If you got there, you'd probably find it burned down. I won't let

you go home. It's insanity."

"I will go home!" she cried and her voice broke and rose to a

scream. "I will go home! You can't stop me! I will go home! I

want my mother! I'll kill you if you try to stop me! I will go

home!"

Tears of fright and hysteria streamed down her face as she finally

gave way under the long strain. She beat on his chest with her

fists and screamed again: "I will! I will! If I have to walk

every step of the way!"

Suddenly she was in his arms, her wet cheek against the starched

ruffle of his shirt, her beating hands stilled against him. His

hands caressed her tumbled hair gently, soothingly, and his voice

was gentle too. So gentle, so quiet, so devoid of mockery, it did

not seem Rhett Butler's voice at all but the voice of some kind

strong stranger who smelled of brandy and tobacco and horses,

comforting smells because they reminded her of Gerald.

"There, there, darling," he said softly. "Don't cry. You shall go

home, my brave little girl. You shall go home. Don't cry."

She felt something brush her hair and wondered vaguely through her

tumult if it were his lips. He was so tender, so infinitely

soothing, she longed to stay in his arms forever. With such strong

arms about her, surely nothing could harm her.

He fumbled in his pocket and produced a handkerchief and wiped her

eyes.

"Now, blow your nose like a good child," he ordered, a glint of a

smile in his eyes, "and tell me what to do. We must work fast."

She blew her nose obediently, still trembling, but she could not

think what to tell him to do. Seeing how her lip quivered and her

eyes looked up at him helplessly, he took command.

"Mrs. Wilkes has had her child? It will be dangerous to move her--

dangerous to drive her twenty-five miles in that rickety wagon.

We'd better leave her with Mrs. Meade."

"The Meades aren't home. I can't leave her."

"Very well. Into the wagon she goes. Where is that simple-minded

little wench?"

"Upstairs packing the trunk."

"Trunk? You can't take any trunk in that wagon. It's almost too

small to hold all of you and the wheels are ready to come off with

no encouragement. Call her and tell her to get the smallest

feather bed in the house and put it in the wagon."

Still Scarlett could not move. He took her arm in a strong grasp

and some of the vitality which animated him seemed to flow into her

body. If only she could be as cool and casual as he was! He

propelled her into the hall but she still stood helplessly looking

at him. His lip went down mockingly: "Can this be the heroic

young woman who assured me she feared neither God nor man?"

He suddenly burst into laughter and dropped her arm. Stung, she

glared at him, hating him.

"I'm not afraid," she said.

"Yes, you are. In another moment you'll be in a swoon and I have

no smelling salts about me."

She stamped her foot impotently because she could not think of

anything else to do--and without a word picked up the lamp and

started up the stairs. He was close behind her and she could hear

him laughing softly to himself. That sound stiffened her spine.

She went into Wade's nursery and found him sitting clutched in

Prissy's arms, half dressed, hiccoughing quietly. Prissy was

whimpering. The feather tick on Wade's bed was small and she

ordered Prissy to drag it down the stairs and into the wagon.

Prissy put down the child and obeyed. Wade followed her down the

stairs, his hiccoughs stilled by his interest in the proceedings.

"Come," said Scarlett, turning to Melanie's door and Rhett followed

her, hat in hand.

Melanie lay quietly with the sheet up to her chin. Her face was

deathly white but her eyes, sunken and black circled, were serene.

She showed no surprise at the sight of Rhett in her bedroom but

seemed to take it as a matter of course. She tried to smile weakly

but the smile died before it reached the corners of her mouth.

"We are going home, to Tara," Scarlett explained rapidly. "The

Yankees are coming. Rhett is going to take us. It's the only way,

Melly."

Melanie tried to nod her head feebly and gestured toward the baby.

Scarlett picked up the small baby and wrapped him hastily in a

thick towel. Rhett stepped to the bed.

"I'll try not to hurt you," he said quietly, tucking the sheet

about her. "See if you can put your arms around my neck."

Melanie tried but they fell back weakly. He bent, slipped an arm

under her shoulders and another across her knees and lifted her

gently. She did not cry out but Scarlett saw her bite her lip and

go even whiter. Scarlett held the lamp high for Rhett to see and

started toward the door when Melanie made a feeble gesture toward

the wall.

"What is it?" Rhett asked softly.

"Please," Melanie whispered, trying to point. "Charles."

Rhett looked down at her as if he thought her delirious but

Scarlett understood and was irritated. She knew Melanie wanted the

daguerreotype of Charles which hung on the wall below his sword and

pistol.

"Please," Melanie whispered again, "the sword."

"Oh, all right," said Scarlett and, after she had lighted Rhett's

careful way down the steps, she went back and unhooked the sword

and pistol belts. It would be awkward, carrying them as well as

the baby and the lamp. That was just like Melanie, not to be at

all bothered over nearly dying and having the Yankees at her heels

but to worry about Charles' things.

As she took down the daguerreotype, she caught a glimpse of

Charles' face. His large brown eyes met hers and she stopped for a

moment to look at the picture curiously. This man had been her

husband, had lain beside her for a few nights, had given her a

child with eyes as soft and brown as his. And she could hardly

remember him.

The child in her arms waved small fists and mewed softly and she

looked down at him. For the first time, she realized that this was

Ashley's baby and suddenly wished with all the strength left in her

that he were her baby, hers and Ashley's.

Prissy came bounding up the stairs and Scarlett handed the child to

her. They went hastily down, the lamp throwing uncertain shadows

on the wall. In the hall, Scarlett saw a bonnet and put it on

hurriedly, tying the ribbons under her chin. It was Melanie's

black mourning bonnet and it did not fit Scarlett's head but she

could not recall where she had put her own bonnet.

She went out of the house and down the front steps, carrying the

lamp and trying to keep the saber from banging against her legs.

Melanie lay full length in the back of the wagon, and, beside her,

were Wade and the towel-swathed baby. Prissy climbed in and took

the baby in her arms.

The wagon was very small and the boards about the sides very low.

The wheels leaned inward as if their first revolution would make

them come off. She took one look at the horse and her heart sank.

He was a small emaciated animal and he stood with his head

dispiritedly low, almost between his forelegs. His back was raw

with sores and harness galls and he breathed as no sound horse

should.

"Not much of an animal, is it?" grinned Rhett. "Looks like he'll

die in the shafts. But he's the best I could do. Some day I'll

tell you with embellishments just where and how I stole him and how

narrowly I missed getting shot. Nothing but my devotion to you

would make me, at this stage of my career, turn horse thief--and

thief of such a horse. Let me help you in."

He took the lamp from her and set it on the ground. The front seat

was only a narrow plank across the sides of the wagon. Rhett

picked Scarlett up bodily and swung her to it. How wonderful to be

a man and as strong as Rhett, she thought, tucking her wide skirts

about her. With Rhett beside her, she did not fear anything,

neither the fire nor the noise nor the Yankees.

He climbed onto the seat beside her and picked up the reins.

"Oh, wait!" she cried. "I forgot to lock the front door."

He burst into a roar of laughter and slapped the reins upon the

horse's back.

"What are you laughing at?"

"At you--locking the Yankees out," he said and the horse started

off, slowly, reluctantly. The lamp on the sidewalk burned on,

making a tiny yellow circle of light which grew smaller and smaller

as they moved away.

Rhett turned the horse's slow feet westward from Peachtree and the

wobbling wagon jounced into the rutty lane with a violence that

wrenched an abruptly stifled moan from Melanie. Dark trees