Intrusion?"

The eyes of the captain flickered quickly about the room, resting

for an instant on each face, passing quickly from their faces to

the table and the hat rack as though looking for signs of male

occupancy.

"I should like to speak to Mr. Wilkes and Mr. Kennedy, if you

please."

"They are not here," said Melanie, a chill in her soft voice.

"Are you sure?"

"Don't you question Miz Wilkes' word," said Archie, his beard

bristling.

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Wilkes. I meant no disrespect. If you

give me your word, I will not search the house."

"You have my word. But search if you like. They are at a meeting

downtown at Mr. Kennedy's store."

"They are not at the store. There was no meeting tonight,"

answered the captain grimly. "We will wait outside until they

return."

He bowed briefly and went out, closing the door behind him. Those

in the house heard a sharp order, muffled by the wind: "Surround

the house. A man at each window and door." There was a tramping

of feet. Scarlett checked a start of terror as she dimly saw

bearded faces peering in the windows at them. Melanie sat down and

with a hand that did not tremble reached for a book on the table.

It was a ragged copy of Les Miserables, that book which caught the

fancy of the Confederate soldiers. They had read it by camp-fire

light and took some grim pleasure in calling it "Lee's Miserables."

She opened it at the middle and began to read in a clear monotonous

voice.

"Sew," commanded Archie in a hoarse whisper and the three women,

nerved by Melanie's cool voice, picked up their sewing and bowed

their heads.

How long Melanie read beneath that circle of watching eyes,

Scarlett never knew but it seemed hours. She did not even hear a

word that Melanie read. Now she was beginning to think of Frank as

well as Ashley. So this was the explanation of his apparent calm

this evening! He had promised her he would have nothing to do with

the Klan. Oh, this was just the kind of trouble she had feared

would come upon them! All the work of this last year would go for

nothing. All her struggles and fears and labors in rain and cold

had been wasted. And who would have thought that spiritless old

Frank would get himself mixed up in the hot-headed doings of the

Klan? Even at this minute, he might be dead. And if he wasn't

dead and the Yankees caught him, he'd be hanged. And Ashley, too!

Her nails dug into her palms until four bright-red crescents

showed. How could Melanie read on and on so calmly when Ashley was

in danger of being hanged? When he might be dead? But something

in the cool soft voice reading the sorrows of Jean Valjean steadied

her, kept her from leaping to her feet and screaming.

Her mind fled back to the night Tony Fontaine had come to them,

hunted, exhausted, without money. If he had not reached their

house and received money and a fresh horse, he would have been

hanged long since. If Frank and Ashley were not dead at this very

minute, they were in Tony's position, only worse. With the house

surrounded by soldiers they couldn't come home and get money and

clothes without being captured. And probably every house up and

down the street had a similar guard of Yankees, so they could not

apply to friends for aid. Even now they might be riding wildly

through the night, bound for Texas.

But Rhett--perhaps Rhett had reached them in time. Rhett always

had plenty of cash in his pocket. Perhaps he would lend them

enough to see them through. But that was queer. Why should Rhett

bother himself about Ashley's safety? Certainly he disliked him,

certainly he professed a contempt for him. Then why-- But this

riddle was swallowed up in a renewed fear for the safety of Ashley

and Frank.

"Oh, it's all my fault!" she wailed to herself. "India and Archie

spoke the truth. It's all my fault. But I never thought either of

them was foolish enough to join the Klan! And I never thought

anything would really happen to me! But I couldn't have done

otherwise. Melly spoke the truth. People have to do what they

have to do. And I had to keep the mills going! I had to have

money! And now I'll probably lose it all and somehow it's all my

fault!"

After a long time Melanie's voice faltered, trailed off and was

silent. She turned her head toward the window and stared as though

no Yankee soldier stared back from behind the glass. The others

raised their heads, caught by her listening pose, and they too

listened.

There was a sound of horses' feet and of singing, deadened by the

closed windows and doors, borne away by the wind but still

recognizable. It was the most hated and hateful of all songs, the

song about Sherman's men "Marching through Georgia" and Rhett

Butler was singing it.

Hardly had he finished the first lines when two other voices,

drunken voices, assailed him, enraged foolish voices that stumbled

over words and blurred them together. There was a quick command

from Captain Jaffery on the front porch and the rapid tramp of

feet. But even before these sounds arose, the ladies looked at one

another stunned. For the drunken voices expostulating with Rhett

were those of Ashley and Hugh Elsing.

Voices rose louder on the front walk, Captain Jaffery's curt and

questioning, Hugh's shrill with foolish laughter, Rhett's deep and

reckless and Ashley's queer, unreal, shouting: "What the hell!

What the hell!"

"That can't be Ashley!" thought Scarlett wildly. "He never gets

drunk! And Rhett--why, when Rhett's drunk he gets quieter and

quieter--never loud like that!"

Melanie rose and, with her, Archie rose. They heard the captain's

sharp voice: "These two men are under arrest." And Archie's hand

closed over his pistol butt.

"No," whispered Melanie firmly. "No. Leave it to me." There was

in her face the same look Scarlett had seen that day at Tara when

Melanie had stood at the top of the steps looking down at the dead

Yankee, her weak wrist weighed down by the heavy saber--a gentle

and timid soul nerved by circumstances to the caution and fury of a

tigress. She threw the front door open.

"Bring him in, Captain Butler," she called in a clear tone that bit

with venom. "I suppose you've gotten him intoxicated again. Bring

him in."

From the dark windy walk, the Yankee captain spoke: "I'm sorry,

Mrs. Wilkes, but your husband and Mr. Elsing are under arrest."

"Arrest? For what? For drunkenness? If everyone in Atlanta was

arrested for drunkenness, the whole Yankee garrison would be in

jail continually. Well, bring him in, Captain Butler--that is, if

you can walk yourself."

Scarlett's mind was not working quickly and for a brief moment

nothing made sense. She knew neither Rhett nor Ashley was drunk

and she knew Melanie knew they were not drunk. Yet here was

Melanie, usually so gentle and refined, screaming like a shrew and