I've got him and I don't want him. His damned honor will make him

ask me if I want to divorce Rhett and marry him. Marry him? I

wouldn't have him on a silver platter! But, just the same I've got

him round my neck for the rest of my life. As long as I live I'll

have to look after him and see that he doesn't starve and that

people don't hurt his feelings. He'll be just another child,

clinging to my skirts. I've lost my lover and I've got another

child. And if I hadn't promised Melly, I'd--I wouldn't care if I

never saw him again."

CHAPTER LXII

She heard whispering voices outside, and going to the door she saw

the frightened negroes standing in the back hall, Dilcey with her

arms sagging under the heavy weight of the sleeping Beau, Uncle

Peter crying, and Cookie wiping her wide wet face on her apron.

All three looked at her, dumbly asking what they were to do now.

She looked up the hall toward the sitting room and saw India and

Aunt Pitty standing speechless, holding each other's hands and, for

once, India had lost her stiff-necked look. Like the negroes, they

looked imploringly at her, expecting her to give instructions. 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 her voice and her hands clenched at her

sides. The thought of speaking of Melanie now, of making the

Inevitable arrangements that follow a death made her throat

tighten. "I don't want a word out of either of you."

At the authoritative note in her voice, they fell back, helpless

hurt looks on their faces. "I mustn't cry in front of them," she

thought. "I mustn't break now or they'll begin crying too, and

then the darkies will begin screaming and we'll all go mad. I must

pull myself together. There's so much I'll have to do. See the

undertaker and arrange the funeral and see that the house is clean

and be 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 would not 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 back and

we'll--"

She patted Aunt Pitty and went swiftly by her to the front door,

knowing if she stayed in this room another minute her control would

crack. She had to be alone. And she had to cry or her heart would

break.

She stepped onto the dark porch and closed the door behind her and

the moist night air was cool upon her face. The rain had ceased

and there was no sound except for the occasional drip of water from

the eaves. The world was wrapped in a thick mist, a faintly chill

mist that bore on its breath the smell of the dying year. All the

houses across the street were dark except one, and the light from a

lamp in the window, falling into the street, struggled feebly with

the fog, golden particles floating in its rays. It was as if the

whole world were enveloped in an unmoving blanket of gray smoke.

And the whole world was still.

She leaned her head against one of the uprights of the porch and

prepared to cry but no tears came. This was a calamity too deep

for tears. Her body shook. There still reverberated in her mind

the crashes of the two impregnable citadels of her life, thundering

to dust about her ears. She stood for a while, trying to summon up

her old charm: "I'll think of all this tomorrow when I can stand