Itself to Scarlett, making her more nervous than before. Handling

her needle awkwardly, she jabbed it into her thumb and with a

little scream of pain and annoyance that made them all jump, she

squeezed it until a bright red drop appeared.

"I'm just too nervous to sew," she declared, throwing her mending

to the floor. "I'm nervous enough to scream. I want to go home

and go to bed. And Frank knew it and he oughtn't to have gone out.

He talks, talks, talks about protecting women against darkies and

Carpetbaggers and when the time comes for him to do some

protecting, where is he? At home, taking care of me? No, indeed,

he's gallivanting around with a lot of other men who don't do

anything but talk and--"

Her snapping eyes came to rest on India's face and she paused.

India was breathing fast and her pale lashless eyes were fastened

on Scarlett's face with a deadly coldness.

"If it won't pain you too much, India," she broke off sarcastically,

"I'd be much obliged if you'd tell me why you've been staring at me

all evening. Has my face turned green or something?"

"It won't pain me to tell you. I'll do it with pleasure," said

India and her eyes glittered. "I hate to see you underrate a fine

man like Mr. Kennedy when, if you knew--"

"India!" said Melanie warningly, her hands clenching on her sewing.

"I think I know my husband better than you do," said Scarlett, the

prospect of a quarrel, the first open quarrel she had ever had with

India, making her spirits rise and her nervousness depart.

Melanie's eyes caught India's and reluctantly India closed her

lips. But almost instantly she spoke again and her voice was cold

with hate.

"You make me sick, Scarlett O'Hara, talking about being protected!

You don't care about being protected! If you did you'd never have

exposed yourself as you have done all these months, prissing

yourself about this town, showing yourself off to strange men,

hoping they'll admire you! What happened to you this afternoon was

just what you deserved and if there was any justice you'd have

gotten worse."

"Oh, India, hush!" cried Melanie.

"Let her talk," cried Scarlett. "I'm enjoying it. I always knew

she hated me and she was too much of a hypocrite to admit it. If

she thought anyone would admire her, she'd be walking the streets

naked from dawn till dark."

India was on her feet, her lean body quivering with insult.

"I do hate you," she said in a clear but trembling voice. "But it

hasn't been hypocrisy that's kept me quiet. It's something you

can't understand, not possessing any--any common courtesy, common

good breeding. It's the realization that if all of us don't hang

together and submerge our own small hates, we can't expect to beat

the Yankees. But you--you--you've done all you could to lower the

prestige of decent people--working and bringing shame on a good

husband, giving Yankees and riffraff the right to laugh at us and

make insulting remarks about our lack of gentility. Yankees don't

know that you aren't one of us and have never been. Yankees

haven't sense enough to know that you haven't any gentility. And

when you've ridden about the woods exposing yourself to attack,

you've exposed every well-behaved woman in town to attack by

putting temptation in the ways of darkies and mean white trash.

And you've put our men folks' lives in danger because they've got

to--"

"My God, India!" cried Melanie and even in her wrath, Scarlett was

stunned to hear Melanie take the Lord's name in vain. "You must

hush! She doesn't know and she--you must hush! You promised--"

"Oh, girls!" pleaded Miss Pittypat, her lips trembling.

"What don't I know?" Scarlett was on her feet, furious, facing the

coldly blazing India and the imploring Melanie.

"Guinea hens," said Archie suddenly and his voice was contemptuous.

Before anyone could rebuke him, his grizzled head went up sharply

and he rose swiftly. "Somebody comin' up the walk. 'Tain't Mr.

Wilkes neither. Cease your cackle."

There was male authority in his voice and the women stood suddenly

silent, anger fading swiftly from their faces as he stumped across

the room to the door.

"Who's thar?" he questioned before the caller even knocked.

"Captain Butler. Let me in."

Melanie was across the floor so swiftly that her hoops swayed up

violently, revealing her pantalets to the knees, and before Archie

could put his hand on the knob she flung the door open. Rhett

Butler stood in the doorway, his black slouch hat low over his

eyes, the wild wind whipping his cape about him in snapping folds.

For once his good manners had deserted him. He neither took off

his hat nor spoke to the others in the room. He had eyes for no

one but Melanie and he spoke abruptly without greeting.

"Where have they gone? Tell me quickly. It's life or death."

Scarlett and Pitty, startled and bewildered, looked at each other

in wonderment and, like a lean old cat, India streaked across the

room to Melanie's side.

"Don't tell him anything," she cried swiftly. "He's a spy, a

Scallawag!"

Rhett did not even favor her with a glance.

"Quickly, Mrs. Wilkes! There may still be time."

Melanie seemed in a paralysis of terror and only stared into his

face.

"What on earth--" began Scarlett.

"Shet yore mouth," directed Archie briefly. "You too, Miss Melly.

Git the hell out of here, you damned Scallawag."

"No, Archie, no!" cried Melanie and she put a shaking hand on

Rhett's arm as though to protect him from Archie. "What has

happened? How did--how did you know?"

On Rhett's dark face impatience fought with courtesy.

"Good God, Mrs. Wilkes, they've all been under suspicion since the

beginning--only they've been too clever--until tonight! How do I

know? I was playing poker tonight with two drunken Yankee captains

and they let it out. The Yankees knew there'd be trouble tonight

and they've prepared for it. The fools have walked into a trap."

For a moment it was as though Melanie swayed under the impact of a

heavy blow and Rhett's arm went around her waist to steady her.

"Don't tell him! He's trying to trap you!" cried India, glaring at

Rhett. "Didn't you hear him say he'd been with Yankee officers

tonight?"

Still Rhett did not look at her. His eyes were bent insistently on

Melanie's white face.

"Tell me. Where did they go? Have they a meeting place?"

Despite her fear and incomprehension, Scarlett thought she had

never seen a blanker, more expressionless face than Rhett's but

evidently Melanie saw something else, something that made her give

her trust. She straightened her small body away from the steadying

arm and said quietly but with a voice that shook:

"Out the Decatur road near Shantytown. They meet in the cellar of

the old Sullivan plantation--the one that's half-burned."

"Thank you. I'll ride fast. When the Yankees come here, none of

you know anything."

He was gone so swiftly, his black cape melting into the night, that

they could hardly realize he had been there at all until they heard

the spattering of gravel and the mad pounding of a horse going off

at full gallop.

"The Yankees coming here?" cried Pitty and, her small feet turning

under her, she collapsed on the sofa, too frightened for tears.

"What's it all about? What did he mean? If you don't tell me I'll

go crazy!" Scarlett laid hands on Melanie and shook her violently

as if by force she could shake an answer from her.

"Mean? It means you've probably been the cause of Ashley's and Mr.

Kennedy's death!" In spite of the agony of fear there was a note

of triumph in India's voice. "Stop shaking Melly. She's going to

faint."

"No, I'm not," whispered Melanie, clutching the back of a chair.

"My God, my God! I don't understand! Kill Ashley? Please,

somebody tell me--"

Archie's voice, like a rusty hinge, cut through Scarlett's words.

"Set down," he ordered briefly. "Pick up yore sewin'. Sew like

nothin' had happened. For all we know, the Yankees might have been

spyin' on this house since sundown. Set down, I say, and sew."

Trembling they obeyed, even Pitty picking up a sock and holding it