In shaking fingers while her eyes, 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 insane malice 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 eyes showed 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 you were 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 of its meaning and then:

"The Klan!" she almost screamed it. "Ashley isn't in the Klan!

Frank can't be! Oh, he promised me!"

"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 him instead 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, he promised 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' this afternoon and got yoreself into

trouble through yore own fault, Mr. Wilkes and Mr. Kennedy and the

other men are out tonight to kill that thar nigger and that thar

white man, if they can catch them, and wipe out that whole

Shantytown settlement. And if what that Scallawag said is true,

the Yankees suspected sumpin' or got wind somehow and they've sont

out troops to lay for them. And our men have walked into a trap.

And if what Butler said warn't true, then he's a spy and he is

goin' 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 light out of here for Texas and lay low and maybe never

come back. It's all yore fault and thar's blood on yore hands."

Anger wiped out the fear from Melanie's face as she saw

comprehension come slowly across Scarlett'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 fault. She 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 judge others by ourselves. How can you and

India say such cruel things when her husband as well as mine 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 side yard toward the back porch. They felt

that a thousand inimical eyes looked at them through the unshaded

front window and the four women, with fear in their hearts, bent

their heads and plied their needles. Scarlett's heart screamed in

her breast: "I've killed Ashley! I've killed him!" And in that

wild moment she did not even think that she might have killed Frank

too. She had no room in her mind for any picture save that of

Ashley, lying at the feet of Yankee cavalrymen, his fair hair

dappled with blood.

As the harsh rapid knocking sounded at the door, she looked at

Melanie and saw come over the small, strained face a new

expression, an expression as blank as she had just seen on Rhett

Butler's face, 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 stumped over to the door and flung it

open. Pitty gave a little squeak, like a mouse who feels the trap

snap down, as she saw massed in the doorway, a Yankee captain and a

squad of bluecoats. But the others said nothing. Scarlett saw

with the faintest feeling of relief that she knew this officer. He

was Captain Tom Jaffery, one of Rhett's friends. She had sold him

lumber to build his house. She knew him to be a gentleman.

Perhaps, as he was a gentleman, he wouldn't drag them away to

prison. 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