If there were only someone who could comfort her, quiet her fears,

explain to her just what were these confused fears which made her

heart sink with such cold sickness! If only Ashley--but she shrank

from the thought. She had almost killed Ashley, just as she had

killed Frank. And if Ashley ever knew the real truth about how she

lied to Frank to get him, knew how mean she had been to Frank, he

could never love her any more. Ashley was so honorable, so

truthful, so kind and he saw so straightly, so clearly. If he knew

the whole truth, he would understand. Oh, yes, he would understand

only too well! But he would never love her any more. So he must

never know the truth because he must keep on loving her. How could

she live if that secret source of her strength, his love, were

taken from her? But what a relief it would be to put her head on

his shoulder and cry and unburden her guilty heart!

The still house with the sense of death heavy upon it pressed about

her loneliness until she felt she could not bear it unaided any

longer. She arose cautiously, pushed her door half-closed and then

dug about in the bottom bureau drawer beneath her underwear. She

produced Aunt Pitty's "swoon bottle" of brandy which she had hidden

there and held it up to the lamp. It was nearly half-empty.

Surely she hadn't drunk that much since last night! She poured a

generous amount into her water glass and gulped it down. She would

have to put the bottle back in the cellaret before morning, filled

to the top with water. Mammy had hunted for it, just before the

funeral when the pallbearers wanted a drink, and already the air in

the kitchen was electric with suspicion between Mammy, Cookie and

Peter.

The brandy burned with fiery pleasantness. There was nothing like

It when you needed it. In fact, brandy was good almost any time,

so much better than insipid wine. Why on earth should it be proper

for a woman to drink wine and not spirits? Mrs. Merriwether and

Mrs. Meade had sniffed her breath most obviously at the funeral and

she had seen the triumphant look they had exchanged. The old cats!

She poured another drink. It wouldn't matter if she did get a

little tipsy tonight for she was going to bed soon and she could

gargle cologne before Mammy came up to unlace her. She wished she

could get as completely and thoughtlessly drunk as Gerald used to

get on Court Day. Then perhaps she could forget Frank's sunken

face accusing her of ruining his life and then killing him.

She wondered if everyone in town thought she had killed him.

Certainly the people at the funeral had been cold to her. The only

people who had put any warmth into their expressions of sympathy

were the wives of the Yankee officers with whom she did business.

Well, she didn't care what the town said about her. How

unimportant that seemed beside what she would have to answer for to

God!

She took another drink at the thought, shuddering as the hot brandy

went down her throat. She felt very warm now but still she

couldn't get the thought of Frank out of her mind. What fools men

were when they said liquor made people forget! Unless she drank

herself into insensibility, she'd still see Frank's face as it had

looked the last time he begged her not to drive alone, timid,

reproachful, apologetic.

The knocker on the front door hammered with a dull sound that made

the still house echo and she heard Aunt Pitty's waddling steps

crossing the hall and the door opening. There was the sound of

greeting and an indistinguishable murmur. Some neighbor calling to

discuss the funeral or to bring a blanc mange. Pitty would like

that. She had taken an important and melancholy pleasure in

talking to the condolence callers.

She wondered incuriously who it was and, when a man's voice,

resonant and drawling, rose above Pitty's funereal whispering, she

knew. Gladness and relief flooded her. It was Rhett. She had not

seen him since he broke the news of Frank's death to her, and now

she knew, deep in her heart, that he was the one person who could

help her tonight.

"I think she'll see me," Rhett's voice floated up to her.

"But she is lying down now, Captain Butler, and won't see anyone.

Poor child, she is quite prostrated. She--"

"I think she will see me. Please tell her I am going away tomorrow

and may be gone some time. It's very important."

"But--" fluttered Aunt Pittypat.

Scarlett ran out into the hall, observing with some astonishment

that her knees were a little unsteady, and leaned over the

banisters.

"I'll be down terrectly, Rhett," she called.

She had a glimpse of Aunt Pittypat's plump upturned face, her eyes

owlish with surprise and disapproval. Now it'll be all over town

that I conducted myself most improperly on the day of my husband's

funeral, thought Scarlett, as she hurried back to her room and

began smoothing her hair. She buttoned her black basque up to the

chin and pinned down the collar with Pittypat's mourning brooch. I

don't look very pretty she thought, leaning toward the mirror, too

white and scared. For a moment her hand went toward the lock box

where she kept her rouge hidden but she decided against it. Poor

Pittypat would be upset in earnest if she came downstairs pink and

blooming. She picked up the cologne bottle and took a large

mouthful, carefully rinsed her mouth and then spit into the slop

jar.

She rustled down the stairs toward the two who still stood in the

hall, for Pittypat had been too upset by Scarlett's action to ask

Rhett to sit down. He was decorously clad in black, his linen

frilly and starched, and his manner was all that custom demanded

from an old friend paying a call of sympathy on one bereaved. In

fact, it was so perfect that it verged on the burlesque, though

Pittypat did not see it. He was properly apologetic for disturbing

Scarlett and regretted that in his rush of closing up business

before leaving town he had been unable to be present at the

funeral.

"Whatever possessed him to come?" wondered Scarlett. "He doesn't

mean a word he's saying."

"I hate to intrude on you at this time but I have a matter of

business to discuss that will not wait. Something that Mr. Kennedy

and I were planning--"

"I didn't know you and Mr. Kennedy had business dealings," said

Aunt Pittypat, almost indignant that some of Frank's activities

were unknown to her.

"Mr. Kennedy was a man of wide interests," said Rhett respectfully.

"Shall we go into the parlor?"

"No!" cried Scarlett. glancing at the closed folding doors. She

could still see the coffin in that room. She hoped she never had

to enter it again. Pitty, for once, took a hint, although with

none too good grace.

"Do use the library. I must--I must go upstairs and get out the

mending. Dear me, I've neglected it so this last week. I declare--"

She went up the stairs with a backward look of reproach which was

noticed by neither Scarlett nor Rhett. He stood aside to let her

pass before him into the library.

"What business did you and Frank have?" she questioned abruptly.

He came closer and whispered. "None at all. I just wanted to get

Miss Pitty out of the way." He paused as he leaned over her.

"It's no good, Scarlett."

"What?"

"The cologne."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"I'm sure you do. You've been drinking pretty heavily."

"Well, what if I have? Is it any of your business?"

"The soul of courtesy, even in the depths of sorrow. Don't drink

alone, Scarlett. People always find it out and it ruins the

reputation. And besides, it's a bad business, this drinking alone.

What's the matter, honey?"

He led her to the rosewood sofa and she sat down in silence.

"May I close the doors?"

She knew if Mammy saw the closed doors she would be scandalized and

would lecture and grumble about it for days, but it would be still

worse if Mammy should overhear this discussion of drinking,

especially in light of the missing brandy bottle. She nodded and

Rhett drew the sliding doors together. When he came back and sat

down beside her, his dark eyes alertly searching her face, the pall

of death receded before the vitality he radiated and the room

seemed pleasant and homelike again, the lamps rosy and warm.

"What's the matter, honey?"

No one in the world could say that foolish word of endearment as

caressingly as Rhett, even when he was joking, but he did not look

as if he were joking now. She raised tormented eyes to his face

and somehow found comfort in the blank inscrutability she saw

there. She did not know why this should be, for he was such an

unpredictable, callous person. Perhaps it was because, as he often

said, they were so much alike. Sometimes she thought that all the

people she had ever known were strangers except Rhett.

"Can't you tell me?" he took her hand, oddly gentle. "It's more

than old Frank leaving you? Do you need money?"

"Money? God, no! Oh, Rhett, I'm so afraid."

"Don't be a goose, Scarlett, you've never been afraid in your

life."

"Oh, Rhett, I am afraid!"

The words bubbled up faster than she could speak them. She could

tell him. She could tell Rhett anything. He'd been so bad himself

that he wouldn't sit in judgment on her. How wonderful to know

someone who was bad and dishonorable and a cheat and a liar, when

all the world was filled with people who would not lie to save

their souls and who would rather starve than do a dishonorable

deed!

"I'm afraid I'll die and go to hell."