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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.