In a marsh light, no more security than in quicksand. It was

Rhett--Rhett who had strong arms to hold her, a broad chest to

pillow her tired head, jeering laughter to pull her affairs into

proper perspective. And complete understanding, because he, like

her, saw truth as truth, unobstructed by impractical notions of

honor, sacrifice, or high belief in human nature. He loved 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 much for granted as she had taken

Melanie's love, flattering herself that she drew her strength from

herself alone. And even as she had realized earlier in the evening

that Melanie bad been beside her in 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 eyes and leading her out in the reel,

Rhett helping her out of the bondage of mourning, Rhett convoying

her through the fire and explosions the night Atlanta fell, Rhett

lending her the money that gave her her start, Rhett who comforted

her when she woke in the nights crying with fright from her dreams--

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 she paid it no heed. For when she

thought of Rhett, with his swarthy face, flashing teeth and dark

alert eyes, a trembling came over her.

"I love him," she thought and, as always, she accepted the truth

with little wonder, as a child accepting a gift. "I don't know how

long I've loved him but it's true. And if it hadn't been for

Ashley, I'd have realized it long ago. I've never been able to see

the world at all, because Ashley stood 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 very

beginning when he kept on coming to see me, even though he knew his

family expected him to marry Melanie. Rhett has never let me down,

even that dreadful night of Melly's reception when he ought to have

wrung my neck. Even when he left me on the road the night Atlanta

fell, he knew I'd be safe. He knew I'd get through somehow. Even

when he acted like he was going to make me pay to get that money

from him at the Yankee camp. He wouldn't have taken me. He was

just testing me. He's loved me all along and I've been so mean to

him. Time and again, I've hurt him and 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, that she 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 loved Rhett--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 him what 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 knew with a singing in her heart that

she would never fear them again. No matter what mists might curl

around her in the future, she knew her refuge. She started briskly

up the street toward home and the blocks seemed very long. Far,

far too long. She caught up her skirts to her knees and began to

run lightly. But this time she was not running from fear. She was

running because Rhett's arms were at the end of the street.

CHAPTER LXIII

The front door was slightly ajar and she trotted, breathless, into

the hall and paused for a moment 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

he should be out--out with Belle or wherever it was he spent the

many evenings when he did not appear 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 was closed. Her heart contracted a little

with shame at the sight of that closed door, remembering the many

nights of this last summer when Rhett had sat there alone, drinking

until he was sodden and Pork came to urge him to bed. That had

been her fault but she'd change it all. Everything was to be

different from now on--but, please God, don't let him be too drunk

tonight. If he's too drunk he won'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 glass

unused. Thank God, he was sober! She pulled open the door,

holding herself back from running to him. But when he looked up at

her, something in his gaze stopped her dead on the threshold,

stilled the words on her lips.

He looked at her steadily with dark eyes that were heavy with

fatigue and there was no leaping light in them. Though her hair

was tumbling about her shoulders, her bosom heaving breathlessly

and her skirts mud splattered to the knees, his face did not change

with surprise or question or his lips twist with mockery. He was

sunken in his chair, his suit wrinkling untidily against his

thickening waist, every line of him proclaiming the ruin of a fine

body and the coarsening of a strong face. Drink and dissipation

had done their work on the coin-clean profile and now it was no

longer the head of a young pagan prince on new-minted gold but a

decadent, tired Caesar on copper debased by long usage. He looked

up at her as she stood there, hand on heart, looked quietly, almost