It over and decided that, in a choice between the Church and

Ashley, she would choose Ashley. But, oh, it would make such a

scandal! Divorced people were under the ban not only of the Church

but of society. No divorced person was received. However, she

would dare even that for Ashley. She would sacrifice anything for

Ashley.

Somehow it would come out all right when the war was over. If

Ashley loved her so much, he'd find a way. She'd make him find a

way. And with every day that passed, she became more sure in her

own mind of his devotion, more certain he would arrange matters

satisfactorily when the Yankees were finally beaten. Of course, he

had said the Yankees "had" them. Scarlett thought that was just

foolishness. He had been tired and upset when he said it. But she

hardly cared whether the Yankees won or not. The thing that

mattered was for the war to finish quickly and for Ashley to come

home.

Then, when the sleets of March were keeping everyone indoors, the

hideous blow fell. Melanie, her eyes shining with joy, her head

ducked with embarrassed pride, told her she was going to have a

baby.

"Dr. Meade says it will be here in late August or September," she

said. "I've thought--but I wasn't sure till today. Oh, Scarlett,

Isn't it wonderful? I've so envied you Wade and so wanted a baby.

And I was so afraid that maybe I wasn't ever going to have one and,

darling, I want a dozen!"

Scarlett had been combing her hair, preparing for bed, when Melanie

spoke and she stopped, the comb in mid-air.

"Dear God!" she said and, for a moment, realization did not come.

Then there suddenly leaped to her mind the closed door of Melanie's

bedroom and a knifelike pain went through her, a pain as fierce as

though Ashley had been her own husband and had been unfaithful to

her. A baby. Ashley's baby. Oh, how could he, when he loved her

and not Melanie?

"I know you're surprised," Melanie rattled on, breathlessly. "And

Isn't it too wonderful? Oh, Scarlett, I don't know how I shall

ever write Ashley! It wouldn't be so embarrassing if I could tell

him or--or--well, not say anything and just let him notice

gradually, you know--"

"Dear God!" said Scarlett, almost sobbing, as she dropped the comb

and caught at the marble top of the dresser for support.

"Darling, don't look like that! You know having a baby isn't so

bad. You said so yourself. And you mustn't worry about me, though

you are sweet to be so upset. Of course, Dr. Meade said I was--

was," Melanie blushed, "quite narrow but that perhaps I shouldn't

have any trouble and--Scarlett, did you write Charlie and tell him

when you found out about Wade, or did your mother do it or maybe

Mr. O'Hara? Oh, dear, if I only had a mother to do it! I just

don't see how--"

"Hush!" said Scarlett, violently. "Hush!"

"Oh, Scarlett, I'm so stupid! I'm sorry. I guess all happy people

are selfish. I forgot about Charlie, just for the moment--"

"Hush!" said Scarlett again, fighting to control her face and make

her emotions quiet. Never, never must Melanie see or suspect how

she felt.

Melanie, the most tactful of women, had tears in her eyes at her

own cruelty. How could she have brought back to Scarlett the

terrible memories of Wade being born months after poor Charlie was

dead? How could she have been so thoughtless?

"Let me help you undress, dearest," she said humbly. "And I'll rub

your head for you."

"You leave me alone," said Scarlett, her face like stone. And

Melanie, bursting into tears of self-condemnation, fled the room,

leaving Scarlett to a tearless bed, with wounded pride,

disillusionment and jealousy for bedfellows.

She thought that she could not live any longer in the same house

with the woman who was carrying Ashley's child, thought that she

would go home to Tara, home, where she belonged. She did not see

how she could ever look at Melanie again and not have her secret

read in her face. And she arose the next morning with the fixed

intention of packing her trunk immediately after breakfast. But,

as they sat at the table, Scarlett silent and gloomy, Pitty

bewildered and Melanie miserable, a telegram came.

It was to Melanie from Ashley's body servant, Mose.

"I have looked everywhere and I can't find him. Must I come home?"

No one knew what it meant but the eyes of the three women went to

one another, wide with terror, and Scarlett forgot all thoughts of

going home. Without finishing their breakfasts they drove down to

telegraph Ashley's colonel, but even as they entered the office,

there was a telegram from him.

"Regret to inform you Major Wilkes missing since scouting

expedition three days ago. Will keep you informed."

It was a ghastly trip home, with Aunt Pitty crying into her

handkerchief, Melanie sitting erect and white and Scarlett slumped,

stunned in the corner of the carriage. Once in the house, Scarlett

stumbled up the stairs to her bedroom and, clutching her Rosary

from the table, dropped to her knees and tried to pray. But the

prayers would not come. There only fell on her an abysmal fear, a

certain knowledge that God had turned His face from her for her

sin. She had loved a married man and tried to take him from his

wife, and God had punished her by killing him. She wanted to pray

but she could not raise her eyes to Heaven. She wanted to cry but

the tears would not come. They seemed to flood her chest, and they

were hot tears that burned under her bosom, but they would not

flow.

Her door opened and Melanie entered. Her face was like a heart cut

from white paper, framed against black hair, and her eyes were

wide, like those of a frightened child lost in the dark.

"Scarlett," she said, putting out her hands. "You must forgive me

for what I said yesterday, for you're--all I've got now. Oh,

Scarlett, I know my darling is dead!"

Somehow, she was in Scarlett's arms, her small breasts heaving with

sobs, and somehow they were lying on the bed, holding each other

close, and Scarlett was crying too, crying with her face pressed

close against Melanie's, the tears of one wetting the cheeks of the

other. It hurt so terribly to cry, but not so much as not being

able to cry. Ashley is dead--dead, she thought, and I have killed

him by loving him! Fresh sobs broke from her, and Melanie somehow

feeling comfort in her tears tightened her arms about her neck.

"At least," she whispered, "at least--I've got his baby."

"And I," thought Scarlett, too stricken now for anything so petty

as jealousy, "I've got nothing--nothing--nothing except the look on

his face when he told me good-by."

The first reports were "Missing--believed killed" and so they

appeared on the casualty list. Melanie telegraphed Colonel Sloan a

dozen times and finally a letter arrived, full of sympathy,

explaining that Ashley and a squad had ridden out on a scouting

expedition and had not returned. There had been reports of a

slight skirmish within the Yankee lines and Mose, frantic with

grief, had risked his own life to search for Ashley's body but had

found nothing. Melanie, strangely calm now, telegraphed him money

and instructions to come home.

When "Missing--believed captured" appeared on the casualty lists,

joy and hope reanimated the sad household. Melanie could hardly be

dragged away from the telegraph office and she met every train

hoping for letters. She was sick now, her pregnancy making itself

felt in many unpleasant ways, but she refused to obey Dr. Meade's

commands and stay in bed. A feverish energy possessed her and

would not let her be still; and at night, long after Scarlett had

gone to bed, she could hear her walking the floor in the next room.

One afternoon, she came home from town, driven by the frightened

Uncle Peter and supported by Rhett Butler. She had fainted at the

telegraph office and Rhett, passing by and observing the

excitement, had escorted her home. He carried her up the stairs to

her bedroom and while the alarmed household fled hither and yon for

hot bricks, blankets and whisky, he propped her on the pillows of

her bed.

"Mrs. Wilkes," he questioned abruptly, "you are going to have a

baby, are you not?"

Had Melanie not been so faint, so sick, so heartsore, she would

have collapsed at his question. Even with women friends she was

embarrassed by any mention of her condition, while visits to Dr.

Meade were agonizing experiences. And for a man, especially Rhett

Butler, to ask such a question was unthinkable. But lying weak and

forlorn in the bed, she could only nod. After she had nodded, it

did not seem so dreadful, for he looked so kind and so concerned.

"Then you must take better care of yourself. All this running

about and worry won't help you and may harm the baby. If you will

permit me, Mrs. Wilkes, I will use what influence I have in

Washington to learn about Mr. Wilkes' fate. If he is a prisoner,

he will be on the Federal lists, and if he isn't--well, there's

nothing worse than uncertainty. But I must have your promise.

Take care of yourself or, before God, I won't turn a hand."

"Oh, you are so kind," cried Melanie. "How can people say such

dreadful things about you?" Then overcome with the knowledge of

her tactlessness and also with horror at having discussed her

condition with a man, she began to cry weakly. And Scarlett,

flying up the stairs with a hot brick wrapped in flannel, found

Rhett patting her hand.

He was as good as his word. They never knew what wires he pulled.

They feared to ask, knowing it might involve an admission of his

too close affiliations with the Yankees. It was a month before he

had news, news that raised them to the heights when they first

heard it, but later created a gnawing anxiety in their hearts.

Ashley was not dead! He had been wounded and taken prisoner, and

the records showed that he was at Rock Island, a prison camp in