It's home. I won't let it go. Not while 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 are coming to me with a business

proposition. I'll give you three hundred dollars and you'll become

my mistress."

"Yes."

Now that the repulsive word had been said, she felt somehow easier

and hope awoke in her again. He had said "I'll give you." There

was a diabolic gleam in his eyes as if something amused him

greatly.

"And yet, when I had the effrontery to make you this same

proposition, you turned me out of the house. And also you called

me a number of very hard names and mentioned in passing that you

didn't want a 'passel of brats.' No, my dear, I'm not rubbing it

in. I'm only wondering at the peculiarities of your mind. You

wouldn't do it for your own pleasure but you will to keep the wolf

away 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 and insult 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 was mid-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 the pleasant busy

humming of bees in her ears. Afternoon and hush and the far-off

sound of the wagons 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 his voice.

"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. I have some money, yes, but not

here. And I'm not saying where it is or how much. But if I tried

to draw a draft on it, the Yankees would be on me like a duck on a

June bug and then neither of us would get it. What do you think of

that?"

Her face went an ugly green, freckles suddenly standing out across

her nose and her contorted mouth was like Gerald's in a killing

rage. She sprang to her feet with an incoherent cry which made 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 broken pride. She bent and twisted every way against

the iron of his arm, her heart near bursting, her tight stays

cutting off her breath. He held her so tightly, so roughly that it

hurt and the hand over her mouth pinched into her jaws cruelly.

His face was white under its tan, his eyes hard and anxious as he

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. Do calm 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, but dizziness was sweeping her. She could not

breathe; he was choking her; her stays were like a swiftly

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 which became 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 her bones, weak, bewildered. She was lying back in

the chair, her bonnet off, Rhett was slapping her wrist, his black

eyes searching her face anxiously. The nice young captain was

trying to pour a glass of brandy into her mouth and had spilled it

down her neck. The other officers hovered helplessly 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 remembered and 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 swallowed deeply and the hot liquid burned

suddenly in her throat.

"I think she's better now, gentlemen," said Rhett, "and I thank you