customer she looked up with aflutter, hoping it was Rhett. She went to the lumber yard and bullied Hugh until he hid himselfbehind a pile of lumber. But Rhett did not seek her there.   She could not humble herself to ask friends if they had seen him. She could not make inquiriesamong the servants for news of him. But she felt they knew something she did not know. Negroesalways knew everything. Mammy was unusually silent those two days. She watched Scarlett out ofthe corner of her eye and said nothing. When the second night had passed Scarlett made up hermind to go to the police. Perhaps he had had an accident, perhaps his horse had thrown him and hewas lying helpless in some ditch. Perhaps—oh, horrible thought—perhaps he was dead.   The next morning when she had finished her breakfast and was in her room putting on herbonnet, she heard swift feet on the. stairs. As she sank to the bed in weak thankfulness, Rhettentered the room. He was freshly barbered, shaved and massaged and he was sober, but his eyeswere bloodshot and his face puffy from drink. He waved an airy hand at her and said: “Oh, hello.”   How could a man say: “Oh, hello,” after being gone without explanation for two days? Howcould he be so nonchalant with the memory of such a night as they had spent? He couldn’t unless—unless—the terrible thought leaped into her mind. Unless such nights were the usual thing tohim. For a moment she could not speak and all the pretty gestures and smiles she had thought touse upon him were forgotten. He did not even come to her to give her his usual offhand kiss butstood looking at her, with a grin, a smoking cigar in his hand.   “Where—where have you been?”   “Don’t tell me you don’t know! I thought surely the whole town knew by now. Perhaps they alldo, except you. You know the old adage: ‘The wife is always the last one to find out.’ ”   “What do you mean?”   “I thought that after the police called at Belle’s night before last—”   “Belle’s—that—that woman! You have been with—”   “Of course. Where else would I be? I hope you haven’t worried about me.”   “You went from me to—oh!”   “Come, come, Scarlett! Don’t play the deceived wife. You must have known about Belle longago.”   “You went to her from me, after—after—”   “Oh, that.” He made a careless gesture. “I will forget my manners. My apologies for my conductat our last meeting. I was very drunk, as you doubtless know, and quite swept off my feet by yourcharms—need I enumerate them?”   Suddenly she wanted to cry, to lie down on the bed and sob endlessly. He hadn’t changed,nothing had changed, and she had been a fool, a stupid, conceited, silly fool, thinking he loved her.   It had all been one of his repulsive drunken jests. He had taken her and used her when he wasdrunk, just as he would use any woman in Belle’s house. And now he was back, insulting,sardonic, out of reach. She swallowed her tears and rallied. He must never, never know what shehad thought. How he would laugh if he knew! Well, he’d never know. She looked up quickly athim and caught that old, puzzling, watchful glint in his eyes—keen, eager as though he hung onher next words, hoping they would be—what was he hoping? That she’d make a fool out of herselfand bawl and give him something to laugh about? Not she! Her slanting brows rushed together in acold frown.   “I had naturally suspected what your relations with that creature were.”   “Only suspected? Why didn’t you ask me and satisfy your curiosity? I’d have told you. I’vebeen living with her ever since the day you and Ashley Wilkes decided that we should haveseparate bedrooms.”   “You have the gall to stand there and boast to me, your wife, that—”   “Oh, spare me your moral indignation. You never gave a damn what I did as long as I paid thebills. And you know I’ve been no angel recently. And as for you being my wife—you haven’t beenmuch of a wife since Bonnie came, have you? You’ve been a poor investment, Scarlett. Belle’sbeen a better one.”   “Investment? You mean you gave her—?”   “ ‘Set her up in business’ is the correct term, I believe. Belle’s a smart woman. I wanted to seeher get ahead and all she needed was money to start a house of her own. You ought to know whatmiracles a woman can perform when she has a bit of cash. Look at yourself.”   “You compare me—”   “Well, you are both hard-headed business women and both successful. Belle’s got the edge onyou, of course, because she’s a kind-hearted, good-natured soul—”   “Will you get out of this room?”   He lounged toward the door, one eyebrow raised quizzically. How could he insult her so, shethought in rage and pain. He was going out of his way to hurt and humiliate her and she writhed asshe thought how she had longed for his homecoming, while all the time he was drunk and brawling with police in a bawdy house.   “Get out of this room and don’t ever come back in it. I told you that once before and youweren’t enough of a gentleman to understand. Hereafter I will lock my door.”   “Don’t bother.”   “I will lock it After the way you acted the other night—so drunk, so disgusting—”   “Come now, darling! Not disgusting, surely!”   “Get out.”   “Don’t worry. I’m going. And I promise I’ll never bother you again. That’s final. And I justthought I’d tell you that if my infamous conduct was too much for you to bear, I’ll let you have adivorce. Just give me Bonnie and I won’t contest it.”   “I would not think of disgracing the family with a divorce.”   “You’d disgrace it quick enough if Miss Melly was dead, wouldn’t you? It makes my head spinto think how quickly you’d divorce me.”   “Will you go?”   “Yes, I’m going. That’s what I came home to tell you. I’m going to Charleston and New Orleansand—oh, well, a very extended trip. I’m leaving today.”   “Oh!”   “And I’m taking Bonnie with me. Get that foolish Prissy to pack her little duds. I’ll take Prissytoo.”   “You’ll never take my child out of this house.”   “My child too, Mrs. Butler. Surely you do not mind me taking her to Charleston to see hergrandmother?”   “Her grandmother, my foot! Do you think I’ll let you take that baby out of here when you’ll bedrunk every night and most likely taking her to houses like that Belle’s—”   He threw down the cigar violently and it smoked acridly on the carpet, the smell of scorchingwool rising to their nostrils. In an instant he was across the floor and by her side, his face blackwith fury.   “If you were a man, I would break your neck for that. As it is, all I can say is for you to shutyour God-damn mouth. Do you think I do not love Bonnie, that I would take her where—mydaughter! Good God, you fool! And as for you, giving yourself pious airs about your motherhood,why, a cat’s a better mother than you! What have you ever done for the children? Wade and Ellaare frightened to death of you and if it wasn’t for Melanie Wilkes, they’d never know what loveand affection are. But Bonnie, my Bonnie! Do you think I can’t take better care of her than you?   Do you think I’ll ever let you bully her and break her spirit, as you’ve broken Wade’s and Ella’s?   Hell, no! Have her packed up and ready for me in an hour or I warn you what happened the othernight will be mild beside what will happen. I’ve always thought a good lashing with a buggy whipwould benefit you immensely.”   He turned on his heel before she could speak and went out of the room on swift feet. She heardhim cross the floor of the hall to the children’s play room and open the door. There was a glad,quick treble of childish voices and she heard Bonnie’s tones rise over Ella’s.   “Daddy, where you been?”   “Hunting for a rabbit’s skin to wrap my little Bonnie in. Give your best sweetheart a kiss,Bonnie—and you too, Ella.”   思嘉平安地回到自己房里以后,便扑通一声倒在床上,也顾不上身上的丝绸衣裳了。这个时候她静静地躺在那里回想自己站在媚兰和艾希礼中间迎接客人。多可怕啊!她宁肯再一次面对谢尔曼的军队也不要重复这番表演了!过了一会儿,她从床上爬起来,一面脱衣服,一面在地板上神经质地走来走去。   紧张过后的反应渐渐出现,她开始颤抖起来。首先,发夹从她的手指间叮当一声掉落在地上,接着当她按照每天的习惯用刷子刷一百下头皮时,却让刷背重重地打痛了太阳穴。   一连十来次她踮着脚尖到门口去听楼下有没有声响,可下面门厅里又黑又静,像个煤坑似的。   瑞德没等宴会结束便用马车把她单独送回来了,她很庆幸能获得暂时的解脱。他还没有进来。感谢上帝,他没有进来。今天晚上她没有勇气面对他、自己那么羞愧、害怕、发抖。可是他现在在哪里呢?说不定到那个妖精住的地方去了。   这是头一次,思嘉觉得这世界上幸亏还有贝尔•沃琳特这样一个人。幸亏除了这个家之外还有另一个地方可以让瑞德栖身,直到他那烈火般的、残暴的心情过去以后。愿意让自己的丈夫待在一个婊子家里,这可是极不正常的,不过她没有办法埃她几乎还愿意让他死了呢,如果那意味着她今天晚上可以不再见到他的话。   明天----嗯,明天就是另一天了。明天她要想出一种解释,一种反控,一个使瑞德处于困境的办法。明天她就不会因想起这个可恶的夜晚而被吓得浑身颤抖了。明天她就不会时刻为艾希礼的面子、他那受伤害的自尊心和他的耻辱所困扰了。他蒙受的这件可耻的事是她惹起的,其中很少有他本人的份儿。现在他会由于她连累了他而恨她吗,她心爱的可敬的艾希礼?现在他当然会恨她了----虽然他们两人的事都由媚兰用她那副瘦小的肩膀愤然担当起来了。媚兰用她口气中所表现的爱和坦诚的信任挽救了他们,当她在那闪亮的地板上走过来,面对那些好奇的、恶毒的、心怀恶意的众人,公然伸出胳臂挽住思嘉的时候,媚兰多么干净利落地抵制了他们的侮辱,她在那可怕的晚会上始终站在思嘉旁边呢!结果人们只表现得稍微有点冷淡,有点困惑不解,可还是很客气的。   唔,整个这件不名誉的事都是躲在媚兰的裙裾后面,使那些恨她的人,那些想用窃窃私语来把她撕成碎片的人,都没有得逞!哦,是媚兰的盲目信任保护了她!   想到这里,思嘉打了一个寒噤。她必须喝点酒,喝上几杯,才能向下并且有希望睡着。她在眼衣外面围上一条披肩,匆匆出来走进黑暗的门厅里,一路上她的拖鞋在寂静中发出响亮的啪嗒啦嗒声。她走完大半截楼梯时,往下看了看上餐厅那关着的门,发现从门底下露出一线亮光。她顿时大吃一惊,心跳都停止了。是不是她回家时那灯兴就点在那里,而她由于慌乱没有注意到呢?或者是瑞德竟然回来了?他可给能是悄悄地从厨房的门进来的。如果瑞德果然在家,她就得手脚回到卧室里去,白兰地不管多么需要也休想喝了。只有那样,她才用不着跟他见面了。只要一回到自己房里,她就平安无事了,因为可以把门从里面反锁上。   她正弯着腰说拖鞋,好不声不响赶忙回到房里去,这时饭厅的门突然打开,瑞德站在那里,他的侧影在半明半暗的烛光前闪映出来。他显得个子很大,比她向来所看见的都大,那是一个看不见面孔的大黑影,它站在那里微微摇摆着。   “请下来陪陪我吧,巴特勒夫人,"他的声音稍微有点重浊。   他喝醉了,而且在显示这一点,可是她以前从没见他显示过,不管他喝了多少。她犹豫着,一声不吭,于是他举胳臂做了一个命令的姿势。   “下来,你这该死的!"他厉声喝道。   “他一定是非常醉了,"她心里有点慌乱。以往他是喝得越多举止越文雅。他可能更爱嘲弄人,言语更加犀利带刺,但同时态度也更加拘谨,----有时是太拘谨了。   “我可决不能让他知道我不敢见他呀,"她心里想,一面用披肩把脖子围得更紧,抬起头,将鞋跟拖得呱嗒呱嗒响,走下楼梯。   他让开路,从门里给她深深地鞠了一躬,那嘲弄的神气真叫她畏怯不前。她发现他没穿外衣,领结垂在衬衣领子的两旁,衬衣敞开,露出胸脯了那片浓厚的黑毛。他的头发乱蓬蓬的,一双充血的眼睛细细地眯着。桌上点着一支蜡烛,那只是一星小小的火光,但它给这天花板很高的房间投掷了不少奇形怪状的黑影,使得那些笨重的餐具柜像是静静蹲伏着的野兽似的。桌上的银盘里有一个玻璃酒瓶,上面的雕花玻璃塞了已经打开,周围是几只玻璃杯。   “坐下。"他冷冷地说,一面跟着她往里走。   此时她心里产生了一种新的恐惧,它使得原先那种不敢观对他的畏惧心理反而显得微不足道了。他那神态,那说话的语调,那一举一动,都似乎暗个陌生人。这是她以前从没见过的一个极不礼貌的瑞德。以往任何时候,即使是最不必拘礼的时刻,他最多也只是冷漠一些而已。即使发怒时,他也是温和而诙谐的,威士忌往往只会使他的这种脾性更加突出罢了。最初,这种情况使她很恼怒,她竭力设法击溃那种冷漠,不过她很快就习以为常了。多年来她一直认为,对瑞德来说,什么都是无所谓的,他把生活中的一切,包括她在内,都看作供他讽刺和取笑的对象。可是现在,她隔着桌子面对着他,才怀着沉重的心情认识到,终于有桩事情使他要认真对待,而且要非常认真地对待了。   “我看不出有什么理由你不能在临睡着喝一杯,哪怕我这个人如此没有教养,再随便些也没有关系,"他说。"要不要我给你斟一杯。"“我不喝酒,"她生硬地说。"我听到有声音,便来----"“你什么也没听见。你要是知道我在这里,你就不会下来了。我一直坐在这里,听你在楼上踱来踱去。你一定是非常想喝。喝吧。““我不----"他拿起玻璃酒瓶哗哗地倒满了杯。   “喝吧,"他把那杯酒塞到她手里。"你浑身都在哆嗦呢。   唔,你别装模作样了。你知道你常常在暗地里喝,我也知道你能喝多少。有个时候我一直想告诉你不用千方百计地掩饰了,要喝就公开喝吧。你以为如果你爱喝白兰地,我会来管你吗?"她端起酒杯,一面在心里暗暗诅咒他。他把她看得一清二楚呢。他对她的心思一向了如指掌,而他又是世界上惟一不想让他知道自己真实思想的人。   “我说,把它喝了吧。”   她举起酒杯,把酒狎地倒在嘴里,一口吞下去,随即手腕一转杯底朝天,就像以前在拉尔德喝纯威士忌那个模样,也没顾虑这显得多么熟练而不雅观。瑞德专心致志地看着她的整个姿势,不禁咧嘴轻轻一笑。   “现在坐下,让我们在家里关起门来,愉快地谈谈我们刚才出席的那个宴会。““你喝醉了,"她冷冷地说,"我也要上床睡觉去了。"“我的的确确喝醉了,但是我想喝得更醉一些,一直喝到天亮。不过你不要去睡----暂时还不要去。坐下。“他的声音仍然保持着一点像往常那样冷静而缓慢的调子,但是她能感觉到里面尽力压抑着的那股凶暴劲儿,那股像抽响的鞭子一样残忍的劲儿。她迟疑不定,但他正站在身旁紧紧抓住她的胳膊。他将那只胳膊轻轻扭了一下,她便痛得暗暗叫了一声,赶快坐下。现在她害怕了,好像有生以来还不曾这样害怕过。他俯身瞧着她,她发现他的那张脸黑里透红,一双眼睛仍然闪着吓人的光芒。眼睛深处有一种她认不出来的无法理解的东西,一种比愤怒更深沉,比痛苦更强烈的东西,某种东西逼得他那双眼睛像两个火珠般红光闪闪。   他长久地俯视着她,使她那反抗的目光也只得畏缩下来,于是他猛地转过身来,在她对面的椅子上坐下,又给自己倒了一杯酒。她心里急忙思考,要设置一道防线。可是他要不开口说话,她就不明白他究竟准备怎样谴责她,因此了也就不知说什么好。   他缓缓地饮着,面对面看着她,而她感到神经极其紧张,竭力控制自己不要发抖。有个时候他脸上的表情没有任何变化,可最后突然笑了,不过眼睛仍然盯住她不放,这时她无法克制自己的颤抖了。   “那真是一出有趣的喜剧,今天晚上,是不是?"她不吭声,只使劲地把脚趾头在拖鞋里勾起来,用以镇住浑身的颤抖。   “一出愉快的喜剧,角色一个个都表演得很精彩。全村的人都聚在一起要向那个犯错误的女人投石子,可她那受辱的丈夫却像个正人君子支持他的老婆,同时那个受辱的妻子也以基督的精神站出来,用自己纯洁无瑕的名誉掩盖了整个丑闻。至于那个情夫嘛----"“唔,请你----"“我看不必了。今晚没有这个必要。因为太有趣了。我说,那位情夫像个该死的笨蛋,他巴不得自己死了好。你觉得如何,我的亲爱的,一个你痛恨的女人居然支持你,把你的罪过从头到尾给盖住了?坐下。"她坐下。   “我想,你并不会因此就对她好些的。你还在猜想她到底知不知道你跟艾希礼的事----猜想如果她知道怎么还这样做呢----难道她只是为了保全自己的面子?你还觉得她这样做,即使让你逃避了惩罚,也未免太傻了,可是----"“我不要听----"“不对,你是要听的。我要告诉你这些,是让你别那样烦恼,媚兰小姐是个傻瓜,但不是你所想的那一种。事情很明显,已经有人告诉她了,但是她并不相信。哪怕她亲眼看见,她也不会信的。她这个人太道德了,以致不能想像她所爱的任何一个人身上会有什么不高尚之处。我不知道艾希礼对她说了什么样的谎话----不过无论什么笨拙的谎话都行,因为她既爱艾希礼也爱你。我实在看不出她爱你的理由,可她就是爱。让它成为你良心上的一个十字架吧!"“如果你不是这样烂醉的肆意侮辱人,我愿意向你解释一下,"思嘉说,一面设法恢复一点尊严。“可是现在----"“我对你的解释不感兴趣。我比你更了解事情的真相。你可当心点,只要你敢从椅子里再站起来一次----"“比起今晚的喜剧来,我认为更有趣的倒是这样一个事实,即你一方面认为我太坏,那么贞洁地拒绝了我跟你同床的要求,另一方面却在心里热恋着艾希礼。'在心里热恋。'这可是个绝妙的说法,是不是?那本书里有许多妙语呢,你说对吗?"“什么书?什么书?"她急切地追问,显得又愚蠢又莫名其妙,一面慌乱地环顾四周,注意到那些笨重的银器在暗淡的烛光下隐约闪烁,这是些多可怕的阴暗角落呀!   “我是因为太粗鲁,配不上你这样高雅的人,而你又不再要孩子,所以被撵出来了。这叫我多么难过,多么伤心呀,亲爱的!因此我便出外找欢乐和安慰去了,让你一个人去孤芳自赏吧。于是你就利用这些时间去追踪期忍受痛苦和折磨的威尔克斯先生。这个该死的家伙,也不知犯了什么毛病?他既不能在感情上对他的妻子专一,又不愿在肉体上对她不忠实。他为什么不实现自己的愿望呢?你是会不反对给他生孩子的,你会----把他的孩子当作是我的吧?"她大叫一声跳起来,他也从座位上霍地站起,一面温和地笑着,笑得她浑身发冷。他用那双褐色的大手把她按到椅子里,然后俯身看她。   “请当心我这双手,亲爱的,"他一面说,一面将两只手放在她眼前晃动着。“我能用它们毫不费力地反你撕成碎片,而且只要能把艾希礼从你心中挖出来,我就会那样干的。不过那不行。所以我想用这个办法把他从你心中永远搬走。我要用我的两只手一边一个夹住你的脑袋,这么使劲一挤,将你的头盖骨像个西瓜一样轧碎,那就可以把艾希礼勾销了。"说着,他的两只手果真放到她的脑袋两旁,在披散的发下,使劲抚摩着,把她的脸抬起来仰朝着他。她注视那张陌生的脸,一个喝得烂醉、用拖长的声调说话的陌生人的脸。她是从来缺乏那种本能的勇气的,面临危险时它会愤怒地涌回血管,使她挺直脊梁,眯细眼睛,随时准备投入战斗。   “你这个愚蠢的醉鬼,"她说,"快把手放下。"叫她惊讶的是他果然把手放下了,然后坐到桌子边上,又给自己斟了一杯酒。   “我一向敬佩你的勇气,亲爱的。特别是现在,当你被逼得走投无路的时候。“她拉着披肩把身子裹紧一些,心想,要是现在能够回到卧室里,把门锁起来,一个人待在里面,那该多么好埃如今她总要把他顶回去,威逼他屈服,这个她以前从没见过的瑞德。她不慌不忙地站起身来,尽管两个膝盖在哆嗦,又将披肩围着大腿裹紧,然后把头发扰到脑后。   “我并不感到走投无路了,"她尖刻地说,"你永远也休想逗我就范,瑞德•巴特勒,或企图把我吓倒。你只不过是只喝醉了的野兽,跟一些坏女人鬼混得太久,便把谁都看成坏人,别的什么也不理解了。你既不了解艾希礼,也不了解我。   你在污秽的地方待惯了,除了脏事什么也不懂。你是在妒嫉某些你无法理解的东西。明天见。"她从容地转过身,向门口走去,这时一阵大笑使她收住了脚步。她转过头一看,只见他正摇摇晃晃向她走过来。天啊,但愿他不要那样可怕地大笑啊!这一切有什么好笑的呀?   可是他一步步地向她逼近,她一步步向门后退,最后发现背靠着墙壁了。   “别笑了。”   “我这样笑是为你难过呢。”   “难过----为我。”   “是的,上帝作证,我为你难过,亲爱的,我的漂亮的小傻瓜。你觉得受不了了,是不是?你既经不起笑又经不起怜悯,对吗?"他止住笑声,将身子沉重地靠在她肩膀上,她感到肩都痛了。他的表情也发生了变化,而且凑得那么近,嘴里那股深烈的威士忌味叫她不得不背过脸去。   “妒忌,我真的这样?"他说。"可怎么不呢?唔,真的,我妒忌艾希礼•威尔克斯。怎么不呢?唔,你不要说话,不用解释了。我知道你在肉体上是对我忠实的。你想说的就是这个吗?哦,这一点我一直很清楚。这些年来一下是这样。我怎么知道的?哦,你瞧,我了解艾希礼的为人和他的教养。我知道他是正直的,是个上等人。而且,亲爱的,这一点我不仅可以替你说----或者替我说,为那件事情本身说。我们不是上等人,我们没有什么可尊敬的地方,不是吗?这就是我们能够像翠绿的月桂树一般茂盛的原故呢。"“让我走。我不要站在这里受人侮辱。““我不是在侮辱你。你是在赞扬你肉体上的贞操。它一点也没有愚弄过我。思嘉,你以为男人都那么傻吗?把你对手的力量和智慧估计得太低是决没有好处的。而我并不是个笨蛋。难道你不考虑我知道你是躺在我的怀里却把我当作是艾希礼•威尔克斯吗?"她耷拉着下颚,脸上明显流露出恐惧和惊愕的神色。   “那是件愉快的事情。实际上不如说是精神是的愉快。好像是三个人睡在本来只应该有的两个的床上。"他摇晃着她的肩膀,那么轻轻地,一面打着嗝儿,嘲讽地微笑着。   “唔,是的,你对我忠实,因为艾希礼不想要你。不过,该死的,我才不会妒嫉艾希礼占有你的肉体呢?我知道肉体没多大意思----尤其是女人的肉体。但是,对于他占有你的感情和你那可爱的、冷酷的、不如廉耻的、顽固的心,我倒的确有些妒嫉。他并不要你的心,那傻瓜,可我也不要你的肉体。我不用花多少钱就能买到女人。不过,我的确想要你的情感和心,可是我却永远得不到它们,就像永远得不到艾希礼的心一样。这就是我为你难过的地方。"尽管她觉得害怕和困惑不解,但他的讥讽仍刺痛了她。   “难过----为我?”   “是的,因为你真像个孩子,思嘉。一个孩子哭喊着要月亮,可是假如他果真有了月亮,他拿它来干什么用呢?同样,你拿艾希礼来干什么用呢?是的,我为你难过----看到你双手把幸福抛掉,同时又伸出手去追求某种永远也不会使你快乐的东西。我为你难过,因为你是这样一个傻瓜,竟不懂得除了彼此相似的配偶觉得高兴是永远不会还有什么别的幸福了。如果我死了,如果媚兰死了,你得到了你那个宝贵的体面的情人,你以为你跟他在一起就会快乐了?呸,不会的!你会永远不了解他,永远不了解他心里在想些什么,永远不懂得他的为人,犹如你不懂音乐、诗歌、书籍或除了金钱以外的任何东西一样。而我们呢,我亲爱的知心的妻子,我们却可能过得十分愉快。我们俩都是无赖,想要什么就能得到什么。我们本来可以快快活活的过日子,因为我爱你,也了解你,思嘉,彻头彻尾地了解,这决不是艾希礼所能做的。而他呢,如果他真正了解你,就会看不起你了。……可是不,你却偏要一辈子痴心梦想地追求一个你不了解的男人。至于我,亲爱的,我会继续追求婊子。而且,我敢说,我们俩可以结成世界上少有的一对幸福配偶呢。"他突然把她放开,然后摇摇晃晃地退回到桌旁去拿酒瓶。   思嘉像生了根似的站了一会儿,种种纷乱的想法在她脑子里涌现,可是她一个也没有抓住,更来不及仔细考虑。瑞德说过他爱她。他真的是这个意思吗?或者只是醉后之言?或者这又是一个可怕的玩笑?而艾希礼----那个月亮----哭着要的那个月亮。她迅速跑进黑暗的门厅,仿佛在逃避背后的恶魔似的。唔,但愿她能够回到自己的房里!这时她的脚脖子一扭,拖鞋都快掉了。她停下来想拚命把拖鞋甩掉,像个印第安人偷偷跟在后面的瑞德已来到她身旁。他那炽热的呼吸对着她的脸袭来,他的双手粗暴地伸出她的披肩底下,紧贴着赤裸的肌肤,把她抱住了。   “你把我撵到大街上,自己却跑去追求他。今天晚上无论如何不行了,我床上只许有两个人。"他猛地将她抱起来,随即上楼。她的头被竖紧地压在他胸脯上,听得见耳朵底下他心脏的怦怦急跳。她被他夹痛了,便大声喊叫,可声音好像给闷住了似的,显得十分惊恐。上楼梯时,周围是一片漆黑,他一步步走上去,她吓得快要疯了。他成了一个疯狂的陌生人,而这种情况是她从来没有经历过的,它比死亡还要可怕呢。他就像死亡一样,狠狠地抱着她,要把她带走。她尖叫起来,但声音被他的身子捂住了。   这时他突然在楼梯顶停住脚,迅速将她翻过身来,然后低着头吻她,那么狂热、那么尽情地吻她,把她心上的一切都抹拭得一干二净,只剩下那个使她不断往下沉的黑暗的深渊和压她嘴唇上的那两片嘴唇。他在发抖,好像站在狂风中似的,而他的嘴唇在到处移动,从她的嘴上移到那披肩从她身上掉落下来的地方,她的柔润的肌肤上。他的嘴里嘀嘀咕咕,但她没有听见,因为他的嘴唇正唤起她以前从没有过的感情。她陷入了一片迷惘,他也是一迷惘,而在这以前什么也没有,只有迷惘和他那紧贴着她的嘴唇。她想说话,可是他的嘴又压下来。突然她感到一阵从没有过的狂热的刺激;这是喜悦和恐惧、疯狂和兴奋,是对一双过于强大的胳膊、两片过于粗暴的嘴唇以及来得过于迅速的向命运的屈服。她有生以来头一次遇到了一个比她更强有力的人,一个她既不能给以威胁也不能压服的人,一个正在威胁她和压服她的人。不知为什么,她的两只胳臂已抱住他的脖子,她的嘴唇已在他的嘴唇下颤抖,他们又在向那片朦胧的黑暗中上升,上升。   第二天早晨她醒来时,他已经走了,要不是她旁边有个揉皱的枕头,她还以为昨晚发生的一切全是个放荡的荒谬的梦呢。她回想起来不禁脸上热烘烘的,便把头拉上来围着头颈,继续躺在床上让太阳晒着,一面清理脑子里那些混乱的印象。   有两件事显得成就突出。一是好几年来她跟瑞德在一起生活,一起睡,一起吃,一起吵架,还给他生了个孩子----可是,她并不了解他。那个把她在黑暗中抱上楼的人完全是陌生的,她做梦也没想过这样一个人存在。而现在,即使她有意要去恨他,要生他的气,她也做不到了。他在一个狂乱的夜晚制服了她,挫伤了她,虐待了她,而她对此却十分得意呢。   唔,她应当感到羞耻,应当一想起那个狂热的、漩涡般的消魂时刻就胆战心惊!一个上等的女人,一个真正的上等女人,经历了这样一个夜晚以后便再也抬不起头来了。可是,比羞耻心更强的是想那种狂欢、那种令人消魂和为之屈服的陶醉的经验。她有生以来头一次觉得自己有了活力,觉得有像逃离亚特兰大那天晚上所经历的那种席卷一切和本能的恐惧感觉,也像她枪击那个北方佬进抱着的那种仇恨一样令人晕眩而喜悦的心情。   瑞德爱她!至少他说过他爱她,而如今她怎么还能怀疑这一点呢?他爱她,这个跟她那么冷淡地一起生活着的粗鲁的陌生人居然爱她,这显得多么古怪,多么难以理解和不可置信啊!对于这一发现,她根本不清楚自己的感觉到底如何,不过有个念头一出现她突然放声大笑起来。他爱她,于是她终于占有他了。她本来差不多忘记了,她早先就曾渴望着引诱他来爱她,以便举起鞭子把这个傲慢的家伙驯服下来。如今这个渴望又出现了,它给她带来了巨大的满足,就喧么一个晚上,他把她置于自己的支配之下,可这样一来她却发现了他身上的弱点。从今以后,只要她需要,她就可以拿住他。   他的嘲讽期以来把她折磨得够了,可现在她掌握了他,她手里拿着圈儿,高兴时就能叫他往里钻。   她想到还要在大白天面对观地同他相见,便陷入了一片神经紧张和局促不安之中,当然其中也有兴奋和喜悦的心情。   “我像个新娘一样紧张呢,"她想。"而且是关于瑞德的!"想到这里她不由得愚蠢地笑了。   但是瑞德没有回家吃午饭,晚餐时也仍不见身影。一夜过去了,那是一个漫长的夜,她睁着眼睛直躺到天明,两只耳朵也一直紧张地倾听着有没有他开门锁的声响。可是他没有来,第二天也过去了,他毫无音信,她又失望又担心,急得要发疯似的。她从银行经过,发现不他在那里。她到店里去,对每个人都很警觉,只要门一响,有个顾客进来,她都要吃惊地抬头一望,希望进来的人就是瑞德。她到木料场去,对休大声吆喝,吓得他只好躲在一堆木头后面。可是瑞德并没有到那里去找她。   她不好意思去问朋友们是否看见过他。她不能到仆人们中间去打听他的消息。不过她觉察到他们知道了一些她不知道的事。黑人往往是什么都知道的。这两天嬷嬷显得不寻常地沉默。她从眼角观察思嘉,但什么也没说。到第二天晚上过后,思嘉才决心去报警。也许他出了意外,也许他从马背上摔下来,躺在哪条沟里不能动弹了。也许----哦,多可怕的想法----也许他死了!   第二天早晨她吃完早点,正在自己房里戴帽子,她突然听到楼梯上迅疾的脚步声。她略略欣慰地往床上一倒,瑞德就进来了。他新理了发,刮了脸,给人接摩过了,也没有喝醉,可他的眼睛是血红的,他的脸由于喝酒有一点浮肿。他神气十足地向她挥着手说:“唔,好埃"谁能一声不吭地在外面过了两天之后,进门就这样"唔,好啊"呢?在他们度过的那么一个晚上还记忆犹新时,他怎么能这样若无其事呢?他不能这样,除非----除非----那个可怕的想法猛地在她心中出现。除非那样一个夜晚对他来说是很寻常的!她一时说不出话来,她曾经准备在他面前表现的那些优美姿态和动人的微笑全都给忘了。他甚至没有走过来给她一个寻常而现成的吻,只是站在那里看着她,咧着嘴轻轻一笑,手里拿着一支点燃的雪茄。   “哪儿----你到哪儿去了?”   “别对我说你不知道!我相信全城的人现在都知道了。也许他们全知道,只有你例外。你知道有句古老的格言:丈夫都跑了,老婆最后才知道嘛。"“你这是什么意思?"“我想前天晚上警察到贝尔那里去过以后----"“贝尔那里----那个----那个女人!你一直跟她----”“当然,我还能到哪里去呢?我想你没有为我担心吧。"“你离开我就去----"“喂,喂,思嘉!别装糊涂说自己上当受骗了。你一定早就知道了贝尔的事。"“你一离开我,就到她那里去,而且在那以后----在那以后----"“唔,在那以后。"他做了一个满不在乎的手势。”我会忘记自己的那些做法。我对上次我们相会时的行为表示抱歉。那时我喝得烂醉,你无疑也是知道的,同时又被你那迷人的魅力弄得神魂颠倒了----还要我一一细说吗?"她忽然想哭,想倒在床上痛哭一常原来他没有变,一点也没有变,而她是上当了,像个愚蠢可笑的异想天开的傻瓜,居然以为他真的爱她呢。原来整个这件事只不过是他醉后开的一个可恶的玩笑。他喝醉了酒便拿她来发泄一下,就像他在贝尔那里拿任何一个女人来发泄一样。现在他又回来侮辱她,嘲弄她,叫她无可奈何。她咽下眼泪,想重新振作起来。决不能让他知道她这几天的想法啊!她赶紧抬起头来望着他,只见他眼里又流露出以前那种令人困惑的警觉的神色----那么犀利,那么热切,好像在等待她的下一句话,希望----他希望什么呢?难道希望她犯傻上当,大叫大喊,再给他一些嘲笑资料?她可不干了!她那两道翘翘的眉毛猛地紧蹙起来,显出一副冷若冰霜的生气模样。   “我当然怀疑过你跟那个坏女人之间的关系了。"“仅仅是怀疑?你为什么不问问我,好满足你的好奇心?   我会告诉你的。自从你和艾希礼决定我们俩分房睡以来,我就一直跟她同居着呢。"”你竟然还有胆量站在这里向你的妻子夸耀,说----"“唔,请饶了我,别给我上这堂道德课了。你只要我付清那些账单,就无论我做什么都一概不管了。你也明白我最近不怎么规矩嘛。至于说到你是我的妻子----那么,自从生下邦妮以后,你就不大像个妻子了,你说对吗?思嘉,你已经变成一个可怜的投资对象了,贝尔还好些呢。"“投资对像?你的意思是你给她----"“我想下确地说法应该是'在事业上扶植她'。贝尔是个精干的女人。我希望她长进,而她惟一需要的是钱,用来开家一自己的妓院。你应当知道,一个女人手里有了钱会干什么样的奇迹来。看看你自己吧。"“你拿我去比----"“好了,你们俩都是精明的生意人,而且都干得很有成就。   当然,贝尔还比你略胜一筹,因为她心地善良,品性也好—-"“你给我从这房里滚出去好吗?"他懒洋洋地向门口挪动,一道横眉滑稽地竖了起来。他怎能这样侮辱她埃她愤怒而痛苦地想道。他是特意来侮辱和贬损她的,因此她想起,当他在妓院里喝醉了酒跟警察吵架时她却一直盼着他回家来,这实在太令人痛心了。   “赶快给我滚出去,永远也不要进来了。以前我就这样说过,可是你没有一点上等人的骨气,压根儿不理会这些。从今以后我要把这门锁上了。"“不用操心了。““我就是要锁。经过那天晚上你的那种行为----醉成那个模样,那么讨厌----”“你看,亲爱的!并不那么讨厌嘛 Chapter 55 “DARLING, I don’t want any explanation from you and I won’t listen to one,” said Melaniefirmly as she gently laid a small hand across Scarlett’s tortured lips and stilled her words. “Youinsult yourself and Ashley and me by even thinking there could be need of explanations betweenus. Why, we three have been—have been like soldiers fighting the world together for so manyyears that I’m ashamed of you for thinking idle gossip could come between us. Do you think I’dbelieve that you and my Ashley— Why, the idea! Don’t you realize I know you better than anyonein the world knows you? Do you think I’ve forgotten all the wonderful, unselfish things you’vedone for Ashley and Beau and me—everything from saving my life to keeping us from starving!   Do you think I could remember you walking in a furrow behind that Yankee’s horse almostbarefooted and with your hands blistered—just so the baby and I could have something to eat—and then believe such dreadful things about you? I don’t want to hear a word out of you, ScarlettO’Hara. Not a word.”   “But—” Scarlett fumbled and stopped.   Rhett had left town the hour before with Bonnie and Prissy, and desolation was added toScarlett’s shame and anger. The additional burden of her guilt with Ashley and Melanie’s defensewas more than she could bear. Had Melanie believed India and Archie, cut her at the reception oreven greeted her frigidly, then she could have held her head high and fought back with everyweapon in her armory. But now, with the memory of Melanie standing between her and social ruin,standing like a thin, shining blade, with trust and a fighting light in her eyes, there seemed nothinghonest to do but confess. Yes, blurt out everything from that far-off beginning on the sunny porchat Tara.   She was driven by a conscience which, though long suppressed, could still rise up, an activeCatholic conscience. “Confess your sins and do penance for them in sorrow and contrition,” Ellenhad told her a hundred times and, in this crisis, Ellen’s religious training came back and grippedher. She would confess—yes, everything, every look and word, those few caresses—and then Godwould ease her pain and give her peace. And, for her penance, there would be the dreadful sight ofMelanie’s face changing from fond love and trust to incredulous horror and repulsion. Oh, that wastoo hard a penance, she thought in anguish, to have to live out her life remembering Melanie’sface, knowing that Melanie knew all the pettiness, the meanness, the two-faced disloyalty and thehypocrisy that were in her.   Once, the thought of flinging the truth tauntingly in Melanie’s face and seeing the collapse ofher fool’s paradise had been an intoxicating one, a gesture worth everything she might lose thereby. But now, all that had changed overnight and there was nothing she desired less. Why thisshould be she did not know. There was too great a tumult of conflicting ideas in her mind for her tosort them out. She only knew that as she had once desired to keep her mother thinking her modest,kind, pure of heart, so she now passionately desired to keep Melanie’s high opinion. She onlyknew that she did not care what the world thought of her or what Ashley or Rhett thought of her,but Melanie must not think her other than she had always thought her.   She dreaded to tell Melanie the truth but one of her rare honest instincts arose, an instinct thatwould not let her masquerade in false colors before the woman who had fought her battles for her.   So she had hurried to Melanie that morning, as soon as Rhett and Bonnie had left the house.   But at her first tumbled-out words: “Melly, I must explain about the other day—” Melanie hadimperiously stopped her. Scarlett looking shamefaced into the dark eyes that were flashing withlove and anger, knew with a sinking heart that the peace and calm following confession couldnever be hers. Melanie had forever cut off that line of action by her first words. With one of thefew adult emotions Scarlett had ever had, she realized that to unburden her own tortured heartwould be the purest selfishness. She would be ridding herself of her burden and laying it on theheart of an innocent and trusting person. She owed Melanie a debt for her championship and thatdebt could only be paid with silence. What cruel payment it would be to wreck Melanie’s life withthe unwelcome knowledge that her husband was unfaithful to her, and her beloved friend a party toit!   “I can’t tell her,” she thought miserably. “Never, not even if my conscience kills me.” Sheremembered irrelevantly Rhett’s drunken remark: “She can’t conceive of dishonor in anyone sheloves ... let that be your cross.”   Yes, it would be her cross, until she died, to keep this torment silent within her, to wear the hairshirt of shame, to feel it chafing her at every tender look and gesture Melanie would makethroughout the years, to subdue forever the impulse to cry: “Don’t be so kind! Don’t fight for me!   I’m not worth it!”   “If you only weren’t such a fool, such a sweet, trusting, simple-minded fool, it wouldn’t be sohard,” she thought desperately. “I’ve toted lots of weary loads but this is going to be the heaviestand most galling load I’ve ever toted.”   Melanie sat facing her, in a low chair, her feet firmly planted on an ottoman so high that herknees stuck up like a child’s, a posture she would never now assumed had not rage possessed herto the point of forgetting proprieties. She held a line of tatting in her hands and she was driving theshining needle back and forth as furiously as though handling a rapier in a duel.   Had Scarlett been possessed of such an anger, she would have been stamping both feet androaring like Gerald in his finest days, calling on God to witness the accursed duplicity andknavishness of mankind and uttering blood-curdling threats of retaliation. But only by the flashingneedle and the delicate brows drawn down toward her nose did Melanie indicate that she wasinwardly seething. Her voice was cool and her words were more close clipped than usual. But theforceful words she uttered were foreign to Melanie who seldom voiced an opinion at all and neveran unkind word. Scarlett realized suddenly that the Wilkeses and the Hamiltons were capable offuries equal to and surpassing those of the O’Haras.   “I’ve gotten mighty tired of hearing people criticize you, darling,” Melanie said, “and this is thelast straw and I’m going to do something about it. All this has happened because people are jealousof you, because you are so smart and successful. You’ve succeeded where lots of men, even, havefailed. Now, don’t be vexed with me, dear, for saying that. I don’t mean you’ve ever beenunwomanly or un-sexed yourself, as lots of folks have said. Because you haven’t. People just don’tunderstand you and people can’t bear for women to be smart. But your smartness and your successdon’t give people the right to say that you and Ashley— Stars above!”   The soft vehemence of this last ejaculation would have been, upon a man’s lips, profanity of nouncertain meaning. Scarlett stared at her, alarmed by so unprecedented an outburst.   “And for them to come to me with the filthy lies they’d concocted—Archie, India, Mrs. Elsing!   How did they dare? Of course, Mrs. Elsing didn’t come here. No, indeed, she didn’t have thecourage. But she’s always hated you, darling, because you were more popular than Fanny. And shewas so incensed at your demoting Hugh from the management of the mill. But you were quite rightin demoting him. He’s just a piddling, do-less, good-for-nothing!” Swiftly Melanie dismissed theplaymate of her childhood and the beau of her teen years. “I blame myself about Archie. Ishouldn’t have given the old scoundrel shelter. Everyone told me so but I wouldn’t listen. Hedidn’t like you, dear, because of the convicts, but who is he to criticize you? A murderer, and themurderer of a woman, too! And after all I’ve done for him, he comes to me and tells me— Ishouldn’t have been a bit sorry if Ashley had shot him. Well, I packed him off with a large flea inhis ear, I can tell you! And he’s left town.   “And as for India, the vile thing! Darling, I couldn’t help noticing from the first time I saw youtwo together that she was jealous of you and hated you, because you were so much prettier and hadso many beaux. And she hated you especially about Stuart Tarleton. And she’s brooded aboutStuart so much that—well, I hate to say it about Ashley’s sister but I think her mind has brokenwith thinking so much! There’s no other explanation for her action. ... I told her never to put foot inthis house again and that if I heard her breathe so vile an insinuation I would—I would call her aliar in public!”   Melanie stopped speaking and abruptly the anger left her face and sorrow swamped it. Melaniehad all that passionate clan loyalty peculiar to Georgians and the thought of a family quarrel toreher heart. She faltered for a moment. But Scarlett was dearest, Scarlett came first in her heart, andshe went on loyally:   “She’s always been jealous because I loved you best, dear. She’ll never come in this house againand I’ll never put foot under any roof that receives her. Ashley agrees with me, but it’s just aboutbroken his heart that his own sister should tell such a—”   At the mention of Ashley’s name, Scarlett’s overwrought nerves gave way and she burst intotears. Would she never stop stabbing him to the heart? Her only thought had been to make himhappy and safe but at every turn she seemed to hurt him. She had wrecked his life, broken his prideand self-respect, shattered that inner peace, that calm based on integrity. And now she hadalienated him from the sister he loved so dearly. To save her own reputation and his wife’shappiness, India had to be sacrificed, forced into the light of a lying, half-crazed, jealous old maid—India who was absolutely justified in every suspicion she had ever harbored and every accusing word she had uttered. Whenever Ashley looked into India’s eyes, he would see the truth shiningthere, truth and reproach and the cold contempt of which the Wilkeses were masters.   Knowing how Ashley valued honor above his life, Scarlett knew he must be writhing. He, likeScarlett, was forced to shelter behind Melanie’s skirts. While Scarlett realized the necessity for thisand knew that the blame for his false position lay mostly at her own door, still—still— Womanlikeshe would have respected Ashley more, had he shot Archie and admitted everything to Melanieand the world. She knew she was being unfair but she was too miserable to care for such finepoints. Some of Rhett’s taunting words of contempt came back to her and she wondered if indeedAshley had played the manly part in this mess. And, for the first time, some of the bright glowwhich had enveloped him since the first day she fell in love with him began to fade imperceptibly.   The tarnish of shame and guilt that enveloped her spread to him as well. Resolutely she tried tofight off this thought but it only made her cry harder.   “Don’t! Don’t!” cried Melanie, dropping her tatting and flinging herself onto the sofa anddrawing Scarlett’s head down onto her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have talked about it all and distressedyou so. I know how dreadfully you must feel and we’ll never mention it again. No, not to eachother or to anybody. It’ll be as though it never happened. But,” she added with quiet venom, “I’mgoing to show India and Mrs. Elsing what’s what. They needn’t think they can spread lies aboutmy husband and my sister-in-law. I’m going to fix it so neither of them can hold up their heads inAtlanta. And anybody who believes them or receives them is my enemy.”   Scarlett, looking sorrowfully down the long vista of years to come, knew that she was the causeof a feud that would split the town and the family for generations.   Melanie was as good as her word. She never again mentioned the subject to Scarlett or toAshley. Nor, for that matter, would she discuss it with anyone. She maintained an air of coolindifference that could speedily change to icy formality if anyone even dared hint about the matter.   During the weeks that followed her surprise party, while Rhett was mysteriously absent and thetown in a frenzied state of gossip, excitement and partisanship, she gave no quarter to Scarlett’sdetractors, whether they were her old friends or her blood kin. She did not speak, she acted.   She stuck by Scarlett’s side like a cocklebur. She made Scarlett go to the store and the lumberyard, as usual, every morning and she went with her. She insisted that Scarlett go driving in theafternoons, little though Scarlett wished to expose herself to the eager carious gaze of her fellowtownspeople. And Melanie sat in the carriage beside her. Melanie took her calling with her onformal afternoons, gently forcing her into parlors in which Scarlett had not sat for more than twoyears. And Melanie, with a fierce “love-me-love-my-dog” look on her face, made converse withastounded hostesses.   She made Scarlett arrive early on these afternoons and remain until the last callers had gone,thereby depriving the ladies of the opportunity for enjoyable group discussion and speculation, amatter which caused some mild indignation. These calls were an especial torment to Scarlett butshe dared not refuse to go with Melanie. She hated to sit amid crowds of women who were secretlywondering if she had been actually taken in adultery. She hated the knowledge that these womenwould not have spoken to her, had it not been that they loved Melanie and did not want to lose her friendship. But Scarlett knew that, having once received her, they could not cut her thereafter.   It was characteristic of the regard in which Scarlett was held that few people based their defenseor their criticism of her on her personal integrity. “I wouldn’t put much beyond her,” was theuniversal attitude. Scarlett had made too many enemies to have many champions now. Her wordsand her actions rankled in too many hearts for many people to care whether this scandal hurt her ornot. But everyone cared violently about hurting Melanie or India and the storm revolved aroundthem, rather than Scarlett, centering upon the one question—“Did India lie?”   Those who espoused Melanie’s side pointed triumphantly to the fact that Melanie was constantlywith Scarlett these days. Would a woman of Melanie’s high principles champion the cause of aguilty woman, especially a woman guilty with her own husband? No, indeed! India was just acracked old maid who hated Scarlett and lied about her and induced Archie and Mrs. Elsing to believeher lies.   But, questioned India’s adherents, if Scarlett isn’t guilty, where is Captain Butler? Why isn’t hehere at his wife’s side, lending her the strength of his countenance? That was an unanswerablequestion and, as the weeks went by and the rumor spread that Scarlett was pregnant, the pro-Indiagroup nodded with satisfaction. It couldn’t be Captain Butler’s baby, they said. For too long thefact of their estrangement had been public property. For too long the town had been scandalized bythe separate bedrooms.   So the gossip ran, tearing the town apart, tearing apart, too, the close-knit clan of Hamiltons,Wilkeses, Burrs, Whitemans and Winfields. Everyone in the family connection was forced to takesides. There was no neutral ground. Melanie with cool dignity and India with acid bitterness saw tothat. But no matter which side the relatives took, they all were resentful that Scarlett should havebeen the cause of the family breach. None of them thought her worth it. And no matter which sidethey took, the relatives heartily deplored the fact that India had taken it upon herself to wash thefamily dirty linen so publicly and involve Ashley in so degrading a scandal. But now that she hadspoken, many rushed to her defense and took her side against Scarlett, even as others, loving Melanie,stood by her and Scarlett.   Half of Atlanta was kin to or claimed kin with Melanie and India. The ramifications of cousins,double cousins, cousins-in-law and kissing cousins were so intricate and involved that no one but aborn Georgian could ever unravel them. They had always been a clannish tribe, presenting anunbroken phalanx of overlapping shields to the world in time of stress, no matter what their privateopinions of the conduct of individual kinsmen might be. With the exception of the guerrillawarfare carried on by Aunt Pitty against Uncle Henry, which had been a matter for hilariouslaughter within the family for years, there had never been an open breach in the pleasant relations.   They were gentle, quiet spoken, reserved people and not given to even the amiable bickering thatcharacterized most Atlanta families.   But now they were split in twain and the town was privileged to witness cousins of the fifth andsixth degree taking sides in the most shattering scandal Atlanta had ever seen. This worked greathardship and strained the tact and forbearance of the unrelated half of the town, for the India-Melanie feud made a rupture in practically every social organization. The Thalians, the SewingCircle for the Widows and Orphans of the Confederacy, the Association for the Beautification of the Graves of Our Glorious Dead, the Saturday Night Musical Circle, the Ladies Evening CotillionSociety, the Young Men’s Library were all involved. So were four churches with their Ladies’ Aidand Missionary societies. Great care had to be taken to avoid putting members of warring factionson the same committees.   On their regular afternoons at home, Atlanta matrons were in anguish from four to six o’clockfor fear Melanie and Scarlett would call at the same time India and her loyal kin were in theirparlors.   Of all the family, poor Aunt Pitty suffered the most. Pitty, who desired nothing except to livecomfortably amid the love of her relatives, would have been very pleased, in this matter, to runwith the hares and hunt with the hounds. But neither the hares nor the hounds would permit this.   India lived with Aunt Pitty and, if Pitty sided with Melanie, as she wished to do, India wouldleave. And if India left her, what would poor Pitty do then? She could not live alone. She wouldhave to get a stranger to live with her or she would have to close up her house and go and live withScarlett Aunt Pitty felt vaguely that Captain Butler would not care for this. Or she would have togo and live with Melanie and sleep in the little cubbyhole that was Beau’s nursery.   Pitty was not overly fond of India, for India intimidated her with her dry, stiff-necked ways andher passionate convictions. But she made it possible for Pitty to keep her own comfortableestablishment and Pitty was always swayed more by considerations of personal comfort than bymoral issues. And so India remained.   But her presence in the house made Aunt Pitty a storm center, for both Scarlett and Melanie tookthat to mean that she sided with India. Scarlett curtly refused to contribute more money to Pitty’sestablishment as long as India was under the same roof. Ashley sent India money every week andevery week India proudly and silently returned it, much to the old lady’s alarm and regret.   Finances at the red-brick house would have been in a deplorable state, but for Uncle Henry’sintervention, and it humiliated Pitty to take money from him.   Pitty loved Melanie better than anyone in the world, except herself, and now Melly acted like acool, polite stranger. Though she practically lived in Pitty’s back yard, she never once camethrough the hedge and she used to run in and out a dozen times a day. Pitty called on her and weptand protested her love and devotion, but Melanie always refused to discuss matters and neverreturned the calls.   Pitty knew very well what she owed Scarlett—almost her very existence. Certainly in thoseblack days after the war when Pitty was faced with the alternative of Brother Henry or starvation,Scarlett had kept her home for her, fed her, clothed her and enabled her to hold up her head inAtlanta society. And since Scarlett had married and moved into her own home, she had beengenerosity itself. And that frightening fascinating Captain Butler—frequently after he called withScarlett, Pitty found brand-new purses stuffed with bills on her console table or lace handkerchiefsknotted about gold pieces which had been slyly slipped into her sewing box. Rhett always vowedhe knew nothing about them and accused her, in a very unrefined way, of having a secret admirer,usually the bewhiskered Grandpa Merriwether.   Yes, Pitty owed love to Melanie, security to Scarlett, and what did she owe India? Nothing, except that India’s presence kept her from having to break up her pleasant life and make decisionsfor herself. It was all most distressing and too, too vulgar and Pitty, who had never made a decisionfor herself in her whole life, simply let matters go on as they were and as a result spent much timein uncomforted tears.   In the end, some people believed whole-heartedly in Scarlett’s innocence, not because of herown personal virtue but because Melanie believed in it. Some had mental reservations but theywere courteous to Scarlett and called on her because they loved Melanie and wished to keep herlove. India’s adherents bowed coldly and some few cut her openly. These last were embarrassing,infuriating, but Scarlett realized that, except for Melanie’s championship and her quick action, theface of the whole town would have been set against her and she would have been an outcast.  “亲爱的,我不需要你作任何解释,也不想听你的,"媚兰坚决地说,同时将一只小手轻轻地捂住思嘉那两片扭动的嘴唇,叫她不要说了。"你要是认为在你我之间还需要什么解释,那便是对你自己以及艾希礼和我的侮辱了。不是吗,我们三人一起在这世界上共同奋斗了这么多年,如果以为什么闲言碎语便能使我们之间发生隔阂,想起来都不好意思呢。难道你以为我会相信你和我的艾希礼----嗨,这怎么想得出来呀!难道你还不清楚在这世界上我比谁都更加了解你?你以为我竟把你替艾希礼和小博以及我所做的种种了不起的无私的事情----从救我的性命到使我们一家免于饥饿,通通忘记了吗?你以为我不记得你几乎光着脚、握着两只满是血泡的手,跟在北方佬的那骑马后面犁地----就为了让婴儿和我能吃上饭----的情景,现在竟会相信那些关于你的卑鄙谣言了?   我不需要听你的任何解释,思嘉•奥哈拉,一句也不听!"“可是----"思嘉想要说什么又打住了。   就在一个小时之前,瑞德带着邦妮和百里茜离开了这个城市,这样一来思嘉便不仅仅又羞又恼,而且感到寂寞了。再加上她在跟艾希礼关系中的内疚以及媚兰给她的庇护,这个负担她实在承受不起了。要是媚兰听信了英迪亚和阿尔奇的话,在宴会上损了她,或者只冷淡地招呼了她,那她可以昂起头来,使用种种可能的武器给予回击。可现在,一想起媚兰曾经挺身而出,像一把薄薄的发亮的刀子,眼睛里焕发着信任和战斗的神采,毅然保护她不受社会舆论的攻击,她就感到自己只能老老实实地认罪了。是的,应当把在塔拉农场那阳光明媚的走廊上开始的期以来所经过的一切不如掩饰地大胆说出来。   她是受着良心的驱使,这种现实的天主教徒良心虽然被压制了很久,但还是能够起来的。"承认你的罪过,用悲伤和悔悟来表示忏悔。"这句话爱伦对她说过几十上百次了。现在遇到了危机,爱伦的宗教训诲又回来把她抓住了。她愿意承认----是的,承认一切,一言一行,一颦一笑,以及那很少几次的爱抚—-然后上帝就会减轻她的痛苦,给予宁静。而且,由于她的忏悔,媚兰脸上会出现十分可怕的神色,从钟爱和信任变为怀疑的恐惧和厌恶。唔,这个惩罚可太严峻了,她非常痛苦地想到,因为她得终生记住媚兰的脸色,并且知道媚兰已了解她身上所有的卑下、鄙陋、两面派、不忠实和虚伪的品质啊!   要把事情的真相痛痛快快地都摆在媚兰面前,同时眼见她那个愚人的天堂彻底崩溃,这种想法曾一度使她陶醉不已,觉得是一个值得付出任何代价的高招。可是现在,一夜之间她就转而认为那是最没有意思的了。至于为什么会这样,她自己也不明白。她心里各种相互矛盾的念头实在太多太混乱了,她实在理不出头绪来。她只知道,正像她曾经希望过她母亲始终以为她是谦逊、和气,心地纯洁的,她如今也殷切地渴望保持媚兰对她的崇高评价。她心里唯一清楚的是,她不在乎这世界对她怎么看,或者艾希礼和瑞德对她怎么看,可是决不能让媚兰改变她对她的一贯看法,决不能让她有任何别的看法。   她没勇气将真实的情况告诉媚兰,可是她的一种少有的诚实本能却出来作怪。这种本能不让她在一个曾经为她战斗过的女人面前用虚假的色彩来伪装自己。所以那天早晨她等瑞德和邦妮一离开家便急忙赶到媚兰那里去了。   可是,她刚刚迫不及待地说出"媚兰,我一定要解释一下那天的事----"时,媚兰就厉声阻止了她。于是思嘉羞愧地注视着那双焕发出慈爱之情的眼睛,便心里一沉,明白自己永远得不到忏悔后的平静和安宁了。媚兰的头一句话就永远截断了她采取行动的途径。如今她以自己生气很少有过的一种成熟感情认识到,只有最彻底的自私自利才能解除她自己内心痛苦的负担。好要是认罪,便只能在解除自己负担的同时把这个负担强加给一个清白无辜和信任别人的人的心灵上。她因媚兰的仗义庇护已欠了她一大笔债,如今这笔债只能用沉默来偿还了。如果勉强让媚兰知道她的丈夫对她不忠,她的心爱的朋友是其中的一个同伙,从而让她终生痛苦,那将是多么残忍的一种偿还啊!   “我不能告诉她,"她难受地想。"决不能,哪怕我的良心把我折磨死了。"她忽然不相干地想了瑞德酒醉后的一段论:“她不能想像她所爱的任何一个人身上有什么不高尚之处………让它成为你良心上的一个十字架吧。……"是的,它会成为她终生的十字架,让这种痛苦深埋在她心中,让她穿着那件羞辱的粗毛布衬衣,让她以后每看见媚兰做一个亲切的眼色和手势都深感不安,让她永远压抑着内心的冲动,不敢喊出:“不要对我这样好吧,不要为我尽力了啊,我是不值得你这么做的!"“只要你不是这样一个傻瓜,这样一个可爱的、信任人的、头脑简单的傻瓜,事情也不至于那么困难,"她绝望地这样想。   “我已经背上了许多累死人的负担,但看来这才是最沉重最令人苦恼的一个了。“媚兰面对着她坐在一张矮椅子里,便两只脚却稳稳当当地搁在一只相当高的脚凳上,因此她的膝头像个孩子般矗立在那里,但这种姿势,她要不是愤怒到了不顾体面的程度,她是做不出来的。她手里拿着一条梭织花边,正在用那根发亮的织针来回穿梭着,同时她仍在愤愤不起,仿佛手里拿的就是一把决斗用的短剑。   要是思嘉也这样满怀愤怒,她早已像年轻时的杰拉尔德那样跺着双脚拚命咆哮起来,呼吁上帝来看看人类可恶奸诈行为,并令人毛骨悚然地大喊着一定要报复。可是媚兰却只用那根银光闪闪的织针和拼命低垂的双眉来表示她心里是多么激动。她的声音是冷静的,说话也比入学更加简捷。不过她说出来的话很有力量,这对平常很少发表意见和从不讲重话的媚兰来说,显然是不相称的。思嘉忽然发现,原来威尔克斯家和汉密尔顿家的人也像奥哈拉家的人那样是会发怒的,有时甚至更厉害呢。   “亲爱的,我听人家对你的批评都听腻了,"媚兰说,"而这一次是他们捞到了最后一根稻草,我倒是要过问过问。这完全是因为他们妒嫉你,因为你那么精明能干才发生的事。在许许多多男人都失败了情况下,你却做出了成绩。我说这话。   你可不必介意。我不是说你做过什么有违妇道或者妇女不该做的事,像许多人所说的那样。因为你并没有做。人们就是不了解你,就是容忍不了一个能干的女人。可是你的精明能干,你的成功,并没有给他们以那样的权力,任凭他们来说你和艾希礼----真是天知道啊!“这最后一句失声慨叹的话颇为激烈,那要是由一个男人说出来,显然会带来亵渎的意味。思嘉注视着他,被她这种从没有过的发作吓住了。   “他们这些人----阿尔奇、英迪亚、埃尔辛太太----竟然拿他们捏造的那些谎话来对我说呢!他们怎么敢呀?当然,埃尔辛太太没有到这里来。不,说真的,她没有那个胆量。可是她也一贯恨你,亲爱的,因为你比范妮更有名气了。而且,她对于你不让休再经营那个木厂也很生气呢。不过你把他撤了是完全对的。他简直是个游手好闲、什么事也不会干、一点用处也没有的家伙!"媚兰把她这个童年时代的玩伴儿、少女时代的情郎迅速摒弃了。"关于阿尔奇,这要怪我自己,我不该庇护这个老恶棍。人人都那样劝过我,可是我没有听。他不喜欢你,亲爱的,是因为那些罪犯的原故,可他算老几,竟敢来批评你了?一个杀人犯,还是杀死过一名妇女的杀人犯!   尽管我那样照顾了他,他还是跑来告诉我----要是艾希礼把他毙了,我一点也不会怜悯的。现在我可以告诉你,我把他大大奚落了一番之后,就打发他走了!他已经离开这个城市了。"“至于英迪亚那个坏蛋!亲爱的,自从我第一次看见你们俩在一起,我便发现她在妒嫉你,恨你,因为你比她漂亮得多,又有那么多追求你的人。尤其是在斯图尔特•塔尔顿的问题上特别恨你。她对斯图尔特想得那么厉害----是呀,我很不愿意说艾希礼妹妹的这件事,可是我认为她早已想得伤心透了!所以对于她这次的行为,不可能作任何别的解释。……我已经告诉她从以后不要再跨进这个家的门槛,并且表示只要我听到她再说那么一句哪怕只带暗示的废话,我就要----我就要当众骂她撒谎!"媚兰没有继续说下去,但脸上愤怒突然消失,接着来的是满面愁容。媚兰有佐治亚人所特有的那种热烈忠于家族的观念,一想到这可能引起家庭矛盾就痛苦极了。她犹豫了一会儿,不过思嘉是最亲爱的,她心里首先考虑的是思嘉,于是她继续诚实地说下去:“亲爱的,她一贯妒嫉你,还因为我是最爱你的。以后她再也不会到这屋里来了,我也决不到任何一个接待她的人家去。艾希礼赞同我的想法,不过他还是很伤心的,怎么他的妹妹竟然也说出这样一个----"一提到艾希礼的名字,思嘉那过于紧张的神经便控制不住,她立刻哭起来。难道她就只能永远让他伤心下去了?她惟一的想法是要使他快乐、平安,可不知为什么却好像每一次都要去伤害他似的。她破坏了他的生活,损害了他的骄傲和自尊,打破了他内心的平静,那种建立在为人正直的基础上安宁。而如今她离间了他和他心爱的妹妹之间的关系。为了保全她思嘉自己的名誉和艾希礼的幸福,英迪亚只能被牺牲,被迫承担撒谎的罪名,成为一个有点疯疯癫癫的妒嫉心很重的老处女----英迪亚,她向来所抱的每一种猜疑和所说的每一句指控的话,都被证实了是绝对公正的。每当艾希礼注视着英迪亚的眼睛时,他都会看到那里闪耀着真实的光辉,真实、谴责和冷漠的轻视,这些正是威尔克斯家的人所擅长的!   思嘉知道艾希礼把名誉看得比生命还重,他现在一定觉得非常痛苦。他也和思嘉一样,被迫接受了媚兰的庇护。思嘉一方面懂得这样做的必要性,而且明白他之所以落到这个地步主要应当归咎于她,不过作为女人她想如果艾希礼把阿尔奇毙了,并且向媚兰和公众承认了一切,她还是会更加敬佩他的。她知道自己在这一点不上怎么公平,但是她实在太苦恼,已顾不上了这些小节了。她想起瑞德说过的一些轻视和揶揄的话,便思忖是不是艾希礼在这一纠葛中真的扮演了不够丈夫妻的角色,这样一来,自从她爱上艾希礼以后即一直在仰望着的他那个完美辉煌的形象便开始不知不觉地有点逊色了。同时,那片笼罩在她身上的耻辱和罪过的阴影也在渐渐向他护展。地下决心要打退这种想法,可结果反而使她哭得更加伤心了。   “别这样!别这样!"媚兰大声喊道,一面放下手里的梭织花边,急忙坐到沙发上,把思嘉的头移过来靠在她的肩上。   “我原来不应该谈起这件事让你难过的。我知道你一定会感非常伤心,今后决不再提了。不,我们彼此之间不要再提,也不要对任何人提起。让它就这样了结,像根本没有发生过一样。不过,"她暗含怨恨地补充说,"我要让英迪亚和埃尔辛太太明白,她们休想再散布关于我丈夫和嫂子的谣言。我要把这一点钉死了,叫她们俩谁也无法在亚特兰大抬起头来。而且,谁要是相信她们或接待她们,她就是我的敌人。"思嘉满怀忧虑地瞻望着今后漫长的岁月,知道在这个城市和这个家里将进行一场绵延几代的分裂性斗争,而这场斗争的起因就是她自己。   媚兰说到做到。她再也没有向思嘉或艾希礼提起这件事,也决不跟任何人谈论。她保持一种冷漠无关的态度,这种态度在万一有人敢于暗示那个问题便会变成冷冰冰的约束力量。在她她举行那个出其不意的宴会之后好几个星期里,瑞德神秘地不见了,整个城市处于一种疯狂的状态,她从不饶恕那些诽谤思嘉的人,无论是她的老朋友还是亲属。她口头不说,而以实际行动来表示。   她像一株苍耳①那样坚决站在思嘉一边。她让思嘉照样每天早晨到店里和木料场去,而且由她陪着去。她坚持要思嘉每天下午赶车出门,虽然思嘉本人不愿意去城市居民好奇的眼光下露面。赶车外出时她还坐在思嘉身旁,她还带她下午出去进行正式的拜访,亲切地鼓励她进入那些已两年多没有去的人家。而且,媚兰以一种强烈的"爱屋及乌"的表情跟那些大为惊讶的女主人谈话,意思是她们必须同时尊重她的朋友思嘉。   她叫思嘉在这种拜访中早些到,并且要留到最后才走,这就使得那些女人没有机会去三五成群地议论和猜测,避免引起一些不怎么愉快的事。这些拜访对思嘉来说是非常折磨人的,但她不敢拒绝跟媚兰一起去。她最怕置身于那些暗暗怀疑她是否真的被捉奸了的人当中。她最怕发现,这些女人要不是爱媚兰和不愿得罪她的话,她们是不会搭理她的。不过思嘉也很明白,她们一旦接待了她,以后就不能伤害她了。   有一点很能说明人们对思嘉的看法,那就是很少有人从思嘉本人的正派与否来决定他们到底是维护她还是批评。"我对她没有很高的要求,"这就是一般的态度,思嘉树敌太多,如今已没有几个支持者了。她的言行在那么多的人心目中留下的创伤,因此很少有人关心这桩丑闻是不是伤害了。不过人人都对伤害媚兰或者英迪亚感到强烈的兴趣,所以这场风暴是环绕着她们而不是思嘉在进行,它集中在这样一个问题上----"是英迪亚撒谎了吗?"那些拥护媚兰一方的人得意地指出这一事实,即媚兰近来经常跟思嘉在一起。难道一个像媚兰这样很珍视节操的女人会去支持一个犯罪女人的行径吗,何况这个女人还是跟她自己的丈夫一起犯罪的呢?不会,绝对不会!而英迪亚恰好是个疯疯癫癫的老处女,她恨思嘉,就造她的谣,而且诱惑阿尔奇和埃尔辛太太相信了她的谎言。   但是,那些支持英迪亚的人便问,如果思嘉没有罪,巴特勒船长到哪里去了呢?   他为什么不在这里陪着思嘉,让思嘉从他的鼓励中获得力量?这是一个无法回答的问题,并且随着时间一个星期又一个星期过去,谣言就漫延开来,说思嘉已经怀孕了,于是支持英迪亚的那群人就满意地点着头,觉得自己完全对了。那不可能是巴特勒船长的娃娃嘛,他们说。因为他们分居的事实早已成为大家谈论的资料,因为全城的人早已对他们的分居感到极为愤慨了。   就这样,街谈巷议在继续,全城分成了两派,那些组织严密的家族,如汉密尔顿家、威尔克斯家、伯尔家、惠特曼家和温尔德家,也同样分裂了。家庭里的每一个人都不得不表明自己是站在哪一方向的。没有中立的余地。媚兰保持冷静的庄严的态度,英迪亚则一味尖酸刻薄,各自观测着形势的发展。不过所有的亲朋好友,无论他属于哪一方,都一致抱怨是思嘉引起了他们之间的破裂。他们无不认为她不值得大家这样去为她争吵。亲戚们不管自己的立场怎样,都觉得英迪亚出面来公开宣扬这种家庭丑事,同时把艾希礼也牵连进去,这实在太痛心了。可既然英迪亚已经说出来了,许多人便踊跃为她辩护,站在她这一边反对思嘉,就像旁的人爱护媚兰,便站在媚兰和思嘉方面那样。   有一半的亚特兰大人是媚兰和英迪亚的亲戚,或者声称有亲戚关系,包括各种各样的表亲、姻亲,以及双重表亲、远亲,等等,其中的关系是那样错综复杂,只有地道的佐治亚人才弄得清楚。他们一贯是个排外的家族,在紧急关头便团结成为一个共同对敌的严密阵容,不管他们个人彼此之间有什么分歧或隔阂了。仅有一次,皮蒂姑妈对亨利叔叔发动了一场游击战,它作为家族中大家乐得看热闹的一出好戏,闹了多年。此外,这些人的和睦关系从没公开破裂过。他们为人文雅、含蓄,说话温柔,连半真半假的口角和争执都很少发生,这是亚特兰大的其他家族所做不到的。   可是目前他们已分裂成为两派。全成的人便得以目睹那些五六等的堂表亲戚在这次亚特兰大从未见过的最糟糕的丑闻中都选择了自己的派别,卷入了斗争。这种局面给市民中那一半没有亲戚关系的人造成了很大困难,也给他们的机智和耐性带来子考验,因为英迪亚与媚兰的争执实际上引起了每个社会集团的分裂,如塔里亚协会,南部联盟赈济孤寡缝纫会,阵亡将士公墓装修协会,周未音乐集团,妇女交谊舞会,青年图书馆,等等,都卷了进去。四个教堂,连同它们的妇女协进会和传教士协会,也是这样,人们得注意不要把对立派的会员选进同一个委员会里。   亚特兰大的主妇们每天下午在家时,特别是从四点到六点的时候,便非常着急,因为生怕媚兰和思嘉前来拜访时恰好英迪亚和她的好友还待在客厅里。   她们一家最可怜的要算皮蒂姑妈了。皮蒂这个人别无所求,只希望舒舒适适地在亲戚们互相友好的气氛中过日子,对于当前这场争执也很想两面讨好。可结果无论是这一方还是那一方,都不容许她采取这种骑墙派态度。   英迪亚本来跟皮蒂姑妈住在一起,但如果皮蒂像她所考虑的那样要站在媚兰一边,英迪亚就要离开好。而如果英迪亚走了,可怜的皮蒂怎么办呢?她不能一个人生活呀!那时她只能叫一个生人来跟她作伴,要不就得锁上门到思嘉那里去祝可是皮蒂姑妈隐约感到,巴特勒船长不太高兴她去。那么,她就只好住到媚兰家里去,晚上睡在作为小博育儿室的那间小屋里了。   皮蒂不大喜欢英迪亚,因为英迪亚那个又冷淡又固执的模样以及对于目前事件采取了偏激态度使她感到害怕。不过英迪亚仍容许皮蒂姑妈保持自己的舒适生活,而皮蒂主要是从个人舒服而不是道德观点来考虑问题的,所以英迪亚仍跟她住在一起。   不过英迪亚既然住在那里,皮蒂姑妈的家便成为一个风暴中心点了,因为媚兰和恩嘉把这看成是她对英迪亚的庇护。   思嘉断然拒绝继续在经济上支援皮蒂,只要她让英迪亚住在那里便决不妥协。艾希礼每星期都给英迪亚送钱去,但英迪亚每次都骄傲地、不声不响地把钱退回,皮蒂姑妈对上感到又惊讶又婉惜。这座红砖房子里的经济善要不是亨利叔叔的干预,将愈来愈可悲了。可是接受亨利叔叔的资助,皮蒂还觉得很可耻呢。   在这个世界上皮蒂除了她自己以外是最爱媚兰的,可现在媚兰对她只保持一种冷冷的客气态度,像个陌生人一样了。   她尽管就住在皮蒂家的后院里,以前每天要通过那道篱笆出出进进走十几次,可现在一次也不来了。皮蒂总是主动去看望她。向她哭诉自己怎样爱她和忠实于她,但媚兰始终拒绝具体的事情,也从来不回访。   皮蒂清楚记得她得过思嘉多大的恩惠----几乎是依靠她活过来的。的确,在战后那个极端困难的时期,皮蒂面临的处境是要么接受亨利叔叔的接济,要么饿死,这时思嘉出来维持了她的家庭,给她吃的穿的,让能够在亚特兰大抬起头来做人。思嘉结婚并搬到她自己家里以后,她对她依旧十分慷慨。那个既令人害怕又逗人喜爱的巴特勒船长,每次跟思嘉一起来拜访过以后,皮蒂就会发现桌上有个塞满了钞票的簇新钱包,或者用绣花手绢包着一些金币偷偷地放在她的针线盒里。瑞德总是声称他对此一无所知,并且以一种不怎么高明的手法断言她一定有个秘密的爱慕者,通常认为就是那位满脸胡须的梅里韦瑟爷爷,在干这样的事。   是的,皮蒂一直受到媚兰的爱护,更从思嘉那里获得生活上的保护,可是英迪亚又给了她什么呢?英迪亚,除了住在她那里,让她维持愉快的生活,并用不着凡事自拿主意之外,对她什么她处也没有。这实在是太悲惨、太不体面了,皮蒂一辈子从来没有自己拿过主意,任凭事物自然发展,结果便将许多时间在暗暗伤心和哭泣中度过了。   最后,有些人彻底相信了思嘉是清白无辜的,但这不是由于她自己的个人品德赢得大家的信任,而是由于媚兰始终坚信这一点。另一些人思想上有所保留,但因为他们太爱媚兰,希望保持对她的爱,便对思嘉采取了很有礼貌的态度。英迪亚的支持者们一般对思嘉表示冷淡,少数人仍还在公开指责她。后面两种情况是令人发窘而生气的,不过思嘉也明白,要不是媚兰的坚决保护和迅速行动,全城居民都会板着面孔反对她,她早已成一个被遗弃的人了。 Chapter 56 RHETT WAS GONE for three months and during that time Scarlett had no word from him. Shedid not know where he was or how long he would be gone. Indeed, she had no idea if he wouldever return. During this time, she went about her business with her head high and her heart sick.   She did not feel well physically but, forced by Melanie, she went to the store every day and tried tokeep up a superficial interest in the mills. But the store palled on her for the first time and,although the business was treble what it had been the year before and the money rolling in, shecould take no interest in it and was sharp and cross with the clerks. Johnnie Gallegher’s mill wasthriving and the lumber yard selling all his supply easily, but nothing Johnnie did or said pleasedher. Johnnie, as Irish as she, finally erupted into rage at her naggings and threatened to quit, after along tirade which ended with “and the back of both me hands to you, Ma’m, and the curse ofCromwell on you.” She had to appease him with the most abject of apologies.   She never went to Ashley’s mill. Nor did she go to the lumber-yard office when she thought hewould be there. She knew he was avoiding her, knew that her constant presence in his house, atMelanie’s inescapable invitations, was a torment to him. They never spoke alone and she wasdesperate to question him. She wanted to know whether he now hated her and exactly what he hadtold Melanie, but he held her at arm’s length and silently pleaded with her not to speak. The sightof his face, old, haggard with remorse, added to her load, and the fact that his mill lost moneyevery week was an extra irritant which she could not voice.   His helplessness in the face of the present situation irked her. She did not know what he coulddo to better matters but she felt that he should do something. Rhett would have done something.   Rhett always did something, even if it was the wrong thing, and she unwillingly respected him forit.   Now that her first rage at Rhett and his insults had passed, she began to miss him and she missedhim more and more as days went by without news of him. Out of the welter of rapture and angerand heartbreak and hurt pride that he had left, depression emerged to sit upon her shoulder like acarrion crow. She missed him, missed his light flippant touch in anecdotes that made her shoutwith laughter, his sardonic grin that reduced troubles to their proper proportions, missed even hisjeers that stung her to angry retort. Most of all she missed having him to tell things to. Rhett was sosatisfactory in that respect She could recount shamelessly and with pride how she had skinned people out of their eyeteeth and he would applaud. And if she even mentioned such things to otherpeople they were shocked.   She was lonely without him and Bonnie. She missed the child more than she had thoughtpossible. Remembering the last harsh words Rhett had hurled at her about Wade and Ella, she triedto fill in some of her empty hours with them. But it was no use. Rhett’s words and the children’sreactions opened her eyes to a startling, a galling truth. During the babyhood of each child she hadbeen too busy, too worried with money matters, too sharp and easily vexed, to win their confidenceor affection. And now, it was either too late or she did not have the patience or the wisdom topenetrate their small secretive hearts.   Ella! It annoyed Scarlett to realize that Ella was a silly child but she undoubtedly was. Shecouldn’t keep her little mind on one subject any longer than a bud could stay on one twig and evenwhen Scarlett tried to tell her stories, Ella went off at childish tangents, interrupting with questionsabout matters that had nothing to do with the story and forgetting what she had asked long beforeScarlett could get the explanation out of her mouth. And as for Wade—perhaps Rhett was rightPerhaps he was afraid of her. That was odd and it hurt her. Why should her own boy, her only boy,be afraid of her? When she tried to draw him out in talk, he looked at her with Charles’ soft browneyes and squirmed and twisted his feet in embarrassment. But with Melanie, he bubbled over withtalk and brought from his pocket everything from fishing worms to old strings to show her.   Melanie had a way with brats. There was no getting around it. Her own little Beau was the bestbehaved and most lovable child in Atlanta. Scarlett got on better with him than she did with herown son because little Beau had no self-consciousness where grown people were concerned andclimbed on her knee, uninvited, whenever he saw her. What a beautiful blond boy he was, just likeAshley! Now if only Wade were like Beau— Of course, the reason Melanie could do so much withhim was that she had only one child and she hadn’t had to worry and work as Scarlett had. At leastScarlett tried to excuse herself that way but honesty forced her to admit that Melanie loved childrenand would have welcomed a dozen. And the overbrimming affection she had was poured outon Wade and the neighbors’ broods.   Scarlett would never forget the shock of the day she drove by Melanie’s house to pick up Wadeand heard, as she came up the front walk, the sound of her son’s voice raised in a very fairimitation of the Rebel Yell—Wade who was always as still as a mouse at home. And manfullyseconding Wade’s yell was the shrill piping of Beau. When she had walked into the sitting roomshe had found the two charging at the sofa with wooden swords. They had hushed abashed as sheentered and Melanie had arisen, laughing and clutching at hairpins and flying curls from where shewas crouching behind the sofa.   “It’s Gettysburg,” she explained. “And I’m the Yankees and I’ve gotten the worst of it. This isGeneral Lee,” pointing to Beau, “and this is General Pickett,” putting an arm about Wade’sshoulder.   Yes, Melanie had a way with children that Scarlett could never fathom.   “At least,” she thought, “Bonnie loves me and likes to play with me.” But honesty forced her toadmit that Bonnie infinitely preferred Rhett to her. And perhaps she would never see Bonnie again.   For all she knew, Rhett might be in Persia or Egypt and intending to stay there forever.   When Dr. Meade told her she was pregnant, she was astounded, for she had been expecting adiagnosis of biliousness and over-wrought nerves. Then her mind fled back to that wild night andher face went crimson at the memory. So a child was coming from those moments of high rapture—even if the memory of the rapture was dimmed by what followed. And for the first time she wasglad that she was going to have a child. If it were only a boy! A fine boy, not a spiritless littlecreature like Wade. How she would care for him! Now that she had the leisure to devote to a babyand the money to smooth his path, how happy she would be! She had an impulse to write to Rhettin care of his mother in Charleston and tell him. Good Heavens, he must come home now!   Suppose he stayed away till after the baby was born! She could never explain that! But if she wrotehim he’d think she wanted him to come home and he would be amused. And he mustn’t ever thinkshe wanted him or needed him.   She was very glad she had stifled this impulse when her first news of Rhett came in a letter fromAunt Pauline in Charleston where, it seemed, Rhett was visiting his mother. What a relief to knowhe was still in the United States, even if Aunt Pauline’s letter was infuriating. Rhett had broughtBonnie to see her and Aunt Eulalie and the letter was full of praise.   “Such a little beauty! When she grows up she will certainly be a belle. But I suppose you knowthat any man who courts her will have a tussle with Captain Butler, for I never saw such a devotedfather. Now, my dear, I wish to confess something. Until I met Captain Butler, I felt that yourmarriage with him had been a dreadful mesalliance for, of course, no one in Charleston hearsanything good about him and everyone is so sorry for his family. In fact, Eulalie and I wereuncertain as to whether or not we should receive him—but, after all, the dear child is our great-niece. When he came, were pleasantly surprised, most pleasantly, and realized how un-Christianitistocreditidleg(we) ossip. For he is most charming. Quite handsome, too, we thought, andso very grave and courteous. And so devoted to you and the child.   “And now, my dear, I must write you of something that has come to our ears—somethingEulalie and I were loath to believe at first. We had heard, of course, that you sometimes did aboutat the store that Mr. Kennedy had left you. We had heard rumors but, of course, we denied them.   We realized that in those first dreadful days after the war, it was perhaps necessary, conditionsbeing what they were. But there is no necessity now for such conduct on your part, as I knowCaptain Butler is in quite comfortable circumstances and is, moreover, fully capable of managingfor you any business and property you may own. We had to know the truth of these rumors andwere forced to ask Captain Butler point-blank questions which was most distressing to all of us.   “With reluctance he told us that you spent your mornings at the store and would permit no oneelse to do the bookkeeping. He also admitted that you had some interest in a mill or mills (we didnot press him on this, being most upset at this information which was news to us) that necessitatedyour riding about alone, or attended by a ruffian who, Captain Butler assures us, is a murderer. Wecould see how this wrung his heart and think he must be a most indulgent—in fact, a far tooindulgent husband. Scarlett, this must stop. Your mother is not here to command you and I must doit in her place. Think how your little children will feel when they grow older and realize that youwere in trade! How mortified they will be to know that you exposed yourself to the insults of rudemen and the dangers of careless gossip in attending to mills. Such unwomanly—”   Scarlett flung down the letter unfinished, with an oath. She could just see Aunt Pauline and Aunt Eulalie sitting in judgment on her in the crumbling house on the Battery with little between themand starvation except what she, Scarlett, sent them every month. Unwomanly? By God, if shehadn’t been unwomanly Aunt Pauline and Aunt Eulalie probably wouldn’t have a roof over theirheads this very moment. And damn Rhett for telling them about the store and the bookkeeping andthe mills! Reluctant, was he? She knew very well the joy he took in palming himself off on the oldladies as grave, courteous and charming, the devoted husband and father. How he must have lovedharrowing them with descriptions of her activities with the store, the mills, the saloon. What adevil he was. Why did such perverse things give him such pleasure?   But soon, even this rage passed into apathy. So much of the keen zest had gone out of liferecently. If only she could recapture the thrill and the glow of Ashley—if only Rhett would comehome and make her laugh.   They were home again, without warning. The first intimation of their return was the sound ofluggage being thumped on the front-hall floor and Bonnie’s voice crying, “Mother!”   Scarlett hurried from her room to the top of the stairs and saw her daughter stretching her shortplump legs in an effort to climb the steps. A resigned striped kitten was clutched to her breast.   “Gran’ma gave him to me,” she cried excitedly, holding the kitten out by the scruff.   Scarlett swept her up into her arms and kissed her, thankful that the child’s presence spared herher first meeting alone with Rhett Looking over Bonnie’s head, she saw him in the hall below,paying the cab driver. He looked up, saw her and swept off his hat in a wide gesture, bowing as hedid. When she met his dark eyes, her heart leaped. No matter what he was, no matter what he haddone, he was home and she was glad.   “Where’s Mammy?” asked Bonnie, wriggling in Scarlett’s grasp and she reluctantly set the childon her feetIt was going to be more difficult than she anticipated, greeting Rhett with just the proper degreeof casualness and, as for telling him about the new baby! She looked at his face as he came up thesteps, that dark nonchalant face, so impervious, so blank. No, she’d wait to tell him. She couldn’ttell him right away. And yet, such tidings as these belonged first to a husband, for a husband wasalways happy to hear them. But she did not think he would be happy about it.   She stood on the landing, leaning against the banisters and wondered if he would kiss her. Buthe did not. He said only: “You are looking pale, Mrs. Butler. Is there a rouge shortage?”   No word of missing her, even if he didn’t mean it. And he might have at least kissed her in frontof Mammy who, after bobbing a curtsy, was leading Bonnie away down the hall to the nursery. Hestood beside her on the landing, his eyes appraising her carelessly.   “Can this wanness mean that you’ve been missing me?” he questioned and though his lipssmiled, his eyes did not.   So that was going to be his attitude. He was going to be as hateful as ever. Suddenly the childshe was carrying became a nauseating burden instead of something she had gladly carried, and thisman before her, standing carelessly with his wide Panama hat upon his hip, her bitterest foe, the cause of all her troubles. There was venom in her eyes as she answered, venom that was toounmistakable to be missed, and the smile went from his face.   “If I’m pale it’s your fault and not because I’ve missed you, you conceited thing. It’s because—”   Oh, she hadn’t intended to tell him like this but the hot words rushed to her lips and she flung themat him, careless of the servants who might hear. “It’s because I’m going to have a baby!”   He sucked in his breath suddenly and his eyes went rapidly over her. He took a quick steptoward her as though to put a hand on her arm but she twisted away from him, and before the hatein her eyes his face hardened.   “Indeed!” he said coolly. “Well, who’s the happy father? Ashley?”   She clutched the newel post until the ears of the carved lion dug with sudden pain into her palm.   Even she who knew him so well had not anticipated this insult. Of course, he was joking but therewere some jokes too monstrous to be borne. She wanted to rake her sharp nails across his eyes andblot out that queer light in them.   “Damn you!” she began, her voice shaking with sick rage. “You—you know it’s yours. And Idon’t want it any more than you do. No—no woman would want the children of a cad like you. Iwish— Oh, God, I wish it was anybody’s baby but yours!”   She saw his swarthy face change suddenly, anger and something she could not analyze making ittwitch as though stung.   “There!” she thought in a hot rage of pleasure. “There! I’ve hurt him now!”   But the old impassive mask was back across his face and he stroked one side of his mustache.   “Cheer up,” he said, turning from her and starting up the stairs, “maybe you’ll have amiscarriage.”   For a dizzy moment she thought what childbearing meant, the nausea that tore her, the tediouswaiting, the thickening of her figure, the hours of pain. Things no man could ever realize. And hedared to joke. She would claw him. Nothing but the sight of blood upon his dark face would easethis pain in her heart. She lunged for him, swift as a cat, but with, a light startled movement, hesidestepped, throwing up his arm to ward her off. She was standing on the edge of the freshlywaxed top step, and as her arm with the whole weight of her body behind it, struck his out-thrustarm, she lost her balance. She made a wild clutch for the newel post and missed it. She went downthe stairs backwards, feeling a sickening dart of pain in her ribs as she landed. And, too dazed tocatch herself, she rolled over and over to the bottom of the flight.   It was the first time Scarlett had ever been ill, except when she had her babies, and somehowthose times did not count. She had not been forlorn and frightened then, as she was now, weak andpain racked and bewildered. She knew she was sicker than they dared tell her, feebly realized thatshe might die. The broken rib stabbed when she breathed, her bruised face and head ached and herwhole body was given over to demons who plucked at her with hot pinchers and sawed on her withdull knives and left her, for short intervals, so drained of strength that she could not regain grip onherself before they returned. No, childbirth had not been like this. She had been able to eat hearty meals two hours after Wade and Ella and Bonnie had been born, but now the thought of anythingbut cool water brought on feeble nausea.   How easy it was to have a child and how painful not to have one! Strange, what a pang it hadbeen even in her pain, to know that she would not have this child. Stranger still that it should havebeen the first child she really wanted. She tried to think why she wanted it but her mind was tootired. Her mind was too tired to think of anything except fear of death. Death was in the room andshe had no strength to confront it, to fight it back and she was frightened. She wanted someonestrong to stand by her and hold her hand and fight off death until enough strength came back forher to do her own fighting.   Rage had been swallowed up in pain and she wanted Rhett. But he was not there and she couldnot bring herself to ask for him.   Her last memory of him was how he looked as he picked her up in the dark hall at the bottom ofthe steps, his face white and wiped clean of all save hideous fear, his voice hoarsely calling forMammy. And then there was a faint memory of being carried upstairs, before darkness came overher mind. And then pain and more pain and the room full of buzzing voices and Aunt Pittypat’ssobs and Dr. Meade’s brusque orders and feet that hurried on the stairs and tiptoes in the upperhall. And then like a blinding ray of lightning, the knowledge of death and fear that suddenly madeher try to scream a name and the scream was only a whisper.   But that forlorn whisper brought instant response from somewhere in the darkness beside thebed and the soft voice of the one she called made answer in lullaby tones: “I’m here, dear. I’vebeen right here all the time.”   Death and fear receded gently as Melanie took her hand and laid it quietly against her coolcheek. Scarlett tried to turn to see her face and could not. Melly was having a baby and theYankees were coming. The town was afire and she must hurry, hurry. But Melly was having a babyand she couldn’t hurry. She must stay with her till the baby came and be strong because Mellyneeded her strength. Melly was hurting so bad—there were hot pinchers at her and dull knives andrecurrent waves of pain. She must hold Melly’s hand.   But Dr. Meade was there after all, he had come, even if the soldiers at the depot did need him forshe heard him say: “Delirious. Where’s Captain Butler?”   The night was dark and then light and sometimes she was having a baby and sometimes it wasMelanie who cried out, but through it all Melly was there and her hands were cool and she did notmake futile anxious gestures or sob like Aunt Pitty. Whenever Scarlett opened her eyes, she said“Melly?” and the voice answered. And usually she started to whisper: “Rhett—I want Rhett” andremembered, as from a dream, that Rhett didn’t want her, that Rhett’s face was dark as an Indian’sand his teeth were white in a jeer. She wanted him and he didn’t want her.   Once she said “Melly?” and Mammy’s voice said: “S’me, chile,” and put a cold rag on herforehead and she cried fretfully: “Melly—Melanie” over and over but for a long time Melanie didnot come. For Melanie was sitting on the edge of Rhett’s bed and Rhett, drunk and sobbing, wassprawled on the floor, crying, his head in her lap.   Every time she had come out of Scarlett’s room she had seen him, sitting on his bed, his door wide, watching the door across the hall. The room was untidy, littered with cigar butts and dishesof untouched food. The bed was tumbled and unmade and he sat on it, unshaven and suddenlygaunt, endlessly smoking. He never asked questions when he saw her. She always stood in thedoorway for a minute, giving the news: “I’m sorry, she’s worse,” or “No, she hasn’t asked for youyet. You see, she’s delirious” or “You mustn’t give up hope, Captain Butler. Let me fix you somehot coffee and something to eat. You’ll make yourself ill.”   Her heart always ached with pity for him, although she was almost too tired and sleepy to feelanything. How could people say such mean things about him—say he was heartless and wickedand unfaithful to Scarlett, when she could see him getting thin before her eyes, see the torment inhis face? Tired as she was, she always tried to be kinder than usual when she gave bulletins fromthe sick room. He looked so like a damned soul waiting judgment—so like a child in a suddenlyhostile world. But everyone was like a child to Melanie.   But when, at last, she went joyfully to his door to tell him that Scarlett was better, she wasunprepared for what she found. There was a half-empty bottle of whisky on the table by the bedand the room reeked with the odor. He looked at her with bright glazed eyes and his jaw musclestrembled despite his efforts to set his teeth.   “She’s dead?”   “Oh, no. She’s much better.”   He said: “Oh, my God,” and put his head in his hands. She saw his wide shoulders shake as witha nervous chill and, as she watched him pityingly, her pity changed to honor for she saw that hewas crying. Melanie had never seen a man cry and of all men, Rhett, so suave, so mocking, soeternally sure of himself.   It frightened her, the desperate choking sound he made. She had a terrified thought that he wasdrunk and Melanie was afraid of drunkenness. But when he raised his head and she caught oneglimpse of his eyes, she stepped swiftly into the room, closed the door softly behind her and wentto him. She had never seen a man cry but she had comforted the tears of many children. When sheput a soft hand on his shoulder, his arms went suddenly around her skirts. Before she knew how ithappened she was sitting on the bed and he was on the floor, his head in her lap and his arms andhands clutching her in a frantic clasp that hurt her.   She stroked the black head gently and said: “There! There!” soothingly. “There! She’s going toget well.”   At her words, his grip tightened and he began speaking rapidly, hoarsely, babbling as though to agrave which would never give up its secrets, babbling the truth for the first time in his life, baringhimself mercilessly to Melanie who was at first, utterly uncomprehending, utterly maternal. Hetalked brokenly, burrowing his head in her lap, tugging at the folds of her skirt Sometimes hiswords were blurred, muffled, sometimes they came far too clearly to her ears, harsh, bitter wordsof confession and abasement, speaking of things she had never heard even a woman mention,secret things that brought the hot blood of modesty to her cheeks and made her grateful for hisbowed head.   She patted his head as she did little Beau’s and said: “Hush! Captain Butler! You must not tell me these things! You are not yourself. Hush!” But his voice went on in a wild torrent of outpouringand he held to her dress as though it were his hope of life.   He accused himself of deeds she did not understand; he mumbled the name of Belle Watling andthen he shook her with his violence as he cried: “I’ve killed Scarlett, I’ve killed her. You don’tunderstand. She didn’t want this baby and—”   “You must hush! You are beside yourself! Not want a baby? Why every woman wants—”   “No! No! You want babies. But she doesn’t. Not my babies—”   “You must stop!”   “You don’t understand. She didn’t want a baby and I made her. This—this baby—it’s all mydamned fault. We hadn’t been sleeping together—”   “Hush, Captain Butler! It is not fit—”   “And I was drunk and insane and I wanted to hurt her—because she had hurt me. I wanted to—and I did— but she didn’t want me. She’s never wanted me. She never has and I tried—I tried sohard and—”   “Oh, please!”   “And I didn’t know about this baby till the other day— when she fell: She didn’t know where Iwas to write to me and tell me—but she wouldn’t have written me if she had known. I tell you—Itell you I’d have come straight home—if I’d only known—whether she wanted me home ornot. ...”   “Oh, yes, I know you would!”   “God, I’ve been crazy these weeks, crazy and drunk! And when she told me, there on the steps—what did I do? What did I say? I laughed and said: ‘Cheer up. Maybe you’ll have a miscarriage.’   And she—”   Melanie suddenly went white and her eyes widened with horror as she looked down at the blacktormented head writhing in her lap. The afternoon sun streamed in through the open window andsuddenly she saw, as for the first time, how large and brown and strong his hands were and howthickly the black hairs grew along the backs of them. Involuntarily, she recoiled from them. Theyseemed so predatory, so ruthless and yet, twined in her skirt, so broken, so helpless.   Could it be possible that he had heard and believed the preposterous lie about Scarlett andAshley and become jealous? True, he had left town immediately after the scandal broke but— No,it couldn’t be that. Captain Butler was always going off abruptly on journeys. He couldn’t havebelieved the gossip. He was too sensible. If that had been the cause of the trouble, wouldn’t hehave tried to shoot Ashley? Or at least demanded an explanation?   No, it couldn’t be that. It was only that he was drunk and sick from strain and his mind wasrunning wild, like a man delirious, babbling wild fantasies. Men couldn’t stand strains as well aswomen. Something had upset him, perhaps he had had a small quarrel with Scarlett and magnifiedit. Perhaps some of the awful things he said were true. But all of them could not be true. Oh, notthat last, certainly! No man could say such a thing to a woman he loved as passionately as this man loved. Scarlett Melanie had never seen evil, never seen cruelty, and now that she looked on themfor the first time she found them too inconceivable to believe. He was drunk and sick. And sickchildren must be humored.   “There! There!” she said crooningly. “Hush, now. I understand.”   He raised his head violently and looked up at her with bloodshot eyes, fiercely throwing off herhands.   “No, by God, you don’t understand! You can’t understand! You’re—you’re too good tounderstand. You don’t believe me but it’s all true and I’m a dog. Do you know why I did it? I wasmad, crazy with jealousy. She never cared for me and I thought I could make her care. But shenever cared. She doesn’t love me. She never has. She loves—”   His passionate, drunken gaze met hers and he stopped, mouth open, as though for the first timehe realized to whom he was speaking. Her face was white and strained but her eyes were steadyand sweet and full of pity and unbelief. There was a luminous serenity in them and the innocencein the soft brown depths struck him like a blow in the face, clearing some of the alcohol out of hisbrain, halting his mad, careering words in mid-flight. He trailed off into a mumble, his eyesdropping away from hers, his lids batting rapidly as he fought back to sanity.   “I’m a cad,” he muttered, dropping his head tiredly back into her lap. “But not that big a cad.   And if I did tell you, you wouldn’t believe me, would you? You’re too good to believe me. I neverbefore knew anybody who was really good. You wouldn’t believe me, would you?”   “No, I wouldn’t believe you,” said Melanie soothingly, beginning to stroke his hair again. “She’sgoing to get well. There, Captain Butler! Don’t cry! She’s going to get well.”  瑞德走了已经三个月了,在这期间思嘉没有收到过他的任何音信。也不知道他到了哪里,也不知道要多久才能回来。   其实,他究竟还回不回来,她心里根本没个数。在这几个月里她照样做自己的生意,表面做得是很神气的,可心里却懊丧得很。她觉得身体不怎么舒服,但在媚兰一个劲儿的怂恿下她每天都到店里去,好像对两个厂子也仍然很感兴趣似的。   实际上那家店铺已开始叫她生厌,尽管营业额比上年提高了两倍,利润源源而来,她却觉得没有多大意思,对伙计们的态度也愈来愈严厉厉和粗暴了。约翰尼•加勒格尔负责的木厂生意兴隆,木料场也很快把存货卖了出去,但给翰尼的所做没有一点是叫她高兴的。约翰尼是个同她一样有爱尔兰人脾气的人,他终于受不了她那呶呶不休的责备而发起火来,便大肆攻击了她一通,最后说:“太太,我什么也不要了,让克伦威尔去诅咒你吧,"并威胁说自己要走。这么一来,她又不得不低声下平地道歉,安抚着要他留下。   她从来不到艾希礼负责的那个厂里去。当地估计艾希礼到了木料场办事房里,她也不去那里。她知道他在回避她,也知道,由于媚兰的执意邀请她经常到他家去,对他会是一种折磨。他们从不单独说话,可她却很想问问。她想弄清楚他现在是不是恨她,以及他究竟对媚兰说了些什么。但是他始终对她保持一定的距离,并恳求她不要说话。他那苍老憔悴和流露着悔恨之情的脸色更加重了她的精神负担,同时他的木厂每周都要亏本,那也成了她心中一个有苦难言的疙瘩。   他脸上那种对目前局面无可奈何的神色,她看了觉得厌烦。她不知道他怎样才能改善这个局面,但仍然认为是应当想些办法的。要是瑞德,他早就会采取措施了。瑞德总是能想出办法来,哪怕是不正当的办法,在这一点上她尽管心中不乐意也还是非常佩服他。   如今,她对瑞德和他那些侮辱行为的怒火已经消失,她开始想念他了,而且由于很久没有音信,想念也越来越深切了。如今,从瑞德留下的那一堆混合着狂喜、愤怒、伤心和屈辱的紊乱情绪中,愁苦已渐渐冒出头来,最后像啄食腐尸的乌鸦蹲在她肩上。她想念他,很想听听他讲的那些尖刻动人、叫她怀大乐的故事,看看他那可以排忧息怒的咧开嘴讽刺地大笑的模样,以及那些刺得她痛加驳斥的嘲弄。最叫她难受地是她不能在他面前絮叨了。在这方面瑞德是使她感到很满意的。她可以向他毫不害羞地叙述自己采用什么方法从人们的牙缝里敲榨他们,他听了会大加赞叹。而别的人一听到她提起这种事,便会大惊失色了。   她没有他和邦妮在身边,觉得十分寂寞,她以前从没有想到,一旦邦妮离开便会这样惦记她。现在她记起瑞德上次责备她的关于韦德和爱拉的那些恶言恶语,便试着拿这两个孩子填补她内心的空虚。但这也没有用。瑞德的话和孩子们对她的反应打开了她的眼睛,使她面对一个惊人而可怕的事实。在这两个孩子的婴儿时期她太忙了,太为金钱操心了,太严厉和太容易发火了,因此没有赢得他们的信任和感情。而现在,要不是太晚便是她缺乏耐心和本事,反正她已经无法深入他们那幼小而隐秘的心灵中去了。   爱拉!思嘉发现她是个弱智儿童,而且的确是的,这就叫人发愁了。她无法把注意力集中在一件事物上,就像小鸟不能在一个枝头上待下来似的。即使思嘉给她讲故事时,爱拉也经常离题去胡思乱想,用一些与故事毫无关系的问题来打断,可是还没等思嘉开口去回答,她已经把问题完全忘了。   至于韦德----也许瑞德的看法是对的。也许他真的怕她。这真有点奇怪,而且伤了她的自尊心。怎么她的亲生儿子,她的唯一的男孩,竟会这样怕她呢?有时她试着逗引他来谈话,他也只用查尔斯那样柔和的褐色眉盯着她,同时很难为情地挪动着两只小脚,显得十分不自在。要是他跟媚兰在一起时,却滔滔不绝地说个不停,并且把口袋里的一切,从钓鱼用的虫子到破旧的钓钱,都掏出来给她看了。   媚兰对小家伙们很有办法。那是用不着你去证明的。她自己的小博就是亚特兰大最有规矩最可爱的孩子。思嘉跟他相处得比跟自己的孩子还要好,因为小博对于大人们的关心没有什么神经过敏的地方,每次看见她都会息动爬到她膝头上来。他长得多漂亮啊,跟艾希礼一模一样!要是韦德像小博那样就好了。当然,媚兰所以能那样尽心照顾他,主要是因为她只有一个孩子,也用不着像思嘉那样整天操心和工作。   至少思嘉自己是想用这样的理由来为自己辩解的,不过扪心自问时她又不得不承认媚兰是个爱孩子的人,她巴不得生上一打呢。所以她那用不完的满怀钟爱也同样倾注在韦德和邻居家的孩子们身上了。   思嘉永远也不会忘记那一天她所感到的震惊,当时她赶车经过媚兰家去接韦德,还在屋前走道上便听见自己儿子提高嗓门在模仿南方士兵的号叫----韦德在家里可整天不声不响像只耗子呢。而像大人似的附和韦德的号叫的是小博的尖叫声。她走进那间起居室时才发现两个孩子手中举着大刀在向一张沙发进攻。他们一见她便尴尬地不作声了,同时媚兰从沙发背后站起身来,手里抓着头发,摇晃着满头鬈发放声大笑。   “那是葛底斯堡,"她解释说。"我是北方佬,无疑已彻底打败了。这位是李将军,"她指着小博,"这位是皮克特将军,"她搂着韦德的肩膀。   是的,媚兰对孩子们有一套自己的办法,那是思嘉永远也不会懂得的。   “至少邦妮还爱我,也高兴跟我玩叫,"她心里想。可是平心而论,她不得不承认,邦妮爱瑞德比爱她不知深过多少倍。而且说不定她再也见不到邦妮了。根据她至今所了解到的,瑞德可能到了波斯或者埃及,并且想永久在那里定居了。   张。这么一来,她就想起了那个狂乱的夜晚,并且立即满脸通红,很不好意思。原来就在那神魂颠倒的片刻----即使那个狂嘉的片刻也因后来发生的事情而记不清楚了----怀上个孩子了。这时她最先的感觉是高兴又要添一个孩子。要是个男孩该多好呀!一个漂亮的男孩,而不得像韦德那样畏畏缩缩的小家伙。她会多么喜欢他啊!那时她既有工夫去专心照料一个婴儿,又有钱去安排他的锦绣前程,这才真正高兴呢!她心中马止产生了一个冲动,要写封信告诉瑞德,由他母亲从查尔斯顿转去。上帝,他现在必须回来了!要是到婴儿生下以后他才回家,那可不行!那她永远也解释不清了!   可是,如果她写信去,他就会以为她是要他回家,就会暗暗笑起来,不,决不能让他觉得她在想他或者需要他啊!   她很高兴自己终于把这个冲动压下去了,这时恰巧查尔斯顿的波琳姨妈来信了,传来关于瑞德的第一个消息,似乎他正在那里看望他母亲。得知他至今还在这个合众国的领土上,哪怕波琳姨妈的信很使人生气,也毕竟叫她放心。瑞德带着邦妮去看过她和尤拉莉姨妈,信中全充满了对邦妮的夸奖。   “多漂亮的一个小姑娘!将来长大了,准会成为人人追求的美人儿呢。不过我想你一定知道,谁要是向她求爱,就得同瑞德来一次搏斗,因为我从没见过这样钟爱女儿的一位父亲。嗯,亲爱的,我想跟你说几句心里话。在我没有遇见巴特勒船长之前,查尔斯顿人的确从没听说过关于他的什么好话,而且人人都替他的一家感到十分惋惜。这样我一直觉得你和他的婚姻是极不起配的。事实上,尤拉莉和我都对于是否应当接待他犹疑不决----不过,毕竟那个可爱的孩子是我们的姨外孙女嘛。这样,当他来了后,我们一见便又惊又喜,非常的欣喜,并且发现听信那些流言蜚语实在太不应该了。你看他是那样逗人喜欢,长得也很帅,而且又庄重又有礼貌。何况还那么钟爱你和孩子呢。"“现在,亲爱的,我得谈谈我们听到的一些事情----一些尤拉莉和我最初不愿意相信的事情。当然,我们已经听说你有时在肯尼迪先生留给你的那店铺上所做的某些事情。我们确实听到过一些谣言,但我们否认了。我们知道在战后初期那些可怕的日子,那样做是必要的,因为环境就是那样嘛。不过现在你就来说已经没有这个必要了,因为我们知道巴特勒船长的境遇相当宽裕,而且有充分的能力替你经管所有的生意和财产。我们还不怎么了解那些谣传的真相,只好把这些使我们最伤脑筋的问题坦率地向巴特勒船长提了出来。"“他有点勉强地告诉我们说,每天上午的时间你都花在那家店铺里,也不允许别人替你经管账目。他还承认你对一家或几家厂子都很有兴趣(我们并没有坚持要他谈这些,事实上我们乍一听到这个消息还觉得奇怪),因此得坐着马车到处跑,而巴特勒船长告诉我们,赶车的那个恶棍还杀过人呢。我们看得出来,他对这一点很痛心,他必然是个最宽容----实际上是已够宽容的丈夫了。思嘉,你不能再这样了。你母亲已经不在了,你就得代替她来教导你。想想看,等到你的孩子们长大以后,知道你曾经做过生意,他们会怎么想呢?他们一旦知道了你经常到厂子里去,跟那些粗人打交道,受到他们的侮辱。冒着让人随便议论的风险,会感到多难过呀!这样不守妇道----"思嘉没看完就把信扔了,嘴里还在咒骂。她仿佛看见波琳姨妈和尤拉莉姨妈坐在那间破屋子里评判她不守妇道,她们要不是思嘉每月寄钱去,就要揭不开锅了。天知道,如果不是思嘉不那么守妇道的话,波琳姨妈和尤拉莉姨妈很可能此刻就没有个栖身之地呢。这个该死的瑞德,居然把那家店铺和记账的事以及两家厂子的事都告诉她们了。他真是那样勉强吗?思嘉知道,他最乐于蒙骗那些老太太们,在她们面前把自己装扮得既庄重有礼貌又逗人喜欢,而且是个宽容的丈夫和父亲。他一定喜欢孜孜地向她们描述了思嘉在那店铺、木厂、酒馆圣的种种活动,叫她们气得不行。多坏的家伙!怎么他就专门干这种缺德的事来取乐呀?   不过这满腔的怒火很快也冷下去了。最近以来,有那么多本来很热衷的东西都已不复存在。要是她能够重新得到艾希礼的刺激和光彩----要是瑞德能够回家来逗她欢笑,那就好了。   他们事先没有通知就回来了。到家的第一个音信是行李卸在地板上的扑通扑通的声音和邦妮高声喊叫:“妈妈!"思嘉急忙从自己房里出来,走到楼梯顶,看见女儿正伸着两条短腿合劲要踏上梯级。一只驯顺的毛色带条纹的小猫紧紧抱在她胸前。   “妈妈给我的,"她兴奋地叫道,一面抓住小猫的颈背把它提起来。   思嘉一面把她抱在怀里,忙不迭地吻她,一面庆幸这孩子在场,就免得她跟瑞德单独见面感到难为情了。她抬头一看,只见他正在下面厅堂里给车夫付钱。然后他也仰起头来看见了她,便像往常那样恭恭敬敬地摘下帽子,鞠了一躬。她一瞧见他那双黑眼睛,心就怦怦跳起来了。不管他是什么人,也不管了干了些什么,只要回家了她就高兴。   “嬷嬷在哪里?"邦妮问,一面扭着身子想挣脱思嘉的怀抱,她只得把她放下地来。   仅仅以若无其事的正常态度招呼瑞德,可又得向他透露怀孩子的事,这可比她预先设想的要困难得多。他上楼梯时她看着他的脸色,那是黝黑而冷漠的,那样毫无表情难以捉摸。不,她得过些时候再告诉他。她不能现在就说出来。不过,这样的消息应该首先让丈夫知道,因为做丈夫的总是爱听这种消息的。可是她觉得她听了也未必高兴。   她站在楼梯顶上,靠着栏杆,不知他会不会吻她。但是他没有吻。他只是说:“你的脸色有点苍白呢。巴特勒太太。   是不是没胭脂了?”   一句想念她的话也没有,哪怕是假意虚情的也没有。至少在嬷嬷面前应当吻她一下嘛,但是不,眼看着嬷嬷匆匆一鞠躬便领着邦妮穿过厅堂到育儿室去了。他站在楼梯顶上她的身旁,用眼睛漫不经心地打量她。   “你这憔悴样是不是说明在想念我呢?"他嘴上微笑着问她,但眼里并没有笑意。   这就是他的态度。他还会像以前那样恨她的。她突然觉得她怀着的那个孩子已成为令人作呕的一个负担,再也不是她高兴怀下来的血肉了,而这个漫不经心地拿着宽边巴拿马帽子站在她面前的男人则是她的死对头,是她的一切麻烦的起因了!她回答时眼睛里充满了怨恨是一清二楚叫你怎么也不会忽略的,同时他脸上的笑容也消失了。   “如果我脸色苍白,那也是你的过错,决不是像你所幼想的那样是想念你的结果。那是因为----"唔,她原没打算就这样告诉他,可是太性急了便冲口而出,于是索性向他摊开,也不顾仆人们会不会听见。"那是因为我又要有个孩子了!"他猛地吸了口气,两眼迅速地打量着她。接着他向前迈了一步,想要把手放在她的胳臂上,但她把身子一扭,避开了,在她那怨恨的眼光下,他的脸孔板了起来。   “真的!"他冷冷地说。"那么,谁有幸当这个父亲呢,是艾希礼吗?"她狠狠抓住楼梯栏杆上的柱子,直到那个木雕狮子的耳朵把她的手心扎痛了。她即使对他有所了解,也绝没想到他居然会这样来侮辱她。当然,他是在开玩笑,但无论什么玩笑也不至于开到如此难以容忍的程度!她真想用她那尖尖的指甲掐进他的眼睛里,把那里面的古怪光芒给消灭掉。   “你这该死的家伙!"她的声音气恼得咻咻发抖,"你----你明明知道是你的。而我也和你一样根本不想要它。没有----没有哪个女人愿意跟你这种下流坯生孩子的。我但愿----啊,上帝,我但愿这是其他什么人的而不是你的孩子呢!"她发现他那黝黑的面容突然变了,仿佛某种无法理解的情感,连同愤怒一起,使它一阵痉挛,像被什么刺痛了似的。   “瞧!"她心里又好气又好笑地想。"瞧!我到底把他刺痛了!"可是那个不动声色的老面具又回到了他脸上,他拉了拉嘴唇上的一片髭须。   “高兴点吧,"他说,一面转过身去开始上楼,"当心你可能会流产呢。"她顿时觉得一阵头晕,想起怀孩子的滋味,象那种恶心的呕吐呀,没完没了的等待呀,大腹便便的丑态呀,长时间的阵痛呀,等等。这些都是男人永远也体会不到的。可他还忍心开这样狠毒的玩笑。她要狠狠地抓他一把。只有看见他那张黑脸上有一道道的血痕,才能稍解这心头的怨气。她像猫似的偷偷跟着他追上去,但是他忽然轻轻一闪避到一旁,一面抬起一只胳臂把她挡开了。她站在新打过蜡的最高一级阶梯边上,当她俯身举起手来,想使劲去报那只伸出的胳臂时,发觉自己已站不住了,便猛地伸手去抓那根栏杆柱子,可是没有抓祝于是她想从楼梯上往下退,但落脚时感到肋部一阵剧痛,顿时头晕眼花,便骨碌碌,直跌到楼梯脚下。有生以来思嘉头一次病倒,此外就是生过几次孩子,不过那好像不算什么。那时她可没有像现在这样觉得又孤寂,又害怕,又虚弱又痛苦,而且惶惑不安。她明白自己的病情比人们说的更严重,隐隐约约意识到可能要死了。她呼吸时,那根折断的肋骨便痛得像刀扎似的,同时她的脸也破了,头了摔痛了,仿佛整个身子任凭魔鬼用火热的钳子在揪,用钝刀子在割一般;有时偶尔停一下,便觉得浑身瘫软,自己也没了着落,直到疼痛又恢复为止。不,生孩子决不是这样。那时候,在韦德、爱拉和邦妮生下来之前两个小时,她还能开心地吃东西呢。可现在,除了凉水以外,只要一想起吃的,便恶心得会吐。   怀一个孩子多么容易,可是没生下来就失掉了,却多么痛苦啊!说来奇怪,她在疼痛时一想起自己不能生下这个孩子就感到十分痛心呢。更加奇怪的是,这个孩子偏偏是她自己真正想要的一个!她想弄明白究竟为什么想要它,可是脑子太贫乏了。贫乏得除了恐惧和死亡以外,什么也无法想了。   死亡就在身边,她没有力量去面对它,并把它打回去,所以她非常害怕。她需要一个强壮的人站在她身边,拉着她的手,替她把死亡赶开,直到她恢复了足够的力量来自己进行战斗。   在痛苦中,怒气已经全部吞下肚里去了,如今她需要瑞德,可是他不在,而她又不能让自己去请他啊!   她记得起来的是在那阴暗的过厅里,在楼梯脚下,他怎样把她抱起来,他那张脸已吓得煞白,除了极大的恐惧外什么表情也没有,他那粗重的声音在呼唤嬷嬷。接着,她模模糊糊地记得她被抬上楼去,随即便昏迷了。后来,她渐渐感觉到愈来愈大的疼痛,房子里都是低低的嘈杂声,皮蒂姑妈在抽泣,米德大夫妻急地发出指示,楼梯上一片匆忙的脚步声,以及上面穿堂里摄手摄脚的动静。后来,像一道眩目的光线在眼前一闪似的,她意识到了死亡和恐惧,这使她突然拼命喊叫,呼唤一个名字,可这喊叫也只是一声低语罢了。   然而,就是这声可怜的低语立即唤起了黑暗中床边什么地方的一个回响,那是她所呼唤的那个人的亲切的声音,她用轻柔的语调答道:“我在这里,亲爱的。我一直守在这里呢。“当媚兰拿起她的手来悄悄贴在自己冰凉的面颊上时,她感到死亡和恐惧便悄悄隐退了。思嘉试着转过头来看她的脸,可是没有成功。她仿佛看见媚兰正要生孩子,而北方佬就要来了。城里已烧得满天通红,她必须赶快离开。可是媚兰要生孩子,她不能急着走呀。她必须跟她一起留下,直到孩子生下来为止,而且她得表现出十分坚强,因为媚兰需要她的力量来支持。媚兰痛得那么厉害----有些火热的钳子在揪她,钝刀子在割她,一阵阵的疼痛又回来了。她必须抓住媚兰的手。   但是,毕竟有米德大夫在这里,他来了,尽管火车站那边的士兵很需要她,因为她听见他说:“她在说胡话呢。巴特勒船长哪里去了?"那天夜里一片漆黑,接着又亮了,有时像是她在生孩子,有时又是媚兰在大声呼唤,媚兰一直守在身边,她的手很凉,可她不像皮蒂姑妈那样爱做些徒然焦急的姿态,或者轻轻哭泣。每次思嘉睁开眼睛,问一声"媚兰呢?"她都会听到媚兰声音在答话。她不时想低声说:“瑞德----我要瑞德,"同时在梦中似的记起瑞德并不要她,瑞德的脸黑得像个印第安人,他讽刺人时露出雪白的牙齿。她要瑞德,可是瑞德却不要她。   有一回她说:“她兰呢?"答话是嬷嬷的声音:“是我呢,孩子,"一面把一块冷毛巾放到她额头上。这时她烦躁地反复喊道:“媚兰-媚兰,"可媚兰很久也没有来。因为这时媚兰正在瑞德的床边,而瑞德喝醉了,在地板上斜躺着,把头伏在媚兰的膝上痛哭不止。   媚兰每次从思嘉房里出来,都看见瑞德坐在自己的床上,房门开着,观望着穿堂对面那扇门。他房里显得很凌乱,到处是香烟头和没有碰过的碟碟食品。床上也乱糟糟的,被子没铺好,他就整天坐在上面。他没有刮脸,而且突然消瘦了,只是拼命抽烟,抽个不停。他看见她时从不问她什么。她往往也只在门口站一会儿,告诉他:“很遗憾,她显得更坏了,”或者说:“不,她还没有问到你。你瞧,她正说胡话呢。"要不,她就安慰他两句:“你可不要放弃希望,巴特勒船长。我给你弄杯热咖啡,拿点吃的来吧。你这样会把自己糟蹋的。“她很可怜他,也常常为他难过,尽管她自己已经非常疲倦,非常想睡,几乎到了麻木的程度。人们怎么会说他那么卑鄙的一些坏话呢?----说他冷酷无情,粗暴,不忠实,等等,可是她却眼看他在一天天瘦下去,脸上流露着内心的极大痛苦!她虽然自己已疲惫不堪,还是在设法要比往常对他更亲切一些,只要能见到他便告诉他一些病房里的最新情况。   他多么像一个等待宣判的罪犯----我么像一个突然发现周围全是敌人的孩子。不过在媚兰眼里,谁都像个孩子。   但是,当她终于高兴地跑去告诉他思嘉好些了时,她却没有料到会发现这样的情况。瑞德床边的桌上放着半瓶威士忌酒,满屋子弥漫着刺鼻的烟酒味。他抬起头来,用呆滞的眼光望着她,尽管拼命咬紧牙关,下颚上的肌肉仍在不断颤抖。   “她死了?”   “唔,不。她好多了。”   他说:“啊,我的上帝,"随即用双手抱着头。她怜悯地守着他,看见他那副宽阔的肩膀好像打寒战似的在抖动。接着,她的怜悯渐渐变为恐惧,因为他哭起来了。媚兰从没看见男人哭过,尤其是瑞德这样的男人,那么温和,那么喜爱嘲弄,又那么永远相信自己。   他喉咙里发出的那种可怕的哽咽声把媚兰吓住了。她觉得他是喝醉了,而她最害怕是醉汉。不过当他抬起头来时,她看了一下他的眼睛,便迅速走进屋里,轻轻把门关好,然后来到他跟前。她从没看见男人哭过,但她安扶过许多哭丧着脸的孩子。她把一只温柔的手放在他肩上,这时他突然双手抱住了她的裙裾。她还不明白是怎么回事时自己已在床上坐下,他却在地板上,头枕在她膝头上,双臂和双手发疯似的紧紧抓住她,使她痛得快受不了了。   她轻轻抚摸着他那满头黑发的后脑,安慰地说:“好了!   不要紧了!她会慢慢好起来的。”   他听了以后,便抓得更紧了,同时急切而嘶哑地说起来,嘟嘟囔囔地好像在对一座神秘的坟墓唠叨什么,又好像是有生以来头一次诉说心中的真情,把自己一丝不剩地无情地暴露在媚兰面前,而媚兰开始时对这些一点也不理解,纯粹是一副母亲对孩子的态度。他一面断断续续地说着,把头愈来愈深地埋在她的膝头上,一面狠狠拉扯着她的裙裾。他的话时而模糊时而清晰,尽是些严苛而痛心的忏悔和自责,说一些她从没听过的连女人也不提起的隐情,使她听了羞涩得脸上热烘烘的,同时又对他的谦卑之情深为感动。   她拍拍他的头,就像哄小博似的,一面说:“别说了!巴特勒船长!你不能跟我说这些事!别说了!"但是他仍在滔滔不绝像激流一般倾诉着,同时紧紧抓住她的衣裳,仿佛那就是他生命的希望所在。   他指控自己做了不少坏事,但媚兰一点也不了解。他喃喃地说着贝尔•沃特琳的名字,接着狠狠地摇晃着媚兰大声喊道:“我杀死了思嘉,我把她害死了。你不明白。她本来是不要这个婴儿的,并且----"“你给我住嘴!你疯了!不要孩子?每个女人都要-"“不!不!你是要孩子的。可她不要。不要我的孩子----""你别说了!"“你不了解,她不要孩子,是我害她怀上的。这个----这个孩子----都是我的罪过呀。我们很久不同床了----"“别说了,巴特勒船长!这样不好----”“我喝醉了,头脑不清了,就存心要伤害她----因为她伤害了我。我要----我真的----可是她不要我。她从来都不要我。她从来没有,但我努力过----我尽了最大的努力----"“啊,求求你了!"“可是我并不知道这个孩子的事,直到前几天----她跌下来的时候。她不知道我在哪里,不好写信告诉我----不过她即使知道,也不会写信给我的。我告诉你----我告诉你,我本来会马上回家的----只要我知道了----也不管她要不要我回来。……"“啊,是的,我知道你会回来!"“上帝,这几个星期我人都快疯了,又疯又醉!她告诉我的时候,就在那儿楼绨上----你知道我怎么来着?我说了些什么"我笑着说:“高兴点吧。当心你可能会流产呢。而她----"媚兰突然脸色发白,两只眼睛瞪得大大的,惊慌地俯视着在她膝头上痛苦地扭动着的黑脑袋。午后的太阳光从开着的窗口斜射过来,她突然发现他那双褐色的手多么粗大,多么坚强,手背上的黑毛多么稠密。她本能地畏缩着回避它们。   但它们显得那么粗暴,那么无情,但同时又那么软弱无助地在她的裙裾里绞着,扭着。   是不是他听说并且相信了关于思嘉和艾希礼拉那个荒谬的谎言,而产生了嫉妒心呢?的确,自从那个丑闻传出以后,他便即刻离开了这座城市。不过----不,那不可能,巴特勒船长一贯是说走就走,随时可以出外旅行的。他为人十分理智,他决不可能听信那些闲言碎语。如果问题的起因真是那样,他还不设法把艾希礼毙了?或者,至少要求他们把事情说个清楚?   不,决不可能是那样。只可能是他喝醉了酒,而且精神过于紧张,像个精神错乱的人似的,结果心理失控,便说出些狂言乱语来。男人也像女人一样,是经不起精神紧张的。大概有什么事把他困住了,也许他和思嘉发生过一次的小争吵,加重了那种心理状态。也许他说的那些事情有的是真的,不过决不会全都是真的。唔,至少那最后一件事是这样,一定的!没有哪个男人会对他所热爱的女人说这种话,而这个男人又是那样热爱思嘉的。媚兰从不知道什么叫邪恶,什么叫残忍。只到现在在她算是第一次碰见了,才发现它们真是不可想像和难以置信的。   “好了!好了!"她细声细气说。"现在别说了。我懂了。"他陡地抬起头来,用那双布满血丝的眼睛仰望着她,一面狠狠地甩开她的手。   “不,上帝知道你并不了解我!你不可能了解我!因为你----因为你太善良了,而无法了解我。你不相信我,但这些全是真的,我就像是一条狗。你知道我为什么那样做吗?我是发疯了,妒忌得发疯。她一向不喜欢我,而我觉得我努力是能够使她喜欢的。但她就是喜欢。她不爱我。她从没爱过。   她爱----”   他那热烈的醉醺醺的眼光跟她的眼睛一接触,便把话立刻收住了,但嘴还张着,仿佛刚刚明白过来他是在对谁说话似的。她紧张得脸色发白,但眼光镇定而温柔、充满着怜悯不敢置信的神色。那里面包含明智和宁静,而那褐色瞳深处的天真仁爱之情更使他大为震动,仿佛给了他一记耳光似的,把他脑子里的醉意一扫而光,使他那些狂乱恣肆的话语也中途停顿了。他渐渐转入喃喃自语,眼睛开始回避着不再看她,眼睑迅速地眨动着,他显然在艰难地慢慢清醒过来了。   “我是个坏蛋,"他嘟囔着,一面疲倦地把脑袋重新埋在她的膝头上。"不过我还没有坏到很严重的地步。如果我以前告诉过你些什么,你是不会相信的,是吗?你太好了,所以不会相信我。我以前从没见过一真正好的人。你不会相信我的,是吗?"“不,我不相信你的话,"媚兰用安慰的口气说,同时又轻轻抚摸他的头发。"她会慢慢好起来的。好了,巴特勒船长!   别哭了!她会慢慢好起来的。” Chapter 57 IT WAS A PALE, thin woman that Rhett put on the Jonesboro train a month later. Wade and Ella,who were to make the trip with her, were silent and uneasy at their mother’s still, white face. Theyclung close to Prissy, for even to their childish minds there was something frightening in the cold,impersonal atmosphere between their mother and their stepfather.   Weak as she was, Scarlett was going home to Tara. She felt that she would stifle if she stayed inAtlanta another day, with her tired mind forcing itself round and round the deeply worn circle offutile thoughts about the mess she was in. She was sick in body and weary in mind and she wasstanding like a lost child in a nightmare country in which there was no familiar landmark to guideher.   As she had once fled Atlanta before an invading army, so she was fleeing it again, pressing herworries into the back of her mind with her old defense against the world: “I won’t think of it now. Ican’t stand it if I do. I’ll think of it tomorrow at Tara. Tomorrow’s another day.” It seemed that ifshe could only get back to the stillness and the green cotton fields of home, all her troubles wouldfall away and she would somehow be able to mold her shattered thoughts into something she couldlive by.   Rhett watched the train until it was out of sight and on his face there was a look of speculativebitterness that was not pleasant. He sighed, dismissed the carriage and mounting his horse, rodedown Ivy Street toward Melanie’s house.   It was a warm morning and Melanie sat on the vine-shaded porch, her mending basket piledhigh with socks. Confusion and dismay filled her when she saw Rhett alight from his horse andtoss the reins over the arm of the cast-iron negro boy who stood at the sidewalk. She had not seenhim alone since that too dreadful day when Scarlett had been so ill and he had been so—well—sodrunk. Melanie hated even to think the word. She had spoken to him only casually duringScarlett’s convalescence and, on those occasions, she had found it difficult to meet his eyes.   However, he had been his usual bland self at those times, and never by look or word showed thatsuch a scene had taken place between them. Ashley had told her once that men frequently did notremember things said and done in drink and Melanie prayed heartily that Captain Butler’s memoryhad failed him on that occasion. She felt she would rather die than learn that he remembered hisoutpourings. Timidity and embarrassment swept over her and waves of color mounted her cheeksas he came up the walk. But perhaps he had only come to ask if Beau could spend the day withBonnie. Surely he wouldn’t have the bad taste to come and thank her for what she had done thatday!   She rose to meet him, noting with surprise, as always, how lightly he walked for a big man.   “Scarlett has gone?”   “Yes. Tara will do her good,” he said smiling. “Sometimes I think she’s like the giant Antaeuswho became stronger each time he touched Mother Earth. It doesn’t do for Scarlett to stay awaytoo long from the patch of red mud she loves. The sight of cotton growing will do her more goodthan all Dr. Meade’s tonics.”   “Won’t you sit down?” said Melanie, her hands fluttering. He was so very large and male, andexcessively male creatures always discomposed her. They seem to radiate a force and vitality thatmade her feel smaller and weaker even than she was. He looked so swarthy and formidable and theheavy muscles in his shoulders swelled against his white linen coat in a way that frightened her. Itseemed impossible that she had seen all this strength and insolence brought low. And she had heldthat black head in her lap!   “Oh, dear!” she thought in distress and blushed again.   “Miss Melly,” he said gently, “does my presence annoy you? Would you rather I went away?   Pray be frank.”   “Oh!” she thought. “He does remember! And he knows how upset I am!”   She looked up at him, imploringly, and suddenly her embarrassment and confusion faded. Hiseyes were so quiet, so kind, so understanding that she wondered how she could ever have beensilly enough to be flurried. His face looked tired and, she thought with surprise, more than a littlesad. How could she have even thought he’d be ill bred enough to bring up subjects both wouldrather forget?   “Poor thing, he’s been so worried about Scarlett,” she thought, and managing a smile, she said:   “Do sit down, Captain Butler.”   He sat down heavily and watched her as she picked up her darning.   “Miss Melly, I’ve come to ask a very great favor of you and,” he smiled and his mouth twisteddown, “to enlist your aid in a deception from which I know you will shrink.”   “A—deception?”   “Yes. Really, I’ve come to talk business to you.”   “Oh, dear. Then it’s Mr. Wilkes you’d better see. I’m such a goose about business. I’m not smartlike Scarlett.”   “I’m afraid Scarlett is too smart for her own good,” he said, “and that is exactly what I want totalk to you about. You know how—ill she’s been. When she gets back from Tara she will startagain hammer and tongs with the store and those mills which I wish devoutly would explode somenight. I fear for her health, Miss Melly.”   “Yes, she does far too much. You must make her stop and take care of herself.”   He laughed.   “You know how headstrong she is. I never even try to argue with her. She’s just like a willfulchild. She won’t let me help her—she won’t let anyone help her. I’ve tried to get her to sell hershare in the mills but she won’t. And now, Miss Melly, I come to the business matter. I knowScarlett would sell the remainder of her interest in the mills to Mr. Wilkes but to no one else, and Iwant Mr. Wilkes to buy her out.”   “Oh, dear me! That would be nice but—” Melanie stopped and bit her lip. She could notmention money matters to an outsider. Somehow, despite what he made from the mill, she andAshley never seemed to have enough money. It worried her that they saved so little. She did not know where the money went. Ashley gave her enough to run the house on, but when it came toextra expenses they were often pinched. Of course, her doctors bills were so much, and then thebooks and furniture Ashley ordered from New York did run into money. And they had fed andclothed any number of waifs who slept in their cellar. And Ashley never felt like refusing a loan toany man who’d been in the Confederate Army. And—“Miss Melly, I want to lend you the money,” said Rhett“That’s so kind of you, but we might never repay it.”   “I don’t want it repaid. Don’t be angry with me, Miss Melly! Please hear me through. It willrepay me enough to know that Scarlett will not be exhausting herself driving miles to the millsevery day. The store will be enough to keep her busy and happy. ... Don’t you see?”   “Well—yes—” said Melanie uncertainly.   “You want your boy to have a pony don’t you? And want him to go to the university and toHarvard and to Europe on a Grand Tour?”   “Oh, of course,” cried Melanie, her face lighting up, as always, at the mention of Beau. “I wanthim to have everything but—well, everyone is so poor these days that—”   “Mr. Wilkes could make a pile of money out of the mills some day,” said Rhett. “And I’d like tosee Beau have all the advantages he deserves.”   “Oh, Captain Butler, what a crafty wretch you are!” she cried, smiling. “Appealing to a mother’spride! I can read you like a book.”   “I hope not,” said Rhett, and for the first time there was a gleam in his eye. “Now will you letme lend you the money?”   “But where does the deception come in?”   “We must be conspirators and deceive both Scarlett and Mr. Wilkes.”   “Oh, dear! I couldn’t!”   “If Scarlett knew I had plotted behind her back, even for her own good—well, you know hertemper! And I’m afraid Mr. Wilkes would refuse any loan I offered him. So neither of them mustknow where the money comes from.”   “Oh, but I’m sure Mr. Wilkes wouldn’t refuse, if he understood the matter. He is so fond ofScarlett.”   “Yes, I’m sure he is,” said Rhett smoothly. “But just the same he would refuse. You know howproud all the Wilkes are.”   “Oh, dear!” cried Melanie miserably, “I wish— Really, Captain Butler, I couldn’t deceive myhusband.”   “Not even to help Scarlett?” Rhett looked very hurt. “And she is so fond of you!”   Tears trembled on Melanie’s eyelids.   “You know I’d do anything in the world for her. I can never, never half repay her for what she’s done for me. You know.”   “Yes,” he said shortly, “I know what she’s done for you. Couldn’t you tell Mr. Wilkes that themoney was left you in the will of some relative?”   “Oh, Captain Butler, I haven’t a relative with a penny to bless him!”   “Then, if I sent the money through the mail to Mr. Wilkes without his knowing who sent it,would you see that it was used to buy the mills and not—well, given away to destitute ex-Confederates?”   At first she looked hurt at his last words, as though they implied criticism of Ashley, but hesmiled so understandingly she smiled back.   “Of course I will.”   “So it’s settled? It’s to be our secret?”   “But I have never kept anything secret from my husband!”   “I’m sure of that, Miss Melly.”   As she looked at him she thought how right she had always been about him and how wrong somany other people were. People had said he was brutal and sneering and bad mannered and evendishonest Though many of the nicest people were now admitting they had been wrong. Well! Shehad known from the very beginning that he was a fine man. She had never received from himanything but the kindest treatment, thoughtfulness, utter respect and what understanding! And then,how he loved Scarlett! How sweet of him to take this roundabout way of sparing Scarlett one ofthe loads she carried!   In an impulsive rush of feeling, she said: “Scarlett’s lucky to have a husband who’s so nice toher!”   “You think so? I’m afraid she wouldn’t agree with you, if she could hear you. Besides, I want tobe nice to you too, Miss Melly. I’m giving you more than I’m giving Scarlett.”   “Me!” she questioned, puzzled. “Oh, you mean for Beau.”   He picked up his hat and rose. He stood for a moment looking down at the plain, heart-shapedface with its long widow’s peak and serious dark eyes. Such an unworldly face, a face with nodefenses against life.   “No, not Beau. I’m trying to give you something more than Beau, if you can imagine that”   “No, I can’t,” she said, bewildered again. “There’s nothing in the world more precious to methan Beau except Ash—except Mr. Wilkes.”   Rhett said nothing and looked down at her, his dark face still.   “You’re mighty nice to want to do things for me, Captain Butler, but really, I’m so lucky. I haveeverything in the world any woman could want.”   “That’s fine,” said Rhett, suddenly grim. “And I intend to see that you keep them.”   When Scarlett came back from Tara, the unhealthy pallor had gone from her face and her cheekswere rounded and faintly pink. Her green eyes were alert and sparkling again, and she laughedaloud for the first time in weeks when Rhett and Bonnie met her and Wade and Ella at the depot—laughed in annoyance and amusement. Rhett had two straggling turkey feathers in the brim of hishat and Bonnie, dressed in a sadly torn dress that was her Sunday frock, had diagonal lines ofindigo blue on her cheeks and a peacock feather half as long as she was in her curls. Evidently agame of Indian had been in progress when the time came to meet the train and it was obvious fromthe look of quizzical helplessness on Rhett’s face and the lowering indignation of Mammy thatBonnie had refused to have her toilet remedied, even to meet her mother.   Scarlett said: “What a ragamuffin!” as she kissed the child and turned a cheek for Rhett’s lips.   There were crowds of people in the depot or she would never have invited this caress. She couldnot help noticing, for all her embarrassment at Bonnie’s appearance, that everyone in the crowdwas smiling at the figure father and daughter cut, smiling not in derision but in genuine amusementand kindness. Everyone knew that Scarlett’s youngest had her father under her thumb and Atlantawas amused and approving. Rhett’s great love for his child had gone far toward reinstating him inpublic opinion.   On the way home, Scarlett was full of County news. The hot, dry weather was making thecotton grow so fast you could almost hear it but Will said cotton prices were going to be low thisfall. Suellen was going to have another baby—she spelled this out so the children would notcomprehend—and Ella had shown unwonted spirit in biting Suellen’s oldest girl. Though,observed Scarlett, it was no more than little Susie deserved, she being her mother all over again.   But Suellen had become infuriated and they had had an invigorating quarrel that was just like oldtimes. Wade had killed a water moccasin, all by himself. ‘Randa and Camilla Tarleton wereteaching school and wasn’t that a joke? Not a one of the Tarletons had ever been able to spell cat!   Betsy Tarleton had married a fat one-armed man from Lovejoy and they and Hetty and JimTarleton were raising a good cotton crop at Fairhill. Mrs. Tarleton had a brood mare and a colt andwas as happy as though she had a million dollars. And there were negroes living in the old Calverthouse! Swarms of them and they actually owned it! They’d bought it in at the sheriff’s sale. Theplace was dilapidated and it made you cry to look at it. No one knew where Cathleen and her no-good husband had gone. And Alex was to marry Sally, his brother’s widow! Imagine that, afterthem living in the same house for so many years! Everybody said it was a marriage of conveniencebecause people were beginning to gossip about them living there alone, since both Old Miss andYoung Miss had died. And it had about broken Dimity Munroe’s heart. But it served her right Ifshe’d had any gumption she’d have caught her another man long ago, instead of waiting for Alexto get money enough to marry her.   Scarlett chattered cheerfully but there were many things about the County which shesuppressed,thingsthath(on) urt to think about. She had driven over the County with Will, trying not toremember when these thousands of fertile acres had stood green with cotton. Now, plantation afterplantation was going back to the forest and dismal fields of broomsedge, scrub oak and runty pineshad grown stealthily about silent ruins and over old cotton fields. Only one acre was being farmednow where once a hundred had been under the plow. It was like moving through a dead land.   “This section won’t come back for fifty years—if it ever comes back,” Will had said. Tara’s the best farm in the County, thanks to you and me, Scarlett, but it’s a farm, a two-mule farm, not aplantation. And the Fontaine place, it comes next to Tare and then the Tarletons. They ain’t makin’   much money but they’re getting’ along and they got gumption. But most of the rest of the folks,the rest of the farms—”   No, Scarlett did not like to remember the way the deserted County looked. It seemed evensadder, in retrospect beside the bustle and prosperity of Atlanta.   “Has anything happened here?” she asked when they were finally home and were seated on thefront porch. She had talked rapidly and continuously all the way home, fearing that a silence wouldfall. She had not had a word alone with Rhett since that day when she fell down the steps and shewas none too anxious to be alone with him now. She did not know how he felt toward her. He hadbeen kindness itself during her miserable convalescence, but it was the kindness of an impersonalstranger. He had anticipated her wants, kept the children from bothering her and supervised thestore and the mills. But he had never said: “I’m sorry.” Well, perhaps he wasn’t sorry. Perhaps hestill thought that child that was never born was not his child. How could she tell what went on inthe mind behind the bland dark face? But he had showed a disposition to be courteous, for the firsttime in their married life, and a desire to let life go on as though there had never been anythingunpleasant between them—as though, thought Scarlett cheerlessly, as though there had never beenanything at all between them. Well, if that was what he wanted, she could act her part too.   “Is everything all right?” she repeated. “Did you get the new shingles for the store? Did youswap the mules? For Heaven’s sake, Rhett, take those feathers out of your hat. You look a fool andyou’ll be likely to wear them downtown without remembering to take them out.”   “No,” said Bonnie, picking up her father’s hat defensively.   “Everything has gone very well here,” replied Rhett. “Bonnie and I have had a nice time and Idon’t believe her hair has been combed since you left. Don’t suck the feathers, darling, they maybe nasty. Yes, the shingles are fixed and I got a good trade on the mules. No, there’s really nonews. Everything has been quite dull.”   Then, as an afterthought he added: “The honorable Ashley was over here last night. He wantedto know if I thought you would sell him your mill and the part interest you have in his.”   Scarlett who had been rocking and fanning herself with a turkey tail fan, stopped abruptly.   “Sell? Where on earth did Ashley get the money? You know they never have a cent. Melaniespends it as fast as he makes it.”   Rhett shrugged. “I always thought her a frugal little person, but then I’m not as well informedabout the intimate details of the Wilkes family as you seem to be.”   That jab seemed in something of Rhett’s old style and Scarlett grew annoyed.   “Run away, dear,” she said to Bonnie. “Mother wants to talk to Father.”   “No,” said Bonnie positively and climbed upon Rhett’s lap.   Scarlett frowned at her child and Bonnie scowled back in so complete a resemblance to GeraldO’Hara that Scarlett almost laughed.   “Let her stay,” said Rhett comfortably. “As to where he got the money, it seems it was sent himby someone he nursed through a case of smallpox at Rock Island. It renews my faith in humannature to know that gratitude still exists.”   “Who was it? Anyone we know?”   “The letter was unsigned and came from Washington. Ashley was at a loss to know who couldhave sent it. But then, one of Ashley’s unselfish temperament goes about the world doing so manygood deeds that you can’t expect him to remember all of them.”   Had she not been so surprised at Ashley’s windfall, Scarlett would have taken up this gauntlet,although while at Tara she had decided that never again would she permit herself to be involved inany quarrel with Rhett about Ashley. The ground on which she stood in this matter was entirely toouncertain and, until she knew exactly where she stood with both men, she did not care to be drawnout.   “He wants to buy me out?”   “Yes. But Of course, I told him you wouldn’t sell.”   “I wish you’d let me mind my own business.”   “Well, you know you wouldn’t part with the mills. I told him that he knew as well as I did thatyou couldn’t bear not to have your finger in everybody’s pie, and if you sold out to him, then youwouldn’t be able to tell him how to mind his own business.”   “You dared say that to him about me?”   “Why not? It’s true, isn’t it? I believe he heartily agreed with me but of course, he was too muchof a gentleman to come right out and say so.”   “It’s a lie! I will sell them to him!” cried Scarlett angrily.   Until that moment, she had had no idea of parting with the mills. She had several reasons forwanting to keep them and their monetary value was the least reason. She could have sold them forlarge sums any time in the last few years, but she had refused all offers. The mills were the tangibleevidence of what she had done, unaided and against great odds, and she was proud of them and ofherself. Most of all, she did not want to sell them because they were the only path that lay open toAshley. If the mills went from her control it would mean that she would seldom see Ashley andprobably never see him alone. And she had to see him alone. She could not go on this way anylonger, wondering what his feelings toward her were now, wondering if all his love had died inshame since the dreadful night of Melanie’s party. In the course of business she could find manyopportune times for conversations without it appearing to anyone that she was seeking him out.   And, given time, she knew she could gain back whatever ground she had lost in his heart. But ifshe sold the mills—No, she did not want to sell but, goaded by the thought that Rhett had exposed her to Ashley inso truthful and so unflattering a light, she had made up her mind instantly. Ashley should have themills and at a price so low he could not help realizing how generous she was.   “I will sell!” she cried furiously. “Now, what do you think of that?”   There was the faintest gleam of triumph in Rhett’s eyes as he bent to tie Bonnie’s shoe string.   “I think you’ll regret it,” he said.   Already she was regretting the hasty words. Had they been spoken to anyone save Rhett shewould have shamelessly retracted them. Why had she burst out like that? She looked at Rhett withan angry frown and saw that he was watching her with his old keen, cat-at-a-mouse-hole look.   When he saw her frown, he laughed suddenly, his white teeth flashing. Scarlett had an uncertainfeeling that he had jockeyed her into this position.   “Did you have anything to do with this?” she snapped.   “I?” His brows went up in mock surprise. “You should know me better. I never go about theworld doing good deeds if I can avoid it.”   That night she sold the mills and all her interest in them to Ashley. She did not lose thereby forAshley refused to take advantage of her first low offer and met the highest bid that she had everhad for them. When she had signed the papers and the mills were irrevocably gone and Melaniewas passing small glasses of wine to Ashley and Rhett to celebrate the transaction, Scarlett feltbereft as though she had sold one of her children.   The mills had been her darlings, her pride, the fruit of her small grasping hands. She had startedwith one little mill in those black days when Atlanta was barely struggling up from ruin and ashesand want was staring her in the face. She had fought and schemed and nursed them through thedark times when Yankee confiscation loomed, when money was tight and smart men going to thewall. And now when Atlanta was covering its scars and buildings were going up everywhere andnewcomers flocking to the town every day, she had two fine mills, two lumber yards, a dozen muleteams and convict labor to operate the business at low cost Bidding farewell to them was likeclosing a door forever on a part of her life, a bitter, harsh part but one which she recalled with anostalgic satisfaction.   She had built up this business and now she had sold it and she was oppressed with the certaintythat, without her at the helm, Ashley would lose it all—everything that she had worked to build.   Ashley trusted everyone and still hardly knew a two-by-four from a six-by-eight. And now shewould never be able to give him the benefit of her advice—all because Rhett had told him that sheliked to boss everything.   “Oh, damn Rhett!” she thought and as she watched him the conviction grew that he was at thebottom of all this. Just how and why she did not know. He was talking to Ashley and his wordsbrought her up sharply.   “I suppose you’ll turn the convicts back right away,” he said.   Turn the convicts back? Why should there be any idea of turning them back? Rhett knewperfectly well that the large profits from the mills grew out of the cheap convict labor. And whydid Rhett speak with such certainty about what Ashley’s future actions would be? What did heknow of him?   “Yes, they’ll go back immediately,” replied Ashley and he avoided Scarlett’s dumbfounded gaze.   “Have you lost your mind?” she cried. “You’ll lose all the money on the lease and what kind oflabor can you get, anyway?”   “I’ll use free darkies,” said Ashley.   “Free darkies! Fiddle-dee-dee! You know what their wages will cost and besides you’ll have theYankees on your neck every minute to see if you’re giving them chicken three times a day andtucking them to sleep under eiderdown quilts. And if you give a lazy darky a couple of licks tospeed him up, you’ll hear the Yankees scream from here to Dalton and you’ll end up in jail. Why,convicts are the only—”   Melanie looked down into her lap at her twisted hands. Ashley looked unhappy but obdurate.   For a moment he was silent Then his gaze crossed Rhett’s and it was as if he found understandingand encouragement in Rhett’s eyes—a glance that was not lost on Scarlett.   “I won’t work convicts, Scarlett,” he said quietly.   “Well, sir!” her breath was taken away. “And why not? Are you afraid people will talk about youlike they do about me?”   Ashley raised his head.   “I’m not afraid of what people say as long as I’m right. And I have never felt that convict laborwas right.”   “But why—”   “I can’t make money from the enforced labor and misery of others.”   “But you owned slaves!”   “They weren’t miserable. And besides, I’d have freed them all when Father died if the warhadn’t already freed them. But this is different, Scarlett. The system is open to too many abuses.   Perhaps you don’t know it but I do. I know very well that Johnnie Gallegher has killed at least oneman at his camp. Maybe more—who cares about one convict, more or less? He said the man waskilled trying to escape, but that’s not what I’ve heard elsewhere. And I know he works men whoare too sick to work. Call it superstition, but I do not believe that happiness can come from moneymade from the sufferings of others.”   “God’s nightgown! You mean—goodness, Ashley, you didn’t swallow all the ReverendWallace’s bellowings about tainted money?”   “I didn’t have to swallow it I believed it long before he preached on it.”   “Then, you must think all my money is tainted,” cried Scarlett beginning to be angry. “Because Iworked convicts and own saloon property and—” She stopped short. Both the Wilkes lookedembarrassed and Rhett was grinning broadly. Damn him, thought Scarlett, vehemently. He’sthinking that I’m sticking my finger in other people’s pies again and so is Ashley. I’d like to cracktheir heads together! She swallowed her wrath and tried to assume an aloof air of dignity but withlittle success.   “Of course, it’s immaterial to me,” she said.   “Scarlett, don’t think I’m criticizing you! I’m not. It’s just that we look at things in differentways and what is good for you might not be good for me.”   She suddenly wished that they were alone, wished ardently that Rhett and Melanie were at theend of the earth, so she could cry out: “But I want to look at things the way you look at them! Tellme just what you mean, so I can understand and be like you!”   But with Melanie present, trembling with the distress of the scene, and Rhett lounging, grinningat her, she could only say with as much coolness and offended virtue as she could muster: “I’msure it’s your own business, Ashley, and far be it from me to tell you how to run it. But, I must say,I do not understand your attitude or your remarks.”   Oh, if they were only alone, so she would not be forced to say these cool things to him, thesewords that were making him unhappy!   “I’ve offended you, Scarlett, and I did not mean to. You must believe me and forgive me. Thereis nothing enigmatic in what I said. It is only that I believe that money which comes in certainways seldom brings happiness.”   “But you’re wrong!” she cried, unable to restrain herself any longer. “Look at me! You knowhow my money came. You know how things were before I made my money! You remember thatwinter at Tara when it was so cold and we were cutting up the carpets for shoes and there wasn’tenough to eat and we used to wonder how we were going to give Beau and Wade an education.   You remem—”   “I remember,” said Ashley tiredly, “but I’d rather forget.”   “Well, you can’t say any of us were happy then, can you? And look at us now! You’ve a nicehome and a good future. And has anyone a prettier house than mine or nicer clothes or finerhorses? Nobody sets as fine a table as me or gives nicer receptions and my children have everythingthey want. Well, how did I get the money to make it possible? Off trees? No, sir! Convictsand saloon rentals and—”   “And don’t forget murdering that Yankee,” said Rhett softly. “He really gave you your start.”   Scarlett swung on him, furious words on her lips.   “And the money has made you very, very happy, hasn’t it, darling?” he asked, poisonouslysweet.   Scarlett stopped short, her mouth open, and her eyes went swiftly to the eyes of the other three.   Melanie was almost crying with embarrassment, Ashley was suddenly bleak and withdrawn andRhett was watching her over his cigar with impersonal amusement. She started to cry out: “But ofcourse, it’s made me happy!”   But somehow, she could not speak.  一个月以后,瑞德把思嘉送上到琼斯博罗去的火车,那时她身体还没复元,显得憔悴又消瘦。韦德和爱拉跟她一起去,他们默默地看着母亲那张安静而苍白的脸。他们紧靠着百里茜,因为连他们那幼小的心灵也感觉到了,母亲和继父之间冷淡而不舍人情的气氛中有着某种可怕的东西。   思嘉尽管虚弱,但还是决定回塔拉去。她觉得如果再在亚特兰大待下去,哪怕是一天也会闷死的。因为她的心整天被迫在有关她当前处境的种种无益思索中转来转去,实在厌烦透了。她身上有病,精神上又疲惫不堪,像个在梦魇中迷惘恍惚找不到方向的孩子。   正如她曾经在入侵的敌军面前逃离亚特兰大那样,她如今又在极力逃避它,并尽力把当前的烦恼排斥脑后,并且使用了以前那种自卫的办法:“我现在什么都不去想它,否则我会受不了的。明天到了塔拉再去想吧。明天就是另一天了。"仿佛只要回到了家乡那宁静的棉花地里,她的一切烦恼便会烟消云散,她就能够将那些凌乱的破碎的思想构造成为可以享用的东西了。   瑞德望着火车驶出车站,直到看不见了为止;他脸上始终是一片苦苦思索的表情,一点也没有欢送的感觉。他叹了口气,便打发马车走了,自己跨上马沿着艾维街向媚兰家跑去。   那是个温暖的早晨,媚兰坐在葡萄藤遮荫的走廊上,身边的缝补篮里堆满了袜子。她看见瑞德下了马后,将缰绳扔给站在路边的那强壮的黑人孩子,心里便一阵惊慌,不知道怎么办好。自从那太可怕的一天----思嘉病成那样,而他又偏偏喝得烂醉以来,她一直没有单独跟他见过面。媚兰甚至不愿意去想"醉酒"这个词。在思嘉康复期间她只偶尔同他说几句话。她发现在这些场合她很不好意思接触他的眼光。不过他在那时候却像往常那样泰然自若,从没用言语眼色表露过他们之间曾发生那样一幕情景。艾希礼曾经告诉过她。男人往往记不起酒醉后说过的话和做过的事,所以媚兰衷心乞求巴特勒船长把那天的事情全部忘掉。她觉得她宁愿死也不愿知道他还记得的那天晚上的倾诉。他沿着便道走过来,她感到十分尴尬、浑身胆怯,脸上也泛起了一片红晕。   不过,他也许只是来问问小博能不能在白天跟邦妮一起玩。他总不会那样无聊,居然跑来对她那天的行为表示感谢吧!   她站起身来迎接他,像往常那样惊讶地发现,这么魁梧的一个男人走起路来竟如此轻捷。   “思嘉走了?”   “走了。塔拉对她会有好处的。"他微笑说。"有时候我觉得她就像大力士安泰那样,一接触大地母亲便变得更加有力。叫思嘉过久地离开她所爱的那片红土地,那是不可能的。   那些茂密的棉树比米德大夫的滋补药品对她更有效果呢。"“你要不要坐坐?“媚兰说,两只手在微微颤抖。他的身材那么高大魁酲,而特别魁伟的男人总是叫她惴惴不安的,他们好像在放射一种力量和旺盛的生机,使她感到自己比原来更瘦小更软弱了。他显得那么黝黑刚强,肩膀上那两堆笨重的肌肉把一件白色亚麻布上衣撑成那个样子,她看着都要胆寒。这样强壮而粗野的一个男人,她居然亲眼看见服服帖帖地伏在自己脚边,现在看来似乎是不可能的。而且,她那时还把那个满头黑发的脑袋抱在膝上呢!   “唔,天哪!"她想起来就很难过,不觉脸又红起来了。   “媚兰小姐,"他轻轻协说,"我在这里使你不安了吧?你是不是宁愿我走开?请坦白说吧。"“唔,他还记得!"她心想。"而且他还不知道我有多么不好意思呢!“她抬头望着他,好像要恳求他似的,但突然她的尴尬和惶惑都消失了。他的眼光是那么宁静,那么温和,显得那么通情达理,以致她惊讶自己怎么会那样愚蠢竟发起慌来了。他的面容看来很疲倦,而且她吃惊地觉得还很在点悲伤的神色呢。她怎么居然以为他那么缺乏教养,会把两人都宁愿忘却的事情重提起来啊!   “可怜的人,他为思嘉伤心得这样了。"她暗暗想,一面装出笑脸来对他说:“你请坐,巴特勒船长。"他沉重地坐下来,看着她把缝补的东西重新拿起来。   “媚兰小姐,我特来请求你帮个大忙,"他撇着两只嘴角微微一笑,"在一个骗局里请帮我一个忙,而且这个骗局我知道你会有点害怕的。"“一个----骗局?”“是埃说真的,我是来跟你谈一笔生意。"“唔,天哪。那你就最好去找威尔克斯先生。我对生意经可一窍不通。我没有思嘉那样精明呢。"“我是怕思嘉太精明了,反而对她自己不利,"他说,"所以我才要跟你谈这件事。你知道她----她病得多厉害。她从塔拉回来以后,就会拼命忙那家店铺和几个厂子的,因此我恨不得让它们哪个晚上给炸掉才好。我非常担心她的健康啊,媚兰小姐。"“是的,她干得也实在太过量了。你一定得让她放手并照顾自己的身体。"他笑了。   “你知道她多么固执。我从没开口跟她争论过呢。她就像个任性的孩子。她还高兴让我帮助她----不高兴任何人去帮助她。我曾经设法劝说她卖掉那几个厂子里的股份,但是她不愿意。因此,媚兰小姐,我才跟你商量来了。我知道思嘉只愿意把那几个厂里的股份卖给威尔克斯先生,别人谁也不给,所以我要威尔克斯先生去买过来。"“唔,我的天!那倒是很好,不过----"媚兰突然打住,咬着嘴唇不说了。她不能对一个局外人谈金钱上的事情。也不知怎么,无论艾希礼从那这木厂挣了多少,他们好像总是不够用。他们几乎省不下多少钱,这使她很伤脑筋。她不明白钱都用到哪去了。艾希礼给她的钱是足够日常家用的,可是一旦需要特殊开支就显得紧张了。当然,她的医药费花去不少,还有艾希礼从纽约订购的书籍和家具也是要付钱的。此处,还要给那些住宿在他家地下室里的流浪儿提供吃的穿的。   何况艾希礼这个很讲义气,凡是曾经参加过联盟军的人只要向他借钱,是从来不想拒绝的。而且----“媚兰小姐,我想把所需的那笔钱先借给你们,"瑞德说。   “你能那样就太好了,不过我们可能永远也还不清呢。"“我不要你们还。别生我的气啊,媚兰小姐!请听我把话说完。只要我知道,思嘉用不着每天辛辛苦苦,赶车跑那么远的路到厂里去,那就给我偿还得够了。那家店铺会够她忙的,也够她开心的了。……难道你还不明白吗?"“唔----明白----"媚兰犹豫不决说。   “你要给你孩子买匹小马,是不是?还要让他将来上大学,到哈佛去,参加大旅游到欧洲去?"“唔,当然了!"媚兰喊道,她总是这样,一提起小博就喜笑颜开了。"我要让他什么都有,不过----是呀,在眼睛人人都这么困难的时候----”“总有一天威尔克斯先生会凭那几个厂子赚起一大笔钱的,"瑞德说。"我很希望看到小博具备他理应得到的那些优越条件呢。"“唔,巴特勒船长,你这人真狡猾!“她微笑着大声说。   “你是在利用一个母亲的自豪心理嘛!我现在把你看得一清二楚了。"“我希望不是这样,"瑞德说,他眼睛里第一次流露出光辉。"现在说,你究竟要不要我借给你这笔钱?"”可是,这个骗局从哪儿搞起呢?"“我们要合伙同谋,骗过思嘉和威尔克斯先生两个人。"”啊,我的天!我可不能这样!"“要是思嘉知道了我在背着她搞阴谋,哪怕是为她好----那,你是知道她的脾气的!我还担心威尔克斯先生会拒绝我提供给他的任何贷款。所以他们两个谁都不能知道这笑钱是从哪里来的。"“唔,可是我相信威尔克斯先生不会拒绝,如果他明白事情真相的话。他是非常爱护思嘉的嘛。"“是的,我也相信他很爱护她。"瑞德真切地说。"不过他还是要拒绝的。你知道威尔克斯家的人都是何等的傲慢埃"“啊,我的天!"媚兰痛苦地喊道。"我但愿----说真的,巴特勒船长,我决不能欺骗我的丈夫。”“即使是为了帮助思嘉也不行吗?"瑞德显得很伤心。"可她是非常爱你的呢!"媚兰眼睛里闪烁着泪花。   “你知道,我为了她可以做世界上任何的事情。我永远永远也报答不了一半她对我的帮助。你知道。"“是的,"他坦率地说,"我知道她为你做过些什么。那你能不能告诉威尔克斯先生,说这笔钱是某一位亲属在遗嘱中留给你了?"“唔,巴特勒船长,我没有一位关属留下过一个子儿的遗产呢!"“那么,要是我通过邮局把钱寄给威尔克斯先生而不让他知道是谁寄的,你愿不愿意关照用这笔钱去买那几个木厂,而不至----嗯,随便用在那些贫困的联盟军退伍军人身上呢?"起初她对他最后两锃话感到气恼,仿佛那是在批评艾希礼,可是看见他满怀理解的笑容,也就回报他以微笑了。   “我非常愿意。”   “那就这样决定了?让我们严守这个秘密好吗?"“可是我从没对我丈夫保守过什么秘密呀!"“我深信这一点,媚兰小姐。"她望着他,觉得她一向对他的看法有多么正确,而其他那么许多人全都错了。人们说过他残忍,爱作弄人,没有礼貌,甚至还不诚实。尽管有不少公正的人现在承认他们以前错了。好啊!她可是从一开始就知道他是个好人呢。她从没受到过他别的什么待遇,只有最和善的态度,周全的考虑,绝对的尊敬,以及多么深切的理解啊!而且,他那么热爱思嘉!   他以这种迂回而妥当的办法来免除思嘉肩上的一个负担,这是多么可爱的行为啊!   有一时感情冲动之下,她说:“思嘉有一个对她这样好的丈夫,真是幸运啊!““你这样想吗?我怕她不会同意你呢,要是她听见你的话。   而且,我也要对你好,媚兰小姐。我现在给予你的比给思嘉的还要多呢。”“我?"她莫名其妙的问。"唔,你是说给小博的吧?"他拿起帽子,站起来。他默默地站了一会,俯视着媚兰那张其实的脸,额上卡着长长的V形发卡,两只黑眼睛显得十分真切。这样一张毫无尘世俗气的脸,说明她在人世间是从不设防的。   “不,不是小博。我是想给你某种比小博更重要的东西,不知你能不能想像出来。"”不,我想像不出,"她又一次感到困惑了。"这世界上再没有比小傅对我更珍贵的东西了,除了艾----除了威克斯先生。"瑞德一声不响地俯视着她,他那黝黑的脸孔显得很平静。   “你还想替我做事,这实是在太好了,巴特勒船长,不过说真的,我已经这么幸运。我拥有世界上任何女人所想要的一切呢。"“那就好了,"瑞德说,脸色突然深沉下来。"我很想看到你好好保住它们。"思嘉从塔拉回来时,她脸上的病容基本消失,面颊显得丰满而红润,那双绿眼睛也重新活泼明亮起来。瑞德带着邦妮在火车站接到了她,还有韦德和爱拉,这时她大声地笑着,好像又恼火又开心,而这是几个星期以来的头一次呢。瑞德的帽沿上插着两根抖动的火鸡毛,邦妮身上那件星期天穿的长袍已撕破了好几外,脸颊上画有两条青紫色的对角线,鬈发里插着一根有她身材一半长的孔雀翎儿。他们显然正在玩一场印第安人的游戏,恰好接火车的时间到了便中途停止,因此瑞德脸上还有一种古怪的无可奈何的表情,而嬷嬷则显得又沮丧又生气,责怪邦妮不肯把装束改变一下,就这样来接自己的母亲了。   “好一个肮脏破烂的流浪儿!"思嘉连气带笑地说,一面亲吻孩子,一面又转过脸去让瑞德亲她。车站上人太多了,不然她决不让他来这一下呢。尽管她对邦妮的模样觉得怪不好意思的,可还是注意到了,群众中几乎人人都在微笑着观赏这父女俩的化装,这种微笑毫无讥讽之意,而是出于真诚的乐趣和好感。人人都知道思嘉的这个最小的女儿完全把她父亲制服了,这一点正是亚特兰大最感兴趣和大力赞赏的。瑞德对孩子的溺爱已经远近闻名,而且逐渐恢复了他在公众舆论中的地位。   在回家的路上,思嘉滔滔不绝地谈着县里的消息。天气即热又干,使得棉花飞快成长。你几乎可以听得见它在往上蹦似的。不过威尔说,今年秋天棉价会往下落。苏伦又要生孩子了----她对这一点详加解释,只是不要让孩子们听懂----爱拉把苏伦的大女儿咬了一口,表现了极大的勇气。不过,思嘉指出,那也是小苏西自讨的,她跟她母亲完全一个样呢。可是苏伦发火了,结果像过去那样,她和思嘉大吵了一架。韦德打死了一条水蛇,全是他一个人打的。塔泉顿家和兰达和卡米拉在学校教书,这不是开玩笑吗?他们家无论是谁连"猫"字也写不出呢!贝特西•塔尔顿嫁给了一个从洛无乔伊来的独臂的胖男人。他们和赫蒂、吉姆一起在费尔希尔种了一片很好的棉花。塔尔顿太太养了一匹母马和一只马驹,像当了百成富翁似的高兴。卡尔弗特家的老房子已经住上黑人了!他们成群结队,实际已成为那里的主人了!他们是在拍卖会上把房子买下来的,不过它们已经歪歪倒倒了,叫你看着都要害怕呢。谁也不知道凯瑟琳和她那不中用的丈夫到哪里去了。而亚历克斯正准备跟他兄弟的寡妇萨莉结婚呢!想想看。他们在同一所房子里住了那么多年呀!自从老姑娘和少姑娘去世以后,人们对于他俩单独住在那里就开始有闲话了,所以大家都说这是一桩现成的婚事。这差一点使迪米蒂•芒罗伤心透了。不过她也是活该。她要是有点勇气,本来早能够找到别的男人,何必等待亚历克斯攒够了钱再来娶她呢。   思嘉谈得很起劲,不过还有许多事她隐瞒着没有谈,那是些想起来就伤心的事情。她和威尔赶着车到县里各人地方跑了一趟,也不想去回忆什么时候这成千上万英亩肥沃的田地都种着茂密的棉花。现在,一个接一个的农场已荒废成林地了,同时那些寂无人烟的废墟周围和原来种植棉花的地里也悄悄长满了小小的橡树和松树以及大片大片的扫帚草。原有的耕地如今只有百分之一还在种植。他们的马车就像是荒野在中穿行似的。   “这个地区还有恢复的一天,那也得50年以后了,"威尔克斯曾经说过。"由于你我二人的努力,使塔拉算县里最好的一个农场,也不过只是使用两头骡子的农场,而不是大的垦植常其次是方丹家,再其次才是塔尔顿家。他们赚不了多少钱,但能够维持下去,而且也有这个勇气。不过其余的大部分人家,其余的农场就----"不,思嘉不喜欢去回想县里的荒凉景象。跟亚特兰大这繁荣热闹场面的对比下,想起来就更叫人伤心了。   “这里有什么事情吗?"她回到家里,在前院走廊上坐下来,便开始询问。他一路上滔滔不断地谈着,生怕现在要静默了。自从她在楼梯上跌倒那天以来,她还没有跟瑞德单独说过话,而且现在也不怎么想同他单独在一起。她不知道他近来对她的感觉如何。在她养病的那个艰苦时期,他是极其温和的,不过那好像是一种陌生的人温和而已。那时他总是预先设想到她需要什么,设法使孩子不打扰她。并替她照管店铺和木厂。可是他从没说过:“我很抱歉。"唔,也许他并不感到歉疚呢。也许他仍然觉得那个没有出生的孩子不是他的呢。她怎么能知道在那副温柔的黑面孔背后他心里究竟想的什么呢?不过他毕竟表现了一种要谦恭有礼的意向,这在他们结婚以来还是头一次,也好像很希望就那样生活下去,仿佛他们之间从没发生任何不愉快的事----仿佛,她闷闷不乐地想,仿佛他们之间根本什么事也没有似的,唔,如果他要的就是这个,那她也可以干她自己的嘛。   “一切都好吧?"她重复问:“店铺要的新瓦运来了吗?骡子换了没有?看在上帝面上,瑞德,把你帽子的羽毛拿下来吧。你这样子多傻气,并且你要是忘记拿掉,你就很可能戴着它们上街了。"“不,"邦妮说,一面把她父亲的帽子拿过来,好像要保护它似的。   “这里一切都很好,"瑞德回答说。"邦妮跟我过得很开心,不过我想自从你走了以后她的头发一直没梳过呢。别去啃那些羽毛,宝贝,它们可能很脏呀。瓦已经准备好了,骡子也交换得很合算。至于新闻,可真的什么也没有。一切都沉闷得很。"接着,好像事后才想起似的,他又补充说:“昨天晚上那位可敬的艾希礼到这边来了。他想知道我是不是认为你会把你的木厂和你在他那个厂子里占有的股份卖给他。"思嘉正坐在摇椅上前后摇晃,手里挥动着一把火鸡毛扇子,她听了这话立即停住了。   “卖给他?艾希礼哪来的钱呀?你知道他们家从来是一个子儿也没有的。他得多快媚兰就花得多快呢。”   瑞德耸了耸肩。"我一直还以为她是很节俭的,不过我并不如你那样很了解威尔克斯家的底细呢。"这是一句带刺儿的话,看来瑞德的老脾气还没有改掉,因此思嘉有点恼火了。   “你走开吧,亲爱的,"她对邦妮说。"让妈跟爹谈谈。"“不,"邦妮坚决地说,同时爬到瑞德的膝头上。   思嘉对孩子皱了皱眉头,帮妮也回敬她一个怒容,那神气与杰拉尔德•奥哈拉一模一样,使得思嘉忍不住笑了。   “让她留下吧,"瑞德惬意地说。"至于他从哪里弄来的这笔钱,那好像是他大罗克艾兰护理过的一个出天花的人寄来的。这使我恢复了对人性的信念,知恩必报的人还是有的。”“那个人是谁?是我们认识的吗?"“信上没有署名,是从华盛顿寄来的。艾希礼也想不出究竟寄钱的人是谁。不过艾希礼的无私品质已经举世闻名,他做了那么多的好事,你不能希望他全都记得呀。"思嘉要不是对艾希礼的意外收获感到无比惊讶,她本来是会接受瑞德的挑战的,尽管在塔拉时她下定了决心再也不容许自己跟瑞德发生有关艾希礼的争吵了。在这件事情上她的立场还是非常不明确的,因此在她完全弄清楚究竟要站在他们哪一方面之前,她不想说出自己的意见。   “他想把我的股份买过去?”   “对了。不过当然喽,我告诉他你是不会卖的。"“我倒希望你让我自己来管自己的事情。"“可是,你知道你不会放弃那两个厂子。我对他说,他跟我一样清楚,你要是不对得个人的事都插一手是受不了的,那么如果你把股份卖给了他,你就不能再叫他去管好他自己的事了。"“你竟敢在他面前这样说我吗?"“怎么不呢?这是真的嘛,是不是?我相信他完全同意我的话,不过,当然,他这个人太讲礼貌了,是不会直截了当这样说的。"“你全都是瞎说!我愿意卖给他。"思嘉愤愤的地喊道。   直到这个时刻为止,她从来没有要卖掉那两个厂子的念头。她有好几个理由要保留它们,经济价值只是其中最小的一个。过去几年里她随时可以把它们卖到很高的价钱,但是她拒绝了所有的开价。这两个木厂是她的成就的具体证明,而她的成就是在无人帮助和排除万难的情况下取得的,因此她为它们和自己感到骄傲。最重要的是,由于它们是艾希礼联系的唯一途径,她决不能把它们卖掉。因为它们脱离了她的控制,那就意味着她很难见到艾希礼了。可是她需要单独见他呀。她再也不能这样下去了,整天考虑他对她的感情究竟怎样,思忖着自从媚兰举行宴会的那个可怕的晚上以来,他的全部的爱是不是在羞辱中消失了。而在经营那两家厂子时她能找到许多适当的机会跟他交谈,也不致让人们觉得她是在追求他。并且,只要有时间,她相信她能够重新取得她在他心目中曾经占有的那个位置。可是,她如果卖掉这两家厂子----不,她不想卖,但是,她一想到瑞德已经那么真实而坦率地把她暴露在艾希礼面前,就觉得问题值得重视了,于是立即下了决心。艾希礼应当得到那两个厂子,而且价钱应当是相低的程度,让他明白她是多么慷慨。   “我愿意卖!"她愤愤地嚷道。"现在,你觉得怎么样?"瑞德眼睛里隐隐流露出得意的神色,一面弯腰给邦妮系鞋带。   “我想你会后悔的,"他说。   其实她已经在后悔刚才那句话说得太轻率太性急了。如果不是对瑞德而是对别人说的,她可以厚着脸皮收回来。她怎么会这样脱口而出呢?她满脸怒容地看看瑞德,只见他正用往常那种老猫守着耗子洞的锐利的眼光望着她。他看见她的怒容,便突然露出雪白的牙齿大笑起来。思嘉模糊地感觉到是瑞德把她引进这个圈套了。   “你跟这件事有没有什么关系呢?"她冷不及防地问他。   “我?"他竖起眉头假装吃惊地反问。"你应当对我更清楚嘛。我这个人只要能够避免是从来不随便到处行好的。"那天晚上她把两家木厂和她的里面所占的全部股份卖给了艾希礼。在这笔买卖中她没有损失什么,因为艾希礼拒绝了她最初所定的低价,而是以曾经获得过的最高出价买下来。   她在单据上签了字,于这两家厂子便一去不复返了。接着,媚兰递给艾希礼和瑞德每人一小杯葡萄酒,祝贺这桩交易。思嘉感到自己若有所失,就像卖掉了她的一个孩子似的。   那两家木厂是她心爱的宝贝,他的骄傲,她那两只抓得很紧的小手的辛勤果实。她是以一个小小的锯木厂惨淡经营起家的。那时亚特兰大刚刚挣扎着从废墟中站起来,她面临着穷困的威胁,而北方佬的没收政策已隐约出现,银根很紧,能干的人到处碰壁。在这些所有艰苦的条件下,她拼命奋斗,苦心筹划,将两个厂子经营并发殿起来。如今亚特兰大已在整治自己的创伤,新的建筑到处出现,外地人每天成批地拥地进城来,而她有了两家很不错的木厂,两个木料厂,十多支骡队,还有一批罪犯劳工廉价供她役使。这时候向它们告别,就像是将她生活的一个部分永远关起门来,而这个部分尽管又痛苦又严峻,但回想起来却叫无限留恋,并从中得到最大的满足。   她办起了这桩事业,现在却全部把它卖掉,而最使她不安的是如果没有她来经管,艾希礼会丧失这一切----她好不容易才建立起来的一切。艾希礼对谁都信任,加上至今还不怎么懂得事物的轻重利弊。可现在她再也不能给他出主意想办法了----因为瑞德已经告诉他,说她就是爱指挥别人。   “啊,该死的瑞德!”她心中暗暗骂,一面观察着他,越发肯定他是这整个事件的幕后策划者了。至于他是为什么和怎样在策划的,她一点也不清楚。他此刻正在同艾希礼谈话,她一听便立即警觉起来。   “我想你会马上把那些犯人打发回去吧?"他说。   把犯人打发回去?怎么会想要把他们打发走呀?瑞德明明知道这两个厂子的大部分利润是从廉价的犯人劳动中得来的。他怎么会用这样肯定的口吻来谈论艾希礼今后要采取的措施呢?他了解他什么了?   “是的,他们将立即回去,"艾希礼回答说,他显然在回避思嘉惊惶失色的眼光。   “你是不是疯了?"她大声嚷道。"你会丢掉租约上规定的那笔钱呢,而且你又找什么样的劳力去?"“我要用自由黑人,"艾希礼说。   “自由黑人!简直是胡闹!你知道他们的工作该付多少,而且你还会让北方佬经常盯着你,看你是不是每天给他们吃三顿鸡肉,是不是给他们盖鸭绒被子睡觉。而且如果你在一个懒黑鬼身上打两下,催他动作快一点,你就会听到北方佬大嚷大叫,闹翻了天,结果你得在监狱里蹲一辈子。要知道,只有犯人才是----"媚兰低头瞧着自己的衣襟里绞扭着的那两只手。艾希礼表示很不高兴,但毫无让步的意思。他沉默了一会,然后跟瑞德交换了一个眼色,仿佛从中得到了理解和鼓励,但同时思嘉也看出来了。   “我不想用犯人,思嘉,"他平静地说。   “那好吧,先生!"她气冲冲地说。"可是为什么不呢?你害怕人家会像议论我那样议论你吗?"艾希礼抬起头来。   “只要我做得对,就不怕人家议论。可我从来不认为使用犯人劳力是正当的。““但是为什么----"“我不能从别人的强制劳动和痛苦中赚钱埃"“但是你从前也有过奴隶呢!"”可他们并不痛苦。而且,如果不是战争已经把他们解放了,我原来也准备在父亲死后让他们自由的。可是这件事却不一样,思嘉。也许你不了解,可我是了解的。这种制度引起的弊病实在太多。我知道得很清楚,约翰尼•加勒格尔在他的工棚里至少杀了一个人。可能更多----多也罢,少也罢,谁关心一个犯人的死活呢?据他说,那个人是想逃路才被杀的,可是我从别处听到的却并非如此。我还知道,他强迫那病得很重无法劳动的人去劳动。就说这是迷信,我还是相信从别人痛苦中赚来的钱,是不可能带来幸福的。"“天哪!你的意思是----要仁慈,艾希礼,你有没有把华莱士神父关于肮脏钱的那番吼叫都吞到肚里去了?““我用不着去吞它。早在他宣讲之前我就相信了。"“那么,你一定以为我的钱全是肮脏的了,"思嘉嚷着,她开始发火了。"因为我使用犯人,还拥有一家酒馆的产权,而且----"她忽然停顿下来,威尔克斯夫妇都显得很难为情,瑞德却咧嘴嘻嘻笑着。思嘉气得在心大骂:这个人真该死?他一定以为我又要插手别人的事了,可能艾希礼也这样想呢。我恨不得把他们两人的头放在一起扎碎!她抑制着满腔怒火,想装出一副若无其事的样子来,但是装得不怎么像。   “当然,这不关我的事,"她说。   “思嘉,你可别以为我是在批评你!我不是这个意思。只不过我们对事物的看法不一样,而对你适用的东西不一定适合于我。"她突然希望同他单独在一起,突然迫切地希望瑞德和媚兰远在天涯海角,好让她能够大声喊出:“可是我愿意用你对事物的看法来看待事物!请你说出你的意思,让我心里明白并且学你那样做呢?“可是媚兰在场,似乎对这个令人难堪的场面十分害怕,而瑞德却在懒洋洋半咧着嘴笑她,这使她只好以尽可能冷静和容忍的口气说:“我很清楚这是你自己的事业,艾希礼,所以根本用不着我来告诉你该怎么经营。不过,我必须说,我对于你的这种态度和刚才那番议论是不能理解的。"唔,要是他们两人单独在一起,她就不会说出这些冷冰冰的话了,这些话一定使他很不高兴呢!   “我得罪了你,思嘉,可我的本意并不是这样。你一定得理解我,原谅我。我说的那些话里没有什么值得怀疑的地方。   我只是说,用某些手段弄到的钱是很少能带来幸福的。"“但是你错了!"她喊道,她再也无法克制住自己。"你看我!你知道我的钱是怎么来的。你知道我挣到的这些钱以前是什么样的处境呀!你还记得那年冬天在塔拉,天气那么冷,我们只好剪下地毯来做毡鞋,我们吃不饱,而且时常担心将来怎么让小博和韦德受到教育。你记得----"“我记得,"艾希礼不耐烦地说,"不过我宁愿忘掉。"“那么,你就不能说当时我们谁是愉快的了,是吗?可现在你瞧瞧我们!你有了一个美满的家庭和一个美好的未来,而且,谁有比我更体面的住宅,更漂亮的衣服和更出色的马匹呢?谁也摆不出一桌更丰盛的饭菜,举行不起更豪华的招待会,同时我的孩子们也应有尽有。那么,我是怎么弄来的钱办这许多事呢?从树上掉来的吗?不,先生!犯人和酒馆租金和----"“请不要忘另还杀过一个北方佬,"瑞德轻轻地说。"他的确给你起家的本钱呢。"思嘉陡地转向他,咒骂的话已到了嘴边。   “而且那笔钱还使你非常非常幸福,是不是,亲爱的?"他恶狠狠地但又装出甜蜜的口吻问他。   思嘉一时无话可答,眼睛迅速转向其他三个人,仿佛向他们求援。这时媚兰难过得快要哭了,艾希礼也突然变 Chapter 58 IN THE TIME that followed her illness Scarlett noticed a change in Rhett and she was notaltogether certain that she liked it. He was sober and quiet and preoccupied. He was at home more often for supper now and he was kinder to the servants and more affectionate to Wade and Ella. Henever referred to anything in their past, pleasant or otherwise, and silently seemed to dare her tobring up such subjects. Scarlett held her peace, for it was easier to let well enough alone, and lifewent on smoothly enough, on the surface. His impersonal courtesy toward her that had begunduring her convalescence continued and he did not fling softly drawled barbs at her or sting herwith sarcasm. She realized now that though he had infuriated her with his malicious comments androused her to heated rejoinders, he had done it because he cared what she did and said. Now shewondered if he cared about anything she did. He was polite and disinterested and she missed hisinterest, perverse though it had been, missed the old days of bickering and retort.   He was pleasant to her now, almost as though she were a stranger; but, as his eyes had oncefollowed her, they now followed Bonnie. It was as though the swift flood of his life had beendiverted into one narrow channel. Sometimes Scarlett thought that if Rhett had given her one-halfthe attention and tenderness he lavished on Bonnie, life would have been different. Sometimes itwas hard to smile when people said: “How Captain Butler idolizes that child!” But, if she did notsmile, people would think it strange and Scarlett hated to acknowledge, even to herself, that shewas jealous of a little girl, especially when that little girl was her favorite child. Scarlett alwayswanted to be first in the hearts of those around her and it was obvious now that Rhett and Bonniewould always be first with each other.   Rhett was out late many nights but he came home sober on these nights. Often she heard himwhistling softly to himself as he went down the hall past her closed door. Sometimes men camehome with him in the late hours and sat talking in the dining room around the brandy decanter.   They were not the same men with whom he had drunk the first year they were married. No richCarpetbaggers, no Scalawags, no Republicans came to the house now at his invitation. Scarlett,creeping on tiptoe to the banister of the upstairs hall, listened and, to her amazement, frequentlyheard the voices of René Picard, Hugh Rising, the Simmons boys and Andy Bonnell. And alwaysGrandpa Merriwether and Uncle Henry were there. Once, to her astonishment, she heard the tonesof Dr. Meade. And these men had once thought hanging too good for Rhett!   This group was always linked in her mind with Frank’s death, and the late hours Rhett keptthese days reminded her still more of the times preceding the Klan foray when Frank lost his life.   She remembered with dread Rhett’s remark that he would even join their damned Klan to be respectable,though he hoped God would not lay so heavy a penance on his shoulders. SupposeRhett, like Frank—One night when he was out later than usual she could stand the strain no longer. When she heardthe rasp of his key in the lock, she threw on a wrapper and, going into the gas lit upper hall, methim at the top of the stairs. His expression, absent, thoughtful, changed to surprise when he sawher standing there.   “Rhett, I’ve got to know! I’ve got to know if you—if it’s the Klan—is that why you stay out solate? Do you belong—”   In the flaring gas light he looked at her incuriously and then he smiled.   “You are way behind the times,” he said. “There is no Klan in Atlanta now. Probably not inGeorgia. You’ve been listening to the Klan outrage stories of your Scalawag and Carpetbagger friends.”   “No Klan? Are you lying to try to soothe me?”   “My dear, when did I ever try to soothe you? No, there is no Klan now. We decided that it didmore harm than good because it just kept the Yankees stirred up and furnished more grist for theslander mill of his Excellency, Governor Bullock. He knows he can stay in power just so long ashe can convince the Federal government and the Yankee newspapers that Georgia is seething withrebellion and there’s a Klansman hiding behind every bush. To keep in power he’s beendesperately manufacturing Klan outrage stories where none exist, telling of loyal Republicansbeing hung up by the thumbs and honest darkies lynched for rape. But he’s shooting at anonexistent target and he knows it. Thank you for your apprehensions, but there hasn’t been anactive Klan since shortly after I stopped being a Scalawag and became an humble Democrat.”   Most of what he said about Governor Bullock went in one ear and out the other for her mindwas mainly occupied with relief that there was no Klan any longer. Rhett would not be killed asFrank was killed; she wouldn’t lose her store or his money. But one word of his conversation swamto the top of her mind. He had said “we,” linking himself naturally with those he had once calledthe “Old Guard.”   “Rhett” she asked suddenly, “did you have anything to do with the breaking up of the Klan?”   He gave her a long look and his eyes began to dance. “My love, I did. Ashley Wilkes and I aremainly responsible.”   “Ashley—and you?”   “Yes, platitudinously but truly, politics make strange bedfellows. Neither Ashley nor I caredmuch for each other as bedfellows but— Ashley never believed in the Klan because he’s againstviolence of any sort. And I never believed in it because it’s damned foolishness and not the way toget what we want. It’s the one way to keep the Yankees on our necks till Kingdom Come. And betweenAshley and me, we convinced the hot heads that watching, waiting and working would getus further than nightshirts and fiery crosses.”   “You don’t mean the boys actually took your advice when you—”   “When I was a speculator? A Scalawag? A consorter with Yankees? You forget Mrs. Butler, thatI am now a Democrat in good standing, devoted to my last drop of blood to recovering our belovedstate from the hands of her ravishers! My advice was good advice and they took it. My advice inother political matters is equally good. We have a Democratic majority in the legislature now,haven’t we? And soon, my love, we will have some of our good Republican friends behind thebars. They are a bit too rapacious these days, a bit too open.”   “You’d help put them in jail? Why, they were your friends! They let you in on that railroad-bondbusiness that you made thousands out of!”   Rhett grinned suddenly, his old mocking grin.   “Oh, I bear them no ill will. But I’m on the other side now and if I can assist in any way inputting them where they belong, I’ll do it. And how that will redound to my credit! I know justenough about the inside of some of these deals to be very valuable when the legislature starts digging into them—and that won’t be far off, from the way things look now. They’re going toinvestigate the governor, too, and they’ll put him in jail if they can. Better tell your good friendsthe Gelerts and the Hundons to be ready to leave town on a minute’s notice, because if they cannab the governor, they’ll nab them too.”   For too many years Scarlett had seen the Republicans, backed up by the force of the YankeeArmy, in power in Georgia to believe Rhett’s light words. The governor was too stronglyentrenched for any legislature to do anything to him, much less put him in jail.   “How you do run on,” she observed.   “If he isn’t put in jail, at least he won’t be reelected. We’re going to have a Democratic governornext time, for a change.”   “And I suppose you’ll have something to do with it?” she questioned sarcastically.   “My pet, I will. I am having something to do with it now. That’s why I stay out so late at nights.   I’m working harder than I ever worked with a shovel in the gold rush, trying to help get theelection organized. And—I know this will hurt you, Mrs. Butler, but I am contributing plenty ofmoney to the organization, too. Do you remember telling me, years ago, in Frank’s store, that itwas dishonest for me to keep the Confederate gold? At last I’ve come to agree with you and theConfederate gold is being spent to get the Confederates back into power.”   “You’re pouring money down a rat hole!”   “What! You call the Democratic party a rat hole?” His eyes mocked her and then were quiet,expressionless. “It doesn’t matter a damn to me who wins this election. What does matter is thateveryone knows I’ve worked for it and that I’ve spent money on it. And that’ll be remembered inBonnie’s favor in years to come.”   “I was almost afraid from your pious talk that you’d had a change of heart, but I see you’ve gotno more sincerity about the Democrats than about anything else.”   “Not a change of heart at all. Merely a change of hide. You might possibly sponge the spots off aleopard but he’d remain a leopard, just the same.”   Bonnie, awakened by the sound of voices in the hall, called sleepily but imperiously: “Daddy!”   and Rhett started past Scarlett.   “Rhett, wait a minute. There’s something else I want to tell you. You must stop taking Bonniearound with you in the afternoons to political meetings. It just doesn’t look well. The idea of a littlegirl at such places! And it makes you look so silly. I never dreamed that you took her until UncleHenry mentioned it, as though he thought I knew and—”   He swung round on her and his face was hard.   “How can you read wrong in a little girl sitting on her father’s lap while he talks to friends? Youmay think it looks silly but it isn’t silly. People will remember for years that Bonnie sat on my lapwhile I helped run the Republicans out of this state. People will remember for years—” Thehardness went out of his face and a malicious light danced in his eyes. “Did you know that whenpeople ask her who she loves best, she says ‘Daddy and the Demiquats,’ and who she hates most,she says: ‘The Scallywags.’ People, thank God, remember things like that”   Scarlett’s voice rose furiously. “And I suppose you tell her I’m a Scalawag!”   “Daddy!” said the small voice, indignant now, and Rhett, still laughing, went down the hall tohis daughter.   That October Governor Bullock resigned his office and fled from Georgia. Misuse of publicfunds, waste and corruption had reached such proportions during his administration that the edificewas toppling of its own weight. Even his own party was split, so great had public indignationbecome. The Democrats had a majority in the legislature now, and that meant just one thing.   Knowing that he was going to be investigated and fearing impeachment, Bullock did not wait. Hehastily and secretly decamped, arranging that his resignation would not become public until he wassafely in the North.   When it was announced, a week after his flight, Atlanta was wild with excitement and joy.   People thronged the streets, men laughing and shaking hands in congratulation, ladies kissing eachother and crying. Everybody gave parties in celebration and the fire department was kept busyfighting the flames that spread from the bonfires of jubilant small boys.   Almost out of the woods! Reconstruction’s almost over! to be sure, the acting governor was aRepublican too, but the election was coming up in December and there was no doubt in anyone’smind as to what the result would be. And when the election came, despite the frantic efforts of theRepublicans, Georgia once more had a Democratic governor.   There was joy then, excitement too, but of a different sort from that which seized the town whenBullock took to his heels. This sober heartfelt joy, a deep-souled feeling of thanksgiving,andthechurcheswerefill(was) ed(a) asmin(more) isters reverently thanked God for the deliveranceof the state. There was pride too, mingled with the elation and joy, pride that Georgia was back inthe hands of her own people again, in spite of all the administration in Washington could do, inspite of the army, the Carpetbaggers, the Scalawags and the native Republicans.   Seven times Congress had passed crushing acts against the state to keep it a conquered province,three times the army had set aside civil law. The negroes had frolicked through the legislature,grasping aliens had mismanaged the government, private individuals had enriched themselvesfrom public funds. Georgia had been helpless, tormented, abused, hammered down. But now, inspite of them all, Georgia belonged to herself again and through the efforts of her own people.   The sudden overturn of the Republicans did not bring joy to everyone. There was consternationin the ranks of the Scalawags, the Carpetbaggers and the Republicans. The Gelerts and Hundons,evidently apprised of Bullock’s departure before his resignation became public, left town abruptly,disappearing into that oblivion from which they had come. The other Carpetbaggers andScalawags who remained were uncertain, frightened, and they hovered together for comfort,wondering what the legislative investigation would bring to light concerning their own privateaffairs. They were not insolent now. They were stunned, bewildered, afraid. And the ladies whocalled on Scarlett said over and over:   “But who would have thought it would turn out this way? We thought the governor was toopowerful. We thought he was here to stay. We thought—”   Scarlett was equally bewildered by the turn of events, despite Rhett’s warning as to the directionit would take. It was not that she was sorry Bullock had gone and the Democrats were back again.   Though no one would have believed it she, too, felt a grim happiness that the Yankee rule was atlast thrown off. She remembered all too vividly her struggles during those first days ofReconstruction, her fears that the soldiers and the Carpetbaggers would confiscate her money andher property. She remembered her helplessness and her panic at her helplessness and her hatred ofthe Yankees who had imposed this galling system upon the South. And she had never stoppedhating them. But, in trying to make the best of things, in trying to obtain complete security, she hadgone with the conquerors. No matter how much she disliked them, she had surrounded herself withthem, cut herself off from her old friends and her old ways of living. And now the power of theconquerors was at an end. She had gambled on the continuance of the Bullock regime and she hadlostAs she looked about her, that Christmas of 1871, the happiest Christmas the state had known inover ten years, she was disquieted. She could not help seeing that Rhett, once the most execratedman in Atlanta, was now one of the most popular, for he had humbly recanted his Republicanheresies and given his time and money and labor and thought to helping Georgia fight her wayback. When he rode down the streets, smiling, tipping his hat, the small blue bundle that wasBonnie perched before him on his saddle, everyone smiled back, spoke with enthusiasm andlooked with affection on the little girl. Whereas, she, Scarlett—   自从思嘉生了那场病以后,她感觉到瑞德的态度发生了变化,她说不准自己对这种变化是否喜欢。他变得清醒了,安静了,有时还有点心神不定似的。他现在时常回家吃晚饭,对仆人更和气,对韦德和爱拉也更亲热了。他从来不提过去的事,无论是愉快的或不愉快的,而且常常以沉默的态度让思嘉也不要提起。思嘉也乐得安静,因为相安无事总是比较好的,所以生活过得十分愉快顺畅,至少表面上是如此。从她养病期间开始,瑞德就对她保持一种一般的殷勤态度,现在还是这样。他不再用拉长的声调和柔和而略显嘲弄的口气对她说话,也不用辛辣的讽刺来折磨她。她现在才明白,尽管他过去用恶言恶语来激怒她,使得她作出强烈的反应,但他之所以要那样做,毕竟是由于关心她的所作所为。可如今他还关心她的事吗?那就很难说了。他显得客气而谈漠。可她却很怀念他以前的那种关心,即使叫你感到别扭也好。她怀念过去那种吵吵嚷嚷的日子。   现在他很能使她高兴了,几乎像个客人似的;但是正如他过去整天盯着思嘉一刻也不放松那样,现在却整天盯着邦妮了。仿佛他的生活的洪流被引入了一条狭窄的河道。有时思嘉觉得,只要他把倾注在邦妮身上的心血和疼爱分一半给她,生活就会不一样了。只要听到人家说:“巴特勒船长多么宠爱那个孩子呀!"她就万分感慨,连笑都笑不出来了。可是,她要是不笑,人们就会觉得奇怪,而思嘉甚至对自己也决不承认她会妒忌一个小女孩,何况这女孩还是她的亲生呢。思嘉一贯是要在周围每个人心目中占居第一位的,但现在很明显,瑞德和邦妮已经在彼此的心中互占第一位了。   瑞德有时一连几夜回来得很晚,但回来时并没有喝醉。她常常听见他轻轻地吹着口哨经过她那关着的房门向穿堂走去。有他在深夜带着几个人一道回来,然后坐在饭厅里饮酒谈笑。这并不是他婚后头一年时常来喝酒的那些人。现在他邀请来家的人中已没有提包党人,没有拥护共和党的南部白人,也没有共和党分子了。思嘉每每手脚到楼道栏杆边去听他们谈话,并且时常惊异地听到雷内•皮卡德、休•埃尔辛、安迪•邦内尔以及西蒙斯兄弟的声音。梅里韦瑟爷爷和和亨利叔叔也常常在内。有一次她还大为吃惊地听见米德大夫的声音。这些人本来都认为瑞德是罪该万死的呢!   这一群人在思嘉心中是永远跟弗兰克的死连在一起的,而且近来瑞德回家很晚,这叫她更加想起三K党作案和弗兰克丧命以前好几次的情况。她惊惶地记起,瑞德曾说过他甚至想参加该死的三K党来挤进上流社会呢,尽管他也希望上帝不要给他一个那么严厉的惩罚。假使瑞德也像弗兰克那样----有天夜里比平常更晚了,他还没有回来,她紧张得实在受不了了。等到听见他在开房门锁时,她披上围巾。走进点着灯的楼上穿堂里,在楼梯顶上碰见了他。他一见她站在那里,那茫然沉思的面容就变了。   “瑞德,我一定要知道!瑞德,我一定要知道,你是不是----是不是因为三K党----所以才这么晚回来?你是不是加入----"在耀眼的灯光下,他好奇地望着她,接着便不禁笑了。   “你已经远远落在时代后面了,"他说。"现在亚特兰大已经没有三K党了。也许并非全佐治亚都是这样。你是不是听你那些白人渣滓和提包党朋友讲三K党作恶的故事,听得太多了。"“没有三K党?你这是在说假话安慰我吧?"“亲爱的,我几时想安慰过你?不,真的没有三K党了。   我们肯定它弊多利少,因为那只能引起北方佬经常骚扰不休,同时给州长大人布洛克提供更多有用的资料。他明白只要能使联邦政府、北方佬新闻界相信佐治亚还在准备叛乱,还到处潜伏着三K党,他就可以安安稳稳地继续当他的州长。为了达到继续当权的目的,他一直在无中生有地拼命编造三K党暴行的故事,说忠庆的共和党人怎么被暗暗吊死,老实的黑人怎样以强奸的罪名被处以私刑。但所有这些都暗胡编乱造,他自己也很清楚。多谢你的担心,不过,在我不再拥护共和党而成为一个恭顺的民主党人以后不久,就没有三K党的活动了。"他所说的关于布洛克州长的那些话,思嘉一只耳朵进,一只耳出,因为她的心思全都集中在三K党的问题上,只要不再有三K党她就放心了。瑞德就不会再像弗兰那样丧命了;她也不会丢掉她的店铺和他的那些钱了。但是,他说的有一个词却引起了她的特别的注意。她说过"我们",这不就把他自己跟那些他以前称为"老团兵"的人自然地连在一起了吗?   “瑞德,"她突然部,"你跟三K党的解散有没有关系呢?"他看了她好一会,两只眼睛又飞舞起来。   “亲爱的,有关系呢。艾希礼•威尔克斯和我负有主要责任。"“艾希礼----和你?"”是的,按照一般而确切的说法是这样,因为政治这东西是能够把完全不同的两个人结合在一起的。艾希礼和我谁也不怎么喜欢彼此结为同伙,不过----艾希礼从来不相信三K党,因为他反对一切暴力。而我不相信它,则是觉得它的办法实太太愚蠢,根本达不到我们的目的。它这样干只能维持北方佬对我们的压制,直到来世为止。在艾希礼和我两之间有一种默契,那就是说服那些狂热分子,只要我们耐心地观察,等待和工作,我们就会取得比三K党那一套更大的进展。““你不是说那些小伙子们实际上接受了你的忠告,而你----""而我当过投机商当过拥护共和党的白人渣滓当过北方佬的同伙你忘了,巴特勒太太?我如今是个有地位的民主党人,正在不惜流尽最后一滴血来把我们这个心爱的州从掠夺者的手中夺回来,恢复它原来应有的地位呢!我的忠告是个很好的忠告,他们接受了。我在别的政治问题上的忠告也同样是好的。如今我们已在立法机构中占有多数席位了,不是吗?而且很快,亲爱的,我们就要让我们的某些共和党友好去尝尝铁窗滋味了。他们近来实在是太贪婪太放肆了一点呢。"“你要出力把他们关进监狱里去?怎么,可他们是你的朋友呀,他们曾让你参与那桩铁路债券的生意,让你从中赚了一大笔钱!"瑞德突然咧嘴一笑,还是以前那副嘲弄人的模样。   “唔,我对他们并没有恶意。不过我现在站到了另一个方面,只要我能够出力让他们落得个罪有应得的下场,我是会干的。而且,那会大大提高我的声望呢!我对有些交易的内情十分清楚,等到立法机构深入追究时,那是很有价值的----而且从目前局势看,这已经为期不远了。他们也在开始调查州长的情况,只要可能,他们就会把他送进监狱去。你最好告诉你的好友盖勒特家和亨登家,叫他们准备好一有风声就立即离开城市,因为人家既然能逮捕州长,就更能逮捕他们了。“思嘉眼看共和党人凭借北方佬军队的支持在佐治亚当政了那么多年,因此对瑞德这些轻松的话并不太相信。州长的地位应该是巩固了,立法机构丝毫也奈何他不得,哪还谈得上进监狱呢!   “瞧你说的,"她好像要提醒他注意。   “他即使不蹲监狱,至少也不会再当选联。下一届我们将选出一位民主党人当州长,换换班嘛。"“我想你大概会参与的吧?"她用讽刺的口气问。   “我的宝贝,我会的。我现在就参与了呢,这便是我夜里回来得很晚的原因。我比从前用铁锨挖金矿时还要卖力,拼命帮助组织下一届选举。还有----我知道,你听了会恼火的,巴特勒太太----我在给这次组织活动捐献一大笔钱呢。你还记得吗,许多年前你在弗兰克的店铺里告诉过我,说我保留联盟政府的黄金不交出来是不诚实的。现在我终于同意你的看法,联盟的黄金正在用来帮助联盟分子重新当政呢。"“你这是把金钱往耗子洞里倒呀!"“什么!你把民主党叫做耗子洞?“他用嘲弄的眼光盯着她,接着便安静下来,没有什么表情了。"这次选举谁胜谁负,与我毫无关系。重要的是让大家都知道我为它出过力气,花过钱。这一点被大家记住了,将来对邦妮是大有好处的。"“我听见你那样虔诚地说你改变了心肠时,我差一点给吓住了,可现在我发现你对民主党人并不比任何别的东西更有诚意呢。"”这根本谈不上改变心肠。只不过是换一张皮罢了。你可以把豹子身上的斑点刮掉,可它仍然是豹子,跟原来完全一样。"这时邦妮被穿堂的声响惊醒了,她睡意朦胧而又急切地喊着:“爹爹!"于是瑞德绕过思嘉,赶忙赶到孩子那里去了。   “瑞德,等一等。我还有件事情要告诉你,你以后下午不要再带邦妮一起去参加那些政治集会,让一个小女孩到那种地方,太不像样了!而且你自己也会叫人笑话的。我做梦也没想到你会带着她,直到最近亨利叔叔提起,他似乎以为我知道,并且----"他猛地朝她转过身来,面孔板得紧紧得。   “一个小女孩坐在父亲膝上,而他在跟朋友们讲话,你怎么会认为这样不像样了呢?你觉得好笑,但实际上没有什么可笑的。人们会期记住,当我在帮助把共和党人赶出这个州时,邦妮就坐在我膝上呢。人们会期记住----"他那板着的面孔放松了,两只眼睛又恶意地飞舞起来。"你不知不知道,当人们问她最喜欢谁时,她回答说:'爹爹和民主党人',又问最恨谁呢,她说:'白人渣滓'。感谢上帝,人们就是记得这种事!"思嘉气得厉声喊道:“我想你会告诉她我就是白人渣滓了!““爹爹,"邦妮又在呼唤,而且显得有点生气了。这时瑞德仍然嬉笑着,他穿过门厅向女儿走去。   那年十月布洛克州长宣告辞职,逃离了佐治亚。在他的任期内,滥用公款和贪污浪费达到了严重的程度,以致压得他终于垮台。公众的愤怒十分强烈,连他自己的党也陷于分裂崩溃。民主党人在立法机构中占据了多数,但喧只是一个方面。布洛克知道他正要受到调查,生怕被弹劾,便采取了主动。他匆忙而秘密地撤走,并按照事先的布置,等到他安全抵达北方以后才宣布辞职的消息。   他逃走后一个星期,消息正式宣布,亚特兰大全城为之欢腾。人们全聚集在街头,男人们笑嘻嘻地相互握手道贺,妇女们彼此亲吻着,哭叫着。大家都在家里举行庆贺晚会。这时消防队忙着全城到处奔跑,因为欢乐的小孩子们在户外燃起了喜庆篝火,一不小就会蔓延开了。   差不多度过难关了!重建时期眼看就要过去了!不用说,代理州长仍是个共和党人,但是选举到十二月间就要举行,人人心里都明白结果会怎么样。选择开始后,尽管共和党人拼命地疯狂挣扎,佐治亚还是又一次选出了一个民主党州长。   那时又是一番欢喜和兴奋,不过跟布洛克逃跑后侠城震动的情况不一样。这次是一种很清醒的衷心喜悦,一种出自灵魂深处的感恩之情,因此当牧师们感谢上帝挽救了这个州时,堂里总是挤得满满的。人们也感到骄傲,是与得意和欢欣汇合在一起的骄傲,觉得佐治亚又回到自己人的手中了----无论华盛顿政府怎么防范,也无论军队、提包党、白人渣滓和本地共和党人怎样阻拦,它终于又回来了。   国会曾几次通过反对佐治亚州的严厉法规,硬要保持它的被征服的地位,军队也在这里先后三次取消了民法,实行军管。黑人由于立法机构的纵容曾乐得逍遥嬉戏,贪婪的外来者渎职舞弊,损公肥私,胡乱管理州务,佐治业曾经被钉上枷锁,受尽屈辱折磨,陷入绝望的境地。但是现在,这一切全都结束了。佐治亚又重新属于它自己,而且是通过它人民的自己努力而获得的。   共和党人的突然垮台并没有使所有的人都感到高兴。它在那些白人渣滓、提包党和共和党人中引起了一片惊慌。盖勒特家和亨登家的人得到布洛克在宣布辞职前离开的消息后,也仓皇外逃,各自回到他们原来的地方去了。那些留下来的提包党和白人渣滓都惶惶不安,为了互相安慰而赶快聚集在一起,并担心立法机关的调查会揭露出什么有关他们个人的案子来。他们现在惊慌失措,困惑莫解,惶恐万状。不再那么傲慢无礼了。那些前来看望思嘉的女人则反反复复地诉说:“可是谁会想到事情竟落到这个地步呀?我们还以为州长的权力大极了。我们以为他会还待在这里。我们以为----"思嘉也同样被目前拉形势弄得困惑不解了,尽管瑞德曾经给她提示过它的发展趋向。她感到遗憾的不是布洛克走了和民主党人又回来了。尽管说起来谁都不会相信,但她确实对于北方佬州政府终于被推翻一事也隐约地感到高兴。因为她对于自己在重建时期的艰苦挣扎,以及对于军队和提包党随时可能没收她的金钱和产业的恐惧,还记忆犹新啊!她还清楚地记得,那时候自己多么孤苦无助,以及因此而多么惶恐:而对于这个可恶的制度强加在南方头上的北方佬,又是多么的仇恨。而且,她一直在恨他们呢。不过,当时为了获得最大的安全,她曾经跟北方佬走到一起了。无论她多么不喜欢他们,她还是屈服了他们,自己割断了同老朋友们和以前那种生活方式的联系。可如今,征服者的权势已经完蛋了!   她把赌注押到了布洛克政权的持续上,所以她也就完了!   一八七一年的圣诞节是佐治亚人近十年来最愉快的一个圣诞节,思嘉环顾周围,心里很不是滋味。她不得不看到,本来在亚特兰大最令人厌恶的瑞德,由于乖乖放弃了共和党的那套邪说,又付出了不少的时间、金钱和精力帮助佐治亚打回来,现在已成为最受欢迎的人了。他骑着马在大街上走过,一路上微笑着举帽致意,而浑身天蓝色的邦妮横坐在他胸前,这时人人都微笑答礼,热情问候,并钟爱地瞧着那位小姑娘。   至于她,思嘉呢---- Chapter 59 THERE WAS NO DOUBT in anyone’s mind that Bonnie Butler was running wild and needed afirm hand but she was so general a favorite that no one had the heart to attempt the necessaryfirmness. She had first gotten out of control the months when she traveled with her father. Whenshe had been with Rhett in New Orleans and Charleston she had been permitted to sit up as late asshe pleased and had gone to sleep in his arms in theaters, restaurants and at card tables. Thereafter,nothing short of force would make her go to bed at the same time as the obedient Ella. While shehad been away with him, Rhett had let her wear any dress she chose and, since that time, she hadgone into tantrums when Mammy tried to dress her in dimity frocks and pinafores instead of bluetaffeta and lace collars.   There seemed no way to regain the ground which had been lost when the child was away fromhome and later when Scarlett had been ill and at Tara. As Bonnie grew older Scarlett tried todiscipline her, tried to keep her from becoming too headstrong and spoiled, but with little success.   Rhett always sided with the child, no matter how foolish her desires or how outrageous herbehavior. He encouraged her to talk and treated her as an adult, listening to her opinions withapparent seriousness and pretending to be guided by them. As a result, Bonnie interrupted herelders whenever she pleased and contradicted her father and put him in his place. He only laughedand would not permit Scarlett even to slap the little girl’s hand by way of reprimand.   “If she wasn’t such a sweet, darling thing, she’d be impossible,” thought Scarlett ruefully,realizing that she had a child with a will equal to her own. “She adores Rhett and he could makeher behave better if he wanted to.”   But Rhett showed no inclination to make Bonnie behave. Whatever she did was right and if shewanted the moon she could have it, if he could reach it for her. His pride in her beauty, her curls,her dimples, her graceful little gestures was boundless. He loved her pertness, her high spirits andthe quaint sweet manner she had of showing her love for him. For all her spoiled and willful waysshe was such a lovable child that he lacked the heart to try to curb her. He was her god, the centerof her small world, and that was too precious for him to risk losing by reprimands.   She clung to him like a shadow. She woke him earlier than he cared to wake, sat beside him atthe table, eating alternately from his plate and her own, rode in front of him on his horse andpermitted no one but Rhett to undress her and put her to sleep in the small bed beside his.   It amused and touched Scarlett to see the iron hand with which her small child ruled her father.   Who would have thought that Rhett, of all people, would take fatherhood so seriously? Butsometimes a dart of jealousy went through Scarlett because Bonnie, at the age of four, understoodRhett better than she had ever understood him and could manage him better than she had evermanaged him.   When Bonnie was four years old, Mammy began to grumble about the impropriety of a girlchild riding “a-straddle in front of her pa wid her dress flyin’ up.” Rhett lent an attentive ear to thisremark, as he did to all Mammy’s remarks about the proper raising of little girls. The result was asmall brown and white Shetland pony with a long silky mane and tail and a tiny sidesaddle withsilver trimmings. Ostensibly the pony was for all three children and Rhett bought a saddle forWade too. But Wade infinitely preferred his St. Bernard dog and Ella was afraid of all animals. Sothe pony became Bonnie’s own and was named “Mr. Butler.” The only flaw in Bonnie’s possessivejoy was that she could not still ride astride like her father, but after he had explained how muchmore difficult it was to ride on the sidesaddle, she was content and learned rapidly. Rhett’s pride inher good seat and her good hands was enormous.   “Wait till she’s old enough to hunt,” he boasted. There’ll be no one like her on any field. I’ll takeher to Virginia then. That’s where the real hunting is. And Kentucky where they appreciate goodriders.”   When it came to making her riding habit, as usual she had her choice of colors and as usualchose blue.   “But, my darling! Not that blue velvet! The blue velvet is for a party dress for me,” laughedScarlett. “A nice black broadcloth is what little girls wear.” Seeing the small black brows comingtogether: “For Heaven’s sake, Rhett, tell her how unsuitable it would be and how dirty it will get.”   “Oh, let her have the blue velvet. If it gets dirty, we’ll make her another one,” said Rhett easily.   So Bonnie had her blue velvet habit with a skirt that trailed down the pony’s side and a black hatwith a red plume in it, because Aunt Melly’s stories of Jeb Stuart’s plume had appealed to herimagination. On days that were bright and dear the two could be seen riding down PeachtreeStreet, Rhett reining in his big black horse to keep pace with the fat pony’s gait. Sometimes theywent tearing down the quiet roads about the town, scattering chickens and dogs and children,Bonnie beating Mr. Butler with her crop, her tangled curls flying, Rhett holding in his horse with afirm hand that she might think Mr. Butler was winning the race.   When he had assured himself of her seat, her hands, her utter fearlessness, Rhett decided that thetime had come for her to learn to make the low jumps that were within the reach of Mr. Butler’sshort legs. To this end, he built a hurdle in the back yard and paid Wash, one of Uncle Peter’s smallnephews, twenty-five cents a day to teach Mr. Butler to jump. He began with a bar two inches fromthe ground and gradually worked up the height to a foot.   This arrangement met with the disapproval of the three parties concerned, Wash, Mr. Butler andBonnie. Wash was afraid of horses and only the princely sum offered induced him to take thestubborn pony over the bar dozens of times a day; Mr. Butler, who bore with equanimity havinghis tail pulled by his small mistress and his hooves examined constantly, felt that the Creator ofponies had not intended him to put his fat body over the bar; Bonnie, who could not bear to seeanyone else upon her pony, danced with impatience while Mr. Butler was learning his lessons.   When Rhett finally decided that the pony knew his business well enough to trust Bonnie uponhim, the child’s excitement was boundless. She made her first jump with flying colors and,thereafter, riding abroad with her father held no charms for her. Scarlett could not help laughing atthe pride and enthusiasm of father and daughter. She thought, however, that once the novelty hadpassed, Bonnie would turn to other things and the neighborhood would have some peace. But thissport did not pall. There was a bare track worn from the arbor at the far end of the yard to thehurdle, and all morning long the yard resounded with excited yells. Grandpa Merriwether, who hadmade the overland trip in 1849, said that the yells sounded just like an Apache after a successfulscalping.   After the first week, Bonnie begged for a higher bar, a bar that was a foot and a half from theground.   “When you are six years old,” said Rhett. “Then you’ll be big enough for a higher jump and I’llbuy you a bigger horse. Mr. Butler’s legs aren’t long enough.”   “They are, too, I jumped Aunt Melly’s rose bushes and they are ‘normously high!”   “No, you must wait,” said Rhett, firm for once. But the firmness gradually faded away beforeher incessant importunings and tantrums.   “Oh, all right,” he said with a laugh one morning and moved the narrow white cross bar higher.   “If you fall off, don’t cry and blame me!”   “Mother!” screamed Bonnie, turning her head up toward Scarlett’s bedroom. “Mother! Watchme! Daddy says I can!”   Scarlett, who was combing her hair, came to the window and smiled down at the tiny excitedfigure, so absurd in the soiled blue habit.   “I really must get her another habit,” she thought. “Though Heaven only knows how I’ll makeher give up that dirty one.”   “Mother, watch!”   “I’m watching dear,” said Scarlett smiling.   As Rhett lifted the child and set her on the pony, Scarlett called with a swift rush of pride at thestraight back and the proud set of the head, “You’re mighty pretty, precious!”   “So are you,” said Bonnie generously and, hammering a heel into Mr. Butler’s ribs, she gallopeddown the yard toward the arbor.   “Mother, watch me take this one!” she cried, laying on the crop.   Watch me take this one!   Memory rang a bell far back in Scarlett’s mind. There was something ominous about thosewords. What was it? Why couldn’t she remember? She looked down at her small daughter, solightly poised on the galloping pony and her brow wrinkled as a chill swept swiftly through herbreast. Bonnie came on with a rush, her crisp black curls jerking, her blue eyes blazing.   “They are like Pa’s eyes,” thought Scarlett, “Irish blue eyes and she’s just like him in everyway.”   And, as she thought of Gerald, the memory for which she had been rumbling came to herswiftly, came with the heart stopping clarity of summer lightning, throwing, for an instant, a wholecountryside into unnatural brightness. She could hear an Irish voice singing, hear the hard rapidpounding of hooves coming up the pasture hill at Tara, hear a reckless voice, so like the voice ofher child: “Ellen! Watch me take this one!”   “No!” she cried. “No! Oh, Bonnie, stop!”   Even as she leaned from the window there was a fearful sound of splintering wood, a hoarse cryfrom Rhett, a melee of blue velvet and flying hooves on the ground. Then Mr. Butler scrambled tohis feet and trotted off with an empty saddle.   On the third night after Bonnie’s death, Mammy waddled slowly up the kitchen steps ofMelanie’s house. She was dressed in black from her huge men’s shoes, slashed to permit freedomfor her toes, to her black head rag. Her blurred old eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed, and miserycried out in every line of her mountainous figure. Her face was puckered in the sadbewilderment of an old ape but there was determination in her jaw.   She spoke a few soft words to Dilcey who nodded kindly, as though an unspoken armisticeexisted in their old feud. Dilcey put down the supper dishes she was holding and went quietlythrough the pantry toward the dining room. In a minute Melanie was in the kitchen, her tablenapkin in her hand, anxiety in her face.   “Miss Scarlet isn’t—”   “Miss Scarlett bearin’ up, same as allus,” said Mammy heavily. “Ah din’ ten ter ‘sturb yo’   supper, Miss Melly. Ah kin wait tell you thoo ter tell you whut Ah got on mah mine.”   “Supper can wait,” said Melanie. “Dilcey, serve the rest of the supper. Mammy, come with me.”   Mammy waddled after her, down the hall past the dining room where Ashley sat at the head ofthe table, his own little Beau beside him and Scarlett’s two children opposite, pairing a great clatterwith their soup spoons. The happy voices of Wade and Ella filled the room. It was like a picnic forthem to spend so long a visit with Aunt Melly. Aunt Melly was always so kind and she was especially so now. The death of their younger sister had affected them very little. Bonnie had fallenoff her pony and Mother had cried a long time and Aunt Melly had taken them home with her toplay in the back yard with Beau and have tea cakes whenever they wanted them.   Melanie led the way to the small book-lined sitting room, shut the door and motioned Mammyto the sofa.   “I was going over right after supper,” she said. “Now that Captain Butler’s mother has come, Isuppose the funeral will be tomorrow morning.”   “De fune’l. Dat’s jes’ it,” said Mammy. “Miss Melly, we’s all in deep trouble an’ Ah’s come teryou fer he’p. Ain’ nuthin’ but weery load, honey, nuthin’ but weery load.”   “Has Miss Scarlett collapsed?” questioned Melanie worriedly. “I’ve hardly seen her sinceBonnie— She has been in her room and Captain Butler has been out of the house and—”   Suddenly tears began to flow down Mammy’s black face. Melanie sat down beside her andpatted her arm and, after a moment, Mammy lifted the hem of her black skirt and dried her eyes.   “You got ter come he’p us, Miss Melly. Ah done de bes’Ah kin but it doan do no good.”   “Miss Scarlett—”   Mammy straightened.   “Miss Melly, you knows Miss Scarlett well’s Ah does. Whut dat chile got ter stan’, de goodLawd give her strent ter stan’. Disyere done broke her heart but she kin stan’ it. It’s Mist’ Rhett Ahcome ‘bout.”   “I have so wanted to see him but whenever I’ve been there, he has either been downtown orlocked in his room with— And Scarlett has looked like a ghost and wouldn’t speak— Tell mequickly, Mammy. You know I’ll help if I can.”   Mammy wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “Ah say Miss Scarlett kin stan’ whut de Lawdsen’, kase she done had ter stan’ a-plen’y, but Mist’ Rhett— Miss Melly, he ain’ never had ter stan’   nuthin’ he din’ wanter stan’, not nuthin’. It’s him Ah come ter see you ‘bout.”   “But—”   “Miss Melly, you got ter come home wid me, dis evenin’.” There was urgency in Mammy’svoice. “Maybe Mist’ Rhett lissen ter you. He allus did think a heap of yo’ ‘pinion.”   “Oh, Mammy, what is it? What do you mean?”   Mammy squared her shoulders.   “Miss Melly, Mist’ Rhett done—done los’ his mine. He woan let us put Lil Miss away.”   “Lost his mind? Oh, Mammy, no!”   “Ah ain’ lyin’. It’s de Gawd’s truff. He ain’ gwine let us buhy dat chile. He done tole me sohisseff, not mo’n an hour ago.”   “But he can’t—he isn’t—”   “Dat’s huccome Ah say he los’ his mine.”   “But why—”   “Miss Melly, Ah tell you everything. Ah oughtn’ tell nobody, but you is our fambly an’ you is deonlies’ one Ah kin tell. Ah tell you eve’ything. You knows whut a sto’ he set by dat chile. Ah ain’   never seed no man, black or w’ite, set sech a sto’ by any chile. Look lak he go plumb crazy w’enDoctah Meade say her neck broke. He grab his gun an’ he run right out an’ shoot dat po’ pony an’,fo’ Gawd, Ah think he gwine shoot hisseff. Ah wuz plumb ‘stracted whut wid Miss Scarlett in aswoon an’ all de neighbors in an’ outer de house an’ Mist’ Rhett cahyin’ on an’ jes’ holin’ dat chilean’ not even lettin’ me wash her lil face whar de grabble cut it. An’ w’en Miss Scarlett come to, Ahthink, bress Gawd! Now dey kin comfo’t each other.”   Again the tears began to fall but this time Mammy did not even wipe them away.   “But w’en she come to, she go inter de room whar he setin’, holin’ Miss Bonnie, an’ she say:   ‘Gimme mah baby whut you kilt.’ ”   “Oh, no! She couldn’t!”   “Yas’m. Dat whut she say. She say: ‘You kilt her.’ An’ Ah felt so sorry fer Mist’ Rhett Ah bustout cryin’, kase he look lak a whup houn’. An’ Ah say: ‘Give dat chile ter its mammy. Ah ain’   gwine have no sech goin’s on over mah Lil Miss.’ An’ Ah tek de chile away frum him an’ tek herinter her room an’ wash her face. An’ Ah hear dem talkin’ an’ it lak ter tuhn mah blood cole, whutdey say. Miss Scarlett wuz callin’ him a mudderer fer lettin’ her try ter jump dat high, an’ himsayin’ Miss Scarlett hadn’ never keered nuthin’ ‘bout Miss Bonnie nor none of her chillun. ...”   “Stop, Mammy! Don’t tell me any more. It isn’t right for you to tell me this!” cried Melanie, hermind shrinking away from the picture Mammy’s words evoked.   “Ah knows Ah got no bizness tellin’ you, but mah heart too full ter know jes’ whut not ter say.   Den he tuck her ter de unnertaker’s hisseff an’ he bring her back an’ he put her in her baid in hisroom. An’ w’en Miss Scarlett say she b’long in de pahlor in de coffin, Ah thought Mist’ Rhettgwine hit her. An’ he say, right cole lak: ‘She b’long in mah room.’ An’ he tuhn ter me an’ he say:   ‘Mammy, you se dat she stay right hyah tell Ah gits back.’ Den he light outer de house on de hawsean’ he wuz gone tell ‘bout sundown. W’en he come t’arin’ home, Ah seed dat he’d been drinkin’   an’ drinkin’ heavy, but he wuz cahyin’ it well’s usual. He fling inter de house an’ not even speak terMiss Scarlett or Miss Pitty or any of de ladies as wuz callin’, but he fly up de steps an’ th’ow opende do’ of his room an’ den he yell for me. W’en Ah comes runnin’ as fas’ as Ah kin, he wuz stan’in’   by de baid an’ it wuz so dahk in de room Ah couldn’ sceercely see him, kase de shutters wuz donedrawed.   “An’ he say ter me, right fierce lak: ‘Open dem shutters. It’s dahk in hyah.’ An’ Ah fling demopen an’ he look at me an’, fo’ Gawd, Miss Melly, mah knees ‘bout give way, kase he look sostrange. Den he say: Bring lights. Bring lots of lights. An’ keep dem buhnin’. An’ doan draw noshades an’ no shutters. Doan you know Miss Bonnie’s fraid of de dahk?”   Melanie’s horror struck eyes met Mammy’s and Mammy nodded ominously.   “Dat’s whut he say. ‘Miss Bonnie’s ‘fraid of de dahk.’ ”   Mammy shivered.   “W’en Ah gits him a dozen candles, he say ‘Git!’ An’ den he lock de do’ an’ dar he set wid LilMiss, an’ he din’ open de do’ fer Miss Scarlett even w’en she beat an’ hollered ter him. An’ dat’s deway it been fer two days. He woan say nuthin’ ‘bout de fune’l, an’ in de mawnin’ he lock de do’ an’   git on his hawse an’ go off ter town. An’ he come back at sundown drunk an’ lock hisseff in agin,an’ he ain’ et nuthin’ or slept none. An’ now his ma, Ole Miss Butler, she come frum Cha’ston ferde fune’l an’ Miss Suellen an’ Mist’ Will, dey come frum Tara, but Mist’ Rhett woan talk ter noneof dem. Oh, Miss Melly, it been awful! An’ it’s gwine be wuss, an’ folks gwine talk sumpin’   scanlous.   “An’ den, dis evenin’,” Mammy paused and again wiped her nose on her hand. “Dis evenin’   Miss Scarlett ketch him in de upstairs hall w’en he come in, an’ she go in de room wid him an’ shesay: ‘De fune’l set fer termorrer mawnin’.’An’ he say: ‘Do dat an’Ah kills you termorrer.’ ”   “Oh, he must have lost his mind!”   “Yas’m. An’ den dey talks kinder low an’ Ah doan hear all whut dey say, ‘cept he say agin ‘boutMiss Bonnie bein’ sceered of de dahk an’ de grabe pow’ful dahk. An’ affer aw’ile, Miss Scarlettsay ‘You is a fine one ter tek on so, affer killin’ her ter please yo’ pride.’ An’ he say: ‘Ain’ you gotno mercy?’ An’ she say: ‘No. An’ Ah ain’ got no chile, needer. An’ Ah’m wo’out wid de way youbeen ackin’ sence Bonnie wuz kilt. You is a scan’al ter de town. You been drunk all de time an’ efyou doan think Ah knows whar you been spendin’ yo’ days, you is a fool. Ah knows you beendown ter dat creeter’s house, dat Belle Watling.’ ”   “Oh, Mammy, no!”   “Yas’m. Dat whut she said. An’, Miss Melly, it’s de truff. Niggers knows a heap of thingsquicker dan w’ite folks, an’ Ah knowed dat’s whar he been but Ah ain’ said nuthin’ ‘bout it An’ hedoan deny it He say: ‘Yas’m, dat’s whar Ah been an’ you neen tek on, kase you doan give a damn.   A bawdy house is a haben of refuge affer dis house of hell. An’ Belle is got one of de worl’s kines’   hearts. She doan th’ow it up ter me dat Ah done kilt mah chile.’ ”   “Oh,” cried Melanie, stricken to the heart.   Her own life was so pleasant, so sheltered, so wrapped about with people who loved her, so fullof kindness that what Mammy told her was almost beyond comprehension or belief. Yet therecrawled into her mind a memory, a picture which she hastily put from her, as she would put fromher the thought of another’s nudity. Rhett had spoken of Belle Watling the day he cried with hishead on her knees. But he loved Scarlett. She could not have been mistaken that day. And ofcourse, Scarlett loved him. What had come between them? How could a husband and a wife cuteach other to pieces with such sharp knives?   Mammy took up her story heavily.   “Affer a w’ile, Miss Scarlett come outer de room, w’ite as a sheet but her jaw set, an’ she see mestan’in’ dar an’ she say: ‘De fune’l be termorrer, Mammy.’ An’ she pass me by lak a ghos’. Denmah heart tuhn over, kase whut Miss Scarlett say, she mean. An’ whut Mist’ Rhett say, he meantoo. An’ he say he kill her ef she do dat. Ah wuz plumb ‘stracted, Miss Melly, kase Ah done hadsumpin’ on mah conscience all de time an’ it weighin’ me down. Miss Melly, it wuz me as sceeredLil Miss of de dahk.”   “Oh, but Mammy, it doesn’t matter—not now.”   “Yas’m, it do. Dat whut de whole trouble. An’ it come ter me Ah better tell Mist’ Rhett even efhe kill me, kase it on mah conscience. So Ah slip in de do’real quick, fo’ he kin lock it, an’Ah say:   ‘Mist’ Rhett, Ah’s come ter confess.’ An’ he swung roun’ on me lak a crazy man an’ say: ‘Git!’   An’, fo’ Gawd, Ah ain’ never been so sceered! But Ah say: ‘Please, suh, Mist’ Rhett, let me tellyou. It’s bout ter kill me. It wuz me as sceered Lil Miss of de dahk.’ An den, Miss Melly, Ah putmah haid down an’ waited fer him ter hit me. But he din’ say nuthin’. An’ Ah say: ‘Ah din’ meanno hahm. But, Mist’ Rhett, dat chile din’ have no caution an’ she wuzn’ sceered of nuthin’. An’ shewuz allus gittin’ outer baid affer eve’ybody sleep an’ runnin’ roun’ de house barefoot An’ it worritme, kase Ah ‘fraid she hu’t herseff. So Ah tells her dar’s ghos’es an’ buggerboos in de dahk.’   “An’ den—Miss Melly, you know whut he done? His face got right gentle lak an’ he come terme an’ put his han’ on mah arm. Dat’s de fust time he ever done dat. An’ he say: ‘She wuz sobrave, wuzn’ she? ‘Cept fer de dahk, she wuzn’ sceered of nuthin’.’ An’ wen Ah bust out cryin’ hesay: ‘Now, Mammy,’ an’ he pat me. ‘Now, Mammy, doan you cahy on so. Ah’s glad you tole me.   Ah knows you love Miss Bonnie an’ kase you love her, it doan matter. It’s whut de heart is datmatter.’ Well’m dat kinder cheered me up, so Ah ventu’ ter say: ‘Mist Rhett, suh, what ‘bout defune’l?’ Den he tuhn on me lak a wile man an’ his eyes glitter an’ he say: ‘Good Gawd, Ah thoughtyou’d unnerstan’ even ef nobody else din’! Does you think Ah’m gwine ter put mah chile away inde dahk w’en she so sceered of it? Right now Ah kin hear de way she uster scream w’en she wakeup in de dahk. Ah ain’ gwine have her sceered.’ Miss Melly, den Ah know he los’ his mine. Hedrunk an’ he need sleep an’ sumpin’ ter eat but dat ain’ all. He plumb crazy. He jes’ push me outerde do’ an’ say: ‘Git de hell outer hyah!’   “Ah goes downstairs an’ Ah gits ter thinkin’ dat he say dar ain’ gwine be no fune’l an’ MissScarlett say it be termorrer mawnin’ an’ he say dar be shootin’. An’ all de kinfolks in de house an’   all de neighbors already gabblin’ ‘bout it lak a flock of guinea hens, an’ Ah thought of you, MissMelly. You got ter come he’p us.”   “Oh, Mammy, I couldn’t intrude!”   “Ef you kain, who kin?”   “But what could I do, Mammy?”   “Miss Melly, Ah doan know. But you kin do sumpin’. You kin talk ter Mist’ Rhett an’ maybe helissen ter you. He set a gret sto’ by you, Miss Melly. Maybe you doan know it, but he do. Ah donehear him say time an’ agin, you is de onlies’ gret lady he knows.”   “But—”   Melanie rose to her feet, confused, her heart quailing at the thought of confronting Rhett. Thethought of arguing with a man as grief crazed as the one Mammy depicted made her go cold. Thethought of entering that brightly lighted room where lay the little girl she loved so much wrung herheart. What could she do? What could she say to Rhett that would ease his grief and bring himback to reason? For a moment she stood irresolute and through the closed door came the sound ofher boy’s treble laughter. Like a cold knife in her heart came the thought of him dead. Suppose herBeau were lying upstairs, his little body cold and still, his merry laughter hushed.   “Oh,” she cried aloud, in fright, and in her mind she clutched him close to her heart. She knewhow Rhett felt. If Beau were dead, how could she put him away, alone with the wind and the rainand the darkness?   “Oh! Poor, poor Captain Butler!” she cried. “I’ll go to him now, right away.”   She sped back to the dining room, said a few soft words to Ashley and surprised her little boy byhugging him close to her and kissing his blond curls passionately.   She left the house without a hat, her dinner napkin still clutched in her hand, and the pace she setwas hard for Mammy’s old legs. Once in Scarlett’s front hall, she bowed briefly to the gathering inthe library, to the frightened Miss Pittypat, the stately old Mrs. Butler, Will and Suellen. She wentup the stairs swiftly, with Mammy panting behind her. For a moment, she paused before Scarlett’sclosed door but Mammy hissed, “No’m, doan do dat.”   Down the hall Melly went, more slowly now, and stopped in front of Rhett’s room. She stoodirresolutely for a moment as though she longed to take flight. Then, bracing herself, like a smallsoldier going into battle, she knocked on the door and called softly: “Please let me in, CaptainButler. It’s Mrs. Wilkes. I want to see Bonnie.”   The door opened quickly and Mammy, shrinking back into the shadows of the hall, saw Rhetthuge and dark against the blazing background of candles. He was swaying on his feet and Mammycould smell the whisky on his breath. He looked down at Melly for a moment and then, taking herby the arm, he pulled her into the room and shut the door.   Mammy edged herself stealthily to a chair beside the door and sank into it wearily, her shapelessbody overflowing it. She sat still, weeping silently and praying. Now and then she lifted the hem ofher dress and wiped her eyes. Strain her ears as hard as she might, she could hear no words fromthe room, only a low broken humming sound.   After an interminable period, the door cracked open and Melly’s face white and strained,appeared.   “Bring me a pot of coffee, quickly, and some sandwiches.”   When the devil drove, Mammy could be as swift as a lithe black sixteen-year-old and hercuriosity to get into Rhett’s room made her work faster. But her hope turned to disappointmentwhen Melly merely opened the door a crack and took the tray. For a long time Mammy strainedher sharp ears but she could distinguish nothing except the clatter of silver on china, and themuffled soft tones of Melanie’s voice. Then she heard the creaking of the bed as a heavy body fellupon it and, soon after, the sound of boots dropping to the floor. After an interval, Melanie appearedin the doorway but, strive though she might, Mammy could not see past her into the room.   Melanie looked tired and there were tears glistening on her lashes but her face was serene again.   “Go tell Miss Scarlett that Captain Butler is quite willing for the funeral to take place tomorrowmorning,” she whispered.   “Bress Gawd!” ejaculated Mammy. “How on uth—”   “Don’t talk so loud. He’s going to sleep. And, Mammy, tell Miss Scarlett, too, that I’ll be hereall night and you bring me some coffee. Bring it here.”   “Ter disyere room?”   “Yes, I promised Captain Butler that if he would go to sleep I would sit up by her all night. Nowgo tell Miss Scarlett, so she won’t worry any more.”   Mammy started off down the hall, her weight shaking the floor, her relieved heart singing“Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” She paused thoughtfully outside of Scarlett’s door, her mind in a fermentof thankfulness and curiosity.   “How Miss Melley done it beyon’ me. De angels fight on her side, Ah specs. Ah’ll tell MissScarlett de fune’l termorrer but Ah specs Ah better keep hid dat Miss Melly settin’ up wid Lil Miss.   Miss Scarlett ain’ gwine lak dat a-tall.”  谁心里都清楚,邦妮•巴特勒越来越野了,真有必要严加管教她,然而她又是招人喜爱的宠儿,谁都不忍心去严格约束她。她是在跟父亲一起旅行的那几个月里开始放纵起来的。她和瑞德在新奥尔良和查尔斯顿时,就得到允许晚上高兴玩到什么时候都行,常常在剧院里,饭店里或牌桌旁倒在父亲怀里睡觉。现在,只要你不加强制,她就决不跟听话的爱拉同时上床去睡。她和瑞德在外时,瑞德总是让她穿自己想穿的衣服,而且从那时候起,每加嬷嬷叫她穿细布长袍和围裙,而不让穿天蓝色塔夫绸衣裳和花边护肩时,她就要大发脾气。   一旦孩子离家外出,以及后来思嘉生病去了塔拉,便失去了对她的管教,好像现在就再也管不住她了。等到邦妮长大了些,思嘉又试着去约束她,想不让她太任性、太骄惯,可是收效并不大。瑞德常常护着孩子,不管她的要求多么荒唐,行为多么怪僻。他鼓励她随意说话,把她当大人看待,显然十分认真地倾听她的意见,并且装作很听从似的。结果,邦妮常随意干扰大人的事,动不动就反驳父亲,使他下不了台。   但是瑞德只不过笑笑而已,连思嘉要打她一下手心以示警戒,他也不允许。   “如果她不是这样一个可爱的宝贝,她也就吃不开了,"思嘉郁郁不乐地想,也明白她的孩子原来和她自己一样倔强。   “她崇拜瑞德,要是他愿意的话,是完全可以让她变好的。"可是瑞德没有表示要教育孩子学好的意思。她做什么都是对的,她要月亮就给月亮,如果他能去摘下来的话。他对她的美貌,她的鬈发,她的酒窝,她的优美的姿势,无不感到骄傲。他爱她的淘气,爱她的兴高采烈,以及她用以表示爱他的那种奇特而美妙的样子。尽管她有骄惯和任性的地方,但她毕竟是那样可爱的一个孩子,他怎么能忍心去约束她呢!   他是她心目的上帝,是她小小世界的中心,这对他实在太宝贵了,他决不敢冒丧失这一地位的危险去训斥她。   她总像影子似的紧跟着他。早晨,他还不想起来时她就把他叫醒;吃饭时坐在他旁边,轮换地吃着他和她自己碟子里的东西;骑马出门时坐在他面前的鞍头上;晚上睡觉时只让瑞德给脱衣服,把她抱到他旁边的小床上去。   思嘉眼看自己的女儿用一又小手牢牢地控制着她的父亲,心里又高兴又感动。有谁能像瑞德这样一条汉子,做起父亲来竟会如此严肃而认真呢?不过,有时候思嘉也心怀妒忌,痛苦不堪,因为邦妮刚刚四岁,却比她更加了解瑞德,更能驾驭他。   邦妮满四岁后,嬷嬷便开始唠叨了,抱怨一个小姑娘不能骑着马,"横坐在她爸前面,衣裳被风撩得高高的。"瑞德对于这一批评颇为重视,因为嬷嬷提出的有关教育女孩子的意见,他一般都比较注意。结果他就买了一匹褐色的设特兰小马驹,它有光滑的长鬃和尾巴,连同一副小小的带有银饰的女鞍。从表面上看,这匹小马驹是给三个孩子买的,而且还给韦德也买了一副鞍子,可是韦德更喜爱他的那条圣伯纳德猫,而爱拉又害怕一切动物,因此这匹小马驹实际上便成了邦妮一个人的,名字就叫"巴特勒先生。"邦妮的占有欲得到了满足,唯一遗憾的是她还没有学会像她父亲那样跨骑在马鞍上。不过经过瑞德向她解释,说明侧骑在女鞍上比跨骑还要困难得多,她便感到高兴而且很快就学会了。瑞德对她骑马的姿势和灵巧的手腕是非常得意的。   “等着瞧吧,到她可以打猎了的时候,准保世界上哪个猎手也不如她呢,"瑞德夸口说。"那时我要带她弗吉尼亚去,那里才是真正打猎的地方。还有肯塔基,骑马就得到那里去。"等到要给她做骑马服时,照样又得由她自己挑选颜色,而且她照例又挑上了天蓝色的。   “不过,宝贝!还是不要用这种蓝丝绒吧!蓝丝绒是我参加衬交活动时穿的呢,“思嘉笑着说。"小姑娘最好穿黑府绸的。"这时她看见那两道小小的黑眉已经皱起来了,便赶紧说:“瑞德,看在上帝面上,你告诉她那种料子对她多么不合适,而且还很容易脏呀!"“唔,就让她做蓝丝绒的。要是弄脏了,我们就给她再做一件,“瑞德轻松地说。   这样,邦妮便有了一件蓝丝绒骑马服,衣襟下垂到小马肋部;还配做了一顶黑色的帽子,上面插着根红羽毛,那是受了媚兰讲的杰布•斯图尔特故事的启发。每当风和日丽,父女俩便骑马在桃树街上并辔而行,瑞德勒着缰绳让他那匹大黑马缓缓地配合那只小马的步伐啊埃有时他们一直跑到城郊的平静道路上,把孩子们和鸡呀、狗呀吓得乱窜。邦妮用马鞍抽打着她的"巴特勒先生,"满头纠缠着的鬈发迎风飘舞,瑞德则紧紧地勒着他的马,让他觉得她的"巴特勒先生"会赢得这场赛跑。后来瑞德确信她的坐势已经很稳当了,她的手腕已经很灵巧有力,而且她一点也不胆怯了,便决定让她学习跳栏,当然那高度只能是小马的脚长所能达到的。因此,他在后面场院里放置了一个栏架,还以每天25美分的工儿雇用彼得大叔的侄子沃什来教"巴特勒先生"跳栏。它从离地两英寸开始,逐渐跳到一英尺的高度。   这个安排遭到了最有关系的三方:即沃什、"巴特勒先生"和邦妮的反对。沃什是很怕马的,因为贪图高工钱才勉强答应教这只倔强的小马每天跳栏20次。“巴特勒先生"让它的小女主人经常拉尾巴和看蹄子,总算还忍受得住,可是总觉得它那生来肥胖的身躯是越不过那根栏杆的。至于邦妮,她最不高兴别人骑她的小马,因此一看见"巴特勒先生"被活什么骑着练习跳栏,便急得直顿脚。   直到瑞德最后认定小马已训练得很好,可以让邦妮自己去试试了,这孩子才无比地兴奋起来。她第一次试跳就欣然成功,便觉得跟父亲一起骑马外出没有什么意思了。思嘉看着这父女俩那么兴高采烈,禁好笑,她心想只要这新鲜劲儿过去,邦妮的兴趣便会转到别的玩意上,那时左邻右舍就可以安静些了。可是邦妮对这项游戏毫不厌倦。后院里从最远那头的凉亭直到栏架,已出现一条踏得光光的跑道。从那里整个上午都不断传来兴奋的呐喊声。这些呐喊,据一八四九年作过横跨大陆旅行的梅里韦瑟爷爷说,跟一个阿帕切人成功地剥一次头皮后的欢叫完全一样。   过了一个星期,邦妮要求将栏杆升高些,升到离地一英尺半。   “你到你六岁的时候吧,"瑞德说。"那时你能跳得更高了,我还要给你买匹大些的马。'巴特勒先生'的腿不够长呢。"“够长。我已经跳过媚兰姑姑家的玫瑰丛了,那高得很呢!”“不,你还得等等,"瑞德说,这回总算表现得坚定些。可是这坚定在她不停的恳求和怒吼下又渐渐消失了。   “唔,好吧,"有天早晨他笑着说,同时把那根窄窄的白色横杆挪高一些。"你要是掉下来,可别哭鼻子骂我呀!"“妈!"邦妮抬起头来朝思嘉的卧室尖叫着。“妈!快看呀!   爹爹说我能跳啦!”   思嘉正在梳头,听见女儿喊叫便走到窗口,微笑着俯视这个兴奋的小家伙,她穿着那件已沾满了尘土的天蓝色骑马服,模样可真怪。   “我真的得给她再另做一件了,'她心里想。"天知道我怎样才能说服她丢掉这件脏的埃““妈,你看!"“我在看着呢,亲爱的,"思嘉微笑着说。   瑞德将孩子举起来,让她骑在小马上,这时思嘉瞧着她那挺直的腰背和昂起的头,顿时从心底涌起一股自豪感,不禁大声喊道:“你真漂亮极了,我的宝贝!““你也一样呢,”邦妮慷慨地回赞她一句,一面用脚跟在"巴特勒先生"的肋上狠狠一蹬,便向凉亭那边飞跑过去了。   “妈,你瞧我这一下吧!"她大喊一声,一面抽着鞭子。   •瞧•我•这•一•下•吧!   记忆在思嘉心灵的深处隐隐发出回响。这句话里似乎有点不祥的意味。那是什么呀?难道她记不起来了?她俯视着她的小女儿那么轻盈地坐在飞奔的小马上,这时一丝凄冷突然掠过她的胸坎。邦妮猛冲过来,她那波翻浪涌般的鬈发在头上螦动着,天蓝色的眼睛闪闪发亮。   “这像爸的眼睛,爱尔兰人的蓝眼睛,"思嘉心想,"而且她在无论哪个方面都像他呢。“她一想起杰拉尔德,那正在苦苦搜索的记忆便像令人心悸的夏日闪电般霍然出现,立即把一整幅乡村景色照得雪亮了。她听得见一个爱尔兰嗓音在歌唱,听得见从塔拉疾驰而来的马蹄声,听得见一个跟她的孩子很相像的鲁莽的呼喊:“爱伦,瞧我这一下吧!"“不!"她大声喊道,"不!唔,邦妮,你别跳了!"正当她探身向窗口望时,一种可怕的木杆折裂声,瑞德的吼叫声,以及一堆蓝丝绒和飞奔的马蹄猝然坍倒在地上的声响,便同时传来了。然后,“巴特勒先生"挣扎着爬起来,驮着一个空马鞍迅速地跑开了。   邦妮死后第三个晚上,嬷嬷蹒跚着慢慢走上媚兰家厨房的台阶。她全身都是黑的,从一双脚尖剪开了的大男鞋到她的黑色头帕都是黑的。她那双模糊的老眼里布满了血丝,眼圈也红了,整个笨重的身躯几乎每处都流露出痛苦的神情。她那张皱脸孔,像只惶惑不安的老猴似的,不过那下颚却说明她心中早已打定了主意。   她对迪尔茜轻轻说了几句,迪尔茜亲切地点点头,仿佛她们之间那多年以来的争斗就这样默默地休战了。迪尔茜放下手中的晚餐盘碟,悄悄地穿过餐具室向饭厅走去。不一会儿,媚兰来到了厨房里,她手里还拿着餐巾,满脸焦急的神色。   “思嘉小姐不是----”   “思嘉小姐倒是平静了,跟平常一样,"嬷嬷沮丧的说。   “我本来不想打搅你吃晚饭,媚兰小姐。可是我等不及了,要把我压在心里的话跟你说说呢。"“晚饭可以等一会儿再吃嘛,"媚兰说。"迪尔茜,你去给别的人开饭吧。嬷嬷,跟我来。"嬷嬷蹒跚着跟在她后面,走过穿堂,从饭厅门外经过,这时艾希礼已端坐在餐桌上首,小博在他旁边,思嘉的两个孩子坐在对面,他们正把汤匙弄得丁丁当当乱响。饭厅里充满着韦德和爱拉的欢快的声音。他们觉得能跟媚兰姑姑在一起待这么久,真像是吃野餐呢。媚兰姑姑一向待他们和气,现在更是这样。小妹妹的死对他们没好像没有什么影响。邦妮从她的小马上摔下来后,母亲哭了很久,媚兰姑姑把她们带到这里来,跟小博一起在后院玩耍,想吃时便一起吃茶点饼干。   媚兰领路走进那间四壁全是书籍的起居室,关好门,推着嬷嬷在沙发上坐下。   “我准备吃过晚饭就马上过来的,"她说。"既然巴特勒船长的母亲已经来了,我想明天早晨就会下葬了吧。""下葬吗,正是这个问题呀,"嬷嬷说。"媚兰小姐,我们都弄得没有一点主意了,我就是来求你帮忙呢。这世止事事都叫人心烦,亲爱的,事事都叫人心烦啊!”“思嘉小姐病倒了吗?"媚兰焦急地问。"自从邦妮----以来,我就很少看见她呢。她整天关在房子里,而巴特勒船长却出门去----”泪水突然从嬷嬷那张黑脸上滚滚而下,媚兰坐到她身旁,轻轻拍着她的臂膀。一会儿,嬷嬷便撩起她的黑衣襟把眼睛拭干了。   “你一定得去帮忙我们呀,媚兰小姐。我已经尽了我的力了,可一点用处也没有。"”思嘉小姐----"嬷嬷挺直了腰板。   “媚兰小姐,你和我一样了解思嘉小姐嘛。那孩子到了该忍住的时候,上帝就给她力量叫她经受得起了。这件事伤透了她的心,可她经得祝我是为了瑞德先生才来的呀。"“我每次到那里,都很想见到他,可他要么进城去了,要么就锁在自己房里,跟----至于思嘉,她像个幽灵似的,一句话也不说----快告诉我,嬷嬷。你知道,只要我做得到,我是会帮忙的。"嬷嬷用手背擦了擦鼻子。   “我说思嘉小姐无论碰到什么事都经得住,因为她经受得多了。可是瑞德先生呢,媚兰小姐,他从没经受过他不愿经受的事,一次也没有。就是为了他,我才来找你。"“不过----"“媚兰小姐,今儿晚上你一定得跟我一起回去呀。"嬷嬷的口气非常迫切。"说不定瑞德先生会听你的呢。他一向是尊重你的意见的。"“唔,嬷嬷,到底是怎么回事呀?你指的是什么呢?"嬷嬷挺起胸来。   “媚兰小姐,瑞德先生已经----已经疯了。他不让我们把小姑娘抬走呢。”“疯了?啊,嬷嬷,不会的!"“我没有撒谎,这是千真万确的事。他不会让我们埋葬那孩子。他刚才亲口对我说了,还没超过一个钟头呢。"“可是他不能----他不是----"“所以我才说他疯了嘛。"“但是为什么----"“媚兰小姐,我把一切都告诉你吧。我本来不该告诉任何人,不过,咱们是一家人,你又是我唯一能告诉的。我把一切都告诉你吧。你知道他非常疼爱那个孩子。我从没见过一个人,无论黑人白人,是这样疼爱孩子的。米德大夫一说她的脖子摔断了,他就吓得完全疯了。他随即拿起枪跑出去,把那可怜的小马驹给毙了。老天爷,我还以为他要自杀呢!那时思嘉小姐晕过去了,我正忙着照顾她,邻居们也都挤在屋里屋外,可瑞德先生却始终痴呆地紧抱着那孩子,甚至还不让我去洗她那小脸的血污。后来思嘉小姐醒过来了,真谢天谢地,我才放心!我想,他们俩会互相安慰了吧。“嬷嬷又开始在流泪,不过这一次她索性不擦了。   “可当她醒过来后,到那房里一看,发现他抱着邦妮坐在那里,便说:'还我的女儿,她是你害死的!'"“啊,不!她不能这样说!"“是呀,小姐,她就是那样说的。她说:'是你害死了她。'我真替瑞德先生难过,我也哭了,因为他那模样实在太可怜。   我说:'把那孩子交给她嬷嬷吧。我不忍心让小小姐再这样下去呀。'我把孩子从他怀里抱过来将她放到她自己房里,给她洗脸,这时我听见他们在说话,那些话叫我听了血都凉了。思嘉小姐骂他是杀人犯,因为让孩子去跳那么高的栏给摔死了,而他说思嘉小姐从来不关心邦妮小姐和她的另外两个孩子……""别说了,嬷嬷!什么也别说了。你真不该给我讲这些事的!"媚兰喊道。嬷嬷的话里描绘的那幅情景,叫她害怕得心直发紧。   “我知道我用不着对你说这些,可我心里实在憋得慌,也不知道哪些话该说不该说了。后为瑞德先生亲自把孩子弄到了殡葬处,随即又带回来放在他房里她自己的床上。等到思嘉小姐说最好装殓起来停在客厅里时,我看瑞德先生简直要揍她了。他立即说:'她应该留在我房里。'同时他回过头来吩咐我:“嬷嬷,你留在这里看着她,等我回来。'接着他就骑马出门了,直到傍晚时候才回来。他急急忙忙回到家里时,我发现他喝得醉醺醺的,不过还像平常那样勉强支持着。他一进门,对思嘉小姐和皮蒂小姐以及在场的太太们一句话也没有,便赶紧直奔楼上去,打开他的房间,然后大声叫我。我尽快跑到楼上,只见他正站在床边,但因为屋里太黑,百叶窗也关了,我几乎看不清楚。"“这时他气冲冲地对我说:'把百叶窗打开,这里太黑了。'我马上打开窗子,发现他正瞧着我,而且,天哪,媚兰小姐,他那模样多古怪呀,吓得我连膝头都打颤了。接着他说:'拿灯来,多拿些灯来!把它们全都点上。不要关窗帘或百叶窗,难道你不知道邦妮小姐怕黑吗?'”媚兰那双惊恐的眼睛跟嬷嬷的眼睛互相看了看,嬷嬷不住地点点头。   “他就是这样说的。'邦妮小姐怕黑。'”   嬷嬷不由得哆嗦起来。   “我给他拿来一打蜡烛,他说了一声:'出去!'然后他把门倒锁起来,坐在里面陪着小小姐,连思嘉小姐来敲门叫他,他也不开。就这样过了两天。他根本不提下葬的事,只早晨锁好门骑马进城去,到傍晚才喝醉酒回来,又把自己关在房里,不吃也不睡。现在他母亲老巴特勒夫人从查尔斯顿赶到这里参加葬礼来了,苏伦小姐和威尔先生也从塔拉赶来,可是瑞德先生对她们都一声不吭。唔,媚兰小姐,这真可怕呀!   而且越来越糟,别人也会说闲话呢!”   “这样,到今天傍晚,"嬷嬷说着又停顿一下,用手擦了擦鼻子。"今天傍晚,他回来时,思嘉小姐在楼道里碰到了他,便跟他一起到房里去,并对他说:'葬礼定在明天上午举行。'他说:‘你要敢这样,我明天就宰了你。'"“啊,他一定是疯了!"“是的,小姐。接着他们谈话的声音低了些,我没有全听清楚,只听见他又在说邦妮小姐怕黑,而坟墓里黑极了。过了一会儿,思嘉小姐说,'你倒好,把孩子害死了以后,为了表白自己,却装起好心来了。'他说:'你真的不能宽恕我吗?'她说:'不能。而且你害死邦妮以后所干的那些勾当我早就厌恶极了。全城的人都会唾骂你。你整天酗酒,并且,你要是以为我不知道你在哪里鬼混,那你就太愚蠢了。我知道你是到那个贱货家去了,到贝尔•沃特琳那里去了。'"“啊,嬷嬷,不会的。”   “可这是真的,小姐。她就是这样说的。并且,媚兰小姐,这是事实。我黑人对许多事情知道得比白人要快。我也知道他是到那个地方去了,不过没有说罢了。而且他也并不否认。   他说:'是呀,太太我正是到那里去了,你也用不着这样伤心,因为你觉得这并不要紧嘛。走出这个地狱般的家,而那个下流地方便成了避难的天堂呢。何况贝尔是世界上心肠最好的女人。她决不指责我说我害死了自己的孩子呢。'"“啊,“媚兰伤心地喊了一声。   她自己的生活是那么愉快,那么宁安,那么为周围的人所爱护,那么充满着相互间的真挚亲切关怀,因此她对于嬷嬷所说的一切简直难以理解,也无法相信,不过她心里隐隐记得一桩事情,一幅她急于要排除就好比不愿意想像别人裸体一样的情景,那就是那天瑞德把头伏在她膝上哭泣时谈起贝尔•沃特琳。可是他是爱思嘉的。那天她不可能对此产生误解。而且,思嘉也是爱他的。他们之间到底发生了什么龃龉呢?夫妻之间怎么这有这样毫不留情地相互残杀呢?   嬷嬷继续伤心地说下去。   “过了一会,思嘉小姐从房里出来,她的脸色煞白,但下颚咬得很紧。她看见我站在那里,便说:'嬷嬷,葬礼明天举行。'说罢就像个幽灵似的走了。那时我心里怦怦乱跳,因为思嘉小姐是说到就做到的。可瑞德先生也是说一不二的呀,而且他说过她要是那样干,他就要宰了她呢。我心里乱极了,媚兰小姐,因为我良心上一直压着一桩事再也忍受不住了。媚兰小姐,是我让小小姐在黑暗中受了惊呢。"“唔,嬷嬷,可是这不要紧----现在不要紧了。"“要紧着呢,小姐。麻烦都出在这里呀。我想最好还是告诉瑞德先生,哪怕他把我杀了,因为我良心上过不去呀!所以我趁他还没锁门便赶快溜了进去,对他说:'瑞德先生,我有件事要向你承认。'他像个疯子似的猛地转过身来对我说:'出去!'天哪,我还从来没这样怕过呢!不过我还是说:'求求您了,瑞德先生,请允许我告诉您。我做的是该杀的事。是我叫小小姐在黑暗中受惊了呢。'说完,媚兰小姐,我就把头低下来,等着他来打了。可是他什么也没说。然后我又说:'我并不是存心的。不过,瑞德先生,那孩子很不小心,她什么也不怕。她常常等别人睡着了溜下床来,光着脚在屋里到处走动。这叫我很着急,生怕她害了自己,所以我对她说黑暗里有鬼和妖怪呢。'"“后来----媚兰小姐,你知道他怎么了?他显得很和气,走过来把手放在我的臂膀上。这是他头一次这样做呢。他还说:'她真勇敢,你说是吗?除了黑暗,她什么也不怕。'这时我哭了起来,他便说:'好了,嬷嬷,'他用手拍着我。'好了,嬷嬷,别这样哭了。我很高兴你告诉了我。我知道你爱邦妮小姐,既然你爱她,就不要紧了。重要的是一个人的心埃'好了,他既然这样和气,我就胆大了,就鼓起勇气说:'瑞德先生,安葬的事怎么样呢?'那时他像个野蛮人瞪大眼睛望着我说:'我的天,我还以为要是别人都不懂,可你总会懂得吧!你以为既然我的孩子那么害怕黑暗,我还会把她送到黑暗里去吗?现在我就听得她平常在黑暗中醒来时那种大哭的声音呢。我不会让她受惊了。'媚兰小姐,那时我就明白他是疯了。他喝酒,他也需要睡觉和吃东西,可这不是一切。   他真的疯了。他就那样把我推出门外,嘴里嚷着:'给我滚吧!'"“我下楼来,一路想着他说的不要安葬,可思嘉小姐说明天上午举行葬礼,他又说要毙了她。弄得家里所有的人,还有左邻右舍,都在谈论这件事,这样我就想到了你。媚兰小姐。你一定得去帮我们一把。"“唔!嬷嬷,我不能冒冒失失闯去呀!"“要是你都不能,还有谁能呢?"“可是我有什么办法,嬷嬷?"“媚兰小姐,我也说不明白。但我认为你是能帮上忙的。   你可以跟瑞德先生谈谈,也许他会听你的话。他一直很敬重你呢,媚兰小姐。也许你不知道,但他的确这样。我听他说过不止一次两次,说你是他所识的最伟大的女性呢。"“可是----"媚兰站起来,真不知怎么办好,一想到要面对瑞德心里就发怵。一想到要跟一个像嬷嬷描述的那样悲痛得发疯的男人去理论,她浑身都凉了。一想到要进入那间照得通亮、里面躺着一个她多么喜爱的小姑娘的房子,她的心就难过极了。   她怎么办呢?她能向瑞德说些什么才可以去缓解他的悲伤和恢复他的理智呢?她一时犹豫不定地站在那里,忽然从关着的门里传来她的孩子的欢快笑声,她猛地像一把刀子扎进心坎似的想起他要是死了呢?要是她的小博躺在楼上,小小的身躯凉了,僵了,他的笑声突然停止了呢?   “啊,"她惊恐地大叫一声,在心里把孩子紧紧抱祝她深深懂得瑞德的感情了。如果小博死了,她怎能把他抛开,让他孤零零的沦落在黑暗中,任凭风吹雨打啊!   “啊,可怜的,可怜的巴特勒船长啊!"她喊道。"我现在就去看他,马上就去。“她急忙回到饭厅,对艾希礼轻轻说了几句,然后紧紧搂了孩子一下,激动地吻了吻他的金色鬈发,这倒把孩子吓了一跳。   她帽子也没戴,餐巾还拿在手里,便走出家门,那迅疾的步子可叫嬷嬷的两条老腿难以跟上了。一连进思嘉家里前厅,她只向聚集在图书室里的人,向惊慌的皮蒂小姐和庄严的巴特勒老夫人,以及威尔和苏伦,匆匆地鞠躬致意,便径直上楼,让嬷嬷气喘吁叮地在背后跟着。她在思嘉紧闭的卧室门口停留了一会,但嬷嬷轻声说:“不,小姐,不要进去。"于是媚兰放慢步子走过穿堂,来到瑞德的门前站住了。她犹豫不定,仿佛想逃走似的。然后,她鼓起勇气,像个初次上阵的小兵,在门上敲了敲,并轻轻叫道:“请开门,巴特勒船长,我是威尔克斯太太。我要看看邦妮。"门很快开了,嬷嬷畏缩着退到穿堂的阴影中,同时看见瑞德那衬托在明亮的烛光背景中的巨大黑影。他摇摇晃晃地站在那里,嬷嬷好像还闻到他呼吸中的威士忌酒气。他低头看了看媚兰,挽起她的胳臂把她带进屋里,然后把门关上了。   嬷嬷侧着身子偷偷挪动到门旁一把椅子跟前,将自己那胖得不成样子的身躯费劲地塞在里面。她静静地坐着,默默地哭泣和祈祷着,不时撩起衣襟来擦眼泪。她竭力侧耳细听,但听不清房里的话,只听到一些低低的断断续续的嗡嗡声。   过了相当长一个时候,房门嘎的一声开了,媚兰那苍白而紧张的脸探了出来。   “请给我拿壶咖啡来,快一点,还要些三明治。"一旦形势紧迫,嬷嬷是可以像个16岁的活泼黑人那样敏捷的,何况她很想到瑞德屋里去看看,所以行动起来就更迅速了。不过,她的希望破灭了,因为媚兰只把门开了一道缝,将盘子接过去又关了。于是,嬷嬷又侧耳细听了很久,但除了银餐具碰着瓷器的声音以及媚兰那模模糊糊的轻柔语调调外,仍然什么也听不清楚。后来她听见床架嘎吱一声响,显然有个沉重的身躯倒在床上,接着是靴子掉在地板上的声音。   又过了一会,媚兰才出现在门口,但是嬷嬷无论怎样努力也没能越过她看见屋里的情景。媚兰显得很疲倦,眼睫毛上还闪着莹莹的泪花,不过脸色已平静了。   “快去告诉思嘉小姐,巴特勒船长很愿意明天上午举行邦妮的葬礼,"她低声说。   “谢天谢地!"嬷嬷兴奋地喊道。"你究竟是怎么----"“别这么大声说,他快要睡着了。还有,嬷嬷,告诉思嘉小姐,今晚我要整夜守在这里。你再给我去拿些咖啡,拿到这里来。"“送到这房里来?"“是的,我答应了巴特勒船长,他要是睡觉,我就整夜坐在那孩子身边。现在去告诉思嘉小姐吧。省得她再担心了。“嬷嬷动身向穿堂那头走去,笨重的身躯震憾着地板,但她的心里轻松得唱起歌来了。她在思嘉门口沉思地站了一会,脑子里又是感谢又是好奇,那一片紊乱已够她受的了。   “媚兰小姐是怎样胜过我把事情办成的呢?我看天使们都站在她那一边了。我要告诉思嘉小姐明天办葬礼的事,可我想最好把媚兰小姐守着小小姐坐夜的事先瞒着。思嘉小姐根本不会喜欢她这样做呢。” Chapter 60 SOMETHING WAS WRONG with the world, a somber, frightening wrongness that pervadedeverything like a dark impenetrable mist, stealthily closing around Scarlett. This wrongness wenteven deeper than Bonnie’s death, for now the first unbearable anguish was fading into resigned acceptanceof her loss. Yet this eerie sense of disaster to come persisted, as though something blackand hooded stood just at her shoulder, as though the ground beneath her feet might turn toquicksand as she trod upon it.   She had never before known this type of fear. All her life her feet had been firmly planted incommon sense and the only things she had ever feared had been the things she could see, injury,hunger, poverty, loss of Ashley’s love. Unanalytical she was trying to analyze now and with nosuccess. She had lost her dearest child but she could stand that, somehow, as she had stood othercrushing losses. She had her health, she had as much money as she could wish and she still hadAshley, though she saw less and less of him these days. Even the constraint which had beenbetween them since the day of Melanie’s ill-starred surprise party did not worry her, for she knewit would pass. No, her fear was not of pain or hunger or loss of love. Those fears had neverweighed her down as this feeling of wrongness was doing—this blighting fear that was oddly likethat which she knew in her old nightmare, a thick, swimming mist through which she ran withbursting heart, a lost child seeking a haven that was hidden from her.   She remembered how Rhett had always been able to laugh her out of her fears. She rememberedthe comfort of his broad brown chest and his strong arms. And so she turned to him with eyes thatreally saw him for the first time in weeks. And the change she saw shocked her. This man was notgoing to laugh, nor was he going to comfort her.   For some time after Bonnie’s death she had been too angry with him, too preoccupied with hergrief to do more than speak politely in front of the servants. She had been too busyreme(own) mbering the swift running patter of Bonnie’s feet and her bubbling laugh to think that he, too,might be remembering and with pain even greater than her own. Throughout these weeks they hadmet and spoken as courteously as strangers meeting in the impersonal walls of a hotel, sharing thesame roof, the same table, but never sharing the thoughts of each other.   Now that she was frightened and lonely, she would have broken through this barrier if she could, but she found that he was holding her at arm’s length, as though he wished to have no words withher that went beneath the surface. Now that her anger was fading she wanted to tell him that sheheld him guiltless of Bonnie’s death. She wanted to cry in his arms and say that she, too, had beenoverly proud of the child’s horsemanship, overly indulgent to her wheedlings. Now she wouldwillingly have humbled herself and admitted that she had only hurled that accusation at him out ofher misery, hoping by hurting him to alleviate her own hurt. But there never seemed an opportunemoment. He looked at her out of black blank eyes that made no opportunity for her to speak. Andapologies, once postponed, became harder and harder to make, and finally impossible.   She wondered why this should be. Rhett was her husband and between them there was theunbreakable bond of two people who have shared the same bed, begotten and borne a loved childand seen that child, too soon, laid away in the dark. Only in the arms of the father of that childcould she find comfort, in the exchange of memories and grief that might hurt at first but wouldhelp to heal. But, now, as matters stood between them, she would as soon go to the arms of acomplete stranger.   He was seldom at home. When they did sit down to supper together, he was usually drunk. Hewas not drinking as he had formerly, becoming increasingly more polished and biting as the liquortook hold of him, saving amusing, malicious things that made her laugh in spite of herself. Now hewas silently, morosely drunk and, as the evenings progressed, soddenly drunk. Sometimes, in theearly hours of the dawn, she heard him ride into the back yard and beat on the door of the servants’   house so that Pork might help him up the back stairs and put him to bed. Put him to bed! Rhettwho had always drunk others under the table without turning a hair and then put them to bed.   He was untidy now, where once he had been well groomed, and it took all Pork’s scandalizedarguing even to make him change his linen before supper. Whisky was showing in his face and thehard line of his long jaw was being obscured under an unhealthy bloat and puffs rising under hisbloodshot eyes. His big body with its hard swelling muscles looked soft and slack and his waistline began to thicken.   Often he did not come home at all or even send word that he would be away overnight. Ofcourse, he might be snoring drunkenly in some room above a saloon, but Scarlett always believedthat he was at Belle Watling’s house on these occasions. Once she had seen Belle in a store, acoarse overblown woman now, with most of her good looks gone. But, for all her paint and flashydomes, she was buxom and almost motherly looking. Instead of dropping her eyes or glaringdefiantly, as did other light women when confronted by ladies, Belle gave her stare for stare,searching her face with an intent, almost pitying look that brought a flush to Scarlett’s cheek.   But she could not accuse him now, could not rage at him, demand fidelity or try to shame him,any more than she could bring herself to apologize for accusing him of Bonnie’s death. She wasclutched by a bewildered apathy, an unhappiness that she could not understand, an unhappinessthat went deeper than anything she had ever known. She was lonely and she could never rememberbeing so lonely before. Perhaps she had never had the time to be very lonely until now. She waslonely and afraid and there was no one to whom she could turn, no one except Melanie. For now,even Mammy, her mainstay, had gone back to Tara. Gone permanently.   Mammy gave no explanation for her departure. Her tired old eyes looked sadly at Scarlett when she asked for the train fare home. To Scarlett’s tears and pleading that she stay, Mammy onlyanswered: “Look ter me lak Miss Ellen say ter me: ‘Mammy, come home. Yo’ wuk done finish.’ SoAh’s gwine home.”   Rhett, who had listened to the talk, gave Mammy the money and patted her arm.   “You’re right, Mammy. Miss Ellen is right. Your work here is done. Go home. Let me know ifyou ever need anything.” And as Scarlett broke into renewed indignant commands: “Hush, youfool! Let her go! Why should anyone want to stay in this house—now?”   There was such a savage bright glitter in his eyes when he spoke that Scarlett shrank from him,frightened.   “Dr. Meade, do you think he can—can have lost his mind?” she questioned afterwards, driven tothe doctor by her own sense of helplessness.   “No,” said the doctor, “but he’s drinking like a fish and will kill himself if he keeps it up. Heloved the child, Scarlett, and I guess he drinks to forget about her. Now, my advice to you, Miss, isto give him another baby just as quickly as you can.”   “Hah!” thought Scarlett bitterly, as she left his office. That was easier said than done. She wouldgladly have another child, several children, if they would take that look out of Rhett’s eyes and fillup the aching spaces in her own heart. A boy who had Rhett’s dark handsomeness and another littlegirl. Oh, for another girl, pretty and gay and willful and full of laughter, not like the giddy-brainedElla. Why, oh, why couldn’t God have taken Ella if He had to take one of her children? Ella was nocomfort to her, now that Bonnie was gone. But Rhett did not seem to want any other children. Atleast he never came to her bedroom, though now the door was never locked and usually invitinglyajar. He did not seem to care. He did not seem to care for anything now except whisky and thatblowzy red-haired woman.   He was bitter now, where he had been pleasantly jeering, brutal where his thrusts had once beentempered with humor. After Bonnie died, many of the good ladies of the neighborhood who hadbeen won over to him by his charming manners with his daughter were anxious to show himkindness. They stopped him on the street to give him their sympathy and spoke to him from overtheir hedges, saying that they understood. But now that Bonnie, the reason for his good manners,was gone the manners went to. He cut the ladies and their well-meant condolences off shortly,rudely.   But, oddly enough, the ladies were not offended. They understood, or thought they understood.   When he rode home in the twilight almost too drunk to stay in the saddle, scowling at those whospoke to him, the ladies said “Poor thing!” and redoubled their efforts to be kind and gentle. Theyfelt very sorry for him, broken hearted and riding home to no better comfort than ScarlettEverybody knew how cold and heartless she was. Everybody was appalled at the seeming easewith which she had recovered from Bonnie’s death, never realizing or caring to realize the effortthat lay behind that seeming recovery. Rhett had the town’s tenderest sympathy and he neitherknew nor cared. Scarlett had the town’s dislike and, for once, she would have welcomed thesympathy of old friends.   Now, none of her old friends came to the house, except Aunt Pitty, Melanie and Ashley. Only the new friends came calling in their shining carriages, anxious to tell her of their sympathy, eager todivert her with gossip about other new friends in whom she was not at all interested. All these“new people,” strangers, every one! They didn’t know her. They would never know her. They hadno realization of what her life had been before she reached her present safe eminence in hermansion on Peachtree Street. They didn’t care to talk about what their lives had been before theyattained stiff brocades and victorias with fine teams of horses. They didn’t know of her struggles,her privations, all the things that made this great house and pretty clothes and silver and receptionsworth having. They didn’t know. They didn’t care, these people from God-knows-where whoseemed to live always on the surface of things, who had no common memories of war and hungerand fighting, who had no common roots going down into the same red earth.   Now in her loneliness, she would have liked to while away the afternoons with Maybelle orFanny or Mrs. El-sing or Mrs. Whiting or even that redoubtable old warrior, Mrs. Merriwether. OrMrs. Bonnell or—or any of her old friends and neighbors. For they knew. They had known warand terror and fire, had seen dear ones dead before their time; they had hungered and been ragged,had lived with the wolf at the door. And they had rebuilt fortune from ruin.   It would be a comfort to sit with Maybelle, remembering that Maybelle had buried a baby, deadin the mad flight before Sherman. There would be solace in Fanny’s presence, knowing that sheand Fanny both had lost husbands in the black days of martial law. It would be grim fun to laughwith Mrs. Elsing, recalling the old lady’s face as she flogged her horse through Five Points the dayAtlanta fell, her loot from the commissary jouncing from her carriage. It would be pleasant tomatch stories with Mrs. Merriwether, now secure on the proceeds of her bakery, pleasant to say:   “Do you remember how bad things were right after the surrender? Do you remember when wedidn’t know where our next pair of shoes was coming from? And look at us now!”   Yes, it would be pleasant. Now she understood why when two ex-Confederates met, they talkedof the war with so much relish, with pride, with nostalgia. Those had been days that tried theirhearts but they had come through them. They were veterans. She was a veteran too, but she had nocronies with whom she could refight old battles. Oh, to be with her own kind of people again,those people who had been through the same things and knew how they hurt—and yet how great apart of you they were!   But, somehow, these people had slipped away. She realized that it was her own fault. She hadnever cared until now—now that Bonnie was dead and she was lonely and afraid and she sawacross her shining dinner table a swarthy sodden stranger disintegrating under her eyes.  这世界好像出了点毛病,有一种阴沉而可怕的不正常现象,好像一片阴暗和看不透的迷雾,弥温于一切事物之中,也偷偷地把思嘉包围起来。这种不正常比邦妮的死还显要严重,因为邦妮死后初期的悲痛现在已逐渐减轻,她觉得那个惨重的损失可以默默地忍受了。可是目前这种对于未来灾难的恐惧感却持续着,仿佛有个邪恶的盖着头巾的东西恰好蹲在她的肩上,仿佛脚下的土地她一踩上就会变成流沙似的。   她心里从未经历过这样的恐惧。她有生以来一直牢牢地立足于常识的基础之上,曾经害怕过的总是些看得见的东西,包括伤害、饥饿、贫困,以及丧失艾希礼的爱,等等。而如今是在试着分析一种看不见的东西,当然不会有什么结果。她失了她最爱的孩子,但是她毕竟忍受得住,就像忍受了旁的惨重损失那样。她还有健康的身体,还有很多如愿以偿的金钱,而且仍然享有对艾希礼的爱,尽管近来看见他的机会愈来愈少了。甚至连媚兰那个倒霉的间外招待会以后,他们之间形成的拘束,也不怎么使她烦恼,因为她知道那一切会过的。不,她目前的恐惧不是属于痛苦、饥饿或丧失爱情这一类。那些恐惧从来没有像这次非同寻常的感觉一样使她颓丧不堪----这种折磨人的恐惧跟她从前在恶梦中的感觉,即她伤心地从中穿过的一片茫茫游动的迷雾,一个在寻找避难所的迷途的孩子,是极为相似的。   她回想瑞德轻前常常能用笑声把她从恐惧中解脱出来。   她回想起他那宽阔的褐色胸膛和强壮的臂膀曾给过她多少安慰。因此她向他投以乞求的眼光,而这是好几个星期以来她头一次真正看见了他。她发现了他身上极大地变化,不觉大吃一惊。这个人现在不笑了,也不会来安慰她了。   邦妮死后,那段时候她对于他过于恼怒,过于沉浸以在自己的悲痛中,以致她只有在仆人跟前才跟他客平地说说话。   她曾经忙于追忆邦妮的啪哒啦哒的脚步声和潺潺不绝的笑声,因此很少意识到他也在痛苦地回忆,甚至比她自己她更痛苦呢。在整个这段时期,他们见面时只不过客客气扭地交谈,就像两个陌生人在一家饭店里相遇,住在同一幢房子里,在同一张餐桌上吃饭,但是从来没有谈过心,没有交流过思想。   现在她已经感到害怕和孤单了,只要有可能,她是会打破两人之间这重障碍的,可是她发现现在他对她保持着一定的距离,仿佛不愿意同她深谈。现在她的怒气已渐渐平息,她便想告诉他她并不把邦妮的死归罪于他了,她想伏在他怀里大声痛哭,告诉他她也曾将孩子的马术引为骄傲,并对她的甜言蜜语过分溺爱了。现在她愿意老老实实地承认,她以前那样谴责他,只是由于自己心里太难受,想减轻自己的痛苦就来刺伤他。然而,好像始终没有找到适当的机会来说这些。   他那双黑眼睛茫然地望着她,不给她以开口的机会。而表示道歉的行动一旦拖下来,便越拖越难办,最后简直不可能了。   她不明白为什么会是这样。瑞德是她丈夫,他俩之间有着密不可分的结合,他们同床共枕,生了一个共同钟爱的孩子,而且很快又一起看到将这个孩子埋葬了,只有在那个孩子的父亲的怀中,在记忆和悲哀的相互交替中,她才能找到真正安慰,尽管这悲哀起初可能伤人,但毕竟有助于创伤的愈合啊!可是现在,从两人之间的情况来看,她还宁愿投入一个陌生的怀抱中去呢。   他现在很少待在家里。当他们坐下一起吃晚饭时,他常常是先从外面喝醉酒回来的。他喝酒时不再像以前那样越喝越文雅,酒兴上来了便爱刺激人,说些即逗趣又刻薄的话,那会使她听得忘乎所以,不禁哈哈大笑。如今他忧郁地喝闷酒,等到夜色深沉便突然酩酊大醉了。有时候,一大早她就听见他骑马跑进后院,去敲仆人住房的门,好让波克搀扶他爬上后面的楼梯,把他弄到床上去。以前瑞德是经常不动声色地将别人灌醉,让他们昏头昏脑,然后把他们弄上床去的呀!   他从前修饰得整整齐齐,干干净净,可现在显得邋遢起来了。连波克要他在晚餐前换件衬衫,也得大吵半天。威士忌的作用已经在他脸上表现出来,那长长棱角分明的下颚的线条正在渐渐消失,被一种虚胖的表像所遮盖,而布满血丝的眼睛底下也期了两个浮泡似的眼袋。他那肌肉结实的高大身躯显得松驰了,腰围也开始粗笨起来。   他有时干脆不回家,或者公然捎来一句话要在外面过夜。   当然,他可能是喝醉了,在某家酒馆的楼上躺着打鼾呢,但是在这种情况下,思嘉总认为他是在贝尔•沃特琳那里。有一次,她在一家商店里看见了贝尔,她已经是个又粗又胖的女人,以前那些优美的风姿大多坦然无存了。不过,尽管她涂了那么多脂粉,穿着那么俗丽的衣裳,她还是显得胸乳丰满,几乎有母亲般的风韵,贝尔并不像别的轻浮女人那样在上等妇女面前低眉俯首或怒目敌视,却跟思嘉相对凝望,用一种关心和近似怜悯的眼光打量她,使得思嘉脸都红了。   可是她现在既不能骂他,不能向他发火,不能要求他忠诚或出他的丑,同时她自己也不能因为曾经为邦妮的死谴责过他而向他道歉。现在盘踞在她心头的是一种莫名其妙的冷漠科难以理解的忧郁,这种忧郁之深沉是她从来都没有体会过的。她感到孤单,前所未有地孤单。也许在此以前她从来没有真正的孤单地时刻吧。她觉得现在又孤单又害怕,而且除了媚兰以外,没有一个人是她可以去倾诉。因为现在连她的主要支柱嬷嬷也回塔拉去了。她永远不会回来了。   嬷嬷走时没作任何解释。她向思嘉要路费时只瞪着一双疲惫衰老的眼睛伤心地瞧着她。思嘉流着眼泪恳求她留下来,她回答说:“我仿佛听到爱伦小姐在对我说:'嬷嬷,回来吧。   你的事已经做完了。'所以我要回去。”   瑞德听见了那次谈话,他给了嬷嬷路费,并拍了拍她的臂膀。   “你是对的,嬷嬷,爱伦小姐是对的。你在这里的事已经做完了。回去吧。你需要什么请随时告诉我。"看见思嘉又来愤愤不起地插嘴时,他伸申斥说:“别说了,你这笨蛋!让她走!现在,人家为什么还要留在这里呢?"他说这话时眼睛里迸发着凶悍的光芒,吓得思嘉畏缩着不敢作声了。   她后来怀着孤立无助的心情跑去问米德大夫,问道:“大夫,你看他是不是可能----是不是可能已发疯了?"“不是,"大夫说,"不过他喝酒太多,再这样下去是会害死他自己的。思嘉,他爱那孩子呢,我猜他喝酒就是为了要记忆她。现在,小姐,我给你的忠告是忙跟他再生一个孩子。"“哼!"思嘉走出大夫的诊所时怨愤地想,说倒容易,但做起来可难哪!她倒是很乐意再生一个孩子,生几个孩子,只要他们能够把瑞德眼睛里那种神色消除掉,把她心中那个痛苦的空隙填补起来。一个像瑞德那样黝黑英俊的男孩,或者再来个女孩,都行呀。唔,再来个女孩吧,一个漂亮、活泼、任性、爱笑的小女孩,不像爱拉那样浮躁,多好啊!为什么,唔,如果上帝一定得带走她的一个孩子的话,为什么没有带走爱拉呢?现在邦妮死了,爱拉也不能给她什么安慰。可是瑞德好像并不想再要孩子。因为他从不到她卧室里来,尽管现在她已不再锁门,而且常常把门半开着。他好像一点也不感兴趣。他好像除了威士忌和那个红头发的女人以外,对什么也不感兴趣。   他原来是喜爱嘲讽人但又令人高兴的,可现在变得严酷了:原来是犀利中带点幽默的,可现在只剩下残忍了。自从邦妮死后,许多曾经因他跟女儿在一起时那么彬彬有礼而深受感动、并转为尊重他的邻居妇女,都很想安慰他。她们在街上叫住他,对他表示同情,隔着篱栏跟他说话,说她们很理解他的心情。可现在既然邦妮死了,那个叫他讲究礼貌的原因已不再存在了,他的礼貌也就可以不要了。他骄横而粗暴地对待那些太太们,并打断她们的善意慰问。   奇怪的是那些太太们并不因此生他的气。她们很理解,或者自以为理解。每天黄昏时分他骑马回家时,他醉得快要坐不稳了,一见有人对他说话便皱起眉头。这时太太们只好说声“真可怜呀!"并且继续努力对他表示亲切的关怀。她们很替他难过,因为他伤心地回到家里后,却只能受到思嘉那样的接等。   大家都知道思嘉为人多么冷酷,多么无情。大家看见他显得那么轻松以就从丧失邦妮的悲痛中恢复过来了,都大为惊讶。他们从不了解,也不能去了解,她那貌似恢复的背后那番痛苦的挣扎。瑞德受到全城人的深切关心的同情,而他对此既不明白也不在乎了,思嘉为全城人所厌恶,但她却生平第一次感到需要老朋友们的关切了。   如今,除了皮蒂姑妈、媚兰和艾希礼外,她的老朋友们谁也不上她家里来了。   只有那些新朋友坐着铮亮的马车来拜访她,急切地向她表示同情,还热烈地谈论起他新朋友的事来排遣她的忧愁,尽管她对后者根本不感兴趣。所有这些"新人"都是陌生人,没有一个例外!她们什么也不了解她。她们永远也不会了解她。   她们对于她发家致富和住进桃树街上这幢大宅以前的生活,可以说一无所知。她们也不喜欢谈她们自己在穿着绸缎和坐上高车骏马之前的生活。她们根本不知道她曾经怎样奋斗,经历过什么样的穷困和种种艰险,最后才获得这幢大宅,这些美丽的服饰和银器,并且能举行豪华招待会。她们无法弄清楚。她们也不关心,这些天知道从哪里冒出来的人,她们似乎永远生活在事物的表面,没有关于战争、饥饿和打仗的共同记忆,没有扎进同样的红土地中和共同根底。   现在她真觉得孤单了,便很想跟梅贝尔或范妮,埃尔辛太太或惠廷太太,甚至那位可畏的老斗士梅里韦瑟太太,在一起聊聊天,消磨整个下午的时光。或者是邦内尔太太或----或任何别的一位老朋友,或者邻居,都可以。因为她们能够了解她。她们了解战争、恐怖和焚城的大火,见过亲人过早地死去,饿过肚皮,穿过破衣烂衫,受到过饥寒交迫的威胁。   后来她们从废墟中建造了自己的幸福生活。   如果能跟梅贝尔坐在一起,回忆谢尔曼部队侵入时,梅贝尔埋葬了一个在逃难中死亡的婴儿,那倒是一种安慰呢。如果范妮来了,两人谈起彼此的丈夫都牺牲在戒严令时期最黑暗的日子里,也会很有意思。如果跟埃尔辛太太一起回忆亚特兰大陷落那天,这位老太太拼命鞭打着她的马跑出五点镇时那焦急的神色,以及车里那些从供销店抢出来的东西一路颠簸着撒落的情景,两人会哈哈大笑,觉得又后怕又好玩呢。   至于梅里韦瑟太太,这位开面包店已开得兴旺起来的老太太,你要是和她争着讲往事,并对她说:“你还记得投降以后坏事怎样都变成好事了吗?你还记得我们不知道下一双鞋从哪里来的那个时候吗?可是,瞧瞧,我们现在的光景!"那该是多叫人高兴啊!   是的,那会叫人高兴的。现在她才明白了,为什么两个从前支持联盟的人碰到一起,会谈得那样津津有味,那样自豪,那样对过去怀念不已。那些艰难的日子是考验人们思想感情的日子,可他们都熬过来了。他们都是些老兵呢。她也是个老兵。不过她不能和亲密的伙伴来重温往日的战斗了。   啊,她现在多么希望同那些跟她自己一样的人在一起啊----那些跟她经历与跋涉过同样历程的人,他们知道这历程有多么艰苦,可是它已成了你的一个伟大部分啊!   但是,不知为什么,这些人都溜走了。她明白这全都是她自己的过错。她从来没有很好地关心过她们,直到现在才想起----直到邦妮已经死了,她自己觉得又孤单又害怕,抬头只看见雪亮的餐桌对面那个黝黑的神情恍惚的陌生人,他在她的眼光下已经开始崩溃了。 Chapter 61 SCARLETT WAS in Marietta when Rhett’s urgent telegram came. There was a train leaving forAtlanta in ten minutes and she caught it, carrying no baggage except her reticule and leaving Wadeand Ella at the hotel with Prissy.   Atlanta was only twenty miles away but the train crawled interminably through the wet earlyautumn afternoon, stopping at every bypath for passengers. Panic stricken at Rhett’s message, madfor speed, Scarlett almost screamed at every halt. Down the road lumbered the train through forests faintly, tiredly gold, past red hillsides still scarred with serpentine breastworks, past old battery emplacementsand weed-grown craters, down the road over which Johnston’s men had retreated sobitterly, fighting every step of the way. Each station, each crossroad the conductor called was thename of a battle, the site of a skirmish. Once they would have stirred Scarlett to memories of terrorbut now she had no thought for them.   Rhett’s message had been:   “Mrs. Wilkes ill. Come home immediately.”   Twilight had fallen when the train pulled into Atlanta and a light misting rain obscured the town.   The gas street lamps glowed dully, blobs of yellow in the fog. Rhett was waiting for her at thedepot with the carriage. The very sight of his face frightened her more than his telegram. She hadnever seen it so expressionless before.   “She isn’t—” she cried.   “No. She’s still alive.” Rhett assisted her into the carriage. “To Mrs. Wilkes’ house and as fast asyou can go,” he ordered the coachman.   “What’s the matter with her? I didn’t know she was ill. She looked all right last week. Did shehave an accident? Oh, Rhett, it isn’t really as serious as you—”   “She’s dying,” said Rhett and his voice had no more expression than his face. “She wants to seeyou.”   “Not Melly! Oh, not Melly! What’s happened to her?”   “She’s had a miscarriage.”   “A—a-mis—but, Rhett, she—” Scarlett floundered. This information on top of the horror of hisannouncement took her breath away.   “You did not know she was going to have a baby?”   She could not even shake her head.   “Ah, well. I suppose not. I don’t think she told anyone. She wanted it to be a surprise. But Iknew.”   “You knew? But surely she didn’t tell you!”   She didn’t have to tell me. I knew. She’s been so—happy these last two months I knew itcouldn’t mean anything else.”   “But Rhett, the doctor said it would kill her to have another baby!”   “It has killed her,” said Rhett. And to the coachman: “For God’s sake, can’t you drive faster?”   “But, Rhett, she can’t be dying! I—I didn’t and I—”   “She hasn’t your strength. She’s never had any strength. She’s never had anything but heart.”   The carriage rocked to a standstill in front of the flat little house and Rhett handed her out.   Trembling, frightened, a sudden feeling of loneliness upon her, she clasped his arm.   “You’re coming in, Rhett?”   “No,” he said and got back into the carriage.   She flew up the front steps, across the porch and threw open the door. There, in the yellowlamplight were Ashley, Aunt Pitty and India. Scarlett thought: “What’s India doing here? Melanietold her never to set foot in this house again.” The three rose at the sight of her, Aunt Pitty bitingher trembling lips to still them, India staring at her, grief stricken and without hate. Ashley lookeddull as a sleepwalker and, as he came to her and put his hand upon her arm, he spoke like asleepwalker.   “She asked for you,” he said. “She asked for you.”   “Can I see her now?” She turned toward the closed door of Melanie’s room.   “No. Dr. Meade is in there now. I’m glad you’ve come, Scarlett”   “I came as quickly as I could.” Scarlett shed her bonnet and her cloak. “The train— She isn’treally— Tell me, she’s better, isn’t she, Ashley? Speak to me! Don’t look like that! She isn’t really—”   “She kept asking for you,” said Ashley and looked her in the eyes. And, in his eyes she saw theanswer to her question. For a moment, her heart stood still and then a queer fear, stronger thananxiety, stronger than grief, began to beat in her breast. It can’t be true, she thought vehemently,trying to push back the fear. Doctors make mistakes. I won’t think it’s true. I can’t let myself thinkit’s true. I’ll scream if I do. I must think of something else.   “I don’t believe it!” she cried stormily, looking into the three drawn faces as though defyingthem to contradict her. “And why didn’t Melanie tell me? I’d never have gone to Marietta if I’dknown!”   Ashley’s eyes awoke and were tormented.   “She didn’t tell anyone, Scarlett, especially not you. She was afraid you’d scold her if you knew.   She wanted to wait three—till she thought it safe and sure and then surprise you all and laugh andsay how wrong the doctors had been. And she was so happy. You know how she was about babies—how much she’s wanted a little girl. And everything went so well until—and then for no reasonat all—”   The door of Melanie’s room opened quietly and Dr. Meade came out into the hall, shutting thedoor behind him. He stood for a moment, his gray beard sunk on his chest, and looked at thesuddenly frozen four. His gaze fell last on Scarlett. As he came toward her, she saw that there wasgrief in his eyes and also dislike and contempt that flooded her frightened heart with guilt.   “So you finally got here,” he said.   Before she could answer, Ashley started toward the closed door.   “Not you, yet,” said the doctor. “She wants to speak to Scarlett.”   “Doctor,” said India, putting a hand on his sleeve. Though her voice was toneless, it plead moreloudly than words. “Let me see her for a moment. I’ve been here since this morning, waiting, butshe— Let me see her for a moment. I want to tell her—must tell her—that I was wrong about— something.”   She did not look at Ashley or Scarlett as she spoke, but Dr. Meade allowed his cold glance to fallon Scarlett.   “I’ll see, Miss India,” he said briefly. “But only if you’ll give me your word not to use up herstrength telling her you were wrong. She knows you were wrong and it will only worry her to hearyou apologize.”   Pitty began, timidly: “Please, Dr. Meade—”   “Miss Pitty, you know you’d scream and faint.”   Pitty drew up her stout little body and gave the doctor glance for glance. Her eyes were dry andthere was dignity in every curve.   “Well, all right, honey, a little later,” said the doctor, more kindly. “Come, Scarlett.”   They tiptoed down the hall to the closed door and the doctor put his hand on Scarlett’s shoulderin a hard grip.   “Now, Miss,” he whispered briefly, “no hysterics and no deathbed confessions from you or,before God, I will wring your neck! Don’t give me any of your innocent stares. You know what Imean. Miss Melly is going to die easily and you aren’t going to ease your own conscience bytelling her anything about Ashley. I’ve never harmed a woman yet, but if you say anything now—you’ll answer to me.”   He opened the door before she could answer, pushed her into the room and closed the doorbehind her. The little room, cheaply furnished in black walnut, was in semi-darkness, the lampshaded with a newspaper. It was as small and prim a room as a schoolgirl’s, the narrow little low-backed bed, the plain net curtains looped back, the clean faded rag rugs on the floor, were sodifferent from the lavishness of Scarlett’s own bedroom with its towering carved furniture, pinkbrocade draperies and rose-strewn carpet.   Melanie lay in the bed, her figure under the counterpane shrunken and flat like a little girl’s.   Two black braids fell on either side of her face and her closed eyes were sunken in twin purplecircles. At the sight of her Scarlett stood transfixed, leaning against the door. Despite the gloom ofthe room, she could see that Melanie’s face was of a waxy yellow color. It was drained of life’sblood and there was a pinched look about the nose. Until that moment, Scarlett had hoped Dr.   Meade was mistaken. But now she knew. In the hospitals during the war she had seen too manyfaces wearing this pinched look not to know what it inevitably presaged.   Melanie was dying, but for a moment Scarlett’s mind refused to take it in. Melanie could notdie. It was impossible for her to die. God wouldn’t let her die when she, Scarlett, needed her somuch. Never before had it occurred to her that she needed Melanie. But now, the truth surged in,down to the deepest recesses of her soul. She had relied on Melanie, even as she had relied uponherself, and she had never known it. Now, Melanie was dying and Scarlett knew she could not getalong without her. Now, as she tiptoed across the room toward the quiet figure, panic clutching ather heart, she knew that Melanie had been her sword and her shield, her comfort and her strength.   “I must hold her! I can’t let her get away!” she thought and sank beside the bed with a rustle of skirts. Hastily she grasped the limp hand lying on the coverlet and was frightened anew by its chill.   “It’s me, Melly,” she said.   Melanie’s eyes opened a slit and then, as if having satisfied herself that it was really Scarlett, sheclosed them again. After a pause she drew a breath and whispered:   “Promise me?”   “Oh, anything!”   “Beau—look after him.”   Scarlett could only nod, a strangled feeling in her throat, and she gently pressed the hand sheheld by way of assent.   “I give him to you.” There was the faintest trace of a smile. “I gave him to you, once before—‘member?—before he was born.”   Did she remember? Could she ever forget that time? Almost as clearly as if that dreadful dayhad returned, she could feel the stifling heat of the September noon, remembering her terror of theYankees, hear the tramp of the retreating troops, recall Melanie’s voice begging her to take thebaby should she die—remember, too, how she had hated Melanie that day and hoped that shewould die.   “I’ve killed her,” she thought, in superstitious agony. “I wished so often she would die and Godheard me and is punishing me.”   “Oh, Melly, don’t talk like that! You know you’ll pull through this—”   “No. Promise.”   Scarlett gulped.   “You know I promise. I’ll treat him like he was my own boy.”   “College?” asked Melanie’s fault flat voice.   “Oh, yes! The university and Harvard and Europe and anything he wants—and—and—a pony—and music lessons— Oh, please, Melly, do try! Do make an effort!”   The silence fell again and on Melanie’s face there were signs of a struggle to gather strength tospeak.   “Ashley,” she said. “Ashley and you—” Her voice faltered into stillness.   At the mention of Ashley’s name, Scarlett’s heart stood still, cold as granite within her. Melaniehad known all the time. Scarlett dropped her head on the coverlet and a sob that would not risecaught her throat with a cruel hand. Melanie knew. Scarlett was beyond shame now, beyond anyfeeling save a wild remorse that she had hurt this gentle creature throughout the long years.   Melanie had known—and yet, she had remained her loyal friend. Oh, if she could only live thoseyears over again! She would never even let her eyes meet those of Ashley.   “O God,” she prayed rapidly, “do, please, let her live! I’ll make it up to her. I’ll be so good toher. I’ll never even speak to Ashley again as long as I live, if You’ll only let her get well!”   “Ashley,” said Melanie feebly and her fingers readied out to touch Scarlett’s bowed head. Herthumb and forefinger tugged with no more strength than that of a baby at Scarlett’s hair. Scarlettknew what that meant, knew Melanie wanted her to look up. But she could not, could not meetMelanie’s eyes and read that knowledge in them.   “Ashley,” Melanie whispered again and Scarlett gripped herself. When she looked God in theface on the Day of Judgment and read her sentence in His eyes, it would not be as bad as this. Hersoul cringed but she raised her head.   She saw only the same dark loving eyes, sunken and drowsy with death, the same tender mouthtiredly fighting pain for breath. No reproach was there, no accusation and no fear—only an anxietythat she might not find strength for words.   For a moment Scarlett was too stunned to even feel relief. Then, as she held Melanie’s handmore closely, a flood of warm gratitude to God swept over her and, for the first time since herchildhood, she said a humble, unselfish prayer.   “Thank You, God. I know I’m not worth it but thank You for not letting her know.”   “What about Ashley, Melly?”   “You’ll—look after him?”   “Oh, yes.”   “He catches cold—so easily.”   There was a pause.   “Look after—his business—you understand?”   “Yes, I understand. I will.”   She made a great effort.   “Ashley isn’t—practical.”   Only death could have forced that disloyalty from Melanie.   “Look after him, Scarlett—but—don’t ever let him know.”   “I’ll look after him and the business too, and I’ll never let him know. I’ll just kind of suggestthings to him.”   Melanie managed a small smile but it was a triumphant one as her eyes met Scarlett’s again.   Their glance sealed the bargain that the protection of Ashley Wilkes from a too harsh world waspassing from one woman to another and that Ashley’s masculine pride should never be humbled bythis knowledge.   Now the struggle went out of the tired face as though with Scarlett’s promise, ease had come toher.   “You’re so smart—so brave—always been so good to me—”   At these words, the sob came freely to Scarlett’s throat and she clapped her hand over hermouth. Now, she was going to bawl like a child and cry out: “I’ve been a devil! I’ve wronged you so! I never did anything for you! It was all for Ashley.”   She rose to her feet abruptly, sinking her teeth into her thumb to regain her control. Rhett’swords came back to her again, “She loves you. Let that be your cross.” Well, the cross was heaviernow. It was bad enough that she had tried by every art to take Ashley from her. But now it wasworse that Melanie, who had trusted her blindly through life, was laying the same love and trust onher in death. No, she could not speak. She could not even say again: “Make an effort to live.” Shemust let her go easily, without a struggle, without tears, without sorrow.   The door opened slightly and Dr. Meade stood on the threshold, beckoning imperiously. Scarlettbent over the bed, choking back her tears and taking Melanie’s hand, laid it against her cheek.   “Good night,” she said, and her voice was steadier than she thought it possibly could be.   “Promise me—” came the whisper, very softly now.   “Anything, darling.”   “Captain Butler—be kind to him. He—loves you so.”   “Rhett?” thought Scarlett, bewildered, and the words meant nothing to her.   “Yes, indeed,” she said automatically and, pressing a light kiss on the hand, laid it back on thebed.   “Tell the ladies to come in immediately,” whispered the doctor as she passed through the door.   Through blurred eyes she saw India and Pitty follow the doctor into the room, holding theirskirts close to their sides to keep them from rustling. The door closed behind them and the housewas still. Ashley was nowhere to be seen. Scarlett leaned her head against the wall, like a naughtychild in a corner, and rubbed her aching throat.   Behind that door, Melanie was going and, with her, the strength upon which she had reliedunknowingly for so many years. Why, oh, why, had she not realized before this how much sheloved and needed Melanie? But who would have thought of small plain Melanie as a tower ofstrength? Melanie who was shy to tears before strangers, timid about raising her voice in anopinion of her own, fearful of the disapproval of old ladies, Melanie who lacked the courage to sayBoo to a goose? And yet—Scarlett’s mind went back through the years to the still, hot noon at Tara when gray smokecurled above a blue-clad body and Melanie stood at the top of the stairs with Charles’ saber in herhand. Scarlett remembered that she had thought at the time: “How silly! Melly couldn’t even heftthat sword!” But now she knew that had the necessity arisen, Melanie would have charged downthose stairs and killed the Yankee—or been killed herself.   Yes, Melanie had been there that day with a sword in her small hand, ready to do battle for her.   And now, as Scarlett looked sadly back, she realized that Melanie had always been there beside herwith a sword in her hand, unobtrusive as her own shadow, loving her, fighting for her with blindpassionate loyalty, fighting Yankees, fire, hunger, poverty, public opinion and even her belovedblood kin.   Scarlett felt her courage and self-confidence ooze from her as she realized that the sword which had flashed between her and the world was sheathed forever.   “Melly is the only woman friend I ever had,” she thought forlornly, “the only woman exceptMother who really loved me. She’s like Mother, too. Everyone who knew her has clung to herskirts.”   Suddenly it was as if Ellen were lying behind that closed door, leaving the world for a secondtime. Suddenly she was standing at Tara again with the world about her ears, desolate with theknowledge that she could not face life without the terrible strength of the weak, the gentle, thetender hearted.   She stood in the hall, irresolute, frightened, and the glaring light of the fire in the sitting roomthrew tall dim shadows on the walls about her. The house was utterly still and the stillness soakedinto her like a fine chill rain. Ashley! Where was Ashley?   She went toward the sitting room seeking him like a cold animal seeking the fire but he was notthere. She must find him. She had discovered Melanie’s strength and her dependence on it only tolose it in the moment of discovery but there was still Ashley left. There was Ashley who wasstrong and wise and comforting. In Ashley and his love lay strength upon which to lay herweakness, courage to bolster her fear, ease for her sorrow.   He must be in his room, she thought, and tiptoeing down the hall, she knocked softly. There wasno answer, so she pushed the door open. Ashley was standing in front of the dresser, looking at apair of Melanie’s mended gloves. First he picked up one and looked at it, as though he had neverseen it before. Then he laid it down gently, as though it were made of glass, and picked up theother one.   She said: “ Ashley!” in a trembling voice and he turned slowly and looked at her. The drowsyaloofness had gone from his gray eyes and they were wide and unmasked. In them she saw fearthat matched her own fear, helplessness weaker than her own, bewilderment more profound thanshe would ever know. The feeling of dread which had possessed her in the hall deepened as shesaw his face. She went toward him.   “I’m frightened,” she said. “Oh, Ashley, hold me. I’m so frightened!”   He made no move to her but stared, gripping the glove tightly in both hands. She put a hand onhis arm and whispered: “What is it?”   His eyes searched her intently, hunting, hunting desperately for something he did not find.   Finally he spoke and his voice was not his own.   “I was wanting you,” he said. “I was going to run and find you—run like a child wantingcomfort—and I find a child, more frightened, running to me.”   “Not you—you can’t be frightened,” she cried. “Nothing has ever frightened you. But I—You’ve always been so strong—”   “If I’ve ever been strong, it was because she was behind me,” he said, his voice breaking, and helooked down at the glove and smoothed the fingers. “And—and—all the strength I ever had isgoing with her.”   There was such a note of wild despair in his low voice that she dropped her hand from his armand stepped back. And in the heavy silence that fell between them, she felt that she reallyunderstood him for the first time in her life.   “Why—” she said slowly, “why, Ashley, you love her, don’t you?”   He spoke as with an effort.   “She is the only dream I ever had that lived and breathed and did not die in the face of reality.”   “Dreams!” she thought, an old irritation stirring. “Always dreams with him! Never commonsense!”   With a heart that was heavy and a little bitter, she said: “You’ve been such a fool, Ashley. Whycouldn’t you see that she was worth a million of me?”   “Scarlett, please! If you only knew what I’ve gone through since the doctor—”   “What you’ve gone through! Don’t you think that I— Oh, Ashley, you should have known,years ago, that you loved her and not me! Why didn’t you! Everything would have been sodifferent, so— Oh, you should have realized and not kept me dangling with all your talk abouthonor and sacrifice! If you’d told me, years ago, I’d have— It would have killed me but I couldhave stood it somehow. But you wait till now, till Melly’s dying, to find it out and now it’s too lateto do anything. Oh, Ashley, men are supposed to know such things—not women! You should haveseen so clearly that you loved her all the time and only wanted me like—like Rhett wants thatWatling woman!”   He winced at her words but his eyes still met hers, imploring silence, comfort. Every line of hisface admitted the truth of her words. The very droop of his shoulders showed that his own self-castigation was more cruel than any she could give. He stood silent before her, clutching the glovethough it were an understanding hand and, in the stillness that followed her words, herind(as) ignation fell away and pity, tinged with contempt, took its place. Her conscience smote her. Shewas kicking a beaten and defenseless man—and she had promised Melanie that she would lookafter him.   “And just as soon as I promised her, I said mean, hurting things to him and there’s no need forme to say them or for anyone to say them. He knows the truth and it’s killing him,” she thoughtdesolately. “He’s not grown up. He’s a child, like me, and he’s sick with fear at losing her. Mellyknew how it would be—Melly knew him far better than I do. That’s why she said look after himand Beau, in the same breath. How can Ashley ever stand this? I can stand it. I can stand anything.   I’ve had to stand so much. But he can’t—he can’t stand anything without her.”   “Forgive me, darling,” she said gently, putting out her arms. “I know what you must besuffering. But remember, she doesn’t know anything—she never even suspected— God was thatgood to us.”   He came to her quickly and his arms went round her blindly. She tiptoed to bring her warmcheek comfortingly against his and with one hand she smoothed the back of his hair.   “Don’t cry, sweet. She’d want you to be brave. She’ll want to see you in a moment and you mustbe brave. She mustn’t see that you’ve been crying. It would worry her.”   He held her in a grip that made breathing difficult and his choking voice was in her ear.   “What will I do? I can’t—I can’t live without her!”   “I can’t either,” she thought, shuddering away from the picture of the long years to come,without Melanie. But she caught herself in a strong grasp. Ashley was depending on her, Melaniewas depending on her. As once before, in the moonlight at Tara, drunk, exhausted, she had thought:   “Burdens are for shoulders strong enough to carry them.” Well, her shoulders were strong andAshley’s were not. She squared her shoulders for the load and with a calmness she was far fromfeeling, kissed his wet cheek without fever or longing or passion, only with cool gentleness.   “We shall manage—somehow,” she said.   A door opened with sudden violence into the hall and Dr. Meade called with sharp urgency:   “Ashley! Quick!”   “My God! She’s gone!” thought Scarlett “And Ashley didn’t get to tell her good-by! But maybe—”   “Hurry!” she cried aloud, giving him a push, for he stood staring like one stunned. “Hurry!”   She pulled open the door and motioned him through. Galvanized by her words, he ran into thehall, the glove still clasped closely in his hand. She heard his rapid steps for a moment and then theclosing of a door.   She said, “My God!” again and walking slowly to the bed, sat down upon it and dropped herhead in her hands. She was suddenly tired, more tired than she had ever been in all her life. Withthe sound of the closing door, the strain under which she had been laboring, the strain which hadgiven her strength, suddenly snapped. She felt exhausted in body and drained of emotions. Nowshe felt no sorrow or remorse, no fear or amazement. She was tired and her mind ticked awaydully, mechanically, as the clock on the mantel.   Out of the dullness, one thought arose. Ashley did not love her and had never really loved herand the knowledge did not hurt. It should hurt. She should be desolate, broken hearted, ready toscream at fate. She had relied upon his love for so long. It had upheld her through so many darkplaces. Yet, there the truth was. He did not love her and she did not care. She did not care becauseshe did not love him. She did not love him and so nothing he could do or say could hurt her.   She lay down on the bed and put her head on the pillow tiredly. Useless to try to combat theidea, useless to say to herself: “But I do love him. I’ve loved him for years. Love can’t change toapathy in a minute.”   But it could change and it had changed.   “He never really existed at all, except in my imagination,” she thought wearily. “I lovedsomething I made up, something that’s just as dead as Melly is. I made a pretty suit of clothes andfell in love with it. And when Ashley came riding along, so handsome, so different, I put that suiton him and made him wear it whether it fitted him or not. And I wouldn’t see what he really was. Ikept on loving the pretty clothes—and not him at all.”   Now she could look back down the long years and see herself in green flowered dimity, standing in the sunshine at Tara, thrilled by the young horseman with his blond hair shining like a silverhelmet. She could see so clearly now that he was only a childish fancy, no more important reallythan her spoiled desire for the aquamarine earbobs she had coaxed out of Gerald. For, once sheowned the earbobs, they had lost their value, as everything except money lost its value once it washers. And so he, too, would have become cheap if, in those first far-away days, she had ever hadthe satisfaction of refusing to marry him. If she had ever had him at her mercy, seen him grownpassionate, importunate, jealous, sulky, pleading, like the other boys, the wild infatuation whichhad possessed her would have passed, blowing away as lightly as mist before sunshine and lightwind when she met a new man.   “What a fool I’ve been,” she thought bitterly. “And now I’ve got to pay for it What I’ve wishedfor so often has happened. I’ve wished Melly was dead so I could have him. And now she’s deadand I’ve got him and I don’t want him. His damned honor will make him ask me if I want todivorce Rhett and marry him. Marry him? I wouldn’t have him on a silver platter! But, just thesame I’ve got him round my neck for the rest of my life. As long as I live I’ll have to look afterhim and see that he doesn’t starve and that people don’t hurt his feelings. He’ll be just anotherchild, clinging to my skirts. I’ve lost my lover and I’ve got another child. And if I hadn’t promisedMelly, I’d—I wouldn’t care if I never saw him again.”   思嘉是在马里塔时收到瑞德的加急电报的。恰好就有一趟去亚特兰大的火车,十分钟后开。她便搭上了,除了一个手提网袋没带任何行李,把韦德和爱拉留在旅馆里由百里茜照看着。   亚特兰大离马里塔只有二十英里,可是火车在多雨的初秋下午断断续续地爬行着,在每条小径旁都要停车让行人通过。思嘉已被瑞德的电报吓慌了,急于赶路,因此每一停车都要气得大叫起来。列车笨拙地行进,穿过微带金黄色的森林,经过残留着蛇形胸墙的红色山坡,经过旧的炮兵掩体和长满野草的弹坑。在这条路上,约翰斯顿的部队狼狈撤退时曾经一步步苦战不已。对每一个站和每一个十字路口,列车员都是以一个战役或一次交火的名称来称呼。要是在过去,这会引起思嘉回想当时的恐怖情景,可现在她不去想这些了。   瑞德的电报是这样的:   “威尔克斯太太病重速归。”   火车驶进亚特兰大时,暮色已浓,加上一片蒙蒙细雨,城市就更显得朦胧不清了。街灯暗淡地照着,像雾中一些昏黄的斑点似的。瑞德带着一辆马车在车站等候她。她一看他的脸色,便比收到的电报时惊慌了。她以前从没见过他这样毫无表情呢。   “她没有----"她惊叫道。   “没有。她还活着。"瑞德搀扶着她上了马车。"去威尔克斯太太家,越快越好,“他这样吩咐车夫。   “她怎么了?我没听说她生病嘛。上星期还好好的。她遇到了什么意外吗?唔,瑞德,情况并不像你说的那么严重吧?"“她快死了,"瑞德说,声音也像面色一样毫无表情:“她要见你。"“媚兰不会的!啊,媚兰不会的!她究竟出了什么毛病呀?"“她小产了。"“小----产,可是,瑞德,她----"思嘉早已给吓得说不出话。这个消息紧跟着瑞德宣布的濒危状况,使她连气都喘不过来了。   “你不知道她怀孕了吗?”   她甚至连头也没有摇一遥   “哎,是的,我看你不会知道。我想她不会告诉任何人的。   她要叫人家大吃一惊呢。不过我知道。"“你知道?她绝不会告诉你的!”“她没有必要告诉我。不过我能猜到。最近两个月她显得那么高兴,我就猜这不可能是别的原故。"”可是瑞德,大夫曾说过,如果再生孩子就要她的命了!”“现在就要她的命了,"瑞德说。接着他责问马车夫:“看在上帝面上,你能不能更快一点?"“不过,瑞德,她不见得会死的!我----我都没有-—"“她的抵抗力没有你好。她一向是没有什么抵抗力的。除了一颗好心以外,她什么也没有。"马车在一座小小的平房前嘎的一声停住,瑞德扶她下了车,她胆颤心惊,一种突如起来的孤独感袭上心头为,她紧紧抓住他的臂膀。   “你也进去吧,瑞德?”   “不,"他说了一声便回到马车里去了。   她奔上屋前的台阶,穿过走廊,把门推开。艾希礼、皮蒂姑妈和英迪亚坐在昏黄的灯光下。思嘉心想:“英迪亚在这里干什么呢?媚兰早已说过叫她永远也不要再进这个门嘛。”那三个人一见到她便站起身来,皮蒂姑妈紧紧咬着嘴唇不让它们颤抖;英迪亚瞪大眼睛注视着她,看来完全是为了悲伤而没有恨的意思。艾希礼目光呆滞,像个梦游人似的向她走来,伸出一只手握住她的胳臂,又像个梦游人似的对她说话。   “她要见你,"他说,“她要见你。”   “我现在就去看她好吗?"她回头看看媚兰的卧室,卧室是关着的。   “不,米德大夫在里面。我很高兴你回来了,思嘉。"“我是尽快赶回来的。“思嘉将帽子和外衣脱了。"火车----她不是真的----告诉我,她好些了,是不是,艾希礼?你说呀!别这样愣着嘛!她不见得真的----"“她一直要见你呢,"艾希礼说,凝视着她的眼睛。同时思嘉从他的眼神里找到了答案。瞬时间,她的心像停止了跳动,接着是一种可怕的恐惧,比焦急和悲哀更强大的恐惧,它开始在她的胸膛里蹦跳了。这不可能是真的,她热切地想,试着把恐惧挡回去。大夫有时也会作出错误的诊断呢,我决不相信这是真的。我不能说服自己相信这是真的。我要是相信便会尖叫起来了。我现在得想想别的事情了。   “我决不相信!"她大声喊道,一面注视着面前那三张绷紧的面孔,仿佛质问他们敢不敢反驳似的。"为什么媚兰没告诉我呢?如果我早已经知道,就不会到马里塔去了。"艾希礼的眼神好像忽然清醒过来,感到很痛苦似的。   “她没有告诉任何人,思嘉,特别是没有告诉你。她怕你知道了会责备她。她想等待三个月----到她认为已经安稳和有把握了的时候才说出来,叫你们全都大吃一惊,并笑话大夫们居然诊断错了。而且她是非常高兴的。你知道她对婴儿的那种态度----她多么希望有个小女孩。何况一切都顺利,直到----后来,无原无故地----"媚兰的房门悄悄地开了,米德大夫从里面走出来,随手把门带上。他在那里站立了一会,那把灰色胡子垂在胸前,眼睛望着那四个突然吓呆了的人。他的眼光最后落到思嘉身上。   他向她走来时,思嘉发现他眼中充满了悲伤,同时也含有厌恶和轻蔑之情,这使她惊慌的心里顿时涌起满怀内疚。   “你毕竟还是来了,"他说。   她还没来得及回答,艾希礼便要向那关着的门走去。   “你先不要去,"大夫说。"她要跟思嘉说话呢。"“大夫,让我进去看她一眼吧,"英迪亚拉着他的衣袖着。   她的声音尽管听起来很平谈,但比大声的要求更加诚恳。"我今天一早就来了,一直等着,可是她----就让我去看看吧,哪怕一分钟也行。我要告诉她----一定要告诉她----我错了,在----在有些事情上。"她说这些时,眼睛没有看艾希礼或思嘉,可是米德大夫冷冷的目光却自然地落到了思嘉身上。   “等会儿再说吧,英迪亚小姐,"他简单地说。"不过你得答应我不说你错了这些话去刺激她。她知道是你错了。你这时候去道歉只会增加她的烦恼。"皮蒂也怯生生地开口了:”我请你,米德大夫----"“皮蒂小姐,你明白你是会尖叫的,会晕过去的。"皮蒂挺了挺她那胖胖的小个儿,向大夫妻一眼。她的眼睛是干的,但充满了庄严的神色。   “好吧,亲爱的,稍等一等,"大夫显得和气些了。"来吧,思嘉。"他们轻轻地走过穿堂,向那关着的门走去,一路上大夫的手紧紧抓住思嘉的肩膀。   “我说,小姐,"他低声说,"不要激动,也不要作什么临终时的忏悔,否则,凭上帝起誓,我会扭断你的脖子!你用不着这样呆呆地瞧着我。你明明懂得我的意思。我要让媚兰小姐平平静静地死去,你不要只顾减轻自己良心上的负担,告诉她关于艾希礼的什么事。我从没伤害过一个女人,可是如果你此刻说那种话----那后果就得由你自己承担了。"他没等她回答就把门打开,将她推进屋里,然后又关上门。那个小小的房间里陈设着廉价的黑胡桃木家具,灯上罩着报纸,处于一种半明半暗的状态。它狭小而整洁,像间女学生的卧室,里面摆着一张低背的小床,一顶扑素的网帐高高卷起,地板上铺着的那条破地毯早已褪色,但却刷得干干净净。这一切,跟思嘉卧室里的奢侈装饰,跟那些高耸的雕花家具、浅红锦缎的帷帐和织着玫瑰花的地毯比起来,是多么不一样啊!   媚兰躺在床上,床罩底下萎缩单薄的形体就像是个小女孩似的。两条黑黑的发辫垂在面颊两旁,闭着的眼睛深陷在一对紫色地圆圈里。思嘉见她这模样,倚着门框呆呆地站在那里,好像不能动弹了。尽管屋里阴暗,她还是看得清媚兰那张蜡黄的脸,她的脸干枯得一点血色也没有了,鼻子周围全皱缩了。在此以前,思嘉还一直希望是米德大夫诊断错了。   可现在她明白了。战争时期她在医院里见过那么多这种模样的面孔,她当然知道这预示着什么了。   媚兰快要死了,可是思嘉心里一时还不敢承认。因为媚兰是不会死的。死,对于她来说是决不可能的事。当她思嘉正需要她、那么迫切需要她的时候,上帝决不会让她死去。以前她从没想到自己会需要媚兰呢。可如今真理终于显出,在她灵魂的最深处显现了。她一向依靠媚兰,哪怕就在她依靠自己的时候,但是以前并没认识到。现在媚兰快死了,思嘉才彻底明白,没有她,自己是过不下去的。现在,她踮着脚尖向那个静静的身影走去,内心惶恐万状,她才知道媚兰一向是她剑和盾,是她的慰藉和力量啊!   “我一定要留住她!我决不能让她走!"她一面想,一面提着裙子在床边刷的一声颓然坐下。她立即抓起一只搁在床单上的软弱的手,发觉它已经冰凉,便又吓住了。   “我来了媚兰,"她说。   媚兰的眼睛睁开一条缝,接着,仿佛发现真是思嘉而感到很满意似的,又闭上眼,停了一会,她叹了一口气轻轻地说:“答应我吗?"“啊,什么都答应!”“小博----照顾他。”思嘉只能点点头,感到喉咙里被什么堵住了,同时紧紧捏了一下握着的那只手表示同意。   “我把他交给你了,"她脸上流露出一丝微微的笑容。"我从前已经把他交给过你一次----记得吗?----还在他出生以前。"她记不记得?她难道会忘记那个时候?她记得那档清清楚楚,她像那可怕的一天又回来了。她能感到那九月中午的闷热,记得她对北方佬的恐惧,听得见部分撤退时的沉重脚步声;记起了媚兰说如果自己死了便恳求她带走婴儿时的声音----还记得那天她恨透了媚兰,希望她死掉呢。   “是我害死了她,"她怀着一种迷信的恐惧这样想。"我以前时常巴望她死,上帝都听见了,因此现在要惩罚我了。"“啊,媚兰,别这样说了!你知道你是会闯过这一----"“不。请答应我。"思嘉忍不住要哽咽了。   “你知道我答应了。我会把他当做自己的孩子一样看待。"“上大学?"媚兰用微弱的声音说。   “唔,是的!上大学,到哈佛去,到欧洲去,只要他愿意,什么都行----还有----还有一匹小马驹----学音乐----唔,媚兰,你试试看!你使一把劲呀!"又没声息了,从媚兰脸上看得出她在挣扎着竭力要往下说。   “艾希礼,"她说,"艾希礼和你----"她的声音颤抖着,说不出来了。   听到提起艾希礼的名字,思嘉的心突然停止跳动,僵冷得像岩石似的。原来媚兰一向就知道埃思嘉把头伏在床单上,一阵被抑制的抽泣狠狠扼住她的喉咙。媚兰知道了。思嘉现在用不着害羞了。她没有任何别的感觉,只觉得万分痛恨,恨自己多年来始终在伤害这个和善的女人。媚兰早已知道----可是,她仍然继续做她的忠实朋友。唔,要是她能够把那些岁月重新过一遍,她就决不做那种事,对艾希礼连看都不会看一眼的!   “上帝啊,"她心里急忙祈祷,"求求你了,请让她活下去!   我一定要好好报答她。我要对她很好,很好。我这一辈子决不再跟艾希礼说一句话了,只要你让她好好活下去啊!"“艾希礼,"媚兰气息奄奄地说,一面将手指伸到思嘉那伏着的头上。她的大拇指和食指用微弱得像个婴儿似的力气拉了拉思嘉的头发。思嘉懂得这是什么意思,知道媚兰是要她抬起头来。但是她不能,她不能对媚兰的眼睛,并从中看出她已经知道了那件事的神色。   “艾希礼,"媚兰又一次低声说,同时思嘉极力克制自己,她此刻的心情难过到了极点,恐怕在最后审判日正视上帝并读着对她的判决时也不过如此了。她的灵魂在颤抖,但她还是抬起头来。   她看见的仍是同一双黑黑的亲切的眼睛,尽管因濒于死亡已经深陷而模糊了,还有那张在痛苦中无力地挣扎着要说出声来的温柔的嘴。没有责备,也没有指控和恐惧的意思----只有焦急,恨自己没有力气说话了。   思嘉一时间惊惶失措,还来不及产生放心的感觉。接着,当她把媚兰的手握得更紧时,一阵对上帝的感激之情涌上心头,同时,从童年时代起,她第一次在心中谦卑而无私地祈祷起来。   “感谢上帝。我知道我是不配的,但是我要感激您没有让他知道啊!"“关于艾希礼有什么事呢,媚兰?"“你会----照顾他吗?"“唔,会的。"“他感冒----很容易感冒。"又停了一会。   “照顾----他的事业----你明白吗?”   “唔,明白,我会照顾的。”   她作出一次很大的努力。   “艾希礼不----不能干。”   只有死亡才迫使媚兰说出了对他的批评。   “照顾他,思嘉----不过-—千万别让她知道。"“我会照顾他和他的事业,我也决不让他知道。我只用适当的方式向他建议。"媚兰尽力露出一丝放心的隐隐的微笑,但这是胜利的微笑,这时她的目光和思嘉的眼光又一次相遇了。她们彼此交换的这一片眼光便完成了一宗交易,那就是说,保护艾希礼不至于被这过于残酷的世界所捉弄的义务从一个女人转移到了另一个女人身上。同时,为了维护艾希礼的男性自尊心,保证决不让他知道这件事。   现在媚兰脸上已没有那种痛苦挣扎的神色了,仿佛在得到思嘉的许诺之后她又恢复了平静。   “你真聪明能干----真勇敢----一向待我那么好----"思嘉听了这些话,觉得喉咙里又堵得慌,忍不住要哽咽了,于是她用手拼命捂住自己的嘴。她几乎要像孩子似的大喊大叫,痛痛快地说:“我是个魔鬼!我一直是冤屈你的!我从来没替你做过任何什么事情!那全都是为了艾希礼呀!"她陡地站起身来,使劲地咬住自己的大拇指,想重新控制住自己。这时瑞德的话又回到她的耳边:“她是爱你的。让这成为你良心上一个十字架吧。"可如今这十字架更加沉重了。她曾经千方百计想把艾希礼从媚兰身边夺走,已是够罪过的了。现在,终生盲目信任她的媚兰又在临终前把同样的爱和信任寄托到她身上,这就更加深了她的罪孽。不,她不能说。她哪怕只再说一声:“努一把力活下去吧,"也是不行的。她必须让她平平静静地死去,没有挣扎,没有眼泪,也没有悔憾。   门稍稍开了,米德大夫站在门口急平地招呼她。思嘉朝床头俯下身去,强忍着眼泪,把媚兰的手拿起来轻轻贴在自己的在面颊上。   “晚安,"她说,那声音比她自己所担心的要更坚定些。   “答应我----"媚兰低声,声音显得更加柔和了。   “我什么都答应,亲爱的。”   “巴特勒船长----要好好待他。他----那样爱你。"“瑞德?"思嘉觉得有点迷惑,觉得这句话对她毫无意义。   “是的,是这样,"她机械地说,又轻轻吻了吻那只手,然后把它放在床单上。   “叫小姐太太立即进来吧,"思嘉跨出门槛时米德大夫低声说。   思嘉泪眼模糊地看见英迪亚和皮蒂跟着大夫走进房里,她们把裙子提得高高的,免得发出声响。门关上了,屋里一片寂静。艾希礼不知到哪里去了。思嘉将头靠在墙壁上,像个躲在角落里的顽皮的孩子,一面磨擦着疼痛的咽喉。   在关着的门里,媚兰快要去世了。连同她一起消失的还有多年以来思嘉在不知不觉依靠着的那个力量。为什么,哪,为什么她以前没有明白她是多么喜爱和多么需要媚兰呢?可是谁会想到这个又瘦又小又平凡的媚兰竟是一座坚强的高塔啊?媚兰,她在陌生人面前羞怯得要哭。她不敢大声说出自己的意见,她害怕老太太们的非难;媚兰,她连赶走一只鹅的勇气也没有呢!可是----思嘉思想起许多年前在塔拉时那个寂静而热的中午,那时一个穿蓝衣的北方佬的尸体侧躺在楼道底下,缕缕灰色的烟还在他头上缭绕,媚兰站在楼梯顶上,手里拿着查尔斯的军刀。思嘉记得那时候她曾想过:“多傻气!媚兰连那刀子也举不起来呢!"可是现在她懂了,如果必要,媚兰会奔下楼梯把那个北方佬杀掉----或者她自己被杀死。   是的,那天媚兰站在那里,小手里拿着一把利剑,准备为她而厮杀。而且现在,当她悲痛地回顾过去时,她发现原来媚兰经常手持利剑站在她身边,不声不响像她的影子似的爱护着她,并以盲目而热烈的忠诚为她战斗,与北方佬、战火、饥饿、贫困、舆论乃至自己亲爱的血亲思嘉明白那把宝剑,那把曾经寒光闪闪的保护她不受世人欺凌的宝剑,如今已永远插入鞘中,因此她的勇气和自信也慢慢消失了。   “媚兰是我一生中唯一的女友,"她绝望地想,"除了母亲以外,她是唯一真正爱我的女人。她也像母亲那样。凡是认识她的人都跟她亲近。"突然,她觉得那关着的门里躺着的好像就是她母亲,她是第二次在告别这个世界。突然她又站在塔拉,周围的人都在认论,而她感到十分孤独,她知道失去那个软弱,文雅而仁慈善良的人的非凡力量,她是无法面对生活的。   她站在穿堂里,又犹豫又害怕,起居室里的熊熊火光将一睦高大的阴影投射在她周围墙壁上。屋里静极了,这寂静像一阵凄冷的细雨渗透她的全身。艾希礼!艾希礼到哪里去了?   她跑到起居室去找他,好像一只挨冻的动物在寻找火似的,但是他不在那里。她一定要找到他。她发现了媚兰的力量和她自己对这个力量的依赖,只是一发现就丧失了,不过艾希礼还在呢。艾希礼,这个又强壮又聪明并且善于安慰人的人,他还在呢。艾希礼和他的爱能给人以力量,她可以用来弥补自己的软弱,他有胆量,可以用来驱除她的恐惧,他有安闲自在的态度,可以冲淡她的忧愁。   她想,"他一定在他自己房里,"于是踮着脚尖走过穿堂,轻轻敲他的门。里面没有声音,她便把门推开了。艾希礼站在梳妆台前面,对着一双媚兰修补过的手套出神。他先拿起一只,注视着它,仿佛以前从没见过似的。然后他把手套那么轻轻地放下,似乎它是玻璃的,随即把另一只拿起来。   她用颤抖的声音喊道:“艾希礼!"他慢慢地转过身来看着她。他那灰色的眼睛里已经没有那种朦胧的冷漠的神色,却睁得大大的,显得毫无遮掩。她从那里面看到的恐惧与她自己的不相上下,但显得更孤弱无助,还有一种深沉得她从没见过的惶惑与迷惘之感。她看到他的脸,原来在穿堂里浑身感到的那种恐怖反而加深了。她向他走去。   “我害怕,"她说。"唔,艾希礼,请扶住我,我害怕极了!"他一动不动,只注视着,双手紧紧地抓着那只手套。她将一只手放在他胳臂上,低声说:“那是什么?"他的眼睛仔细地打量着她,仿佛拼命要从她身上搜索出没有找到的东西似的。最后他开口说话,但声音好像不是他自己的了。   “我刚才正需要你,"他说。"我正要去寻找你----像个需要安慰的孩子一样----可是我找到的是个孩子,他比我更害怕,而且急着找我来了。"“你不会----你不可能害怕,"她喊道。"你从来没有害怕过。可是我----你一向是那么坚强----"“如果说我一向很坚强,那是因为有她在背后支持我,"他说,声音有点哑了,一面俯视手套。抚摩那上面的指头。"而且----而且----我本来所有的力量也会要跟他一起消失了。"他那低沉的声音中有那么一种痛感绝望的语调,使得她把搭在他臂上的那只手抽回来,同时倒退了两步。他们两个都不说话,这时她才觉得有生以来头一次真正了解他。   “怎么----"她慢吞吞地说,"怎么,艾希礼,你爱她,是不是?"他好像费了很大力气才说出话来。   “她是我曾经有过的唯一的梦想,唯一活着、呼吸着、在现实面前没有消失过的梦想。““全是梦想!"她心里暗忖着,以前那种容易恼怒的脾气又要发作了。“他念念不忘的就是梦,从来不谈实际!"她怀着沉重而略觉痛苦的心情说:“你一向就是这样一个傻瓜,艾希礼。你怎么看不出她比我要好上一百万倍呢?"“思嘉,求求你了!只要你知道我忍受了多少痛苦,自从大夫----"“忍受了多少痛苦!难道你不认为----唔,艾希礼,你许多年前就应当知道你爱的是她而不是我!你干吗不知道呢?要是知道了,一切就会完全不一样了,完全----唔,你早就应当明白,不要用你那些关于名誉和牺牲一类的话来敷衍我,让我一直迷恋你而不知悔改。你要是许多年前就告诉了我,我就会----尽管当时我会非常伤心,但我还是能挺得住的,可是你一直等到现在,等到媚兰快死的时候,才发现这个事实,可现在已经太晚了,什么办法也不能挽救了。唔,艾希礼,男人应该是懂得这种事的----但是女人并不懂啊!你本该早就看得清清楚楚,你始终在爱她,而我呢,你要我只不过像----像瑞德要沃特琳那个女人一样!"艾希礼听了她这几句话,不由得畏缩起来,但是他仍然直视着她,祈求她不要再说下去,给他一点安慰。他脸上的每一丝表情都承认她的话是真的是对的。连他那两个肩膀往下耷拉的模样也表现出了自责比思嘉所能给予的任何批评都要严厉。他默默地站在她面前,手里仍然抓着那只手套,仿佛抓着一只通晓人情的手似的,而思嘉在说了一大篇之后也沉默了,她的怒气已经平息,取代它的是一种略带轻视的怜悯。她的良心在责备她。她是在踢一个被打垮了的毫无防卫能力的人呢----而且她答应媚兰要照顾他啊!   “我刚刚答应过媚兰,但立即去对他说这些难听而伤心的话,而且无论是我或任何旁人都没有必要这样说他。他已经明白了,并且非常难过,"思嘉凄凉地思忖着。"他简直是个孩子,是个还没有长大的人。像我这样,并且正为失去她而十分痛苦,十分害怕。媚兰知道事情会这样的----媚兰对他的了解比我深得多,所以她才同时要求我照顾和他小博呢。艾希礼怎么经受得了啊?我倒是经得祝我什么都经得祝我还得经受许多许多呢。可是他不行----他没有她就什么都经受不住了。““饶恕我吧,亲爱的,"她亲切地说,一面伸出她的两臂。   “我明白你得忍受多大的痛苦。但是请记住,她什么也不知道----她甚至从来不曾起过疑心----上帝对我们真好埃"他迅速走过来,张开两臂盲目地把她抱祝她踮起脚尖将自己暖的面颊温存贴在他脸上,同时用一只手抚摩他后脑上的头发。   “别哭了,亲爱的。她希望你勇敢些。她希望马上能看到你,你得坚强一点才好。决不要让她看出你刚刚哭过。那会使她难过的。"他紧紧抱住她,使她呼吸都困难了,同时他哽咽着在她耳边絮语。   “我怎么办啊?没有她我可活不成了!”   “我也活不成呢,"她心里想,这时她仿佛看见了后半生没有媚兰的情景,便打了一个寒噤闪开了。但是她牢牢地克制住自己。艾希礼依靠她,媚兰也依靠她。记得过去有一次,在塔拉月光下,她喝醉了,已十分疲惫,那时她想过:“担子是要由肩强膀壮的人去挑的。“她吧,她的肩膀的强壮的,而艾希礼的却不是。她挺起胸膛,准备挑这副重担,同时以一种自己也没感觉的镇静吻了吻艾希礼泪湿的脸颊,这次的吻已经不带一丝狂热,也不带渴望和激情了,而只有凉凉的温柔罢了。   “我们总会有办法的,"她说。   媚兰的房门猛地打开了,米德大夫急切地喊道:“艾希礼!快!"“我的上帝!她完了!"思嘉心想:“可艾希礼没来得及跟她告别啊!不过也许----"“快!"她高声喊道,一面推了他一把,因为他依旧呆呆地站着不动。"快!"她拉开门,把他推出门去。艾希礼被她的话猛然惊醒,急忙跑进穿堂,手里还紧抓着那只手套。她听见他急促地脚步一路响去,接着是隐约的关门声。   她又喊了一声"我的上帝!"一面慢慢向床边走去,坐在床上,然后低下头来,用两只手捧住头。她突然感到特别疲倦,好像有生以来还从没过这样疲倦。原来当她听到那隐约的关门声时,她那浑身的紧张状态,那给了她力量一直在奋斗的紧张状态,便突然松懈下来。她觉得自己已筋疲力尽,感情枯竭,已没有悲伤和悔恨,没有恐惧和惊异了。她疲倦,她的心在迟钝地机械的跳动,就像壁炉架上那座时钟似的。   从那感觉迟钝近乎麻木的状态中,有一个思想慢慢明晰起来。艾希礼并不爱她,并且从没有真心爱过她,但认识到这一点她并不感到痛苦。这本来应该是很痛苦的。她本该感到凄凉,伤心,发出绝望的喊叫。因为她期依靠着他的爱在生活。它支持着她闯过了那么多艰难险阻。不过,事实毕竟是事实。他不爱她,而她也并不乎。她不在乎,因为她已经不爱他了。她不爱他,所以无论他做什么说什么,都不会使她伤心了。   她在床上躺下来,脑袋疲惫地搁在枕头上。要设法排除这个念头是没有用的;要对自己说:“可是我的确爱他。我爱了他多少年。爱情不能在顷刻之间变得冷谈,“那也是没有用的。   但是它能变,而且已经变了。   “除了在我的想像中外,他从来就没有真正存在过,"她厌倦地想。"我爱的是某个我自己虚构的东西,那个东西就像媚兰一样死了。我缝制了一套美的衣服,并且爱上了它。后来艾希礼骑着马跑来,他显得那么漂亮,那么与众不同,我便把那套衣服给他穿上,也不管他穿了是否合适。我不想看清楚他究竟怎么样。我一直爱着那套美丽的衣服----而根本不是爱他这个人。"现在她可追忆到许多年前,看见她自己穿一件绿底白花细布衣裳站在塔拉的阳光下,被那位骑在马上的金光闪闪的青年吸引住了。如今她已经清楚地看出,他只不过是她自己的一个幼稚幻影,并不比她从杰拉尔德手里哄到的那副海蓝宝石耳坠更为重要。那副耳坠她也曾热烈地向往过,可是一旦得到,它们就没什么值得可贵的了,就像除了金钱以外的任何东西那样,一到她手里就失掉了价值。艾希礼也是这样,假使她在那些遥远的日子最初就拒绝跟他结婚而满足了自己的虚荣心,他也早就不会有什么价值了。假如她曾经支配过他,看见过他也像别的男孩子那样从热烈、焦急发展到嫉妒、愠怒、乞求,那么,当她遇到一个新的男人时,她那一度狂热的迷恋也就会消失,就好比一片迷雾在太阳出现和轻风吹来时很快飘散一样。   “我以前多么傻啊!"她懊恼地想。"如今就得付出很大代价了。我以前经常盼望的事现在已经发生。我盼望过媚兰早死,让我能有机会得到他。现在媚兰真得死了,我可以得到他了,可是我却不想要他了。他那死要面子的性格,一定会要弄清楚我愿不愿意跟瑞德离婚,跟他结婚的。跟他结婚!哪怕把他放在银盘子里送来,我也不会要呢!不过还得一样,下半辈子我得把这个负担挑到底了。只要我还活着,我就得照顾他,不让他饿肚子,也不让任何人伤了他的感情。他会像我的另一个孩子似的,整天牵着我的裙子转。我虽失掉了爱侣,却新添了个孩子。而且,要不是我答应了媚兰,我就----即使今后再也看不见他,我也无所谓了。” Chapter 62 SHE HEARD whispering voices outside, and going to the door she saw the frightened negroesstanding in the back hall, Dilcey with her arms sagging under the heavy weight of the sleepingBeau, Uncle Peter crying, and Cookie wiping her wide wet face on her apron. All three looked ather, dumbly asking what they were to do now. She looked up the hall toward the sitting room andsaw India and Aunt Pitty standing speechless, holding each other’s hands and, for once, India hadlost her stiff-necked look. Like the negroes, they looked imploringly at her, expecting her to giveinstructions. She walked into the sitting room and the two women closed about her.   Oh, Scarlett, what—” began Aunt Pitty, her fat, child’s mouth shaking.   “Don’t speak to me or I’ll scream,” said Scarlett. Overwrought nerves brought sharpness to hervoice and her hands clenched at her sides. The thought of speaking of Melanie now, of making theinevitable arrangements that follow a death made her throat tighten. “I don’t want a word out ofeither of you.”   At the authoritative note in her voice, they fell back, helpless hurt looks on their faces. “Imustn’t cry in front of them,” she thought. “I mustn’t break now or they’ll begin crying too, andthen the darkies will begin screaming and we’ll all go mad. I must pull myself together. There’s somuch I’ll have to do. See the undertaker and arrange the funeral and see that the house is clean andbe here to talk to people who’ll cry on my neck. Ashley can’t do them. I’ve got to do them. Oh,what a weary load! It’s always been a weary load and always some one else’s load!”   She looked at the dazed hurt faces of India and Pitty and contrition swept her. Melanie wouldnot like her to be so sharp with those who loved her.   “I’m sorry I was cross,” she said, speaking with difficulty. “It’s just that I—I’m sorry I was cross, Auntie. I’m going out on the porch for a minute. I’ve got to be alone. Then I’ll come backand well—”   She patted Aunt Pitty and went swiftly by her to the front door, knowing if she stayed in thisroom another minute her control would crack. She had to be alone. And she had to cry or her heartwould break.   She stepped onto the dark porch and closed the door behind her and the moist night air was coolupon her face. The rain had ceased and there was no sound except for the occasional drip of waterfrom the eaves. The world was wrapped in a thick mist, a faintly chill mist that bore on its breaththe smell of the dying year. All the houses across the street were dark except one, and the lightfrom a lamp in the window, falling into the street, struggled feebly with the fog, golden particlesfloating in its rays. It was as if the whole world were enveloped in an unmoving blanket of graysmoke. And the whole world was still.   She leaned her head against one of the uprights of the porch and prepared to cry but no tearscame. This was a calamity too deep for tears. Her body shook. There still reverberated in her mindthe crashes of the two impregnable citadels of her life, thundering to dust about her ears. She stoodfor a while, trying to summon up her old charm: “I’ll think of all this tomorrow when I can stand itbetter.” But the charm had lost its potency. She had to think of two things, now—Melanie and howmuch she loved and needed her; Ashley and the obstinate blindness that had made her refuse to seehim as he really was. And she knew that thoughts of them would hurt just as much tomorrow andall the tomorrows of her life.   “I can’t go back in there and talk to them now,” she thought. “I can’t face Ashley tonight andcomfort him. Not tonight! Tomorrow morning I’ll come early and do the things I must do, say thecomforting things I must say. But not tonight. I can’t. I’m going home.”   Home was only five blocks away. She would not wait for the sobbing Peter to harness thebuggy, would not wait for Dr. Meade to drive her home. She could not endure the tears of the one,the silent condemnation of the other. She went swiftly down the dark front steps without her coator bonnet and into the misty night. She rounded the corner and started up the long hill towardPeachtree Street, walking in a still wet world, and even her footsteps were as noiseless as a dream.   As she went up the hill, her chest tight with tears that would not come, there crept over her anunreal feeling, a feeling that she had been in this same dim chill place before, under a like set ofcircumstances—not once but many times before. How silly, she thought uneasily, quickening hersteps. Her nerves were playing her tricks. But the feeling persisted, stealthily pervading her mind.   She peered about her uncertainly and the feeling grew, eerie but familiar, and her head went upsharply like an animal scenting danger. It’s just that I’m worn out, she tried to soothe herself. Andthe night’s so queer, so misty. I never saw such thick mist before except—except!   And then she knew and fear squeezed her heart. She knew now. In a hundred nightmares, shehad fled through fog like this, through a haunted country without landmarks, thick with coldcloaking mist, peopled with clutching ghosts and shadows. Was she dreaming again or was this herdream come true?   For an instant, reality went out of her and she was lost. The old nightmare feeling was sweeping her, stronger than ever, and her heart began to race. She was standing again amid death andstillness, even as she had once stood at Tara. All that mattered in the world had gone out of it, lifewas in ruins and panic howled through her heart like a cold wind. The horror that was in the mistand was the mist laid hands upon her. And she began to run. As she had run a hundred times indreams, she ran now, flying blindly she knew not where, driven by a nameless dread, seeking inthe gray mist for the safety that lay somewhere.   Up the dim street she fled, her head down, her heart hammering, the night air wet on her lips, thetrees overhead menacing. Somewhere, somewhere in this wild land of moist stillness, there was arefuge! She sped gasping up the long hill, her wet skirts wrapping coldly about her ankles, herlungs bursting, the tight-laced stays pressing her ribs into her heart.   Then before her eyes there loomed a light, a row of lights, dim and flickering but none the lessreal. In her nightmare, there had never been any lights, only gray fog. Her mind seized on thoselights. Lights meant safety, people, reality. Suddenly she stopped running, her hands clenching,struggling to pull herself out of her panic, staring intently at the row of gas lamps which hadsignaled to her brain that this was Peachtree Street, Atlanta, and not the gray world of sleep andghosts.   She sank down panting on a carriage block, clutching at her nerves as though they were ropesslipping swiftly through her hands.   “I was running—running like a crazy person!” she thought, her body shaking with lesseningfear, her thudding heart making her sick. “But where was I running?”   Her breath came more easily now and she sat with her hand pressed to her side and looked upPeachtree Street. There, at the top of the hill, was her own house. It looked as though everywindow bore lights, lights defying the mist to dim their brilliance. Home! It was real! She lookedat the dim far-off bulk of the house thankfully, longingly, and something like calm fell on herspirit.   Home! That was where she wanted to go. That was where she was running. Home to Rhett!   At this realization it was as though chains fell away from her and with them the fear which hadhaunted her dreams since the night she stumbled to Tara to find the world ended. At the end of theroad to Tara she had found security gone, all strength, all wisdom, all loving tenderness, allunderstanding gone—all those things which, embodied in Ellen, had been the bulwark of hergirlhood. And, though she had won material safety since that night, in her dreams she was still afrightened child, searching for the lost security of that lost world.   Now she knew the haven she had sought in dreams, the place of warm safety which had alwaysbeen bidden from her in the mist. It was not Ashley—oh, never Ashley! There was no morewarmth in him than in a marsh light, no more security than in quicksand. It was Rhett—Rhett whohad strong arms to hold her, a broad chest to pillow her tired head, jeering laughter to pull heraffairs into proper perspective. And complete understanding, because he, like her, saw truth astruth, unobstructed by impractical notions of honor, sacrifice, or high belief in human nature. Heloved her! Why hadn’t she realized that he loved her, for all his taunting remarks to the contrary?   Melanie had seen it and with her last breath had said, “Be kind to him.”   “Oh,” she thought, “Ashley’s not the only stupidly blind person. I should have seen.”   For years she had had her back against the stone wall of Rhett’s love and had taken it as muchfor granted as she had taken Melanie’s love, flattering herself that she drew her strength fromherself alone. And even as she had realized earlier in the evening that Melanie had been beside herin her bitter campaigns against life, now she knew that silent in the background, Rhett had stood,loving her, understanding her, ready to help. Rhett at the bazaar, reading her impatience in her eyesand leading her out in the reel, Rhett helping her out of the bondage of mourning, Rhett convoyingher through the fire and explosions the night Atlanta fell, Rhett lending her the money that gaveher her start, Rhett who comforted her when she woke in the nights crying with fright from herdreams—why, no man did such things without loving a woman to distraction!   The trees dripped dampness upon her but she did not feel it The mist swirled about her and shepaid it no heed. For when she thought of Rhett, with his swarthy face, flashing teeth and dark alerteyes, a trembling came over her.   “I love him,” she thought and, as always, she accepted the truth with little wonder, as a childaccepting a gift. “I don’t know how long I’ve loved him but it’s true. And if it hadn’t been forAshley, I’d have realized it long ago. I’ve never been able to see the world at all, because Ashleystood in the way.”   She loved him, scamp, blackguard, without scruple or honor—at least honor as Ashley saw it“Damn Ashley’s honor!” she thought. “Ashley’s honor has always let me down. Yes, from the verybeginning when he kept on coming to see me, even though he knew his family expected him tomarry Melanie. Rhett has never let me down, even that dreadful night of Melly’s reception whenhe ought to have wrung my neck. Even when he left me on the road the night Atlanta fell, he knewI’d be safe. He knew I’d get through somehow. Even when he acted like he was going to make mepay to get that money from him at the Yankee camp. He wouldn’t have taken me. He was justtesting me. He’s loved me all along and I’ve been so mean to him. Time and again, I’ve hurt himand he was too proud to show it. And when Bonnie died— Oh, how could I?”   She stood up straight and looked at the house on the hill. She had thought, half an hour ago, thatshe had lost everything in the world, except money, everything that made life desirable, Ellen,Gerald, Bonnie, Mammy, Melanie and Ashley. She had to lose them all to realize that she lovedRhett—loved him because he was strong and unscrupulous, passionate and earthy, like herself.   “I’ll tell him everything,” she thought. “He’ll understand. He’s always understood. I’ll tell himwhat a fool I’ve been and how much I love him and I’ll make it up to him.”   Suddenly she felt strong and happy. She was not afraid of the darkness or the fog and she knewwith a singing in her heart that she would never fear them again. No matter what mists might curlaround her in the future, she knew her refuge. She started briskly up the street toward home andthe blocks seemed very long. Far, far too long. She caught up her skirts to her knees and began torun lightly. But this time she was not running from fear. She was running because Rhett’s armswere at the end of the street.   思嘉听见外面有低语声,便走到门口,只见几个吓怕了的黑人站在后面穿堂里,迪尔茜吃力地抱着沉甸甸的正在睡觉的小博,彼得大叔在痛哭,厨娘在用围裙擦她那张宽阔的泪淋淋的脸。三个人一起瞧着她,默默地询问他们现在该怎么办。她抬头向穿堂那边起居室望去,只见英迪亚和皮蒂姑妈一声不响地站在那里,两人手拉着手,而且英迪亚那倔强的神气总算不见了。她们也跟那些黑人一样好像在恳求她。等待她发布指示。她走进起居室,两个女人立即朝她走来。   “唔,思嘉,怎么----"皮蒂姑妈开口说,她那丰满的娃娃嘴颤抖着。   “先别跟我说,否则我会尖叫起来,"思嘉说。她,由于神经过度紧张,声音已变得尖利,同时把两只手狠狠地叉在腰上。现在她一想起要谈到媚兰,要安排她的后事,喉咙又发紧了。"我叫你们谁也不要吭声。"听了她话里的命令语气,她们不由得倒退了一步,脸上流露出无可奈何的尴尬神色。"我可决不能在她们面前哭呀,"她心里想。"我不能张口,否则她们也要哭了,那时黑人们也会尖叫,就乱成一团了。我必须尽力克制自己,要做的事情多着呢。殡仪馆得去联系,葬礼得安排,房子得打扫干净,还得留在这里跟人们周旋,他们会吊在我脖子上哭的。艾希礼不可能做这些事情,皮蒂和英迪亚也不行。我必须自己去做。   啊,多繁重的担子!怎么我老是碰到这种事,而且都是别人的事呀!"她看看英迪亚和皮蒂的尴尬脸色,内心感到非常痛悔。媚兰是不会喜欢她这样粗暴对待那些爱她的人的。   “我很抱歉刚才发火了,"她有点勉强地说。"这就是说,我----我刚才态度不好,很抱歉,姑妈。我要到外面走廊上去一会儿。我得一个人想想,等我回来后我们再----"她拍拍皮蒂姑妈便向前门走去,因为知道如果再留在这间屋里她就无法再克制自己。她必须单独待一会儿。她得哭一场,否则心都要炸开了。   她来到黑暗的走廊,并随手把门关上。清凉而潮湿的晚风吹拂着她的面孔。雨已停了,除了偶尔听到檐头滴水的声音,周围是一片寂静。世界被包围在满天浓雾中,雾气微觉清凉,带有岁暮年终的意味。街对面的房子全都黑了,只有一家还亮着,窗口的灯光投射到街心,与浓雾无力地相拼搏,金黄的微粒在光线中纷纷游动。整个世界好像都卷在一条笨重的烟灰色毛毯里。歪个世界都寂静无声。   她将头靠在一根廊柱上,真想痛哭一场,但是没有眼泪。   这场灾难实在太深重了,已经不是眼泪所能表现的了。她的身子在颤抖。她生活中两个坚不可破的堡垒崩溃的声音仍在她心中回响,好像在她耳旁轰隆一声坍塌了。她站了一会,想试试她一贯使用的那个决窍:“所有这些,等到明天我比较能经受得住时再去想吧。"可是这个决窍失灵了。现在她有两件事是必须想的:一是媚兰,她多么爱她和需要她;二是艾希礼,以及她自己拒不从实质上去看他的那种盲目的顽固态度。   她知道,想到这两件事时,无论是明天或她一生中哪一个明天,都会一样是痛苦的。   “我现在无法回到屋里去同他们谈话,"她想。"今晚我也无法面对艾希礼安慰他了。今晚决不行!明天早晨我将一早就过来做那些必须做的事,说那些不得不说的安慰话。但是今天晚上不行。我没有办法。我得回家了。"她家离这里只有五个街区。她不想等哭泣的彼得来套马车,也不想等米德大夫来带她回去。她忍受不了前都的眼泪和后者对她的无声谴责。她迅速走下屋前黑暗的台阶,也没穿外衣,没戴帽子,就进入夜雾中去了。她绕过拐弯处,向通往桃树街的一片小丘走去。天湿地滑,到处一平静悄悄,连她的脚步也悄无声息,好像在梦中一般。   她爬上山坡时,眼泪已堵住胸口,可是流不出来,同时有一种虚幻的感觉涌上心头,那就是觉得她以前在同样的情况下,到过这黑暗凄凉的地方,----而且不止一次,而是许多次。"这是多么可笑的事啊,"她不安地想,一面加快脚步。   她的神经在跟她开玩笑呢。可是这种感觉继续存在,而且悄悄地扩展到她的整个意识之中。她疑惑莫解地窥视周围,结果这种感觉更强了,显得又古怪又熟悉,于是她机敬地抬起头来,像只嗅出了危险的野兽似的。"这不过是我太婆乏的原故吧,"她又试着宽慰自己,”夜是这么怪诞,这么雾气迷蒙。   我有前从没见过这样浓密的雾,除非----除非!"接着她明白了,顿时害怕起来。现在她明白了。在无数次的恶梦中,她曾经就在这样的雾里逃跑过,穿过一个经常有鬼魂出没的茫茫无边的地域,那里大雾弥漫,聚居着一群幽灵和鬼影。现在她是不是又在做那个梦了,或者是那个梦变成现实呢?   有一会儿,她离开了现实,完全迷失了。她好像坠入了那个老的恶梦中,比以前哪一次都深,她的心也开始奔腾起来。她又站在死亡与寂静当中,就像她有一次在塔拉那样。世界上一切要紧的东西全不见了,生活成了一片废墟,她心里顿觉惶恐,好比一股冷风扫过似的。迷雾中的恐怖和迷雾本身把她抓住了。于是她开始逃跑。犹如以前无数次在梦中跑过一样,她如今被一种无名的恐惧追赶着,盲目地向不知什么地方飞跑。在灰蒙蒙的雾中寻找那个位于某处的安全地方。   她沿着那条阴暗的大街一路跑去,低着头,心怦怦直跳,迎着湿冷的夜风,顶着狰狞的树影。在这又静又湿的荒地里,一定有个避难所!她气喘吁吁地跑上那一个土坡,这时裙子湿了,清冷地卷着她的小腿,肺好像要炸了似的,扎得紧紧的胸褡勒着两肋,快把她的心脏压扁了。   接着,她眼前出现了灯光,一长列灯光,它们虽然只隐隐约约地闪烁,但却无疑是真的。她的恶梦里可从来没有过灯光,只有灰蒙蒙的迷雾。于是她的心全扑在那些灯光上了。   灯光意味着安全、人们和现实。她突然站住脚,握紧拳头,奋力把自己从惊惶中拖出来,同时仔细凝望着那列闪烁的灯,它们分明告诉她这是亚特兰大的桃树街,而不是睡梦中那个鬼魂出没的阴暗世界。   她在一个停车台上坐下,牢牢地把握住自己的神经,仿佛它们是几根要从她手中留出去的绳索似的。   “我刚才好一阵跑呀,跑呀,就像发疯了!"她心里暗想,吓得发抖的身子略略了镇定了一些,但心脏还在怦怦地跳,很不好受,"可是我在向哪里跑呀?"现在她的呼吸渐渐缓和下来,她一手撑着腰坐在那里,顺着桃树街向前眺望。那边山顶上就是她自己的家了。那里好像每个窗口都点着灯似的,灯光在向浓雾挑战,不让它淹没它们的光辉呢。家啊!这是真的!她感激地、向往地望着远处那幢房子模糊而庞大的姿影,心情显得略略镇静了。   家啊!这就是她要去地方,就是她一路奔跑着要去的地方。就是回到瑞德身边去呀!   明白了这一点,她就好比摆脱掉了身上所有的锁链,以及自从那天晚上狼狈地回到塔拉并发现整个世界都完了以来,她经常在梦中碰到的那种恐惧。那天晚上,当她抵达塔拉时,她发现完全没有了,所有的力量,所有的智慧,所有的亲爱温柔之情,所有的理解----所有体现在爱伦身上、曾经是她童年时代的堡垒的东西,都通通没有一点了。从那天晚上以后,她尽管赢得了物质上的生活保障,但她仍是梦中一个受惊的孩子,仍经常寻找那个失去了世界中的失去的安全。   如今她认识了她在梦中所寻找的那个避难所,那个经常在雾中躲避着她的湿暖安全的地方。那不是艾希礼----唔,从来不是艾希礼!他身上的温暖比沼泽地里的灯光强不了多少,他那里的安全跟在流沙中不相上下。那只有瑞德----瑞德有强壮的臂膀可以拥抱她,有宽阔的胸膛给她疲倦的脑袋当枕头,有嘲讽的笑声使她用正确的眼光来看事物。而且还有全面的理解力,因为他跟她一样,凡事讲求实际,不会被不切实际的观念如荣耀、牺牲或对人性的过分信任所蒙蔽。而且他爱她呢!她怎么没有了解到,尽管他常常从反而嘲骂她,但却是爱她的呀?媚兰看到了这一点,临死时还说过:“要好好待瑞德。"“唔,"她想,"艾希礼不是唯一又蠢又糊涂的人,我自己也是同样呢,否则我应当早就看出来了。"许多年来,她一直倚靠在瑞德的爱这堵石壁上,并且把这看做是理所当然的,就像对媚兰的爱那样,同时还洋洋得意地认为完全是凭她自己的力量呢。而且,就像当天下午她明白了在她与生活进行的几次搏斗中媚兰始终站在她身边,此刻她懂得瑞德也悄悄地站在背后,爱着她,理解着她,随时准备帮助她。在那次义卖会上,瑞德看出了她不甘心寂寞的心情,便把她领出来跳苏格兰舞;瑞德帮助她摆脱了服丧的束缚,瑞德在亚特兰大陷落那天晚上护送她逃出了炮火连天的困境,瑞德借给她钱让她回家,瑞德听见她从那个恶梦中吓得哭醒时给她以安慰----怎么,一个男人要不是对一个女人爱得发疯,他能够做出这样的事来吗?   这时树上的雨水落在她身上,但她一点也没有觉得。雾气在她周围缭绕,她也毫不注意,因为她在想瑞德,想像他那张黝黑的脸,他那雪白的牙齿和机警的眼睛,她正兴奋得浑身哆嗦呢。   “我爱他,"她思忖着,并且照例毫不迟疑地承认这个事实,就像小孩接受一件礼品似的:“我不知道我爱他有多久了,但这确实是真的。而且要不是为了艾希礼,我早就会明白这一点了。由于艾希礼遮住了视线,我一直没看清这个世界呢。“她爱他,爱这个流氓,爱这个无赖,没有犹豫,也不顾名声----至少是艾希礼所讲的那种名声。"让艾希礼的名声见鬼去吧!"她心里想。"艾希礼的名声常常使我坍台。是的,从一开始,当他不断跑来看我的时候,尽管那时她已经知道他家里准备让她娶媚兰了。瑞德却从没坍过我的台,即使在媚兰举行招待会的那个可怕的晚上,那时他本该把我掐死的。即使在亚特兰大陷落那天晚上他中途丢下我的时候,那时因为他知道我已经安全了。他知道我总会闯出去的。即使在北方佬营地里当我向他借钱时,他好像要我用身子做担保似的。其实他并不想要我这个担保。他只是逗着我玩罢了。他一直在爱着我,可是我却一直待他那么坏。我屡次伤害的他的感情,而他却那样爱面子,从不表现出来,后来邦妮死了----唔,我怎么能那样呀?"她挺身站起来,望着山冈上的那幢房子。半个钟头以前她还想过,除了金钱以外,她已经丧失了世界上的一切,那些使她希望活下去的一切,包括爱伦、杰拉尔德、邦妮、嬷嬷、媚兰和艾希礼。她终于在失掉了他们大家之后,才明白过来她是爱瑞德的----爱他,因为她坚强,无所顾忌,热情而粗俗,跟她自己一样。   “我要把一切都告诉他,"她心里想。"他会理解的。他总是理解的。我要告诉他我以前多么愚蠢,现在又多么爱他,而且要报答他的一切。"她忽然感到又坚强又快乐了。她并不惧怕周围的黑暗和浓雾,而且她在心里歌唱着,相信自己从今以后再也不会惧怕它们了。今后,不论有什么样的浓雾在她周围缭绕,她都能找到自己的避难所了。于是她轻快地沿着大街走去,那几个街区好像很远,她恨不得马上就回到家里。远了,太远了。   她把裙子提到膝盖以上,开始轻松地奔跑起来,不过这一次不是因恐惧而奔跑,而是因为前面有瑞德张开双臂站在那里呢。 Chapter 63 THE FRONT DOOR was slightly ajar and she trotted, breathless, into the hall and paused for amoment under the rainbow prisms of the chandelier. For all its brightness the house was very still,not with the serene stillness of sleep but with a watchful, tired silence that was faintly ominous.   She saw at a glance that Rhett was not in the parlor or the library and her heart sank. Suppose heshould be out—out with Belle or wherever it was he spent the many evenings when he did notappear at the supper table? She had not bargained on this.   She had started up the steps in search of him when she saw that the door of the dining room wasclosed. Her heart contracted a little with shame at the sight of that closed door, remembering themany nights of this last summer when Rhett had sat there alone, drinking until he was sodden andPork came to urge him to bed. That had been her fault but she’d change it all. Everything was to bedifferent from now on—but, please God, don’t let him be too drunk tonight. If he’s too drunk hewon’t believe me and he’ll laugh at me and that will break my heart.   She quietly opened the dining-room door a crack and peered in. He was seated before the table,slumped in his chair, and a full decanter stood before him with the stopper in place, the glassunused. Thank God, he was sober! She pulled open the door, holding herself back from running tohim. But when he looked up at her, something in his gaze stopped her dead on the threshold, stilledthe words on her lips.   He looked at her steadily with dark eyes that were heavy with fatigue and there was no leapinglight in them. Though her hair was tumbling about her shoulders, her bosom heaving breathlesslyand her skirts mud splattered to the knees, his face did not change with surprise or question or hislips twist with mockery. He was sunken in his chair, his suit wrinkling untidily against histhickening waist, every line of him proclaiming the ruin of a fine body and the coarsening of astrong face. Drink and dissipation had done their work on the coin-clean profile and now it was nolonger the head of a young pagan prince on new-minted gold but a decadent, tired Caesar oncopper debased by long usage. He looked up at her as she stood there, hand on heart, lookedquietly, almost in a kindly way, that frightened her.   “Come and sit down,” he said. “She is dead?”   She nodded and advanced hesitantly toward him, uncertainty taking form in her mind at thisnew expression on his face. Without rising, he pushed back a chair with his foot and she sank intoit. She wished he had not spoken of Melanie so soon. She did not want to talk of her now, to re-livethe agony of the last hour. There was all the rest of her life in which to speak of Melanie. But itseemed to her now, driven by a fierce desire to cry: “I love you,” that there was only this night, thishour, in which to tell Rhett what was in her mind. But there was something in his face that stoppedher and she was suddenly ashamed to speak of love when Melanie was hardly cold.   “Well, God rest her,” he said heavily. “She was the only completely kind person I ever knew.”   “Oh, Rhett!” she cried miserably, for his words brought up too vividly all the kind thingsMelanie had ever done for her. “Why didn’t you come in with me? It was dreadful—and I neededyou so!”   “I couldn’t have borne it,” he said simply and for a moment he was silent. Then he spoke with an effort and said, softly: “A very great lady.”   His somber gaze went past her and in his eyes was the same look she had seen in the light of theflames the night Atlanta fell, when he told her he was going off with the retreating army—thesurprise of a man who knows himself utterly, yet discovers in himself unexpected loyalties andemotions and feels a faint self-ridicule at the discovery.   His moody eyes went over her shoulder as though he saw Melanie silently passing through theroom to the door. In the look of farewell on his face there was no sorrow, no pain, only aspeculative wonder at himself, only a poignant stirring of emotions dead since boyhood, as he saidagain: “A very great lady.”   Scarlett shivered and the glow went from her heart, the fine warmth, the splendor which hadsent her home on winged feet. She half-grasped what was in Rhett’s mind as he said farewell to theonly person in the world he respected and she was desolate again with a terrible sense of loss thatwas no longer personal. She could not wholly understand or analyze what he was feeling, but itseemed almost as if she too had been brushed by whispering skirts, touching her softly in a lastcaress. She was seeing through Rhett’s eyes the passing, not of a woman but of a legend—thegentle, self-effacing but steel-spined women on whom the South had builded its house in war andto whose proud and loving arms it had returned in defeatHis eyes came back to her and his voice changed. Now it was light and cool.   “So she’s dead. That makes it nice for you, doesn’t it?”   “Oh, how can you say such things,” she cried, stung, the quick tears coming to her eyes. “Youknow how I loved her!”   “No, I can’t say I did. Most unexpected and it’s to your credit, considering your passion forwhite trash, that you could appreciate her at last.”   “How can you talk so? Of course I appreciated her! You didn’t. You didn’t know her like I did!   It isn’t in you to understand her—how good she was—”   “Indeed? Perhaps not.”   “She thought of everybody except herself—why, her last words were about you.”   There was a flash of genuine feeling in his eyes as he turned to her.   “What did she say?”   “Oh, not now, Rhett.”   “Tell me.”   His voice was cool but the hand he put on her wrist hurt. She did not want to tell, this was notthe way she had intended to lead up to the subject of her love but his hand was urgent.   “She said—she said— ‘Be kind to Captain Butler. He loves you so much.’ ”   He stared at her and dropped her wrist. His eyelids went down, leaving his face dark and blank.   Suddenly he rose and going to the window, he drew the curtains and looked out intently as if therewere something to see outside except blinding mist.   “Did she say anything else?” he questioned, not turning his head.   “She asked me to take care of little Beau and I said I would, like he was my own boy.”   “What else?”   “She said—Ashley—she asked me to look after Ashley, too.”   He was silent for a moment and then he laughed softly.   “It’s convenient to have the first wife’s permission, isn’t it?”   “What do you mean?”   He turned and even in her confusion she was surprised that there was no mockery in his face.   Nor was there any more interest in it than in the face of a man watching the last act of a none-tooamusingcomedy.   “I think my meaning’s plain enough. Miss Melly is dead. You certainly have all the evidenceyou want to divorce me and you haven’t enough reputation left for a divorce to hurt you. And youhaven’t any religion left, so the Church won’t matter. Then—Ashley and dreams come true withthe blessings of Miss Melly.”   “Divorce?” she cried. “No! No!” Incoherent for a moment she leaped to her feet and running tohim caught his arm. “Oh, you’re all wrong! Terribly wrong. I don’t want a divorce— I—” Shestopped for she could find no other words.   He put his hand under her chin, quietly turned her face up to the light and looked for an intentmoment into her eyes. She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes, her lips quivering as she tried tospeak. But she could marshal no words because she was trying to find in his face some answeringemotions, some leaping light of hope, of joy. Surely he must know, now! But the smooth darkblankness which had baffled her so often was all that her frantic, searching eyes could find. Hedropped her chin and, turning, walked back to his chair and sprawled tiredly again, his chin on hisbreast, his eyes looking up at her from under black brows in an impersonal speculative way.   She followed him back to his chair, her hands twisting, and stood before him.   “You are wrong,” she began again, finding words. “Rhett tonight, when I knew, I ran every stepof the way home to tell you. Oh, darling, I—”   “You are tired,” he said, still watching her. “You’d better go to bed.”   “But I must tell you!”   “Scarlett,” he said heavily, “I don’t want to hear—anything.”   “But you don’t know what I’m going to say!”   “My pet, it’s written plainly on your face. Something, someone has made you realize that theunfortunate Mr. Wilkes is too large a mouthful of Dead Sea fruit for even you to chew. And thatsame something has suddenly set my charms before you in a new and attractive light,” he sighedslightly. “And it’s no use to talk about it.”   She drew a sharp surprised breath. Of course, he had always read her easily. Heretofore she hadresented it but now, after the first shock at her own transparency, her heart rose with gladness and relief. He knew, he understood and her task was miraculously made easy. No use to talk about it!   Of course he was bitter at her long neglect, of course he was mistrustful of her sudden turnabout.   She would have to woo him with kindness, convince him with a rich outpouring of love, and whata pleasure it would be to do it!   “Darling, I’m going to tell you everything,” she said, putting her hands on the arm of his chairand leaning down to him. “I’ve been so wrong, such a stupid fool—”   “Scarlett, don’t go on with this. Don’t be humble before me. I can’t bear it. Leave us somedignity, some reticence to remember out of our marriage. Spare us this last.”   She straightened up abruptly. Spare us this last? What did he mean by “this last”? Last? Thiswas their first, their beginning.   “But I will tell you,” she began rapidly, as if fearing his hand upon her mouth, silencing her.   “Oh, Rhett, I love you so, darling! I must have loved you for years and I was such a fool I didn’tknow it. Rhett, you must believe me!”   He looked at her, standing before him, for a moment, a long look that went to the back of hermind. She saw there was belief in his eyes but little interest. Oh, was he going to be mean, at thisof all times? To torment her, pay her back in her own coin?   “Oh, I believe you,” he said at last “But what of Ashley Wilkes?”   “Ashley!” she said, and made an impatient gesture. “I—I don’t believe I’ve cared anythingabout him for ages. It was—wen, a sort of habit I hung onto from when I was a little girl. Rhett, I’dnever even thought I cared about him if I’d ever known what he was really like. He’s such ahelpless, poor-spirited creature, for all his prattle about truth and honor and—”   “No,” said Rhett. “If you must see him as he really is, see him straight. He’s only a gentlemancaught in a world he doesn’t belong in, trying to make a poor best of it by the rules of the worldthat’s gone.”   “Oh, Rhett, don’t let’s talk of him! What does he matter now? Aren’t you glad to know— Imean, now that I—”   As his tired eyes met hers, she broke off in embarrassment, shy as a girl with her first beau. Ifhe’d only make it easier for her! If only he would hold out his arms, so she could crawl thankfullyinto his lap and lay her head on his chest. Her lips on his could tell him better than all herstumbling words. But as she looked at him, she realized that he was not holding her off just to bemean. He looked drained and as though nothing she had said was of any moment.   “Glad?” he said. “Once I would have thanked God, fasting, to hear you say all this. But, now, itdoesn’t matter.”   “Doesn’t matter? What are you talking about? Of course, it matters! Rhett, you do care, don’tyou? You must care. Melly said you did.”   “Well, she was right, as far as she knew. But, Scarlett, did it ever occur to you that even the mostdeathless love could wear out?”   She looked at him speechless, her mouth a round O.   “Mine wore out,” he went on, “against Ashley Wilkes and your insane obstinacy that makes youhold on like a bulldog to anything you think you want ... Mine wore out.”   “But love can’t wear out!”   “Yours for Ashley did.”   “But I never really loved Ashley!”   “Then, you certainly gave a good imitation of it—up till tonight. Scarlett, I’m not upbraidingyou, accusing you, reproaching you. That time has passed. So spare me your defenses and yourexplanations. If you can manage to listen to me for a few minutes without interrupting, I canexplain what I mean. Though God knows, I see no need for explanations. The truth’s so plain.”   She sat down, the harsh gas light falling on her white bewildered face. She looked into the eyesshe knew so well—and knew so little—listened to his quiet voice saying words which at firstmeant nothing. This was the first time he had ever talked to her in this manner, as one human beingto another, talked as other people talked, without flippancy, mockery or riddles.   “Did it ever occur to you that I loved you as much as a man can love a woman? Loved you foryears before I finally got you? During the war I’d go away and try to forget you, but I couldn’t andI always had to come back. After the war I risked arrest, just to come back and find you. I cared somuch I believe I would have killed Frank Kennedy if he hadn’t died when he did. I loved you but Icouldn’t let you know it. You’re so brutal to those who love you, Scarlett. You take their love andhold it over their heads like a whip.”   Out of it all only the fact that he loved her meant anything. At the faint echo of passion in hisvoice, pleasure and excitement crept back into her. She sat, hardly breathing, listening, waiting.   “I knew you didn’t love me when I married you. I knew about Ashley, you see. But, fool that Iwas, I thought I could make you care. Laugh, if you like, but I wanted to take care of you, to petyou, to give you everything you wanted. I wanted to marry you and protect you and give you a freerein in anything that would make you happy—just as I did Bonnie. You’d had such a struggle,Scarlett No one knew better than I what you’d gone through and I wanted you to stop fighting andlet me fight for you. I wanted you to play, like a child—for you were a child, a brave, frightened,bullheaded child. I think you are still a child. No one but a child could be so headstrong and soinsensitive.”   His voice was calm and tired but there was something in the quality of it that raised a ghost ofmemory in Scarlett. She had heard a voice like this once before and at some other crisis of her life.   Where had it been? The voice of a man facing himself and his world without feeling, withoutflinching, without hope.   Why—why—it had been Ashley in the wintry, windswept orchard at Tara, talking of life andshadow shows with a tired calmness that had more finality in its timbre than any desperatebitterness could have revealed. Even as Ashley’s voice then had turned her cold with dread ofthings she could not understand, so now Rhett’s voice made her heart sink. His voice, his manner,more than the content of his words, disturbed her, made her realize that her pleasurable excitementof a few moments ago had been untimely. Something was wrong, badly wrong. What it was shedid not know but she listened desperately, her eyes on his brown face, hoping to hear words that would dissipate her fears.   “It was so obvious that we were meant for each other. So obvious that I was the only man ofyour acquaintance who could love you after knowing you as you really are—hard and greedy andunscrupulous, like me. I loved you and I took the chance. I thought Ashley would fade out of yourmind. But,” he shrugged, “I tried everything I knew and nothing worked. And I loved you so,Scarlett. If you had only let me, I could have loved you as gently and as tenderly as ever a manloved a woman. But I couldn’t let you know, for I knew you’d think me weak and try to use mylove against me. And always—always there was Ashley. It drove me crazy. I couldn’t sit across thetable from you every night, knowing you wished Ashley was sitting there in my place. And Icouldn’t hold you in my arms at night and know that—well, it doesn’t matter now. I wonder, now,why it hurt. That’s what drove me to Belle. There is a certain swinish comfort in being with awoman who loves you utterly and respects you for being a fine gentleman—even if she is anilliterate whore. It soothed my vanity. You’ve never been very soothing, my dear.”   “Oh, Rhett ...” she began, miserable at the very mention of Belle’s name, but he waved her tosilence and went on.   “And then, that night when I carried you upstairs—I thought—I hoped—I hoped so much I wasafraid to face you the next morning, for fear I’d been mistaken and you didn’t love me. I was soafraid you’d laugh at me I went off and got drunk. And when I came back, I was shaking in myboots and if you had come even halfway to meet me, had given me some sign, I think I’d havekissed your feet. But you didn’t.”   “Oh, but Rhett, I did want you then but you were so nasty! I did want you! I think—yes, thatmust have been when I first knew I cared about you. Ashley—I never was happy about Ashleyafter that, but you were so nasty that I—”   “Oh, well,” he said. “It seems we’ve been at cross purposes, doesn’t it? But it doesn’t matternow. I’m only telling you, so you won’t ever wonder about it all. When you were sick and it wasall my fault, I stood outside your door, hoping you’d call for me, but you didn’t, and then I knewwhat a fool I’d been and that it was all over.”   He stopped and looked through her and beyond her, even as Ashley had often done, seeingsomething she could not see. And she could only stare speechless at his brooding face.   “But then, there was Bonnie and I saw that everything wasn’t over, after all. I liked to think thatBonnie was you, a little girl again, before the war and poverty had done things to you. She was solike you, so willful, so brave and gay and full of high spirits, and I could pet her and spoil her—just as I wanted to pet you. But she wasn’t like you—she loved me. It was a blessing that I couldtake the love you didn’t want and give it to her ... When she went, she took everything.”   Suddenly she was sorry for him, sorry with a completeness that wiped out her own grief and herfear of what his words might mean. It was the first time in her life she had been sorry for anyonewithout feeling contemptuous as well, because it was the first time she had ever approachedunderstanding any other human being. And she could understand his shrewd caginess, so like herown, his obstinate pride that kept him from admitting his love for fear of a rebuff.   “Ah, darling,” she said coming forward, hoping he would put out his arms and draw her to his knees. “Darling, I’m so sorry but I’ll make it all up to you! We can be so happy, now that we knowthe truth and—Rhett—look at me, Rhett! There—there can be other babies—not like Bonnie but—”   “Thank you, no,” said Rhett, as if he were refusing a piece of bread. “I’ll not risk my heart athird time.”   “Rhett, don’t say such things! Oh, what can I say to make you understand? I’ve told you howsorry I am—”   “My darling, you’re such a child. You think that by saying, ‘I’m sorry,’ all the errors and hurts ofyears past can be remedied, obliterated from the mind, all the poison drawn from old wounds. ...   Take my handkerchief, Scarlett. Never, at any crisis of your life, have I known you to have ahandkerchief.”   She took the handkerchief, blew her nose and sat down. It was obvious that he was not going totake her in his arms. It was beginning to be obvious that all his talk about loving her meantnothing. It was a tale of a time long past and he was looking at it as though it had never happenedto him. And that was frightening. He looked at her in an almost kindly way, speculation in his eyes.   “How old are you, my dear? You never would tell me.”   “Twenty-eight,” she answered dully, muffled in the handkerchief.   “That’s not a vast age. It’s a young age to have gained the whole world and lost your own soul,isn’t it? Don’t look frightened. I’m not referring to hell fire to come for your affair with Ashley.   I’m merely speaking metaphorically. Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve wanted two things.   Ashley and to be rich enough to tell the world to go to hell. Well, you are rich enough and you’vespoken sharply to the world and you’ve got Ashley, if you want him. But all that doesn’t seem tobe enough now.”   She was frightened but not at the thought of hell fire. She was thinking: “But Rhett is my souland I’m losing him. And if I lose him, nothing else matters! No, not friends or money or—oranything. If only I had him I wouldn’t even mind being poor again. No, I wouldn’t mind beingcold again or even hungry. But he can’t mean— Oh, he can’t!”   She wiped her eyes and said desperately:   “Rhett, if you once loved me so much, there must be something left for me.”   “Out of it all I find only two things that remain and they are the two things you hate the most—pity and an odd feeling of kindness.”   Pity! Kindness! “Oh, my God,” she thought despairingly. Anything hut pity and kindness.   Whenever she felt these two emotions for anyone, they went hand in hand with contempt Was hecontemptuous of her too? Anything would be preferable to that. Even the cynical coolness of thewar days, the drunken madness that drove him the night he carried her up the stairs, his hardfingers bruising her body, or the barbed drawling words that she now realized had covered a bitterlove. Anything except this impersonal kindness that was written so plainly in his face.   “Then—then you mean I’ve ruined it all—that you don’t love me any more?”   “That’s right.”   “But,” she said stubbornly, like a child who still feels that to state a desire is to gain that desire,“but I love you!”   “That’s your misfortune.”   She looked up quickly to see if there was a jeer behind those words but there was none. He wassimply stating a fact. But it was a fact she still would not believe—could not believe. She looked athim with slanting eyes that burned with a desperate obstinacy and the sudden hard line of jaw thatsprang out through her soft cheek was Gerald’s jaw.   “Don’t be a fool, Rhett! I can make—”   He flung up a hand in mock horror and his black brows went up in the old sardonic crescents.   “Don’t look so determined, Scarlett! You frighten me. I see you are contemplating the transfer ofyour tempestuous affections from Ashley to me and I fear for my liberty and my peace of mind.   No, Scarlett, I will not be pursued as the luckless Ashley was pursued. Besides, I am going away.”   Her jaw trembled before she clenched her teeth to steady it. Go away? No, anything but that!   How could life go on without him? Everyone had gone from her, everyone who mattered exceptRhett. He couldn’t go. But how could she stop him? She was powerless against his cool mind, hisdisinterested words.   “I am going away. I intended to tell you when you came home from Marietta.”   “You are deserting me?”   “Don’t be the neglected, dramatic wife, Scarlett. The role isn’t becoming. I take it, then, you donot want a divorce or even a separation? Well, then, I’ll come back often enough to keep gossipdown.”   “Damn gossip!” she said fiercely. “It’s you I want. Take me with you!”   “No,” he said, and there was finality in his voice. For a moment she was on the verge of anoutburst of childish wild tears. She could have thrown herself on the floor, cursed and screamedand drummed her heels. But some remnant of pride, of common sense stiffened her. She thought, ifI did, he’d only laugh, or just look at me. I mustn’t bawl; I mustn’t beg. I mustn’t do anything torisk his contempt. He must respect me even—even if he doesn’t love me.   She lifted her chin and managed to ask quietly:   “Where will you go?”   There was a faint gleam of admiration in his eyes as he answered.   “Perhaps to England—or to Paris. Perhaps to Charleston to try to make peace with my people.”   “But you hate them! I’ve heard you laugh at them so often and—”   He shrugged.   “I still laugh—but I’ve reached the end of roaming, Scarlett I’m forty-five—the age when a manbegins to value some of the things he’s thrown away so lightly in youth, the clannishness of families, honor and security, roots that go deep— Oh, not I’m not recanting, I’m not regrettinganything I’ve ever done. I’ve had a hell of a good time—such a hell of a good time that it’s begunto pall and now I want something different. No, I never intend to change more than my spots. But Iwant the outer semblance of the things I used to know, the utter boredom of respectability—otherpeople’s respectability, my pet, not my own—the calm dignity life can have when it’s lived bygentle folks, the genial grace of days that are gone. When I lived those days I didn’t realize theslow charm of them—”   Again Scarlett was back in the windy orchard of Tara and there was the same look in Rhett’seyes that had been in Ashley’s eyes that day. Ashley’s words were as clear in her ears as though heand not Rhett were speaking. Fragments of words came back to her and she quoted parrot-like: “Aglamour to it—a perfection, a symmetry like Grecian art.”   Rhett said sharply: “Why did you say that? That’s what I meant.”   “It was something that—that Ashley said once, about the old days.”   He shrugged and the light went out of his eyes.   “Always Ashley,” he said and was silent for a moment.   “Scarlett, when you are forty-five, perhaps you will know what I’m talking about and thenperhaps you, too, will be tired of imitation gentry and shoddy manners and cheap emotions. But Idoubt it. I think you’ll always be more attracted by glister than by gold. Anyway, I can’t wait thatlong to see. And I have no desire to wait. It just doesn’t interest me. I’m going to hunt in old townsand old countries where some of the old times must still linger. I’m that sentimental. Atlanta’s tooraw for me, too new.”   “Stop,” she said suddenly. She had hardly heard anything he had said. Certainly her mind hadnot taken it in. But she knew she could no longer endure with any fortitude the sound of his voicewhen there was no love in itHe paused and looked at her quizzically.   “Well, you get my meaning, don’t you?” he questioned, rising to his feet.   She threw out her hands to him, palms up, in the age-old gesture of appeal and her heart, again,was in her face.   “No,” she cried. “All I know is that you do not love me and you are going away! Oh, mydarling, if you go, what shall I do?”   For a moment he hesitated as if debating whether a kind lie were kinder in the long run than thetruth. Then he shrugged.   “Scarlett, I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together and tellmyself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken—and I’d ratherremember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I lived. Perhaps,if I were younger—” he sighed. “But I’m too old to believe in such sentimentalities as clean slatesand starting all over. I’m too old to shoulder the burden of constant lies that go with living in politedisillusionment. I couldn’t live with you and lie to you and I certainly couldn’t lie to myself. I can’teven lie to you now. I wish I could care what you do or where you go, but I can’t.”   He drew a short breath and said lightly but softly:   “My dear, I don’t give a damn.”   .   She silently watched him go up the stairs, feeling that she would strangle at the pain in herthroat. With the sound of his feet dying away in the upper hall was dying the last thing in the worldthat mattered. She knew now that there was no appeal of emotion or reason which would turn thatcool brain from its verdict. She knew now that he had meant every word he said, lightly thoughsome of them had been spoken. She knew because she sensed in him something strong, unyielding,implacable—all the qualities she had looked for in Ashley and never found.   She had never understood either of the men she had loved and so she had lost them both. Now,she had a fumbling knowledge that, had she ever understood Ashley, she would never have lovedhim; had she ever understood Rhett, she would never have lost him. She wondered forlornly if shehad ever really understood anyone in the world.   There was a merciful dullness in her mind now, a dullness that she knew from long experiencewould soon give way to sharp pain, even as severed tissues, shocked by the surgeon’s knife, have abrief instant of insensibility before their agony begins.   “I won’t think of it now,” she thought grimly, summoning up her old charm. “I’ll go crazy if Ithink about losing him now. I’ll think of it tomorrow.”   “But,” cried her heart, casting aside the charm and beginning to ache, “I can’t let him go! Theremust be some way!”   “I won’t think of it now,” she said again, aloud, trying to push her misery to the back of hermind, trying to find some bulwark against the rising tide of pain. “I’ll—why, I’ll go home to Taratomorrow,” and her spirits lifted faintly.   She had gone back to Tara once in fear and defeat and she had emerged from its sheltering wallsstrong and armed for victory. What she had done once, somehow—please God, she could do again!   How, she did not know. She did not want to think of that now. All she wanted was a breathingspace in which to hurt, a quiet place to lick her wounds, a haven in which to plan her campaign.   She thought of Tara and it was as if a gentle cool hand were stealing over her heart. She could seethe white house gleaming welcome to her through the reddening autumn leaves, feel the quiet hushof the country twilight coming down over her like a benediction, feel the dews falling on the acresof green bushes starred with fleecy white, see the raw color of the red earth and the dismal darkbeauty of the pines on the rolling hills.   She felt vaguely comforted, strengthened by the picture, and some of her hurt and frantic regretwas pushed from the top of her mind. She stood for a moment remembering small things, theavenue of dark cedars leading to Tara, the banks of cape jessamine bushes, vivid green against thewhite walls, the fluttering white curtains. And Mammy would be there. Suddenly she wantedMammy desperately, as she had wanted her when she was a little girl, wanted the broad bosom onwhich to lay her head, the gnarled black hand on her hair. Mammy, the last link with the old days.   With the spirit of her people who would not know defeat, even when it stared them in the face,she raised her chin. She could get Rhett back. She knew she could. There had never been a manshe couldn’t get, once she set her mind upon him.   “I’ll think of it all tomorrow, at Tara. I can stand it then. Tomorrow, I’ll think of some way to gethim back. After all, tomorrow is another day.”   前门微微张开着,思嘉气喘吁吁快步走过穿堂,在枝形吊灯的彩色灯管下佇立了一会儿,尽管那么明亮,屋子里还是静悄悄的,但是不是人们熟睡后那种安适的宁静,而是那种惊醒而疲乏了的带有不祥之兆的沉默。她一眼就看出瑞德不在客厅里,也不在藏书室,便不禁心里一沉。或许他出门去了----跟贝尔在一起,或者在他每次没回家吃晚饭时常去的某个地方?这倒是她不曾预料到的。   她正要上楼去找他,这时发现饭厅的门关了。她一看见这扇关着的门便觉得羞愧,心都有点缩紧了,因为想起这年夏天有许多夜晚瑞德独自坐在里面喝酒,一直要喝得烂醉才由波克进来强迫他上楼去睡觉。这是她的过错,但她会彻底改的。从现在起,一切都会大变样----不过,请上帝大发慈悲,今晚可别让他喝得太醉呀。如果他喝醉了,他就不会相信我,而且会嘲笑我,那我就伤心死了!   她把饭厅的门轻轻打开一道缝,朝里面窥望。他果然坐在桌旁,斜靠在他的椅子里,面前放着一满瓶酒,瓶塞还没打开,酒杯还空着。感谢上帝,他清醒着呢?她拉开门,竭力克制自己才没有立即向他奔过去。但是当他抬起头来看她时,那眼光中似乎有点什么使她大为惊讶,她呆呆地站在门槛上,冒到嘴边的话也说不出来了。   他严肃地望着她,那双黑眼睛显得很疲倦,没有平常那种活泼的光芒了。此时,尽管她头发蓬乱地披散着,由于气喘吁吁,胸脯在紧张地起伏,裙子从膝部以下沾满了泥污,神情十分狼狈,可是他显得一点也不惊讶,也不问她什么,也不像以往那样咧开嘴角嘲讽她。他歪着身子坐在椅子里,衣服被那愈来愈粗的腰身撑着,显得又皱又邋遢,他身上处处体现出美好的形态已经被糟蹋,一张刚健的脸变粗糙了。饮酒和放荡也损坏了他那英俊的外貌,现在他的头已经不像新铸金币上的一个年轻异教徒王子的头像,而是一个旧铜币上的衰老疲惫的凯撒了。他抬头望着她站在那里,一只手放在胸口上,显得非常平静,几乎是一种客气的态度,而这是使她害怕的。   “进来坐下,"他说。"她死了吗?”   她点点头,犹豫地向他走去,因为看见他脸上那种新的表情,心里有点疑虑不定了。他没有起身,只用脚将一把椅子往后挪了挪,她便机械地在那里坐下。她很希望他不要这么快就谈起媚兰。她瑞在不想谈媚兰的事,免得重新引起刚刚平息的悲伤。她后半辈子还有的是时间去谈媚兰呢。可是现在,她已迫不及待地渴望喊出"我爱你"这几个字,好像只剩下今天晚上,剩下这个时刻,来让她向瑞德表白自己的心事了。然而,他脸上却显出那样一种表情,它阻止她,让她突然不好意思出口,在媚兰尸骨未寒的时候便谈起爱来。   “好吧,愿上帝让她安息,"他沉痛地说。"她是我所认识的唯一完美的好人。““啊,瑞德!"她伤心地喊道,因为他的话使她立刻生动地记起媚兰替她做过的每一件好事。"你为什么不跟我一起进去呢?那惊景真可怕----我真需要你啊!”“我也会受不了的,"他简短地说了一句,随即便沉默了。   过了一会,他才勉强轻轻地悦:“一个非常伟大的女性!"他那忧郁的目光越过她向前凝望,眼睛里流露的神情,跟亚特兰大陷落那天晚上她在火光中看见的一模一样,那时他告诉她,他要跟那些搞通退的部队一起走了----这是一个彻底了解自己的人出其不意的举动,他忽然从他自己身上发现了意外的忠诚和激情,并对这一发现产生了微带口嘲的感觉。   他那双忧郁的眼睛越过她的肩头向前凝望,好像看见媚兰默默地穿过房间向门口走去。他脸上的表情中没有悲哀,没有痛苦,只有一种对于自己的沉思和惊异,只有一种从童年时代便死去的激情和猛烈的骚动。这时他又说了一遍:“一个非常伟大的女性!"思嘉浑身颤抖,心里那股热情,那种温暖的感觉,以及鼓舞着她飞奔回来的那个美丽的设想,顿时都消失了。她只能大致体会到瑞德在心中给世界上他唯一佩服的那个人送终时的感情,因此她又产生了一种可怕的丧亡之感----尽管这已不再是个人的,心中仍倍觉凄凉。她不能完全理解或分析瑞德的感情,不过好像她自己也似乎能感觉到,在最后一次轻轻地抚爱时,媚兰那啊啊有声的裙子在碰触她似的。她从瑞德眼里看到的不是一个女人的死亡,而是一期伟人传记的结束----它记载着那些文雅谦让而坚强正直的女人,她们是战时南方的基石,而战败以后她们又张开骄傲和温暖的双臂欢迎南方回来了。   他的眼睛转过来看着她,他的声音也变得轻松而冷静了。   “那么她死了。这样一来,你倒是好办了,不是吗?"“唔,你怎么能这样说话,"她高声,显然被刺痛了,眼泪马上就要流出来了。"你知道我多么爱她呀!““不,我不能说我知道这一点。这太出人意外,当然你还是值得称赞的,因为你一向喜爱那些坏白人,但到最后终于认识她的好处了。"“你怎么能这样说呢?我当然以前就敬重她嘛!你却不是这样。你以前不像我这样理解她呀!你这种人是不会理解她的----她有多好----"“真的吗?不见得吧。"“她关心所有的人,除了她自己----噢,她最后的几句话是说的你呢。"他回头看着她,眼睛里闪着真诚的光芒。   “她说什么?”   “唔,现在先不谈吧,瑞德。”   “告诉我。”   他的声音较为冷静,但是他狠狠地捏住她的手腕,叫她痛极了。她不想告诉他,因为她没有找算用这种方式引到她爱他那个话题上去。可是他的手捏得实在太紧了。   “她说----她说----'要好好待巴特勒船长----他那么爱你。'"他盯着她,一面放下她的手腕。他的眼皮耷拉下来,脸下只剩下一片黝黑了。接着他突然站起来,走到窗前,把帘子拉开来,聚精会神地向外面凝望,仿佛外面除了浓雾之外他还看见了别的什么似的。   “她还说了别的吗?"他头也不回地问。   “她请求我照顾小博,我说我会的,像照顾自己的孩子一样。"“还有呢?”“她说----艾希礼----她请求我也照顾艾希礼。"他沉默了一会,然后轻轻地笑了。   “得到了前妻的允许,这就很方便了,不是吗?"“你这是什么意思?"他转过身来,这时她虽然惶惑不安,还是为他脸上并没有嘲讽的神色而大为惊异。他脸上同样没有一点感兴趣的样子,正如人们最后看完一个无趣味的喜剧时那样。   “我想我的意思已经够明白了。媚兰小姐死了。你一定有了充足的理由可以提出跟我离婚,而这样做对你来说对名誉也没有多大损害。你已经没有剩下多少宗教信仰,因此教会也不会来管。那么----艾希礼和你的那些梦想,都随着媚兰小姐的祝福而成为现实了。"“离婚,"她喊道。"不!不!"她一时不知该怎么说好,便跳起来跑去抓住他的胳臂。"唔,你完全搞错了,大错特错了!   我根本不想离婚----我----"她找不出别的话来说,便只得停住了。   他伸手托起她的下巴,轻轻地把她的脸抬起来对着灯光,然后认真地注视着她的眼眼看了一会。她仰望着他,仿佛全身心都灌注在眼睛里,嘴唇哆嗦着说不出话来。她也真不知怎么说才好,因为她正从他脸上寻找一种相应的激情和希望与喜悦的表情。现在,他必定知道了嘛!但是她急切搜索的眼睛所找到的仍是那张常常使她捻的毫无表情的黝黑的面孔。他将手从她的下巴上放下来,然后转身走到他的椅子旁,又瘫软地坐在里面,将下巴垂到胸前,眼睛从两道黑眉下茫然若失地仰望着她。   她跟着走到他的椅子旁,绞扭着两只手站在他面前。   “你想错了,"她又开始说,一面思量着该说什么。"瑞德,今晚我一明白过来,便我一路跑步回家来告诉你。唔,亲爱的,我----""你累了,"他说,仍然打量着她。"你最好还是去睡吧。"“可是我得告诉你呀!"“思嘉,"他沉重而缓缓地说,“我不想听你----什么也不想听。"“可是你还不晓得我要说什么呢。"“我的宝贝儿,那不明摆在你的脸上吗?大概有什么事,什么人,让你懂得了,那位不幸的威尔克斯先生是个死海里的果子,太大了,连你也啃不动呢。这么一来,我就在你面前突然显得新鲜起来,好象有点味道了。"他微微叹了一口气。   “你讲这些是没有用的。”   她惊诧地倒抽了一口冷气。的确,他经常很轻易地就看透了她。在此之前她是很恼火这一点的,不过这一回,经过最初的震惊以后,她反而感到大为高兴和放心了。他既然知道,既然理解,她的工作便容易多了。确实用不着谈嘛!当然,他会为她的期冷淡而感到痛心的,他对她这个突然的转变当然要怀疑。她还得亲切地讨他的欢心,热烈地爱他,才能使他相信,而且这样做也会很有乐趣呢!   “亲爱的,我要把一切都告诉你,"她说,一面把两只手搁在他那椅子的扶手上,储身凑近他。"我以前真是大错特错了,真是个大傻瓜----"“思嘉,别这样了。用不着对我这样低声下气。我受不了。   最好给我们留下一点尊严,一点默默的思索,作为我们这几年结婚生活的纪念。免了我们这最后一幕吧。"她猛地挺起身来,免了我们这最后一幕?他这"最后一幕"是什么意思?最后?这是他们的第一幕,是她们的开端呢。   “但是我要告诉你,"她赶忙追着说,好像生怕他手捂住她的嘴不让她说下去似的。"唔,瑞德,我多么爱你,亲爱的!   我本来应该多年以来一直爱你的,可我是这样一个傻瓜,以前不晓得这一点。瑞德,你必须相信我呀!"他望着站在面前的她,过了好一会儿,一直把她的心看透了。她发现他的眼神里有了相信的意思,但似乎没有多少兴趣。呼,他是不是偏偏这一次对她不怀好心了呢?难道要折磨她,用她自己的罪孽报复她吗?   “唔,我相信你,"他终于这样说。"但是艾希礼•威尔克斯先生怎么办?”“艾希礼!“她说,同时做了个不耐烦的手势。"我----我并不相信这么多年来我对他有过什么兴趣。那是----唔,那是我从小沾染上的一种癖性。瑞德,要是我明白了他实际上是这样的人,我就连想都不会想到要对他感兴趣了。他是这么一个毫无作为的精神苍白的人,尽管他经常喋喋不休地谈什么真理、名誉和----”“不,"瑞德说。"如果你真要看清他实际上是怎样一个人,你就得老老实实去看。他是个上等人,只不过被他所不能适应的这个世界蒙骗了,可是他还按照过去那个世界的规律在白费力平地挣扎呢。"“唔,瑞德,我们不要谈他了吧!现在他还有什么意思呢?   你难道不愿意知道----我是说,我现在----"他那疲倦的眼睛跟她的接触了一下,这使她像个初恋的姑娘似的感到很难为情,便没有往下说了。如果他让她感到轻松一些,那该多好啊!他如果能伸出双臂,让她能感激地倒进他的怀里,将头靠在他的胸脯上,该多好啊!如果她的嘴唇能贴在他的嘴唇上,就用不着恁她这些含含糊糊的话去打动他了。但是她看看他时才明白,他并不是在故意回避,他好像精力和感情都已枯竭,仿佛她所说的话对他已毫无意义了。   “愿意?"他说。"要是从前我听到你说这些话,我是会虔诚地感谢上帝的。可事到如今,这已无关紧要了。"“无关紧要吗?你这是说的什么?当然,这是很要紧的嘛!   瑞德,你是关心我的,不是吗?你一定关心。媚兰说过你是关心的呢。"“嗯,就她所知道的来说,她是对的。不过,思嘉,你想过没有,哪怕一种最坚贞不渝的爱也会消磨掉的。"她看着他,小嘴张得圆圆的,无言以对。   “我的爱已经消磨殆尽了,"他继续说,"被艾希礼•威尔克斯和你那股疯狂的固执劲儿消磨殆尽了。你固执得像只牛头犬,抓住你认为自己想要的东西不放。……我的爱就这样被消磨殆尽了。”   “可爱情是消磨不掉的呀!”   “你对艾希礼的爱才是这样。”   “可是我从没真正爱过艾希礼呢!”   “那么,你真是扮演得太像了----一直到今天晚上为止。   思嘉,我并不是责怪你,控告你,谴责你。现在已经用不着那样做了。所以请不要在我面前为自己辩护和表白。如果你能静听我讲几分钟,不来打断,我愿意就我的意思作些解释。   不过,天知道,我看已经没有解释的必要了。事情不是明摆着的嘛。"她坐下来,刺目的灯光照在她那苍白困惑的脸上。她凝视着那双她非常熟悉但又很不理解的眼睛,静听他用平静的声调说些她起初听不懂的话。他用这种态度对她说话还是头一次,就像一个人对另外一个人,就像旁的人谈话一样,以往那种尖刻、嘲弄和令人费解的话都没有了。   “你有没有想过,我是怀着一个男人对一个女人的爱所能达到的最高程度在爱你的,爱了那么多年才最后得到你。战争期间我曾准备离开,忘掉你,但是我做不到,只好经常回来。战争结束后,我冒着被捕的危险就是为了回来找你。我对弗兰克•肯尼迪那么忌恨,要不是他后来死了,我想我很可就把他杀了。我爱你,但是我又不能让你知道。思嘉,你对那些爱你的人总是很残酷的。你接受他们的爱,把它作为鞭子举在他们头上。"然而所有这些话中。对她有意义的只有他爱她这一点。她从他的口气中隐约闻到了一点热情的反响,便又觉得喜悦和兴奋了。她平声静气地坐在那里倾听着,等待着。   “我跟你结婚时知道你并不爱我。我了解艾希礼的事,这一点你也明白。不过我那时很傻,满以为还能叫你爱我呢。你就笑吧,如果高兴的话,可那时我真想照顾你,宠爱你,凡你想要的东西都给你。我要跟你结婚,保护你,让你凭自己的高兴随心所欲处理一切事物----就像我对邦妮那样。思嘉,你也确实奋斗了一番。我比谁都清楚你经历了哪些艰难,因此我想要你休息一下,让我来为你奋斗。我要你去玩,像个孩子似的----何况你本来就是个孩子,一个勇敢的、时常担惊受怕的、刚强的孩子。我想你至今还是个孩子。只有一个孩子才会这样顽固,这样感觉迟钝。"他的声音平静而疲倦,不过其中有某种东西引起了思嘉隐约的回忆。她曾经有一次听到过这样一种声音,那是在她生活中面临另外某个危机的时候。可是在什么地方呢?这是一个面对着自己和世界的,没有感觉、没有畏缩、也没有希望的男人的声音。   怎么----怎么----那是艾希礼,在塔拉农场寒风冽的果园里,用一种疲倦而平静的声音谈论人生和影子戏,那最后判决般的口气比绝望的痛苦还要严重呢。如同那时艾希礼的声音曾使她对一些无法理解的事物惧怕得不寒而栗那样,现在瑞德的声音使她的心下往下沉。他的声音,他的态度,比他所说的话的内容更加令她不安,让她明白她刚才那种喜悦兴奋的心情是为时过早了。她觉得事情有些不妙,非常不妙。   那到底是什么问题,她还不清楚,只得绝望地听着,凝望着他黝黑的面孔,但愿能听到使这种恐怕最终消释的下文。   “事情很明显,我们俩是天生的一对。我明明是你的那些相识中惟一既了解你的底细又还能爱你的人----我知道你为什么残酷、贪婪和无所顾忌,跟我一样。我爱你,我决定冒这个风险。我想艾希礼会从你心中渐渐消失的。可是,"他耸了耸肩膀,"我用尽了一切办法都毫无结果,而我还是很爱你,思嘉,只要你给我机会,我就会像一个男人爱一个女人时能尽量做的那样,亲切而温柔地爱你。但是我不能让你知道,因为你知道了便会认为我软弱可欺,用我的爱来对付我。而且,艾希礼一直在那里。这逼得我快要发疯了。我不能每天晚上跟你面对面坐着吃饭,因为知道你心里希望坐在我这个座位上的是艾希礼。同样,在晚上我也无法抱着你睡觉----不过,现在已经无关紧要了。现在我才觉得奇怪,为什么要那样自讨苦吃呢。总之,那么一来,我就只好到贝尔那里去了。在那里可以得到某种卑下的慰藉,因为总算是跟一个女人在一起,而她又那样衷地爱你,尊敬你,把你当作一个很好的上等人----尽管她是没有文化的妓女。这使我的虚荣心得到宽慰。而你却从来不怎么会安慰人呢。亲爱的。"“唔,瑞德。……"思嘉一听到贝尔的名字便恼怒了,忍不住想插嘴,但瑞德摆摆手制止了她,自己继续说下去。   “然后,到那天晚上,我把你抱上楼去----当时我想----我希望----我怀着那么大的希望,以致第二天早晨我连见都不敢见你,生怕我被误解,而你实际上并不爱我。我十分担心你会嘲笑我,所以跑到外面喝醉了。我回来时还浑身颤抖呢,那时只要你哪怕出来迎接我一下,给我一点表示,我想我是会跟下去吻你的脚的,可是你并没有那样做。"“唔,不过瑞德,那时我确实很想要你,可是你却那么别扭!我真想要你啊!我想----是的,当我一明白自己爱你时,就应该是那样的呀。至于艾希礼----从那以后我就再没有对艾希礼感到有什么兴趣了。可是那时你真别扭,所以我----""唔,好了,"瑞德说。"看来我们是抱着彼此相反的看法了,是不是?不过现在已经无关紧要。我只想告诉你,免得你老是纳闷,不知是怎么一回事。你那次生病,倒完全是我的过错,我站在你的房门口,希望你叫我,可是你却没有叫,于是我感到自己太傻了,反正一切都完了。"他停了停,眼睛越过她看着更远的地方,就像艾希礼时常做的那样,仿佛远处有他看不见的什么东西。而她只能默默无言地看着他那张沉默的脸。   “不过,那时候邦妮还在,我觉得事情毕竟还是有希望的。   我喜欢把邦妮当作你,好像你又成了一个没有战争和贫困折磨的小姑娘。她真像你,那么任性,那么勇敢快乐,兴致勃勃,我可以宠爱她,娇惯她----就像我要宠爱你一样。可是她有一点跟你不一样----她爱我。于是我很欣慰能够把你所不要的爱拿来给她。……等到她一走,就把一切都带走了。"思嘉突然感到很为他难过,难过得连她自己的悲伤,以及因不了解他说这些话的用意而感到的恐惧,全都忘了。这是她有生以来第一次替别人感到难过而不同时轻视这个人,因为这是她第一次真正理解另一个人呢。她能够了解他的精明狡诈----跟她自己的那么相像,以及他因为生怕碰壁而不肯承认自己的爱那样一种顽固的自尊心。   “哎,亲爱的,"她走上前去说,希望他会伸出双臂把她拉过去抱在膝上。"亲爱的,我的确对不起你,但是我会全部补偿你的!我们会过得很愉快,因为我们已经彼此了解,而且----瑞德----看着我,瑞德!我们还可以----还可以再要孩子----不像邦妮,而是----"”不,谢谢你了,"瑞德说,仿佛拒绝一片面包似的。“我不想象自己的心去作第三次冒险了。"“瑞德,别这样说话嘛,唔,我怎么说才能让你明白呢?   我已经告诉你我多么对不起----”   “亲爱的,你真是个孩子。你以为只要说一声'对不起',多年来的过错和伤害就能补偿,就能从心上抹掉,毒液就能从旧的伤口消除干净。……把我这块手帕拿去,思嘉。在你一生无论哪个危机关头,我从没见过你有一条手帕呢。"她接过手帕,擦了擦鼻子,然后坐下。看来很显然,他是不会搂抱她的。她开始清醒地意识到,他所说的关于爱她的话,实际上毫无意义。那已经是你陈年旧事,可他还在盯着它,仿佛他从没经历过呢。这倒是令人吃惊的。他用一种近乎亲切的态度看着她,眼里流露出沉思的神色。   “你多大年纪了,亲爱的?你从来不肯告诉我。"“二十八岁,"她沉闷地回答,因手帕捂在嘴上显得闷声闷气的。   “这年纪不算大嘛。你得到整个世界却丢掉了灵魂时,还很年轻呢,是不是?别害怕。我不是说因为你跟艾希礼的事,你将被打入地狱,受到惩罚。我这只是一种比喻的说法罢了。   自从我认识你以来,你一直想要的是两样东西。一是要艾希礼,二是尽量赚钱好任意践踏这个世界。好,你现在已经够富裕了,可以对这个世界呼三喝四,而且也得到了艾希礼,如果你还要他的话。可是如今看来,似乎这一切还不够吧。“她感到害怕,但并非由于想起了地狱的惩罚。她是在思忖:“我的灵魂其实就是瑞德,可是我快要失掉他了。而一旦失掉他,别的东西就无关紧要了。不,不论是朋友或金钱----或任何东西,都无关紧要。只要有他,我哪怕再一次受穷也不在乎。不,我不在乎再一次挨冻,甚至饿肚子。但是,他不可能真是那个意思----啊,他决不可能!"于是,她擦擦眼睛,万分焦急地说:“瑞德,既然你曾经那样爱过我,你总该给我留下点什么吧?"“我从中只发现还有两样东西留下来,那是你最憎恨的两样东西----怜悯和一种奇怪的慈悲心。"怜悯!慈悲!"啊,我的天哪,"她绝望地想,什么都行,除了怜悯和慈悲。每当她对别人怀有这两种情感时,必然有轻视跟它们相连在一起。难道他也在轻视她了?只要不是这样,什么都心甘情愿呢。哪怕是战争时期那种冷酷的嘲讽,哪怕是促使他那天夜里抱她上楼的病狂劲儿,抓伤她身体的那些粗暴的手指,或者,她如今才明白是掩藏着热爱的那种拖长声调的带刺的话----所有这些,都比轻视好多了。什么都行,就是不能有这种与他本人无关的慈悲心,可是它明明在他脸上流露出来!   “那么----那么你的意思是我已经彻底把它毁了----你再也不爱我了?"“是这样。"”可是----可是我爱你呢,"她固执地说,好像是个孩子,她依然觉得只要说出自己的期望就能实现那个希望似的。   “那就是你的不幸了。”   她急忙抬起头来,看看这句话背后有没有玩笑的意味,但是没有。他是在简捷地说明一个事实。不过这个事实她还是不愿意接受----不能接受。她用那双翘翘的,眼睛看着他,眼里燃烧着绝望而固执的神情,同时她那柔润的脸颊忽然板起来,使得一个像杰拉尔德那样顽强的下颚格外突出了。   “别犯傻了,瑞德!我能使----”   他扬起一只手装出惊吓的样子,两道黑眉也耸成新月形,完全是过去那个讥讽人的模样。   “别显得这样坚定吧,思嘉!我被你吓坏了。我看你是在盘算着把你对艾希礼的狂热感情转移到我身上来,可是我害怕丧失我的意志自由和平静呢。不,思嘉,我不愿意像倒霉的艾希礼那样被人追捕。况且,我马上就要走了。"她的下颚在哆嗦了,她急忙咬紧牙关让它镇定下来。要走?不,无论如何不能走!没有他生活怎么过呢?除了瑞德,所有对她关系重大的人都离开她了。他不能走。可是,怎么样才能把他留住呢?她无法改变他那颗冰冷的心,也驳不回那些冷漠无情的话呀!   “我就要走了。你从马里塔回来的时候我就准备告诉你的。"“你要抛弃我?““用不着装扮成一副弃妇的模样嘛,思嘉,这角色对你很不合适。那么我看,你是不想离婚甚至分居了?好吧,那我就尽可能多回来走走,免得别人说闲话。”“什么闲话不闲话!"她恶狠狠地说。"我要的是你。要走就带我一起走!"“不行,“他说,口气十分坚决,仿佛毫无商量的余地。刹时间她几乎要像个孩子似的号啕大哭了。她几乎要倒在地上,蹬着脚跟叫骂起来了。好在她毕竟还有一点自尊心和常识,才克制自己。她想,如果我那样做,他只会轻视,或者干脆袖手旁观。我决不能哭闹;我也决不起求。我决不做任何叫他轻视的事,他很尊重我,哪怕----哪怕他不爱我也罢。   她抬起下巴,强作镇静地问:   “你要到哪里去?”   他回答时眼中隐约流露出赞许的光采。   “也许去英国----或者巴黎。但也可能先到查尔斯顿,想办法同我家里的人和解一下。““可是你恨他们呢!我听你常常嘲笑他们,并且----"他耸耸肩膀。   “我还在嘲笑----不过我已经流浪得够了,思嘉。我都四十五岁了----一个人到了这个年龄,应该开始珍惜他年轻时轻易抛弃的那些东西。比如家庭的和睦,名誉和安定,扎得很深的根基等等----啊,不!我并不是在悔过,我对于自己做过的事从不悔恨。我已经好好享受过一阵子----那么美好的日子,现在已开始有点腻烦,想改变一下了。不,我从没打算要改变自己身上的瑕疵以外的东西。不过,我也想学学我看惯了的某些外表的东西,那些很令人厌烦但在社会上却很受尊敬的东西----不过我的宝贝儿,这些都是别人所有的,而不是我自己的----那就是绅士们生活中那种安逸尊严的风度,以及旧时代温文雅的美德。我以前过日子的时候,并不懂得这些东西中潜在的魅力呢----"思嘉再一次回忆起塔拉农场果园里的情景,那天艾希礼眼中的神色跟现在瑞德眼中的完全一样。艾希礼说的那些话如今清清楚楚就在她耳边,好像仍是他而不是瑞德在说似的。   她记起了艾希礼话中的只言片语,便像鹦鹉学舌一般引用道:“它富有魅力----像古希腊艺术那样,是圆满的、完整的和匀称的。"瑞德厉声问她:“你怎么说这个?这正是我的意思呢。"“这是----这是艾希礼从前谈到旧时代的时候说过的。“他耸了耸肩膀,眼睛里的光芒消失了。   “总是艾希礼,"他说完沉思了片刻,然后才接下去。   “思嘉,等到你四十五岁的时候,你也许会懂得我这些话的意思,那时你可能也对这种假装的文雅、虚伪的礼貌和廉价的感情感到腻烦了。不过我还有点怀疑。我想你是会永远只注意外表不重视实质的。反正我活不到那个时候,看不到你究竟怎样了。